#i spent way too long on this however by the end i only managed to make it a sketchy piece

[princeson]

Won't You Shake A Poor Sinner's Hand?

I imagine Reigen and Serizawa were going for a lovely early morning stroll through London and on their way home Reigen offered they try taking a shortcut through a very suspicious foreboding looking alleyway and ended up running into this equally suspicious foreboding looking man, Dimple, who greeted them like the Shadow Man from Princess and The Frog and sang Friends From the Other Side -- or maybe he tried selling them sketchy multi-purpose tonics or used watches or whatever -- Anyway, Reigen's frantic rambling is not helping the situation AT ALL and Serizawa is just standing there nervously, eyes wildy darting back and forth between Reigen and Dimple until he starts silently and anxiously eyeing Reigen and shaking his head hoping Reigen would stop digging his own grave by interacting with this mysterious (and possibly dangerous?) man and, for the love of Mob, just get the heck outta of there lol

Dimple Friday #19

[mickyschumacher]

can i request something for carlos sainz x leclerc!reader on vacation?there’s such a soft spot in me for summer vacation carlos like in a beach setting or on a yacht. it can be soft or smutty it doesn’t matter i just love summery carlos. thank you!!!

𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐈 .ೃ࿐

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: while the leclercs maybe spending their summer vacation at home, you opted for a secret vacation in santorini with your secret boyfriend, carlos sainz. or in which you are secretly dating your brother's teammate.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: 18+ (minor dni), unprotected sex (if you're gonna slip, slop, slap, you must wrap your willy!), reader dob in 1999, dating in secret trope!, sainz & leclerc = google translated spanish & french ._., ig the reader has a shaved downstairs?, p in v, teasing, oral sex, lovey dovey smut?, poor humour, breastplay, fingering, cumming inside, bit of overstimulation for the reader, scandal and swift references, love confessions.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: bf!carlos sainz x younger leclerc!fem!reader

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 4k+

𝐀/𝐍: firm agree on the summery carlos! is it really my writing if i don't get santorini involved? anyways, hope this was up to your standards! sorry for the long wait! ♡︎

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

⋆  •°.  。  .°•  ⋆

Dating your brother's teammate was never on your bucket list. Hell, you tried to stay away from Formula 1. Well, as much as Leclerc could anyways.

People older than you weren't really your type. You opted for people near your age. That way there wasn't an awkward generation gap and there was no one that reminded you of your older brothers. Carlos was only five years older than you but the generational gap was most certainly there.

Men your age were... well, boys.

Men Carlos' age were men but also men.

You had seen Carlos at races before. And he was an attractive man, obviously. But that was that. You passed each other down the paddock, barely giving each other a glance. And not to mention the obvious, you were far too young for him at the time.

But then Ferrari's first car launch after signing Carlos had happened.

You had seen Carlos more in the few hours the event lasted than the past few years. You didn't know what it was. Whether you were unintentionally stalking him or vice versa. What you did know, however, he was definitely eyeing you.

By the time Charles had introduced you, Arthur, Lorenzo, and your mother, Carlos was trying to keep his interest at bay, pretending to be as family-friendly as possible.

Carlos ended up catching you as you came out of the bathroom, smoothly asking for your number. And as much as you wanted to give it to him, you weren't going to be easy. You were a Leclerc for crying out loud.

If Carlos wanted you, he would have to earn you.

And boy did he try.

You had heard from several people and the Internet that Carlos was a hardcore romantic. You never thought about it up until he started pulling out all the stops.

He was attentive as hell, remembering your favourite drinks, slipping you a new book to read as he talked to Charles, purposely linking his pinky with yours as discreetly as he could just so he could see you flush in front of him, sending you clothes for you to wear to his races to your apartment...

Carlos was menace.

But somewhere along the line, he became your menace.

You and Carlos were the epitome of the saying 'Romance is not dead if you keep it just yours'.

Keeping it secret... sure it was frustrating at times. The both of you had person after person trying to get with you because, well, you were a Leclerc and he was Carlos Sainz. Carlos had managed to draw a line by telling people he had a girlfriend but he didn't want to reveal her.

Yeah... it didn't settle well with the grid, in particular the three gossipers of the grid: Pierre, Lando, and your brother.

But after all the little bumps in the road, it was smooth sailing.

Most of the time you spent time together was alone, just the two of you. That way, there was no risk of being caught and you could revel in each other.

Of course, it wasn't that easy. Nothing was easy with you and Carlos, especially given that you couldn't keep your hands off of one another. Carlos a slight more than you because you had the decency and fear of embarrassment of getting caught by anyone. Carlos, on the other hand, was as indecent as they come. Hands always looking for an excuse to touch you, eyes travelling to find you first in any room, sending dirty texts when you sat across him... like you said, he was a menace.

To make things easier for yourself, for this summer break, you and Carlos had picked trusty Santorini as a romantic getaway, taking his dog Piñon as a welcomed third wheeler. Filled with so many tourists that you and Carlos would look like any regular couple there.

"Now this is a summer break," You breathed out, walking on to the yacht you had rented out for your stay in Greece. The air was clean and crisp, the sun was already beating down on you despite it being nine in the morning, and the translucent blue waters brought you a sense of familiarity that Monaco held.

"Don't you agree, Piñon?" You cooed to the soft ball of white curled up into your arms. A small bark of agreement came from the dog, tail wagging in happiness.

Carlos chuckled behind you, putting down your bags on the deck, under the shade. His thick arms enveloped your waist, bringing you closer to him. Nestling his chin into your shoulder, he said, "That's good, hermosa (beautiful). Now try saying it in Spanish."

You made a face at his teasing tone. Pulling yourself out of his grasp, you turned towards him. "Ahora son unas vacaciones de verano. ¿No estás de acuerdo, mi querido Carlos?" You recreated the same coaxing tone you had given Piñon to your lover, pinching his cheek with the energy of an overly endearing mother. Now this is a summer break. Don't you agree, my dear Carlos?

Carlos gave you a pointed look. You were teasing him. You knew he liked when you spoke Spanish because it was cute to see you fumble over the words but it also meant a lot to him that you were trying.

You rolled your eyes at his reaction and settled Piñon on the deck after making sure it wasn't too hot for those small paws of his. You watched him trot around the yacht, carefully examining his surrounding to test his boundaries.

Satisfied that Piñon was safe, you turned back to Carlos. "Brunch?"

"Brunch..." Carlos trailed off, hand reaching out to your face. The soft pad of his thumb graze your lips, gently pulling on your bottom lip to watch it bounce back. "...or brunch?" He asked, voice heavy with a clear need.

Your body thrived with an eagerness to respond to his touch. Goosebumps were the paint to the canvas of your skin, littering each part of you even though you were impossibly warm in the sun. You really wanted brunch. But your stomach wanted brunch. Instead, you simply nodded to him, agreeing with the answer he had never said. "You're right. Food is very important."

Carlos groaned at your response. "Hermosa," He sighed out, bringing his arms around your waist to pull you close yet again. "I want you," He murmured against your skin, nose brushing against your cheek and hot breath wandering down your neck.

Carlos could feel you smile at his words. "And you have me... for two whole weeks," You reminded him, pressing a brief kiss to his cheek.

Carlos curled his lip in annoyance at your reminder while he revelled in your touch. "I could have you for four," He also reminded you.

You sighed. You hadn't seen him in three weeks because life had it's mysterious ways of making the both of you busy. You wanted nothing more than a month with Carlos. But it was far too suspicious.

You had barely convinced your mother and your brothers that you were going to Santorini for a 'self-exploration' trip. Charles had immediately offered to turn it into a family trip but you managed to settle him down by saying you would spend the last two weeks with them. Alexandra had been a sweetheart in the matter as well. She was the only one, as well as Kika and Lily, that had known about you and Carlos, claiming they sensed it from 'a mile away'.

What they truly meant was that Carlos wouldn't stop eye-fucking you from a far.

"It's okay," You mumbled woefully, patting his chest softly, "I'll be with you in spirit while you reign Madrid."

Carlos held in his eye roll at your theatrics, you had a flair for them. "I wish you would reign Madrid with me instead. I want you to meet the family, let me finally teach you golf, go to the holiday house with me, hmm?" He implored, chocolate brown flickering to search yours.

The pain behind your eyes made him feel frustrated. He knew how much you wanted to do that because you wanted the same thing with your family. "How 'bout I call Charles, hmm? I'm sure he'll understand."

The thought of Charles finding out from anyone but you made you shudder. Would he understand? What was so understandable about hiding the fact you were dating his teammate for over a year, especially over a call?

Arthur, amongst Charles and Lorenzo, would probably be the most hurt. You and him told each other everything. You guys were the closest in age, similar to how Lorenzo and Charles were. Hell, you even helped him confess and get with Carla. And he was waiting to do the same for you, with some he trusted and knew.

And Lorenzo? It was really for the best if he didn't know from Carlos. He had initially told you not to get too close to any of the drivers because he was worried for you and well, the reputation of F1 drivers and dating wasn't too great. But you were quite sure that anything you and Carlos did had crossed the line of 'too close'. '

"Carlos, mi amor, I love you, but I think the idea of brunch, not brunch, is more understanding."

━━━━━━━━━━━

After your brunch, you had spent some time reading to Carlos inside the yacht, not wanting to get into the water just after you had eaten nor wanting to go out when the sunshine was at it's peak.

It was serene.

The windows were open, letting a cool breeze come and help reduce the heat and you were both sprawled on the soft mattresses that served as sofas on the floor of the yacht. The calmness and peace you had desired amongst the chaos life and F1 brought.

You were half sure that Carlos was close to falling asleep in your lap, but not by your retelling of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice, after Carlos refused to see Keira Knightley and Matthew Macfadyen for the sixth time this year, but by the way your combed your hand through his hair as you read. (Although you were still going to be persistent because the concept of seeing those two on screen in Santorini out of all places was a need, not a want).

"Carlos, mon beau (my handsome), you're going to fall asleep. Let's go swimming," You told him, placing your bookmark in between the pages and closing the book.

Carlos groaned, looking up at you. He held your hand close to his chest. "No, it's way too hot. Don't you see the water? It looks like lava."

You narrowed your eyes. "That precisely why we should go swimming. We can't just sit here and mope around. We're in Santorini... we need to stand up and move around."

Carlos lifted his head from your lap, sitting straight so he faced you. You let out a quick yelp when he pulled you forward, placing you onto his lap, legs straddling him. "I can think about fifty ways to stand up and move around... in fifty different positions."

You could feel your thighs involuntarily clench around him. You know he felt it to. You gasped at his words and shook your head. "You are a heathen, Carlos Sainz. A barbarian... a hooligan, a sexually-driven simpleton must I continue?"

"Well, I recall you loving this heathen, infidel, barbarian, and hooligan," Carlos shrugged, warm hands inching up the white sundress you had worn this morning. The action sent a shudder down your spine.

"Carlos," You mumbled, already falling into a state where you were losing the words to speak your thoughts as Carlos kneaded the flesh of your thighs with his rough hands.

"Yes?" Those puppy brown eyes flickered to your eyes while he brought his mouth to your thighs, opting to graze your heated skin with the teeth. "Tell me what you want, hermosa. And I'll give it to you."

You faltered at his words. His gaze was heavy with a dark blaze that sent your stomach churning. You allowed yourself to fully straddle Carlos' lap, teeth sinking into your bottom lip when you felt Carlos' clothed bulge press into your core.

Carlos struggled to prevent a strained hiss escape his gritted teeth, his grip on your thighs tightening, your flesh escaping the confines of his hands. Fuck, were your thighs so enticing to Carlos. He wanted to bite them and bruise them so even weeks later, they were covered in the reminiscents of him.

"What do you want, baby? Please tell me," Carlos begged, eyes desperately searching your own for any sign or indication of what you wanted.

You felt your core clench at the plea falling from Carlos' plump lips. You hadn't even really done anything but he was ready to serve you. Everything was foggy. You couldn't think straight. "I want... I want you, Carlos. Fuck, anything, everything... I–make love to me. Show me how much you love me."

His roaming hands came to a halt. "Mierda (shit)," Carlos cursed, bringing his tongue to swipe his bottom lip.

He could do that. He would love you so much that the entirety of Santorini would know and no one would even question your relationship with him.

Carlos brought his hands to your back, feeling the numerous strings of your dress against the pads of his fingers. One hand worked to undo the very knots he had done this morning while the other creeped up the back of your neck, pulling your head closer to his.

He brought his lips to yours, pressing them with an indescribable urgency. Your hands shot out to his chest, fisting the soft material of the polo you had chosen for him into a small bundle.

You gasped into the kiss, feeling a sudden breeze of cold air as the strings of your dress fell flat against your skin. Carlos' hands wandered down the surface of your back, coming to a stop at your waist.

The urge to get even closer to you coursed through Carlos' veins, pulling you flush against him. A moan fell from his swollen lips as you parted to fill the craving of some oxygen. Your pussy was pressed tight against his cock and your breasts were soft, pushed against his chest.

Carlos ventured to move his lips down the side of your jaw, edging towards your barren neck, aching to decorate you with aging and unique shades of purple and blue.

You let out a series of sinful whimpers upon the feeling of your skin being sucked at, feeding directly into his constrained cock. "Carlos..." You moaned out, eyes shut in pure pleasure, "They'll know. The–They'll ask q-questions."

"I know." You shivered as you feel him grin against your skin.

You watched him through your half-lidded eyes, moving up from your neck to look at you with his blistering gaze. With one simple movement, he took off his shirt, revealing his taut golden skin. Christ.

You sat still breathlessly on his lap as Carlos peeled off your dress, pulling your arms through the white material. The cool breeze trickled over your bare breasts, nipples hardening almost instantly.

Carlos let a warm hand rest over your rib, lifting you gently to remove your dress fully. He sighed, laying you down on the mattress. The tips of his fingers travelled from your neck and down the valley of your breasts, the hairs of your body standing straight at his touch.

"You know what it is a tragedy, hermosa?" Carlos queried, watching you quiver underneath him, chest heavily rising up and down.

He smiled at your asking through your eyes because the words just couldn't come out of your throat. "You will never see yourself the way I see you. Eres una sirena... obra de Dios. If He didn't put you on this Earth that would've been his biggest sin." You are a siren… God's work.

If your throat wasn't tied up before, it surely was now. You looked at him with a soft gaze, watching him come near you to press his lips on your own. You whimpered, feeling his hands travel towards your breasts, fondling your mounds with a cautious roughness that sent your stomach tingling.

You frowned at the loss of his lips but the complaint subsided upon the feel of his hot tongue swirling around your pebbled nipple. He paid attention to every flick and every crevice, keeping his deep eyes trained on you. He smiled at your hiss as he purposely grazed his teeth against your nipple.

Carlos removed his lips from your nipple, moving his head back to hover over your pussy. Still keeping his eyes on you, you watched in silence as the hot saliva fell from his lips, bubbly strings landing directly onto your glistening folds. Fucking hell.

"Eyes on me, baby," He told you, looking at your clenched eyes.

Your eyes shot open as Carlos took one long stripe of your folds, your hips bucking at the sudden sensation. Lingering a second too long on your clit, his tongue continued to work up towards your stomach and the valley of your breasts, returning his attention to your other nipple.

Your mouth fell open, feeling his fingers rub your wet folds, spreading his saliva around your pussy. While his tongue worked your nipple, he thrusted a thick finger into your walls. With your eyes rolling back, you attempted to fist the thick material of the mattress but to no avail.

"Fuckk, Carlos," You whimpered, writhing at his touch.

"Finally found your words, hmm?" Carlos teased, adding another finger into his torturous slow pace. His eyes were glued to watching your hips out of his periphery, snapping up to try and ride his fingers. As laboured breaths fell from your lips, he pushed his digits even further, aiming to reach a specific spot.

Smoothly, Carlos grabbed a nearby pillow, putting it under your lower back to bring you some comfort and a whole new level of pleasure. He stared at your face intently: your mouth had fallen wide open with a ghost whisper of his name flowing into the air, sweat glistened over your flushed face, pooling near the edges of your hair and neck, and your lips were swollen with the prettiest shade of red he had ever seen.

"Carlos," You managed to get out with your brain practically turning into jelly. "Carlos, please, I don't want to cum like this. I need your cock, please."

Carlos' cock throbbed at your pleas. "Your wish is my command, princesa."

Hearing your whines upon the loss of his fingers, Carlos took off his blue shorts faster than he had ever done in his life.

Even though you had been with Carlos sexually for a while, your cheeks still flamed when you saw his cock. Not out of embarrassment or unadulterated innocence. No. It was outright heat that was getting to you.

Every time you saw his cock, it was a violent shade of red, throbbing and aching, leaving Carlos begging to be touched by you.

You watched as Carlos leaned forward, hovering over you. It was beyond you how exactly pretty Carlos was. You hadn't realised until he started courting you. You had no idea how you were supposed to live without seeing his thicket of brown locks, his freckles that could only be depicted if you were close to him otherwise they blended with his prickly stubble, the smug smile he constantly wore to hide himself, and especially his big brown eyes that made you bend to his command.

"Carlos?" You softly called out.

Carlos' ears perked up at your gentle tone. He smiled down at you with raised brows. His hands continued to travel your body, retracing every curve and fold as he had committed to his memory. "Sí, mi hermosa?"

You ran a hand through his hair before caressing his cheek. God, he was your beautiful boy. "Je t'aime plus que tu ne peux l'imaginer." I love you more than you can imagine.

You knew he didn't speak French despite spending this many years with Charles but it often comes from you naturally when you were too caught up in your feelings.

"Je ne pense pas que ce soit le cas. You don't know how my every feeling is controlled by the look on your face. I can't breathe without you. Every race, I hope you're there waiting for me because you're pretending to wait for Charles. Hermosa, I exist for you. No one else." I don't think you do.

Your eyes widened, fresh tears lining your waterline. "You understood–you learned French?" You whispered, voice barely audible.

Carlos grinned. "I'm quite sure I said a lot of after that but yes, I did learn French for you... surprise!"

You suppressed the urge to push him off of you and gave him a long kiss. Pulling back, you laughed gently. "You're an idiot... making me cry during sex. And not even in the good way!" You feigned your complaint.

"Well, we still have tonight and thirteen more days. Today I'm just showing how much I love you," He whispered above your lips, hips lining up with yours.

You sucked in a sharp breath, feeling Carlos' cock brush past your folds. You both moaned in unison as he pushed his cock into your pussy. Your walls wrapped around his cock tightly, gripping him like a vice.

Carlos cursed several profanities under his breath, head lolling back while pleasure coursed through his body. His arms encircled your waist, pulling you up to sit on his lap. His cock ached at the high-pitched mewl that fell from your swollen lips.

His hands fell to your hips, holding you tightly, slowly shifting you up and down his length, burying his cock in you.

You closed your eyes, letting your forehead rest on Carlos'. You can feel him staring at you, taking all of you in: every hue of your flushed state, your eyelashes riddled with tears and sweat, the heavenly and sinful sounds from your lips, and your greased hair.

"You are breathtaking," Carlos whispered against you.

You smiled, opening your eyes to meet his and rolling your hips slowly in response. "You make me feel so good," You praised.

A rough moan was elicited from Carlos, throat tight and choked up from your words and actions. He could barely function seeing your bare pussy take his cock so well, let alone how the tip of his cock throbbed when he lifted you up. His own eyes were beginning to shut as he revelled in the ecstasy you brought hip.

Fuck, you were so wet. You looked down at your thighs, seeing the obscene sheen of your arousal coat spread to Carlos' thighs. You sunk your teeth into your bottom lip, hips snapping to create a rhythm.

