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cupidkenji · 5 months

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killshot, baby

Pairing: Aaron Hotch x Doctor!Fem!reader Cw: Fluff (for real this time), LONGING (this is literally 9k words of pure yearning idek how I did that), mentions of blood, Hotch gets shot, Jack being adorable, Jack gets injured too :(, no explicit age gap, this is just rlly cute idk it's sweet I love Hotch so much I need him Summary: When you get hired as the BAU's stand-by medic, the team leader ends up being the hardest part of your job. Disclaimer: Reader is chubby! She's always fat coded, but like usual she's not described here. Just know a chubby person was imagined when writing this <3 WC: 9k (Hotch is the love of my life I could go on about him forever) This is definitely not medically accurate, please just enjoy for the sake of the story. I LOVE HOTCH I WANNA SMOOCH HIM

As weird as it was, band aids were the thing you remembered most from your childhood. You grew up as a canvas for any sort of scrape, cut, or bruise. Any wound that made your parents feel mildly worried to utterly terrified were ones that decorated your body frequently. You never tried to assign any meaning to why you became a doctor, simply crediting it as your call to the profession - to people. If you had to, though, your consistently bruised adolescent body is the best root cause you could think of. It seemed only right that the kid who couldn’t keep her skin in tact would grow to love helping others. You liked to think that’s how you kept your head an average size. Your bosses and co-workers had raved about your abilities no matter the job you took, and after a while you had to start prioritizing keeping your humility. You had started as just a kid with bruises.

You tended to ground yourself with those same memories in times like this. For as long as you’d worked in the hospital, you held some disdain for agents. You saw many federal ones, being so close to the HQ for divisions like Behavioral Analysis, but some locals swung by too. You’d had far too many experiences of them being snappy, demanding, and usually inconsiderate to the team of people trying to save someone. You understood the individuals you were committed to helping often got there by doing monstrous things, but demanding to talk to someone when they were bleeding out and half-conscious always forced your tongue between your teeth in an effort to stay respectful. Especially now, pushing a stretcher with 3 other workers while trying to shake off the feds trailing after him. You recognized them, Agents Rossi and Hotchner, if you remembered correctly.

“We’ll need to talk to him immediately.” The man - Rossi, you assumed, seeing as he was going gray and had less of a charge fueling his steps - spoke quickly as the two men followed your team.

“Be here when he’s out of surgery.” You didn’t bother to look back, trying to convey your annoyance and praying they got the hint.

“He’s killed three women and has another one hostage. We don’t have time.” The other one piped up, easily keeping pace with you.

Abandoning your previous strategy, you let your team push the man into the operating room, shutting the door behind them and whipping around to face the duo. “I understand that, sir, believe me.” You were more elevated than you would have liked, years of unease unfortunately slipping through your efforts to withhold them. “But whatever happened when you found him left him barely breathing. You can’t speak to a corpse. You’ll have your time when he’s stable. Go do your job and let me do mine.” You tensed your calves planning to turn around, but quickly felt the guilt catch up to you. “I’ll call you if he wakes up.”

“If?”

You sighed. You hated profilers. “I’ll call you.”

“Call the headquarters.” He was scribbling down a number on the back of a hospital business card. “Ask for Agent Hotch. We’ll be waiting.” You nodded your head once, taking the card from his hands. He started walking away as he thanked you. “We appreciate it.” Sure.

–

The surgery to save the man had been a trip and half. One of the bullets had internally ricocheted, and the other two were lodged next to crucial arteries. You praised your mother for giving you steady hands as you inched them out of him. It took you and your team six hours and fifteen minutes to get his heartbeat steady, you estimated he’d be knocked out all night. You should call, you thought. You had no idea how late these people worked but they were more than likely expecting to talk tonight and you didn’t know if that’d be possible. You fished the card out of your pocket, his handwriting was impressively neat for how fast he’d written the number. You heard the line ring twice before someone picked up.

“This is Penelope Garcia with the Behavioral Analysis Unit, who am I speaking to?”

“Uh- I’m Dr. L/n down at Quantico Med. I’m looking for Agent Hotch?” Your words tilted up at the end of your sentence. The casual nature of his shortened name left a weird feeling in your mouth after you said it. “I have an update on a patient he was asking after.”

“Is this about an unsub?”

“A what?” She lacked professionalism. You wondered briefly if he had just given you the phone number of an employee.

“I’m sorry-” she laughed slightly. “Is this about a suspect? Hotch told me someone might be calling.”

“Um - yeah it’s about a suspect. He was brought in earlier. Is Agent Hotch there? I’m sorry ma’am but I've been in an operating room for the past 6 hours and I want to go home.” You hoped she’d respect your honesty, you really didn’t have the patience to explain yourself to someone new.

She chuckled. “I got you honey, I’ll page you over.” The line went dead for a second before the ringing resumed. Please be quick, you prayed, get me out of this fucking hospital.

“Hotchner.” His voice was rougher over the phone. You guessed the long hours started to weigh on him by this time of night. You always felt it the most around this time, too.

“Hi, sir. This is Dr. L/n from the hospital. We managed to stabilize your guy, but it’s unlikely he’ll be up before tomorrow. I know it was assumed he’d be awake tonight but it took longer to operate than expected.” Your guys put 3 bullets in him, so sorry for the inconvenience. “I’ll be here all day tomorrow. You can come by at any time and I’ll let you in.”

“Are you positive we can’t talk to him tonight? I understand the situation is difficult but this case is extremely time sensitive. I’m sure that’s not lost on you.” You cursed the man for not being more condescending in his delivery. Thinking of the poor person either trapped or dead right now due to the guy you just saved made you sick.

“I know.” Fucking hell. “I can wake him up.” A quarter dose of adrenaline works wonders. “Be here in fifteen minutes. You won’t have much time to talk to him.”

“Thank you.” He hung up. You put your head in your hands. Just a little kid with bruises.

–

The layout of the BAU made you envious of the workers here. You’re sure they’d dealt with atrocities beyond what the average person could stomach, but you also worked within the belly of the beast and man were those hospital hallways claustrophobic. The daylight shone beautifully through the large windows, and you asked yourself if you’d be able to cope with all the paperwork in exchange for a feel like this. There weren’t any front desks, nowhere to sign in, so you sat in one of the chairs by the door and waited to see if something would happen. You had been specifically requested to visit the building , a note signed ‘Strauss’ being left with the hospital secretary. You didn’t like being called on by a stranger, it made you nervous beyond belief. You’re sure anyone walking by assumed you were being charged with something. Sweating like a sinner in church.

“Dr. L/n?” A woman was standing near you, having completely avoided your eyesight until now. “I’m the board supervisor, Erin Strauss. Thank you for coming.” The woman was nice enough, but she seemed rigid, clearly confident in her authority. She led you to her office and gestured to the chair facing her desk.

“I’ll cut right to the chase.” She smoothed her pencil skirt as she sat down. “The BAU is seeking a stand-by medic and I’d like to offer you the position. You’re revered highly by your previous places of employment and your current boss has only good things to say. Along with a personal reference by an employee of mine, you’re certainly a person of interest. You’d be working interchangeably with three other individuals, however you would be the first one called when needed.”

That is definitely not what you were expecting. You were almost immediately ready to turn down the offer. You didn’t work well with cops. You worked well in a hospital, going into the field to patch the wounds of both good and evil was a less than appealing deal to you.

“You’d be on call while you worked your current position at Quantico Medical, when you’re at home you can remain there, but you’ll be flying with the rest of the team when they leave. You will be entered into a federal database, and employed as a stand-in for hospitals near you when working abroad.” She went on to explain you’d be paid salary, and when you heard just how much you could add to your monthly income by doing this, you took it. You were doing fine, you definitely didn’t need the financial boost, but you had family that could use it. Your niece had been close to turning down college because of the cost, so some extra money could really set her up.

“Excellent. You’ll start your field training next Monday.” She was shuffling papers into a hefty stack as she talked. “Come back when you’ve finished this and I’ll arrange a team meeting.” The stack was even heavier than you expected when you picked it up. It was far too early to be regretting your decision.

–

The first day of training had been easy enough. You weren’t an agent, so you avoided having to learn weapons or combat. It generally consisted of learning efficiency, along with how to work properly with agents and the expected etiquette when dealing with an unsub. You had met the team only once by now. Everyone had been nice - Garcia especially - but aside from her nobody had been particularly welcoming. The conditions of your job were a bit strange, basically capitalizing on the what ifs that came with the FBI title, and that created a bit of distance between you and the rest of the team. They questioned the necessity of you, they’d survived this long without a stand-by medic with them, why did they need one now?

Above any disregard for those in law enforcement sat your stubbornness. You knew they were on the fence about you, the most logical thing for you to do now would be attend every session required of you and prove yourself through pure accomplishment. Easy in theory, much harder to execute when Aaron Hotch is the one you’re learning from. He was a good teacher - you’d give him that - he had a confidence to him that easily dominated a room, attracted eyes in a way other men couldn’t manage. You’d ignored the initial stir in your stomach when meeting him in favor of attempting to scold him and his partner. Now, it was much harder to quell the slight pound in your head or the sweat on your palms. He was just standing up front, lecturing on the importance of a team, but his attire was the only thing able to break through the haze in your mind. Every time he’d shown up at the hospital, he’d donned a suit, a slightly baggy blazer worked incredibly well as a shield to your curiosity. That had clearly changed, as he shed the overcoat when talking to the class, having just a white button up adorn his torso. You took notice of the rolled up sleeves, clearing your throat quietly to snap yourself back into focus. You had the intention of snuffing out this little thing of yours but were a living contradiction at this point, setting on the goal of avoidance while barely ignoring the sight of the veins on his arms. You pondered the thought of sleeping with some man at a bar just to get this out of your system, but remembered how little projecting attraction onto someone else helps a situation. In other words, you were probably fucked.

–

The first mission you worked with the team had you flying to a tiny Georgia town to investigate a string of bodies being found in ransacked homes. It seemed to be a simple motive, robbery turned to murder, but the team was called down to help once the kill count hit five. You had been expecting a long commercial flight, figuring you’d need to invest in a good neck pillow and some aspirin. Nobody had bothered to inform you the Bureau utilized private air travel, or that you’d be flying in one with people you’d known for two weeks. You’re sure you looked a little out of place, looking around the plane without being obvious you were doing it and adjusting to the sight of couches on planes. The others, having had this privilege for years now, took their respective seats. You had been nervous about that, unfortunately. The unsure feeling of where to sit reminding you painfully of high school cafeterias and inferior reputations. The only open seat happened to be right next to the man you’d been ducking away from the past two weeks. Lovely. He took a moment to look at you when you sat. You were prepared to talk to him, but for now you busied yourself with rummaging through your bag looking for nothing and pretending not to see him in your peripherals.

“Do you get sick on planes?” He seemed to have a deeper motive when he asked, like you saying yes would solve a puzzle in his head.

“Not really.” You’d only been on a plane a handful of times. “Turbulence can make me nervous, but I think that’s fairly normal.” You thought momentarily that perhaps he would blame your obvious anxiety on that instead of his proximity to you. He was a profiler, you’re sure he picked up on tells for nerves you weren’t even aware you had, but maybe he’d write it off. “Why do you ask?”

“You seem…” He trailed off for a moment, looking over your face to try and categorize your expression. “I don’t know, lost?” He smiled, light and easy, and you realized he was trying to reach out to you. The comfortability in the gesture made your head spin. It was like a shot of morphine, enveloping your body in a dull elation - an escape. You wanted that comfortability, wanted him to feel weightless around you. There had been a certain tension between the two of you since you started. He was warmer than the rest, but also more awkward. Your first real interaction had been an outburst, and it left you hesitant to talk to him.

You chuckled at his remark. “No I -” You shook your head as you spoke, as if shaking off his accusation. “Nobody told me about the jet. You’d think exclusive aircraft would be in the job predecessor.”

He nodded in agreement, holding a slight upturn on his lips. “Yes, you would.” He glances away to check the time, looking back to you quickly like you were his homebase. “Strauss has a habit of getting ahead of herself. Plus, we’re all pretty used to it by now. I have to remind her sometimes that normal provisions don’t have a TI.”

“I’m sure.” It was clear she’d worked with the unit for a while. “Even if they did, though, they’d never find another Garcia.” You thought of the woman, bright and sparkly and incredibly good at her job. “You guys are lucky to have her.”

He stared at you, losing a hint of the lightheartedness and letting a wave of genuinity intertwine with it. “You have her too, Y/n.” His eyes were like a trap, rich pools of honey just begging to tug you down in. “You’re a member of this team. Don’t think your newness makes you inferior to anyone else on it. We’re lucky to have you too.”

Fuck, you were whipped. “I really appreciate that, sir.”

He smiled, shaking his head and waving you off. “Don’t with the sir, please. It’s bad enough when Garcia does it. You can call me Aaron.” Not even the other team members called him that, a thought that seemed to strike you both simultaneously. “Or Hotch, whatever you prefer.”

You just looked at him, letting a smile rouse your lips and trying your hardest not to let the effect he had on you reach your face. “Ok.”

–

The first case had been good training wheels, simply tending to a vic who needed stitches and getting a feel for the life of a field agent. You’d been adjusting nicely to it, quickly getting used to working random hospitals and waiting to be needed on an active crime scene. The others had warmed up to you tremendously after getting back, opening their circle for one more, and you couldn’t be more grateful. A team like this was something you’d wanted for a while, growing more and more unsatisfied with the callous ER workspace by the day. Ironically, there was much more life in jobs dealing with murder. He had also been warming up to you. The two of you hit the status of work-place friends nearly instantly. The endearing encounter on the plane simmered inside you for a while. The memory of it prompting you to keep talking to him, always searching for a fix of the painkiller you’d felt that day.

You weren’t a profiler, but you were unfathomably infatuated, leading you to never miss his tone getting softer with you, or any one of his touches that lingered for just a second too long. It just barely bypassed the line of friendship, but you never lost sight of that linear barrier, so it was incredibly prevalent to you when he breached it. You scoffed at the idea of any reciprocity, brushing off every remark made by a coworker or the one horrific time you heard JJ refer to the two of you as ‘mom and dad.’ This wasn’t a plausible thing. This was a stupid workplace crush that was more of a hindrance than anything. The growing closeness between you and him would have it’s effects properly restrained to the confines of your head, only permitted to express themselves once you were away from the man. It was an odd dynamic, but Aaron wasn’t an obvious guy, so trying to define the edges of you two would only draw attention to the fact you had been looking at all. No thank you.

“Shit.” The team was sitting around the table going over their files. You were mainly there for support, as you were never a part of the lead up to the catch, the chase. You heard Hotch mumble the exclamation under his breath and looked over to see the trouble. He was looking down at his phone, jaw resting between his thumb and pointer finger. You got up and moved to sit next to him, the motion virtually ignored by everyone else as they continued searching for connections.

“Everything ok?” You mumbled to him, trying not to disturb your friends who were nearly nose-deep in their files.

“Yeah.” He sighed. “Jack’s sitter canceled. I wanted to stay here to go over the latest crime scene but I guess I’ll have to raincheck.” The killings of your latest unsub had been increasing. You knew the collective stress that was starting to boil within the team. Him going home would only slow them down, a horrible addition to a killer that was speeding up.

You volunteered your night away before you even got a chance to think about it.

“I can watch him.”

Surprise was apparent in the raise of his eyebrows. “I appreciate it, but I couldn’t ask that of you.

You’re fairly certain you would do anything he asked of you, but the nobility of the man in this case almost made you roll your eyes. “No, please. I offered and I would love to. I’m not helping anyone just sitting here, and you leaving would slow them down. You know what to look for here, I don’t. I don’t want another girl going missing just cause your sitter flaked. I can do it.”

He seemed mildly speechless. “I -” He paused, trying to find the wording he wanted. “I suppose you’re right. I’ll send you the address, if you’re sure.” He looked at you with more adoration than you’d ever had directed at you, so intense your eyes instinctively ducked down. “Thank you, Y/n.” He was so touched by the action it made you slightly sad to think about. Had no one ever helped him? Maybe you were raised weird, this seemed hardly beyond common decency to you.

“What are friends for?” He exhaled a slight laugh in gratuitous agreement, but you saw the glimmer of his eyes dull slightly. The notion surely reflected in your own eyes as the words burned your tongue. Friends.

–

Jack was a delight. A well mannered, clearly well raised kid. Parts of his dad shined so vibrantly in him that you’re sure you’d be able to pick him out of a crowd based on mannerisms alone. Hotch had called Jack’s daycare, verifying your identity and giving you the ok to go pick him up. He seemed quiet on the way home, but rushed to give you a tour of the house, and excitedly led you to his line up of toy trains once you’d entered the place. There was a shift between you and Hotch that happened when you gave the offer. A shift that was now only just settling in you. This was his house. His space, his stuff, his place of security. He’d invited you into it, gave you permission to enter it, to exist within it, and it was strangely intoxicating. He was intoxicating, and you realized quickly how much you ached for the permanence of it. You’d made Jack dinner, played for a bit, went out for ice cream per his pleading, and wished him a peaceful goodnight when his bedtime rolled around. He’d dubbed you his ‘best babysitter ever’ and you knew as soon as the words hit your ears that you’d be watching him again. You’re sure situations like today popped up frequently for Hotch, you could be a valuable asset to him when you had free time. He would be saving money too. No need to pay a sitter when you were being paid by the Bureau every second you were there. Aaron had gotten home a few minutes past one, utterly exhausted and uncharacteristically apologetic. He was sorry for being gone so long, making you stay so late, everything and anything the man could apologize for was pouring out of his mouth. He’d welcomed you to stay, but his hair was messy from messing with it all night, and he’d ditched the suit jacket for a gray long sleeve. You’d wanted to take the opportunity, wanted to bask in the safety of him for as long as he’d allow it, but those restrained thoughts were clawing the walls of your skull with a vigor unlike anything you’d felt before. It would be abhorrent to dream about the man while in the confines of his home. You couldn’t do that - you wouldn’t. You brushed off any apology he could conjure and let him escort you out the door. His hand was on your lower back, and his voice was low from the siphoning nature of the day.

“Thank you, again.” He looked at you. “You’re a lifesaver.” You’d expected to hear some humor in his voice. The start of banter between friends, a casual appreciation for a job well done, but there wasn’t any. He sounded rough, slightly beat down, his eyes filled with a sincerity all aimed at you. A blend of pure adoration and a deeper level of dedication. Was this a commitment? What kind?

Heat bubbled in your stomach as you made eye contact. “Please.” You shook your head slightly. “Jack’s an angel. You’re clearly as good at this as you are profiling.” You nodded in the vague direction of Jack’s bedroom as you referenced the kid. “It was my pleasure. I’d love to do it again, if you’ll let me.”

He sighed out a small laugh and broke your gaze for a moment, looking back to you as he spoke. “I’d like that.”

–

You’d seen Jack a multitude of times after that. Aaron was never particularly fond of asking you, claiming that he appreciated the gesture but it was mainly Jack’s begging that made him cave. That, and your persistence. You liked Jack a lot, and more selfishly, you liked being around Aaron’s stuff. It was a little creepy, yes, but you felt better acquainted with him after being around his things. An energetic type of understanding, the type that deepened a connection without words. He was needed late tonight, and as much as you hated denying an offer to see Jack, you had priorities at the hospital. The previous sitter wasn’t able to watch him, so she gave a personal recommendation, and Jack got stuck with a stranger. You thought about him while working, probing and patching people half-focused with the desire to be elsewhere. You’d felt mildly guilty about it, but it’s not like it altered your work, so you figured it was harmless.

You wondered slightly if you manifested the event you were watching play out. You watched in pure disbelief as a sobbing Jack was being carried into the ER by a flustered blonde woman. There was blood staining the right sleeve of his shirt, pouring out of his skin in a surplus and completely soaking through the material. A jagged piece of glass was standing at attention in his wrist, having sliced through the fabric like butter. He was marked ‘urgent,’ who knows if the shard had hit an artery or where the glass had come from.

Most other doctors were busy, either operating or tending to patients. You’d walked to the front desk, remaining as calm as your racing heart would let you, and told the secretary to assign the case to you. “I know this one. Let me take him.” She just nodded, marking your name down as the primary doctor and allowing you to take him back.

Walking up to the blonde woman, you assumed this had been the new babysitter. She was a wreck, trying to explain what happened through her own hysteria while simultaneously having her words drowned out by the crying child. “It’s ok, ma’am.” You’d reassured her, obviously she hadn’t intended the injury. “Let me take him, I’m a friend of his father.” You saw the calmness dilate her eyes, making itself apparent in the relaxation of her tense shoulders. You removed the bleeding boy from her arms, holding him against you and cooing at him the way you would a baby. You took him to a stretcher a few feet away and laid him down, ensuring his wounded arm stayed flat in an attempt to slow the blood. He was on the brink of passing out, his body not having nearly enough energy for the sobbing on top of losing vital fluid. “Jack.” You addressed him directly, two more doctors aiding your transfer to an examination room. “I need you to stay with me, buddy. Just a little longer, I promise. You’re gonna be just fine.” You pushed with one hand, caressing his non-injured arm to emphasize your affection. “Just a little longer.” You looked at him in between looking forward to keep the stretcher straight, seeing that same adoration from his father’s eyes mirrored in his. You felt protective, realizing you cared for the Hotchners much more than you let yourself believe. Little kid with bruises, you skimmed through your origins in your mind in an attempt to center your focus. Just a little kid with bruises.

Two hours later, Jack was stitched up and sleeping soundly. You knew his sitter had called Hotch, probably as soon as something happened, and were not surprised to find him idle in a waiting room chair. He was leaned forward, head in his hands and knee bouncing violently. He heard footsteps getting closer, a feeling within him recognizing them as yours, and he looked up. His eyes were teary, tired. The look of a concerned father.

“How is he?” You’d never witnessed this type of worry in him, heard the amount of desperation in his voice.

You smiled lightly as a predecessor to Jack’s wellbeing. “He’s fine. Glass missed his arteries. We had him patched up in around an hour and a half. Gave him a lollipop and a light sedative to get him to rest. He should be all set to go in the morning.”

He sighed, and the amount of stress that audibly left his body made you feel a little lighter from where you stood. “Thank God.”

“Hey man, give us a little credit.” You joked, relieved when you heard the slight laugh come from his downturned head. Pity laugh, probably, but it was a cherished sound nonetheless.

“You have full credit, Y/n.” He shook his head, raising it to look at you. “Quite the hero.”

You almost physically recoiled from the term, rushing to correct him while maintaining the lighthearted nature. “Definitely not.” You rejected the praise. “Just doing my job. I’m glad I could help him.”

He leaned back in his chair, relaxing for a second before he planned to stand up. “Noble.” He chuckled. “But you helped my son. That’s about as heroic as it gets to me, doc.”

Blood rushed to your ears at your professional title being used so affectionately. “Go check on your kid, Hotch.” You waved back towards the direction of Jack, knowing that even though he was asleep, he’d want to see him anyway. You also hoped the slight distraction would draw his attention away from your increasingly flustered state. “You’ll have plenty of time to praise me.” You weren’t entirely sure you’d wanted the sentence to exit your mouth, but it was too late to bite your tongue.

He raised his eyebrows so slightly that you scolded yourself for having noticed. Such a minuscule action that seemed to move mountains within your brain. “Oh?”

“Shut up.” You rolled your eyes at your own remark. “I’m walking away. You know what I meant.”

“Mhm.” He smiled, nodding his head dramatically and rising from his seat. “Just name a time and place, doc. I’ll do good on that promise.”

You went momentarily braindead, hoping your eyes weren’t giving away the less than work appropriate feeling pumping through your veins. You stared baffled at him for what was definitely a millisecond too long before giving a half-shocked, half-flattered laugh and gesturing him away. “Say that when you’re not obviously sleep deprived and delirious and maybe we can arrange it.” The last thing you heard was him, laughing the way you do when you’re very serious but desperately trying to pass it off as a joke. You knew it well, having done it almost every time you were around him since you started. Comfortable, witty retorts between friends. “Have a good night, Aaron.”

Aaron, he thought. He’d remember that.

–

That had been the second shift between the two of you. Felt immediately by both parties and tossing you both into the deep end of whatever you’d been building with him. He’d been much more touchy, seemingly subconscious on his part but noticed by every part of your body, mind, and soul. You thought about what it could mean, then sunk even further into your incoherent mind when realizing just how subconscious the actions really were. He was just drawn to you. You had viscerally fought that conclusion as it came to you but it genuinely could not be anything else. He was touching you more because - whether on the surface or deeper down - he just wanted to, and that fact was wrecking you. You were so fucking into him that it hurt. Hurt to look at him or be in his home watching Jack or have his knee pressed against yours in the back of car during a team outing. It all hurt because he wasn’t yours. He seemed into you, too. Of course, you didn’t know to what extent. You worried maybe he hadn’t said anything yet because he simply didn’t like you enough, and that hurt more than any other factor. It was a foolish notion - one you would have abandoned instantly had you peeked inside his head - but alas, no such luck.

He’d been more relaxed, too. The two of you reaching a point in your relationship you hadn’t ever let yourself dream about. He was funny, achieving that lightness around you that you’d wanted from the start. He’d gotten riskier, amping up the dial on his remarks a bit. Starting with those like the hospital, ending with ones that made you have to take a breather in the room where they kept the coffee. It hadn’t gone unnoticed, per say, but the others were certainly ignorant to the true depth of the change. You simply couldn’t measure it by witnessing, you had to feel it. And fuck were you feeling it.

A week or so after Jack’s ER visit, you’d asked after him. You didn’t know if the regret was immediate, but it flooded through you quickly. Aaron got nervous, shifty, like you’d touched a live wire of his and he now had to patch it up before it blew. You got concerned, asking if something happened with his stitches or if Jack was now showing some sort of trauma response to the event. Was that even plausible? You weren’t sure, PTSD wasn’t exactly your strong suit. However, he quickly stated that wasn’t the case, noting that Jack was actually in perfect health and had been relentless about wanting you over for dinner.

“He’s grateful.” Hotch was smiling with paternal reluctance, proud of his son for having such good morals but also uncomfortable with the possibility of rejection he was facing. “He wants to see you, say thank you for “saving his life.” He emphasized the last bit in a sarcastic tone, both of you knowing his life hadn’t been in danger but also knowing that fact wouldn’t deter the boy from considering you some type of guardian angel. “Would you be up for it?” If you hadn’t been so focused on snuffing out the heat rushing to your face, you would have seen that same heat reflected in a slight pink across his cheeks.

“Definitely.” You smiled at the thought of the boy bugging his dad about getting you to the house. “When were you thinking?”

“Saturday night?” Both of you were scheduled to be off that day, and you found yourself begging whatever merciful being would listen to not have some lead to chase that day. “He’ll want the day to prepare.” He chuckled.

“Oh no.” You joked. Prepare? You couldn’t even begin to imagine what that meant. “Well, I am extremely curious to find out what an eight year old boy has to prepare for. How about seven? Would that be good?”

Aaron felt his palms start to sweat. He’d never actually been around his house when you’d been there, only seeing you on your way out. “That’s perfect.”

“Great.” You smiled, checking the time and realizing you needed to get going to the hospital. “I’m looking forward to it.” You nodded slightly as one last confirmation and headed out, suppressing a giddy smile while trying to force yourself into a headspace you could work in.

In the meantime, Aaron watched you walk off from where he’d been perched on your desk, entirely oblivious to the man watching the scene.

“As I live and breathe.” Rossi had crept up on him, not spooking him but rather suspending him in a state of immeasurable embarrassment. “Aaron Hotcher has a crush.” The man held his shoulder, patting him there like a father witnessing his son get his first girlfriend. “She’s a good one. Quite the eye you got, Aaron.” Then he was gone, walking away with Aaron’s dignity clasped in his hands. Closing his eyes in pure mortification, Hotch simply thanked God that nobody else was around for that and walked away with the intention of fusing to his office chair to avoid ever looking at Rossi again. At least you’d said yes, he thought. He didn’t know how he’d cope with his friend watching him swing and miss.

–

The daylight seemed to be anticipating this more than you were, hours passing by like minutes until eventually the sun woke you up on Saturday morning. It was blazing through the cracks in your blinds, settling in slim lines across your floor, as light and gentle as snow. You’d been rehearsing your poker face in preparation for tonight. Writing safety manuals for any ungodly situation that could happen, everything from a fire to Aaron gaining the ability to read your mind and unearthing what you really thought about him. You were so happy that Jack held you in such high esteem, but your hands were shaking at the thought of sitting down with him and his father and acting like it wasn’t the dynamic you fucking dreamt about. You knew it was a good sign of compatibility if someone’s cat liked you - did their child liking you mean the same thing? You hoped Jack’s seemingly innate approval of you gave you at least a couple brownie points. Aaron had called you a hero. Swiftly ignoring the memory of what he’d said after he called you a hero, you pulled out your phone. You and him didn’t really speak outside of work and babysitting schedules, but you were pacing around your room and needed something to give you a semblance of structure, a reassurance - even if it was just for the time. You texted, asking if you were still on for tonight, then went to go make breakfast and inevitably pace some more. He’d gotten back to you about twenty minutes later, confirming the time and giving details of how excited Jack was about it. You smiled at that, praying tonight would be as smooth as humanly possible and you could walk away with an ounce of emotional control. You set an intention, this wouldn’t deepen your feelings for Aaron. Was it a pointless goal? Yes. Was it also highly unlikely to prove true? Yes. But the loose plan you worked around the resolution almost completely extinguished the anxiety that had been blazing for hours now. It would be fine, you thought. Completely and utterly fine.

The same words were looping through your thoughts when you got to his front door. Casual - but still minorly more dressed up than he’d seen you. You’d put a little extra effort into your appearance, mainly to pass the time if you were honest, and you walked in with mild confidence fueling your steps. You did your best not to ogle him, he was in an attire that was already threatening to unravel the safety net of the goal you set. You were used to the suits hidden beneath blazers you cursed the existence of, maybe a snippet of his forearms when he rolled up his sleeves late at night. Now, though, he sported a simple black tee, more comfortable than you’d ever seen him. Domesticity was practically oozing from the entire situation. You felt the pieces slip into place as Jack ran up behind him, and you almost cried with how badly you wanted this feeling to be your normal.

“Hey, buddy.” You laughed as he hugged you, reciprocating the act as well as you could from the multiple feet you had on his height. “How’s the arm?”

He raised up his wrist, now gauze free and proudly showed off the scar there. You played up the genuine admiration you felt for him. “That’s a pretty gnarly scar.” He nodded in response, probably feeling cool for the evidence he handled such an injury. “I don’t want to see you back in my operating room, you hear me? Scared the life out of us.” The scolding was playful, and he giggled at your words.

Aaron huffed in agreement, cocking his head to the side slightly. “You can say that again.” Jack looked between you two, smiling and seemingly thinking something neither of you could decipher. To break the moment of silence, Aaron patted his shoulder. “Why don’t you tell her what’s on the menu, buddy?”

He told you, and you hummed along to his words, commenting that it sounded delicious and actually meaning it. He ran away a second later - presumably back to whatever he’d been doing before you got there - and left you and Aaron alone. Venturing into the kitchen, you saw multiple pans and pots sitting neatly on the stove, table set and ready to be utilized. Everything was being kept warm, and you finally gained an appetite after having wrestled with nerves all day.

“Do you want a drink?” He asked it while entering the kitchen, pausing to look at you.

“Please.” You were desperate to calm yourself, eager to subdue the shaking of your hands. “Do you have any wine?” You weren’t the biggest fan, but you couldn’t think of a drink more fitting for the evening.

He nodded slightly. “Red or white?”

“White.”

He chuckled. “Thought so.” It was quiet, more to himself than you as he was already walking away from you when he said it. He’d thought about what kind of wine you liked, you thought. He’d thought about you. He pulled two wine glasses down from the cupboard, then walked over to the fridge. He reached above it, barely having to stretch, and pulled an uncorked bottle from the storage up there. You felt your legs tense looking at how tall he was, how sure he was of his actions. Jesus. It’s been five minutes and you were crumbling. You watched his hands as he uncorked the bottle, reading the label and realizing the brand.

You furrowed your eyebrows. “Seems a little fancy for a dinner.”

He laughed under his breath as he finished pouring the glasses, walking back over to sit next to you on the island stools. “You’re a guest of honor.” He placed yours in front of you. “I thought it was fitting.”

You searched, but couldn’t find the humor in his tone. You raised your eyebrows slightly. “Am I?” It was sarcastic, you needed to stop the heat in your stomach from spreading. “I didn’t know doing your job earned such a title.”

He was drinking as you spoke, finishing his sip before joking back. “You’re a doctor.” He said. “I thought you knew that better than anyone.”

You sucked air through your teeth as if wounded by his words. “Touche.” You took a sip of your drink, relishing the taste. Damn, he didn’t come to play. He laughed, and you set your glass back down. “Ok, I have to know.” He drew his attention to you. “What the hell did Jack need the day to prepare for?” The question had been on your mind since he asked you.

He took a drink, chuckling with a mouthful then swallowing so he could reply. “He actually helped cook most of this.” He nodded towards the stove full of different dishes. “That was what he needed the day for. Time for trial and error.”

You grinned at the thought of Jack and Aaron spending the day in aprons, making sure everything turned out perfect. “That is the cutest thing I’ve ever heard.”

He looked back towards Jack, coloring in the living room, close enough to see but far enough to miss your discussions. “He gets nervous around you.”

That surprised you. “Why on Earth would he be nervous around me?” You took your turn looking at the boy, an idea hitting you and making you feel sick. “Wait, I didn’t do something did I?”

He looked back at you, smiling. “No, no. Nothing like that. He gets nervous because he likes you. He knows who you are to me, too, so he wants to make a good impression.”

Your mind latched onto that sentence and played it like a broken record, bouncing between your ears over and over. “Oh?” Your lips were curling up at the corners, eyebrows furrowing as you got ready to hold him to that statement. “And who might I be to you, Aaron?”