"Carlos, I, fuck," You blabbered in complete disarray. You were beginning to seem the edges of a familiar white light.

Although Carlos appreciated the sign, he could tell by the way you were clenched so tightly around his cock, getting his cock to pulsate every few seconds, that you were going to come.

He moved his hands between your legs, watching you sink over his cock one more time before he obstructed the view by using his thumb to rub your clit in circles.

"Mierda," Carlos cussed, feeling you grip his cock even further if it was possible. "Cum for me, mi amor."

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," You repeated the expletive as if it were a mantra, hips bucking as white clouded your vision. You let out a loud moan, body shaking as waves of your climax hit you one after the other.

Not a second later, Carlos was cumming too. His hips rutted against yours in almost an unrecognisable desperation, the peak of his ecstasy right within his grasp. His cock pulsed while his hips came to a falter, stuttering as ropes of his white cum spilled into you, warming your walls.

"F-Fuck," Carlos groaned, feeling your pussy clamp around him, trying to take every last drop of his cum.

You feel Carlos slump forward into you, exhausted. Gently, you lifted yourself off of his cock, wincing at your sensitivity. You fell straight onto the mattress, panting heavily.

"Shit!" You yelped as Carlos pushed some of his leaking come back into and circle your clit. You shook at the mini aftermath of your orgasm before calming back down.

"Satisfied?" You nudged Carlos playfully, knowing damn well Carlos liked to go the extra mile when it came to you.

"Very," Carlos commented, reaching his arms out to bring you closer to him.

You sighed, resting your head on his chest. The exhaustion was very quickly seeping into the both of you. Carlos' heartbeat was beginning to work as a lullaby and Carlos had found your warmth far more comforting than any mattress or duvet.

"Hermosa," He called, making you hum for you had no energy to speak. "We need to tell them."

You found yourself trying to open your eyes. When had they closed? You turned to face him, chin resting on his heated torso. You pressed a brief kiss and said, "I know. Let's tell them in a few days. So they have at least a week to yell at me."

Carlos frowned at your words. "I'll be right there with you. You know that right? I'm not letting you do this alone."

You smiled after letting out a small yawn. "I know, I know. I'm grateful. Thank you, mi amor."

Carlos returned the gesture, kissing your forehead gently. He rubbed your shoulders, feeling the dark abyss of slumber slowly call to him. "Anything for you, hermosa."

© 𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐘𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑

[etheries1015]

Because I have favorism towards the fae myself (And I'm sorry this is suggestive)

Remember Malleus' voice line about touching his hornes? Now, reader just touches them whenever they can be reached (like when Malleus is using their lap as a pillow) or stroking his tail whenever it's wrapped around Reader. Without realizing it's doing things to him.

Oh my gosh. Don't apologize for suggestive content, I love that shit. Feed me more of it. Heuheuheuheu.

Feeding a Faes hidden desires

Featuring: Malleus Draconia <3

General warnings: Gender neutral reader

18+ / suggestive content minors please don't interact~

It was difficult for Malleus Draconia to open up to people, he had to be the face of pure perfection for the sake of his kingdom. Every action he took, every word he said, would reflect upon Briar Valley and put his position as a prince in either light of greatness, or foolishness. The former was not an option for Malleus Draconia. He was given the best of the best when it came to his studies and academics, except, unfortunately, sex ed.

He understood the bare minimum of course, for reproduction was important for keeping the bloodline of the Draconias strong. What he was not well versed in, however, was the feeling of lust that came with reproduction. He never knew it could feel so... dirty.

When he had agreed to allow you to touch his horns when you insisted, he had no clue what kind of...desires this would stir up in him without realizing.

You had asked the draconic fae to touch his horns and his tail, and he spent a few times urging you otherwise in fear of harming you in some way. Yet it did not take him very long to feel curious and begin to imagine how your hands would feel upon his horns and extremities, starting out purely out of curiosity and the desire to be closer to you.

The first time you touched his horns was in the comfort of the lounge, he bent over for you to touch and feel them freely before being interrupted by Sebeks outraged cries of blasphemy. Since the moment your soft fingertips pressed against the roughness of his obsidian horns, he felt his body shudder at the contact, and something in him he decided to ignore screamed in his mind that it was perhaps a...dangerous endeavor. He had managed to suppress himself from such thoughts and desires, even allowing you to (on occasion) touch his horns and tail at your request. Never for too long, for when the thoughts returned he made a quick excuse to end the session. He wanted to respect you and your soft touch- not sully the romantic gesture with lustful thoughts.

He was often searching for your touch in many different ways, in hugs, cuddles, gentle kisses, holding hands...yet a few months and almost a year, he could feel himself become far more greedier. Malleus would notice the slight changes in himself when you would reach up to grab hold of something on a shelf, the way your shirt rode up your stomach ever so slightly, the way your hands would draw circles around the title page to get a feel for the book, he almost felt himself envious of the piece of literature. He told himself not to lose control, to hold himself together like a proper gentlefae, allowing you to only touch his draconic features on the rare occasion he felt he could keep himself properly composed.

Yet now there you were, in your room in Ramshackle dorm, sitting upon the lap of your lover gently caressing his smooth black horns absentmindedly. It was a comfortable atmosphere for you, being held lovingly by your tall fae significant other in silence while pouring your love and affection into your little pets upon his horns. You muttered a "beautiful..." before leaning up slightly...

and placing a kiss upon his horns.

Malleus let out a sudden high-pitched "urgh!" of surprise, his tail squeezing your waist slightly. Your eyebrows raised in shock, pulling away to look at your now flushed lover, feeling a bit of...excitement from down below. He suddenly removed his tail from your waist and seemed to want to move away from you, until you pushed your body on top of his own, straddling his waist and feeling his arousal between your thighs.

"I-i'm-" He gulped and let out a low moan, his hands shaking hesitantly mid air, not certain where he should place them, "I'm sorry- this is incredibly unbecoming of a king-" You hushed him with a rushed kiss and shook your head, the kiss lasting only a moment prior to you pulling away face as flushed as his and forehead pressed against his own.

"It's natural," You comforted him, "Do you...like it when I touch your horns, Mal...?" You hesitated your inquiry, his response a simple and slow nod giving you confidence to move your hands back to his horns and begin to rub them intimately. You felt his body twitch below you and his tail wrapped itself around your thigh, voice trembling. You hadn't seen the fae prince so shaken up before, so uncertain, so vulnerable. Only in front of you would he allow himself to lose such control.

"Are you...are you certain? I haven't any...experience," He muttered against the crook of your neck, arms wrapping around your body and hugging you tightly as if to console himself.

"It's okay," you murmured, hands removing themselves from his horns much to his whining displeasure of the sudden warmth disappearing from them, before shuddering once more as your attention shifted to his tail. Your finger trailed the scales and you felt him twitch between your thighs through his pants as his excitement stirred with every touch you placed upon his extremities.

"I...want it too," You purred.

Malleus's desire gauge was now at 100%

and you had no idea what you had just gotten yourself into.

~~~~

Masterlist

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook

Princess | Intro/ Part 01

There's more to it than what meets the eye.

Tags/Warnings: Wolfdog Hybrid!Jungkook, Showdog Hybrid!Reader, Enemies to lovers, Angst, Fluff?, Brat!Reader, Jungkook has major brat tamer energy, reader has some issues, mentions of depression

Length: 6.5k Words

-> Masterlist

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

Jungkook hates loosing.

And that’s especially true when it comes to bets- because he also can’t really pass up any opportunity to show off and be the best at something. So when he took on the bet with Jimin, he didn’t think anything of it- after all, even if he lost, he could still simply teach that so-called ‘puppy’ Jimin was supposed to be working with a killer choreo and make his way on top either way.

What Jimin failed to tell him, however, was that you are an absolute menace.

Not only are you spoiled to high heavens and dressed head to toe in pretty designer pieces designed and tailored just for you, no- your attitude is making him want to throw himself into a busy road to be run over by any moving vehicle willing to do so. It’s been not even thirty minutes he’s spent in the meeting room, and he already regrets his big mouth with Jimin.

But maybe it’s just a bad first impression. Maybe, you’re just having a bad day.

“So, basically, we’ve got four weeks to make it work.” Your manager says, having finished his plan as he stands at the end of the table everyone is sitting at, you included- though you clearly do not listen to the conversations happening at all, instead occupied with a game on your switch console, decorated in plastic gemstones and cute stickers, sound not even all the way down as to not interrupt anyone.

Jungkook feels his blood boiling. Can’t you at least attempt to listen? After all, it’s your career that’s on the line.

“I’ll need the possible song choices she made, and I also gotta get a copy of the guidelines and what the judges generally look for. Doesn’t have to be today, but I’d like to have it before we start making anything up.” Jungkook offers, arms crossed. You’ve not even looked at him once today.

If he just went by looks, you’d actually be quite cute- you're clearly taking good care of yourself, and you fall right into the category of hybrid girl he’d see himself interested in- but your character seems to be the exact opposite, as you stare down at the small screen in your hands, lashes long, hiding your gaze a little from him.

“We can totally do that.” Your manager says. “I- uhm.. Are you okay with that too?” He asks towards you, and you simply take in a deep breath before you sigh, shoulders shrugging and head somewhat nodding. Your eyes however never break away from your game, instead, you just adjust your seating postition a little before you become completely detached from the situation again. “I’m sorry about that. She’s.. Having a bad day.” Your manager justifies.

Jungkook smells the lie right away.

“Practice will start at 7 AM then-” Jungkook starts, and that seems to catch your attention as your face turns into a frown. “-And we’ll practice the whole week, except weekends.”

“That’s too early.” You mumble, grumbling down at your game while your legs stretch out under the table, feet brushing against his shins. You’re not wearing shoes, only your knee-high socks, having discarded the slip on’s early on for no apparent reason other than comfort.

“She usually sleeps until.. 11 so..” Your manager starts, and Jungkook has to swallow a growl.

“8.” He says sternly, staring at you who scoffs down at your hands. “She’ll have to get up earlier then.” He decides, making you lift your chin a little, before you save your game, turn off the console and put it on the table, your arms now crossed as well as you finally, for the first time, look at him.

The fire in your eyes could seriously burn someone if it was to be manifested into a real flame, he decides.

“You’ll have to wait until I show up then.” You answer him, and his eyes narrow, feeling challenged. But before he can respond, your manager seems to sense the growing tension between you two, as he dissolves the meeting quickly to have you driven back home.

Jungkook however, can’t let go this easily.

“You forgot to tell me that she’s an absolute bitch.” Jungkook growls into his phone, sitting on his couch with the TV on but on mute. “There’s no way I’ll be working with her for four weeks without committing a crime.” He threatens, and Jimin has the audacity to laugh.

“Oh Jungkookie, don’t let her fool you!” He laughs. “She’s a literal angel, believe me. She just acts all tough.”

“Or she was just interested in you.” Jungkook denies. “I’ve spent barely an hour with her and I already know She’s gonna be a handful to manage.” He sighs.

“Come on now, she’s what? Half your size?” Jimin playfully exaggerates. “Just put her in timeout, big guy, and you’ll be fine.” He jokes, very much aware of Jungkook’s rather dominant nature due to his wolfblood. And while the joke is funny, it’s also a problem.

Jungkook doesn’t know if he can really stay calm while working with you. And his career could be over in a second if he so much as lashes out at you verbally- because no way would someone work with a hybrid choreograph or dancer who can’t keep his cool. He already has issues getting some gigs due to his wolfblood mixed in- one mistake and he can surely put his career to rest.

He really regrets taking on this bet now.

Hopefully this won’t end too badly.

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

You really do not turn up at 8 like he told you to.

He’s impatiently waiting in the practice room, your manager and stylist and other staff already present- everyone trying to get a hold of you with no luck at all. It’s only until an hour later that another staff member informs everyone that you’ve finally woken up, and that you’re currently on your way to the practice room.

Jungkook is pissed, to say the least.

If you work like this the entire four weeks, there’s no way he can manage to push a good choreography into your head that you can pull off properly on stage. And if you fail, it’ll be on him- and he just can’t accept that. Hopefully, you’ll warm up to the idea of actually putting effort into this.

Hopefully.

When you finally turn up, you don’t appear to be sorry at all- still somewhat asleep and in no way ready to start practicing anytime soon. Instead, you sit down and take out your breakfast to eat, while your stylist runs a brush through your hair. But what’s odd about this, is more or less that Jungkook can sense a total shift in energy right now.

It’s like they’re shielding you, giving him no access to you until they deem the timing alright.

And you just robotically eat your little breakfast, while everyone else scatters around you, rushing from spot to spot. Jungkook isn’t too sure what exactly might be happening- but then again, it’s also not unusual to see such a scene. You’re a showhybrid after all- meant to look pretty at all times and in every living moment just in case there’s a camera around. And he knows that the practice is going to be filmed occasionally for some behind the scenes content for your fanbase- which is why you have your stylist around in the first place. You’re just supposed to look like you’re not wearing any makeup at all.

No one wants to see reality, because reality is what everyone can witness if they look in the mirror. And that’s boring. That’s not entertaining. That’s not something to be jealous of, or something to admire.

In a way, Jungkook starts to feel a bit sorry for you. Do you ever have a moment for yourself?

Either way, the moment the cameras start running, you switch character almost instantly. Suddenly you’re polite, soft spoken and determined to get every step right- though your true nature does poke it’s head through on occasion, especially when you can’t get something quite right the first or second try.

“Maybe we need to work on how to keep to the beat first.” Jungkook suggests, and at that, you seem to break, sighing with an agitated groan as your tail unravels, falling limp behind you. He’s not seen this happen often- his best friend Yoongi being a dog-hybrid with a curled tail as well, who can be quite grumpy most of the time. But even he never has his tail this.. Lifeless.

It’s unnerving to see.

“I’m not lobotomized, mutt.” You groan, making the manager motion to cut the cameras for a second. “I can keep to a beat, you’re just shit at teaching.” You growl to yourself, sitting down stubbornly as you visibly try and mask the fact that you’re out of breath.

Truth be told, Jungkook isn’t technically a choreographer. He usually works with professional dancers or simply follows whatever he’s given by an artist themselves- so yes, he might actually be a little rusty when it comes to teaching others.

Do you have to be so rude about it though? No.

“Well we’re going around in circles like this.” Jungkook shakes his head. “I’ll get us something to drink. Try and calm down a bit..” He attempts to soothe your temper, as he leaves the practice room- mostly so that he himself can escape the situation for a moment.

He’s not sure what it is. Maybe your scent full of anger and fear filling the space so much that it feels like it’s drowning him in the room, or the fact that you always have to be so rude-

Wait.

Fear?

Alarmed by that, Jungkook walks a bit faster with the water bottles in hand to get back into the room- just to find you not there anymore, everyone looking at him as if they’re surprised to see him back already. “Where is she?” Jungkook asks, and your manager blinks a little, caught off guard.

“She went to get something to drink.” He states, making Jungkook frown.

“I said I’m gonna get us some. Why did she go by herself?” Jungkook asks. “She doesn’t even know where the vending machines are.”

“She said you were taking too long.” A stylist mentions. Jungkook pinches the bridge of his nose.

“I was gone for not even five minutes?” He growls to himself, before he hears you enter the room again, a small juicebox in hand that you punch the tiny straw into. “Don’t just run off.” He scolds you.

You roll your eyes.

“Yeah alright, Daddy.” You scoff, walking past him to sit in a corner- actually facing it for some reason, your back turned towards everyone else.

“Ah, don’t be alarmed.” Your manager explains. “She.. Sometimes does this. We don’t know either why, and we don’t really question it either. Give her a few minutes and she’ll be right back to practice.” He beams at him, and Jungkook feels weirdly played.

Something’s odd here.

But it’s also none of his business.

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

The next day, you’re not there on time again.

And despite the fact that Jungkook had told you no food in the practice room was allowed, you clearly disregarded that as nothing but background noise, while you take out your bag of foods in the middle of the large room.

“I said no food in the practice room.” Jungkook scolds, walking towards you to stand right in front of you, arms crossed. “and you’re also late again. Two hours to be exact.”

“You said no food.” You shrug, lifting up the small bag of puffed rice crisps. “That’s snacks.” You respond, making him narrow his eyes and clench his jaw.

“put it to the side.” He says. “You’re here to practice, not to eat.” He reminds you, able to talk freely with almost none of your staff around today.

“can’t practice on an empty stomach.” You respond however, letting yourself fall into your bag, before you take out your phone to scroll on it while you eat your snacks- crumbs already littering the floor. “Why’s your wifi so shit in here?” You mumble to yourself, when suddenly, the signal stops entirely. “Hey, your internet cut off-“ you start, before you spot him putting his phone down. “Turn it back on-“

“Since you’re acting like a brat, I’ll treat you like one.” He simply says. “wifi stays off until you practiced.” He scolds, boldly taking both your snacks and your phone from you to put it on a table close by, the act alone catching you so off guard that it has you frozen in place while you process it. “Do you want to get up yourself or do I need to help you with that as well?” He asks, and you glare at him.

“Touch me and I’ll sue you.” You threaten, and he watches you for a moment as if to see if you’re serious- before he decides you’re clearly not, with the way your tail slightly twitches, clearly needing to be consciously held down by yourself to not wag.

“Alright that’s it.” He simply tells you before he walks towards you, and much to his dismay, you let yourself fall limply down onto the ground as if you’re trying to become liquid. “You’re being ridiculous right now-“

“let me have the wifi again!” You just huff. “and my snacks. I’m hungry.” You argue.

“get up earlier tomorrow and have breakfast then.” He shakes his head, before he grabs your wrists to lift you into a sitting position. But the moment he lets go, you’ve flopped back down again, lips twitching.

Now your tail is wagging, clearly.

“so that’s what you’re after, huh?” Jungkook clicks his tongue. “too bad. I’m not playing your game.” He says, before he walks to the side where all his stuff is, changing his shoes.

“wait- What’re you doing?” You ask, watching him tie his sneakers.

“going home.” He answers without looking. “were clearly not getting anywhere.”

You sigh, groaning out lout before you angrily hit the floor-

Getting up to walk towards him, pulling his jacket from his hands before you let it fall onto the table. “I wanna practice.” You pout.

“What a bummer, princess.” He answers, taking his jacket back to slip it on. “I don’t. Now get your stuff, and then-“ He tells you, walking closer before he points to the door behind you. “-get out.” He demands.

And you just angrily huff at yourself, doing just that.

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

You fail to get to practice on time again the day after.

And the day after that.

But on friday, Jungkook has finally had enough of your poor excuses and frankly stupid behavior.

"Why is she late this time?" Jungkook asks your staff, jaw clenched as he's already frustrated again. You're clearly not taking this seriously, and he honestly doesn't know how anyone else has ever managed to work with you in any way.

"We're.. not sure." Your manager says, face showing his own shame about your behavior. "She turned her phone off, we can't reach her."

That's it.

Jungkook can understand a lot of things. You're used to being spoiled and having everything set in front of you on a silver platter- he gets that. Sometimes, people's minds can be poisoned by wealth and success. But turning off your phone? That's too far.

What if something actually happened? What if you're sick, in need of help, in danger? This is absolutely ridiculous behaviour, and he does not care anymore. "She said she lives in the city here, right?" Jungkook asks, and the manager nods. "Alright, where exactly?" He wonders, and a stylist of yours calls out your address.

And that sets him off even further- because you barely live ten minutes away from him. Which means there's not even a single reason as to why you would be late at all.

"What are you going to do?" Your manager worries as Jungkook changes his shoes and slips on his jacket, grabbing the keys to his motorcycle.

"I'm getting her myself."

If there’s one thing Jungkook hates, then it’s people isolating themselves just for their own convenience. It’s mainly due to his best friend years back doing that constantly- turning off his phone to get some quiet time for himself, until he actually did end up being in trouble.

And when someone tried to call him, and couldn’t get a hold of him, they just thought ‘It’s probably one of those days again.’

If Jungkook didn’t go against his better judgement, if he didn’t end up checking up on him despite his mind telling him that it was for nothing, Yoongi would not be alive today.

He rings your doorbell multiple times, annoyingly so to get you to stand up at some point. There’s no way you can sleep through that, especially when he starts angrily knocking onto your door. Suddenly, you open it, staring at him with eyes barely open. “What.” You ask, and Jungkook takes a look at you for a second.

You’ve clearly been asleep, but you don’t look rested at all- eyes barely open as you glare at him, and funnily enough, one of your ears is even a bit floppy- not quite entirely down, but also no standing as straight as it usually does. “You’re late.” Jungkook scolds. You attempt to close the door again, making him attempt something dangerous.

He puts his hand in between the door.

But, maybe Jimin wasn’t so wrong after all, because you immediately open the door again, now wide awake as you look at his hand, worried you might’ve hurt him. Only when you don’t find anything you push his palm back towards him, and cross you arms.

“Come on.” He says, nodding towards the hallway behind him.

“No.” You deny.

“What do you mean, no?’ he asks, agitated.

“I said no. I don’t wanna.” You answer, walking back into your apartment- and with your door left open, he takes it as an invitation to walk inside.

The second he closes the door and turns around, he’s in shock.

Cardboard boxes, trash bags, crumpled papers and wrappings all over the place. Shoes litter the entrance area, your coats are thrown over the chairs at your open kitchen which sink is filled with unwashed dishes. The windows are shut, curtains heavy as they hide the mess in your home from the outside world. It’s so dark that Jungkook feels like if he wasn’t a hybrid, he most likely wouldn’t be able to see where he’s stepping at all.

How long have you been living like this?

The apartment isn’t big, there doesn’t seem to be many rooms at all. After searching for a bit he finds you curled up in your large bed, pink bedsheets and blankets halfway on the floor while your little gaming console chimes and beeps while you play.

“..come on now, you’ve.. got the weekend off.” Jungkook says. “it’s just today-“

“I said I don’t want to.” You growl, face focused on your game. “now fuck off and leave me.”

Jungkook sighs. This really isn’t any of his business.

But somehow, as he walks back into the main area of the small apartment, he finds himself opening a new trashbag to throw away all the plastic strewn around. He puts your shoes in order, places the garbage bags in a corner to have them out the way, before he rips the cardboard apart to throw away easier later. He’s not sure why he’s doing that- maybe partially to annoy you and get you to get out of bed, or maybe because he pities you.

This isn’t just laziness. From the way you act, to the body language you scream out quietly, to the fact that you don’t seem motivated for anything at all.

This is something deeper.

“What’re you doing?” You growl from a corner, before you walk closer to rip the cardboard box from his hands, throwing it in a corner again. “I told you to fuck off.” You threaten, and he nods.

“heard it loud and clear.” He agrees with crossed arms, and you huff.

“Ears seem to be working then.” You snap. “the mistake must be in your brain.”

“I can assure you it’s working just fine as well.” He answers, and you snarl at that, distinctive canines showing.

“Then why are you still here digging through my shit?!” You bark at him, and he shrugs.

“Because no one deserves to rot away like this.”

It’s quiet at that, for a good moment. The only sound heard is the clock in the kitchen ticking, some faint rain against the windows, and a garbage bag slowly slipping a little from its position. And when it falls to the floor, he catches a short second of your eyes tearing up, before you turn around, looking away from him before you run off into your bedroom-

But the door won’t close with all the clutter, making you angrily growl at it while you try and somewhat pull it close.

Jungkook slowly walks towards you, to pull your hands off of the door handle, making you drop down to the floor in defeat, sitting right on your clothes that are laying on the floor. “leave me alone.” You cry to yourself, head low and hybrid ears even lower as you sit there, kicking away some of the clutter.

The wolfdog hybrid slowly squats down to your level, before he carefully moves a broken jar away from your leg and onto a small table close by. “What’s going on with you?” He finally asks, and you kick your leg again at that, a small box flying through the room.

“I just want to be alone!” You bark. “I don’t want anyone in here, I don’t want to go to practice, I don’t want to do this stupid contest, I don’t want anyone to look at me!” You complain loudly, and Jungkook would easily call this a textbook temper tantrum, if it wasn’t for your clearly desperate tears.

“did you tell your management?” He asks, and you scoff, sniffling.

“as if they care!” You huff. “it’s always just do this, do that, go here, eat that, smile, be nice, film everything.!” You tell him. “I want to go home!” You begin to cry now, hiding your face in your hands.

“Home?” Jungkook wonders, unsure what you mean. Isn’t this your home?

“I just wanna go home..” you continue to cry into your hands. “I wanna go see mom, and dad..” you mumble muffled into your palms, and Jungkook feels terrible seeing you like this. He doesn’t know you, but something is clearly not right. This isn’t acting, because your body language, your scent- everything tells him that you’re in genuine distress.

“Maybe you can visit them?” He wonders, slowly reaching out to put his hand on your knee, offering silent comfort that you, for now, seem to accept. “do they live far away-“

“they won’t let me.” You say. “they told them.. they told them I don’t wanna see them and that I hate them, and now they hate me.” You whimper.

“They?” the wolfdog asks, pushing some clutter to the side to sit down as well.

“the company.” You mumble. “because.. my dad didn’t want me to move away back when.. when I was still a pup.” You say. A pup possibly meaning that you were still underage. “and.. back then, I thought it was for the best. This was such a one-in-a-million chance..” you reveal to him. “I thought it was worth it.”

“Do they threaten you?” Jungkook worries, and you’re quiet for a moment.

“..They’re all I have.” You admit. “my.. my apartment. My money. My name. They own me.” You say, defeat evident in your voice as you slowly calm down again, tension leaving your body. “just.. leave me alone.”

“I cant.” Jungkook denies with a sigh. “not anymore.”

“fuck off-“ you start, grabbing at his hand, but he somehow moves it around, holding yours now instead.

“I won’t.” He sternly says. “Alright? I don’t know how, but I’ll figure something out.” He promises, and you look up at him with slightly red eyes, confused.

“Figure out what?” You ask, and he smiles.

“How to bring you home.

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

You’re very clearly not very happy about Jungkook currently cleaning your apartment with you.

You’re slow and sluggish, and you constantly complain about everything- and Jungkook can somewhat understand it. You’ve quite literally buried yourself in this little cave, having someone take it apart like this must be horribly uncomfortable. But it’s for the best- and you’ll soon realize that.

That doesn’t mean you don’t annoy him, still.

“Come on now, get up.” Jungkook scolds you, as he watches you sit on the couch.

“What?” You complain. “I’m cleaning.. under the coffee table.” You pretend, but he doesn’t take that as an appropriate answer.

“We agreed on one area at a time. We’re still in the kitchen.” He says. “now get over here and help me with the dishes. I wash, you dry.” He decides, making you somewhat reluctantly get up. It’s odd to have anyone in your apartment at all, since not even staff is allowed inside- you constantly find and make up excuses to keep them out at all times. This is your only safe space, after all.

The only place no one is looking at you.

“yesterday..” jungkook slowly says, putting another plate towards you so you can dry it. “..you said that the company owns you.” He remembers, and you nod. “To what degree?”

“I have an independence license.” You say. An independence license is basically a permanent permit to live on your own, and also work on your own. Basically, with it, you don’t need an owner at all. “But.. the company has full control over my finances and such. And they own my, you know, brand name.” You shrug.

“I meant it, you know?” He tells you, draining the sink of the soapy water. “I’ll try and figure something out.”

“Don’t bother.” You simply say. “it doesn’t matter.”

“It does.” Jungkook denies, drying his hands on a towel. But you stay silent as you put the dishes away in their proper places, not really sparing him any glance at all again.

Jungkook doesn’t really know yet how to help you. First, he wants to somehow get into contact with your parents and set things right again- maybe he can get their names and phone number from jimin who’s been working you for a good while now. And then, maybe they can help, too.

“I’m tired.” You complain as you sit down on the now finally somewhat clean floor, all the trash in bags and in a corner.

“You can take a nap.” Jungkook agrees, and you look at him with positive surprise.

“wait, really?!” You ask, tail wagging a little.

“sure. You’ve been working hard.” He approves. “and now that your couch isn’t cluttered, you can take a proper nap there.”

“Why not my bed?” You whine, disappointed.

“bed is for proper sleep. Couch is for naps.” He explains. “if you go to bed now you’ll just start rotting again.”

You stay quiet for a good moment, before you speak again, looking out the windows, curtains by now pulled open. Slowly, you walk over to the couch to sit down on, staring at your hands in your lap.

“I’m such a fuck up, am I not?” You sigh. “imagine if people knew how much of a failure I am.”

“You’re not a failure.” Jungkook denies, sitting down next to you on the couch. “just.. a bit lost at the moment.”

“Jungkook..” you say quietly, looking at his chest. “I really want to go home.” You admit, and he smiles softly.