Fuck. He’d let that slip past his lips without even thinking about it. So used to being in the confidential company of his son. Good thing he used to be a lawyer and could lie his ass off. “Most of his sitters aren’t also my coworkers.” He delivered it the smoothest way he could, smiling and drinking to hopefully exude a false comfortability that he certainly wasn’t feeling.

“Mhm.” You narrowed your eyes at him, trying to look sarcastic but in truth downplaying the sting you felt. What if this had been one-sided all along? You hadn’t prepped a safety guide for that.

Luckily, Jack came sprinting into the kitchen a second later, pleading with his father to eat now. Clinging to his leg and declaring how hunger was killing him by the second, dramatically threatening to wither away before your very eyes. You both shared a look, agreeing silently to put the kid out of his misery. The instinctual nature of the act hit you like a bolt of lightning. Both of you so in tune it was comical. The dinner had been lovely, and you reminded yourself to encourage Jack to keep up his cooking hobby. Maybe you could foster a professional chef. You’d talked with them both, light and the happiest you’d felt in a while. There it was, you realized. That weightless feeling you wanted to give him. You felt it in yourself too, and you could only pray it was because he felt it first. When dinner concluded, you’d help clean up while Jack resumed his coloring. His bedtime was soon, and you didn’t want him to spend his last hour washing pans. He was nearly delirious by the time 9:00 graced the clock, tired from the preparation of the day and needing to get to sleep. He’d given you a hug goodnight, thanked you for coming like the gentleman he was, and that was the last you saw of him. The rest of your time there was spent on the couch with Aaron, you both held a second glass of wine, and you noticed it manifest in the blush on his face. He was gorgeous, and you were staring. You know your eyes went to his lips a couple times as he spoke, low and rougher as the time ushered more light out of the sky. You saw his eyes slip down a few times too, this sort of unspoken, agonizing rule of look don’t touch. He’d walked you to the door, thanked you for your attendance, and then you were leaving. Sitting in your car, warm on the inside from both his presence and the anger you felt at yourself for not just kissing him. You were so incredibly needy for this - for him, and that fact just sat with you, like a raincloud constantly in a state of downpour, never letting you forget the pure fucking craving you had for him.

–

You think the start of your blackout was Morgan’s panicked voice over the speaker. You’d been stationed in your typical hut, equipped with medical gear and waiting on someone to need you. It was almost never your team in need of service, typically you were tending to an injured hostage or sometimes the unsub themselves, but never your friends. Your breath had been baited since you’d heard the gun go off. You knew the case was dealing with an aggressive attacker, you’d been expecting a fight, but nothing is ever more excruciating than waiting to hear who the shot was meant for. Derek crying out your name followed by a “get in here. Hotch is down, we need you in here.” had you ready to run the soles of your shoes down to dust just to make it in time. In time. God, in time for what? You’d ran past Emily and Rossi hauling out the unsub, anger evident in their treatment of him. How bad was it? How bad had he got him to have them acting like that?

The scene was bloody. Your brain switching off and forcing you into autopilot as you registered the pool of Hotch’s blood that Morgan was kneeling in. He was putting pressure on the wound, an attempt to stop the bleeding but it was flowing like a river. He wouldn’t make it to the hospital like this, you realized. He wouldn’t make it to the fucking hospital. You were holding his life in between your hands right now, the slightest tremor could sever that chord and you were feeling the pressure hard. Aaron was leaned against the wall, slumping down slightly which was only making the bleeding increase under the internal pressure.

You looked at Morgan, putting on the bravest face you could muster and effectively seizing control of the situation. “Morgan.” You got his attention quickly. “On three I need you to lift him away from the wall. I need to check for an exit wound.” He just nodded, doing exactly as you’d told him when you reached three. You checked the area, finding an exit wound in nearly the same spot. It’d been a straight line. You sighed in relief. Thank fucking God. “Ok, Morgan, I need you to put pressure on the wound on his back. I’m going to stitch the front to give us the time we need for the hospital drive but I need you to hold it. You got me?”

He nodded once. “I got it.” He moved his hand from the front to the back, Aaron wincing at the switch.

You took out the numbing cream from your pack, knowing it wouldn’t do much for a gushing bullet wound but hoping it would at least quell the sting of a needle. You took out the needle, threading it with hands frighteningly stagnant as the adrenaline gave you tunnel vision. You had to save him. “Aaron.” You looked at him as you prepped his skin for the procedure. “I’m gonna need to double stitch this, and it’s gonna hurt like hell. I need you to stay with me.”

The man just nodded, exhaling in exhaustion. “Do it.”

You worked as quickly as possible, gaining hope as you listened to the ambulance approach. “There you go.” You said under your breath, at this point you couldn’t tell if you were reassuring him or yourself. You looked to Morgan, who was still sealing the other injury. “Help me get him up. Keep your hand on there. These stitches are gonna give us twenty minutes tops. Hold his shoulders straight and walk quickly.” You counted again, both of you rising when you hit three, taking the man with you. The walk to the ambulance was the longest of your life. Aaron was clinging to his consciousness but you knew he was losing grip. Finally getting him to the stretcher and slamming the doors was a relief like nothing else. There was no time to debate anyone else going, you rushed him in and sat right down beside him, taking off almost immediately after. The bleeding had slowed, and your hand took the place of Morgan’s on his back. Since he was laying down, his full weight was on it, and you felt the circulation lessen more and more as it remained there. You couldn’t care less, you’d let the blood drain from your entire arm if it meant Aaron’s survival. He hadn’t passed out, which you thought was miraculous, simply walked the line of decently delirious. Groaning under his breath at every slight bump in the road.

“Why am I always having to save you Hotchner men?” You knew now wasn’t the time to be humorous, but you would have done anything to deviate from the tears in your eyes, the ball in your throat. You finally understood why it was frowned upon to date coworkers - it should be illegal to care this much.

“I don’t know, honey.” The pet name was the kicker, allowing a tear to break the dam and roll down your cheek as he chuckled. “You seem to be pretty damn good at it, though.” You laughed too, fighting the devastation you felt at the sight of him with the fact that he was clearly well enough to still be joking. “I should have kissed you when you came for dinner.”

Fuck. “Aaron, now is not the time.” You chuckled slightly as more tears fell. This is absurd.

“I know but-” He flinched as the ambulance hit another bump. Almost there. “I might as well say it now.” You wondered if there was genuinely something wrong with him. “You’ve been all I can think about since the moment-'' He paused to breathe slightly in exertion, you giving a disapproving look as his confession took it’s toll. “since the moment you started, you know that?”

“You are dying! Please, for the love of God, Aaron. Use this energy to prevent that from happening.” Your scolding was dramatic, but your actual concern shone brightly through your ruse of sarcasm.

“Exactly.” He was being equally as sarcastic. How on Earth did he manage this with a rapidly declining life force. “Give a dying man a chance. How unfortunate would it be if the last thing I hear before I go out is the woman of my dreams rejecting me?”

“Jesus Christ.” You shook your head in pure amazement. This was by far the most goal oriented man you’d ever met. “I’ll let you take me out if you shut the hell up and save your energy.” He smiled, letting his head hit the reclined back of the stretcher. “After you get better.” You added, reminding him that his recovery took priority. “Deal?”

“Deal.” This was probably the most insufferable man you’d ever met. “Such a good motivator.”

Scratch that. Most insufferable man ever.

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lucvly · 10 months

Text

— boyfriend headcannons with matt. ⸰ 𖥔 ͙

warnings: the usual !! sfw and nsfw parts. not proofread my bad.

a/n: i love reqs helppp 😣 working on another one which actually involves writing as we Speak !! i had to reupload this because i forgot tags SORRY anon 💔

— this man is obsessed with you. literally doesn’t even find any other women attractive. he has the biggest heart eyes for you it’s insane.

— adores hyping you up on instagram. he’s the type to reply “alr i saw it you can take it down now !!” when you post a story. your posts are filled with comments from him.

— he’s an absolute sucker for grand gestures. asked you to be his girlfriend by decorating your room with balloons !! goes all out on your anniversary (buys you a dress, gets you new jewelry, etc.)

— loves to color coordinate with you. whenever you two are going out or just seeing each other he calls you to match outfits. he thinks it’s the cutest (+ chris and nick tease him sooo bad for it)

— always gets you your go-to drinks. you’ll mention an iced latte once and he’s getting one for you every single day !! he’s so cute bye

— secretly loves it when you take pictures of him like a soccer mom LMAOO. he thinks it’s the cutest thing ever. you love taking pictures of him doing literally anything: driving, doing laundry, etc.

— loves sleeping on call with you. he absolutely adores hearing you rant about your day. + sleeping on call together him while he’s on tour and misses you so badly !! half of the call is just him complaining about how much he wishes he could see your face and kiss you.

— he may whine about how you’re stealing all his clothes and hoodies but secretly loves watching you in them.

— him driving is sooo attractive. he’s such a gentleman ughhh. this man will get out of the car and open the door for you, leans over and buckles your seatbelt, + always has his hand on your thigh.

— always kissing you. forehead kisses, neck kisses, cheek kisses, etc.

— soo good at comforting and reassuring you. he’s such a sweetheart it’s sickening !!!

— your personal driver. it’s 3 am and you wanna go out? call him and he’ll be there in 5. you’re drunk at a party and need a ride? your boyfriend’s there.

— replies to your texts at lightning speed it’s sooo embarrassing but cute !!

— updates you on everything that happens throughout his day.

— nsfw below!

— anytime you kiss him it ends up in a heated ass make out session. your hands softly pulling on his hair, his hands gripping your waist as you ever so slightly grind on his hardening cock !! lollll !!

— he leans more towards the gentler side in bed. cute pet names, makes it All about you and your pleasure– (though he loves it when you give him head).

— howeverrrr, he can definitely get mean during sex. i’m talking manhandling, shoving your face into the pillow, dirty talk. (“too big— i can’t–,” “i don’t care, you can take it. i’ll make it fit.”)

— loves it when you overstimulate him. it’s his favorite thing ever. have fun watching him squirm, hearing him moan and whimper your name.

— begs you to sit on his lap. he adores it. stroking your hair, kissing your neck, his hands on your waist as he tries his hardest to not grind his hips up or simply just fuck you senseless.

— he’s vocal. whimpering out loud, begging, groaning, grunting. all of it.

— extremely good at aftercare. he’ll immediately clean you up, get a bottle of water for you, cuddle, talk, anything you want and he’s completely at your service.

— he’s such a secret pervert !!! cannot see you in a skirt because he’s already hard. showing a bit of cleavage? hard. sees you in a bathing suit? it is over for him. he needs you.

— cockwarming him while he’s gaming <333. he’s all for it. one time you two made a bet that consisted on making the other crack first. spoiler alert: you ended up with your moans being muffled by a pillow because you just couldn’t let him finish his game, could you?

#lucvly #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo fluff #matt sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x you #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo imagine #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo x reader

2K notes · View notes

a-lexia11 · 22 days

Note

Is it weird that I want to know Leah's POV from Part 2? Like, what's going on in her head? What's with her reactions? Thank you for a beautiful fic, by the way. Keep on writing!

Ask and you shall receive.

In the original version of the story, I had included Leah’s POV, but I decided to remove it to concentrate more on the reader’s emotions and perspective.

But since you asked so kindly, here’s the version with only Leah’s point of view.

(Btw thank you for the compliments, I appreciate it🫶🫶)

Full of love (Leah’s POV)

Part 1

Leah Williamson x reader(past)

Alexia Putellas x reader

———————-

Ending things with Y/N was, without a doubt, one of the most difficult decisions I've ever made, but deep down, I knew it was necessary.

The love I once felt for her had faded, and I couldn’t ignore the growing unhappiness in our relationship any longer. It wasn’t fair to either of us to continue pretending.

Looking back, I have to admit that the way I handled it was far from right. I should have been honest with her sooner.

Instead, I distanced myself, ignoring her and, in doing so, only caused her more pain. When she told me she deserved better, she was absolutely right. She deserved so much more than the half-hearted efforts I was giving her.

Y/N was truly one of the kindest and most selfless people I’ve ever known. She had a way of making everyone around her feel loved and valued, and I was no exception.

Those five years we spent together weren’t just filled with good memories—they were some of the best years of my life. I was deeply in love with her, and she brought me so much happiness during that time.

But somewhere along the line, something changed. I don’t even know exactly when or why it happened, but I fell out of love with her.

It was one of the most painful realizations I've ever faced.

This was the woman I once dreamed of marrying, of building a life with. I imagined us having children together, growing old side by side. But as much as I wanted those things, I couldn’t force the feelings that just weren’t there anymore.

The break up was devastating, not just for her but for me as well. It felt like I was tearing apart everything we had built. Yet, in a way, it was also a relief.

It was like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders because I was finally being honest—with her and with myself.

I wasn’t living a lie anymore, and I wasn’t continuing to hurt her by pretending everything was okay.

So, while it was the hardest decision I've ever made, it was also the right one.

Y/N deserves to be with someone who loves her wholeheartedly, and even though it hurt to let go, I hope that by doing so, I’ve allowed her the chance to find that happiness again.

——

It’s been four months since Y/N and I broke up, and during that time, she has meticulously avoided me.

It’s as if she’s made it her mission to steer clear of any interaction, as if even the slightest chance of crossing paths is something she desperately wants to avoid.

Watching her like this has been incredibly painful for me. I can see the depth of her unhappiness, and it’s crushing to know that I’m the cause of it.

The once vibrant spark in her eyes has completely faded, leaving them dull and distant. It’s a stark contrast to the person she used to be, and I feel a deep sense of regret for what I’ve done.

Her attempts to appear happy around our teammates are painfully transparent. To others, her smile might seem genuine, but I know better. I can see through the façade she’s putting on.

There’s a heaviness in her expressions, and the joy that used to accompany her presence is now absent. It’s clear that she’s not truly happy, despite her best efforts to project otherwise.

It’s heart-wrenching to witness her struggle while knowing that I’m the reason for her suffering.

We were gathered in the meeting room, a place that usually buzzed with discussion and camaraderie.

Today, however, it was different. Jonas gave a subtle sign to Y/N, who stood up from her seat, her movements betraying her nervousness.

She walked over to stand next to him, her posture tense and her hands clasped tightly together.

When she finally spoke, her voice wavering. “I want to let you all know that I’ve decided to leave Arsenal and join Barcelona,” she announced, her words hanging heavily in the air.

The shock hit me like a physical blow. I couldn’t process the reality of her departure. The idea of Y/N leaving Arsenal—leaving me—was inconceivable.

My mind raced, but I found myself utterly speechless. The room fell into a stunned silence, the usual hum of conversations replaced by a heavy stillness as everyone absorbed the unexpected news.

I saw Y/N glance my way, and in that moment, she caught the full extent of my shock. Her eyes were filled with a mixture of sadness and resolve, and it was clear she was aware of the impact her decision was having on me.

Beth began speaking to Y/N, but her words seemed distant and muffled as I struggled to process what was happening.

The noise of the room, the soft murmur of conversations, all faded into the background.

One by one, the other girls began to rise from their seats, moving toward Y/N to offer her hugs and words of support.

Their gestures were heartfelt, and they tried to provide comfort, but I remained rooted in my chair, unable to bring myself to join them.

I felt a profound sense of helplessness and disbelief, paralyzed by the gravity of the situation and the sudden void that Y/N’s departure represented.

“Leah,” I heard a soft voice, calling out for me

I looked up, her eyes meeting mine, and I rose from my seat, moving closer. “Y/N, you can’t just leave. Arsenal is your home, your family. We’re your family,” I said, my voice trembling.

“I know,” she murmured. “But you need to understand that I can’t heal here. Not with you here and the memories of us everywhere I turn. It feels like a huge part of me vanished when we broke up. Arsenal no longer feels like home; something has fundamentally changed. I’m not happy here anymore, and I need to address that. I can’t just stay and be miserable.”

Tears welled up in my eyes, and I quickly blinked them away, “Are you leaving because of me? We can still be close, even if we’re not together. I can still make you happy as a friend. You don’t have to leave.” I begged her desperately.

She gently took my hand, squeezing it reassuringly. “Staying friends will only complicate things for me, Leah. I want you to know that I will always care about you, but this is something I have to do for myself. I need to find a way to move forward.”

I nodded slowly, my voice barely audible. “I understand. But that doesn’t make it any easier.”

“It won’t be easy for me either,” Y/N admitted,“But I genuinely believe it’s the right choice.”

I remained standing in silence for what felt like an eternity, overwhelmed by a flood of memories and emotions.

My mind kept replaying the moments we had shared, the laughter and challenges, the bond we had built over time.

The realization that she was leaving for another country and joining a different club hit me hard. The weight of it all was crushing.

Finally, I broke the silence with a sigh. “When are you leaving?”

“End of the season,” she said quietly. “I want to make sure I finish things here properly, give it the closure it deserves.”

i just nodded sadly“Okay. I suppose… I’ll see you on the pitch.” I simply said and walked away.

Being around her was excruciating, knowing that she would soon be leaving. It was a constant reminder of the impending separation and the emotions I was struggling to keep in check.

I had to remind myself not to be selfish, even though it hurt to see her in pain.

Despite the fact that my feelings for her had changed and I no longer loved her in the way I once did, my care for her remained profound.

I wanted her to find happiness, even if that meant her leaving and starting anew.

Seeing her unhappy was unbearable, and if moving to another country and joining a new club was what she needed to feel fulfilled, then I had to accept that.

——

I saw Y/N again at her farewell party, but I made sure to keep my distance, avoiding her as much as possible.

I wasn’t keen on attending in the first place, but Lia had insisted, arguing that it would be disrespectful not to be there with the entire team.

From where I stood, I watched her quietly. Despite the sadness of the occasion, she appeared a bit more radiant tonight.

Maybe the anticipation of her new journey was lifting her spirits, providing a sense of excitement that was hard to miss.

As the evening wound down and people started to drift away, I felt a heavy weight in my chest. I refrained from hugging her, knowing that if I did, I would likely dissolve into tears.

Instead, I gave her a brief, gentle pat on the shoulder and offered a simple, “Good luck,” before turning and walking away.

It was a difficult moment, and I knew that this might be the last time I’d see her for a considerable period.

The reality of our separation felt almost unbearable, and I wanted to leave before my emotions got the better of me.

——

Today, I’m in Barcelona, visiting Keira after a long time apart. It’s great to reconnect with my best friend, and I’m looking forward to catching up.

However, being in Barcelona also means I’m bound to see Y/N, especially since Keira invited me to join her and some of the Barça team at a bar tonight.

The thought of seeing Y/N again brings a swirl of emotions.

When Y/N joined Barcelona, I asked Keira to give me updates on Y/N. I was hoping to hear that she was thriving and happy.

Keira, at one point, mentioned that Y/N had become close with Alexia Putellas, which made my heart skip a beat.

It stirred up feelings I hadn’t anticipated, a mix of curiosity and something deeper that I couldn't quite place.

When I arrived at the bar, I took a moment to scan the room, searching for Keira. That’s when I spotted Y/N, and I was struck by how beautiful she looked.

Barcelona seemed to have suited her well; she had a glow about her that I hadn’t seen in a while. Alexia was beside her, her arm resting comfortably around Y/N’s shoulders.

It was a familiar sight, one that reminded me of how I used to hold her similarly when we’d go out with our teammates.

As I made my way toward Y/N, my nerves were on edge. She noticed me, as did Alexia. I watched as Alexia leaned in, speaking softly to Y/N. I saw Y/N nodding, and then Alexia placed a tender kiss on Y/N’s forehead.

It was a gesture that resonated deeply with me, reminding me of the affectionate moments we had shared.

Seeing this intimate display stirred a mix of nostalgia and regret, leaving me to navigate the complex emotions swirling within me as I approached them.

“Y/N,” I said, my voice shaking a little. “It’s good to see you.”

“You too, Leah,” she replied, her tone light. “How’s London?”

God,I missed the sound of her voice.

“It’s… London,” I said with a small smile,“How about you? Barcelona seems to suit you.”

“It really does” she admitted. “I love it here. The city, the team… everything.”

I glanced around, taking in the lively atmosphere. “I can see why. It’s beautiful.”

A brief silence fell between us, and the unspoken tension was palpable.

I could hardly believe that, after all these months, she was standing right in front of me. It felt like seeing her again for the first time.

“So… Alexia?” I asked tentatively but curiously,“You two seem close.”

Y/N glanced over at Alexia, who was chatting with Keira but I noticed that Alexia still kept an eye on Y/N, looking her way every once in a while. Y/N nodded. “Yeah, we’re dating.”

When those words came out of her mouth, I felt a slight tightening in my face, a physical reaction to the reality of the situation.

I had been prepared for this; Keira had given me a heads-up, but hearing it directly from Y/N made it all the more tangible and impactful.

I struggled to grasp why I was experiencing such intense emotions—jealousy and envy—despite my belief that my feelings for her had faded.

I had convinced myself that I was no longer in love with her, or at least that’s what I had tried to believe.

Yet, seeing her now, so vibrant and full of life, stirred something deep within me. Her smile, her laughter, the way she spoke—it all evoked memories of the Y/N I had once loved so deeply.

It was as if the past had resurfaced, and I was reminded of the affection and longing that still lay dormant inside me.

The realization hit hard: perhaps I hadn’t truly moved on; perhaps, on some level, I was still very much in love with her.

I forced a smile. “That’s… that’s great. I’m happy for you, Y/N. Really.”

“Thanks,” she said softly. “She’s… different. It feels right.”

I looked down, my fingers tracing the edge of her glass. “I’m glad you found someone who makes you happy.”

I’m genuinely glad that she’s found someone who makes her happy—Alexia clearly brings her joy.

However, I won’t pretend that I don’t wish I were still the one who could bring her that happiness.

“Um… how about you? Have you found someone?” She asked, her voice filled with curiosity.

“Um… not yet,” I responded quietly, almost in a whisper. “I’m trying to put myself out there again, but it’s been challenging.”

It’s been incredibly challenging for me because, with every date I’ve been on, I find myself constantly comparing the other girls to you. None of them have come close to matching the unique qualities that you have. Each time, I’m reminded of how special you are, and it makes me realize just how irreplaceable you are… you were in my life.

But you don’t need to know that.

Y/N nodded understandingly, and offered me a gentle smile “I’m confident you’ll find someone, Leah. You’re an incredible person, and anyone would be lucky to have you in their life,” she said encouragingly.

I genuinely valued her words, but they don’t reflect the truth. I don’t see myself as an incredible person.

Someone truly incredible wouldn’t have caused such deep hurt that someone had to leave the country, nor would they have given up on the love of their life.

As the conversation lulled, Alexia got closer to Y/N and gently touch her back, and send me a smile.

“Leah, it was really good to see you,” Y/N said. “I hope you enjoy the rest of your time here.”

“Yeah,” I replied, forcing a smile. “It was good to see you too, Y/N.”

She gave me a small wave before turning back to Alexia, who immediately wrapped her arm around Y/N’s waist, pulling her close in a tender, intimate gesture.

From where I stood, I could see the way Y/N looked at Alexia—her eyes brimming with genuine love and affection, mirroring the way Alexia gazed at her. It was a beautiful and heartwarming sight to witness, and it was evident that Y/N truly deserved this kind of happiness.

Alexia was treating her with a tenderness and care that I had failed to provide, making Y/N's joy and contentment unmistakable.

As I observed them, a deep, lingering part of me acknowledged that I still harbored feelings for Y/N. It was a painful realization, compounded by the knowledge that I had hurt her profoundly. I had driven her away, and now she was finding solace and affection in someone else’s arms.

The finality of it all hit hard—I lost her forever. I couldn’t help but second-guess whether ending our relationship had been the right choice.

Seeing her so happy with someone else made me question whether I had made the biggest mistake of my life.

No, it’s not a question it’s a fact, I made the biggest mistake of my life.

#woso community #woso #woso soccer #woso appreciation #women’s football #woso x reader #fcb femení #leah williamson #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas x reader #woso one shot #leah williamson x reader #leah williamson imagines

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callie-the-creator · 9 months

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being bigby wolf’s mate would include… (sfw and nsfw)

nsfw below the cut. mdni. warnings: tried to make the reader as gender-neutral as possible, mentions of jealousy, creampie, heat cycles, aggressive smut, biting, etc.

author’s note: i cannot wait for the second game to be released. i’m so excited! 💗

sfw:

• you are one of bluebeard’s ex-partners, having escaped him and avoided decapitation in the old days. sadly though, you didn’t get to meet bigby when he was in his prime— only heard stories and legends about him— until you along with all the other fables moved from the homelands to the mundy world.

— more specifically, you were brought into questioning since you knew a thing or two about brutality against women (which is exactly what was happening with the working girls at the pudding & pie, like faith) and you helped snow and bigby’s investigation at times…

• that’s how you two acquainted yourselves.

• it should also go without saying that you are filthy rich and since you’ve grown an attachment to sheriff bigby, you came to find out that he lives in the smallest apartment in the woodlands, you’ve invited him over to your place countless times at the beginning of your relationship so he can get out of that crowded space and sleep in an actual bed.

— that and colin can be a real pain in the ass. it’s good for bigby to be away from him, even if it is for a few days.

• bigby always found you to be attractive. it was a bit part of your fairytale back in the homelands, but he tried not to show his attraction toward you…but it was hard for others not to pick on the big bad wolf after they see him tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, helping you out of cars, holding doors for you, having a special soft spot for you, all sorts of chivalrous shit.

• you two ended up being a thing a few days after the investigation about faith and the crooked man came to an end. more specifically, you were outside with bigby when all of a sudden you were pushed by a mundy and you lost your footing. luckily, bigby was able to catch you and pull you close to him, cursing the blatant rudeness of the mundy, under his breath before checking up on you to see if you were okay.

— then, what followed was you two looking deeply into one another’s eyes before you wrapped a hand around bigby’s tie and pulled him closer, kissing the sheriff.

nsfw:

• i want to say that bigby’s libido is average. nothing too unbearable, but as soon as spring rolls around, it does a complete 180° and bigby becomes the epitome of needy.

— during this time, he can be a bit rough, he gets way more animalistic than usual and there are times when bigby takes a brief vacation from work just so he can pound you all day, leaving you unable to walk on your own.

— his favorite thing to do is to put you into a mating press, so he can penetrate you deeper as he fills your hole with his cum. the alternative, of course, is him mounting you.

• he always wants to be able to mark you, in some way, whether that be by leaving bite/scratch marks all over your body or hickeys. it’s bigby’s way of telling the world that you’re already taken and satisfied sexually.

• it’s hard to hide whenever you’re in the mood from bigby because of how strong his sense of smell is. once he catches a whiff of your arousal, he almost loses all strength in his body, his mouth watering, but if he’s in a public setting, it takes every fiber of his being to go against of his instincts and you know the power you hold over him at times like this because of the way bigby stares at you, raptured with barely contained lust.

• it’s only when bigby regains his senses, he apologizes for being so rough on you (he is scared that because of how rough he can be, he’s a terrible mate and you’ll want to leave him for someone better). soooo…he tries his hardest to make it up to you by doing whatever you want him to, amping up his arm, and overall being super gentle and sweet.

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sempersirens · 2 months

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yes, chef | part four

one | two | three

masterlist

this is their song sorry i don't make the rules (yes i do) summary: eight years have passed since you walked out of joel miller's kitchen, now you have your own restaurant in new york city. you're a household name, respected within your own right - but some ghosts are harder to shake than others. pairing: no-outbreak!au, chef!joel x f!reader content/warnings (spoilers): no outbreak, no use of y/n, alcohol consumption, mention of food, pure angst, arguing, swearing, unspecified age gap, cheating if you squint, joel is a prick who can't regulate his emotions, character death.

Fuckin' useless.

You plan on fuckin' your way to the top there too?

You're useless.

Dawn hadn't quite broken yet.

The rattle of the subway shook you loose from the claws of that familiar memory; the one you had to fight during any moment of stillness.

Ladies swallowed by wool scarves and labourers with chins tucked into the necks of their coats littered the seats of the carriage.

You'd hoped the years would ease the drowning; that distance and time would singe away the nerve endings that pricked up at any hint of a Texan accent.

No such luck. The best you could do was filter out any articles including the words chef and Joel Miller on your social media and news apps.

Your apartment was a cosy one-bed in Williamsburg. Most nights you woke reaching for a phantom warmth that your fingers could never find; nails clawing at your fitted sheet in frustration when all you could grasp was cotton. You were grateful for the omnipresent city traffic that lulled you back to sleep.

The first year was the hardest.

He had become a ghost story, haunting you in each sip of coffee or raised voice in the street. You hated yourself for craving his temper; you would've killed to feel the heat pricking at your skin as he barked orders at you.

You missed the games you had played to stay his little secret. Swallowing his poison, letting it decay your self-worth, just so you could be his.

But it was never enough. You were never enough.

"This is an M-line service. The next station is Broadway-Lafayette."

Rising from your seat, you gently shook your head from side to side.

Enough, you thought, inhaling slowly as the doors parted.

Enough.

Only January in New York could rouse gratitude for the stuffy microclimate of the subway. You'd never get used to that first gust of winter air; the one that reddens the tips of your ears before you even have the chance to acclimatise to street level.

It was different here.

Temperature aside, your days were no longer spent walking on a raised edge, willing yourself to remain balanced. For too long, you'd laid blankets over thorn bushes and convinced yourself it was a good enough place to rest your head.

There was pressure; no kitchen worth its Himalayan salt could function without it. But at every blind corner hands were reaching out to steady you, and you them.

It was nice. You were happy - or content, at the very least.

And even if you weren't happy, you only ever had enough hours in the day to clamour your way through service. You hadn't dealt in anything as trivial as love - if you could even call it that - since you'd turned your back on Texas.

It was a short walk from the subway to the restaurant. The streets were mostly empty this early but rushing had become second nature since moving to the city.

A food critic from the New York Times was due to be dining sometime this week, but last night an "unofficial source" you'd fooled around with in college had texted you a heads-up to be on top form this afternoon.

You'd heeded the warning with a smirk; you were always on top form.

Morning beat on with the usual trepidation of pre-service; menus drafted and re-drafted until you were satisfied; table settings scrutinised under three different levels of lighting; reservations checked, then double-checked, for any notable guests. There was nothing left to perfect by the time you opened your doors for lunch.

Your kitchen was a sanctuary of praise and encouragement; only the best went out to the pass, but you did so without raising your voice at even the most tedious mistakes.

"Sauce has congealed, chef. You need to start again, please." You smiled tightly at your sous-chef who repeated your request with a nod.

Allergy notices and orders merged with the sizzling of fish on the griddle pan in a swift symphony. You bit back a smile at the chaos, content with submerging yourself in the music of the kitchen for the rest of your days.

"Chef, one of the guests would like to speak with you." Tom, your newest front-of-house hire, called from the pass.

"Me? Now?" You replied dumbfounded.

"Yeah, he's just had the prosciutto and spinach scallops. Kind of old, Southern, I think."

A familiar feeling pooled in your gut.

"Thanks, Tom. I'll go see what he wants." Untying your apron, you took a deep breath in.

All eyes were fixed on you. Sabrina, your sous-chef, took your apron from your damp palms and rested a hand between your shoulder blades. Sweat beaded at the base of your neck.

"Give him hell. Who even reads the New York Times, anyway?"

A few low hoots echoed around the kitchen as you pushed your shoulders back and made your way toward the dining room.

Your facade melted as soon as you saw him. It infuriated you that he hadn't changed a bit. Only, grey framed his face more prominently now.

Everything else was perfectly the same.

"Joel." You breathed, hovering over the empty chair opposite him.

His face relaxed - not quite into a smile, it was something you'd never been able to put your finger on.

That's what infuriated you about him the most, you thought, you could never quite get him underneath your thumb. He would never give you the privilege.

"New menu each day, huh? Sounds like something I'd do."

"Is that it?" You choked, fighting to keep your voice low and expression neutral. It was so easy for him to get a rise out of you, he didn't even need to try.

"You think I'd come all this way t'just tell you that?"

Before a retort could form around your tongue, you noticed the band on his left ring finger.

You could've been sick there and then.

His gaze met yours, realisation setting into the creases in his forehead.

"I have a kitchen to run. Congratulations, Joel." You managed to murmur before tripping into the still kitchen, hot tears burning in the corner of your eyes.

"So?" Sabrina pressed, evidently expecting what should've been a run-in with the critic.

"Wasn't him." Was the only explanation you could muster.

You excused yourself, leaving the slow mechanics of service to resume in your absence. Clutching your stomach, you pushed your way out into the bite of the afternoon chill.

Had he come all this way to flash that thing in your face? To show you how much better his life had turned out in your absence? Even after all these years, was he still punishing you for daring to love him?

You laughed aloud at nothing, breath forming in puffs of condensation before your face. Of course you'd loved him; you still did.

Eight years of keeping yourself busy enough to forget the smell of his chest, the pressure of his lips against your temple in the middle of the night.

You had searched for the giddy intoxication of his presence in everything you did; working yourself to the bone in some sick, futile desire to replicate the knots in your stomach only he could tie.

All the while he'd moved on and settled down with someone he didn't have to hide.

You were useless, after all.

For the remainder of the day, you'd done your best to subside the embarrassment burning through your bloodstream.

The New York Times critic had arrived shortly after you'd attempted some form of composure; Sabrina had stalled her by talking about the weather while you perfected your illusion of a sane, tempered woman in the reflection of a saucepan.

Compared to your encounter with Joel, the magazine meeting was a breeze. Joel Miller may have crushed your self-worth, but over your dead body would you let him ruin this too.

Once all surfaces were wiped down and stoves cooled off for the night, you finally pulled on your coat and made for the exit. It took a few polite declines to join the others at a bar nearby to celebrate surviving the review, but you finally managed to wriggle out of the social obligation.

You saw the staff off, encouraging them to have a drink for you, before finally locking up.

"S'dangerous walking home alone this time of night." You froze, your back to him still.

Using all willpower, you kept your movements steady and unfazed as you twisted the key in the lock.