“I know. And I’ll figure out a way, promise.” He offers, opening his arms. And much to his surprise, you take the invitation- even so much as to crawl onto his lap, leaning against his chest with your arms wrapped around him. It’s a lot more than he thought this was going to be, but he also can’t deny that this feels oddly comforting for him too.

And even though your tail is still limp and lifeless, at least you’re starting to open up. And maybe jimin was right after all.

Maybe you’re just acting tough.

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

Jungkook quickly learns that you really must’ve left home at a very young age- because you’re very much completely lost in translation when it comes to general tasks that fall onto someone when they live alone.

You’ve got no idea how to properly do laundry, you don’t know how to cook at all, and you have no idea what cleaning products to use for what. When he asked you if you had some window cleaner, you’d stared at him for a good second before you asked him why he can’t just use soap- and cooking in your book is simply boiling water for instant noodles.

It’s no wonder your apartment was in the state it was in. No one ever taught you how to look after yourself and your own home.

“Alright?” Jungkook asks while you stare at the washing machine with a determined gaze.

“put the clothes in, put the soap-squishy-thing in, close the door and then set it to that program there.” You repeat. Jungkook nods.

“But-?” He presses, and you stare at him for a second, thinking.

“But...uh..” you try and find an answer. “no colored stuff with white clothes? And no black with colors?” You try, and he grins, tail wagging.

“Good girl. See? You’re not dumb, you just didn’t know.” He praises. “now press start and then we can go laze around a little until it’s done.” He says, making you happily press the start button.

Something that Jungkook has noticed, is that the entire apartment seems oddly.. sterile almost, in that it looks and feels taken straight out of a magazine. You’ve got no thing personal it seems like, no blankets that aren’t a neutral color, no toys, no plushies despite you telling him by now that you love these things. Instead, you only really have your little gaming console and that’s it- your bedroom is mostly taken over by designer clothes and shoes, as well as all sorts of accessories. The bathroom contains shelves full of skincare for face and body, but everything else appears to be not at all to be your personality.

“You can get yourself some new blankets for the couch now that we’ve cleaned up.” Jungkook mentions, but at that you simply begin to pout next to him, legs pulled close to you as you slide down a little, slouching.

“Nah, they’ll say no.” You huff, watching the TV commercial play.

So you really meant it when you said that the company has full control over your money. He believed it might just involve big spendings, which would make sense- but it looks like it more so involves every single purchase you make instead.

“How long is your contract?” He asks, and you shrug.

“I think forever.” You say, flopping to the side, legs hanging off to the floor. “I don’t know.”

“Thats.. not legal.” Jungkook frowns. “did you never renew it?”

“Huh?” Your ears tilt towards him for a second. He still wonders why one of your ears is floppy these days. “..no. I don’t think I ever did.”

“I.. how long have you been with them?” He asks, and you hold your hands in front of you to start counting. And the more fingers you seem to add, the more concerned he becomes.

“Well, I uh.. wait, I left when I was..” you mumble to yourself. “and now that I’m.. I think eleven years?” You answer, looking at him.

The maximum contract length for hybrids is five years.

Five.

“I.. okay, can you do me a favor?” He asks, and you nod, slowly sitting up. “next time you’re at your company’s HQ, try and get a hold of a copy of your contract. But don’t tell anyone what you need it for.” He says.

If he can get a copy of whatever slave contract you’re under, getting you out of it will be easy. There’s strict laws for hybrids in place after all- one can’t just work them like pets, there’s rules every company has to follow. And that is the same in your industry as well.

“am I gonna go to jail?” You ask, and Jungkook shakes his head.

“No no, you did nothing wrong.” He denies, reaching out to pet your head- pleasantly surprised when you visibly accept the gesture.

Because he speaks the truth. You did nothing wrong.

You were simply used from the start.

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

On Monday, jungkook is standing at your door, 7 AM.

And you really, really do not want to go with him.

“Come on now-“ he urges again, pulling on your fluffy sweater while you cling to the doorframe of your apartment building entrance, having just seen what exactly Jungkook uses as his preferred means of transportation.

“No, you’re not getting me on that death-trap, no way in hell!” You complain, escaping his grasp just for a second before his arms are around your middle, easily removing your fingers from the door with a smile sent towards the security guard as reassurance, before he carries your struggling body towards his Harley. “No!” You complain. “This is kidnapping! Abduction!” You cry out, before he puts the helmet he’d gotten recently on your head, hands fastening the strap beneath your chin before he gets onto the motorcycle as well, sitting in front of you.

And the second it roars to life, you’re clinging to him with arms and legs involved, resulting in Jungkook adjusting your grip a little to not strangle him.

Well- at least he’s not driving fast.

“I hate you.” You complain when he removes the helmet again in the underground parking lot beneath the dance studio, pupils still blown wide, cheeks a bit flushed.

“If you just got up yourself like a big girl, I wouldn’t have to drive you.” He easily tells you, helping you down from the vehicle. “we’ll do this again and again until you learn.” He explains, stepping into the elevator with you- still lowly growling to yourself, pissed off at his attitude.

You’re not a kid. He’s stupid.

But it does work, because at least you somewhat practice with him for a few hours, before you stubbornly lay down starfish style in the middle of the practice room, demanding a break- one he grants for once, even if it’s just ten minutes.

“I really don’t wanna go to that contest.” You huff, half of your face squished against the shiny floorboards. Jungkook slowly walks towards you, squatting down to flick his finger against one of your ears that’s again, a little floppy today.

“I know.” He answers, because he does still remember your outburst, devastating cries edged into his mind.

“Hey Jungkook?” you ask, as he absent-mindedly rubs your ear between his fingers, almost enchanted by the softness of it.

“Yeah?” He answers, noticing the way you clearly enjoy such a simple touch to the fullest. You’re constantly surrounded by people, and yet it’s clear that you’re touch-starved and just treated like a doll and nothing else. How lonely must you have been until now?

“Do you have a girlfriend?” You ask. “or a boyfriend?” You wonder, leaning into his hand with closed eyes.

“No.” He answers, unsure and most of all suspicious.

“nice.” You smile, tail wagging softly. “I’m your girlfriend then.” You decide, and he freezes.

“...what?” He asks, sitting down now, a water bottle next to his crossed legs. “You can’t.. that’s not how it works.” He explains, but you shrug.

“My mom and my dad didn’t like each other either.” You reply, staring at nothing ahead, chin on your hands. “they just.. got together out of convenience. Cause they were the same hybrid breed, and I guess didn’t have anyone else at the time.” You mumble. “love isn’t real anyways. I’m pretty- isn’t that enough for you to like me?” You ask, turning your head to look at him with a gaze so.. detached that it makes him feel pity.

Is that your view on the world around you?

“You are pretty.” He responds. “but that’s not a foundation for.. a relationship.” He shakes his head.

“I don’t mind that you’re a mix.” You shrug. “you’re handsome, I’m pretty, and I have money.” You say. “if we get together thousands will flock to your dance studio. You’ll be super successful. “ You propose to him. “doesn’t even have to be for long. You can just.. I don’t know. Spend some time with me until you get bored, and then move on.”

“No.” He denies again. You frown.

“Huh.” You huff, slowly sitting up. “whatever then, I guess.”

“Do you even like me?” he asks you, confused, and you shrug before nodding.

“You’re nice. A bit stick-up-you-ass, but overall nice.” You offer.

Jungkook just watches you for a second, in full disbelief at what had been done to you. Raised in a place of luxury, with a golden spoon in your mouth and lies fed daily to create the view you have on everything around you right now. No kindness without some ulterior motive fits your reality. Everything has to be convenient for everyone involved.

“I don’t want a relationship without love, no matter what I might gain from it.” He explains himself, and you roll your eyes, before you flop onto your back, arms crossed again as you sulk. “You shouldn’t settle for less either.”

“Yeah well I wont get that.” You answer. “no one wants me. They want.. her.” You say, while twirling the silver name tag from around your neck in your fingers.

Until he leans over you, body entirely covering yours for a second, causing you to become nervous and wide eyed at his bold move. He’s looking at your neck, and you’re sure he must’ve realized what’s in it for him- after all, everyone is out for something to gain.

His hands move around your neck, fingers warm. You close your eyes as his face draws closer, awaiting the inevitable.

When suddenly, the collar around your neck is undone, and pulled off your neck.

“what-“ you ask, eyes open again as you watch him still above you, now looking into your eyes, and no longer anywhere else.

“I don’t want her.” He says, referring to the name on the tag around your neck that’s now in his hand, pushed into the floorboards where he holds himself up.

“But I’d like to get to know you instead.”

[misstycloud]

Platonic. Fae father

Fae father! Who loves you more than anything. He’d trade his immortality and beauty a million times if it meant saving you. It’s worth nothing if he can’t be with you.

Fae father! Who originally wasn’t very interested in you but simply didn’t have the heart to throw you to the wolves like he would if it’d been any other baby- you were his, after all. But as time passed, he found himself more enamoured with you for every second you spent together. Before he knew it, you were an irreplaceable part of his life. He can’t imagine how he managed to live for centuries without you.

Fae father! Who is very protective and while he knows you’re safer inside his territory than you’d ever be anywhere else, there’s still a possibility something could happen you you. He can’t have that happen! What if you accidentally trip on a root and scrape your knee? Sure he can heal you with his magic, but he’d rather spare you the unnecessary pain and tears.

Fae father! Is scared that you’ll leave him eventually. This is especially regarding when you’ll have grown up. He never hid your half-human side(you were bound to find out anyway, considering you didn’t have magic in the same sense as him, and your ears were slightly rounded unlike his purely pointed ones), but he’s beginning to think it was a mistake. His attempt at good parenting could backfire and you would become naturally curious as you got older. Then you would request to leave the safety and familiarity of the forest you grew up in, to go adventure beyond it and come into contact with your human side.

Fae father! Who thought about how horrible that would be. He knew the cruelty of humans. They were greedy beyond imagination and an ugly stain on the world; truly a mistake of creation. He thought about what they could potentially do to you, a wonderful, kind yet naive child. His child. You were part fae and that was obvious- if he had to be honest, he had always been happy you appeared more fae than human, it made him feel more connected to you- the price that you would go for on a market was immense. Fae father nearly faints at what kind of filth could be wanting to get their hands on you.

Fae father! Who wove to protect you at all costs- even lying and misleading you. The only way he saw to do that is to keep you in the forest; your childhood home and his domain.

“Father, what’s beyond the forest? Are there really human towns? The animals tell me they are bustling with life- and there’s so many strange and new things!” You asked your father. You two were in your favourite meadow, you sat up in the lush grass, making a flower crown.

Your father had laid down a while ago and was content with the relaxation the summer weather brought. However, the moment you began talking about humans and your curiosity for the outside world, his eyes snapped open and he, too, sat up.

He gave you a soft smile, “The animals told you that?”

You nodded vigorously. He reminded himself to warn the animals to not tell you about such things, afterwards. If he had to guess, it was most likely that damn squirrel friend of yours that didn’t know when to shut up.

“Well, dear-“ he said, finding the way you were hooked on every word incredibly endearing, “yes, there there are human settlements outside these woods. But I do not want you going anywhere near them, you hear? It’s simply not safe for you.” Your father ended the sentence with booping you on the nose.

“What? What do you mean?” You exclaimed.

He chuckled, “I am older- I have many tricks to defend myself with; you do not.”

Pouting, you crossed your arms and said in defiance, “Why would you have to defend yourself? You’re not fighting, are you?”

You father ran his hand through his long locks with a sigh. “Dear, I am afraid that might not be the case.” You looked at him in confusion. “You see, we- as in magical kind- have not been on good terms with mannkind for centuries- maybe even ever.”

You were silent, pondering over what this meant as your protector watched. Had it not been a serious subject, he would have thought about how cute you look whenever you are thoroughly grumbling over something. He took it upon himself to expand his reasonings while combing through your hair.

“We are rare, beautiful, immortal and have powers they could only dream of.” To prove his point, your father held out a seed in the palm of his hand. He closed it for a second and a green light flashed. Opening his palm again, the little seed quickly grew into a wonderful, fully grown flower in a matter of moments. “See, if they had the means to do this, then a new war would break loose every day. They are greedy and selfish and struggle because of it, while we live away from such mundane troubles.”

“But what about all those amazing things they have invented? I hear they sing and dance just like us. They have families too, just like us. They can’t all be bad!” You protested. If all those things your friends had told you were true, then you needed to know and find a way to see them for yourself.

Your father sighed once more. He appeared to be doing that a lot during your conversation. He grabbed a hold of your hand and squeezed it tight. “I understand your curiosity regarding humans- trust me, I do. I was young once upon a time, as well. You believe that I did not sneak away to peek at the towns myself?”

“You have gone there yourself?”

He nodded to confirm your question. “However, they are far from what your little friends have been tricking you into believing. They are not fun and do not sing nor dance. Like I said, they are selfish and horrible, you best stay away from them.”

“But-“ you tried.

He cut you off immediately. “-No ‘buts’. You stay away from the town, alright? Simply stay here where you’re safe. I won’t tolerate any violation of the rules when it comes to this.” He took notice of your gloomy expression and added, “It’s for your safety, nothing else. Oh, sweetie, I do wish the world was different. However, this is a truth we must face. You do understand, correct?”

Seeing your worrying father’s serious demeanor as he urged you for an answer, you looked down before saying, “Yes, Father. I won’t go into human towns. I’ll stay out of trouble.”

He sighed in relief. “Good child. Remember, I am only looking after you. I’m your father, I know what’s best for you.

[theglamorousferal]

Persephone's Binding Part 2

Hardcover/Anger Management ship Sacrificial Bride au

AO3 Prompt Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12

(Things get a bit angsty here for a bit, but don't worry, it gets back to some of the cracky-goodness!)

After allowing himself to relax for a bit and actually letting his muscles loosen for once, Jason rose from the bath and rinsed himself off under a piping hot and strong shower. He finished the rinse off with a flash of cold water to focus back up and made his way to the vanity where there was basic hotel amenities. He attempted to style his hair and after at least drying it, pulled on the fluffiest robe he has felt since he first moved into the manor all those years ago.

Fuck. The family. The Outlaws...

Jason put his face in both his hands and took a deep breath, then allowed his shoulders to slump as he dragged his hands from his face to his sides. He marched in a lazy manor over to the end of the large bed where he flopped face down. Surprisingly, it wasn't as fluffy as he was expecting and he silently thanked whatever force there was that he wouldn't have to resort to sleeping on the floor or a chair for the familiarity. Though, he turned his head to face the windows, that little reading nook looks like I could easily fall asleep there.

No, stop it. Do I remember the Dimensional Code for home?

Jason contemplated. On one hand, it could be useful, on the other, they could have an entirely different category system here. He spent the next however long trying to remember the dimensional code for his Earth and tracing the swirls of purples and greens out the large windows. A knock startled him.

"Jason? Are you decent?" He stood quickly and pulled the robe tighter together, not quite ready to show his autopsy scars to his soul-owner? A literal goddess? He wasn't quite sure what she was yet.

"Uh, yes, come in, I'm covered." He tried to stand casually next to the bed when he had just been sitting, his hands now in his pockets.

"Hi, so one of my aides figured one thing out about the ritual that is somewhat concerning and also something I probably also should have brought up. Mind if we sit at the window?" She strode in and settled herself with a pillow against the window and waited for him to do the same. Once he was settled, she hesitated for a moment before sighing and looking out the window to the haunting site outside.

"The Infinite Realms has another name, one coined from my Earth." She licked her lips before she spoke again. "It's also known as the Ghost Zone. As the dimension between dimensions, it is also where beings known as ghosts, the Restless Dead, Neverborn, Gods, and all sorts of other beings that thrive off a substance known as ectoplasm reside. As such, I am current Queen Regent of Ghosts." She let him think for a moment before turning to him. "That means I can tell when someone is death-touched." Jason froze. "I didn't mention it before because I know it's super personal, but then my aide figured out that the ritual only worked because of the fact you are and especially since you had spent time here-" She cut herself off as his eyes just bugged out larger with every word that spilled from her lips. "Sorry, I just, I'm death-touched too. I haven't died yet, but I have been around death magic, or radiation, or whatever it is, since before conception. I don't know exactly what you went through, but I know it was deeply traumatic. I can have my healers take a look at your soul and see if it's alright because it kinda radiates a bit how traumatic it was." She bit her lip with one hand raised near her chin.

Jason closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and clenching his jaw tight and blowing the air harshly out his nose. He fell back against the window, allowing his head to knock against the glass. It was warm, as though the sunlight was gently shining upon it. "Yeah." He croaked. "Yeah, I died." He said softer. "I was dead for roughly six months." He dipped his head forward to block his face with his bangs. "Crawled outta my own grave." He laughed bitterly. "Spent a while wandering, a while more in a coma." He swallowed tickly. "Got picked up by my dad's vindictive ex and trained for a while to be an assassin." He looked up at her, making eye contact. "She dunked me in this pit of magic shit, we call it a Lazarus pit in my dimension. It cures those near death and kills the healthy. Fixed me up the rest of the way, or at least the scars and issues I had pre-death. I got to keep these." He allowed the top of the robe to fall away, showing the tops of the large y-shaped scar that ran the length of his torso. She gasped, both hands coming to cover her mouth, tears began to form in her eyes. She reached out as if to touch them and stopped herself, her face turning determined.

"I, Jazmine Nightingale, High Queen Regent of the Infinite Realms, the Mediator, the Caretaker, and all those other titles." She waved her wrist. "Declare that I will help you however you deem necessary. Whether that be helping your soul, returning you to your dimension, breaking this binding, or whatever. You are currently bound to you, and as such that makes you my responsibilities." She paused in her speech for a moment, thinking. "I mean, you're already technically one of my subjects because I think you qualify as one of the Restless Dead, but we'll figure out your classification when we take you to a healer. For now, it has been a long day. I will have one of my aides come to get your measurements for some clothes, I'm sure we have some around here somewhere that should fit you at least for dinner. The aides can get any style you like and it can be made quickly by the seamstresses we have on staff." At his hesitation she added with a smile, "They work in supernatural means, they will not overwork themselves by making an entire wardrobe in a few hours."

She patted the cushion in front of her and stood. "I will meet you at dinner, it's not formal at all, don't worry about dressing fancy, I'm just still in this getup from 'official queen stuff'" she said with air quotes looking tired. "I'll see you in a bit Jason!"

"Yes, um, your majesty." He stood to bow, the robe making it a bit difficult."

"Just Jazz please, for the love of the Ancients." She said with a pained look on her face.

"Right, sorry," he stammered, straightening, "See you later, Jazz." She smiled softly before leaving him to himself. He smacked his hand to his face groaning at himself before flopping face-first into the bed again. "She's the ruler of the dead and she's so determined and nice, what the actual hell? She's so earnest, it's so cute!" he sat up leaning his elbow on his knee. "Okay, operation Romance Plot is go. She isn't put off by the fact you died, this is good, I can work with this. Okay, so castle, let's go with that aesthetic. I'm thinking let's go with a poet shirt and some black slacks for dinner tonight." He claps his hands in front of him, decision made.

As if summoned by his words, there was another knock at the door. A man with bright sky blue skin and a deep plum butler's uniform opened the door, a measuring tape casually thrown over his shoulders.

"Yes, hello good sir. What aesthetic are we thinking for this evening?" he said in a posh accent.

Jason clasped his hands together. "What should I call you? Would you possibly have a poet's shirt and a pair of black formal slacks for this evening?"

"You may call me Jeeves. Yes that Jeeves. I am the personification of the trope of the helpful butler, and as such my power set includes anything and everything that could help me complete the duties of head butler of the High Family's home. We absolutely do have that attire on hand, it would be but a moment for someone to fetch it for us. Now did you have any ideas about future attire?" Jeeves snapped his fingers and a skeleton manifested in a swirl of dust to obey his silent command to gather the requested clothing.

Jason paused for a moment, considering. "How does the Queen usually dress casually around the castle? I know she said she was from an Earth. I don't know where in the timeline her Earth is from and she mentioned that what she was wearing earlier was mostly for special occasions, so I don't want to look like an idiot." He explained.

"Very good sir, she typically dresses in either a less formal toga if she's to be seen anywhere near the public areas of the castle, her armor whilst sparring with her knights, the High Princes and Princess, and if she is only going between her room and study then her far less formal Earth clothing which is a long sleeved blouse and lightwash jeans, typical of the late 1990's and early 2000's."

Jason thought for a moment. He didn't know how long he would be stuck here, but decided that clothes enough to last a fortnight should work. For all he knew, time flowed differently between here and his home dimension. Decision made, he told the butler what he wanted. Measurements were taken, the skeleton arrived with the requested clothes and Jason was left to change into his clothes for the evening. He still is wearing his combat boots because he forgot to ask for a pair of shoes.

Once changed, he realized that he still probably had a bit before dinner and he walked over to one of the bookshelves browsing the titles. There were several classics that he recognized, his favorite, Pride and Prejudice, was there. There were a few as well with Jane Austen's name, but not titles he recognized. He decided to come back to those later and pulled what looked like a collection of fairy tales from the shelf then settled himself lounging in the window nook to read for the next few hours.

[haikyu-mp4]

Media presence

word count; 649 – gn!reader, can you tell I love a manager!reader?

“Your lack of social media presence is simply unacceptable,” you said, trying to be stern even though your mind was thinking of what you wanted to have for dinner later. “Will you please work with me on this?” Being a PR manager for MSBY Black Jackals tested your patience every day, but Sakusa wasn’t usually your biggest problem.