Fuck, you silently cursed yourself. Don't cry. Don't give him the satisfaction.

"I'm not walking. I get the subway."

Joel leaned against the low wall opposite the restaurant, his hands idly resting in the pockets of his thick corduroy jacket.

"Your wife not wondering where you've gotten to?" You'd spoken before you could stop yourself.

He cleared his throat, breaking his gaze on you.

"She's back in Austin. M'here on business, she, uh - she couldn't travel with the little one."

"Jesus." You laughed in despair. There was nothing left inside of you now. All those nights spent trying to remember the feel of his chest beneath your head, he had been making a real life for himself.

"What do you want, Joel? You getting a kick out of seeing me like this?" There was no holding back the tears that flowed freely down your cheeks. He looked like he was debating moving closer to you, brows knitted together, shaking his head softly.

"Hey," he whispered lowly. "Don't waste any tears on me, baby."

You scoffed, crossing your arms across your chest and tipping your chin toward the night sky. Joel pushed himself from the wall, closing the distance between you both.

"I loved you."

"I was never good enough for you, sweetheart." Joel smiled sadly, his hand finding a stray piece of hair to tuck behind your ear.

A sob escaped your body as you let yourself lean into his touch.

"I thought the world of you."

"You had a much bigger world to find. Look at you."

"I wanted to find it with you. Why wasn't I enough?" You hated the words tainting the cold air around you. You'd never been the type to beg a man to love you, but eight years of repressed emotion and unanswered questions had finally broken free from your bones.

"You got it all wrong, baby. I'm an old man. You deserved more than to be reduced to some housewife. Could've never had the career you do now with me holding you back."

"Don't pretend you did this for me, Joel."

Suddenly, your heart broke for the woman he had left back in Austin. His wife, the mother of his child. Is that all he saw in her?

"There was a time that I thought you were wonderful. I would hang off your every word, seek your approval in everything I fucking did. And it broke me. The day you told me I was useless - I hear it in the back of my mind every fucking day."

He was shaking his head, muttering it ain't like that softly under his breath.

"Then you come all the way to New York, to my restaurant in the middle of service, acting like you're the reason I am where I am now?"

"I was in town, thought it was the right thing to do. I wanted to see you. I-"

"It's always what you want, Joel. The doting wife. The accolade. You're pathetic. I hope your wife comes to her senses and leaves you, and for the sake of your kid, I pray they grow up to be nothing like you."

Weeks passed in flashes of numbness since Joel's fleeting visit.

For the first time in years, you slept soundly through the night. When the other chefs invited you for drinks, you accepted.

Soon, you laughed and drank too much wine without the aftermath of soaking your pillow in tears.

In moments of stillness, your voice was the only one you could hear, and it was kind. You treated yourself as you treated those around you, taking the time to care for yourself again.

The New York Times published their article on the first week of February. You arrived at the kitchen just as dawn peaked over the skyline, only to be greeted by the entirety of the kitchen staff.

That morning, expensive French champagne flowed freely and the article, written by Helen Anderson, was framed and hung above the door to the kitchen. The headline read:

A New Precedent Is Set In Greenwich Village.

The day fluttered by in flurries of pride, each other ringing through the kitchen with a joyful urgency. Phones buzzed frantically from pockets, messages of congratulations you would pick up after service.

At around 12pm, the UPS delivery man arrived at the back of the kitchen, holding out a tablet for a signature for a bouquet of flowers resting against the doorway.

"Chef of the hour, these are for you!" Sabrina skipped through the kitchen, blue hydrangeas and gypsophila outstretched toward you.

You cradled the bouquet before setting them down in your cupboard of an office. A small, cream card poked out of the side of the arrangement. Messy handwriting scrawled across both inner sides of the folded card.

Sweetheart,

I'm sorry I never found the words to tell you how I feel. I'm a miserable old man who's smoked too many cigarettes and never known a good thing in front of me.

You never needed me, but I needed you. I'll never forget the first time you walked into my kitchen. I'm a coward, and I should've told you I loved you all those years ago.

I'm sorry for treating you the way I did. I know I'm in no position to ask any favours, but please don't make the mistakes I did. Hell, you're too intelligent to live as foolishly as I did, anyway.

Hope you don't mind, Helen is a friend of mine. Told me a couple of days ago how your place is the best she's eaten in New York since Bourdain. Wanted to make sure these arrived on time; God knows I never could've.

Yours,

Joel

You wiped at your eyes with the back of your hand, desperately rummaging around in your pocket for your phone.

Amidst the excitement of the morning, you had entirely neglected the copious buzzing of messages and alerts. Unlocking your phone, your eyes glazed over the most recent notification on your home screen:

Time Magazine Michelin chef, Joel Miller, dies at Austin home aged 57.

#fic: yes chef #joel miller x reader #joel miller tlou #joel miller #joel tlou #joel x reader #hbo the last of us #the last of us #tlou fanfiction #tlou au #tlou #tlou fic #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us hbo #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal #ppcu fanfiction #ppcu #chef!joel

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novy2sirius · 4 months

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Vietnamese Astrology Traits

• Remember that enemy signs are still fatally attracted to one another but will not last in the long run and things between them could end badly. The matrix tries to set you up and leeches off your emotional energy which is why it sets you up for failure in some cases

• Your numerology is also important and may overpower some of your astrology traits. The negative traits will only apply if you’re at a lower vibration in life

Vietnamese Signs

The Rat: favored by the matrix, if anyone hurts them the matrix will come after them, intelligent when it comes to how they navigate life, adapts to surroundings quickly, most likely to gain wealth (second to the goat, pig, and cat trine), determined, lively, manipulative, will leave out parts of stories where they did something bad, greedy, stubborn, always nervous

The Ox/buffalo: grounded, often comedians, one of the least sexual signs unless they’re born under 1/5/9 energy, loyal, leaders, lots of willpower, strong, dependable, stubborn, blunt, gaslights a lot, can be violent, communicates poorly, too judgmental of others, petty

The Tiger: masculine, good health (unless numerology goes against this), sexiest sign, good fighters/strong, strong/muscular build/fitness model body, good at body building, go getters, smooth talkers, born leader, age gracefully, they have it the hardest in the usa (the usa was founded in their enemy sign year which is the year of the monkey), most likely to cheat (especially the men), childlike temper tantrums, know it alls, aggressive

The Cat: easily understands people/natural psychologist, observant, great designers, kind, creative, stealthy, quick witted, good chess players, third smartest sign, strong money maker, shouldn’t eat eggs or chicken, pessimistic, selfish, plays lots of mind games, often insecure

The Dragon: charismatic, adventurous, intelligent with the choices they make in life, sexy, energetic, powerful, confident, masculine, great fighters, bossy, rude, complicated at times, too demanding, arrogant

The Snake: wisest sign, intuitive, seductive, calm, second most influential/persuasive sign, observant, analytical, vengeful, best liars/manipulators, holds grudges, gets jealous easily

The Horse: very hard workers (workhorses), positive, animated, energetic, warm-hearted, has it the hardest in the matrix since its enemy sign is the rat (the sign the matrix favors), stubborn, superficial, self centered, impatient, impulsive, very delusional or in denial constantly

The Goat: most likely to gain wealth other than the rat (even more than its friend signs the cat and pig), the most good looking sign, most influential/persuasive sign, nurturing/caring, romantic/flirtatious, fun energy, go with the flow, usually into both spirituality and religion (they dabble into it all), funny, high maintenance, manipulative, lazy, has a hard life, lots of anxiety, gullible, emotionally sensitive/the softest sign, needs to constantly be pampered, shouldn’t be aggressive because it ends bad

The Monkey: smartest sign, popular, funniest sign, sociable, intuitive, brave, very curious, plays games with people, selfish, liars, egotistical, untrustworthy at times, always trying to get in others business

The Rooster: confident, humorous, loyal, one track minded, passionate, independent, observant, outgoing, talkative, narcissistic, control freak, bad temper/overly aggressive at times, hypocritical, picky

The Dog: very hard working, loves attention, loyal, honest, protective of the people they love, committed to the people they love, reliable, witty, helpful, overly aggressive, exaggerates stories, stubborn at times, always paranoid

The Pig: humble, strong money maker, responsible, luckiest sign, creative, classy, foodie/food lover, they love sex, tolerant, intelligent, friendly, easily influenced by others, promiscuous, overly materialistic, laziest sign, second most likely sign to cheat, naive, overly emotional, flaky

Vietnamese Elements

Metal: always looks out for loved ones, perseverant, independent, must create their own success, enjoys their freedom, enjoys comfort, stubborn, wants a romantic partner that they can control, too demanding at times, stubborn

Water: creative, intuitive, sensitive, adaptive, empathetic, sympathetic, gains others trust easily, likable, talkative, everyone feels special around them, tries to hard to make everyone around them feel happy which can lead to sadness, people follow their lead, influences others minds easily, passive aggressive, emotionally manipulative

Wood: optimistic, open minded, good at socializing, active, confident, organized, family oriented, good marriage partner, good friends/colleagues, gets attached quickly, always improving as a person, overworks themselves, passive aggressive, gullible

Fire: ambitious, determined, leader, strong, seductive, attracts people to them easily, enthusiastic, very giving in relationships, inspires others easily, affectionate, adventurous, competitive, optimistic, always stresses, impatient, gets mad quick

Earth: wise, patient, loyal, trustworthy, perfectionist, stable, always makes challenging sacrifices for others, good at giving advice, serious, goes based on logic rather than emotions, controlling

#vietnamese astrology #vietnamese astrology notes #vietnamese #astrology #astrology blog #astrology chart #birth chart #astrology community #astro community

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art · 2 years

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Creator Spotlight: @tinypaint

My name is Michelle Fus. I’m a Jewish, non-binary artist. I graduated from the School of Visual Arts for Computer Art and Animation in 2011. I’ve interned at Pixar and worked for a few years at Dreamworks Animation. Over the past ten years, I’ve self-published two books and have run three successful Kickstarters. I now work with Skybound (The Walking Dead, Invincible) in developing my webcomic, Ava’s Demon, as a physical book series for stores. I like hiking, cultivating plants, caring for my cats, and hanging out with my beautiful husband. You can read my webcomic at avasdemon.com.

Check out our interview with Michelle below!

How did you get your start in art, and more specifically, with Ava's Demon?

I’ve always been into art since I was very young. I started to gravitate towards it in first grade, where we were required to keep a daily journal. I found myself drawing in it more than actually keeping entries. From there, I got more and more interested in honing my skills as an artist. I started making my own comics for fun. I signed up for classes outside of school and put together a portfolio for the School of Visual Arts, where I majored in Computer Art and Animation. After getting my first job in the field, I realized that it wasn’t what I wanted to do with my life. After working my day job, I would come home and work towards building a career in comics for myself by creating and uploading my webcomic, Ava’s Demon.

What is one habit you find yourself doing a lot as an artist?

Looking things up to learn more before I make art or write. For instance, how many livable planets are in a Galaxy? What does a black hole actually look like, and can it give off light? How long would it actually take to travel through space if you had the fastest ship possible? I look up all of these things and then ignore most of them for the sake of writing a fun story and making fun art.

From idea to final piece, how long does it take for you to create something?

It depends on the feeling I want to convey. Sometimes I’ll work for a whole week on a drawing and then delete it because I just don’t feel good about it. Other times I’ll make something in a day that I absolutely love from beginning to end. Some drawings I never delete nor finish, and instead, the files just kind of sit in a folder. The time it takes varies a lot.

Over the years as an artist, what were your biggest inspirations behind your creativity?

I really love good stories. So movies and books with captivating stories usually motivate and inspire me; stories that stay with you permanently, with twists and turns that you can’t stop thinking about. I also love finding characters whose struggles I can deeply relate to. I try to hold onto those feelings and emulate them through my art.

What is the hardest part of your process?

Actually finishing a drawing. The anxiety of it piles on me sometimes. I’ll work for a while on a drawing and constantly ask myself, “Is this drawing really finished? What terrible things about it am I not seeing?”. My desire to avoid making something terrible can sometimes put me in a mental prison where I keep chipping away at a drawing until I no longer know what I am looking at.

What is one interaction you had from a fan of yours that has stuck with you over the years?

In general, I like letting young artists in middle school, and high school know that I wasn’t very good at art at their age (I really wasn’t, I didn’t have the same resources they have now, and I didn’t have any perspective on what it takes to have a career in art, it’s a different world). Kids have come to me at conventions with their work for critique and advice, and I have to tell them that they’re already miles ahead of what I could make at their age. I have to tell them that it’s okay if they can’t make what all the professionals make online, to know that they have SO much time ahead of them to work at what they love. If you love making art, do it often, study art throughout history, and over time you’ll be able to create everything your heart desires.

What is something other people find hard to draw that you find enjoyable?

I have no idea. Sometimes it feels like drawing anything is suffering, even if you like what you’re making.

Who on Tumblr inspires you and why?

@loish has been consistently inspiring me since my days in high school. Every new painting has so much grace and power and is so excellent to look at. Her skill in shape and form seems limitless, and I hope to someday achieve even a small fraction of her understanding of art. Seeing her new work on my timeline also makes my dopamine spike, so I’m always looking forward to updates from her.

Thank you so much for stopping by and sharing, Michelle! Be sure to check out their Tumblr blog over at @tinypaint and follow their webcomic, Ava’s Demon, over at avasdemon.com.

#creator spotlight #artists on tumblr #webcomics #michelle fus #ava's demon

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chongoblog · 6 months

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A Moment: A Short Story

Simon had always heard about just how beautiful Zion Canyon was, especially from the end of the Angel’s Landing trail which lead to a breathtaking view over the canyon. Now that he was there, he knew in his heart that his 50 day hike was worth it. At least, he assumed that’s about how long it would have taken if time had moved a single second. The hardest part about stopping time for this long is that it was so easy to lose track of just how long it had been for him since time had moved. No clocks or watches to keep track. No day or night. It was just him wandering across the world within that one single moment.

But what a moment it was. He paused to drink in the view from the top of the trail, even if he had all the time in the world to do so. The sun was setting, bathing the wall of the canyon in a warm glow. The trees that peppered the canyon walls reached up to the orange sky, adding touches of life to the hard rock that made the gorgeous structure. In the bed of the canyon, life exploded with greater abundance, with thousands of trees and even a small town settled along the river.

While the view provided Simon a sense of peace, he felt something underneath his foot. His instincts led him to move his foot to see what had disturbed his tranquility, finding a pebble. He tried to kick it off of the steep cliff face to watch it fall, only to see the pebble remain completely unmoved. Frozen in time, just like everything else.

What good is stopping time if you can’t change anything?

The question lingered over his thoughts like a vengeful specter. This so-called “superpower” of his was a joke. When he had heard of people stopping time in movies and comics, it usually had more utility than this. The superheroes could use the time-stopping to move from one place to another instantaneously, or to perform long and arduous tasks in the blink of an eye, or even to play some kind of prank. Simon couldn’t do any of that. Everything was completely frozen in place, and time could not continue until Simon returned to where he had begun.

At least he had chosen a good moment to pause time, with the gorgeous sunset rewarding his efforts. His mother had always told him how amazing the view was from atop Angel’s Landing, since she once hiked this trail when she was his age.

He sat down atop the rock to take it all in. He had all the time in the world, after all.

—

Simon had been on plenty of nature hikes with his family when he was a child. While his father had passed away a few years ago, his mother continued to take him hiking in his stead. On almost every hike, she would say “Well the hike up is the tough part! Once you’ve seen the sights at the end, the hike back doesn’t even feel like a hike!” And while that was true for most hikes, walking all the way home from Utah to Boston still felt like a hike.

Just like the nature hikes, this trail known as “I-80” was full of wondrous sights, like the incredibly flat prairies that seemed to go on forever with nothing in sight except more highway and some power lines. However, in case he somehow got bored of stewing in his own thoughts, there were always gas stations. They weren’t exactly Niagara Falls in terms of majesty, but they were a break in the monotony, especially if he was lucky enough to catch them with the door open.

Somewhere in Iowa, he came across a cheap looking fuel stop with its door open, and decided to go check it out. After all, he had time.

The dim fluorescent lighting illuminated the small, cramped building. The fragrance of cheap corn dogs hit Simon’s nose like an unconvincing temptress, making him glad he didn’t have to eat to stay alive in frozen time. His eyes looked around to see what everyone was doing at this moment in time. The cashier was giving a customer change for a twenty, with Simon noticing that the cashier was accidentally giving the customer one too many dollar bills. The customer was paying for two bags of Funyuns, a bottle of grape soda, and a bottle of orange soda, all placed on the desk. Behind him was a young boy, who Simon couldn’t help but focus on. He was holding an ice cream cone, but the ice cream scoop was falling towards the floor.

Simon looked at the expression this kid wore on his face. It was a face of shock, surprise, pain, even grief that stared at the ice cream scoop as it fell victim to gravity. Obviously, this wasn’t going to ruin this kid’s life, but the look on the kid’s face at this precise moment told a different story. At this moment, the child felt more sorrow than could be put to words.

When Simon was walking to Zion Canyon, he had stopped here as well. He hated this child. Yes, it was a child, but someone feeling this much pain over something as trivial as ice cream sent him into a fit of rage.

Simon stared at the agony written on his face for a few minutes (or at least, a few minutes for him), and finally spoke for the first time that felt like months. “That sucks, what happened to your ice cream. I wish that I could use my power to stop this from happening to you. But I can’t.”

He crouched down, meeting the child at eye-level. “But it’s going to be okay. At this moment, you probably feel awful. But…time heals all wounds. Once I start time back up, your dad will probably offer to get you another one. Or at least, I hope he does. Until then, there’s nothing wrong with feelin’ bad over it. You just…can’t stay like that forever.”

After another few seconds, Simon sighed. “I gotta get back home. The sooner you get a new ice cream cone, the better.” He stood up, and left the store, continuing his long, long, long hike.

—

Simon was finally home. The world around him had been frozen for what felt like months, and yet Simon still felt the knot in his stomach swell as he approached Tonio’s Pizzeria. It was always his favorite restaurant, since they always melted the cheese in their cheesy crusts just right. He and his mom had just finished their meal celebrating his acceptance letter into UMass Boston. The delightfully tacky exterior flooded its multi-colored neon lights all across the few available parking spaces in front of the building. Unfortunately, Simon and his mother couldn’t find any available parking in the front. After fighting the knot in his stomach, he walked behind the pizzeria to where they had ended up parking their car.

Unlike the front of the pizzeria, the parking lot out back was shrouded in darkness of nighttime. There were only a few cars in the parking lot, but next to one of the cars was a familiar sight that still managed to freeze Simon in place.

There stood two people. A masked man with a gun, holding it towards his mother. In the air between the two of them was a single bullet, directed straight for his mother’s head.

Before he had embarked on his expedition out west, Simon had spent a long time in this parking lot. He lost count of how many times he had tried to do something. He had tried moving the bullet. He had tried moving his mother. He had tried picking up something to throw at the bullet. He had tried punching and kicking the masked man. He had even tried moving himself between the bullet and his mother and resuming time. But nothing had worked. Everything had been set in stone, with Simon meant to stand right next to his mother.

Simon took a few deep breaths, knowing what he had to do. If he didn’t, that kid would be crying over his ice cream forever, now wouldn’t he? Every step felt heavy as he made his way into the correct position. He could hardly bear to look at his mother’s face one last time. It was a face that he could never forget. One stricken with shock and fear, but with an unmistakable look of acceptance.

“You were right, mom. Zion Canyon was…incredible.”

And so, Simon resumed time once more.

#writing #short story #i hope you guys enjoy it #its an idea thats been in my head for a minute

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bts-princess7 · 3 months

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Best friend’s dad (KTH X fém!reader)

Summary: your best friend since high school has always loved having you over, but he dad barely tried to say hi to you. If he ever did talk to you, it would be him telling you you did something wrong. That is, until the night of her graduation, when he’s forced to give you a ride.

Genre: angst, smut, teeny bit of fluff

Warnings: age gap (Tae is 42, reader is 20), penetrative sex, unprotected sex, choking, Tae is mean, slapping, Tae is a lil crazy, rough sex, sorta kidnapping, orgasm denial, oral (f&m receiving), spanking, hair pulling, hickeys, cute lil ending.

A/N: lmk if I should do a part 2 bc I have some ideas🤫. Not proofread cus i rlly wanted to post it & it’s long (the story & sumthn else). Enjoy!!

You sat across the table from your best friend, Milly’s dad. Milly had been your best friend since you transferred to the school, she was a year younger than you and it was hard for the both of you after your grad last year.

Currently, you were at Milly’s grad, her and her mom were in the bathroom, leaving you alone with her dad, Mr. Kim.

Your best friends dad had never liked you, even though he’s never said it out loud, his body language made it pretty clear.

Whenever you were over he would either hide in his room or stay on the couch the whole time, trying his hardest to ignore your presence. “What do you want?”

His voice made you jump, only then did you realize that while you zoned out, you were staring right at him. “Nothing,” you rested your chin in your hand, looking at the entrance. You desperately tried to manifest Milly and Mrs. Lin in the doorway.

Taehyung and Serine had gotten a divorce a few years ago, she had no bad blood with him, but you weren’t sure that went both ways. They got together the odd time for important events such as graduation.

You couldn’t blame her, she was such a sweet person and he was the complete opposite. Although, you could also tell why she’d put up with him for so long.

The man was gorgeous, and from what you could tell from family photos, he hadn’t aged since he was 26. There were a handful of him when he was with a younger Milly, those were the only ones around his house.

From the first time you met Taehyung, you always knew his looks were the very first thing people noticed, it was what you noticed. “Y/n,” he snapped you out of your thoughts once again. Somehow, anytime you did zone out, your eyes landed back on him. “You keep staring, what do you want?”

His voice was low and stern, as if he’d rather not be in the same country as you. “I already said it was nothing,” you rolled your eyes.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me,” he sneered, an intensity in his voice. “All I did was ask you a question, don’t be a brat.”

You straightened yourself, pointing a finger at him. “I ans-“

“We’re back!” Mrs. Lin gave you a sweet smile, taking her seat next to you. You curled your hands in your lap, deciding to keep your mouth shut.

Taehyung raised an eyebrow at you, you swore you saw his lip curl up in a smirk. He knew he won the argument, as he usually did when the two of you argued.

“Are you guys done?” Milly gestured to your empty plates, you both nodded. She’d received her certificate and the school provided a full meal, you were a bit jealous, her meal was better than yours.

“Perfect, then we can head to the after party!” Milly clapped her hands, grabbing your wrist and pulling you up.

You made your way to where both her parents cars were parked, she opened the front passenger door and got in, you tried to open the back but it was locked. “Milly, the doors locked.”

She rolled down the window, Mrs. Lin came up beside you. “Everything alright, dear?” She asked you, placing her hand on the small of your back.

“Yes of course, the doors just locked.” You told her, Milly pressed the unlock button on the door.

“I’m going home, you girls have fun.” Taehyung walked past you to Mrs. Lin’s car, waving you off.

“You’re not coming to the after party?” She stomped around the back of the car, grabbing the sleeve of his leather jacket. If there was one thing you knew about Taehyung, it’s that he knew style.

“If you’re taking the girls then there’s no point of me being there.” He shrugged her off, she let out a frustrated sigh.

“Y/n can go with you,” she looked at you with desperate eyes. You knew she wanted Milly’s dad to be present, but this was the one thing you wouldn’t do. You shook your head. “Come on, it’s a 10 minute drive!”

“Mrs. Lin that’s not a good idea, maybe Milly could go with her dad?” You looked at Milly, she ignored you and rolled the window back up. She knew how much you two hated each other, and you also knew she wouldn’t waste the opportunity to throw you into a situation like this. You looked back up at Mrs. Lin, she looked at you with pleading eyes and you couldn’t say no. “Fine.”

“Thank you!” She came over and gave tou a tight hug, you smiled into her shoulder. She hurried around the front of the car and got in behind the wheel. “Just follow us to the hotel and let us know when you get there.”

You nodded and she pulled away, there they went, your only chance of peace. You looked through the empty parking spot at Taehyung, his eyebrows furrowed and a heavy scowl pointed in your direction. “Fuck,” he shook his head.

You huffed, reluctantly making your way to the car. You pulled open the passenger side door, sliding onto the cool leather seat of his car.

As soon as you closed the door, you were flooded with the scent of his cologne. It was a sweet, woody scent, you could also smell a faint hint of cigarettes. You knew he smoked, but he was pretty good at hiding it.

He slid into the drivers seat, shoving his keys into the dash. You looked away from him, staring straight out the window in front of you. He pushed the car into drive and pulled out of the parking lot, the light turned yellow as soon as he turned onto the road.

Little did you know, this was going to be the theme of the night. Each red light irked him more, and you could tell. His jaw was clenched, knuckles turning white from his grip on the steering wheel. “Roll down your window,” he grumbled.

You did as he said, he rolled down his own and pulled a cigarette out of his pocket, taking advantage of the red light to light his cigarette. He lit the end and threw the lighter onto the centre console before pressing the gas once the light was greens.

He hollowed his cheeks as he breathed in the smoke, highlighting his cheekbones in the dim light. Damn, he looked good. He stuck his head out the window and blew out the smoke.

“I think you do want something, because you’ve been staring at me all night.” He took another puff, this time blowing it in your direction.

“I don’t want shit,” you scowled, waving your hands in front of your face. “I didn’t even want you to drive me here, if it weren’t for Serine I’d be with them and you’d be at home drinking until you get a massive hangover.” You pointed an incriminating finger at him, crossing your legs.

He slammed on the breaks once he pulled in the parking lot, he threw his cigarette out the window and rolled them up. He twisted his torso to face you, his strong hand came up to grip your face, turning your head to face him.

His eyes were fiery, boiling into yours. It made your stomach flip, your hands flew to the sides of your seat. “You don’t fucking talk to me like that in my car, you got that?”

His hand squeezed your face harder, making you let out a little whimper. He shook his head, laughing lowly. “Don’t you start acting like you’re scared now, if you can be all bratty with me in the restaurant and have the audacity to bitch at me in my car,” he paused, savouring the terrified expression on your face. “Then you can deal with the pissy attitude you’re gonna get from me.”

You let out a huff, you were about to cross your arms when he pulled your face closer to his, your nose nearly touched his, you could smell the cigarettes on his lips. “What are yo-“

“Shut up,” he slapped the side of your face. Your jaw dropped, you couldn’t believe what he just did. You never thought you would ever be this close to Taehyung, the intensity of the situation almost arousing you. Before you could say anything else, his hand came back on your face. “You fucking like it!”

“I do not!” You yelled back, as best as you could with his hand squishing your cheeks together. Your eyes met his, the pure anger in his eyes still present, but fading.

“I don’t believe you,” he tilted his head to the side, looking deeper into your eyes. “I can tell just by the way you’re looking at me,” he smirked, then a look of realization came over his face.

His thumb came up and rubbed against your bottom lip, your thighs squeezed together, gaining his attention. “That’s why you keep staring at me, isn’t it?” He patronized, his free hand slid up your knee, slipping between the slit of your dress. His warm fingers grasped your upper thigh, digging into the skin. “Every time you zone it’s cus you’re thinking of me, isn’t it? They aren’t very holy, are they?”

“Mr. Kim this is-“

“That’s not what you call me in your dreams is it?” He moved forward, pressing your back against the passenger side door. He was so close to you, his thumb tugged your lip down, eyes scanning your body.

You cowered under his gaze, your hands came up to his wrist, trying to tug his hand away from your face. “It’s not what you think, I was just thinking!” You tugged harder, he gave you a shove and pulled his hand away.

“You want my hand off your face?” He growled, unbuckling his seatbelt, he leaned over the console and wrapped his hand around your neck. You were so caught off guard that you couldn’t stop the moan that slipped out from your lips, he looked at you with a fierce look in his eyes. “You like that, huh? I fucking knew it,” he shook his hand, your torso bouncing forward.

“No!” You countered, his hand came away from your thigh and grabbed your wrists, pinning them over your head onto the window.

“Stop arguing,” he commanded, squeezing your back tighter.

“Gonna be- late,” you managed, trying to take deeper breaths.

“Then admit it,” he sneered, bringing your face impossibly closer to his. “Admit that you have dreams just like this.”

“Tae- let me-“

“It’s so simple, all you have to do it admit it. Admit that you have nasty dreams about me, admit that just the thought of me gets you wet,” he growled.

“Fuck fine!” You broke down, he loosened his grip on your neck. “You make me so wet, I have horrible, sexual dreams about you all the time!” You took a deep breath, trying to look away in embarrassment.

“Now you’re shy?” He teased, sticking out his lip in a mock pout. “Look at me,” his hand came off of your throat and back up to your chin.

Reluctantly, you turned back to him, your cheeks were bright red and your face was contorted in a look of shame.

“From now on, you call me Taehyung, you got that?” He waited for you to nod before continuing. “You’d better listen to me for the rest of the night or else you won’t be getting a ride home. Got that?” You nodded again. “Use your words, bitch.”

“Yes Taehyung,” you forced the words out of your body. No matter how scared of him you were, there was still a bone in your body that told you not to submit to him.

“Good girl,” his voice was deep. His usual, deep honey-like voice was raspy and thick with lust. You let out a small gasp, you couldn’t believe his words.

Taehyung gripped your chin between his thumb and forefinger, holding you still while he moved closer. His lips met yours softly, he only stayed for a moment before pulling back. “Don’t wanna be late,” he mocked you, opening his door.

You rolled your eyes once he got out, you got out of the car and followed him towards the entrance. He held the door for you, you hummed in acknowledgment and paced to the front desk. “Hi, we’re here for the grad after party,” you gave the man the name of your old school.

“Of course, it’s on the fifth floor.” He gave you a plastic hospital looking bracelet that the valet would check at the door, he gave another one to Taehyung.

He followed you to the elevator, you clicked on the up arrow and stepped back from the door. A group of people filed out, leaving the elevator to the two of you.

Taehyung pressed the 5 button on the elevator and the doors closed, your stomach tensed when he turned back to you. He didn’t say anything, he moved beside you and stood at your side, the cool leather of his jacket brushed against your arm.

On the second floor the doors opened again, a group of people came in, all in suits and chatting about business. They clicked a button and the elevator started moving again, you let out a squeak when you felt his hand brush against your ass.

You looked around, no one heard you. Your eyes panned up to Taehyung, he sported a smirk and only you knew why. His hand slipped from the small of your back to your ass, large hand squeezing the soft flesh.

You reached behind you and grabbed his wrist, giving his wrist a squeeze as a warning. All this did was make him squeeze harder, your muscles clenched.

Suddenly you were saved by the ding of the elevator. Taehyung pulled his hand away and you squeezed past the people in front of you. The hallways had arrows pointing to the room where the party was held.

“Go have fun,” he gestured towards the door. “I’ll be near the door whenever you’re done.” He reached out to grab the door knob, pausing to look back at you. “I shouldn’t have to say this, but you’d better not get too close to anyone, understand?”

“I won’t,” you promised. He still didn’t move, you swallowed hard. “I won’t, Taehyung.”

“There we go,” he gave you a small smile. He opened the door and you showed your bracelets to the bouncer. Once you got past, he leaned down to your ear. “Milly and Sienne don’t hear about this, or I’ll have to do something about it.” With this, he disappeared into the crowd.

You stood still, eyes scanning the crowd for Milly, before you decided to stop and think for a minute. You hadn’t even thought of what happened with Taehyung, the stoic man who’s barely uttered more than a sentence to you at a time, just made you confess to your dreams, kissed you, and threatened to leave you on the side of the road if you didn’t “behave.”

As much as you’d fantasized about him touching you, you never thought he’d patronize you in that way. Who the hell was he to tell you to behave, tell you to be good, he wasn’t your father.

You crossed your arms, there was no way he was gonna do that to you again. No fucking way. Just thinking about it made you feel stupid, all those years of standing up to him and arguing just so that you would cower under a single touch.

You weren’t some weak kid, you were an adult and he wasn’t gonna treat you like that. You turned around to go find him and give him a piece of your mind, when you ran right into Milly.

“Y/n! I saw dad a few minutes ago,” she stopped, raising an eyebrow at you. “You don’t look very happy.”

“Of course I’m not happy, Milly.” You sighed, taking a deep breath. “I just spent 10 minutes in the car with your dad, I don’t mean to be a downer, but he’s really just-“

“Difficult? Yea I know, but seeing the look on both of your faces was so worth it!” She laughed, pointing at your angry expression. “Now come on, you’ll never have to have another car ride with my dad after tonight, promise.” She drew and X over the left side of her chest, giving you a sympathetic smile.

“Fine, but only because it’s for you.” You rolled your eyes, you were so easily persuaded by her. You always remembered that she was the only reason you put up with the man, especially after arguments.

The rest of the party was amazing, they had an amazing playlist and you and Milly danced for hours, with people, with each other, with her mom. The party seemed to go on for hours, and Taehyung was no where to be found.

By the time midnight rolled around, you and Milly were both ready to go home. You to your apartment and her to her mom’s, you followed her to find Mrs. Lin. “Y/n, you’re going with dad, remember?” She yawned, but her comment snapped you back to reality.

Of course she wasn’t gonna let this slide, you said goodbye and wandered through the crowd to find Taehyung, or anyone you knew who could drive you home.

You recognized your French teacher and almost tapped her shoulder before someone yanked yours, you turned around and sure enough, it was Taehyung. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Trying to find you,” you told him, then softer. “Or another ride.” You gasped when he grabbed your arm, squeezing your wrist as a sign of warning.

“Tae, you’re good to take her home, right?” Mrs. Lin came up behind him, he quickly let go of your wrist, turning to face her. “Because if not I can just bring her back home and-“

“I’ll be fine, it’s on the way home anyway.” His voice sounded nonchalant, but you knew there was rage somewhere in there. He was right about that though, your apartment was in walking distance.

“Thanks Tae, call me if anything’s wrong!” She skipped to the door, where Milly waved in your direction.