However, the senior managers had started to pester you about his lack of presence.

Sakusa had one leg crossed over the other, hands interlaced and resting on his thigh as his eyes bore into you from above the face mask he almost always had on. He took a long breath, seeming to prepare for a whole discussion, but all he said in the end was “No.”

You stared at him with the tip of your pen resting on the notebook you had open on your desk, blinking as you registered his word. His one word. “I see. I do love these meetings with you, Sakusa. They’re so rewarding.” you kept mumbling sarcastically, finally moving your hand to write down some thoughts you had. The pen was pushing just a little too hard into the paper, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care at the moment.

While you weren’t looking, a small smile fell on Sakusa’s face from your visible frustration. Not that you would have seen it anyway, but he was always worried that his eyes were simply not as cold as he wished they were when he talked to you. “I feel the same way,” he said. It made you bite the inside of your lip, wondering if there was something behind his words or if he meant it sarcastically like you. The safest option was to assume the latter. You finally turn your swivel chair back towards him, holding out a piece of paper you ripped from the notebook.

“I wrote some options. If we make a contract with set demands, you can demand something in return,” you suggest. You were a promising manager for sure, with a sharp brain and an attractive way with words. Maybe that��s why Sakusa was so infatuated with you despite never making a move. “For example, you could get an extra paid lunch break in exchange for posting daily on your Instagram story.”

Sakusa looked at the list after taking it from you without touching your hand. He slowly nodded. “I’ll think about it.” His agreement to consider it made you smile wider, doing a quick little victory dance. Sakusa frowned, but only because he enjoyed it so much that it annoyed him.

“Wonderful! Maybe I can finally get the seniors off my back for wasting such a pretty face,” you say, focusing more on your work than the words that actually tumbled out of your mouth.

“Thank you,” he said, and this time you could hear the smug smile in his voice. Clearly, he spent too much time with Atsumu.

“Their words, not mine.” you try to defend, squinting at him like it’s a challenge.

“Mm. How disappointing,” he said, finally scooting the uncomfortable chair back so he could get up. Your gaze follows him, trying desperately to fumble for a way to win this.

“You’re always wearing that mask anyways, how would I know,” you say, raising an eyebrow.

The proud moment is punctured though, when Sakusa slowly turns his head to the huge Black Jackals poster hanging to your right where his face is in the front with no mask on. He turns back to you, mirroring your raised eyebrow. “You were saying?”

“Get out,” you say, barely holding back your laughter at the stupid interaction, hoping your cheeks didn’t look as warm as they felt.

“See you around.”

“I wish you wouldn’t.” That was a lie, but neither of you needed to point that out. You both knew it was. For now, it could stay as an unspoken thing.

part 1 ║ part 2 ║ part 3 (final part) ║ headcanons ║ masterlist

[alcoholfreenayeon]

G!P Yujin?

All Night

CW: G!p Yujin x reader, fluff, nsfw, smut, oral, public sex, creampie

A/N: Here you go bestie🙃hope you like it!

Yujin laughs as you tell her a story about work, it’s like your favorite sound, her laughter and you can’t help but smile at her lovingly. She sighs softly as she looks at you happily, her fingers intertwining with yours.

The two of you continue your walk, you both had gone out to a cafe but now spent almost an hour just roaming around, enjoying the fresh air and each other’s company. It was good, almost perfect actually which is why it wouldn’t last. She was going away on tour for about a month tomorrow. A month of not being able to see her, talk about torture. You had already tried everything you could think of to convince her not to go but of course it was work, her job and she couldn’t just not go but it did manage to make her spend every free moment till then with you.

You led her to an empty bench where you both sat, leaning against each other and sitting in silence for a few moments. The gloominess of Yujin leaving in a few hours begins to set in and you pull her closer, pouting a little and burying your head in her shoulder. She sighs and kisses your forehead, rubbing your back trying to comfort you a little.

“Baby, you don’t-shouldn’t be too upset. You know this happens a lot. Not this frequently but…”, she kisses your forehead again, hoping to cheer you up a little.

You hold her a bit tighter, “Can’t you just pretend to be sick or something…”

“Eh? How long will I pretend”, she chuckles, finding your protests cute. “Besides I’m sure the time will pass by quickly”

“It won’t”, you disagree stubbornly.

Yujin sighs, “At least be a bit more positive.”

“I can’t. Not when you leave me so cruelly.”, you argue, pouting again.

“Hey, don’t say that, I’m not leaving you…I am but not that way.”, she takes a deep breath, “It’s not like I enjoy being away from you either, it’s hard for me too cutie.”, she gives you a small nudge.

You keep your grip on her, “Then stay. Please. Just one time.”

“Baby, you know that’s not how it works, look, anything I can do to make it up to you? Something you want? Something you want to do, I’m ready for it if we’ll be able to by tonight.”, Yujin tries to convince you.

You huff and pull away from her folding your arms, “you can’t bribe me…..”, you then glance at her for moment and look away again, “a kiss, no so many kisses and hugs. Just keep holding me and loving me till you have to go.”

Yujin giggles and throws her arms over you, lifting your face and giving you a small kiss before giggling some more as you try to fight off a smile. “You lose, you are smiling”, she teases.

“I am not and I didn’t!”, you bark but you know it’s only a matter of time before you end up smiling and giggling uncontrollably.

Yujin smirks, “right is that so…”, she then grabs your waist and pulls you on her lap making you yelp and then holds your face before kissing you deeply. You wrap your arms around her neck and kiss her back, your face flushing from her suddenness and also because anyone could just walk by and see the two of you making out. However it was cut short when in the middle, you began to feel something poking you from underneath.

“B-babe?”, you ask with a small smile, a bit surprised but you also can’t help but feel giddy at getting her hard.

Yujin grips your hips tightly, “I can’t help it. Not after this. I want you. Now.”, She says defiantly.

“H-here?! Now?!”, you ask in disbelief. You both were on an empty park bench for God’s sake. It would be so easy to get caught here. But for some reason that began to turn you on a little. “But…”, you look at her nervously.

Yujin grins, shushing you, “Shh…don’t worry, you know what, since you don’t want to do it, will you at least help me out.”, she smirks and leans in, kissing your neck before whispering seductively in your ear, “I do love it so much when you suck me off. You are so good at it….can you please do it for me princess.”

You take a deep breath, you really shouldn’t, if you were to think out pros and cons of getting caught, the cons would far outweigh the pros but Yujin was right. You were good at sucking her cock. You liked how she likes it. The way she would sigh and stroke your hair when you do good. You crave that, to give yourself, all of yourself up for her.

You purse your lips and look at her, “…Fine but we need to be careful. I don’t want to get caught and you definitely can’t get caught.”, you slide off her lap, looking around.

She smirks and slowly gets up, grabbing your face and kissing you slowly once more before taking your hand and leading you away from the bench towards the trees, before you both end up in a clearing. It wasn’t quite as far as you hoped it would be from the walkway but it was still enough that no one would normally stumble upon you both especially at this time.

You nervously check once more before turning to find Yujin quite close to you, she can’t stop smiling. You loved that smile so much. You roll your eyes playfully at her before getting on your knees, taking a deep breath as you prepare yourself.

You pull down her pants, almost getting hit in the face as she’s already hard and ready for you. She grab her cock by its base, stroke it gently a few times while you slowly put the tip in your mouth, swirling your tongue around it drawing a sharp moan from Yujin. You continue, stroking her base gently while taking her a bit deeper. Yujin sighs happily, stroking your hair, her eyes closed. You bob your head dutifully taking a bit more of her length every few bobs, gagging a little towards the end as she starts to hit the back of your throat. This continues before a few minutes, Yujin’s moans becoming louder and more frequent, her grip on your hair tightening each time you take her whole cock in and as much as you didn’t want to admit it, being in public and sucking your girlfriend off was turning you on more than you’d like to admit.

You decide to step things up, taking her whole length in but keeping your head there, not pulling back and swirl your tongue around her cock greedily making her gasp. You then pull back for a moment and try to repeat it but as soon as you feel her cock hit the back of your throat, Yujin groans and grabs your head tightly with both her hands. Then to your surprise she takes a ragged breath and pulls her cock out quickly. You catch your breath, coughing a little, your mouth a sloppy and look at her questioningly.

“What…what’s wrong?”, you ask between breaths.

Yujin looks like she’s focusing hard herself, “Y-you were going to make me cum doing that. I didn’t want to. Not in your mouth at least.”

Your eyes widen, “No! You can’t! Not my face, we are in a park for fucks sake!”, you immediately reject the suggestion though a tiny part of you wanted her to change your mind.

Yujin smiles, her eyebrows rising, “I meant your pussy. I want to fuck you so bad but your idea sounds kinda nice. It’ll be fun to show off what a slut you are for me.”

You feel your cheeks redden, “No..that’s not…”, you quietly say.

“Anyway, we can get to that later.”, she says pushing you back playfully making you squeal and fall on your back. You glare at her and she giggles excitedly as she gets on top of you.

“Are…are you sure this is a good idea? It’ll be really embarrassing if we get caught now. It was bad enough when-”, you try to ask but get cut off as she begins to kiss you, pinning your arms either side of your head. You instinctively spread your legs and then wrap it around Yujin.

When she enters you, you close your eyes, whimpering as she stretches you before a slow moan comes out. Yujin grins, enjoying your reaction as she slowly goes in deeper and deeper. She begin thrusting steadily, gripping your wrists tightly as she feels your pussy contract and clench around her. You lose focus of everything else around you, your mind only on Yujin, her weight on top of you, the way her cock was stretching you out, hitting the deepest points of your pussy, the sounds of her body hitting yours. You moan with need each thrust, unable to get enough of her and Yujin feels the same, each thrust being harder than the previous. Soon enough she’s ramming her cock roughly into you, lost in the pleasure, she can’t help it. Your pussy makes her lose control.

As she keeps thrusting, you feel your orgasm build up quickly, your legs tightening around her before your eyes roll and your entire body shakes as you cum. Moaning out her name, you cum hard, your pussy gripping her cock tightly as if it’ll never let go causing her to groan and squeeze your wrists. As your orgasm fades, Yujin begins to thrust with renewed vigor, watching you cum had made her even hornier and now want really wanted to cum.

If she was fucking you before, she was pounding you now, ramming her cock in you relentlessly, her ragged breaths revealing that she’s close too. However, this had just turned you on more and you felt another orgasm building up rapidly and just as you thought you were going to cum again, Yujin slams her cock as deep as she can, her cock enlarging and throbbing as she begins to fill you up. The feeling of her spilling her load so deep in you pushed you over the edge and your eyes become unfocused, you scream as you came for a second time, your body buckling and jolting from the pleasure.By the time you finish cumming, Yujin still isn’t done, her cum still spilling in you.

You sigh loudly, slowly grinding your hips against her, trying to milk her more. Finally she groans and collapses on top of you, letting go of your wrists. She looks up and kisses you passionately and you wrap your hands around her neck kissing her back.

“A-are you done now”, you ask breathlessly, teasing her a little.

“For now”, Yujin says with a smirk.

“F-for now?”, you question her.

She catches her breath, smiling at you intently, “well yes, we are going home and I’m going to fuck you some more. Weren’t you complaining that we won’t be able to spend time together from tomorrow or well…tonight. I’m going to call in sick and say I’ll be a bit late in the morning and I’d meet them straight at the airport. For now, I need you.”

You look at her in disbelief, blushing a little, out of words.

She giggles and pokes your nose, “Ok no need to be so shocked, ready up, we need to leave soon if we are to make the most of the night.”

“T-the night. Like the whole night?”, you stammer.

She sighs playfully with a smile, “Baby….sometimes you act so dumb. Yes I’m going to fuck you the whole night. I don’t care. Don’t tell to take it easy because I need my energy for tomorrow. In fact, you’ll need to take it easy for a couple days when I’m done with you”

You bite your lips, squeezing your legs together at her suggestion and get up hastily, ready to go. Yujin puts her arm behind your waist, grinning as she leads you towards your home, whispering what she has in plan for you…

Taglist(open): @keervah @itzzyyyyyyydaaaa

[lewmagoo]

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

[jetii]

i loveeeeeee ur writing. its like a masterpiece. mwah. i was wondering if you could do an angsty fic with the prompt "I loved you!" with any clone boy you want (maybe crosshair 👀) I was listening to Cardigan by taylor swift and it lowkey set the mood.

sorry if the request is very vague cause i never watched bad batch yet im a huge simp 🥲 so do whatever you want.

I know you got like a tonnnn on your plate and i lowkey feel bad requesting but you write really good so take ur time to take care of yourself.

hiiiii anon. if you are who i think you are, then you'll have already been watching TBB by now, but if you're not, what are you doing!! /affectionate

after listening to the song (i have a sister who is a swiftie but alas i am not) and thinking harder about your prompt, i was inspired to write this for Echo, so i hope that's okay!

The Way Back

Pairing: Echo x fem!Reader

Words: 9,621

Tags/Warnings: angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, established relationship, dramatic reunion, reader is a lawyer, Tech is a good brother, Echo needs a hug, allusion to panic attacks/alcoholism/depression

Summary: Echo always knew you were it for him, but the idea of seeing you again after so much has changed is more than he can take. Until one day he finds himself outside of your apartment, and the choice is made for him.

Previous Work | Next Work | Masterlist

Echo doesn’t leave the ship when it docks on Coruscant.

His eyes are locked on the city-planet, lit up like a giant firefly, watching the endless stream of ships coming in and out. Their trails of light make the whole thing seem dreamlike, surreal. Even that feels like too much, reminds him too much of the view from your apartment, and he tries to close his eyes, but his eyelids are made of glass.

The first time he saw Coruscant, there had been a moment of... what, awe? Terror? Something. Something big, anyway. He didn't understand then that you can have a feeling be a lot of things. He'd looked down on the galaxy's center of power and felt something bigger than he could possibly contain. Now, sitting alone on the Marauder with only the whirr of the vents for company, he thinks maybe the feeling was dread.

The first time they came back here after Echo joined the Batch, the others didn’t notice his unease. Or at least they didn't mention it. It was an adjustment period for everyone, Echo most of all, and his brothers gave him space to do things on his own terms, even when it meant he did nothing at all.

This time, it's different. He can tell they've noticed how he's been acting, and they're not just leaving him alone anymore. He can tell, because they're giving him looks. The kind of looks that ask questions he doesn't have answers for. They make excuses to stick close by, like they're afraid he might take off or that he's going to break down and have another panic attack. It makes him want to hide even more.

He's not going to, though. It's not so bad. Coruscant has always been a source of good memories for Echo, despite what happened. The sights, the sounds, the tastes — they're all still the same. He'd spent a long time on Coruscant before the Citadel happened, and he'd gotten used to it, the way the air smells, the feel of the rain against his skin. He had a whole life here. He was happy.

It's not so bad. He just... doesn't feel like going out, is all.

He knows he’s being stupid. He knows that he should be out there, enjoying what little downtime they’re afforded. Instead, he's on the ship, trying not to stare out the windows, trying to pretend that he isn't bothered by the thought of leaving, of the possibility of running into you again, however small that may be.

The worst part is that he's not sure why.

It's not that he doesn't want to see you. On the contrary, he does. More than anything. He hasn't stopped thinking about you, wondering if you're okay, if you’re happy, if you've thought of him. He's kept his ears open, and has managed to overhear a few stories here and there about you. The most recent had been about you winning a case for a group of Houk refugees who had been seeking asylum in the city, a big deal for a young lawyer to handle.

It had made him smile, a real, genuine smile, the kind he rarely got to have.

But there's something about seeing you again, about you seeing him that makes him hesitate, makes his stomach turn over and his throat tighten. Maybe it's because he doesn't want to know for certain, doesn't want to see that you're happy, that you've moved on, that you're doing well without him.

Maybe it's because he doesn't trust himself. He's different now, he knows that. He's different, and so are you. He doesn't know if he can face you, doesn't know if he'll be able to handle whatever is waiting for him. 

When he woke up in Rex’s arms and realized the galaxy had kept moving without him, he hadn’t thought much of it, solely focused on survival, on the fact that he was alive at all. He hadn't cared about what he'd missed, who he'd left behind. He hadn't known how much time had passed, and the thought that he was a dead man hadn't even crossed his mind. He hadn't thought about you, hadn't given himself the time or space to consider the consequences. You'd been the furthest thing from his mind. He'd had to keep fighting, to keep living. But once he had the time to think about it, to regret, well, it was...

It's different.

There's no other word for it. Everything is different.

Echo has had time, too much time, to think about you, to regret losing you. It's kept him up late into the night cycle, lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling, unable to sleep, thoughts running a mile a minute.

You'd been a good person, a better one than he could ever hope to be, and he had loved you, and then he had died.

Or, he had thought he'd died. Turns out he hadn't. That had been the only mercy.

You'd been the first and only person in his entire life to see him as something other than a soldier, and he'd loved you for it. You'd seen him, really seen him, and you hadn't run. He had been terrified by that, but it had also been the best feeling in the world. And he had taken advantage of it. He had let you in, he had let himself fall in love, and then he had died.

It's different, now. He's different. The galaxy's moved on, and he's a ghost, and he's scared. He doesn't know how to face you, doesn't know if he can. So when they’d made it out of Skako Minor and Rex had asked if he wanted to comm you, he’d said no. And he's been saying no every time since.

A small voice inside his head, one that sounds a lot like Fives, tells him that's bullshit.

His brother would have called him out on his cowardice, and Echo thinks that's a fair assessment. But even though he misses you and wants nothing more than to hear your voice, it's better this way. It's better if you don't see him like this, if you never find out the truth. The thought of you seeing him, of you seeing what's left of the man you knew, is too much. He can't do that to you.

It's better if you never see him again. It's better if you have closure, if you've moved on and don't think about him anymore.

You deserve more. You deserve someone who hasn't lost as much as he has, someone who you won't have to worry about, someone who will be there for you.

Someone who can give you the life you want.

Echo knows he can't do that. And maybe if he says that enough times, he'll finally believe it.

“Why are you still here?”

The sound of Tech’s voice snaps him out of his thoughts. He turns and finds his brother watching him from the doorway, an expression of vague curiosity on his face, a soldering iron twirling absently in his hand.

Echo shrugs.

Tech gives a short, impatient huff.

"That is not an answer," he says, crossing his arms and looking pointedly at Echo.

"I was just..." He trails off. Just what? Just looking out the window and moping? He sighs. "Nevermind."

Tech steps into the cockpit, looking unconvinced. Echo can tell he has a question on the tip of his tongue, can see him considering his options. Tech is not the most tactful person in the galaxy, and Echo isn't really in the mood to hear his thoughts, not when they're bound to be blunt. But instead of asking, his brother simply takes his seat beside him and begins tinkering with the dashboard, checking the systems.

The two of them are quiet for a moment, the only sound the clinking of the tools. Then Tech pauses and looks at Echo. 

Echo fidgets under his brother's gaze. "What?"

Tech doesn't respond right away, taking a second to look Echo over. His eyes flicker around the cockpit, as if the gauges and switchboards will give him some kind of clue, before coming back to his brother.

"There is nothing wrong with the ship," he says.

"Okay," Echo says, confused. "So?"

"So," Tech continues, "there is no reason for you to be here. We are scheduled to remain docked until 600 hours, and you have the day off. You could be anywhere."

Echo rolls his eyes, a prickle of annoyance flaring in his chest. "Yeah, well, I'm here, aren't I?"

"Yes, you are," Tech agrees. There's a moment where he considers something, and then he speaks again, "If I may offer a suggestion?"

"Go for it," Echo grumbles, not bothering to look at him.

"Go for a walk."

"A walk?"

"Yes. Physical activity is proven to improve mood and mental health. And you could do with the fresh air."

Echo frowns. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means," Tech says, not even pausing in his work, "that you've been spending an inordinate amount of time locked away in here."

"I'm not locked away," Echo protests.

"No, I suppose not. But you have not been yourself since we arrived."

Echo doesn't have an answer for that.

"Go for a walk," Tech repeats, and this time he does stop and turn to Echo. He leans back in his chair and removes his goggles, letting them rest on his forehead, and the intensity in his gaze makes Echo squirm a bit.

"Where?"

Tech gestures towards the open space in front of them, the sprawling metropolis. "There are a number of options available, I'm sure. There are parks, shopping districts, museums, restaurants..." He ticks the ideas off on his fingers one by one, and then points back to Echo. "Perhaps you should find out for yourself."

Echo snorts. "Thanks, but no thanks."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want to," he says, the words coming out more defensively than he intended. "I'd rather just stay here."

"Yes, I can see that," Tech says dryly, and Echo gets the distinct impression that his brother is making fun of him.

He scowls.

Tech is undeterred. "But I don't think that is what you actually want to do."

Echo's mouth opens to argue, but then closes it just as quickly. He's not sure what to say, not sure if he wants to say anything. Tech isn't wrong. He doesn't really want to stay on the ship, not truly. The idea of getting out and going somewhere is tempting, and if he's being honest with himself, the last thing he wants to do is sit here, stewing in his thoughts alone. Or worse, with Tech.

And he does need to stretch his legs.

He looks out the window again, taking in the sight of the planet before him. He's not sure what's going to happen once they get the signal for the next job, if they'll ever be back. He might never have this opportunity again.

He takes a breath.

"Fine," he says, throwing his hands up in the air. "You win."

Tech's lips twitch, a barely contained smile. "As I usually do."

Echo shakes his head, a grin playing on his lips. He starts to make his way towards the door, and stops beside his brother.

"Thanks," he says, placing a hand on Tech's shoulder.

"You are welcome," Tech nods. “Try to be back by 0600 hours. If you are late, we will leave without you.

Echo snorts. "I wouldn't expect anything less."

He leaves Tech there and heads to the ramp. His steps slow as he reaches the bottom, but he forces himself forward, out into the bright sunlight and fresh air.

Echo spends the next few hours wandering around Coruscant, letting his feet guide him.