“Let’s go,” Taehyung stormed out in front of you, not bothering to pull you along. You hurried after him, his stride was much longer than yours, so you had to take two steps more than he did just to keep up.

“Slow down!” You shouted, he paused and turned around, taking a step towards you. He pointed a threatening finger in your direction, getting closer to your face.

“You shout at me one more time and you see what fucking happens, you hear me?” He growled, his voice deep and stern.

“What the fuck, I’m-“

“A fucking brat, that’s what you are.” He grabbed the sides of your face, gripping it roughly. “And someone’s gonna have to teach you how to behave.” He pulled his hand away just to slap your face, grabbing it between his hands again.

“Let go,” you grabbed his wrist. You tried to pull his hand away, but his grip was too strong.

“Why?” His voice was soft, almost condescending. “Just a second ago you wanted me to wait for you, and now you’re trying to get away?”

He pulled his hand away and pressed the down button on the elevator behind him. The hallway was empty, to your liking, you didn’t need anyone seeing this and didn’t want anyone to either.

The elevator ride was silent, he stayed on the opposite the elevator, not bothering to spare you a glance.

You followed him to his car, once again silently sliding into the passenger seat. The car ride home was dead silent, he didn’t even turn on the radio. The only noise there was was the hum of the engine and other cars outside.

When you turned onto your street you went to unbuckle your seatbelt, but he didn’t slow down. “Hey slow down,” your voice broke the silence, but it didn’t phase him.

His foot stayed steady on the gas, driving past your apartment. “What the fuck! Taehyung! Slow down, you missed the apartment!” You cried, you reached down to pull on the door handle but the door was locked, of course it was. “You’re crazy, you’re fucking insane!”

“What did I say about yelling, huh?” He demanded, taking a sharp turn down the road and into the driveway of his house. “I told you to keep your voice down, and you didn’t listen to me.”

He parked the car and shoved the keys into his pocket. “Now, you’re gonna see what happens when you don’t behave.” His hand flew down to his hips, unbuckling his belt and pulling it out of the loops. “You’re gonna come into the house with me,” he explained.

You tried to push him away, but to no avail. His big hand gripped the back of your neck, pressing the right pressure points to make your body stiffen. With the other hand, he shoved part of the belt into your mouth and tied it right around the back of your head. “And you’re gonna be quiet, try not to wake the neighbours.”

Taehyung got out of the car, unlocking your door only when he was close enough to grab you. He dragged you into his house, locking the car and the door before finally turning back to you. “You know, I bet we’d get along just fine if you weren’t such a bitch.”

His words stung, he’d insulted you before, but somehow they hurt more now that you were in such a vulnerable situation. He took the belt out of your mouth, discarding it on the floor. “But that’s what you thrive off of, isn’t it? You live for these arguments, don’t you?”

You shook your head, he moved closer to you, making you backup until you body was pressed between his and the counter. “Of course it is, you told me it is.”

Your hands came up to his chest, hesitating between pushing him away or letting it happen. “Are you gonna go back home?” His question surprised you, you thought you could hear doubt in his voice. “You gonna go home and rub one off, huh? Think about me again or stay and see what happens?”

“I- uh stay,” you murmured, avoiding eye contact with him. He let out a low hum, presumably one of satisfaction, and turned your head back to face him.

“Look at me,” he instructed, hand falling down to the flimsy strap on your shoulder. His other hand held his weight on the counter behind you, his eyes panned your body once again, observing your curves in your skintight dress, your chest heaving up and down, and your thigh that stuck out of the slit of your dress.

His eyes came up to meet yours once more, a coy smile displayed on his lips. “Good girl,” he whispered. The words sent shivers through you, your fingers gripped the smooth leather of his jacket. His eyes poured into yours, the rage barely present and lust taking over.

His lips smashed into yours, locking you in a kiss that was much more intense than the peck you shared earlier that night.

His hands came up and grabbed a fistful of your hair, directing your head however he wanted. His other hand slid both of your straps off your shoulders, the lacy bra you wore becoming more and more exposed.

His hand came down to your chest and squeezed one of your tits, making you moan into the kiss. His thumb swiped over the middle of your breast, feeling your stiff nipple through the thin fabric of your bra.

His hand directed your head to the side, his tongue prodded at your bottom lip, your lips parted for him and let his tongue inside. He tasted like bourbon and cigarettes, he must’ve gotten his hands on a drink at the party.

Your tongues danced together, him quickly gaining dominance. His teeth bit at your bottom lip, dragging it out then letting go when he pulled back. “Come with me,” his arm slid around your waist and lead you to his bedroom.

His hand came to your back and gave you a harsh shove, sending you flying to the bed. Your body was squished against the bottom of the bed, bent over on the mattress.

You tried righting yourself when a hand came down on your back shoving you down against the mattress. “Feeling brave now, Y/n?” His fingers dig into your back, you were sure they would leave bruises.

You mumbled in response, your head was turned to the side on the mattress. “I thought I told you to use your words.” He tsked, pressing you harder into the mattress. “Answer my question, are you still feeling brave?”

“No,” you squeaked, struggling against his hand. The attitude you previously had fading, you weren’t scared of him, but you knew he could over power you in a second.

“That’s right,” he grabbed one of your legs and lifted it, sliding your body onto the bed with ease. “Because I have you all to myself now, I can do whatever I want.” He leaned down and moved your hair away from your neck, his lips pressing against the sensitive skin.

His tongue came out of his mouth and wet your skin, he sucked small marks into the side and back of your neck. Deep red blotches appearing each time he moved away, you let out a whine.

His hand slid down your back, taking a handful of the soft flesh of your ass. He moved your dress up, the fabric pooling at your waist. He let out a groan when he reached down between your legs, you bit your lip and grabbed onto the arm that steadied himself on the bed.

“Fuck, look at you.” His fingers reached past your panties and rubbed through your folds. His finger stopped at your clit, giving your swollen nun a few rubs.

“Fuck Tae, please!” You cried, trying to grind onto his fingers.

“Now you want it, huh?” He sneered, he sounded like a hungry animal watching his prey. “Hate to break it to you, but you’ve gotta earn it.”

He took his hand away from your core, you whined out in loss. He grabbed your shoulders and pulled you up to your knees, you arched your back, waiting to see what he would do next.

He sat on the bed in front of you, putting his legs on either side of your body. “You’re gonna suck it, baby.” He patted his lap, an obvious bulge forming in his jeans. “Okay?”

You nodded, he smiled and reached up to move your hair out of your face. Your hands hesitantly reached for his jeans, toying with the button and zipper.

You felt dirty, what you were doing was dirty. Your fantasy was finally coming true and yet you were hesitant, you reached into his pants, pressing your palm against his dick.

Taehyung let out a groan, he didn’t realize how touch starved he’d been. He barely got out and hardly ever bothered to touch himself, he’d always suspected you were sweet on him, but now he knew he was right.

“Take it out,” he instructed, rolling his hips up into your palm. “Don’t be shy now, you’ve finally got what you want.” His fingers brushed underneath your chin, biting his lips.

Your hand dipped into his boxers and wrapped around his length, you carefully pulled it out, your mouth watered at the sight.

You’d always assumed it was big but you never expected this, his cock was long, from what you could tell it was 7, maybe 8 inches. The thing that surprised you the most was how thick it was, you could barely wrap your whole hand around it.

“Looks so good,” you licked your lips, your teeth coming out to bite your bottom lip.

“Have a taste,” he wrapped his hand in your hair, pushing your head down a bit. You dropped to your elbows so you were face level with his cock, you looked at him with a look of want.

You licked a stripe up the bottom of his length, feeling the ridges of his veins against your tongue. He let out a delicious moan, encouraging you to do it again.

Your tongue licked through the slit on his tip, gathering the pre cum rolling out of it. You wrapped your mouth around his head, letting out a groan at his taste. “I think you can do better than that, huh?”

His hand gave your head a small nudge, pushing you down further on his length. You let him push you, controlling your movements. “Fuck yes, use that fucking tongue.”

He pushed you down until you gagged on his cock, barely making it halfway down. You moaned around his length, hollowing your cheeks around him. He moved you up and down faster, wet, gagging sounds coming from your mouth as you moved.

The phone rang, making you jump, but Taehyung still had his hand on the back of your head, easing you back down. He reached over and grabbed his house phone, “It’s Milly, so you’re gonna have to be quiet for me.”

He gave you a stern look, answering the phone. “Yea?” He answered the phone dully, rolling his hips up into your mouth, testing your gag reflex.

“Hey dad, is Y/n at your place?” Her question made him tense, you froze, but his hand kept moving.

“I dropped her off at her apartment, why?” His voice was stern, you assumed he’d know how to handle it, you could tell by the tone of his voice.

“She won’t answer my calls, and when I checked her location it said that she was still at your place.” Milly whined, Taehyung rolled his eyes.

“She might have left her phone in my car,” he explained. “Even so, it’s like 1 in the morning she’s probably asleep.”

He looked down at you, biting his lip as he made you move faster, making it harder for you to stay quiet. “I’ll just go check on her tomorrow, night dad.”

“K, goodnight.” He didn’t wait for a response and hung up the phone, throwing it back onto the receiver. “Good girl, staying quiet for me.”

You hum in response, feeling his cock twitch on your tongue. He pulled your head off of his cock, the flushed head of his cock hitting the fabric of his shirt.

“Strip,” he told you. You didn’t waste time, you stood up off of his bed and reached for the zipper on the back of your dress.

“Can you help me?” You turned back to him, biting your lip. You widened your eyes, he nodded and you moved back to him.

His warm fingers came up to the zipper, they brushed against your back, making you shiver. He pulled the zipper down, taking his time. He gave your ass a small tap to let you know he was done, you shimmied the straps down your arms, pulling the dress off of your chest until it looked at your feet.

“Turn around,” he instructed. You did as he said, holding your hands together in front of you, heat rising to your cheeks. “You look so good,” he muttered, licking his lips. “Come here.”

Taehyung held out his arms, guiding your body to lay across his lap. His fingers hooked into the sides of your panties, pulling them off in one go. “So wet, and all for me.”

His fingers spread you open, letting him get a better look. “As much as I’d love to just dive in, I didn’t forget how bratty you were earlier.”

His hand came up to caress your ass, lifting his hand off for a moment and coming down with a loud smack. You let out a yelp, tensing as he rubbed the wounded flesh. “That hurt!” You grumbled, looking up at Taehyung. His lip stuck out in a mock pout.

“Really? That’s the point, baby.” He layed another harsh smack on your ass, leaving a handprint from the force.

You whimpered, holding onto his strong thigh beneath you. He was relentless, going from side to side making it feel like he hit harder each time. By the time he was done, your flesh was bright red and sensitive. “Had enough, Y/n?”

“Yes,” you mumbled, voice shaking while you tried your hardest to hold back tears.

“Learn your lesson?” He asked, rubbing your ass to soothe the burn he’d caused. “Won’t disobey me again, right?”

“No, I’ll be good.” You promised, sniffling.

“There you go, pretty.” He pulled you up onto his lap, you threw a leg over his and straddled his lap, folds sliding on his angry cock. “You’re okay,” he chided, brushing tears away from your cheeks with his thumb. “So pretty when you cry for me.”

He brought your face closer to his, capturing your lips in a sweet kiss. He was softer than before, but it didn’t last long before he flipped you onto your back. “Stay,” he commanded.

He slid off the bed, dropping his jeans and boxers, he shrugged off the jacket, revealing his toned arms. You’d seen him without a shirt previously, and for his age, he was built well. His torso was toned, his skin was smooth and everything in his body seemed to be fully functional, you were about to find out just how functional one part was.

He pulled his shirt over his head, muscles flexing as he threw it to the side. His shoulders were broad and tanned, you licked your lips as he crawled back on top of you. “Why don’t we lose this, yeah?”

He tugged on the middle part of your bra, you nodded and let him reach behind you, undoing the clasp and pulling it away. He shoved his face between your breasts, sucking spots into the soft flesh. “Oh fuck!”

You moaned when his teeth grazed your nipple, wrapping mouth around it and tongue toying with the sensitive bud. He took his time moving to your neglected breast, giving it the same treatment as the other one.

He made his way down your abdomen, making eye contact with you as he reached your pelvis. His hands roughly groped your thighs, forcing them apart.

“Didn’t get to taste you earlier,” his thumb toyed with your clit, making your hips stutter. He licked a stripe up your core, gathering your slick on his tongue. “You’re so sweet,” he told you, dipping his tongue into your folds.

You let out moan after moan, feeling him dip his tongue into your hole, which immediately made you clench around him. “You like that, huh? Fucking dirty girl,” he shook his head, tongue flat against your clit.

“Taehyung- fuck!” Your hand flew down to his hair, gripping his firm black locks. He kept going, suckling your pussy like a madman. You felt one digit enter you, his fingers felt so much better than yours. They were long and slender, reaching places inside of you that you could only dream of.

“Pull me closer, fuck,” he groaned, affected by the grip you had on him. You tangled your hand tighter in his hair, gripping him against you tightly.

Your hips quivered, shaking under his touch. “Fuck, fuck so close,” you whimpered, your breath becoming shallow when he added another finger. You clamped your fingers tighter around his hair as your orgasm approached, when he suddenly pulled away.

Your grip weak, he was able to slip out of your grasp. “So soon? I barely touched you,” he tsked, shaking his head. “Think I’m gonna let you cum on my fingers, huh? Oh I don’t think so,” he chuckled, he could tell you were pissed.

He waited for you to say something, but you kept your mouth shut, you knew he’d wait longer to give you what you wanted if you argued with him. “Good girl, I guess you’ve learnt your lesson.”

He knelt over you, dropping down to his forearms to press his lips to yours. You welcomed him in immediately, shoving your tongue past his lips. You took a deep breath through your nose, basking in his scent.

You could feel his cock rub against your leg, pre cum dripping from his tip and rubbing onto your smooth thigh. His lips sucked on yours, tongues diving into the others with an unmentioned passion.

Taehyung pulled back, his lips were pink and swollen, you were sure yours looked the same. “You want this, baby?” He reached down, fisting his cock and tapping it against your leg gently.

“Yes, yes please.” You begged, but he didn’t move. “Taehyung please,” you reached up and grabbed him by the hair, pulling his upper body onto yours.

“What do you call me in your dreams?” He demanded, planting a wet kiss on your jaw. “I can’t believe you call your best friend’s dad by first name, do you baby?”

“Please, I need your cock,” you paused, he looked up at you. “Dadd-“ you murmured.

“What’s that baby? I couldn’t hear you,” he teased, ready to line himself up with you as soon as you said it.

“Daddy,” you caved, feeling heat rise to your cheeks.

“No need to be embarrassed,” he ran a finger down the side of your cheek, making you look up at him. “If that’s what you think about then that’s what I wanna hear.”

You felt the tip of his cock prod at your entrance, he took his time to push in, stopping once his tip was in. “You ready, babe?” He purred, propping himself up with his hands beside your head.

“Yes, daddy, please!” You whined, trying to grind down on him.

“You’ll get what you want,” he promised, thrusting his hips all the way in. You moaned at the stretch, it felt like he was ripping you open. “Pussy’s so tight, doesn’t get enough attention, huh?”

You shook your head, wrapping your arms around his neck. His hips started moving faster once you adjusted to his size, hitting your sweet spot with every thrust.

“Fuck fuck fuck! Right there, fuck yes!” You moaned, your high creeping up on you again.

“You gonna cum again, baby? Gonna cream on this cock?” One of his hands came off of the mattress, wrapping around your throat and restricting your airways just enough so you became light headed. You grabbed his wrist, letting out a loud whine.

His pace was relentless as he pounded into you, the hand on your neck keeping you from sliding up the mattress. His hand tightened and loosened every so often, letting you catch your breath then immediately taking it away.

His hair stuck to his forehead, his mouth hung open slightly, letting groans escape his lips every so often. His muscles flexed each time he changed his grip around you’re neck, his v line becoming more and more prominent with each thrust.

You felt like you were on fire, your bodies were soaked, your thighs felt sticky with your slick and your core ached, needing release. “Please let me cum, daddy. Please, I need to!” You begged, tears brimming your eyes.

“Gonna cry for me? You need to beg for it, cry for it.” His thrusts slowed down to an agonizing pace, you knew it must be driving him crazy, but the lengths he was willing to take torment you were far wider than you would like.

“Daddy please, please I need you to make me cum! Need to cum on your cock, please, daddy.” You begged, wrapping your legs around his waist. He snapped his hips deep inside you, causing the tears to fall. “P-please I need you, need to cum on you, want you to cum in me, so bad. Need you to fill me up, please daddy, please.”

You sobbed, trying to pull him closer. “On your knees,” he pulled out, landing a slap on your thigh.

Complacent, you rolled onto your stomach, propping yourself up on your knees. “Making your cunt drip, so wet for me.” He pushed back into your pussy, plowing you into the mattress with the force of his hips. “Ah fuck, pulling me in so well.”

His hands flew up to your waist, squeezing it roughly to keep you close to him. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, letting out loud whines the closer you got. “Please, please let me cum! Please daddy I need to,” you sobbed, your release was so close, you weren’t gonna last.

You felt his hand comb through your hair, which was sweaty and going in every direction. The breath was knocked out of you when he wrapped his hand in your hair, pulling you up so your back was pressed to his chest.

“You wanna cum, huh?” His hips snapped at an incredulous pace, the hand holding your hair came to wrap around your neck, making it easier for him to control you. His other hand slid down the front of your body and rested on your clit, not moving.

You bucked your hips in anticipation, feeling the need for more friction. You nodded desperately, reaching around him to hold yourself up with his waist. “Please daddy, please!”

“Sure baby, I’ll let you cum.” His fingers started moving slower than his hips were, the muscles in your stomach tensed. “But where am I gonna cum?”

His fingers sped up, one of your hands flew up to his wrist, digging your nails into his skin. “Here,” you muttered, tapping his hand that was rubbing your clit.

“Yea? You want my cum inside you?” He sped up his fingers, making your legs twitch. He took his hand off your neck, pushing you back down on the mattress. “Gonna fill you up, little girl.”

You whined at his words, your legs barely held you up on the mattress. Taehyung noticed, and he wouldn’t miss a chance to manhandle you. He pulled out for a fraction of a second, flipping you onto your back and thrusting back inside with ease.

“Look so good filled with cock, little brats not so bad anymore, are you?” He reached up and grabbed one of your tits, his thumb toyed with your nipple. His other hand came up and massaged both of your tits, pressing them together and manipulating them however he wanted.

“No m’ good,” you whined, your eyes meeting his. Your eyes were blurry and wet, you were sure that your eyeliner was running, your face was wet from your tears. Your eyes were begging his, begging for release, for his release.

“That’s right,” he groaned, taking his hands away from your tits and admiring the handprints he left. He set his hands on the mattress on either side of you, he panted heavily, hips stuttering every so often. “Good for me.”

“Tae- Tae I’m gonna- fuck!” You reached up and grabbed his shoulders, digging your nails into his shoulders, making him hiss. His fingers came down to your clit, rubbing fast circles. “Gonna cum!”

“S’right baby, cream on my cock.” He panted, your legs convulsed on his shoulders, hips shaking with each thrust. You let out a loud moan, finally reaching your climax.

You came and you came hard, your eyes rolled to the back of your head. You could feel your orgasm running down your thigh, the sound of him thrusting into your getting sloppier and more wet. “So fucking wet, I make you feel good huh?”

Taehyung took his hand away from your clit, when your eyes focused again, you were met with the sight of your dreams. His hips snapped into yours, he let out moans that your were sure to remember and that you’d never want to forget.

He bit his lip, you could feel his cock twitching inside you. “M’ sensitive,” you whined, thighs trying to clench around him.

“I know baby, I know.” He moaned, dropping to his elbows. His face dropped between your soft breasts, lips leaving soft kisses. “Wanna cum in you, wanna fill you up so bad,” he muttered, you felt his voice vibrate against your chest.

“Yes, yes daddy I need it!” You wrapped your legs around his waist, your fingers wrapped around his hair, giving it gentle tugs every so often.

“Fuck!” He moaned, hips coming to a stop, stuttering when he was deep in you. His heavy cock twitched against your walls, finally releasing into you.

“Oh that feels good,” you moaned, softening your grip on his hair. Your hands raked through his raven-coloured locks, scratching his scalp gently. You felt his seed shoot into you, making your insides warm.

“Yea,” he mumbled, taking a minute to calm down. He let out a sigh, scooting you up on the bed so his feet weren’t hanging off the edge.

There were so many emotions flowing through you right now, you were confused and curious. An hour ago you were arguing with man, now he’s inside you and laying on top of you. “We’ve gotta get you home,” he groaned, propping himself up.

“Home?” You shot up, smacking your head on his chest. He chuckled, leaning down to peck your forehead.

“Yea, Milly’s gonna be at your place as soon as the sun comes up.” He yawned, stretching his arms. “At least that’s what I expected from her.”

“Oh, yea you’re right.” You nodded, pushing your hair out of your face.

“Aw did you wanna stay the night?” He teased, raising an eyebrow and giving you a cocky smile. “Had that much fun, huh?”

You nodded, looking up at him with puppy dog eyes. “Do I have to?” You stuck your lip out in a pout, despite all of your past arguments, you wanted him to want you just as much as you wanted him.

“Tell you what, I’ll help you get cleaned up, give you some comfy clothes, then I’ll come back to your place with you. How does that sound?” He asked, tilting his head to the side, giving you a soft smile.

“Good, let’s do that.” You agreed, he nodded, standing up. He gently pulled out of you, watching as both of your releases flooded out of you.

“That’s hot,” he raised an eyebrow and bit his lip. He slid his hands under you, lifting you into his strong arms.

He brought you into the bathroom, setting you down and turning on the water. Once it was warm enough, he opened the curtain and let you in, stepping in behind you.

He was gentle, shampooing both of your hair and helping you rinse it off. His hands were gentle along your body, carefully washing the slick off of your body. He admired the bruises he left on your neck, both from his hands and his mouth. “Might have to leave more,” he mumbled.

He rinsed off your bodies and shut off the water, he quickly dried himself and handed you a clean towel, leaving the room while you dried off. He came back in boxers and holding a pile of clothes, “Here.” He handed you a pair of sweats and a large t shirt.

“Thanks,” you bowed your head slightly, he bowed right back. He threw on a pair of shorts and a hoodie, the fabric going over his head and slicking his hair down.

You looked in the mirror, wiping the makeup off of your face with a Kleenex, or what could come off without makeup remover anyway. “Is your phone in my car?” Taehyung asked, picking up your clothes off the floor and handing them to you.

“No, I dropped it in my shoes at the front door.” You stretched, your joints were stiff and your legs were sore because of him. You bent down to touch your toes, letting out a groan. “Tae!” You squealed, jumping when he layed a smack on your ass.

“Your fault for bending over,” he smirked. You slid your feet into your wedges, they didn’t work with the outfit but no one would see you at this time of night.

He followed you back to your apartment, hand steady around your waist. You made your way up the stairs, being as quiet at you could while you unlocked the door.

“Nice place,” Taehyung looked around, letting out a small hum in recognition.

“It’s small, but it works,” you shrugged. You both kicked off your shoes and he followed you to your bedroom. “You’re really gonna stay, all night?” You asked, closing your door.

Taehyung moved closer to you, pressing his body against your until you were sandwiched between him and the door. “As long as you want,” he promised. His hand came up and rubbed the side of your neck, you let yourself lean into his touch.

He bent down and let your lips meet, his lips moved passionately against yours, you wrapped your arms around his neck, you were sure you’d remember this.

His hand toyed with the hem of the shirt he lent you, his fingers slipping into the band of his sweatpants. “You should take these off.” He pulled away for a second, quickly coming back to your lips.

“You want them back?” You asked, letting him pull them off of your hips.

“No,” he pulled back, tugging his sweater over his head. His toned, bare chest on display once more, you didn’t hesitate to reach out and touch him, feeling your way along his carved chest. “I just think sleeping would be more comfortable without all this in the way.”

He gestured to the small bits of fabric that were left on the two of you, “Nude?” You asked, already knowing the answer.

“Nude,” he agreed. You stripped out of his clothes, leading him over to your bed. You were tangled in the sheets, both of you trying to find a comfortable position.

You found yourself facing his chest, arms wrapped around him. His arms were wrapped all the way around your waist, holding you tightly so both of your bodies were pressed together. You sighed into his chest, breathing in his scent and basking in the warmth he provided.

“Just so you know,” he whispered, combing his fingers through your damp hair. “Mornings with me can be, pretty hard.”

“I’m sure I’ll be able to handle it,” you gave his chest a gentle peck, wrapping your legs around his.

“Good girl.”

#bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts imagine #bts smut #taehyung smut

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lewmagoo · 4 days

Text

we own the sky | rhett abbott

part one: ain’t no love in oklahoma

series info: new parts will be uploaded every friday at 7pm est. want more? read the synopsis here. listen to the playlist here. see the posting schedule here.

description: in which you return to the place where you lost everything

warnings: 18+ only, heavy themes, character death, grief, blood and injury, angst with a positive ending, allusions to sex, eventual smut, inaccurate weather terms, please do not check my science lol this story requires some suspension of disbelief. i usually try not to say anything about reader's family in fics but i do mention them having an unnamed great-aunt, as it was necessary to the plot

pairing: rhett abbott x f!reader

notes: this story is inspired by twisters. you do not have to watch the movie in order to understand this story, because aside from the storm chasing aspect, it has nothing to do with the twister universe. i've been working on this story for 2 months straight, and it is my pride and joy. i am so excited for everyone to read it! without further adieu, here is we own the sky!

You never thought you would return to the place where you lost everything.

When you left, you had sworn to yourself that you would never come back. This part of your life, the unspeakable tragedy you had endured, had to stay in the past where it belonged. And for six years, you managed to make yourself forget while you moved on with life.

You knew it wasn’t just you who had been affected by what happened. It had touched the lives of multiple people, shattering everything around them. But while they had stayed, you had decided to run. Away from the agony, away from the memories, away from the man you loved. It was better that way. At least, that was what you told yourself.

Now you found yourself standing in the middle of the rolling plains of the place that you used to live, wisps of tall grass brushing against your legs as the breeze rushed over the earth. It was all so familiar, yet so foreign. You felt so out of place, like an alien that had just descended the sky and landed on Earth for the very first time.

As you bent to pluck a stalk of switchgrass, you were struck with a memory of the day you left. Sprawled out in the long grass, your first love lying at your side. Rhett Abbott. The man you had known since you were mere babies in the church nursery together. Saying goodbye to him was the hardest part of leaving. But in your heart of hearts, you knew this was the way it had to be. You couldn’t look at him without being reminded of all you had lost. Of all he had lost.

“I wish you’d stay,” his voice, filled with longing, cut into the still morning air. Such a contrast to the chaos that had transpired in recent days.

“You know I can’t,” you whispered, afraid that if you spoke any louder, your voice would break, and you would succumb to tears.

“We can figure things out, you an’ me. Work through it together.”

“Rhett–”

“Fuckin’ twister took so much from us. Now you’re leavin’, too.” Defeat was evident in his voice.

You sat up, turning to look down at him. “We talked about this, Rhett. I have to leave.”

He sat up, too, nodding somberly. “Y’don’t have to. You just can’t stand the thought of facin’ reality. So you’re runnin’ from it.” Then he rose to his feet, grass crunching beneath him. “Not all of us have the luxury of bolting when things get tough, honeybee. The rest of us have gotta stay and face it head-on.”

Then he walked away, and you let him, knowing this would be the last time you would see him. A love lost.

Yet here you were again, in the same field where your romance had ended. However, you weren’t here to see him. You had returned to tie up loose ends, and face the past you had spent the last handful of years running from.

Rhett had been right about one thing. You needed to face it all head-on. But you weren’t sure if you had the strength to do so.

Being back in your hometown of Wabang, Oklahoma was a surreal experience. Nothing and everything had changed all at once. Dorothy McIntyre still owned Mac’s Diner on Main Street. Mrs. Simmons still tended to her rose garden every single day, keeping it in pristine condition. The local Baptist church still looked exactly the same as the day you left.

It felt like the town was stuck in time.

But there were also some changes. A new bar had opened up in town. A coffee shop, too, which was quite the upgrade. Even though life was slow moving here, it still continued on, just like it did everywhere else.

Coming back was never something you thought was in the cards for you, but a handful of your family members had remained here when you left. Including your great-aunt. Sadly, she had recently passed away, and you’d surprised yourself by willingly volunteering to go sort through her belongings and prepare her house to be sold.

You had a good portion of vacation days saved from your job at the National Weather Service Headquarters, and you decided to take them while you had the chance. Instead of going on a fun getaway, you were cleaning out a house that was just a few steps down from a hoarding house.

Your poor aunt had gotten rather forgetful in her old age, and had let so much clutter accumulate. Her declining physical health and mental capacity had inhibited her from cleaning, and, unfortunately, her children were not the most diligent when it came to looking after their mother, so no one had helped her with clearing any of the clutter when she was alive.

That was where you came in. And you certainly had your work cut out for you. But you didn’t mind too terribly. You were glad to have a break from work. Monitoring weather was quite literally a 24/7 thing. You loved your job, but you often felt as if you were running about like a chicken with its head cut off.

Especially now. It was late spring, and the weather had been wild and unkempt. It had a mind of its own, and with all the freak storms ripping through seemingly every state in the US, the National Weather Service was extremely busy.

And here you were, in the heart of Tornado Alley, which had seen a record-breaking uptick in tornado activity this season. You couldn’t deny that the thought of being here during this season made your anxiety skyrocket.

Where you lived now, in Maryland, tornadoes weren’t commonplace. They happened, yes, but not nearly as often as they did in your home state of Oklahoma.

You had once loved studying the phenomenon of twisters. There had been a time when they fascinated you. A time when you chased after them to analyze their data. And then, one terrible, fateful day, while observing one of those vicious twisters, the unthinkable happened.

Six Years Ago

“This one’s gonna be a big one. I can feel it,” Rhett’s voice was laced with electric excitement. He was a live wire, blue eyes wide and glimmering with his eagerness.

His excitement rubbed off on you. You loved doing this together. It was what you were meant to do. “I can, too,” you replied with a grin, bouncing on the balls of your feet.

He leaned in, his gaze flickering to your lips before he ducked his head to kiss you languidly. “Ready to wrangle this twister?” He asked.

“As I’ll ever be.”

“Could’ya get a room?” Another voice cut across the site, interrupting your moment.

Rhett scowled as he looked over your shoulder to find his brother approaching. “Just for that, I’m kissin’ her again.” He pulled you in and planted another kiss on you, dialing it up to disgust Perry all the more.

You shoved at Rhett’s chest, giggling when you parted. “Maybe let’s not gross out everyone within a ten-mile radius,” you joked, though you still leaned in to steal one last peck from him.

“When you two are done neckin’, you might wanna pay attention to the radar. Winds are pickin’ up,” Perry explained, tapping the screen that was currently resting on the tailgate of Rhett’s truck.

“Think this one’s gonna touch down?” Came the voice of Rebecca, Perry’s wife, as she approached, tugging her ball cap down over her blonde ponytail.

“Look at them clouds. It’s gotta,” Rhett mused, motioning toward the sky. Angry, black clouds roiled in the distance. Perry was right, the wind was picking up. Although it wasn’t cold, it still sent a shiver down your spine.

Lightning crackled across the gray backdrop, and thunder subsequently rumbled in the distance. As you felt the first drops of cool rain, you locked eyes with Rhett. His face broke into a grin.

“Let’s get goin’!” He called out, retrieving his worn felt hat, the one you’d gotten him on his eighteenth birthday, and placing it atop his head.

You found yourself laughing with glee as you moved to scurry to the passenger seat of his rickety old GMC Sierra that had seen more storms than you could count. As you wrenched the door open, the sound of scrambling footsteps alerted you that someone was approaching quickly. You turned to find Lydia, your best friend, running toward you, her French braids bouncing wildly about.

“Don’t forget this!” She called out, shoving a walkie-talkie into your hand. Her own remained clipped to the waistband of her cargo pants.

“Thanks!” You replied. “You riding with us or with Perry and Bec?”

“I’ll ride with them, since they’ve got more room and all,” she told you. Unlike Rhett’s truck, Perry’s had a backseat.

“Okay, see you after the storm. Be careful, alright?” You surged forward and gave her a quick hug. Your friendship went way back to childhood, when you had met each other in kindergarten. You had been inseparable ever since. With your shared fascination with the weather, it was only natural that she would decide to chase twisters alongside you.

“Let’s go to that new ice cream place when we’re done!” She suggested when you parted.

“Sure, I’ll mention it to Rhett. See ya in a bit!” With that, you yanked the truck door open and climbed inside, while Lydia rushed off to get into Perry’s truck.

As you settled in the seat, you set your walkie down in the cupholder and grabbed the monitor you used to keep an eye on the weather radar. There, at the top of the screen, you saw the red banner that listed which counties had just been put under tornado watches.

Glancing back up at the sky, your heart quickened in your chest. While it wasn’t guaranteed that a twister would touch down, it was a very high possibility, especially with the string of storms that had ripped through the area lately.

“Let’s go chase this son’bitch,” Rhett murmured as he settled into the driver’s seat, tugging his seatbelt into place. He turned the key, and the truck roared to life. Without wasting a single moment, he threw the gear into drive and peeled out of the vacant lot you’d all been congregating in.

He kept to the east of the storm, offering you the best vantage point. Most storms moved northeast, at thirty to forty miles per hour, so you had to move fast to keep up. Rhett stepped on the accelerator, wasting no time. He was vibrating with adrenaline beside you, and it was infectious.

He always had been a bit of an adrenaline junkie. When he was in high school, he’d started bull riding competitively. He loved the thrill, the danger, the electricity he felt atop a thousand-pound animal.

Chasing twisters was similar to bull riding. Trying to hold on for dear life as an angry, churning force threatened to toss you through the air like a rag doll. Once he’d had a taste, he couldn’t get enough.