He goes wherever the crowds take him, stopping at whatever catches his interest. It's nice, being able to let his mind go blank and not have to worry about where he's going. He doesn't have to think about anything, doesn't have to consider the consequences, or the risks.

He just exists.

And it feels good.

When he eventually decides to turn back, he's a bit surprised at how far he's come. He hadn't intended to venture so deep into the city, had just wanted a walk to clear his head. But the area he's found himself in is one he recognizes.

Your apartment is nearby.

Echo can feel his pulse start to quicken, his palm begins to sweat, and he stops in the middle of the walkway.

The sun has begun to set, and the crowds are thinning. You’ll be on your way home from work soon, if you weren’t already. His brain helpfully supplies the route you would take, and his eyes flit up towards the skyline. He can't see your building, but he knows it's there, not far away.

The knowledge sits heavy in his chest.

No, he tells himself, shaking his head. I shouldn't.

He has no way of knowing if you're even home. For all he knows, you could be busy, out with friends or maybe on a date.

Don't, his mind warns him. She's moved on. You shouldn't.

He hasn't been to your apartment since the morning he left. The memory is a sharp one, a jagged knife cutting through the fog of his past. He remembers the way your bed had felt, the warmth of your body, the sound of your breathing as you slept tucked against him.

It had been so peaceful.

It had been so easy to leave.

His mind starts to replay those moments, the goodbye you had given him, and it's like a punch to the gut. He knows how much you care about him, knows that if you were to see him again, that wouldn't have changed. You wouldn't turn him away.

The night before, you talked for hours. Your conversation had been punctuated with kisses and caresses, laughter and confessions. You told him how much you wanted him to stay, how much you wished he didn't have to leave, how much you wished things could be different. You talked about what the future might hold for the two of you, and he remembers how that felt, how it made him believe, even for just a moment, that things would work out.

They didn't, of course.

But Echo is still here, and so are you, and he can't help but think that maybe, just maybe, the galaxy might be giving him a second chance.

He takes a deep breath.

There's no harm in taking a detour, he thinks.

He walks, following the familiar path, trying not to think too hard about what he's doing.

It doesn't take him long to reach the building. He hesitates in front of it, looking up at the facade. It looks just as it did the last time he was here. Same lobby, same doorman, same lift. They haven’t even fixed the panel that's been sticking, and it takes a good deal of force for him to press the button for your floor.

The doors close, and he stares at his reflection, at the dark circles under his eyes, the scruff that has accumulated on his cheeks and chin, the lines that have appeared at the corners of his eyes and across his forehead. And then his gaze wanders to the ports and implants, the reminder of what was taken from him and what he was left with. He traces the outline of one with his thumb, remembering how he used to be.

He looks tired.

What are you doing? He asks himself.

He's not sure what he's expecting, doesn't have a plan for what will happen. All he knows is that he can't get the image of you out of his head. He imagines you coming home from work, and him being there, waiting. Would you be surprised? Happy? What would you say? What would he say?

Echo sighs.

He's an idiot.

The lift dings, and the doors slide open.

Your apartment is halfway down the hall, and Echo's stomach clenches with each step he takes. He reaches it and stands outside for a minute, running his fingers over the metal door, staring at the numbers painted on the surface.

It's just a door, he tells himself. Nothing special. Just a door.

His hand moves on its own, hovering over the bell. He waits, listens. There's no sound coming from inside, no music, no voices. Maybe you're not home yet.

Or maybe you're out. Maybe you're not alone.

He rings the bell and holds his breath, counting the seconds.

One. Two. Three. Four.

Nothing.

Echo rings again, this time holding the button down for a few extra seconds, listening for any sign of movement.

There's nothing.

The knot in his stomach tightens, and he releases the button, letting out the breath he'd been holding. He runs a hand over his face, feeling the heat of his skin through his glove. He's sweating.

Well, that's it, then.

He'd thought he was prepared for this possibility, but hearing the silence behind the door and knowing that you aren't home has shaken him more than he anticipated.

Maybe this is for the best, he thinks. It's better this way. Safer.

But the disappointment is palpable.

He's not sure what to do. He considers waiting a little longer, just to make sure, but the more he thinks about it, the more stupid it seems. He doesn't belong here anymore. He shouldn't be here, standing outside your door, hoping for something that won't happen.

He needs to go.

As Echo turns away from the door, a voice calls out behind him.

"Can I help you?"

For half a second, he's sure he imagined it, sure that it's just his brain playing tricks on him, taunting him. But then the voice speaks again.

"Are you looking for someone?"

Echo spins around, heart leaping into his throat, and there you are.

Standing there, a few paces away, is the woman he's been dreaming about, the one he's thought about every day, the one he's missed so much that it hurts.

Your hair is different, longer than he's ever seen it, pulled away from your face. You're wearing a dress, something he's only seen a handful of times, and your makeup is impeccable, but he can still see the hint of tiredness behind your eyes. He wonders how many hours you've put in at work this week, how much you've had to fight for your clients.

But the most noticeable change is that you're looking at him. Your datapad is held loosely in your hands, a bag of groceries on your hip, and you’re staring at him, your brow furrowed in confusion.

He doesn’t blame you.

This is a strange situation, and you must be wondering who the hell is standing in front of you, why they rang your bell and then walked away.

"Um," Echo says, suddenly aware that he hasn't spoken. He clears his throat, trying to gather his wits. He didn't think this through. "Hi."

You blink, clearly not expecting that response.

"Hi," you reply, warily.

Echo tries to say something, but the words won't come.

He's frozen in place, staring at you, unable to do anything except take in your appearance, drinking in the sight of you. He didn't realize how much he needed to see you until now, and the relief he feels is overwhelming.

"Do I..." You trail off, studying him carefully. "Do I know you?"

He feels his heart break, just a little.

You don't recognize him. Of course, you wouldn't. It's been so long, and he's not the same man you knew. His face is one of thousands, identical and interchangeable. He doesn't even look like a clone anymore, not really. He's more machine than man, now, and he has no idea how he expected you to see him.

"Yeah," he manages to say, his voice hoarse. "Yeah, you do."

You raise your eyebrows, waiting. When he doesn't say anything else, you take a step towards him, squinting a little. He can feel the tension in his body, can sense your scrutiny. It's not comfortable, but it's not unpleasant, either.

"Sorry," you say, sounding frustrated, "I can't quite —"

You stop, your eyes widening, and Echo can see the exact moment it clicks.

"Oh," you gasp, covering your mouth with a shaking hand. The motion makes the paper bag of groceries on your arm start to slip, and Echo rushes forward to catch it, placing it on the floor by your feet. He stands up, and he can feel your eyes on him, can see the tears beginning to well up, can hear your breathing quicken.

He waits.

"Echo?" Your voice is soft, tentative, like you're not sure if he's real or not. Like he's some kind of ghost. He's not sure that's not what he is.

"Hey, cyar'ika," he says. His voice cracks, and he clears his throat again.

A small, incredulous laugh escapes you.

"Hi," you breathe. You cover your mouth again, trying to stifle the sob that rises from your chest. "I —" 

You let out a shaky breath, and then another, and then all of a sudden, you're crying, tears streaming down your face. Your hands come up to wipe them away, but more keep falling, and Echo is overwhelmed with the desire to hold you, to take away the pain and the sadness, to make everything right. But he doesn't know if he's allowed, doesn't know if it would be welcome. So instead, he just stands there, helpless.

"I'm sorry," you hiccup, wiping your face with the back of your hand. "I can't believe it's you."

He smiles at that, his own eyes burning. "It's me," he confirms. "I'm here."

You're shaking your head, your eyes never leaving his face, as if you're afraid that he might disappear if you look away. He doesn't blame you, and he does his best to stay as still as possible. The last thing he wants is to scare you, or make you think he's going to leave. Not when he just got here.

"I thought..." You start, and then trail off.

"I know."

You swallow hard, taking a moment to compose yourself. "I thought you were dead."

Echo winces. He's heard those words from a lot of people, but coming from you, they hurt. "Yeah, I, uh... I thought so, too, for a while."

He sees the look of horror that crosses your face, the way your eyes grow wet again, and he wishes he hadn't said it.

"How... How long have you been back?" you ask. Your voice is quiet, strained, and Echo can hear the question underneath, the one you're afraid to ask. The one that makes his stomach twist into knots.

"Not long," he answers, trying to keep his tone even, light. "Only a couple months, really."

"Months?" you repeat, incredulous. "You've been back for months?"

Echo shifts uncomfortably and nods. "Yeah."

You stare at him, your mouth opening and closing as you search for words. "And... And you didn't comm me?"

"I, uh... No."

You let out a sharp exhale and turn away, bringing your hands to your face, and he can see that you're starting to shake again. You're silent for a moment, and he can feel his heart pounding, can feel the blood rushing in his ears. His stomach churns, and he feels like he's going to be sick.

"Why?" Your voice is tight, controlled. It's the same voice you use when you're working, the one you use to keep yourself calm, to keep yourself from getting angry.

"I just... I wasn't..." Echo trails off, not sure what to say. I wasn't sure if I was coming back? That's true, but not the whole truth. I wasn't sure you'd want to see me? Also true, but also not the full answer. I wasn't sure I was worth it? Yeah, that's the one.

But he can't say it.

He doesn't know if it's fear or guilt or shame, but whatever it is, it keeps the words stuck in his throat. You're waiting for an answer, and he's not sure he has one.

"Echo," you say, your voice a warning. You turn to face him again, and he can see the hurt and frustration in your eyes. He wants to hold you, wants to apologize, wants to take it all back. But he doesn't move. He can't.

"Why?" you repeat, more forcefully this time.

"I didn't want to bother you," he says. It's the best answer he can come up with, and the worst part is that it's also true. At least, that's what he tells himself.

But the moment the words leave his mouth, he knows it's the wrong thing to say. You stiffen, and then your jaw tightens. He can tell that you're barely holding it together, and he wants to say something, to explain, but he doesn't get the chance.

"You didn't want to bother me," you repeat, and Echo can hear the anger in your voice, can feel the sting of it. "I'm sorry, did I not make it clear how much I care about you?"

"No, you did," Echo says, backtracking, trying to placate you. "You did, I promise."

"Then please explain how you thought keeping me in the dark about the fact that the man I love was still alive and well was not a bother."

The word "love" hits him like a punch to the gut.

You love him. You still love him. You're still here, and you're still loving him, even after everything. He doesn't understand, doesn't know why. Doesn't know how. But he doesn't have time to think about it, not with the way you're looking at him, the hurt and confusion clear on your face.

"That's not what I meant," he says, his voice low, pleading. "It's not that. I promise."

You let out a shaky sigh, crossing your arms over your chest. "What's the difference, then?"

Echo opens his mouth, and then closes it again, not knowing what to say.

"I mourned you," you say. Your voice is soft, almost a whisper, but it sounds loud in the silence between the two of you. "I loved you, and I mourned you, and I was doing okay, and then you just show up, and act like it's no big deal, like I didn't spend weeks, months waiting for you to come back, hoping you'd come back, and..."

Your voice cracks, and a fresh wave of tears begins to roll down your cheeks. Echo reaches out to brush them away, and you flinch. The motion stings, but he doesn't say anything, doesn't push it. He lets his hand drop to his side.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I didn't... I didn't mean to hurt you."

"Yeah, well, you did," you say, sniffling.

The words hit him harder than he expects, and he feels his throat tighten.

"I didn't know what to say," he admits, his voice breaking. "I didn't know what to do."

"Why not?" you ask, and your anger has softened, turning into something else. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No!" Echo says quickly. "Of course not. You were perfect. You were... You were amazing."

You look at him, and there's a vulnerability in your eyes that makes him want to gather you in his arms and never let go. He thinks maybe he should. But before he can, you speak.

"So what happened?" you ask. Your voice is quiet, but Echo can hear the desperation, the need for an answer. "Where were you? Why didn't you come back?"

“I—“ Echo looks around, suddenly aware of the hallway and the closed doors surrounding him, closing in on him. The space is too small, the walls are too close, the air is too thick. He feels trapped, like the world is closing in around him, and he takes a step back.

"Can we... Can we not do this out here?" he asks, trying not to let his voice betray his panic.

You study him for a moment, considering. He doesn't blame you. After all, he'd shown up out of the blue, and you had every right to be suspicious. You're still crying, but there's a steeliness in your gaze, and he can tell you're weighing your options, deciding if he's worth it or not. His heart hammers against his ribs as he waits, praying that you'll give him a chance.

Finally, you let out a sigh and nod.

"Yeah," you say, "sure."

You bend down to pick up the groceries, and Echo rushes forward, scooping them up before you can. You look at him, surprised.

"Let me help," he says. "Please."

You hesitate, and Echo can see the worry on your face, but then you nod, fumbling for the keypad. The lock clicks open, and you push the door open, motioning for him to go ahead.

He steps inside, and the familiar scent of your apartment hits him hard. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed it, how much he'd come to associate it with safety and comfort. It makes his chest ache, and he takes a moment to steady himself, willing the tears to stop.

Your apartment is the same, and yet so different.

It's still cozy, but there's a coldness to the air, a lack of warmth. The curtains are closed, and the room is dark, the only light coming from the dim bulb above the stove in the kitchen. There are dishes stacked in the sink, and a few pieces of dirty laundry have been discarded on the couch. The floor is littered with shoes and other miscellaneous items, as if someone came home and kicked everything off their feet, leaving it all in a pile. Echo’s brow furrows at the mess, and he wonders when you started to let the place get this way.

"I'm sorry," you say, sounding embarrassed. You take the bag of groceries from him, your cheeks flushed. "I wasn't expecting company."

"Don't worry about it," he assures you.

"Here, let me..." You trail off, disappearing down the hall, and a moment later, he hears a door slam shut.

Echo stands there, unsure of what to do. His gaze wanders around the room, taking everything in, trying to find something to occupy himself with. It feels like years since he's been here, and the sensation is both comforting and strange. He remembers the nights he spent curled up next to you on the couch, the quiet mornings in the kitchen, the lazy afternoons spent in bed.

He shakes his head, trying to focus on the present.

You're back now, and he needs to concentrate.

He takes a seat at the kitchen table, drumming his fingers against the wood.

It's quiet, but Echo can hear you moving around, and he wonders if you're trying to clean up, trying to make the place a little more presentable. He doesn't care about any of that. He cares about you.

And he doesn't know what to say.

He runs his hand over his face, pressing the heel of his palm into his eye, trying to think. He's rehearsed this moment in his head, has imagined all the different ways it could go.

And now that it's actually happening, he can't remember a single one.

He's such an idiot.

The minutes pass, and you finally return. He hears you enter the room, the soft sound of your footsteps, but he can't bring himself to look up. Not yet.

"Echo," you say, and he can hear the hesitation in your voice. "What happened?"

"I don't know where to start," he confesses, dropping his hand and glancing up at you.

You've changed into something more comfortable, a pair of sweatpants and your favorite sweater, and your face is scrubbed clean, makeup-free. It's nice to see you this way, a reminder of the times you shared together, and the sight makes him smile.

"Why are you smiling?"

"Nothing, it's just..." He pauses, his eyes wandering over you. "I forgot how you looked in sweatpants."

You roll your eyes, but there's a hint of amusement on your face. "Seriously? You're sitting here, after being missing for months, and you're making fun of my fashion choices?"

"I'm not making fun of you," he says, chuckling. The pressure in his chest eases slightly, and he takes a breath. "I just meant that I missed seeing you this way."

You let out a quiet, disbelieving laugh, and then shake your head.

"You're unbelievable," you mutter.

Echo smiles, and for a moment, he feels normal. As if the last year never happened, and this was just a day like any other. As if he'd just come home from a mission, and you'd greet him with a kiss, and everything would be fine.

But then you sigh, and the moment is over.

"Look, I get that this is... Well, I'm sure this isn't what you were expecting," you say. You move to sit across from him, leaning your elbows on the table and resting your chin in your hands. "But we can't keep pretending like nothing happened. You have to talk to me."

Echo stares at you, his eyes taking in the familiar lines of your face, the curve of your lips, the color of your eyes. They aren’t as bright as he remembered, not as full of life, and the realization breaks his heart. This isn't how it's supposed to be.

"Okay," he begins, clearing his throat. "So, uh, this is going to be a lot."

"That's okay," you say gently. You give him a reassuring nod, and Echo feels a swell of gratitude for you. "Just... Start at the beginning, and we'll go from there."

"Right, the beginning." Echo nods, trying to organize his thoughts, and then he starts to speak.

He tells you everything, from the moment the explosion happened, to the moment he woke up and found himself in Rex's arms, everything in between. He tells you about his injuries, the surgeries, the physical therapy. He tells you about his time with the Batch, his newfound abilities, the things he's been able to do, the things he's learned. He talks about the missions, the jobs, the danger they've faced, and the risks they've taken. He tells you about the planets, the people, the experiences. He tries to leave nothing out, even the hard parts. The loss, the pain, the fear. He doesn't want to spare you any of it.

You sit there and listen, asking questions when necessary, but mostly staying silent. And when he's done, he sits there, feeling a strange sense of relief. He hadn't realized how much he needed to talk about everything, how much he'd been holding in. And he hadn't realized how good it would feel to tell you. To have someone who cared, someone he trusted, who knew him better than anyone.

When the words run out, and the room is silent, you let out a long, slow exhale. You sit there, your hands folded together, your gaze fixed on the tabletop, and Echo waits, not sure what to expect. But the longer the silence drags on, the more worried he gets.

"Cyar'ika?" he asks, his voice hesitant.

You take a breath and look up at him, and Echo is startled to see that your eyes are glassy, and there are fresh tear tracks running down your cheeks.

"Sorry," you apologize, wiping at them with your sleeve. "I'm not — I just..."

You take another breath, and then let it out, composing yourself. "Thank you," you say. "For telling me. I know that can't have been easy."

"It wasn't," Echo admits, and his throat tightens a little. "But I'm glad I did."

You offer him a small smile, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. You look like you’re far away, lost in your own thoughts, and Echo has a feeling you're not fully present, not in the moment. And he doesn't blame you. His words can't have been easy to hear.

"Is there anything else you want to know?" he asks, trying to break the silence.

You glance at him, your eyes focusing, and then look away, your jaw clenching. Echo can see the emotion on your face, can tell that you're struggling to stay calm, to hold it together. You've always been good at that, he thinks.

"I just..." You pause, taking a shaky breath, and Echo can see the tears forming in your eyes again. "I just don't understand."

He frowns, confused. "What do you mean?"

You close your eyes, taking a moment to collect yourself. Then, you stand up and begin pacing around the kitchen, your hands clasped behind your back. You move slowly, deliberately, your gaze fixed on the floor, like you're trying to make sense of something, figure something out. 

Echo watches you, feeling uneasy. You're not giving anything away, and the silence is starting to get to him. He's never seen you in the courtroom, but he imagines this is the stance you take when you're interrogating a witness. 

It's effective.

"Can you say something, please?" he asks. He knows he sounds desperate, but he doesn't care.

"I'm thinking," you say, and Echo bites his lip.

He feels like he's going to crawl out of his skin. He wants to get up, to follow you around the room, try to coax a response out of you. He wants to make this better, to make this right. But he knows that pushing you won't help, so he stays seated, trying to keep his patience.

 You continue to pace, your expression blank, and the seconds tick by, the only sound the muffled noises of the city outside. It feels like an eternity has passed when you finally stop, standing in front of him, your arms crossed.

"I can't believe you thought I wouldn't want to see you," you say. Your voice is low, almost a whisper, and there's an edge to it that Echo doesn't recognize. It's not anger, not exactly. It's something else, something deeper.

"I know," he replies, his voice just as quiet.

"I thought you were dead," you say, the words coming out in a rush. "I grieved you. I mourned you. And then you show up, and you're... You're alive, and you're here, and you think the best thing to do is to leave me alone?"

"I didn't know what would happen," Echo explains, trying to keep his tone calm. "I wasn't sure if I was coming back, and I didn't want to —"

"No," you say sharply, cutting him off. "That's not an excuse. That's bullshit, and you know it."

Echo swallows, and nods, not sure what to say.

"We made promises," you continue, and Echo can hear the anger in your voice, can see the frustration on your face. "To each other. We talked about our future, we said things that... We made things that were real, and then you just decided it was too much, and you walked away. What the hell is that?"

"I'm sorry," Echo says around the lump forming in his throat. "I shouldn't have —"

"No," you interrupt, your eyes burning. "You shouldn't have."

Echo looks at you, and he feels like he's going to shatter. You’re staring at him with such intensity, and there's an anger in your gaze that he hasn't seen before. It's so different from the gentle look you usually give him, and it makes him ache.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," he says. "I swear, I didn't."

"Then why did you?" you ask, and there's a note of pleading in your voice. “I spent so long wondering, worrying, and you just... You didn't care."

"Of course I did," he argues. "It wasn't about that."

"Then what was it about, Echo?" you demand. "What was so important that you thought you couldn't tell me? That you couldn't comm me, or send a message, or do anything that would have let me know you were alive? That would have told me you were okay?"

"I didn't think —"

"What, that I'd care? That I'd worry? That I'd miss you? That I'd wonder where you were, and if you were okay, and what the hell happened to you?" you say, your voice rising.

Echo can feel the frustration building inside him, and he knows he shouldn't respond, knows that getting angry won't help, but the words tumble out before he can stop them. "I'm sorry," he snaps. "I wasn't exactly thinking clearly."

"That's not an excuse," you snap back, and Echo blinks, shocked. You're the most level-headed person he's ever met, and he's never heard you yell before.

"Yeah, well, it's the best one I've got," he says.

"Echo, I loved you," you say, and the past tense stings. "When Fives told me what happened to you, I —" Your voice catches, and the fight goes out of him. He can see the pain on your face, the hurt in your eyes, and he can't help but feel responsible. "I can't even describe it. It felt like my whole world was ending. And I don’t blame you for doing your duty, but I do blame you for not coming back to me."

"I know," he whispers. "I'm sorry. I really am."

You shake your head, turning away from him. "Why didn't you comm me?"

Echo hesitates. He doesn't want to admit his fears, his worries, the insecurities that have plagued him. He doesn't want to tell you how much he doubted, how much he doubted you. It feels too vulnerable, too raw. And it would only make you feel worse. But the longer the silence stretches, the more you deserve the truth. And he can't avoid it forever.

"I didn't think I was worth it," he says, his voice low. He can feel the heat in his cheeks, the sting of embarrassment. He can't look at you, doesn't want to see the pity, the disappointment, the anger. "I didn't think I was worth it."

You turn to face him, your expression softening.

"You were all I had left," he says. He feels exposed, and it's not a comfortable feeling, but he can't stop now. Not with the way you're looking at him. Not when he's so close to fixing this, to getting you back. "After everything that happened, I just... I couldn't bring myself to do it. I didn't think you'd want to see me."

"You really thought I'd just leave you?"

Echo can hear the hurt in your voice, and he's surprised at the sharpness of it. He expected to be met with some amount of anger, but he didn't expect it to cut so deep. He didn't think his insecurities would upset you so much. He's used to it, by now. After everything he's been through, the doubts and worries have become a constant, an almost comforting presence. But you were never supposed to know about them.

"It's not that," he says. "I know you wouldn't have left me. It's just... I didn't want to drag you down with me."

"That's stupid," you reply. There's no malice in your voice, but there's no sympathy, either. "What makes you think I couldn't handle it?"

"It's not about what you could handle," Echo says. "You didn't sign up for this. You didn't sign up for any of it."

"I signed up for you," you argue, and Echo is startled by the fierceness of your tone.

"And look at what that got you."

You fall silent, and Echo regrets the words the second they leave his mouth. He's always known he wasn't good enough for you, but it's different to actually say it out loud. It makes it real. And he's not sure he's ready for that. But you're looking at him like you can't believe he said it, and the disappointment in your eyes makes him feel even worse. 

Your eyes rove over him, taking in the scarring, the metal implants, the ports and wires, the armor. You look like you’re seeing him for the first time, and the disgust and fear he’d thought might appear are nowhere to be found, just a profound sense of sadness and resignation.

"Oh, Echo," you breathe. The words are quiet, but they feel like a slap, and he has to look away, not wanting to meet your gaze.

"I'm not the man you knew," he says. He sounds defeated, even to his own ears. His eyes are burning, and he has to fight to keep the tears from falling. He hates how weak he feels, how small, how vulnerable. "I can't be. I'm... I'm not him anymore."

"Yes, you are," you insist. You reach out and take his hand, squeezing gently, and the sensation makes him jump. He'd almost forgotten how warm you are, how soft. How safe. He wants to hold on, to pull you close, to never let go. "You're still the same man, the same Echo, I just..."

"What?" he asks, when you trail off. "You just what?"

You sigh, dropping his hand and running your fingers through your hair, tugging lightly. The familiar gesture makes him ache. "I don't know, Echo," you admit. "I'm... I'm sad. And I'm angry. But I'm mostly just... Confused."

"Confused about what?"

"I'm confused as to why you didn't come back to me," you say. "I'm confused as to why you thought I'd want anything else."

"I thought you deserved better," he says, the words sounding hollow, even to his own ears. "I thought you deserved someone who was whole, who could give you a normal life, who didn't have a hundred years of baggage and trauma to deal with. And I was terrified that you already had that."

"Had what?"

"A normal life," he answers. "Without me. And the more I thought about it, the more I convinced myself it was true."

"It's not," you say. Your voice is quiet, but firm, and Echo looks at you, searching for any trace of doubt, of hesitation, of insincerity. But all he finds is determination, and it makes his heart clench. The intensity in your gaze is too much, and he has to look away. His eyes trail over the walls, the ceiling, the floor, lingering on the groceries on the table, the dishes in the sink, the empty bottles of wine shoved into the trash, the pile of laundry on the couch. There’s a dent in the wall that wasn't there the last time he was here, and the carpet is worn. He wonders when that happened.

He feels a tug on his arm, and then you're reaching up to cup his face, your hands soft and warm. You turn his head to face you, your thumb stroking his cheek. The touch is gentle, comforting, and Echo can't stop the sigh that escapes him. It's been so long since someone touched him like this, and it's nice. It's more than nice. It's familiar. It's safe. It's home.

"I only wanted you," you whisper.

"Even after everything?" he asks. He doesn't mean to sound so incredulous, but he can't help it. He's spent so long convincing himself that you were better off without him, and now, hearing you say the opposite, hearing you say the words he'd only ever hoped for, the ones he'd tried to convince himself were true... It's a lot to take in.

"Even after everything," you affirm.

"You could have had anyone," he says. "Why me?"

"Because I love you," you answer, as if it's the simplest thing in the galaxy. As if it's the most obvious thing in the universe. "And I don't want anyone else."

"Cyar'ika..." His voice cracks, and the tears are falling freely now. You wipe them away, and the touch makes his chest ache.

"I've never stopped loving you, Echo," you say. Your voice is barely audible, but Echo hears it. And it's the best sound he's ever heard. "And I don't plan on stopping now."

"I'm sorry," he says. "I'm sorry I left you, and I'm sorry I didn't comm you, and I'm sorry I was such a coward, and I'm —"

"Shh," you murmur, cutting him off. "I forgive you."

Echo can't speak. He's not sure he can move, can't even breathe. The relief is overwhelming, and it threatens to knock him off his feet. His chest tightens, and the tears won't stop falling, and he doesn't know what to do. He's missed you so much, has regretted leaving every single day, and now that you're here, now that he has you back, he can't find the words to express how grateful he is, how relieved, how happy.

"You really thought I was going to leave you?" you ask, and Echo can hear the note of humor in your voice, can see the ghost of a smile on your face. It's reassuring, and he lets himself smile, too.

"Honestly? Yes," he admits.

"Never," you reply.

Echo leans down and rests his forehead against yours, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. You move your hands down his face, brushing the tears away with your thumbs, before bringing them around his neck, wrapping your arms around him. He moves to do the same, pulling you closer and wrapping his arms around your waist. You let out a quiet gasp of surprise, and Echo chuckles, holding you tighter.

"I missed you," he whispers, and it feels good to say the words out loud. "So much."

"I missed you, too," you say, your breath warm against his neck. You tilt your head and press a kiss against his throat, and Echo feels his heart stutter. "More than I can say."

Echo hums and pulls away, bringing his hand up to brush the hair away from your face. Your skin is warm, and soft, and he leans in and presses a kiss against your forehead, savoring the contact. You sigh, and he can't resist the urge to kiss you again, this time on the cheek.

"Echo," you murmur, letting out a shaky breath.

He kisses the corner of your mouth, and then your jaw, and your grip on his neck tightens, your fingers digging into the fabric of his blacks. He moves down your throat, trailing kisses along the column of your neck, and you gasp.

"I missed you, too," he murmurs, and you laugh.

"Yeah, I got that," you say. "Now, will you please kiss me?"

Echo smiles and obliges.

The kiss is soft and sweet, and it tastes like home. He cups the back of your neck, his scomp moving to rest on your hip, and you let out a pleased noise, your hands sliding down to his shoulders. The warmth of your mouth, the way your lips part, the little gasps and sighs you make, it all makes him want to get closer, to be nearer.

You break the kiss, and Echo lets out a quiet whimper. You chuckle and rest your head on his shoulder, and Echo brings his hand up to stroke your hair, his fingers combing through the strands. You sigh and lean into his touch, and he can't help the contented smile that spreads across his face.

"I'm glad you're here," you murmur. "I'm glad you came back."

"Me, too," he says. He tilts your head up and presses a kiss to your temple, his lips lingering. You close your eyes and nuzzle his neck, and Echo sighs, holding you close. It feels so good to have you in his arms again, to be able to hold you, and he wishes he could stay here forever. But the reality of the situation catches up with him, and he can't help the wave of guilt that washes over him.

"I'm sorry, Cyar'ika," he says.

You frown, and pull away slightly. "What are you apologizing for?"

"I didn't think this through," he admits. "I... I didn't know what was going to happen, and now..." He pauses, letting out a frustrated sigh. "I just... I'm sorry. I’m leaving soon, and I know it's going to be hard, and I know you're going to have to say goodbye again, and I'm —"

"Echo," you interrupt, and your voice is firm. You put your hand on his chest, and he can feel the heat of it, even through the layers of armor and clothing. "I know what I signed up for. I'm not expecting anything different."

"But —"

"No," you cut him off. "No buts. I knew what this was, Echo. And I still want it."

"But you shouldn't have to," Echo argues. "I don't want to put you through that."

"Well, it's a little late for that," you reply. Your tone is sharp, and Echo winces. "Look, Echo. I know the situation isn't ideal, but I'm not going to walk away because it's hard. And I'm not going to stop caring just because it hurts." You look at him, and the determination in your gaze makes his heart skip a beat. "You're worth it, okay? No matter what."

"Cyar'ika —"

"No," you say, shaking your head. "You're not changing my mind. You can try, but it's not going to work. So don't waste your time." You give him a stern look, and then your face softens. "Okay?"

"Okay," Echo agrees. He knows it's futile to argue. He's never been able to say no to you. Not when it matters. "I'm still sorry, though."

You roll your eyes, and then stand on your toes and give him a quick kiss. "You're lucky I love you," you say, and the words make him feel lighter.

"Yeah, I am," he agrees, grinning.

"So, what now?" you ask.

Echo shrugs, suddenly feeling overwhelmed. He's been so focused on finding you, on convincing you to forgive him, on making things right, that he hasn't thought about what comes next. The prospect of it is both exhilarating and terrifying, and he doesn't know where to start. There's so much to do, and so little time. And he doesn't want to waste another second.

"Do you want to stay?" you offer.

"Stay?"

"Here," you clarify. "For a while. I don't know how long you can, but..." You pause, a flush spreading across your cheeks. “I was going to make dinner. If you wanted to stay."

"Dinner?" Echo repeats, and he can't hide the excitement in his voice. The idea of a home-cooked meal is so far removed from his life now, so distant, that the thought of it almost makes him lightheaded. "Really?"

You laugh, and the sound fills him with warmth. "Yes, Echo. Really."

"What are you making?" he asks. The question sounds childish, and he can't believe how eager he is, how excited.

"Just a simple dish," you say. You move towards the counter and begin putting the groceries away, and Echo follows you, a smile spreading across his face. While you tell him about the recipe, he moves toward your sink, picking up a dish and turning the water on. You look over at him, and the fondness in your eyes makes him blush. "You don't have to do that, Echo."

"I know," he replies. "I want to."

"Well, alright then."

The two of you work together, talking and laughing as you wash the dishes and prepare the food. Echo feels lighter than he has in months, and it's a relief to be here with you, to have something normal and familiar to do. Something so domestic, so ordinary, and yet, so special.

He wants to remember this.

When the food is ready, you gesture to the table, and Echo takes a seat. You sit across from him, and for a moment, the two of you just look at each other. He's missed you, missed this. Missed being here, missed having someone who knew him, someone he could trust. Someone he could love.

You're both quiet, and Echo can see the wheels turning in your head, can see the way your eyes dart over him, taking everything in. You're cataloging, committing him to memory too. The realization hits him, and his chest tightens. He'll be leaving soon, and you're doing what you can to make sure you won't forget him. It's a sobering thought, and he's not sure how to handle it.

"Hey," you say, and Echo looks up, meeting your gaze. "It's okay. We'll be fine."

"How did you know?" he asks, startled.

You shrug. "It's written all over your face."

"I'm sorry," he murmurs. "I wish I could stay."

"It's okay," you repeat. “We have the night, and that’s more than enough. For now, let's just enjoy the time we have."

Echo nods.

You're right.

You always are.

You smile, and it's so beautiful, so genuine, that it takes his breath away. You reach across the table and take his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. He squeezes back, and you lean forward, resting your elbows on the table and putting your chin in your hand. The way you're looking at him, the affection in your eyes, it makes him feel like he's the only thing that matters, like he’s home.

And, right now, he is.

He's missed this.

He's missed you.

And as the two of you sit there, enjoying each other's company, Echo knows he's made the right choice. He knows that coming back was worth it, that finding you, fixing things, making things right, it's all been worth it. And he knows that, no matter what, he'll be back.

He'll find his way back to you.

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[yesimwriting]

okay but after the whole lucy gray thing we know coryo was done with “love” and everything BUT what if during the following year of thg he ends up falling in love with another tribute also from district 12 and he’s just going through it bad (again) however he somehow ends up actually getting the girl in the end, maybe even buying her way into the capitol

A/n I've been thinking about a very specific part of this since i first read it but i told myself no more fic writing until i finished at least one of my essays for finals seasons 😭

also ik in the book (and it's implied in the movie) that after the events of the book he lives with the plinths, but let's pretend he lives on his own with access to the plinth fortune for privacy

ik that makes it sound like it's smutty, but it's not lol

----

Proximity aggravates distance. The closer you are to something, the more damage any remaining space causes.

The few feet dividing the two of you have no right to jab at something inside of him the way it does. It's bad enough that instead of going to bed after a long night of fulfilling his apprenticeship duties under Volumnia's watchful eye, he stopped by your apartment. Only one floor away from his.

For months, the only thing holding the two of you together had been memories of those few nights before the Games.

Coriolanus's attempt to remain indifferent towards you had quickly failed, and his backup plan of learning to loathe you had proven to be just as useless. So he settled on letting you unabashedly take his hand whenever fear overwhelmed you and committing the way your kind eyes watched him to memory.

You're looking around the room--his room--openly, eyes darting from the mahogany surface of his desk to the details elegantly carved into his bed frame.

His fingertips itch with the uncertain desire to reach for you. You've only been in the Capitol for about a day and a half. Less than 48 hours. But the move, the beginning of a program for certain, qualifying victors and their families, had been planned for months.

You shouldn't feel like a phantom that'll vanish if he lets go for too long. "What are you thinking about?"

The question grounds you the same way it did last time he asked. You do your best to hide it, but you're still adjusting, still surprised that he managed to find a way to bring you together again. Just like he promised. Your doubt isn't personal, a fact he has to remind himself of.

"I'm just..." You tilt your head slightly, gaze retreating from the royal blue wallpaper and silver trim of his bedroom walls, "Analyzing."

The comment is followed by an easygoing smile that pinches at something in his chest. His new apartment, the penthouse of one of the largest buildings in the city, another gift from the ever flowing well that is the Plinth fortune, still reeks of former poverty. The few things that hint at the personal are hidden behind layers of desperate wealth so thick the items might as well be standard.

A lifetime spent in 12 means that there's no way you can read between the lines. He can't decide if your perspective will make this room look worse or better. It's a nice bedroom, definitely grander than any bedroom you've stood in before...but it's understated. Maybe even disappointing to someone like you.

"Analyzing?"

You turn fully, "A bedroom says a lot about a person."

"You might get more out of analyzing my study," an oddly school boy worthy partial truth slips out before he can stop himself, "I think I've been spending more time there than here recently."

You shake your head once, eyes landing on the crimson red vase filed with crisp white roses his grandma'am had gifted him on his last visit. Her pride and joy now more than ever. "I'm seeing all I need."

A hint of a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. It's the most genuine expression that's slipped past him in weeks. When he first worked out a way to bring you here, some doubting part of him wondered if the draw he felt towards you would still exist in person.

Less than two weeks after your victorious departure from the Capitol, he had searched through your files and found your address. He had written the letter in a moment of weakness and only sent it after deciding that writing a letter to never be sent is the only thing more pathetic than writing to you in the first place. He had spent the week following that wallowing in self loathing until an age-stained envelope arrived at his door.

"And what are you seeing?" He keeps his tone light. This is ridiculous. He dragged himself and his family out of a gutter clogged by the casualties of war. Coriolanus is stronger than fleeting emotion now. Your opinions on his room can't possibly affect him.

If he were to simplify what brought you here, to the Capitol, to him, he could blame it on his bedroom. The urge to see you, to figure out some way the two of you closer together before your undeserving district could swallow you whole in an attempt to make you like them, would flare up whenever he received one of your letters.

Those urges, however, had never burned him. Not until you wrote about wanting to see him out of the most curious nostalgia you'd ever felt. You wanted to see him in a way that'd let you know what his room looked like, in a way that'd let you guess at his favorite color.

He takes a few steps forward, making the conscious decision to not reach for you. You've never rejected his advances, not even when he instinctually intertwined your fingers after picking you and your family up from the train station. You had scolded him after, telling him that you'd hear no end of it from your mother. It took a lot of focus for Coriolanus to not smile at that. You spoke of it like it would've never occurred to you to just pull your hand away.

Your eyes shift from end of the room to the other. Coriolanus moves carefully, passing you before sitting at the edge of his crisply made bed.

"Before you make your decision..." You turn instinctually, expression so polite and expecting he almost doesn't know how to bear it. His hand briefly pats the space beside him in a silent invitation. "So you can see it from all perspectives."

Your head tilts slightly, and for a moment, Coriolanus can practically feel your rejection. Then you move, sock clad feet treading over smooth white-gray marble. You sit next to him so assuredly, anyone else would have taken the way you neatly fold your hands in your lap as politeness instead of a display of nerves.

Your family's presence makes you less pliable. It's a factor he's willing to work around considering that you would've never left them to come to the Capitol. And even if he had managed to talk you into it, your nostalgia and homesickness would've made you more of a ghost to him than before.

At least the position your family's in is uncertain enough to allow for some leeway in the social norms that you cling to. However, every once in awhile it hits you that at the end of the day, he's still a boy that you're close to, which means that it's your duty to create the distance necessary to keep everything proper. Leaving your bedroom in the middle of the night because said boy knocked at your door and then entering his room in his empty penthouse is something you would've done under normal circumstances.

But your connection isn't that black and white. If it was something so simple, he would have been able to sever it the night before your Games.

"It makes all the difference," you agree warmly, and only somewhat sarcastically. You give yourself another second to take in the space, "I like it."

He can tell that you mean it. "I haven't fully settled in yet."

You shrug, paying him little mind, "There's something about it that just feels like you."

Coriolanus shifts his focus to the ground. You can't possibly mean it in the way that he sees the room, as a reminder that he still doesn't fully fit into who he's become.

"I've been meaning to pick up a few things," he says, "Tomorrow, after my classes, I was thinking about browsing some paintings." Another half truth. He had been meaning to. Mrs. Plinth had instructed him to visit her art dealer whenever he had enough free time to pick out a few pieces to demonstrate his taste. He'd been putting it off as a dismissable task, but it feels like a safe way to give you your first taste of life in the Capitol. "If you'd like to help me pick some out."

You smile, eyebrows pinching together in a way that's just barely noticeable. You're as interested as you are puzzled. "I'd like that." Relaxing enough to let your hand rest between the two of you, you beam, "I don't know if I'd be much help, but I'd like that."

He'd be willing to get anything that caught your eye. Paintings and vases already with such an exclusive art dealer hold more or less the same level of standing, anyway.

Coriolanus moves his hand slowly, careful not to startle you before his fingers can settle against your own. You instinctually turn over your palm, intertwining your fingers. "I trust you."

You stare at him with wide, understanding eyes. Sometimes when you look at him, really look at him, Coriolanus is struck with the feeling that you can see right through him. It's an irrational feeling, that every good action and cruel deed is reflected in his eyes. Moments like this make it hard to be near you. They also, however, make the thought of adding distance between the two of you unbearable.

"I have an early class."

You dip your chin forward in an attempt to accept what you're considering a dismissal. "Right, you must be tired." The words sit between you for a long moment.

Your free hand presses into the silk of your still new pajamas. You shift like you're going to stand. His hold on your hand tightens before you can move away. You still.

He's being ridiculous. There's nothing about this situation that warrants his inability to look at you. "Stay here." His thumb runs across your knuckles. "With me."

The words are soft enough to be a request, but there's not enough space between them for questioning. He cautiously lifts his head enough to take in your reaction.

"What?" It's a display of shock more than an actual question. Coriolanus squeezes your hand even tighter. You don't try to get him to let go, but you do shift away just enough to create the reminder of distance. "You know I can't."

His other hand reaches forward, settling against your wrist. "Why not?" He doesn't mean for his voice to come off as raspy, as desperate as it does.

You swallow, attempting to straighten your spine in an attempt to offset the instinctual urge to hide your face. This isn't a topic you're even comfortable implying. "My mother would kill me if she so much as found out that I came up here so late, let alone..." You trail off, head dropping to your lap. "Stayed here."

He envelops your hand between both of his. "She knows we're friendly."

You look up just long enough to imply a pointed not that friendly. "It's--" You blink, eyes darting from to your joint hands and then finally to the ground. "You know it's..."

Coriolanus leans forward. The shift is small, just enough for his knee to brush against yours. "It's what?" He keeps his voice low, a barely there whisper that comes off as so innocent it nearly circles back to anything but.

You glance up, so wide eyed and flighty he's reminded of a rabbit. The level of precaution you're exuding can't just be about your mother's opinions, can it? He studies your expression openly, taking in the set of your eyebrows and the way you steadily press your lips together to avoid speaking without thinking. At least some part of you believes in your mother's concerns.