His love of the thrill and your fascination with weather made you a dream team.

Turning it into a family affair wasn’t necessarily the goal, but Rebecca found the phenomenon of tornadoes fascinating, and Perry was simply along for the ride, so the four of you started storm chasing together.

And of course, Lydia had been on board from the moment you suggested it. Much like Rhett, she also loved thrill seeking, and was content to join your little team. She was particularly good at analyzing storm data. Her entire motivation was figuring out how twisters worked.

Meteorology was a science that was relatively new. While the study of weather itself had been around for millennia, it didn’t quite progress until scientists began utilizing computers to analyze meteorological data.

Even with all the progress that had been made, tornadoes were difficult to study. Things like hurricanes and tropical storms were easier to predict and monitor. But not twisters. They were wild, uncontrollable beasts that could touch down at any moment and wreak all sorts of havoc in mere seconds.

Lydia wanted to learn all she could about the phenomena, and so did you. Your shared interest allowed you to work very well together.

You were so grateful for the little group you worked with. Four people you loved very much. You’d known Rhett, Perry, and Lydia your entire life, of course, and Rebecca was a newer addition. She’d joined you in the last five years, but she was an excellent asset with her history as a news meteorologist.

What a merry band of storm chasers you were, heading into the face of danger, hoping to encounter one of the most mysterious weather anomalies in existence.

“How’s she lookin’, darlin’?” Rhett asked, one hand reaching over to squeeze your thigh lovingly.

You gazed down at the screen in your lap, paying attention to the large highlighted region that showed which direction the storm was moving. The severity was mounting.

“Pretty intense,” you answered. Then, as if on cue, the telltale sound of hailstones began to patter against the roof of the truck. Your face broke into a grin.

Over the walkie, Lydia’s voice could be heard. “We’ve got hail!” She cried in excitement.

The shift in temperature was a good sign. These were peak conditions for a tornado to form in. You grabbed the hand Rhett had placed on your leg, giving it a squeeze. He squeezed right back.

Moments later, the hail died down, and you opened the truck window, listening. A crack of thunder in the distance. And then, a split second of utter silence.

The hair on the back of your neck stood on end.

You turned your head, looking straight at Rhett. The blue of his eyes was bright as could be, shining with anticipation.

And then, just beyond him, you saw it.

“Holy shit.”

He glanced to his left and saw it too. A few hundred yards from you, in the open fields, a funnel cloud had begun to form. Your eyes never left it, staring at the sky, willing the funnel to touch down.

“Come on, come on, come on.”

“We got touchdown yet?!” Rhett asked, eyes half on the road, half on the funnel.

Almost there. Almost there. Almost there.

And then, all at once, it made contact with the ground. Lydia was shouting through the walkie, and you grabbed the device to answer her. Your heart was pounding in your chest, your teeth chattering as adrenaline began to course through you.

What a beautiful sight it was. Terrifying and destructive, but beautiful.

“Goddamn, look at that,” Rhett breathed in awe. He kept his foot planted firmly on the accelerator, maintaining a fast pace, staying just ahead of the swirling tunnel of wind.

But your spirit of wonder soon dissipated as you noticed something. “It looks like it’s getting bigger,” you remarked. The change was obvious. It was covering more ground. Moving faster and faster.

Within seconds, your entire life was turned upside down.

“Oh my God. Rhett…” Your voice failed you, coming out as more of a whisper. You gripped his arm, and he quickly brought both hands to the steering wheel, knuckles white.

He gazed out at the approaching swirl, and he knew he was no longer chasing the storm. No, this time, the tides had turned.

Now it was time to run.

You scrambled for the walkie-talkie, fingers closing around the plastic, but it flew out of your hands as Rhett slammed on the brakes. You let out a yelp as you plummeted forward, seatbelt stopping you from hitting the dashboard.

“We gotta find cover!” He shouted, throwing the gear into park and unbuckling his own seatbelt. His face was awash with fright, pale as could be. He pointed to your right. “Old Miller property’s over there. Maybe we can make it to the storm cellar!”

Terror-stricken, you scrambled to open your door, tumbling out onto the asphalt. As soon as you righted yourself, Rhett was grabbing you, hand tight on your bicep, dragging you across the road. Your boots crunched against gravel, but you couldn’t hear the sound over the roar of the wind.

It was so close you could feel it tugging at your clothes. A vortex threatening to swallow you whole. If it overtook you, you’d never make it out alive.

Together, you dashed across an old wheat field, straight for the Miller farm. It had been abandoned for years, but the storm shelter remained, and it was your best chance at survival.

You could see it just up ahead, jutting slightly from the ground. But your legs ached, and your lungs burned like fire as you struggled to take in gulps of air. So close yet so far. Just a little further.

You’d never been so terrified in your life. You understood now what people meant when they said their life flashed before their eyes. Yours did at that moment, as you ran alongside the man you loved.

Images of your family, memories of all the good times you’d had with Rhett, flashes of laughing and singing and being young and foolish and so full of wonder. Was it all for naught?

“C’mon, baby! We’re almost there!” His desperate shout filled your ears. He yanked you toward him and you nearly lost your footing, and for one horrifying moment, you thought you were going to fall, but Rhett caught you in his strong arms, continuing on across the field.

By the grace of the Almighty, you made it to the shelter. Rhett threw himself down, lifting the iron bar that was fastened across the rusted doors. Hinges squealed as he heaved them open, and he pulled you forward, urging you down the rickety old ladder into the abyss below.

You scrambled down, and he followed, slamming the door shut as he did so. When you reached the end of the ladder, your feet hit the floor unsteadily, and you yelped as your foot gave out beneath you, ankle twisting painfully. But your injury was the least of your worries.

In the inky darkness, Rhett landed beside you and reached out, grabbing you, pulling you close.

“Rhett!” You sobbed, burying your face against his chest as he cautiously guided you away from the overhead doors.

“I’ve got you!” He assured you, holding you tightly. He pulled you both to the damp ground, and you curled up beneath him as he laid his body atop your own. “I’m here, baby. I’m here.”

He held you, his large hands covering your ears as the violent storm raged above you.

Often, tornadoes were described as sounding like a freight train, and you would agree with that statement, having witnessed so many of them. But right now, as you huddled beneath the ground right below the savage phenomenon, it didn’t sound like a train at all.

It sounded like the world was coming to an end.

You weren’t entirely certain how long you stayed down there, pressed against the earth, as Rhett shielded you. It felt like hours. Days. Weeks.

And then, all at once, it stopped.

The world went quiet again. Nature went back to its natural order. The danger had passed.

You laid there for a few moments, both of you breathing hard, hearts racing. You were trembling. So was he. But you were alive.

“Are you okay?” Rhett asked as he lifted his body from yours, kneeling beside you.

You sat up, trying to find your voice. “Y-yeah. Are you?”

“I’m fine,” he breathed.

And then, “Oh my God. Perry, Bec and Lydia!”

You hurried to stand, and Rhett grabbed your arm, leading you both through the dark, feeling for anything that might be in your path. Once he’d grabbed onto the ladder, he ascended it first, grunting as he reached up to open the doors.

Daylight flooded the cellar, and you shielded your eyes for a moment before you took hold of the ladder yourself and began climbing.

As you both emerged, the sight you were met with was harrowing. The old Miller farmhouse was entirely decimated, blown flat to the ground like a house made of popsicle sticks. The barn was destroyed, too, pieces of red painted wood littering the surrounding property.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ. That had to be an EF4. Maybe even a five,” Rhett said in utter disbelief, his eyes wide, jaw slacken.

A sob tore itself from your throat as you turned, fully taking in the level of damage around you. There was seemingly no sign of Perry’s truck.

“Do you think they found cover?” You asked, voice trembling.

Rhett’s face was grim, but he still said, “‘m sure they did, they’re smart, they’re probably just hunkerin’ down in a ditch somewhere.” Then he grasped your hand. “Let’s head out to the road and see if we can fine ‘em.”

You intertwined your fingers with his and followed, but your stomach was in knots. What if your friends had been consumed by the storm? What if they were dead?

As you walked, you both called out for them, hoping they’d hear and yell back. But your voices bounced off of the eerily silent countryside. Such a contrast to the chaos that had just transpired.

“They can’t have gone too far. They were right behind us,” Rhett spoke. You could hear the distress in his voice, although he was trying to keep himself steady for you.

You scanned the horizon, and that’s when you saw it. A long ways off, the silhouette of an overturned truck could be seen. Perry’s truck.

“Rhett,” came your whisper.

“I see it.”

Together, you broke into a run, sprinting across the road and into the field on the other side. Faster and faster, desperate to see what was inside the truck. Praying it was empty, that your friends had found cover.

You came to a stop once you were within a few feet of the truck, and Rhett held out his arm, glancing back at you as he caught his breath. “Just wait, I’ll check,” he told you.

You shook your head, breathing still labored. “No, let’s look together.”

Holding his gaze, a beat passed before he reached for your hand again. Together, you cautiously approached the truck, which was turned onto its side. It was severely battered, damaged beyond repair.

As you rounded the front, you peered down into the window and your blood ran cold. “Oh dear God.”

Rhett jumped into action, climbing atop the side of the truck. The driver's side glass was shattered, allowing him to reach in. “Per!” He exclaimed, gripping his brother’s shirt, tugging him upward. “Perry!”

But he got no response. The man was unconscious. A nasty gash marred the side of his head, crimson blood trickling down his face. He was terribly pale.

Beneath him, Rhett could see Rebecca. His heart sank like a rock. Just from the way she was positioned, he could tell she was not going to fare well. He couldn’t see if her chest was rising and falling or not. And when he squinted to look into the back seat, he saw Lydia, slumped over, but he couldn’t tell if she was dead or just merely unconscious.

“Are they alive?!” You couldn’t tell from your vantage point. All you could see was Perry and Rebecca. If Lydia was still in the truck, she was concealed in the back.

“I-I can feel a pulse, but Perry’s bleedin’ real bad. Call 911!” He didn’t give you any information about the girls.

“Rhett, the girls! Are they—”

“Just call an ambulance!” He repeated with urgency.

You did as you were told, hurrying to grab your phone from your pocket, hands shaking fiercely as you dialed the emergency number. You prayed you would get an answer, knowing the call lines would be flooded after the storm.

Moments later, an operator answered. Panicked, you explained your situation, begging them to send help. The woman remained calm, asking for your name and location, assuring you that assistance was on the way. You had no recollection of what you said to her. Everything was a blur, adrenaline giving you tunnel vision.

After you hung up the phone, Rhett jumped down from the truck. You threw yourself into his arms as he neared you, tears spilling down your cheeks. “They said they’re on their way,” you whimpered.

He hugged you close, and you could feel the way he trembled. “I didn’t…I didn’t want to pull him out. The EMTs should be the ones to do it, just in case anythin’ is broken.” While that was partially true, he was also terrified that if he started pulling everyone out, he’d find the girls were dead. It would bring reality crashing down upon him. The thought made his gut churn with dread, and he found himself praying to a God he didn’t even believe in, asking Him to spare his brother and his sister-in-law, and your dearest friend Lydia.

It took longer than usual, because so many ambulances had already been dispatched to aid those harmed in the storm. But as time ticked on, the more worried you became. “I’m scared,” you whimpered.

Rhett held you tighter, resting his cheek atop your head. He felt so powerless. “I know. Me too.”

Moments later, the wail of emergency vehicle sirens could be heard. Multiple ambulances and a firetruck approached, all pulling into the grass toward the scene. Rhett let you go, the two of you jogging ahead to meet the first responders.

“There’s three of ‘em in the truck!” Rhett exclaimed, “they’re all unconscious, from what I could tell!”

“We’ll get them out!” One of them assured you both.

You watched as they all rushed toward the truck, firefighters and EMTs alike. Helplessly, you remained on the sidelines, clinging to Rhett, fingers clutching the fabric of his t-shirt.

He wanted to tell you they’d be okay. That everything was going to be fine, that your friends were unharmed. But in his heart, he knew nothing would ever be okay again.

Perry was pulled from the vehicle first, still unconscious. Together, you watched as he was placed on a gurney, where an EMT hurriedly checked his vitals, searching for life.

“I’ve got a pulse, but it’s weak!” The young woman shouted.

He was alive. That was a good sign, right? Maybe it meant the girls were alright as well. You could only hope.

A saw was taken to the door, and it was removed so that the inside of the truck was more easily accessible. Then they pulled Rebecca out. She was so still, unresponsive as she was hauled down to a second gurney.

You heard a voice shout that they couldn’t find a pulse.

You placed your hand over your mouth, a grieved whimper escaping your throat. Rhett’s name slipped past your lips, and you buried your face in his chest, unable to watch. You could hear his sharp intake of breath.

Then Lydia was pulled from the wreckage. While you kept your face hidden against Rhett, he watched on, and he knew, just from the sight of her, that she was gone.

His grip tightened on you. It felt as if a dagger had been plunged into his chest. He sucked in a sharp, ragged breath, his eyes falling shut for a moment as the weight of what was happening settled upon him.

You lifted your head at that very moment, and you turned, realizing your best friend had been taken out of the truck. On instinct, you tried to pull away from Rhett. Tried to run toward the scene, to see for yourself if Lydia was alright.

But Rhett held you back. “No,” he told you.

“Let me go, I need to see if she’s okay!”

He repeated himself. “No.” He would not release you, no matter how hard you struggled.

Tears blurred your vision. “Rhett, please! I need to know if she’s alive!”

He grabbed both of your shoulders and looked right into your eyes. “Darlin’, stop! Just let ‘em do their jobs!” He didn’t want you near it. Didn’t want you to witness death up close and personal like that. It would haunt you forever.

Your knees buckled, and he caught you as you fell into him, wailing from the weight of your pain. Brokenhearted, Rhett cradled you in his arms, squeezing his eyes shut as his own tears made their way down his cheeks. This wasn’t happening. It wasn’t real. It had to be a dream. A nightmare.

And then one of the sheriff’s deputies was approaching. Linden Haynes. “You two need an escort to the hospital?” He asked, voice low. Knowing you’d both want to go in support of your friends.

Rhett nodded, trying to find his voice. “Yeah…yeah. Thanks. I, uh, don’t know where my truck got blown to.”

Linden hummed, his face sympathetic. “No problem. We’ll find your truck somewhere. Once things calm down, I can see if we can get some deputies searchin’ for it.” He moved to walk away, motioning for you both to follow.

“Linden, are…are they okay?” you heard yourself speak.

He turned, trying to mask his expression, but you could see it in his eyes. He had witnessed the wreckage firsthand. He’d seen the EMTs and firefighters rescuing your friends. He knew.

“Let the docs and nurses at the hospital tell you that, they’ll know more than me,” was his response.

Defeated, you followed him to his squad car, your body still leaning into Rhett. You climbed into the backseat together, and as soon as you were settled, you buried your face in your hands, trying desperately to hold yourself together. But you were unraveling, and the dread was threatening to swallow you whole.

The hospital was in a frenzy when you arrived. So many people hurt in the storm. You heard murmurs of the tornado being an EF5, which made your eyes go wide as you looked at Rhett. It was a wonder you’d even made it to safety.

Sitting there in that hospital waiting room was the most excruciating moment of your life. Hoping your friends would survive. Knowing that they might not.

Rhett was on the verge of potentially losing his brother. And while his relationship with Perry had been tumultuous over the years, he cared about him deeply, and couldn’t stomach the thought of losing him.

You sat side by side on vinyl-covered chairs, holding each other’s hands in a death grip, startling anytime a doctor or nurse walked by, thinking one of them was coming to give you an update.

Finally, an update did come.

You had no recollection of ending up on the floor. But there you were, crumbled against the cool tile as Rhett tried to console you, while simultaneously wracked with grief himself.

They were dead. Lydia and Rebecca. They were dead, and they had been since they were pulled from the wreckage. Perry, however, was alive, but just barely holding onto life.

The doctor was a family friend. He offered to contact yours and Rhett’s respective families. It was all a bur. And then you found yourself in Perry’s hospital room, which was stone silent, filled with dreadful anticipation.

Your memory of that day was patchy at best. Your brain had filtered out some of the more traumatic parts, forcing you to forget. The weight of your anguish made it feel as if you were underwater, being pulled down by a cinder block tied to your ankle. No matter how hard you pedaled, you couldn’t come back up to the surface.

Late into the night, Perry succumbed to his injuries, too. He slipped away, with his family surrounding him. Worst of it all? His four-year-old daughter was left an orphan in the wake of her parents’ deaths.

You lost a piece of yourself when three of the dearest people in your life were taken from you. It sent both you and Rhett into a spiral. He blamed himself. You blamed yourself. It was something you could not move past. Every time you looked at him, it was a reminder of that fateful day a twister took everything from you.

You couldn’t bear it any longer. So you ran. You left Rhett. You left all you had ever known. And you told yourself you would never come back.

Present Day

Until now.

You were hoping to go undetected. You weren’t sure if you could handle seeing anyone from your past. Least of all Rhett. With the way you left things between you and him, you doubted he wanted to see you anyway.

But you should have known you couldn’t hide forever.

You had been planning to stay in your aunt’s house while you were in town, but when you arrived and saw the dire state it was in, you realized sleeping there wasn’t feasible. So you decided to stay at the only motel in town.

Before checking in, you needed to stop by the store to buy a few necessities that you had forgotten to pack. You wondered if anyone would recognize you. Had you changed much physically over the last six years? You thought you had, but maybe others wouldn’t notice the change.

You managed to slip into the store without being recognized. You went about your entire shopping trip, remaining anonymous. You paid for your things without a single soul uttering your name. But just when you thought you were home free, you saw someone who made you stop dead in your tracks for the briefest of moments.

Cecilia Abbott.

Your heart rate picked up, anxiety sizzling through your veins like a live wire. She hadn’t seen you yet, too busy bagging her groceries to notice. Perhaps, if you were quick enough, you could evade her and make your escape.

You almost did, too. Until you heard the sound of your name being called.

You flinched, pausing for a moment, debating whether you should keep going. But then she was descending upon you and you had nowhere else to go.

“It can’t be! After all these years?!” The woman exclaimed.

Slowly, you turned around, trying your best to put on a pleasant expression, masking your look of distress. “Cece, hi!” You greeted. You had no idea how this was going to go. Would she be angry at you for walking out on her son? Would she welcome you back to town with open arms?

She stared at you in disbelief, shopping bag balanced in the crook of her elbow. “Goodness, how long’s it been?” But she knew how long it had been. She never lost count of how many years had passed since the death of her child.

“Six years,” you heard yourself reply. You wanted to crawl out of your skin.

“Wow. I can’t believe it.” Cecilia shook her head. “It’s almost like seein’ a ghost! Never thought you’d come back.”

“I didn’t either. But I, uh…I’m here cleaning out my aunt’s place.”

Her face softened, and she shifted, leaning toward you. “I’m sorry. She’ll be missed around here, that’s for sure. S’ a good thing you’re takin’ on the responsibility of cleanin’ that house, though. She did let it go in her old age.”

You hummed in agreement. “Yeah, she really wasn’t there mentally the last few years of her life. It’s sad. But, I’m hoping to have the house looking good as new when I’m done with it.”

Cecilia shifted her bag of groceries to her other hand. “Say, you got a place to stay while you’re in town?”

“I was going to stay at the house, but it’s too much of a disaster. I’m just gonna get a motel room.”

You should have known what she would say next. Gasping, she reached out and touched your arm. “Nonsense! You should come stay at our house!”

Your eyes widened. She wasn’t serious, was she? After all that had transpired? “Oh, I couldn’t do that, I wouldn’t want to impose.”

But once Cecilia Abbott’s mind was set on something, she wouldn’t take no for an answer. “No imposition at all! Home cooked meals, and a clean bed that doesn’t have bed bugs like that nasty ole motel does. The Bed Bug Inn, that’s what everyone calls it. Plus, we’re not that far from your aunt’s, just down the road. Closer than the motel is.”

She did have a point. But you couldn’t fathom the thought of stepping back onto the Abbott property again. You couldn’t face the demons you’d left there. “Cece, I appreciate it, but—”

“I insist. You at least need to come for dinner! I’m makin’ roast tonight, y’know, the one Rhett always loved? If you decide you still don’t want to stay after that, that’s fine. But you have to let me feed ya, I’m not gonna let you go hungry, girl.”

At the mention of Rhett’s name, your breath caught in your chest. “Oh, um… Rhett, how is he?” Your voice raised a little in pitch, and you cleared your throat.

“He’s fine. Still livin’ in the house with us, but he’s gone all the time. Storm chasin’ business keeps him busy.”

He was still chasing? “I can’t believe he’s still going after storms,” you spoke in disbelief.

Cecilia shrugged. “He never lost his love for it,” she mused. For a moment, there was a faraway look in her eyes, as if she was remembering something. Likely the way she had lost her son to the very thing Rhett loved doing.

Then she snapped out of it. “Anyway, come over for supper! Five o’clock!” Without giving you a chance to protest, she turned on her heel and bustled out of the store, leaving you with no choice but to take her up on her offer. You didn’t want to offend her by not showing up.

But could you handle it? Stepping back into the past, into a version of yourself that you had not been in six years. You thought of Amy, Perry and Rebecca’s daughter. She would be nine years old by now. Would she even remember you? Would she blame you for the death of her parents?

Surely not. She had been four when they died. You doubted a four-year-old had the emotional or mental wherewithal to blame you for the loss of her parents.

But it wasn’t Amy you were afraid to be reunited with. Not really. You were utterly terrified at the thought of seeing Rhett again. Would he be happy to see you? Would he be angry? Hurt? Confused? What would he say to you? How would you respond?

All these questions swirled through your mind as you sauntered back to your car. Maybe he wouldn’t even be home. But if you chose to stay at the Abbott’s, you would likely run into him at some point. Besides, you weren’t sure how long you were going to remain in town. You felt like you were taking advantage of Cecilia’s kindness. So, you determined that you would only go over for dinner. You would not stay the night.

With that thought in mind, you climbed into your car and headed back to your aunt’s house.

A few hours later, you were back in your car all over again, thrumming with anxiety, wondering if you were making the right decision. It would be so easy to turn back around, but you forced yourself to continue on, hands white-knuckling the steering wheel.

When you turned into the Abbott farm, you were hit with a wave of nostalgia so intense you slowed your car to a stop, staring at the house in the distance. It was the same as it had always been. A cozy house boasting of a well-kept garden, a bran off to the left with a nice coat of bright red paint. Chickens milled about the yard. Horses played in the field. Cows lowed in the distance.

It still felt like home.

With a deep breath, you eased off the brake and urged your car down the long driveway. As you parked near the house, you caught sight of a young girl with honey-colored hair, swinging on the rope swing that was tied to the tree in the front.

Your heart clenched in your chest. She’d grown so much. It was a reminder that life had continued in your absence.

Upon seeing you, she hopped down, eyes alight with joy. “Gramma! Gramma!” She called, rushing into the house to alert Cecilia to your arrival.

You took a moment to steel yourself before you climbed out of the car, shoes crunching against dirt and gravel as you approached the porch. As you ascended the steps, you were once again greeted by the little girl. Amy.

“Hi!” She exclaimed. “I’m Amy. Gramma says you can come on in!”

You couldn’t help but smile at her enthusiasm. “Hi, Amy. It’s been a long time. Last time I saw you, you were this big!” You held your hand low, indicating her size.

“I don’t really remember you. But Gramma and Grampa do. They said you and Uncle Rhett used to date.”

You were slightly taken aback, but recovered quickly. “Uh, yeah…yeah, we did. That was a long time ago though.”

Amy shrugged. “I wish he was still dating you. You’re super pretty!”

“Oh…thank you!” Was all you could say in reply. She certainly was prone to saying whatever came to mind. However, she moved on from it quickly, motioning you inside.

“C’mon!” She said, waving you on, and you moved to follow her, stopping at the door to take your shoes off before you ambled into the kitchen.

The smell of food cooking made your stomach growl, and you realized only then that you were very hungry. A home-cooked meal would do you some good.

At the sound of your footsteps, Cecilia turned, her face lighting up at the sight of you. “You made it! I’m so glad. Dinner should be ready in about fifteen minutes.”

You smiled softly, nodding your head. “Is there anything I can do to help?” You wanted to make yourself useful, rather than standing awkwardly in the middle of the kitchen.

“You can help me set the table!” Amy chirped, already walking to the table with her arms full of plates.

“Silverware’s in the drawer to the right of the sink,” Cecilia reminded you. But you remembered from the countless dinners you had been a part of here.

With a nod, you moved to gather enough cutlery for everyone, and as Amy set each plate down, you folded a napkin and placed the silverware upon it. You fell into a rhythm, stopping only to grab drinking glasses from the cupboard.

You noticed that the number of place settings was five. That had to mean Rhett was also joining the family for dinner, unless it was a place for someone else. You wanted to ask Cecilia if he was coming, but didn’t want to make things awkward, so you left it alone.

You were kept busy as she handed you different serving dishes full of various foods to put on the table. As you placed a basket of dinner rolls amongst the rest of the food, the sound of the back door opening caught your attention.

Your heart leapt in your chest, and you lifted your head, expecting to see Rhett. Instead, you were met with Royal’s look of surprise. Cecilia looked over at him and motioned to the sink. “Wash up, supper’s ready. We’ve got a guest.”

He nodded as he hung his hat on the peg on the wall, pausing to take off his muddy boots. “I’ll be damned,” he remarked, directing it at you. “Didn’t know you were back in town.”

“Saw her at the market today, so I invited her over. Didn’t tell ya because you an’ Rhett have been in that darn pasture with no signal all day.”

Royal hummed gruffly as he walked over to the sink to wash his hands. “Storm wiped that fence clean out. We had to replace every last post,” he sighed, “took us all day.”

“S’why we need to hire some hands, Roy,” Cecilia lowered her voice, but you still heard her.

Clearly this was something they talked about frequently, because he huffed and shook his head. But he didn’t continue the potential argument. Instead, he turned, drying his hands on a towel. His eyes regarded you kindly. “Been a long time,” he murmured. “Good to see you.”

You managed a smile. “Good to see you too.”

“Rhett on his way?” Cecilia questioned as she placed the final platter on the table.

Again, your heart fluttered anxiously at the mention of his name.

Royal nodded, pulling out the chair at the head of the table and taking a seat. “Yeah, he’s right behind me, he was just puttin’ up the horses.”

“Alrighty, we’ll wait to say grace until he comes in then.”

There it was again, that deep feeling of utter nostalgia. Cecilia had always been a religious woman, and not a meal went by where she didn’t pray over the food. That aspect hadn’t changed at all.

“You can sit here!” Amy announced, patting an open chair next to Royal. “Me and Uncle Rhett will sit across from you.”

You’d have to look into his face. You wouldn’t be able to hide your expressions from him. Rhett had always been so perceptive, more so than anyone gave him credit for. He was always considered to be aloof by those who didn’t bother to get to know him, but you knew that was far from the truth.

There had been a time when you knew him like the back of your hand. You wondered just how much he’d changed, if at all.

Just as you took your seat at the table, the squeak of the screen door opening filled the room, and the scrape of boots against linoleum followed. Seconds later, there he was. Blue flannel shirt rolled up to his elbows. Same brown hat he’d had since he was a teenager, which he pulled from his head to place on the hat peg.

“Uncle Rhett! Uncle Rhett! We have a guest!” Amy exclaimed.

He hadn’t turned yet. Didn’t know you were there. “Who’s that, li’l pea?”

“Your old girlfriend!” She giggled, covering her mouth with her hand.

He saw you then, and his eyes went wide. You swore the clock hanging over the sink stopped, causing time to stand still. Everyone else in the room faded into the background as Rhett became your sole focus.

Suddenly you couldn’t breathe, as if someone had taken their hands and squeezed the air right out of your lungs. In the background, you heard Cecilia talking, likely explaining that she’d seen you at the store and invited you over.

You doubted Rhett heard her, either. He was too busy staring at you.

Seeing him again brought so many overwhelming emotions to the surface. Pain. Sadness. Longing. And suddenly, it felt as if the walls were closing in on you. You needed to bolt.

Abruptly, you stood up, silently cursing yourself for your dramatics. “I–I’m so sorry, this was a mistake,” you squeaked, the legs of your chair scraping against the floor as you scrambled away from the table.

And then you were fleeing. Just like you had six years ago.

But this time, Rhett wasn’t going to let you go that easy. Shaking himself out of his momentary shock, his feet moved beneath him, carrying him after you. “Go ‘head an’ eat! I’m gonna talk to her!” He called over his shoulder to his family.

He threw open the front door, lurching out onto the porch. You were already at your car, wrenching the door open. “Wait!” He called out, dashing down the steps.

Tears were streaming down your cheeks. You didn’t want him to see.

“Would ya just– just stop!” He reached out, hand against your door, impeding you from opening it.

“Let go of my door, please.” You were surprised you had it in yourself to speak.

“Not until you look at me.”

You were afraid you’d fall apart if you did. “Rhett, please.”

A beat passed. Then another. You could feel his body heat, he was standing so close. You could smell the sweat and dirt that clung to him after a hard day’s work. But there was something else, too. Something sweeter. Like freshly baled hay.

Against your better judgment, you found yourself turning, drawn to him like a magnet. Your eyes finally met his, and you gasped softly. They were even bluer than you remembered. So clear and bright.

But there was so much emotion there, too. It swam within his irises, and you saw the glint of gathering tears. He drank in the sight of you, and his chest heaved as he took in a breath, then another. “I…I never thought I’d see you again,” he whispered, as if speaking louder would cause his voice to fail him.

“Me too,” you agreed, as quiet as he was. There was so much you wanted to say. But most importantly, there were a few words he needed to hear. “I’m so sorry, Rhett.” You succumbed to your tears, as they slid down your cheeks in hot trails.

His bottom lip quivered slightly, and he shook his head. “No, I…I should apologize. I shoulda been more understandin’. You were grievin’, same as me, and I wasn’t letting you do it in your own way. I made you feel like you had to run away, and I’m sorry.”

“Is that what you think? That it was your fault?” Your voice trembled.

He shrugged, sniffling softly. “S’what I always assumed. Thought it had to be somethin’ I did.”

The thought of him living with that these last several years made your heart ache. “It was never your fault. It was me. I couldn’t face what happened. I thought…if I left, it would be easier. I could move on faster.”

Being reassured that it wasn’t his fault made him relax slightly, the tenseness leaving his shoulders. But there was still a shadow of sadness on his face. “Was it easier?”

At that, you shook your head, scoffing slightly. “No. Honestly, I think leaving you made it worse. I’m so sorry I did that to you. I’ve never really been able to forgive myself for it.”

“Guess we both have a lotta things we couldn’t forgive ourselves for,” he murmured. Then he bowed his head for a moment, gathering himself before looking at you again. “For what it’s worth, I ain’t holding it against you. Losin’ the three of them was the hardest fuckin’ thing we ever had to go through. I don’t blame you for leavin’ to see if it would make you feel better. You did what you thought you had t’ do.”

A fresh wave of tears welled in your eyes. “Oh, Rhett.” Without a second thought, you found yourself moving forward, wrapping your arms around him. He was caught by surprise for only a moment, and then his own arms, strong and steady, came up to encircle your waist.

You stood there in the middle of the driveway, holding each other for what felt like hours. When you parted, you were both wiping at tear-streaked cheeks.

“S’good to see you again, by the way,” Rhett said. “I mean it.”

“It’s good to see you too,” you replied honestly. Now that your initial upset was out of the way, you realized it felt as if a weight had been lifted from your shoulders.

“What, uh, what are you doin’ back in town?”

“Cleaning out my great-aunt’s place,” came your answer, and he nodded in realization. “I ran into your mom at the store today, she invited me over. I didn’t really want to come, I was scared to face you again.”

He hummed in understanding. “She knew what she was doin’. She wanted us to talk. She’s a meddler like that.” There was a twinkle in his eye as he spoke.

You couldn’t help but smile despite yourself. “I should’ve known it was a ruse. She’s convincing, that’s for sure. She’s also watching us right now.”

When Rhett turned, he found his whole family watching through the front window. Upon seeing him turn, they all rushed away from the window, dropping the curtain.

He faced you again, and there was a smile on his face. “I’m glad she convinced ya, then. Can’t tell you how good it feels to clear the air after all this time. Losin’ you was rough on me, but I’m happy you’re back, even if it’s only for a small visit.”

“I’m happy too. And I’m happy you stopped me from leaving this time.”

His eyes twinkled like stars, and he nodded toward the house. “Wanna head back in for supper?”

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

Together, you walked back into the house. While there was so much you had missed in your time apart, and so much you still needed to reconcile with each other, you were relieved that the air was clear for the time being. You hadn’t expected Rhett to welcome you back with open arms, but you were thankful he had.

It broke your heart that he had spent so much time believing he was to blame. It was your own inability to face your grief that was the culprit, not this sweet, blue-eyed cowboy. Never him. But maybe there was a new beginning between you. A chance to let the past remain where it belonged.

When you stepped into the kitchen and took your seat at the table, the trio was pretending they hadn’t just been spying on you and Rhett. However, it was Amy who gave it away, giggling behind her hand.

“You guys’re menaces,” Rhett grumbled as he placed a serving of potatoes on his plate.

Cecilia tried to hide her smile, though ultimately failing. She looked at you, and her gaze was kind. “I’m sorry. Maybe I was a little…overzealous about makin’ sure you and Rhett saw each other again. But it worked, didn’t it?”

You couldn’t hold it against her. Without her meddling, you never would have spoken to Rhett. You likely would have done what you came to do and left town without a single glance in his direction.

Cecilia had known that it was a chance for you to reconcile with Rhett. Holding on to something that happened years ago wasn’t healthy. She saw the opportunity to ease her son’s pain, and yours, and she took it. Thankfully, it had worked out in her favor.

You couldn’t believe it had been that easy to reconcile with him. Even after you’d stormed off, upset, he’d still been willing to talk to you. It spoke volumes of his growth. Past Rhett wasn’t very good at communicating. But present Rhett seemed to have gotten much better at it.

Dinner passed without a hitch, although there was still some slight tension. No one spoke of Perry, Rebecca, or Lydia. You got the sense that Royal and Cecilia were avoiding the subject. Likely because Amy was present. You had no idea how much she knew about that day, but you had no desire to bring it up.

Conversation instead shifted to what you were doing with your life.

“Where you workin’ now?” Royal asked, leaning back so that Cecilia could take his plate and clear the table in preparation for dessert. She’d denied your offer of help, insisting you sit and talk, because you were a guest.

“I work for the National Weather Service, up in Silver Spring, Maryland.”

“No kiddin’?” He replied, eyes glimmering with intrigue. “What d’ya do there?”

You took a sip of your water before you answered. “I’m an analyst. I analyze weather data from all over the country. I work with a team and we try to predict, as best we can, what the weather is going to look like.”

“Sounds intense,” Rhett spoke up. You glanced over at him. He was leaning back in his chair, balancing on the back two legs.

Until his mother slapped her dish towel against his arm. “Stop leanin’ back in that chair. The legs’ll give out.”

He corrected his chair right away. You couldn’t help but smile at the interaction. “It is kinda intense. But I love it. Keeps me on my toes,” came your reply.

“Can’t take the storm chaser outta the girl, huh?” He hummed, catching your eye with a knowing look.

He was right. Although you’d stopped chasing storms, you still did just that, except it was from a much safer distance this time, through a set of screens. There was no chance of those around you dying grisly deaths brought on by a wicked twister.

“Guess not,” you finally agreed.

Before the conversation could continue, Amy happily interrupted, flouncing up to the table to set down a handful of dessert plates. “Gramma made your favorite, Uncle Rhett,” she announced, beaming at him.

He grinned, pulling her into his side as she squealed. “Did she?” He asked, laughter in his tone as he jabbed his fingers into her sides, while she laughed uncontrollably and tried to wriggle away from him.

You watched the exchange, and your heart went warm in your chest. But you were also hit with a wave of sadness. This sweet little girl was growing up without a mother and father. These three people in this room were all she had in the world.

“Y’alright?” Rhett’s voice jarred you, bringing you back to reality. You hadn’t realized that tears were making their way down your cheeks.

“I…I’m fine,” you answered.

“Alright, here’s some blackberry pie!” Cecilia’s voice rang across the kitchen, interrupting your moment of melancholy. But you were grateful for the distraction.

The pie was cut, and everyone was given a slice, along with a scoop of vanilla ice cream, and a cup of coffee. Conversation around the table shifted to Amy’s schooling, and she eagerly listed the number of weeks that were left of school.

But you could feel Rhett’s eyes on you from across the table the entire time. The intensity of his gaze made you feel as if he could see right into your soul. That was how it had always been. Looking at him felt like staring into the sun, at times. So bright and beautiful, but impossible to stare at.

That hadn’t changed, even years later. Same intense look.

When dessert was finished, Amy got up to help Cecilia clear the table. Royal headed upstairs to presumably get ready for bed. And Rhett stepped outside onto the front porch.

“Can I at least help you clean up for the night, Cece?” You asked, hoping to do something, anything to feel useful.

“Don’t you lift a finger. Amy and I have got it.”

“You sure?”

“‘Course I’m sure,” the woman insisted. Then, “Have you given any thought as to if you might stay here?”

You hesitated. “Oh, I, uh…I don’t know. I really don’t want to be a bother.”

She huffed, shaking her head. “I already told ya at the store, it’s no bother! ‘Sides, it’s gonna be dark soon, and it gets so pitch black out here, drivin’ into town isn’t safe. And if you stay, you’d be wakin’ up to a home-cooked breakfast in the mornin’.”

With a sigh, you finally relented. Mostly because you were too tired to argue with her. “You drive a hard bargain. Fine, I’ll stay.” It was a good thing you hadn’t taken your luggage out of the car yet.

Cecilia beamed. “Then it’s settled.”

“I’ll just go get my stuff from the car,” you remarked, already turning to put your shoes back on.

“Have Rhett help you. I think he just stepped out onto the porch,” she suggested.

With a nod, you made your way out the door, hinges squeaking as you stepped onto the porch, shoes thudding lightly against weather-worn wood.

Sure enough, Rhett was there, seated on the bench near the door. His legs were stretched out in front of him, and he was leaning back, eyes fixed on the sky.

When you came out, his gaze shifted to you, and he smiled softly. “Hey,” he said, sitting up a little straighter.

“Hey.” An awkward silence soon followed. There was so much hanging in the air between you both. Words left unsaid. “Your momma asked me to stay the night.”

He hummed, nodding as he looked back out across the sprawling land that was the Abbott farm. “Figured she would. Her and that bleedin’ heart of hers.”

“She suckered me into it with the promise of a home cooked breakfast.”

He scoffed playfully. “You get a home cooked breakfast and I get a piece of fuckin’ toast.”

“I’ll share with you.”

His smile turned into a grin. Then he fell serious. “Speakin’ of sharing, you can sleep in my room.”

At that, you shook your head. “Oh no, that’s asking too much. Isn’t there a pull-out bed in the living room couch? I can sleep there instead. It’s where I used to sleep when I’d stay over, remember?”

“Boy, do I,” he hummed. When you were teenagers, Cecilia was insistent that you did not share a bed if you stayed the night. You’d sleep on the pull-out bed in the living room, far away from Rhett’s bedroom upstairs. It didn’t stop him from sneaking down to talk to you in the middle of the night, though.

He continued, “But ya already served your time on that old couch. I’ll sleep there. My bed’s all yours.”

“Rhett—”

“Hey now, don’t argue with me. We both know I always win ‘em anyway.”

You rolled your eyes, folding your arms over your chest as you shook your head. He was right, after all. He’d always win you over with kisses dispersed all over your face until you relented with laughter.

“Fine. I’ll take your room then,” you replied.

He hummed in satisfaction, and silence fell between you again. It felt so strange, being back in his presence. You felt as if you didn’t belong here, on this porch with him in the late spring night. In your anxious imaginations, you had always assumed he’d never reconcile with you, so you never tried to reach out and make things right.

But all it had taken was one tearful conversation, and a sense of civility had been restored between you.

“Why did you forgive me so easily?” Came your question, spoken into the quiet air that hummed with the sounds of nocturnal creatures.

Rhett eyes flickered to you. “Because I spent too long wallowin’ in hurt, and I couldn’t handle carryin’ all of it anymore. I don’t wanna be stuck in the past. I want to move forward. Forgivin’ you is the best way to do that.” Then he added, “plus, I never could stay mad at you. Guess that still holds true to this day.”

Tears welled in your eyes again as you digested his words. You hated that you’d caused him so much pain. If only you’d been able to work through your grief instead of running from it. But that was in the past. There was nothing you could do to change it. However, you could use it to be a better person in the future.

“I’m sorry I—”

But he held up his hand. “Don’t need to ‘pologize again,” he assured you, gentleness in his tone.

You closed your mouth and nodded, and then you decided to take a seat next to him. Several minutes of silence passed again. Again, you were the one to break it.

“I’m glad I decided to come tonight. I almost didn’t take your ma up on it.”

“I’m glad y’ did too.” He turned his body toward you so he could look into your face. “Six years is a long time.”

“It really is. I can’t believe it’s been that long. And Amy…she’s gotten so big.”

“She has. That little girl’s the apple of Mom and Dad’s eye, I’ll tell you what.”

You couldn’t help but smile fondly. “Looks like she’s the apple of yours, too.”

Rhett made a noise of agreement. “I see ‘em in her. Bec and Perry, that is. She’s a bit of a firecracker. Takes after her dad in that way. But she’s smart as a whip, we’re talkin’ wicked smart, like her momma. And some of the things she says, the tone she says them in…god, it sounds just like Bec.”

“It must be so cool to see them live on in her like that,” you whispered.

“It is. But it’s hard, too. Thinkin’ about the way things would be if they were still here.”

“Does she remember them?”

He shrugged, shifting his gaze to the night sky above you, shimmering with stars. “Bits an’ pieces. She doesn’t remember whole details. Plus she was so small…I don’t rightly know what she pictures in her head when she talks about it.”

Your heart broke for the girl. “Poor thing.”

Rhett nodded his head. “I know. But she’s doin’ alright. Brings a lotta joy into our lives.” Even in the dim light, you could see the way his eyes sparkled with love. Family had always been so important to him. Even more so now that he’d lost part of it.

You had to swallow the urge to cry. “That’s good.”

A beat passed before Rhett changed the subject, eager to move on to lighter conversation. “So…weather analyst, huh?” He wiggled his eyebrows.

That drew a shy smile out of you. “It’s no big thing. I have a whole team of people who work with me.”

“It’s a pretty damn big deal to me. You an’ that smart brain of yours. It’s no wonder you want on to work for the fuckin’ National Weather Service.”

At his compliment, you ducked your head, a little embarrassed. “I really like the job. It’s kinda stressful, though. Weather never takes a break like us human beings do.”

“You’re tellin’ me. You shoulda seen the storms that rolled through here last week. One right after another.”

That prompted you to ask the question you’d been dying to know the answer to all night. “Your mom said you’re still chasing.”

Rhett nodded his head as he shifted against the bench, wood creaking beneath his weight. “Yeah. It ain’t just me, either. I’ve got a whole team workin’ with me.”

Your gaze fell to your lap, where your hands were loosely clasped. “Was it…was it hard getting back to it, after they died?” You softly questioned. That was why you’d never gone back to storm chasing. You couldn’t bear the thought of doing so after all you'd lost.

“Sure was. I didn’t start back up until a year later. That first time I got back out there…man, I almost couldn’t do it. I just kept thinkin’ of them. But then it sorta turned into a way to honor them an’ keep their memory alive. So I’ve been doin’ it ever since.”

“That’s good you were able to get back into it.”

“How ‘bout you? Been out there runnin’ after any storms lately?”

“No,” you answered quickly. The thought made your stomach turn.

“Y’ should join us next time it storms,” came his suggestion.

“I’d rather not.” You were hoping he would drop it.

“C’mon, it’ll be like old times.”

“I don’t want it to be like old times. We lost three of our best friends during old times. I can’t…I can’t face another tornado. I’m scared to death of them now. I’ll never storm chase ever again.” You were on the verge of tears.

He got the message then. “Alright, fair enough. Didn’t mean to upset ya.”

You sighed, shoulders dropping. “You didn’t upset me. It’s just more of a sore subject than I realized,” you said. Then, “and now that I’m back here, I’m so scared more twisters will come through.”

Rhett understood where you were coming from. But he also believed in facing one’s fears. For the most part, at least. There were still some things that filled him with fear that he couldn’t bear to face.

“More will definitely come. They ain’t been that bad this season so far. Last week was rough though. Had a couple EF3s that hit some neighborin’ towns. We’ve been helpin’ out a lot. The team I’m workin’ with…they’re big into charity. We’ve been able to donate to people who lost their homes. We’re hopin’ to raise enough money to get building supplies that can help rebuild all the damaged homes.”

You raised a brow, surprised. Not over the fact that Rhett wanted to help people in surrounding communities, but over the fact that his team had done so much. That was more than you’d ever been able to do when you were chasing with Perry, Rebecca, and Lydia.

“That’s really amazing,” you remarked.

“Yeah. Hate seein’ the damage twisters can do, but I’m glad we can at least do somethin’ to help, even if it’s small.”

You had so many more questions about his storm chasing. But you also wanted to change the subject. Your heart was heavy from the old memories going through your mind. So, you asked about another thing that was part of the past.

“Did you ever go back to bull riding?”

Rhett let out a sharp breath, suddenly finding a small tear in his jeans very interesting, fingers sliding over the work fabric. “Hell no.”

“I always wondered about that. If you’d gone back to it after I left.”

“Nah. Never could stomach the thought of gettin’ back on one of them beasts.”

“Yet you’ll chase twisters with no problem.”

“That’s different.”

“How? Both could kill you.”

Rhett didn’t have an answer for that. But he did know he never wanted to experience what he’d been through in that arena all those years ago.

It happened before you’d started storm chasing together. He was gunning for a career in pro bull riding, and he was headed toward the top. He had it all. Until it came crashing down one night when he suffered a life-threatening injury when he didn’t get out of the way of an angry bull fast enough.

You’d never forget that night. And neither would he. You’d been volunteering at the rodeo. You were certified in first aid, and you were able to work alongside the on-site medics tending to riders with injuries, so you had access to the riders-only area.

But what Rhett suffered was no minor injury. The bull’s horn caught him right beneath the hem of his protective vest, impaling the soft flesh of his lower abdomen. You remembered so vividly the way you’d cried out his name. The way he’d been carried out on a stretcher.

You remembered tearing his vest off of him and seeing blood. So much blood. You remembered pressing your hands to the wound in an effort to slow the bleeding as he grew pale beneath you. You remembered begging him to hold on, assuring him that help was on the way.

You almost lost him that night.

The injury scared the hell out of him. It required surgery to repair the internal damage, and it took him out of riding for months. And by the time the doctor cleared him to ride again, he knew he couldn’t. Not after he’d stared death in the face.

He had a permanent scar on his abdomen, a reminder of what he had endured.

Rhett never wanted to experience that again. So he hung up his riding vest for good. But he was still a thrill seeker. And when you expressed an interest in storm chasing, he’d eagerly agreed, because it gave him a chance to feel alive again, just like he always felt when he was sitting on the back of a raging bull.

Now you had traded places. He was too afraid to mount another bull. You were too afraid to go after another twister. It seemed that you had more in common than you realized.

“Guess we’re both scared of something,” you remarked, wrapping your arms around yourself as the evening chill crept up on you like the chilled fingers of a ghost touching your skin.

“Guess so,” Rhett agreed.

Your conversation fell stagnant, and you found yourself growing sleepy. You had only just arrived back in Oklahoma that morning, and the night before, you hadn’t slept well. The exhaustion was beginning to catch up with you.

“I should probably turn in before I fall asleep out here,” you mumbled, followed by a yawn.

Rhett made a sound deep in his throat before he rolled his neck, joints cracking. “I’ll help ya with your stuff,” he offered as he stood.

You followed suit, motioning to your car. The two of you headed down the porch steps, where you popped the trunk, revealing your luggage. You watched as Rhett heaved the bags out of the car, his forearms and biceps bulging beneath the rolled sleeves of his shirt.

You were reminded that he was still just as strong as ever. Lifting your suitcases hardly took that much strength, you knew, but Rhett was a farm boy. He’d been strong his entire life, thanks to lifting bales of hay and performing other tasks of manual labor. When he was riding bulls, his core and leg strength had been excellent. Those strong thighs of his allowed him to hold tightly to those raging animals.

He’d taken on some size since you’d seen him six years ago. His shoulders were more broad. His arms were bigger. His thighs were meatier. Or maybe his jeans were simply too tight, hugging the curve of his quad muscles.

In the kitchen, you hadn’t fully admired him. But here, beneath the night sky, illuminated by the glow of the porch light, you saw him. His stubbled jaw, his twinkling eyes, his small pink mouth the button nose you’d always loved.

You remembered teasing him and telling him he had an elfin nose, that he had inherited it from a mystical creature. You had adored the way his ears would turn red whenever you said it.

Oh, how things had changed. There had been a time when you couldn’t picture your life without him. And now, you’d been without him for so long that you’d forgotten what it felt like to love and be loved by him.

“Y’alright?” Rhett’s voice jarred you, and you shook yourself out of your reverie.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, sorry. Just sorta zoned out.”

The knowing look in his eye told you he’d caught on to the fact that you were staring at him.

“C’mon, I’ll take you upstairs.” With that, he slammed your trunk shut and gathered your bags again before he headed toward the house.

You trailed after him, closing and locking the front door behind you, assuming everyone was in for the night. Then you ascended the stairs, allowing Rhett to lead you down the hall, all the way to the end, where his room was.

He nudged the partially open door with his foot, and stepped into the dark confines, depositing your luggage onto the bed before he bent to turn on the bedside lamp. You were met with the sight of a surprisingly neat bedroom.

The times you’d been here in the past, his room had never been terribly messy, but random clutter would accumulate in different corners. He was never really the type to make his bed either, because he always said, “I’m gon’ sleep in it again, so why bother?”

But now, the bed was neatly made, and hardly any clutter hid in the corners.

“I ain’t been stayin’ here much, so it stays pretty neat,” he explained, as if reading your mind.

“Too busy storm chasing?” You asked.

“Yeah. Stay in a lotta motels when I’m on the road.”

You sauntered into the room, taking in the coziness of it all. Hardly anything had changed. His plaid bedspread was the same. His curtains still matched the bedding. Art pieces of cowboys riding bulls decorated the walls. A picture of Lane Frost hung just above his desk.

A sense of nostalgia washed over you. Being in this room felt like coming home.

“Welp…guess I’ll, uh, let you get to bed,” Rhett murmured. He paused in the doorway, as if he wanted to say something. “I’m glad you’re back, by the way.”

That brought a smile to your face. “I am, too.”

He rapped his knuckles against the door frame. “Anyway, ‘night.”

“Goodnight.”

He reached out to pull the door shut, leaving you in silence, alone for the first time since you had arrived at the house. You let out a breath, and lowered down to sit on the edge of the bed, allowing yourself to process everything.

Your arms splayed out on either side of you, palms skimming over the softness of the bed. You closed your eyes, and allowed the memories to wash over you. It was here, in this very bed, that you had lost your virginity to each other. You were young and in love and driven by your passion for one another.

Many times after that, you had made love in this room. And as you closed your eyes, it was as if you were reliving those memories. The feeling of his mouth on yours, and his hands on your heated skin. The way he would moan your name into your mouth when you shifted your hips against his own, searching for delicious friction, so eager to have him inside you.

As your eyes fluttered open, you were struck with a feeling of emptiness. How long had it been since you’d been with anyone in such an intimate way? Your job hardly left you time for romantic relationships. You hadn’t really put yourself out there, because you knew your busy career would likely deter anyone who wanted any sort of future with you.

As you readied yourself for bed, you thought about how alone you had felt these last few years. Alone in your grief. In your pain. At least Rhett had his parents to lean on as they endured the loss. You had no one who truly understood.

Silver Spring was a perfectly nice community to live in, and you had made some good friends during your time there. But nothing compared to the community you once had here in Wabang. No one compared to Lydia, your dearest friend. Your bond had been a sisterly one. You were kindred spirits. You’d never been able to find that again in any of the friends you made in your current home city.

But now that you were back in Oklahoma, the sense of familiarity was nearly overwhelming. You were home. Even if you didn’t realize it yet.

That night, you got the best sleep you’d gotten in a long time. Rhett’s bed was comfortable, and the house was quiet. All that could be heard outside was the distant howl of a coyote, and the sounds of nightlife creeping about.

When you woke the next morning, it was to the sound of a rooster crowing. You lay there for a while, staring up at the ceiling, relishing in the feeling of being rested. Your body didn’t ache. Your head wasn’t swimming with tiredness. You were at peace, which was something you hadn’t felt in ages.

You could hear the sound of the Abbotts milling about the house. Cecilia was likely in the kitchen starting breakfast. Royal was probably already outside, getting a head start on the day’s chores. Rhett, too, who’d always been responsible for checking on the animals and making sure they were fed.

Not wanting to walk out in your tank top and sleep shorts, you were quick to throw on some clean clothes before you headed across the hall to the bathroom to wash your face and make yourself look somewhat presentable.

When you finally made your way downstairs, you were hit with the smell of food cooking. The coffee pot hissed and sputtered in the corner, nearly finished with its brew cycle. Amy sat at the table, doodling in a notebook. When she saw you, her face lit up.

“Mornin’! I was wondering when you’d come down! You slept for a super long time.”

“Amy,” Cecilia cautioned.

“It’s okay,” you assured her, before turning to Amy, “I needed the rest.”

“Well you came down just in time! Gramma’s making pancakes.”

“Sounds good!” Came your response, as you moved to grab a glass from the cupboard to fill with water. Your mouth felt parched.

“How’d you sleep, hon?” Cecilia asked as she stirred a bowl of pancake batter.

“Like a baby,” you said, bringing your glass to your lips to take a sip. You watched as she poured the batter onto a hot skillet, bubbling with melted butter. “Just so you know, I don’t expect you to make breakfast for me every day. I know you only make big breakfasts on Saturdays and Sundays, I don’t expect pancakes and eggs and bacon every day of the week.”

It was Thursday, so it wasn’t a typical day for her to make breakfast for the family. The weekday mornings were always called “fend for yourself” mornings, where the family was responsible for preparing their own respective breakfasts.

“Nonsense! I’m happy to do it, you need fuel if you’re gonna be cleanin’ that house all day,” she insisted.

You smiled gratefully. “Thank you. Really, it means a lot.”

She ushered you to the table, assuring you breakfast would be ready momentarily. You chatted with Amy once you settled into your seat, and just as breakfast was being put on the table, the screen door squealed open, and in stepped Royal, lifting his hat off his head and placing it on the peg on the wall.

He greeted you, nodding in your direction. “Mornin’,” he said as he took his seat at the head of the table.

Cecilia placed a cup of black coffee beside his plate, and he thanked her with a wordless hum. Typical morning small talk followed as everyone began filling their plates. But the quiet chatter was soon interrupted by the screen door opening again.

Rhett hurried into the kitchen, boots scraping against the floor as he made a beeline for the table. You could see a wildness in his eyes, and it made your heart rate quicken. Your gaze flickered to the kitchen window, where you could see distant gray clouds.

“Gotta take breakfast to go, storm’s brewin’ over in Cimarron County,” he announced as he reached over Amy’s head to grab a pancake. He shoved a few pieces of bacon inside and folded it up like a taco. “Team’s on the way here to meet me.”

“Please be careful!” Cecilia called after him as he turned on his heel to head back to the door.

He grabbed a backpack that was sitting on the bench in the entryway, presumably packed with necessities. “Always am, Ma,” he replied. Then he looked at you, his hand hovering over the doorknob. “You wanna come?” Hope was in his tone.

His offer shocked you. You certainly didn’t expect it, not after what you had told him last night. “No, I…I’ll stay here,” you answered.

“Alright, see ya soon!” And with that, he was off, door slamming shut behind him.

You weren’t sure what drove you to do so, but you found yourself surging up from your seat, feet carrying you quickly to the door. You flung it open and rushed out onto the porch. “Rhett!” You called.

Midway to his truck, he stopped, whirling around. “Yeah?”

“Be safe!” He’d just come back into your life. You couldn’t bear the thought of losing him.

His face softened, and he smiled. “I will be. I promise.” Then he turned and continued on to his truck. Still that old GMC Sierra with the light bar on top. It had been blown off the road during the twister you’d narrowly escaped, but somehow, the truck was perfectly fine, and just needed a few repairs to render it driveable again.

Seeing that it had survived after all this time gave you hope that Rhett would make it back safely home again.

He was gone for three days. You learned of his well-being through Cecilia. He would always text her after a storm passed to assure her he was okay. He was so good about giving her peace of mind.

In his absence, you busied yourself with sorting through the overwhelming clutter in your great-aunt’s house. It provided a distraction from your worry.

Living in Silver Spring, you’d had no cause to worry about Rhett. He crossed your mind often, yes, but you had no idea he was still storm chasing, and therefore remained blissfully ignorant.

Now that you were back home, all those old memories had resurfaced, and you were forced to face the fact that you still cared deeply for Rhett. The thought of him dying out there made your stomach turn.

At least when you’d been chasing with him, you were together, and he would die by your side if something did happen. Being apart from him now, you had no idea if he was okay or not, aside from updates from his mother.

You were forced to come to terms with your feelings. Why did you feel so strongly about this? Yes, you cared about what happened to him, just as anyone else in his life did. But there was something more.

You realized that perhaps you were still in love with him.

However, you buried that realization deep. You couldn’t rekindle your romance with him. You had moved on, made a life for yourself, had a career you loved. You needed to leave your relationship with him in the past, and move forward with only a friendship between the two of you.

Easy as pie, right?

You hoped so.

Three days later, just as you were arriving back on the Abbott farm after a long day of cleaning and organizing, Rhett returned.

Relief washed over you from head to toe when you saw that old Sierra coming down the driveway. But he wasn’t alone. You could make out the silhouette of a woman sitting in the passenger seat. Behind the truck, a Ford F150 followed closely behind, and beyond that, an old RV.

So this was the team he’d been talking about.

Your gut fluttered at the sudden anxiety of meeting new people. You knew you looked worse for wear in your cleaning clothes. You’d been sweating all day, and you were planning on heading straight for the shower when you got into the house.

But it would be rude to just turn and go inside, so you stayed put, waiting until all the vehicles came to a stop.

Rhett jumped out first, slamming the truck door shut behind him. He was wearing his hat, and he was grinning. “Made it back in one piece,” he assured you.

You couldn’t help but smile in return. “I can see that,” came your answer.

Your eyes flickered beyond him as the woman in the passenger seat climbed out. She was beautiful, in the most natural of ways. No makeup adorned her face. Her eyes were large, the deepest shade of brown you’d ever seen. Her hair, a deep chestnut color, was curly and unkempt, pulled back into a ponytail.

Her deep brown skin glimmered with perspiration. You could hazard a guess that the air conditioning in Rhett’s truck was broken. It always had been finicky.

“Hi,” she spoke, reaching out her hand to shake yours, “I’m Zara Marshall. Nice to finally meet you! Rhett told me all about you.” Then she added, “good things, of course!”

“Nice to meet you, too. I didn’t realize you all were coming. I would’ve at least tried to look presentable.”

“Oh, you look beautiful, don’t even worry about that.” She blew a stray curl out of her face.

“Zara here is the genius behind all our chases,” Rhett boasted.

The woman looked at him and beamed, shaking her head. “Oh, hush. I’m no genius.”

An odd feeling blossomed to life in your chest as you watched their banter. The easy way they interacted. It wasn’t jealousy, was it? It couldn’t be. You had no right to be jealous. Not after you were the one that left him six years ago.

Your moment of distaste was interrupted by the sound of car doors opening and closing. The rest of the team was getting out of their vehicles, clearly eager to stretch their legs after driving for so long.

“You have to meet my wife!” Zara exclaimed.

Oh.

How silly of you to entertain the thought of jealousy when the woman wasn’t even interested in Rhett.

Another woman came rushing over to the three of you, tall and lean, shoulder-length brown hair hanging loosely against the middle of her back, Tattoos decorated different parts of her body. Mostly her hands and wrists, and a few on her neck. When she smiled at you, it was warm like sunlight.

“Hi!” She said, “I’m Jeslyn.”

You shook her hand and told her your name. Then you were quickly introduced to everyone else.

There was Finn, handsome as could be, with bright green eyes and auburn hair. And then there was Danny, with eyes that were just a little less blue than Rhett’s, and graying curls that fell against his forehead. He couldn’t have been older than his early thirties, but he was already going gray. It suited him.

They were all so personable, and their welcome was warm. It made you feel at ease instantly. You should have known the people who chose to associate with Rhett were good people.

You learned that they were all staying for dinner, per Cecilia’s insistence. It was a flurry of organized chaos as everyone offered to help set up the tables outside, rather than crowding in the small kitchen to eat.

While they were busy with that, you slipped away to take a quick shower, eager to wash the sweat and grime off of your body.

You turned the water as hot as you could stand, stepping under the spray and closing your eyes. You hadn’t expected to be so exhausted. Your shoulders and arms ached from scrubbing and heavy lifting. Your legs were sore too.

The steamy water helped loosen your tight muscles considerably, and once you were finished, you breathed out a sigh of satisfaction. Now you felt a little more prepared to face a dinner table full of people.

But when you stepped out of the shower, you realized that you had forgotten something very important. A towel. Swearing under your breath, you stood in the middle of the bathroom for a moment, debating what you should do.

The linen closet was right across the hall. If you could sneak out there unseen, you’d be able to grab a towel and slip right back into the bathroom unnoticed. So, you cautiously opened the bathroom door and made sure the coast was clear before you dashed for the closet, yanking the door open and scanning for a towel.

To your horror, the sound of footsteps approaching could be heard, and you gasped, reaching for your towel, but you weren’t fast enough. A split second later, Rhett appeared at the top of the steps.

He froze, eyes widening, as you let out a squeak of surprise. Out of respect for you, he quickly turned away. “Shit, sorry!” He apologized.

Wordlessly, you clutched your towel and scurried away, slamming the bathroom door shut. On the steps, Rhett let out a breath, and he couldn’t help but shake his head. He hadn’t seen you naked in years. Of course the first time would end up being an awkward moment like the one you’d both just been subjected to.

He hadn’t seen much, in his haste to give you privacy. But he’d seen enough to make his brain short-circuit for a moment. Mentally, he scolded himself, but he knew, now that he’d seen you in that way, he wouldn’t be able to get it out of his head. Especially because there had been a time when he knew your body, inside and out. He’d had you in the most intimate of ways. And that was something he would never forget.

“Get it the fuck t’gether,” he grumbled to himself as he turned back around, heading toward his room, where he wanted to grab a clean shirt before you came back. He simply couldn’t entertain thoughts about you naked. It would do him no good.

He shook the encounter off, and quickly changed his shirt, tossing the old one in the hamper. He stopped to glance in the mirror that hung above his dresser, running his hand haphazardly through his hair, which was slightly tousled from all the activity of the day.

Then, quick as he came, he strolled out of his room and back down the steps before you ever stepped out of the bathroom again.

Meanwhile, you were hurriedly going about your post-shower routine, your mind spinning. You knew you were making this into a bigger deal than it needed to be. Perhaps you should be grateful it was only Rhett, who’d seen you naked many times before, rather than his parents or Amy.

But you still had an odd feeling swirling to life in your gut, a feeling that you didn’t want to face, because if you did, that would mean admitting you’d never gotten over Rhett.

You pushed it down again. Choosing to deny, deny, deny. It would simply go away if you didn’t acknowledge it.

With that, you headed out of the bathroom and back into Rhett’s bedroom, where you set your shower items down and made sure to hang your towel on the hook mounted on the back of the door.

Then, with a deep breath for courage, you made your way downstairs.

There was a flurry of activity happening. Cecilia was prepping Sunday dinner, while Zara and Jeslyn were gathering plates and silverware to set the table outside. Danny, Finn, and Rhett were carrying chairs outside.

Royal and Amy were in the living room, where she was very intently watching him whittle a figurine out of wood. Cecilia had likely shooed them out of the kitchen because there were enough people in the way as it was.

For a moment, you stood there, in the middle of the house, taking in the sights and sounds, and it transported you back to the past. Sunday dinners with the Abbotts were always your favorite. Lydia and her family would join, and everyone would eat outside, weather permitting, just like they were going to do today.

Many a good time was had around the large oak table that Rhett had built with his own hands when he was in high school, in woodworking class. One of the of the few classes he thrived in. The craftsmanship was beautiful, and it was still in good condition to this day.

“Hey, y’alright?” Rhett’s low cadence filled your ears. You looked up to find him standing near, gaze soft.

“I…yeah, I’m fine,” you assured him, “just reminiscing.”

He nodded. “Mm. Sure this brings back a lotta memories for you.”

“It does,” you agreed.

He lingered for a moment. Then, with the lowering of his voice, he said, “I, uh, I’m sorry about earlier. Didn’t mean to walk in on ya like that.”

You cleared your throat, shaking your head. “No, don’t worry about it. It’s no big deal.”

“Good. That’s good.” He let his hands rest upon his hips, grimacing at the awkward silence that followed.

“Guess I’d better see if your mom needs help,” you finally volunteered.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah. I’m gon’ make sure the guys set up the table right.” He took a few steps backward before he turned and sauntered out the door.

You breathed out a sigh, mentally berating yourself for the awkwardness. You hoped it wouldn’t linger for the rest of the day.

Thankfully, it did not. Once dinner was ready and everyone was gathered around the table, the atmosphere melted into one of warmth and laughter. You didn’t feel like an outsider. The group of friends treated you like one of your own, and it did wonders to put you at ease.

“I thought you’d like t’ hear this,” Rhett’s voice caught your attention from across the table. “Zara here’s workin’ on a way to stop twisters dead in their tracks.”

That definitely piqued your interest. You looked at her, where she sat between Rhett and Jeslyn. “Really? How do you plan to stop them?” You asked her, leaning forward in your seat.

Tornadoes were impossible to stop. To your knowledge, no one had succeeded in doing so before. They were so unpredictable, one couldn’t possibly figure out when and where one was going to touch down fast enough to stop it.

She sprang into her explanation. “I know what you’re thinking. It’s never been done before. But Jes and I have spent years coming up with a solution. There’s a lot of heat and moisture at the center of a twister. My theory is if you can cool down the center to the freezing point, you can stop the twister.”

You stared at her, eyes widening. There was no way it could work. Was there? “How would you cool it down?”

“Essentially, we release liquid nitrogen into the core of the tornado and it brings the temp way down.”

“Have you tested it out yet?” You inquired. You were still skeptical, but fascinated at the same time.

Beside her, Jeslyn piped up. “We started small scale tests when we were still students at OU. Me, Zara, and some classmates built this machine that uses heat and moisture to simulate a tornado. Our nitrogen tests worked on it, but seeing as that was only a small, contained event…”

“You’d need a lot more nitrogen for the real thing,” you finished for her.

“Yep.”

Zara continued where Jeslyn left off. “During the run we did this week, we decided to actually test it out and see if we could stop a twister. But…it failed miserably.” She laughed ruefully, and the rest of the team joined her, reliving the memory.

You were struck with an odd feeling. Fear of missing out, maybe. Which shocked you, because you’d refused to go on the chase in the first place, because you couldn’t face your fears. Now you felt left out? It didn’t quite make sense to you.

Maybe you did miss storm chasing, after all.

“It’s hard to gauge how much nitrogen we need, especially because every tornado is different. We’ve been working on collecting as many tanks of nitrogen as we possibly can, but we also didn’t want to use up our whole reserve. We used half of it on what turned out to be an F3. Didn’t do shit,” Zara continued to explain, motioning animatedly with her hands as she spoke. Her face was incredibly expressive.

You decided you really liked her. You could understand why Rhett enjoyed chasing with her.

“So, how does that work? Like, do you set tanks of nitrogen on the ground and then open them and hope for the best, or?” You had so many questions, and you simply couldn’t hide your fascination.

“We use that,” Rhett said, pointing over at his truck parked in the driveway. Hitched to the back was an open trailer, with several tanks of liquid nitrogen situated inside, metal gleaming in the light of the setting sun.

“But how do you open them? Does someone have to open each one before the twister hits?” You suddenly became very aware of everyone’s eyes on you, and you shrank slightly. “Sorry, I know I’m asking a lot of questions.”

“No, you’re good!” Zara insisted, “it’s just, we’re all used to people telling us we’re crazy instead of actually showing interest.”

“I told ya she’d think it was cool,” Rhett said to her with a smile. He caught your eye. He still knew you well, even though time had driven you apart.

“Basically, opening the tanks is up to us,” Finn piped up from beside you, motioning to Danny, who sat on the other side of him. He took a swig of his water before he continued. “We made these special remote control valves. As long as we’re within range, we can open the valves with the touch of a button and release the nitrogen into the air.”

“Honestly, it sounds crazy. But also brilliant,” you said, completely in awe. “You gotta show me all the equipment after dinner. I’ve never heard of anyone doing this kinda thing before.”

Part of you still doubted what they were trying to do would ever work. It went against all odds. Even if they did succeed in stopping a tornado, the method wasn’t necessarily feasible for stopping others in the future. It would require countless tanks of nitrogen and a lot of manpower.

But just to be able to say one had stopped a tornado was a feat in and of itself. You couldn’t hold it against Zara for trying. It was clear she was passionate about her work and believed there was a possibility that it could be successful.

The conversation around the dinner table soon shifted to other things. You noticed that none of them asked you about your storm chasing past. You wondered how much Rhett had told them, and if he’d instructed them not to ask about the details, at risk of upsetting you.

It was very considerate of him, if he had.

After dinner, everyone helped clean up while Cecilia ushered Amy upstairs, against the girl’s protests. “You’ve got school in the mornin’, early bedtime isn’t optional!” Her grandmother insisted.

But Amy had to make sure she said goodnight to everyone first before she made the reluctant trudge up the stairs. Oh, to have the innocence of a child again, unwilling to go to bed because all the adults were still awake.

The evening carried on, and once the dishes were washed and the table was cleared, you were led outside to see all the equipment Zara had told you about. And what a setup it was.

The trailer attached to the back of Rhett’s truck was full of nitrogen tanks, sealed with remote controlled valves. The trailer itself was also remote controlled, according to Rhett.

“Come see,” he motioned for you to follow as he opened the driver’s side door. He pointed at the center console, where there was a board of switches, framed by labels indicating what each switch was for. “Danny and Finn helped get this up an’ running. If we need t’ let the trailer go, all I gotta do is press a button and it’ll release. S’how we get the tanks in the path of the twister.”

You stared in amazement at the device. “How? Like, how do you figure out when to release the trailer? And how does it not just get blown away?”

A grin tugged at his mouth. “Figured that one out too.”

He led you to the side of the trailer, where he pointed at a compartment positioned directly between the wheels. “Soon as I get the trailer in place, I flip a switch and stakes lower outta this compartment here and into the ground. Usually we’re cuttin’ it close, but I can get the truck positioned in the path of the twister. Then I get the trailer settled and get the hell outta Dodge.”

“Then I hit the remote control for the tanks and release the nitrogen into the air,” Finn piped up eagerly.

“Meanwhile, Zara and I are tracking the storm pattern and trying to figure out exactly when to release the trailer,” came Jeslyn’s explanation.

You stared at all the equipment in total wonder. These people had thought of everything. More than you or Rhett ever had when you were chasing. Your operation then had been very bare bones, and really, you were just following storms for the fun of it.

But this? This was an entire science experiment, and it was fascinating. Despite your refusal to chase again, you were very curious about what all of this would look like in action. If Zara ever succeeded in stopping a twister, she would make history.

That was something you almost wanted to be a part of. Almost.

Later that night, you found yourself curled up in an Adirondack chair, a blanket wrapped around your shoulders as everyone sat around the fire that Rhett had built in the old fire pit. The place held so many memories. Namely, the night Rhett had asked you to be his girlfriend. It was right here.

He remembered that night, too. You could tell he was thinking about it when he caught your eye from across the fire.

Around you, the group settled into comfortable conversation. The kind that happened when old friends got together. Anything and everything was discussed as the night gave way to inky darkness, the stars twinkling above, like glitter spilled across a black velvet canvas.

Before she’d retired for the night, Cecilia had warmed some apple cider on the stove, and a mug of it was currently situated in your hands, its taste spicy and comforting. You enjoyed listening to Rhett’s friends tell stories of different storms they’d chased, reliving all the exciting times they’d had together.

You wondered if you would be running with them, too, had you stayed here instead of moving to Silver Springs and taking your weather analyst job. Would it just be you and Rhett, or would fate have still decided to bring these people into your life?

Their passion was admirable. Zara was a very driven individual, hellbent on making a difference. “If I could at least slow down a twister, even if it doesn’t fully stop it, think of all the lives we could save. That’s why I do all of this. I wanna protect people.”

That was just it, wasn’t it? Saving lives. You thought back to the fateful day you had lost Perry, Rebecca, and Lydia. If you’d had a way of slowing down that twister, or even stopping it altogether, perhaps they would still be here.

But you couldn’t think that way, because it was already done. There was no way to go back in time and save them.

The thought made your chest ache, and you had to swallow the wave of grief that rose in your throat. Rhett caught your eye over the flames, and shot you a reassuring look, almost as if he knew what you were thinking.

To your relief, the subject soon changed from storm chasing, and moved on to lighter things.

“Hey, rodeo’s on Saturday. We were all thinking of going together. You should totally join us!” Jeslyn suggested, nodding in your direction.

“Yeah, you should!” Finn agreed.

That piqued your interest. “Sure, I’ll still be in town, so why not?” You hadn’t been to a rodeo in so long. Not since Rhett’s last ride, which had ended in disaster.

Jeslyn grinned over her mug of cider. “Great! We’re gonna have so much fun. We’ll take care of your ticket, so you don’t have to worry about it.”

You raised a brow in surprise. “Really? You don’t have to do that.”

Everyone protested at once, insisting that they wanted the rodeo ticket to be their treat. You were touched at their generosity, and accepted the offer gratefully. Might as well make the most of your time in Wabang.

Soon, it was time for the group to disperse and head in their own respective ways. Rhett threw some sand over the dying embers, while everyone else folded up their chairs to store back in the barn. As you walked the group back to their cars, Zara turned to you, her face kind.

“I know you’ve got your reasons for choosing not to chase, I want you to know the invitation for you to join us is open, in case you ever change your mind,” she told you.

You weren’t entirely sure what came over you then. Maybe it was your desire to make a difference. Maybe you were just foolish. But for whatever reason, you were emboldened enough to say, “y’know what? I’ve got a proposition.” You stole a glance at Rhett to make sure he was listening. “I’ll go on a chase with you guys if Rhett agrees to ride at next weekend’s rodeo.”

You knew Rhett. He had a competitive nature. He was going to say yes. Everyone’s eyes landed on him, awaiting his answer.

“Shoo-ee, you gonna accept that challenge, Rhett?” Danny asked with a grin, fully invested.

Beside you, Rhett grimaced. “Ain’t no way they’ll let me in the ring,” he protested.

“Does Beau still oversee the bull riding contestants?” You inquired.

You and Rhett both knew that Beau would agree to letting him ride, because only Beau Wilson was crazy enough to allow such a thing.

“Yeah,” Rhett answered your question. He was well aware of the direction this was going.

“Then I’ll go talk to him. He’ll get you a spot in the ring. If you can handle it, that is.” You gave him a pointed look.

“I can handle it, darlin’.” Despite the determination in his tone, the nickname settled over you like a warm embrace. He hadn’t called you that in so long. “So if I do this, you swear you’ll go on a run with us?”

“Pinky swear.” You held your hand out, pinky up.

Rhett eyed your hand for a moment before he linked his pinky finger with yours. “Fine. You got yourself a deal.”

Finn and Danny whooped in excitement, while Zara and Jeslyn looked between you and Rhett, bewildered. “Who would’ve thought you’d be the one to get him back on a bull? We always say he should try riding again, but he always says no,” Zara explained.

You looked at Rhett, and he ducked his head, hand lifting to scratch the back of his neck. You swore you saw his ears turn red. “Guess he just needed some friendly competition,” you replied.

Not long after, goodbyes were said, and the group parted ways, climbing into their vehicles and driving off, leaving you and Rhett standing there in the driveway. Immediately, you realized that your proposition was a bit preposterous.

“Oh my god, if you don’t want to ride, you don’t have to. I don’t know why I said that, I just…”

But he waved his hand, shaking his head. “Nah, I’ll do it. It’ll do me some good to get back on a bull. Just like it’ll do you some good to face another twister. Might help us both process some shit,” he reasoned.

You let out a breath. “Maybe so.”

You both turned to walk toward the house, and he asked you a question as you went. “What made you change your mind?”

You paused, glancing down at your feet before you looked at him. “I dunno, all of Zara’s talk about saving lives…it got me thinking. It would be so cool if it could work. Imagine all the people she could save! She’s making a difference, and I want to be a part of that.” And then, “maybe if…if we had something like that six years ago, Perry, Rebecca, and Lydia would still be alive.”

Rhett’s boots crunched against dirt as he absently kicked a few pebbles out of the way. “Don’t go spiralin’ into the ‘what ifs’. Universe saw fit to take ‘em, so it did. No machine could’ve stopped it. Not that kinda twister.”

You studied his expression. “Do you believe in Zara’s project?”

He shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I do, but there ain’t no way it would stop an EF5 tornado. We’d be fucked if it hit us.”

“It’s still worth a try, though, isn’t it? If it works, and if she can get it going on a larger scale…she could save entire towns from being destroyed! Think of the history she’s going to make!”

Rhett’s mouth curled into a slight smile. “There she is.”

“What?”

“My storm chasin’ gal. You’re back.”

You shrugged. “I guess so. But just know this isn’t a permanent thing, ‘kay? I’m only going out there with you guys to see how Zara’s invention works. After that, I’m going back to Silver Springs. To my job, where I don’t have to live off of McDonald’s and Whataburger every day and stay in shitty motels while I wait for a twister to just fall out of the sky.”

He bit back his ever-widening grin, shaking his head. “Sure thing. I’m just glad you decided to face your fear, s’all.”

Facing your fear. That was what this was, wasn’t it? You knew that if you could do this, it would show you that you were capable of moving past your grief that still felt crippling at times. But you couldn’t help but wonder; when staring into the face of a tornado, would you be able to stand your ground, or would you let your fear send you running like a frightened child?

You would soon find out. But you didn’t realize just how soon.

taglist: tagging those who expressed interest or asked to be tagged (lmk if you wanna be added or removed)

@withahappyrefrain @rhettabbotts @ryebecca @peachystenbrough @attapullman

@sebsxphia @delopsia @damrlova @fragilefearnie @floydsmuse

@fairyheart @hangmanapologist @lovinglyeternal @likearolloftape @bobfloydsbabe

@nobody7102 @mearslot @torturedpoetspsychward @floydsglasses @hearteyesforlewis

@shamelessghostwagonwobbler @cloudofbutterflies92 @keep-on-burnin @ravenmoore14 @queenbbarnes

@phoenixhalliwell @lyn-js @sunsetsimpsblog @ixxvixcviii @shinycupcakebaker

@frequentnosebleeder @atoncments @eolsens @casuallyclassless @desert-fern

@perfectprettypisces @parcetamoldaisy @zirrocom @rhettsgirll @just-in-case-iloveyou

@ada--44 @sydney-malcontent @9ullmans @bradshawsbitch

@callsignmedusa @antiquitea @ohmyeyesmyeyes @spidervman @oddlymighty-witch @dreams-in-anthracis

#rhett abbott x reader #rhett abbott fanfiction #rhett abbott fic #rhett abbott imagine #we own the sky

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xmalereader · 7 months

Text

Simon Riley x High Ranking! Male Reader

☆ — MASTERLIST — ☆

Requested: Could I request a Ghost x male reader story. Male reader is also in the Task Force 141 as a high ranking officer. He never goes out on the field with the others. Ghost and male reader know each other for a long time and are together. (You can decide if they are married , etc). So reader is very shy and has an innocent and introverted aura. (Wears glasses, barely talks etc.) That’s also why they all were surprised when they found out that Ghost and Reader are together, because Ghost is… well Ghost. So, the reader defects to Makarov and because of the reader Makarov succeeds. So the 141 ‘hates’ reader and sees him as a traitor. So Ghost has to decide, if he is loyal to the Task Force or his lover. [You can decide what happens of course and also if reader survives and etc. Just don’t make a twist were reader goes back to 141 or kills Makarov :) ]

WARNINGS/ CONTENT: Language, angst, hurt/no comfort, specific details to reader, Soap being soap, mentions of Makarov, MW3 mentions, slight fluff, more dialogue, betrayal, simon is ruined.

WC: 3.4K

TAGS: @dzeilan

NOTES: I may have over done it with this fix but at least I got it finished 😂 but anyways hope you enjoy this request! I tried my best to keep it angsty and tempted to make a second part but for now I’m putting it in the maybe drafts. I decided to end it in a semi cliff hanger!

Task Force 141 was monitored and by someone above Price. Not many people knew who it was but they didn’t hear stories about the man being ruthless to his team, always giving them the hardest missions and dealing with the most deadliest and dangerous people. Everyone thought figured that he was a cold blooded man who stayed cooped up in his own office, never leaving or joining the field like the rest of the others. That’s. how everyone saw him.

When in reality he was the total opposite which surprised the 141.

In reality he was quiet and only spoke with authority when meeting up with the team, but when alone he was very closed up and not very social with the others, keeping to himself and not getting close with the others. Y/n had heard the gossip floating around about him and usually ignored it. He was a higher ranking than anyone else and could have easily found a way to stop the murmuring, but he wasn’t that power drunk to do something stupid.

Only his team knew what he was really like, he’s spent enough time with Price that he’s warmed up to the captain, always addressing him as ‘sir’ each time they meet only for Y/n to remind Price that he doesn’t need to call him that whenever they were alone and considered the man as a friend. Price was actually the one who approached him about building a team of his own, wanting his approval and guidance.

Y/n was surprised by this and intrigued by what he had in mind. When Price showed him the files of the people he wanted in his team, he can’t help but hide his small grin when his eyes land on a familiar name, finding it funny that he would be the boss to his own deadly boyfriend that everyone feared, wearing that scary mask that only made his silence much more deadly and intimidating for others.

He had told Price that he wanted to review the files first before giving an official approval, getting the time that he needed to review each soldier that he chose and memorizing every little thing about them and finding them impressive by the second. It didn’t take long for him to approval Price’s team and granting the man permission to gather them up and move on with a mission regarding Hassan during that time.

As much as Y/n hated being out in public and in front of others he had no choice but to be present during the time that Hassan was terrorizing the world. Many other soldiers had a chance to finally see who the scary man was only to grow confused when they saw him for the first time, wearing glasses while he squints at some paper work and maps, trying to figure out Hassans next location or if could find any other information regarding the man.

He would stay up all day and night looking for anything to help him, cooping himself up in his office with papers scattered around and computer opened as he did his own research. How he received a high ranking title he will never know, but his skills brought him this far.

Those quiet nights when everyone is sleeping a shadow creeps inside his own room, hovering over him from where he sat. He can feel their presence and doesn’t move his eyes from the computer. “If you are here to force me into bed, then I will have to decline.” He speaks up, hearing a familiar chuckle and tilts his head back to find Simon standing over him, hands on the back of his chair as he wore that skull mask over his face, gear gone and leaving him in black clothing and a jacket.

“You’ve been working day and night with no sleep.”

“How do you know I haven’t slept?” Y/n raised a brow and lowers his head to focus back on his computer screen only for Simon to place his fingers around his neck, using his index finger to tilt his head back in a gentle manner as he stares down at the man.

“You have bags under your eyes.” He moves his fingers up his cheek and grazed his finger under his glasses near his eye, noticing the lack of sleep from his own lover. “You know I can’t sleep.”

Simon lets him go and sighs as he watched his lover focus back on his work and moving maps around as Simon watched him from behind. “You won’t lose anything if you sleep.”

“But Hassan—“

“Is out of sight. For now.” Simon cuts in, using his own authority voice on his lover in order to get some sense into him. The two have been dating for about a year now, keeping it on the down low and preventing anyone from finding out. Y/n over ranked Simon and doesn’t know how the others would react when finding out that he’s dating their deadly weapon. He knows that Simon cares for him and his health and wants to make sure that he at least gets some rest.

“Fine…” He mumbled out and with that Simon reaches over to close his computer the room grows dim and the only light shinning through the window is the moonlight. “Time for bed.”

“I’m not a kid.”

“You sure act like one.” Said Simon, chuckling at his own words which makes Y/n roll his eyes and cracks a tired smile. He gets off his chair and follows Simon to bed as the other soldier helps him out by removing his glasses first and setting them on the desk with the rest of his stuff and gets him into bed.

These nights are special to them since its the only time that they are able to spend time together without getting caught, having to sneak around like high school teenagers in order to avoid any trouble, but sooner or later they’d have to let the rest of their team know. As he snuggled up against Simon he lets out a deep sigh, feeling exhausted from all the work his mind was all over the place thinking about the mission and the things that could be happening without their knowledge, but they had no ability into knowing it.

“Stop thinking.”

“Can’t help it.” Y/n mumbled out in the dead of night.

The silence of the base was killing him and he hated it. “Your thoughts are loud.”

“You telling me that you can read minds?” Y/n raised a brow at Simon while chuckling. “If I could read minds I would have gotten to Hassan by now.” He did have a point.

Y/n lies his head on Simons chest and taps his fingers against his stomach as he thinks. “I just worry for everyone and I’d feel guilty it something happened to you and everyone else.” When Y/n received such a high ranking he didn’t expect the amount of stress to come with it since he was in charge of his own team and deciding the fate of the mission. When he got his first team he had to take multiple risks, almost costing him the lives of his own soldiers which devastated him.

There were times that he wanted to leave his rank to get rid of the guilt that he felt only to learn that he couldn't’ always save everyone even if he tried.

“Not everyone can be saved, Y/n. It takes one life to save millions.”

But it also takes one mistake to risk millions.

After last nights reassurance, Y/n is able to work a lot better all thanks to Simon in forcing him to sleep. Tracking their target was getting easier, finding the locations and sending in the proper help in order to get rid of the missiles that were lost. It wasn’t until Shepherds betrayal that they were separated.

Y/n had lost communication with his team and Simon, stuck back in base where the shadow company was taking over Alejandro’s people. He caught on quickly when chaos erupted in base, collecting his things quickly and hiding them in the vents and getting his own gun ready when facing the shadow company.

Even though Y/n looked like an innocent man due to how quiet he is around others he was also deadly when others were in danger getting through the halls and gunning down anyone who came after him, not hesitating to fight back as he sneaks around the halls and onto the second floor where he makes his escape, he uses one of the shadow companies uniforms to get through the base without being noticed, making it through the gates and towards their radio station.

He uses it to communicate with the rest of his team, checking up on them and hoping that they are still alive. His anxiety spiked when he doesn’t get a response fearing the worst has happened to Simon, fearing that he’s lost the one person he loved. He wasn’t one for crying, but the lack of response was bringing him to tears, close to giving up and heading back down to hunt Graves down.

“Are you crying?”

Y/n gasps, turning around quickly with his gun out when coming face to face with Soap. “Soap.” He sighs in relief to see him alive as he lowers his gun, ready to scold the man only to see Simon climbing over the wall along with Rudy. His eyes widen when the land on Simon. “Simon…” He shoves Soap aside who's left flabbergasted and makes a beeline towards Simon, not hesitating to hug the man and sniffling against his shoulder. “You dumb bastard, why didn’t you answer? I thought you were dead!” He was mad at Simon for making him worry.

Simon smiles under his mask and warps his own arms around Y/n, relieved to see him too. “We got caught up trying to get here.” He responds back, pulling away and cup his cheeks and cleans his tears away unaware of the audience.

“Uh, what the hell is going on?” Soap finally decides to speak up by this shocking discovery.

It wasn’t until after they rescued Alejandro that Y/n tells his team about his and Simons relationship when regrouping. He expected Soap to be shocked by the news while Gaz and Price technically already knew about the relationship but never said anything about it until further confirmed. Y/n couldn’t be happier to have them.

“So what do we do about Graves?”

Everyone turns to look at Y/n waiting for him to make the final call only for Y/n to surprise everyone by his response.

“Do whatever you want.”

He lets Price take the lead on this one, coming up with plans to get rid of Graves and his men after what he did to them. Y/n remains at the safe house along with the others, guiding them through the coms where he was safer and giving out clear orders on Graves location when they all went back to base.

The entire day was hectic, taking down Graves and Hassan on the same day and recovering the last missile gaining a victory. Everyone was finally able to relax and head back home to rest before being called out to another mission. Things were fine until they weren’t.

After a year since their last mission, Y/n had spent most of his time at base, helping out with the simple things and helping Price out as always. Until he received anonymous messages through his private number the only one who knew his number was Simon along with Price and the others and no one else. He received the text the day that Simon went out with the others for a drink, staying back home to relax for a bit until eh got that message.

He was about to ignore it until private information about him and his entire team was sent to him, threatening him to listen or else his friends faced the consequences. Y/n would have taken action to find out who was messaging him and take them down quickly only to realize that this person knew far more than anyone about him and Simon. He was forced to keep these message hidden from Simon if he wanted to prevent a lose.

Y/n knew that Simon was smart and would slowly grow suspicious by his constant phone checking and the amount of times that he’d flinch out of fear when receiving those messages. Simon wasn’t one to jump to conclusions, especially with his lover but the amount of time that he kept his distance was slowly irritating him.

Simon was able to corner him in his office when back at base after finding out about Makarovs escape. “Somethings wrong.” He points out, getting Y/n’s attention as he leans back against the wall that he’s caged in. “Nothings wrong.” Y/n couldn’t allow Simon to know that was responsible for Makarovs escape at the prison.

“You’ve been distant and quiet.”

“I’m always quiet.”

“Not this quiet.” Simon knew him well enough to see the smallest changes.

Y/n’s anxiety grows by the second as Simon looks him dead in the eyes. “I’m worried about Makarov.” He blurts out, trying to throw Simon off from his real worry. “The most dangerous man escaped and we can be facing something far bigger and I’m worried on what we have planned.” He continues on, noticing how Simon finally relaxes when getting an answer even though it wasn’t the truth.

“Will get him and stop him before anything else happens.”

“And if we can’t?” Y/n wants to tell Simon the truth, but he can’t risk losing him. “We will.” He feels his gloved fingers caress his cheek as a way of soothing his worries.

“Now lets figure out how to take down Makarov.”

Y/n spent the last hour listening to Price form out the plan, memorizing every little detail in order to report it back to Makarov. It took him some time to figure out that the man he’s been communicating with was none other than Makarov, threatening him and his friends for information about their plans to stopping him. As guilty as he felt doing this behind their backs, behind Simon’s back he had no choice but to do it.

After their meet up he’d find a way to communicate with the Russian man sending him everything he knew about their plans only to get a response back from with a notification of millions of dollars being transferred to his banking account. That pushes him over the edge, his anger getting to him as he throws his phone against the wall, smashing it into pieces as he groans in anger. He was doing this to save his friends not for money and yet Makarov goes and pushes all the right buttons.

Because of Makarov the transfer was shown under the list of information trading. When Simon and Soap were sent to interrogate Milena about Makarovs next location they were expecting themselves to find some answers only to come up with more questions when Y/n’s name shows up on the list.

Soap is the first to point it out to Simon when it shows up on the computer. The two refuse to believe that Y/n had been communicating with Makarov only for Milena to laugh at the two.

“Why do you think Makarov isn’t here? It’s all thanks to your little birdie on the inside.” Her own lips form a mischievous grin when Soap glanced over to Simon who remained quiet under his mask, clearly processing everything and denying the fact that his own lover would turn their backs on them. On him.

“You’re wrong.”

Milena raised a brow as she crossed her arms. “Am I?’ She questions. “He told Makarov that you were coming for him, told him about the plans and the bombings and now he knows about the stations.”

Simon stops himself from killing the women, not believing a word she’s saying only to think back to their previous failed missions. Every time they were close to getting Makarov he always escaped them clearly finding a way around the problem as if he knew about them. Simon left the island fuming, anger boiling inside of him as they flew back to Makarovs last destination a base hidden in the train station.

Soap can tell that Simon isn’t happy about the discovery of Y/n betraying them and working for Makarov. He knows not to ask about it since the man was already too upset to even talk about it and focused on their arrival. Simon communicated with Price and Gaz about the location and to meet them there.

Getting down to the station was chaos due to Makarovs soldiers trying to kill them resulting into him and his team getting separated and laving Simon on his own as he takes down as many soldiers as he can. From the corner of his eyes he spots Makarov getting through the station. “Makarov spotted.” He speaks through his coms, alerting the rest of his team.

“Take the shot!” He hears Price shout from the other end getting permission to kill Makarov.

Before Simon could take the shot he’s shoved to the side when the other side of the station explodes, ruble collapsing around him as he groans and leans back against a wall. His ears are ringing by how loud the explosive was and the amount of shouting he hears through his coms is ignored as he tries to get up, feeling pain shot up from his arm makes him wince, realizing that he’s injured. The place is merely collapsing and knows that he has to get out of the station before its to late.

As he gets up from the ground he hears a giant grown across from him, holding his gun up as his eyes land on one of Makarovs soldiers. He was to pissed off to care about their injures and cocks his gun only to stop when the soldier coughs harshly, reaching up to remove their own helmet and mask, revealing Y/n’s face.

Simon froze when his eyes land on him.

Y/n groans and placed a hand over his abdomen where he feels pain and turns to his side, trying to get up only to gasp when he hears the sound of a gun cocking, looking over his shoulder to face Simon.

The two are frozen in place unable to move by the realization in their faces. Y/n wants to speak up to defend himself from everything but knows that he can’t not after what he’s done. He slowly moves to stand, hand still on his abdomen as he keeps his eyes on Simon and a hand out in surrender.

“Simon…”

“Don’t.” Simons voice is harsh, hand tightening around his gun.

Y/n expects that tone as he shuts his own mouth. It wasn’t until rumbling is heard, the walls around them were about to collapse and they had to get out before it was to late for them. “The place is going to collapse we have to go.” Y/n tries to convince Simon to follow him out of the subway station if they didn’t want to get crushed.

“Simon.”

“Why?” Simon finally speaks up. “Why should I go anywhere with you?”

Y/n swallows nervously. “Look I can explain once we get out of here.” He takes a step forward to try and pry the gun from Simon only to freeze when Simon holds it up, keeping it pointed at him. Y/n knows that Simon won’t kill him if he wanted to he would have already.

“You were helping Makarov you helped him escape you helped him do all of this.” Simon nods at their surroundings the place was full of faint screams of panic from the citizens and the sound of his teammates voices were close by as they shouted for Simon. The place was falling apart all because of Makarov.

Y/n’s breath was picking up, grown into panic as he quickly tries to explain himself. “I didn’t know it was Makarov he was going to kill you—I didn’t have a choice—!”

“How long have you been lying to me?”

His breath hitched when hearing Simon’s words, unable to respond back as he opens and closes his mouth, words caught in his throat. He’s been helping Makarov since the beginning of everything and telling Simon wouldn’t change his mind about him.

Not matter what he says or what he tries it wouldn’t work. He’s broken the trust between them the trust that Simon gave him only to see it crumble away. Y/n takes a cautious step forward, ready to apologize for his mistakes only for the place to crumble, giving them both the time to escape. Only this time they don’t escape together.

#male reader #Simon Riley x male reader #Simon Riley x reader #Simon Riley #ghost x male reader #ghost #simon riley mw2 #ghost mw3 #hurt no comfort #angst

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joelmillergirl · 8 days

Text

Intro (end of the world)

Sweet Joel Slut Miller

Word count: 3,550

Warnings: not proofread, p in v, no cream pie for this one 😞, hard sex, but also soft sex! Not a lot of warnings for this one!

Authors Note: This took way longer than I liked but… I’m happy with it. 🤍

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

He started off as your patrol partner. He didn’t like you, never spoke more than four words to you every day, ‘Stay focused, be quick.’

His disinterest and bluntness had genuinely upset you at first, taking you aback when your cheery greeting was met with dead silence. You’d gotten used to it though, not once did you cease your talking, albeit, it was falling on deaf ears. Overtime, his eyebrows began softening, his lips quirked up at the side when you told a funny story, and with your teasing and your ability to never shut up on patrols, Joel found himself opening up to you, finding trust and comfort in yet another person he’d wanted to keep at arms length.

He never revealed much to you, only brief snippets of a life from before; a life he was starting to forget. He listened when you talked, placed an awkward hand on your shoulder when you cried, offered you his coffee when you ran out of your own. He had become your closest friend, one of your only friends.

Despite Jackson being a growing, close community, you often felt alone, your experiences feeling unmatched to those who had lost so much and had fought so much harder than you had. This feeling of discomfort and guilt led you to be quiet, always putting on a smile to avoid unanswerable questions. Joel saw right through this façade, going as far as cornering you in your own house, almost pleading with you to talk to him.

The rumours started within the first few days of your relationship, word spreading quick that you had managed to win over stone-hearted, broody Joel Miller, two polar opposites. Joel seemed to have no interest in these rumours, shaking his head at the mention of them. You on the other hand, became bashful at the thought, furrowing your eyebrows as if the idea was such a stretch.

Perhaps it was a stretch, the idea of Joel Miller dating made anyone snicker. He was undeniably attractive, physically pleasing to the eye with the Southern gentleman manners to match, naturally attracting many women in Jackson, older and younger. Some were brave to approach him, blinking their eyes at him over-dramatically, pushing their arms against their breasts in an effort to catch his eye, but none of these advances ever worked.

The hardest part about the rumours was how you couldn’t even blame anyone for thinking you were going out with Joel. You were always with each other, mostly found drinking in Jackson’s only ‘bar’, a small building with a home crafted bar top with tables strategically placed around the room, decorations hung up on the walls, most old and ripped. No one dared approach you when he was with you, Joel acting like somewhat of a bodyguard, looming over you. It was in his blood- you told yourself- his protectiveness, even though a small voice in the back of your head begged to differ.

You thump your fist against the wooden door, listening to the sound echo inside. A couple seconds of silence and then you hear heavy boots, seemingly trudging down some stairs, and then the door opened. Joel looked down at you, his usual stoic expression not shifting as you smile at him, “Drink?” You simply ask.

He tilts his head slightly, leaning on the doorframe. “You paying?” He joked lamely, a small smirk manifesting on his face.

“That’s not funny. You’re not funny.” You shake your head, a smile threatening your lips as he pulls himself off the doorframe, turning slightly to close his front door, then he’s stepping forward, pushing past you and down the porch steps.

He looks back once, jerking his head forward gently. You hop down the steps, falling in line next to him as he starts walking, sending a small glance to you. “Feel like I haven’t seen much of ya.” He confessed, looking down at the gravel below his feet.

You furrow your eyebrows, looking at him. “Oh… I mean, I picked up that extra patrol to help Maria out yesterday.”

Joel nods, “Yeah, I know. Went okay?” You were silent for a moment. “Did it?” He further pushed, looking at you properly.

“Infected were fine, not many… it was quiet.” You shrug, looking away from his piercing gaze. He didn’t say anything in response, but you could feel his eyes boring into the side of your face. “It was with Zack… I don’t know, he’s…”

“Pushy?” Joel finishes for you, finally looking away from you.

You sigh, raking your hands through your hair, “Well, yes, he is. But he’s a good person to be with on patrol, I just… He’s a bit much.”

Joel nods slowly, pushing into your side slightly as a group of women walk past, giggles following after them with a few looking back over their shoulders to look at him, you laugh under your breath, nudging him gently. Joel scowls, moving back to his original position, a gap between you. “Who’re you with tomorrow?” He asks.

You grimace, “Zack. Just this last time. Should be fine.” You perk up at the sight of the bar, your eyes craning to see how busy it was. You dreaded the thought of tomorrow's patrol, so used to being with Joel. His comforting aura replaced with an uncomfortable one with Zack. He wasn’t creepy, nor was he rude, just too enthusiastic about himself and his ability to charm women, he wasn’t what you were used to.

Joel stepped in front of you to open the bars’ door, moving to the side and nodding his head towards the entrance. You thank him quietly as you walk in, immediately moving to take your jacket off, the unexpected, yet pleasant warmth rushing through your body. “I’m kind of hungry.” You say, handing your jacket to Joel for him to hang up on the stand by the door.

“We’ll get you something to eat then.” Joel muttered, placing his hand on your shoulder and pushing you forward gently. You choose to sit down at a table in a corner, your back facing the wall. “Beer?” He asks, hand resting in front of you on the table.

Your eyes fall to his hand, tracing up the perceptible veins running up his arm. You blink and look up to him, “Uh, yes. Thanks.” Joel looks at you for a second longer, squinting his eyes before turning around, approaching Seth at the bar, the man who made the alcohol as best as he could given the circumstances, which surprisingly, after a few months of testing, had resulted in near identical flavours from the world before.

You found your mind wandering as you waited for Joel to come back, your head face down, completely tuning out everyone around you. After what seems like a few minutes, you look up, eyes scanning the bar for Joel, who is picking up two glasses when you see him. You’re about to stand up to help him but a voice pulls your attention away, Zack, talking loudly to his group of friends.

You’re still absentmindedly looking at Zack when Joel appears next to you, placing one glass in front of you along with a little bowl of peanuts. You look up at him when he stays standing, he’s looking at Zack “Thank you.” You say.

He looks down at you when you speak, eyes flickering to the bowl which you start grabbing from, then nods once, sitting down with his glass. He doesn’t drink though, remains looking at the liquid, every so often swishing it around in the glass. You frown, taking a sip of your own. He looks up at you, “You’re welcome.”

You almost laugh at the delayed response, opting to instead smile at him, eating the peanuts he had brought you. Next to you, you hear three sets of small giggles, belonging to young teenage girls, all of them looking at you and Joel before looking away at each other, whispering amongst themselves. Joel’s fingers sneak their way over to your side of the table, grabbing a handful of peanuts for himself, smirking. You laugh at his face, “Why’re you smirking?”

“Peanuts… Takes me back, eating them at the proper bars… Tommy sittin’ next to me. He was underage, of course.” Joel points out, shaking his head slightly, “Guess I was a bad influence.” He looks up at you, tilting his hand into his mouth and then finally taking his first drink of the beer, all while staring at you.

You look down, sigh, then look back up at him. “I wanna go to bed.” Joel raises his eyebrow, laughs slightly.

“It’s like eight. Not even I wanna go to bed this early. You’re older than you think, girl.” He says, looking at you amused. You roll your eyes at his remark, finishing off the last bit of your drink.

Later that night, he walks you home. You tell yourself he did it because of a deeper meaning, but you knew it was only because his house was a street away from yours. Still, you thanked him for walking you, listened to him tell you off for thanking him, and then said goodbye. You made sure to check on him from your window before you made your way up to your room, as if anything would happen to him in the confined town.

The sun was just creeping over the horizon as you stood by the patrol roster near the horse paddocks, a deep sigh escaping your lips. You really were dreading today's patrol, knowing it would be spent being subjected to Zack’s borderline narcissistic rants about himself. A part of you felt bad, he wasn’t a bad guy. He was attractive, he treated women with respect, he had an airy voice, higher in pitch. The opposite of Joel.

The comparison threw you off guard. When did you start thinking about him so much? Comparing him to other guys you interacted with? It was the rumours getting to your head, you told yourself as you made your way to the gate, where you knew Zack would be with both horses. Only, it wasn’t Zack you laid eyes on when you got there, rather Joel. He was holding the reins of his horse and yours, skilfully avoiding the eyes of everyone around him, until as if knowing you were there, he looked up and made eye contact with you.

The gap closed between you, questions and thoughts running through your head before you could even reach him. “Mornin’.” Joel muttered when you were close enough, his hand reaching out with your horse's rein.

You gently take it from him, “Thanks… Zack’s probably trying to find her right now though.” You laugh, placing your hand on the side of the horse's face, gently smoothing down the short fur there. Joel clears his throat gently in front of you.

“Probably not. You’re with me today.” He nods to himself, glancing at you for a second before turning away, slowly pulling his horse behind him. You stood still for a moment, more questions arising in your head. Zack appears in the corner of your eyesight, standing alongside one of the younger patrolmen, he sends you a friendly wave.

Maria stands tough in front of everyone, going through all the rules and regulations you have to listen to every week, you fight the urge to just barge through and get on with it. Everyone’s on their horses now, making sure their weapons are ready and that they have everything they need. You had already checked twice, and Joel seemingly had as well as he sat next to you listening to Maria’s words intently. He glances to the side at you, “Pay attention, don’t need you forgetting any of this when we’re out there.”

Another joke of his. “Funny.” You say with a flat tone, shaking your head. At last Maria had given the green light, sending the signal to open the large gate in front of everyone. You always got nervous watching the gates open, the intrusive thoughts and anxiety always hitting you suddenly. Your hands tighten around the leather, and you start consciously telling yourself to take deep breaths. Joel reaches over slightly and taps the side of your leg twice, nodding gently. You nod back, and then you’re moving forward.

You were on your favourite trail, everything about it was peaceful and normally quiet. You were quiet. Your usual chirpy attitude was replaced with a more sluggish one, something Joel picked up on instantly. “Favourite trail, huh?” He started, letting out a deep sigh, “Pretty cold, should light a fire when we get up to the safe house.”

“Mhm.” You hum, closing your eyes for a few seconds, “Warm fire.” The cooler air surrounded you, almost wrapping itself around you in a cold grasp. It temporarily lifted your worries, all your questions and anxieties soothing for a while as you focused on what you were meant to be doing; patrolling.

Joel effortlessly located any infected that were in the way, relying on you to move at his pace, watch his back and defend yourself as he focused on taking them all out. You worked in harmony, doing your jobs well, and by the end of the day, the sun now back at the horizon darkening the sky, you were exhausted.

The safe house was freezing when you finally were able to walk inside, seizing up your body. You immediately turned to Joel, opening your mouth to complain. “I know.” He said before you could, “Give me a minute to light it up. Make yourself useful and heat up our food.”

You roll your eyes at his command but obey nonetheless, fishing out the cans of food he had brought along and moving to the semi functional kitchen, doing your best to make the most appealing dinner you could. You walk out with the two plates in hand to a soothingly warm living room, Joel sitting by the fireplace peering at the flames. “Dinner.” You announce after a shameful amount of seconds simply admiring him, and more specifically, his back profile.

You glance up at him every now and then when you eat. Sometimes you make eye contact, other times you go unnoticed. You’re speaking before you can stop yourself, “Did you change patrols with Zack?”

He pauses, his hand hovers in the air for a moment before he places his fork down and looks at you properly. “Why?”

You shrug and look down. “Just asking. It’s a little weird, I wasn’t told it was changing.” He seems a little tense now, so you quiet down and finish eating, the air thick around you.

Joel stands up, grunting as he did. “I… I asked Maria to change ‘em. Thought you might’ve been uncomfortable with him.” You look up at him and try to catch his eye, which seems impossible given he was looking everywhere but you.

“You’re right.” You stand up, taking his empty plate from his hands, “Thank you.” You leave him standing there to go wash the dishes, cringing at yourself. Your mind was wandering, thinking about Joel in a way you hadn’t before. You couldn’t tell if it was in the heat of the moment because of him changing the patrols around or if you’d always felt this way, hidden inside you, scared to ruin your friendship.

He was sitting on the couch when you went back out, his posture drooped. He looked up when you walked in, his lips parting to let out a sigh. “Can I confess?”

You stop in front of him. “Confess what?”

He seems to debate something in his head, his eyes close and his head falls into his hands. “I thought it was a heat of the moment thing… I tried to stop, but I just can’t stop thinking about you.” He rambles, almost looking in pain to admit such a thing.

“I think that’s the most I’ve heard you say in one go.” You joke, stifling a smile. He looks up at you unimpressed, shaking his head. You frown, “Joel… I don’t know what to say. Is it a bad thing?”

He looks at you again, “What?” A log falls in the fireplace.

“Is it a bad thing that you think about me?” You clarify, shrugging your shoulders.

He thinks for a moment, pursing his lips gently. “Depends.” He finally answers, looking into your eyes.

You smile awkwardly, breaking eye contact. “I’ve been thinking about you too. And it doesn’t annoy me as much as I’d expect it to.” You tease.

Joel shakes his head, but you see a small smile. It tugs at your heart, taking you by surprise. In a moment of confidence and slight lust, you sit down next to each other, thighs brushing. You look at each other for a moment, studying every feature, every dimple, every colour. And then he kisses you.

His lips are soft against yours, and more skilled than you expected of him, his tongue pushing through your lips and into your mouth, metaphorically and literally taking away your breath. You lean away from him, laughing softly before taking him in another kiss, this one more desperate and messy than the one before.

His hands rake up your thighs, moving over the dip between your hips and ribs then moving up to the side of your breasts, his fingers barely touching them. You move your torso to the side, forcing his hand to cup you, the unexpected gesture causing him to moan in your mouth, his hand subconsciously squeezing you harder.

Whilst his hands move up your body, mapping out every curve, your own hands sneak their way over his belt, skilfully unbuckling it before you suddenly stop. Joel stops kissing you but stays close, panting. “You can.” He whispers, so you continue.

In a matter of seconds, both of you are practically naked, only confined in your underwear. You palm him through his boxers, his cock already rock hard and throbbing under your heavy touch. He pushes you further down onto the couch, caging you down between his arms. Your hips move upwards, almost chasing his cock, silently begging for him to fuck you, a plea he listens to.

He reaches behind you and unclasps your bra, throwing it to the side on the floor. He immediately moves down to take your hardened nipple in his mouth, twirling it around with his tongue before closing his mouth around it, sucking gently. You arch up into his mouth, using your feet to push down his boxers, his cock springing out of the confinement.

He moves closer to you, one hand on the armrest behind your head, bracing himself up. His cock teases you, the head of him pushing against your underwear, leaving a spot of wetness where precum had dripped down. One of your hands delicately pushes your panties to the side, the other moves to his cock, moving up and down the thick length of him a few times before you take your hand away, moving down to rub your clit.

He pushes inside of you tentatively, stopping every couple of seconds to allow you to adjust around him, having not had anyone fuck you for a while. He whispered in your ear, soothing you and praising you for taking him so well, his spare hand rubbing your thigh, whilst your fingers moved slowly against your clit still, small moans spilling out your mouth.

He gave you a little while to breathe after he pushed himself as far as he could inside you, despite being desperate to fuck you how he wanted. “Take your time.” He whispered, shaking his head at you.

You nod at him, closing your eyes in ecstasy at the mere feeling of him. “You can move now.” Your legs tighten around his waist, pulling him closer to you as he starts to roll his hips, moving slowly at first, allowing you to feel every stroke. You moan breathlessly in his ear, your hands raking up his back, digging your nails into his skin hard enough to leave a mark. He fucks you harder, pulling out almost completely and then pushing his way back inside you, the sound of your skin slapping together and your moans filling the otherwise quiet room.

You can feel your orgasm tearing its way through your body with every rough thrust Joel delivers, his pubic hair grazes your clit adding to the growing pressure. You whisper in his mouth you’re going to cum, your legs start to shake. The intensity of his thrusts slow down a bit, becoming unrhythmic and sloppy, his own release making its way through.

With a final few hard pushes inside you and gasps of pleasure, you cum, your muscles tensing up and squeezing around his cock, effectively causing his own orgasm to hit him. Joel manages to pull out in time, his cum spurting out onto your pussy. He breathes in deeply, a shaky breath, and then he’s kissing you gently, softer, brushing your hair out of your face as you come down from the high.

You sleep together for the first time in one bed, limbs tangled and breaths in sync as the night fades away into a new Dawn.

#joel tlou #tlou fanfiction #joel miller #joel smut #joel x reader #tlou #tlou part 2 #tlou smut #tlou hbo #joel miller smut #joel the last of us #smut

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sarahowritesostucky · 6 months

Text

📖"Temporary Custody"

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve x ofc x Bucky; Steve x Bucky

Word Count: 4861

Tags: Dom/sub, bdsm au, dom Bucky, sub reader, hurt/comfort, enemies to lovers, gay sex'n'stuff, straight sex'n'stuff, Steve being a literal Golden Retriever, mental health issues, dub-con, forced submission, referenced childhood abuse and resultant mental health issues, bakery au, m/f/m, gentle domination, total power exchange

Summary: The stigma and shame of being a submissive has kept Mary unfulfilled and in the closet her whole life, until an inciting incident leads to Bucky and Steve taking her in and giving her everything she was always too afraid to ask for.

Trigger warnings: This story contains themes of eating disordered behavior, body image issues, childhood abuse, self-harm, mental illness, and alcohol abuse.

Wait! I haven't read an earlier chapter of this fic! Story Masterpost

11. Palmiers

Bucky

Because he’s on the far end of the spectrum, Bucky’s sex drive is affected by his condition. He wakes up hard almost every morning of his life, and Steve doesn’t need much encouragement to get himself worked up into the same state very quickly. Mutual morning jerk offs were always bound to become part of their routine.

They take a shower and stand toe to toe, hands sliding and groping all over each others’ slick bodies, pulling on their cocks until both of them are shooting off against each other’s bellies. The water washes it away, and Steve gives him a deep, happy kiss. “Mmm. Mornin’.”

“Blegch. Go brush your teeth, you heathen.”

Steve laughs and gets out of the shower. Bucky stays in for a few minutes longer, adjusting the spray to its hardest setting and letting the hot water beat down on his back and shoulders. He sighs and stretches his neck this way and that, trying to get his vertebrae to pop, but his muscles are all too tight, and the stretching just seems to make it worse. Bucky drops his head in defeat. In all honesty, his shoulders and neck and back are all pretty fucked after months of near-constant use of his prosthetic.

Steve’s right: he doesn’t usually wear it this much. And he’s also right that Bucky’s been wearing it all day every day because he wants to feel powerful and able bodied in front of Mary. As per usual, Steve is the first one to have noticed what maladaptive behavior pattern he’s doing and why, and pointed it out to him. It really is for the best, Bucky knows. Because he can’t sustain wearing the arm all the time anymore. The thing is just too damn heavy.

The engineers who designed it have made tweaks and adjustments over the years. They’ve done all they can to lighten the load as much as possible, but the thing still weighs over twenty pounds. Twenty pounds doesn’t sound like much, but when it’s pulling on the same muscle groups day in and day out, everything in Bucky’s body winds up getting strained and unbalanced. He understands better now, how women fuck up their necks so badly from shouldering their purses (or their tits) around. A little bit of weight makes a big difference.

As a Dom, Bucky may have a tiny problem admitting when he needs help. He has to be in quite a bit of pain, trouble, or both, before he’ll ever speak up and allow himself to be vulnerable like that. It’s an inherent behavior that shrinks have been trying to therapize and medicate out of him since he was a kid, but nothing ever changed it much. Falling in love with Steve helped; Bucky can let himself be more vulnerable around him. But even still, it’s no small thing that he regularly approaches his husband to ask for help in getting his arm back on correctly (Bucky can do it, but it’s a pain in the ass, getting the mechanism lined up just right before it’ll take).

He gets out of the shower and dries off, then approaches Steve with the prosthesis. “Gimme a hand?”

Steve makes a cheerful noise of acknowledgement around his mouthful of toothpaste, spits and rinses, then takes the arm from Bucky. He lines it up just so, and then Bucky feels the deep shudder of the arm’s inner workings coming to life as they recognize their mate. The arm attaches and Steve lets go.

“Thanks babe.”

“Uh huh.”

It’s as Bucky’s bending over and pulling up his underwear and joggers that a spasm runs through his back and he cries out in a pained, “Ah!”

“Babe? What’s wrong?”

Gritting his teeth, Bucky slowly stands back up. He’s able to get his pants up, but when he tests the movement of his neck and shoulders, the pain flares again. It feels like everything between the base of his skull and his mid back is seizing up. “Fuck,” he hisses, frustrated. It’s his day off. He’d been planning to go to the gym for his long workout.

Steve steps up and puts a worried hand on his left shoulder. “Babe? Do you need it off?”

“No. I need some painkillers and a magnesium tablet,” he grunts, already turning around (full body, because turning his head is a bad idea right now). “Fuck.” He starts off for the kitchen.

Steve follows along with worried protests, telling him to lay his “stubborn ass” down and he’ll get it for him. Bucky ignores him and goes to the kitchen cabinet where they keep their supplement stuff. He winds up yelling again when he tries to reach up and grab the ibuprofen. “Fuck!” he says angrily.

“Babe, I said to let me do it,” Steve scolds, his hand back on Bucky’s shoulder. “And let me take this off. It’s hurting you.”

“Steve, back off,” he snaps, angry and waspish from being in pain, and from being frustrated with his own goddamn body.

“What’s going on?”

Bucky turns his head without thinking, hisses in pain, and then turns himself full-body to face in Mary’s direction. She’s standing there looking at the two of them in concern, one hand holding one of those swirly, flaky, crack-cookies that she makes, and the other holding a cup of tea. Her eyes widen at the sight of Bucky’s arm and body, reminding him that this is the first time she’s seen him without a shirt on. “Nothin’,” Bucky grunts.

“Shit,” she says. “Are you guys fighting? Is this a couples’ fight? I’ll just …” She turns to leave back towards her room.

“We’re not fighting,” Steve says. “Buck’s just being an ass. He gets that way when he’s in pain.”

Bucky would turn his head to glare at him, but it isn’t worth another flair of agony in his shoulder. “I’m fine,” he says, when Mary comes back over. “It’s fine,” he stresses. He opens the pill bottle and dumps three capsules into his palm. “Jeez, will everybody stop babying me? I just need a glass of water.”

“I’ll get it,” Steve says, causing Bucky to huff once again. “Don’t be a jerk, babe.”

“Why are you in pain?” Mary asks, her eyes tracing all over the left side of Bucky’s scarred up body. “Is it … does your arm hurt?”

“No. It just fucks up my muscles, sometimes.”

“Your muscles?”

Bucky sighs impatiently. “Steve, do you know where the heating pad is?”

“I’ll have to look.” Steve has returned with a glass of water, and Bucky tosses back the handful of pills, wincing at how even the slight motion of raising his arm up makes his trap twinge in protest. “Ugh.”

“You should get a massage,” Mary suggests, and Bucky fights not to lash out at her. She doesn’t know that one of his biggest pet peeves in life is having other people tell him what he “should” do.

“My PT maxed out back in October,” he tells her. “Doesn’t renew again till January.”

Steve takes the water glass from him once he’s done. “Go lie face down on the bed,” he murmurs. “I’ll find the heating pad.”

“Well I could do it,” Mary blurts out. Both Bucky and Steve pause and look at her. She looks surprised, too, as though she hadn’t been planning to say the words until they were out of her mouth, and now doesn’t know how to continue “Um, that is ..." she gestures weakly with her cookie. “I just meant I know how to, if you wanted.” Eventually her cheeks color and she looks away. “Erm, Nevermind.”

“Wait,” Steve says. When Mary turns back, he’s looking at her earnestly, and Bucky thinks, Oh no. “You know how to give a back massage? Like a real one?”

“Yeah. My, ah, my ex always had neck problems, so.” She shrugs, looking embarrassed. “I took a class at the community college, learned the basics.”

Bucky blinks. That’s the subbiest fucking thing he’s ever heard. “You did this for the husband that beat you?” he drawls, immediately regretting it because it comes out sounding way more derogatory than he intends it to. “Sorry. I just … actually would pay good money for a massage right now. If you know how to do it.”

Mary bites her lip, looking deliciously shy and sweet. Bucky’s mood sours as he realizes that she doesn’t really want to. He’s about to let her off the hook, but then some unconscious movement he makes without meaning to has him flinching in pain again. “Sheezus,” he complains.

“It’s not usually this bad,” Steve worries.

“I must’a slept on it wrong.”

Mary nods, as if this settles it. “Okay. Well, go in the bedroom and tie your hair up so it's out of the way.” She turns to Steve, all but dismissing Bucky now that she’s got a task to complete. Bucky fights back an amused smirk as he heads towards the bedroom, and he hears Mary bossing Steve around, telling him she needs dry oil, the heating pad, towels, and all the seat cushions off the couch.

The fuck does she need those for? Bucky thinks as he pads back into his and Steve’s room.

He finds out a moment later, when Mary and Steve come in with a couch cushion each, and Steve goes back out to get another. They lay them in a line on the bed, and Mary directs Bucky to lie on top of them, with his body placed just so and his face down just there, and … Oh. He gets it.

She’s left space between the cushion under Bucky’s chest, and the next cushion up, which supports his forehead. The gap creates a drop through for his face—like a massage table. And when she shapes the towel into a donut shape and sticks it there, it's pretty much perfect.

“Oh,” Bucky says, as he’s settling into place. “Oh, that’s actually really smart.” He can’t see Mary from his position, but somehow he senses her preening over the praise anyway. Steve returns from the bathroom with the heating pad and oil. “Found this stuffed in the back of the linen closet. I don’t know what ‘jojoba’ is, but, um … it’s either that or the virgin olive out in the pantry.”

“Do not use that,” Bucky grumbles. “Shit’s expensive, and I don’t wanna smell like garlic truffle for the next three days.”

“That’ll work fine.” Mary is totally task focused, ignoring Bucky’s surliness and telling Steve to apply the heating pad across Bucky’s shoulders and neck for thirty minutes before they get started.

“Thirty minutes?!” Bucky complains, unable to see anything but the top of the bedcovers as the two of them go out into the hallway.

“Just relax, Babe,” Steve says (and if Bucky isn’t mistaken, he sounds amused). “Take a nap.”

“I just woke up!” He scoffs at the bedspread when the door quietly ‘snicks’ shut and he realizes that he’s been abandoned. “Well okay then,” he mutters petulantly. Steve is right: he does turn into an ass when he’s in pain. Hmm. Maybe he should work on that.

Steve

Steve turns the tv onto a low volume so they can talk without Bucky hearing. “Sorry about him,” he says. “He’s a humongous jerk whenever he’s feeling crummy.”

“You mean it’s not just all the time?” Mary drawls.

“He’s … just one of those people you have to learn to love before you like them.” Mary raises an eyebrow, and Steve winces. “Er, that sounded harsh. Don’t tell him I said that.”

She twists her lips and looks down. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

“Thanks, Hon. You want more tea?”

“Yes please. There’s more of the palmiers in a baggie next to the coffee pot, if you want any.”

“Heck yeah, I love those things.” Steve had thought the prepackaged ones at Starbucks were good, hadn’t even realized that they weren’t supposed to be all stale and hard like that. Just another commercialized pastry that Mary’s gone and ruined him for. He goes into the kitchen and makes himself coffee and Mary tea, knowing by now how she takes it.

She thanks him silently as he returns and joins her on the couch, both of them sitting close to one another on the chaise, since it’s the only part of the couch that still has its cushion.

"Palmier is French. Know what else they call these?" Mary asks.

Steve's lips quirk. Mary's always got these little facts she knows about the origins of this pastry or that. It's cute. Endearing. "No," he plays along. "What?"

"Elephant ears, because of the shape, see?"

"Oh yeah. Huh. That's neat."

She goes back to eating and sipping at her teacup, and after a moment of unrequited, affectionate staring, Steve looks away. "Elephant ears," he murmurs, trying not to be mopey. "That's funny."

They split the palmiers between them, and aside from the sounds of them munching cookies and sipping their drinks, it’s quiet for a long time. Steve made both the tea and the coffee very hot, so they at least have the excuse of cradling and blowing on their steaming mugs to keep the silence from being too awkward. Mary keeps her eyes trained forward, but Steve gets the sense that she isn’t really paying attention to the home renovation program that’s playing on the tv. His suspicions are confirmed when she eventually asks,

“So: His arm.”

Steve inhales slowly. “Yeah. His arm.”

“What happened?”

Steve frowns. He can tell by her inflection that she’s asking not just about the arm, but about the state of Bucky’s entire left side from shoulder to hip. “We were in the army,” he confides. “Deployed overseas. I made captain young, but he was a specialist in the field: a sniper. So I wasn’t put into the same types of situations as he was. His convoy got blown up by an IED. And when the dust settled …” He shrugs. “No more arm.”

“Oh.” Mary sits there and absorbs that information. “I guess I kind of figured it was something like that. I mean what else is there, besides like, a shark attack or something?”

Steve’s mouth twitches. Shark attack, ha. He’ll have to suggest that one to Buck. Might be fun to lie about, the next time a stranger asks. “Naw, just a boring old bomb. And afterwards, well. It was a long road for him, after. He didn’t have the arm when I met him.”

Mary turns her head, surprised. “Oh. You two didn’t meet in the army?”

“No, after. I met him at the V.A., when he was already angry, hurt, and didn’t want to be where he was.” Steve looks over and gives her a meaningful look. “Kind of like when I first met you.”

Her eyes widen, and then her face colors and she looks away again, pulling her knees up and hunkering over her mug. “Was I really that bad?” she mumbles.

“... You were pretty bad, Honey.”

She frowns and doesn’t say anything, and Steve decides to leave it alone. “So yeah, his arm. He got into a program for experimental cybernetics. It was a big gamble. Back then, he still had his arm down to nearly the elbow, which meant he could use a lot of the different types of prostheses they had on the market. The less arm you have, the less they can do for you. The surgeries for the implant required removal all the way up to and including his left shoulder blade. So if he went through with it and the procedures didn’t work out, he’d be left with less function than he started with.”

“Jeez.”

“Hm, yeah. It was a risk.” Steve stares across the living room as he remembers all of the hospital stays and surgeries and revisions and therapy appointments. “Luckily it worked out. They replaced some bones with metal supports, some of his natural muscle with enhanced synthetic tissue. His body didn’t reject any of the junk they were putting in him, which was the biggest worry. All in all, it took five surgeries over the course of three years, and then a shit ton of physiotherapy. Buck says it was worth it, now, but it wasn’t a walk in the park when it was happening, I’ll tell you that.”

Beside him, Mary makes a sad little noise in her throat. “But … all that and it still gives him pain?”

“Yeah. He gets PT for it, but like he said; it never winds up lasting the full year. I force him to my veterans' support group when I can, but he’s gotta be in a really charitable mood for that.” Steve snorts humorlessly. “He’s always hated being disabled. It doesn’t jive with his DPD. You know that stereotype about men: never wanting to stop and ask for directions?”

“Yeah.”

"Well it's true. And then you take a guy who’s as far on the spectrum as Bucky is, and it’s ten times worse.” He widens his eyes in emphasis and gets a little giggle out of Mary for it, which makes him warm with pride. He pulls his feet up onto the couch next to Mary’s and nudges her knee with his. “Just fair warning: He’s the worst patient I’ve ever seen. So don’t take it personally if he’s grumpy at you in there.”

Mary frowns and looks away. “Well, I mean I don’t have to do this. If he doesn’t want to.”

“Pretty sure he wants to. And he needs help with it, whether his stubborn ass wants to admit it or not.”

She nods, though she still doesn’t look confident. “It’s been over a year since I worked on anybody …”

“Well then this’ll be good practice for you, won’t it?” Steve nudges her again in encouragement and tells her to finish up her tea: He doesn’t expect Bucky’ll lie around patiently for much longer.

(“Oh, and Hon, maybe don’t tell him we were out here talking about him this whole time.”)

(“Duh.”)

In the bedroom, Mary climbs onto the bed next to where Bucky is laid out on the couch cushions. She takes the heating pad off his neck and puts it aside, looking nervously over the broad expanse of his back. “Um …” She reaches for the oil bottle and pumps some into her hands. She spends a long, long time just spreading it between her hands and staring at Bucky, until finally he snaps,

“What’s the holdup?”

“Babe, be nice,” Steve warns. “Mary? You need anything?”

“Um, no. It’s just … usually I'd ..." She makes an aborted move, like she's thinking about repositioning herself, but winds up staying where she is. "Right," she mutters to herself. "This'll work fine." She reaches forward like she’ll start rubbing Bucky’s back, hesitates, shuffles closer to his side, then sets her hands on his shoulders.

Bucky doesn’t so much as twitch, but he’s not used to new people touching him, and Steve would bet money that his eyes are clenched shut right now.

“Okay,” Mary warns. “I haven’t done this in awhile, so don’t get your hopes up for a miracle or anything.”

“Anything’ll be better than what I can do myself,” Bucky says gruffly, voice somewhat muffled by the cushions. “Just go to town. You can’t hurt me any worse.”

Steve can see Mary’s face, and he knows by now what she looks like when she’s flustered. Awkwardly, he steps to the side, heading for the door. “I’ll just go watch some—”

“No!” Mary squeaks, and when Steve turns back around she’s looking at him with wide eyes. “Don’t leave,” she says, like being left alone touching Bucky is the worst possible thing that could happen. Steve doesn’t miss how the muscles in Bucky’s arms do tense at hearing her plead for Steve to stay.

“Uhm, okay. I’ll just … be over here.” He leans back against the dresser, feeling almost painfully awkward. Once again, he’s reminded how Mary has shown absolutely no desire to engage in sexual contact with them. He hopes she doesn’t think this is a ploy to force physical contact. She was the one who suggested it, after all.

She starts at the base of Bucky’s skull, rubbing her thumbs in small circles. “As I go along, try to tell me which areas feel the worst,” she murmurs, and Bucky hums in acknowledgement. Steve watches as she pushes and circles and kneads Bucky’s neck, working down on into his shoulders. He’s struck by how feminine and tiny her hands look against Bucky’s body … and then has to steer his mind away from the thought of how tiny they might look in other places.

“Ah, fuck,” Bucky gasps, when she reaches a certain spot on the left side of his neck.

She freezes. “Bad?”

“Nngh. Good,” he slurs. “That whole area from there goin’ down into my back ‘n all around my shoulder blade is where it’s worst.”

“Okay.” She tentatively presses around in and around the left side of his neck and shoulder. “Oh, yeah. It starts right here and goes down.” She slides her hand down the muscle and hums. “Oh, I can feel it.”

(Steve tries really hard not to think sexual thoughts.)

“Riiight here? and … here?"

Between the cushions, Bucky’s voice comes out in a series of garbled moans.

“That’d be a yes,” Steve interprets, and Mary actually shoots him a grin at that. Glad to have cut the tension a bit, he dares to take a few steps closer to the bed. He peers down at what Mary’s doing, the way her fingers dig in at sharp, focused points in some places and rub more gently in others. “It’s your trap that’s the worst,” she mutters distractedly, feeling around with her hands and staring off into space with the tip of her tongue poking out at the corner of her mouth. It’s cute. “Mmm, but probably your levator scapulae, too. Those tend to get fucked up hand in hand.”

“Mmrr.”

“And here: your rhomboid.”

“Ooh!”

“Tender?”

“Shuyeahhh,” Bucky grunts, then his breath hitches when she digs into another spot. “Oh, yep yep right there. Was’that?”

Steve can’t help but grin. Bucky sounds like he’s drooling at this point.

“Your trapezius muscle. It's big. Does a lot of work, covers a large area. Probably the main offender.” Mary hums and feels around a little more. “Oof, yeah. You’ve got a whole bunch of tension right here.”

“You can feel it?” Steve asks, fascinated. He can't see anything.

“Yeah. Here, gimme your hand.” Steve is taken aback when she grabs his hand and guides his fingers into place, her own smaller hand pressing down. “Riiight there. You feel it?”

Steve swallows thickly. “Ah, yeah.” His eyes flick from her hand on his hand on Bucky’s back, up to her face, and back again before she can catch him looking. “Y-yeah it’s hard.” He grimaces at his choice of words (If he's not careful, "it" soon will be).

“I’m gonna focus on this one for a few minutes,” Mary tells Bucky. Then you can guide me around to the other bad spots.”

“Sounds good,” he slurs. Steve is about to take a step back again, but then Bucky calls out, “Hey Babe?”

“Yeah?”

“Pay attention to what she’s doin’. It feels really fuckin’ good.”

“Yeah?”

“Mmhm. You can learn n' do it next time,” he says dreamily. On his back, Mary’s hands still for the briefest of seconds. “S’goood.”

Steve nods and comes back to sit on the bed. “Okay,” he agrees, scooting in close and glancing at Mary. Her face looks pinched all of a sudden, her expression stiffened as if in annoyance. “I promise I’m not as dumb as I look,” he jokes, and watches as her face smooths out and she smiles a little.

“Oh! Oh no it’s … it’s okay, I don’t mind. I’ll teach you how.”

“Don’t mind me, m’just a teaching tool,” Bucky drawls, and Steve laughs and pats his shoulder.

“Yeah you are. So shut up and let her teach.”

Bucky grunts and shuts up. Steve looks to Mary for instruction. He can tell she’s uncomfortable, but she manages to hide it well and keep herself on track. The more he pays attention, the sooner she can get herself out of this and never have to do it again. “Ready to learn,” he tells her.

“Now when you’re doing this, you can get more leverage if you straddle his waist.” She says this like it’s a foregone assumption that she would never dare to sit on Bucky’s waist, and Steve is sure she doesn’t notice the grumpy huff of breath Bucky gives.

“Right,” Steve says, pained. “Okay, so where are the bad spots again?”

“Put your hand here.” She takes his hand again and places it just to the left of Bucky’s spine at the level of his shoulder blade. “Slide your fingers out. There. Feel that difference? Feel how it changes when you move out to just … there?” She guides his fingers, and Steve nods.

“Y-yeah.” Mostly, he’s just thinking about how nice Mary’s warm, oiled, tiny hand feels guiding his hand around. “Yeah.”

“The trap’s on top, but there are other muscles underneath of this one, and that differentiation you feel is where the rhomboid is ending and the—”

She keeps talking, and Steve tries to pay attention and learn, he really does. But his mind is a veritable sieve, for how well he retains the information. It’s all in one ear and out the other, ninety percent of his attention stuck on Mary’s hands on him, guiding him, pressing on his fingers and gliding his touch over Bucky’s skin. Fuck, how did they wind up here?

Eventually, having taught Steve the basics, Mary lets him go and works on Bucky’s shoulders for a little while more. For the most part it’s quiet, with Bucky making soft grunts of pain whenever she finds a new cluster of knotted muscle, and sighs of relief once she works them out.

Her hands linger on Bucky’s mid back when she’s done. She doesn’t seem to know what to do. “Erm. Okay. I think … I think that’s it.”

When neither Bucky nor Steve says anything, she retreats on her own, getting off the bed and looking between Bucky’s prone form and Steve’s sorrowful expression. “So, kay. You can get up, if you want. Just move slowly.”

Bucky’s right hand gives her the thumbs up symbol, but the entire rest of his body doesn’t move. “Thanks Mare. Just give us a second. That was really good. Thank you. Thanks for teaching Steve.”

It’s the “Thanks for teaching Steve” that seems to do it. Mary’s expression firms up and she nods curtly, leaving the room and shutting the door behind her. Steve stays sitting on the bed next to Bucky in silence for a long minute, then says knowingly, “Got a boner?”

“Yep.”

*To anyone who's only ever had store bought, pre-packaged palmiers: I'm so sorry. Along with Madeleines, those should never be eaten more than a few hours max after they've been baked.

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