The realization strike shim so quickly he has to focus on keeping his expression neutral. Your bond is so much more than just coming together on a random night where exhaustion's already clouding his focus.

It will happen between the two of you. Eventually. But not yet. You've barely entered the Capitol and every aspect of your life has become vastly different than what you're accustomed to. If he were to attempt to cement any relationship between the two of you like that now, you'd be too overwhelmed or you might think that that's the only reason he brought you here.

He learned early on that it's best to introduce adjustments to you slowly, giving you enough time to hold onto ideas before enacting them. Anything of that nature would work that way too.

"I haven't been able to see much of you." He focuses on your hand, still resting safely between both of his. The words came out too quickly, a flash of some genuine sort of emotion that claw at him on the way out. With you, sometimes a glimpse of feeling works wonders.

Your thumb draws gentle patterns against the side of his hand. "You're busy." He relaxes his hand, turning over his palm. You place his hand on your knee, fingers tracing the natural creases etched into his skin. "You're important."

The way that last word comes out makes an uncertain warmth crawl up his neck. "I--I've wanted to see you more." Another thing he means so much it turns his stomach to admit it.

Your nail drags down a line that cuts across the length of his hand. "Me too."

He bends his fingers slowly, moving in until he's trapped your pointer finger against his palm. "Then stay." You twist your finger enough to express some lighthearted irritation, but not enough to count as a real attempt at escaping. "If your mother says anything, I'll explain it to her." You glare at him without any true aggression. "She likes me, doesn't she?"

Coriolanus already knows the answer. She credits your survival to him. You had mentioned that in a letter once, telling him that she insisted you pass along her gratitude after discovering that the two of you had started to correspond regularly.

He also saw the way she reacted to realizing that she had made it to the Capitol. Your mother's family had once been part of the wealthier side of 12. You're part of a recently fallen line of mine owners, a fact that your mother has only pretended to let go of. He saw a hunger behind her eyes that reminded him of a warped version of his own.

Coriolanus gave her back the pride the war had stolen from her family name tenfold. He owes her this much.

"She'd trade me for you in a heartbeat." He hears the grin in your voice more than he sees it. Your family means the world to you, which means he's subjected himself to seeking your mother's validation and winning over your two younger sisters.

It's not the way he'd choose to spend his limited free time, especially with you standing right there, but he's endured worse for less of a pay off. "Then she'd be a fool."

You fight to hold his gaze. "I doubt that."

Your eyes are pools of honest, unfiltered affection. The care that you're watching him with makes it hard to swallow. The instinct to press, to dig and claw and tear anything that could be hiding an ulterior motive into shreds makes it hard to take a full breath. You've always worn your heart on your sleeve. You're not a flighty songbird that uses its charm to distract its prey from its fang-like talons.

"Stay." Again. So breathless he almost doesn't recognize the word as his own.

The deliberation is transparent behind your eyes. You're considering it, but you're still not convinced. The hesitation stings in a way he doesn't understand. "I don't want to give her a reason to not like you."

So softly spoken he's shocked by the way the words manage to feel like a nail being hammered into his chest.

"She's let you stay with other people before." The response is too sharp, too sudden. He should refocus and think through what he's about to say. Coriolanus knows that it's easier to get you to agree to something through the use of honey sweetened words and displays of patience. "You wrote about him."

The confusion that briefly etches its way into your expression threatens to quell the uncomfortable swell of jealousy tightening his chest. "Warren?" The name makes tints the air between you with something acidic. "That was--different."

Your explanation adds an edge to the pressure in his chest. "Why?"

"We weren't--" You cut yourself off, the instinct to placate him and your desire to not start a conversation you can't finish battling each other oddly. "We were never alone." You squeeze his hand as best as you can. "He's a family friend and I only stayed over when my mom had to work late and I was too young to be alone for so long, so I haven't stayed over in years. And--and he shared a room with three of his siblings and his parents checked on us constantly."

He frowns, unconvinced. The lack of approval has you clinging to him, adjusting your hold on his hand as you gently trail your knuckles against the inside of his wrist. "I do miss you." You stare at your hands. "I know it's weird because we're--y'know--closer than before, but I-I do miss you."

The expanding wave of tension in his chest begins to deflate. You're good at that, at redirecting and soothing without even realizing it. A talent that had contributed to his original desire to loathe you. "I understand that." He runs his thumb over your knuckles. "Things aren't going to get less busy. That's why I want to use all the time we have."

You nod slowly, a hint of understanding making its appearance in the set of your brow. "I know."

"What you wrote," he begins, too aware of how much he means the question that follows, "Did you mean it."

"Of course I did." Not an ounce of hesitation, of uncertainty.

He turns your hand over before shifting his fingers up the inside of your wrist. "You wrote about wanting to see me."

"I did..." The pad of his thumb gently makes its way up your forearm. Your even breathing falters. "I do."

Coriolanus lets himself look up just enough to take in your expression. "Then stay." He swallows, too aware of the sudden dryness of his mouth. "Please."

You glance up at him through your lashes. There's a softness there that jabs at him. "Okay."

He lifts the back of your hand, carefully brushing his lips against your skin. "You mentioned wanting to see a library."

You wrote about it once. A brief mention in one of your letters of the small room in your school's office that served as a sort of communal study space with a few books stacked on a small shelf. Your longing had been clear.

Nodding curiously, you agree, "Yeah?"

"I could leave for my classes a little earlier tomorrow, you could come with me." The proposal comes out slowly, his own suggestion taking him by surprise. "My driver could bring you back, that'll give you time to meet the tutor that's being sent over for your sisters, and then when I get back we'll look at the paintings."

You immediately grin, "Really?"

He finds himself smiling back, pulling your arm closer. "Whatever you want."

You beam. "I'd really like that."

"Good," he affirms with a nod of his head that's a touch too forward. He regrets it almost immediately. "If you like it, I might be able to get your own tutor to meet you at a library."

Part of the still uncertain victor program relies on setting up the victor and their family with a new life. Education plays a role in that. Placing any one of you in an actual Capitol run institution is far out of the question. For everyone's sake. Even if the thought of sharing a classroom with someone from 12 didn't horrify the Capitol parents, you and your siblings wouldn't be able to just jump in. It's not that he views you as unintelligent, but District 12's education system isn't exactly on par with the Capitol's.

"That sounds nice," you sit up a little straighter, excited by the prospect, "A part of me kind of misses school."

Another aspect of your personality that he had learned about after your Games. You like school for the sake of it. "I'll check on the arrangements tomorrow."

He clears his throat before you can do more than just nod, "It's getting late."

Coriolanus carefully sets your hand down on the comforter. You awkwardly shift, now more aware of what you agreed to than ever. "Right," you push yourself to stand, "You need your sleep."

He pulls back his sheets before you can think about it even further. You crawl into the provided space without looking at anything in particular. He's quick to join you beneath the safety of plush bedding before leaning over and turning off the bedside lamp.

Darkness floods the space. There's something about the absence of light that makes things feel heavier. The potential intimacy of the situation sneaks up on him with no warning.

This isn't a loss of control. It can't be. It was his idea, he had pushed and convinced you to stay here. He's aware of everything that's led up to this moment, but that's not enough to stop him from wondering if this is something than he should have known better than to embrace. He had accepted the familiar, fickle knotting of his stomach once before.

Steady warmth presses itself against his arm. He blinks, head turning a second too quickly. Your hand has found his. Coriolanus relaxes, allowing himself to fully relax against his pillow. You pick up on his shift, reflecting it by laying down as well.

For someone that had been so hesitant, you seem to know what to do better than he does. You pull his arm towards you, gently trailing your fingers against the exposed skin. Heat crawls up his neck.

"Goodnight," you mumble, voice already drowsy.

Coriolanus lets out a long breath. He grasps your hand, bringing it back to his lips before settling back into the position the two of you were in before. "Goodnight."

[toxycodone]

Cupid’s Breath (Kabru of Utaya x Beastkin/Monster!Reader)

header cred.

rating. nsfw

content. reader has monster genitalia (vagina + clitdick), sex pollen, hate (kinda) sex (kabru is very conflicted), penetration (both on reader and kabru), no foreplay--just crazy monster sex. Ending is angsty, so...proceed w/caution.

word count. 6k+

summary. You are a beastkin hired to guide Kabru’s party through the dungeon. Despite all the time you’ve spent with the party, its leader, Kabru, continues to elude you. He’s consistently nice and polite, yet you can tell it’s not genuine, causing you more and more discomfort. Why doesn’t he seem to like you? While exploring the end of the fourth floor, you and Kabru are separated from the other party members. Given this time alone, you’re finally able to have a heart to heart with your party leader. However, things get a bit heated—in more ways than one.

There’s a sharp swishing sound in the air as a blade slashes through the undergrowth. The brunette sighs, then wipes sweat off his brow.

“I’ve heard rumors of this place, but I’d never seen it for myself.” Kabru mutters, positioning his sword to swipe at another tangle of vines. He looks angry, but only for a second, before flashing you his usual pretty boy smile. “Thanks to your help, we’ve managed to almost get past the fourth floor.”

The other party members smile too. Theirs are much more legitimate. Rin’s the sole member that keeps her usual scowl, but it softens to a neutral glance for a few seconds. You’ve learned that's her way of smiling.

“No problem. It’s what you hired me for.” You smile softly at the others. When your gaze trails to Kabru–-it instinctually falters. Your keen senses have yet to fail you. There’s something off about him. He smiles, laughs, speaks words of praise…but there's a lack of genuineness behind it. You hold back a shudder. “And don’t just slash at those tentacles like that. You never know how a species will react. You could get poisoned–or worse.”

Kabru’s eyes widen. He looks to the plants, then visibly recoils. Mickbell seems more interested now. You catch him mumbling about how their extract may work on his darts. Thankfully, Holm heeds your warning and guides the curious half-foot away from the plant.

“Thanks. Perhaps I got too hasty.” Kabru chuckles, then rubs the back of his head. You want to grimace when you see the action. It’s akin to an actor you’d witness at the opera. You wonder how many times he’s practiced the motion in his head.

“Let’s continue.” You turn back to the dungeon floor. It’s teaming with more and more vegetation. It seems to be growing at a rapid pace. The dungeon must be getting more unstable. It won’t be long before you’ll have to discontinue these tours for your own safety. But that brings on another pressing matter….

Where will you live?

Someone of your makeup, stature, species–whatever one may call it, is not particularly welcome on the Island. Or anywhere on the surface for that matter. You’re thankful to the orcs that treated you with such hospitality since you first began making a living here. You help adventurers who wish to delve deeper into the dungeon, purposefully showing them longer, more tedious routes that  allow for the orcs to travel and maintain their territory unbothered. With the money you make, you’re able to buy things for yourself from the first floor and bring back useful items for the orcs. In return, they let you stay in their many settlements, allowing you to live peacefully–unbothered by monsters and adventurers alike.

A discussion has been continuing with you and Zon, however. Dungeon crawlers are getting more aggressive and greedy. Despite you preaching the safety and quickness of your routes, they’ve begun cutting through orc territory, now intent on hunting the demihumans specifically. Along with that, the Dungeon Lord appears to be going through something themself, as well. You’ve recently heard confirmation of the Red Dragon appearing on the fifth floor. Something you found hard to believe until shown the carcasses of burnt wargs. You’d have to be careful to avoid that route when you guys pass this floor, maybe–

“Something on your mind?”

A familiar voice cuts through your thoughts. Kabru, curious as ever, is looking at you. His deep blue eyes and friendly smile would charm just about anyone aside from yourself. Your sense of smell keeps you hesitant. He’s not asking purely out of concern for you. It’s most likely to satisfy his own curiosity. You look away.

“No, I just…”

You look back to him. Those same blue eyes, brow quirked in curiosity. Ugh. You regret making eye contact. “You seemed lost in thought. You know, you’re welcome to voice any concerns. I’ll happily listen.”

You catch Holm smiling from the corner of your eye, as if he’s admiring his party leader. Of course, Kabru is playing the good guy again. Seeming as if he’s  wanting to get to know you better, but in reality, there’s something underneath the surface. Kabru’s demeanor gives off the vibe he’s analyzing everything you say, probing each word and implication for a valid reason to assess you as a threat. You’re sure he’d flip if he learned about your alliance with the orcs.

You know better. A smile of your own crosses your face.

“It’s alright. Just planning our route in my head. We’ll be set to descend by the evening.”

Disappointment flashes across the man’s features, but he’s quick not to let it linger.

“Sounds good. Thank you again for your expertise.”

Before much else can happen, Mickbell suddenly halts. Everyone’s quick to follow suit. Your first reaction is the thought that he might have touched a tentacle and gotten paralyzed, but he speaks.

“Do you guys hear that?” Of course the others can’t. Your hearing, however, is the closest to his. You still and pay attention. The sound of rocks scratching against each other in the distance fills your ears, it’s faint, but moving closer. You’ve only ever heard this when the dungeon starts to change.

Oh no.

“A tremor!” You shout. Each fur on your body prickles. “Everyone, stay clo–!”

Before you can finish your sentence, the dungeon floor begins to shift underneath you. You hear frantic footsteps, the clattering of equipment on the ground, before…

You’re falling. It’s a seemingly short distance, but it hurts nonetheless when you hit the ground. You hear something fall closeby–likely your own equipment. A dull ache forms at the base of your skull. Fuck–that hurt.

You lie there for a few seconds, before scrambling to your feet. The walls of the dungeon have appeared to swallow you, separating you from other members of the team. A string of curses leave your mouth. Just your fucking luck. This is gonna add extra time to your venture. And knowing Kabru’s party’s history, you’ll be lucky to find them again alive.

The sound of armor clanging and steps in your direction snap you out of your thoughts.

 “Are you alright?”

That voice. You turn around. Those eyes. That crop of curly black hair. Fuck. It’s him. Of fucking course you had to be stuck with him.

“I’m okay. Just bumped my head a little” You answer, attempting to be polite. “And you?”

“Same here. But otherwise, I’m okay too.” Kabru flashes an awkward smile. You start to smell something odd on him. Fear pheromones. Is he scared to be stuck alone with you? 

“Are you sure?” You’re not sure if it's the head injury or what, but you’re feeling a bit bold. “Because you clearly seem bothered by something.”

Kabru looks confused.

“No, the fall wasn’t that bad. I mean, I think we need to find the others, but–”

“I don’t mean that. You’re nervous.” You state, stepping a bit closer to him. “Are you feeling weird about being stuck alone here with me?”

He looks put on the spot. The usual calm, collected persona he portrays cracks a tad.

“What? No, no…” He’s not a particularly good liar. “It’s the circumstances. We’re on a new floor, just got separated from the rest of the party, it’s just–” 

“I can smell it on you, Kabru. Every time you speak to me, it’s like you’re sizing me up. Trying to see if I’m a threat.” There’s a hint of a growl in your voice. You’re careful not to flash your fangs, he doesn’t need any more evidence to back up his prejudices. “Just be honest. I know you don’t like me.”

Silence fills the air. The way Kabru’s face falls is cinematic. It sends a shiver down your spine.

“I thought I was doing a decent job.” He mutters, clicking his tongue in annoyance. “But it seems I’m not as good as I thought. Of course you’d pick up on it.” 

You figure he’s talking more to himself than you. His cobalt eyes lock onto yours.

“I don’t like monsters.” He says in earnest. “They decimated my village when I was younger. I  seek to understand this dungeons secrets, but I’m not keen on the inhabitants.”

“ I’m a monster.” You retort, tilting your head. “And yet you chose to hire me?”

“My party needs your services. We haven’t been able to make it far without a guide, especially one who specializes in monster information. After encountering another adventurer with this information…I realized how important it was. I wasn’t particularly ecstatic to hire you, but it was a necessity.” 

You scoff. Is he serious? You’ve guided his party through three floors already, even risking your life to ensure their safety. And yet this is still what he thinks of you?

“You realize I’m not some feral beast, right? I have consciousness. Sentience. Morals. I wouldn’t just kill you in cold blood.”

“But you’re still a monster. You’re unpredictable.”

When Kabru says this, he’s honestly not even sure how much he believes it. Despite his history with monsters, you have proven to be quite the ally to his party. Even with all his probing, Kabru’s yet to find any useful evidence you may be a threat to his party. Or his mission. But he has to keep his guard up. He must. He won’t let himself be caught off guard again.

On the other hand, his words make your blood boil. You knew it. All this time, he despised you. Stupid human.

“Fuck this,” You growl, turning in the opposite direction. “I quit. Find your own way out.”

You’re careful to avoid the path full of dungeon vegetation. A usual beginner's mistake. You hope Kabru steps on a tentacle and gets paralyzed. Heh. That would make you feel a little better.

Kabru’s unsure of what to say. For one, you are very useful. You have guided his party further  than they’ve managed on their own. However…he’s felt odd from the start. As someone who trusts his intuition, he wonders if letting you go might be the best option. Gods help him if you decide to turn your back on them at the last minute. He should know better than to trust a monster. 

But you’re not like other monsters. Or are you? The concept still frustrates him. He doesn’t understand you. He honestly wishes he could.

As Kabru walks away, he unsheathes his sword to clear a path. You’re about to walk around the corner, before you notice where he’s heading. The plant in front of him lines the dungeon wall and unfurls into large pink blooms. Wait a minute–that’s not just any dungeon vine. It’s a Cupid’s Breath. You’d seen them around before, but rarely ever in bloom. When threatened, they release a cloud of hallucinogenic pollen to deter predators (but also turn them into potential pollinators themselves). If he disturbs that plant…you’ll both be in trouble!

“Kabru, wai–”

As his sword makes contact with the flower, a pink mist comes rushing out, coating the air in a pink haze. Kabru immediately starts coughing, falling back onto his behind. You curse and rush forward, attempting to drag him out of the mist.

“What did I tell you about swinging your sword at things? You have to be careful!” You curse again. No wonder his party’s never gotten far. They don’t know a thing about monsters. “That thing could’ve got you killed!” You hiss, your ears falling back as you scowl.

Kabru’s still overcome by fits of coughing. After a few seconds, you start to feel it too. Of course you’d been hit by the blast. Thankfully, you’re certain it’s just residual fire. You may be a little out of it later, but you’re sure you’ll be fine. Well, you hope.

“Sorry…” Kabru sputters, wiping his mouth on his arm. “I wasn’t thinking…”

“I know.” You growl, still agitated by your earlier interaction. “You don’t seem to do that much when it comes to encountering monsters.” Kabru’s about to respond, but his voice catches in this throat. He’s still for a few seconds, and you notice his dark skin seems to deepen more with color. Your brow quirks.

“...I feel…strange.” Kabru states. 

You sigh.

“Yeah, you got hit directly by a Cupid’s Breath. You’ll likely be tripping for a bit.”

“No…I–” Kabru’s demeanor seems to change. He’s embarrassed. “It’s a different feeling.”

You want to ask more. But you start to feel it too…what he’s describing is unmistakable. There’s a familiar warmth beginning to fill your core. Arousal. So that’s the effect of the plant, not just mere hallucinogens. You mentally curse. 

“Oh.” Your own cheeks heat up now. This…is awkward. Kabru shifts in place.  you had no idea that these plants had this effect on anyone from what you understood they were purely hallucinogenic

Now you're stuck in a tight place with the leader of your party both steadily growing hornier and hornier. Just your fucking luck.

“Lets be rational.” You say, trying to maintain your composure. “ This is just the effect of the plant. if we try to stay calm and collected we could just let this pass over us. Then we'll go search for the others.”

Kabru  nods but he seems almost lost as if his mind is elsewhere.  It's clear the pollen is starting to have a major effect on him. Before you know it, you start to feel it too. It’s…instinctual. As if something primal is taking over. 

Has Kabru always looked this handsome?

No, no. You have to fight it. You try to stay normal, feel normal, think normal thoughts. Until. 

You’re warm–no, hot. When did it get so hot in here? You have to take off something, anything, everything. Your claws move to undo your armor, letting it fall to the floor. It takes what’s left of your willpower not to tear off your other clothing too. You’re shocked you manage to remove it without tearing it to shreds.

Kabru’s in a similar state. He struggles to take off his upper armor, then his hands seem to be unable to understand the mechanisms of his pants.  You drop to his side, perception starting to become altered. The rage you felt before dissipates as you crouch by Kabru. It seems his disdain has followed suit when your lips meet for a kiss.

You’d expect something like this to be awkward, revolting, entirely out of the realm of possibility—yet it feels perfectly normal, enticing, even. There’s only a split second the two of you remain parted before you go in for another. Kabru’s lips are soft, remarkably so. If you keep your eyes closed, you could easily imagine a girl in his place. However, your body remains focused on him. His presence, his warmth—slowly but surely, your mind becomes consumed by Kabru.

A sharp claw links under his shirt. There’s no time to bother with taking it off, you drag it down the linen of his undershirt. It tears without much resistance, the sound causing your ears to perk in anticipation.

The sight of his upper body is a surprise, but not an unwelcome one. He’s skinnier than you imagined. Wait, not that you imagined him unclothed. Because you never did that. But if you imagined it before, the sight before you now wouldn’t exactly match. It seems the cost of revival has done a toll on his body, causing him to lack much body fat. However, he’s attractive all the same. His dark skin is dotted with the occasional scar, evidence of prior years of training. His muscles are also easily visible under his skin. Each time his chest rises and falls, you can see the hint of them start to show. Kabru is ultimately average body wise. And for some reason, that makes the heat between your thighs grow.

His shirt now fully discarded, you feel the need to touch him. You’re not sure whether to do it with your hands or your mouth, mind fuzzy with arousal, so you just let your body move as it pleases. Your lips connect with the skin of his neck, eager to taste whatever lingers on the surface. Kabru gasps, then sings the sweetest moan into the silence. It rouses your interest, sending warm tingles down your groin. Paired with the saltiness of his skin, your senses are beginning to become overwhelmed by him.

As you adjust your body over his, your knee lies square between his legs, poking his groin. Kabru’s body eagerly responds to the touch. He moves to grind himself against your leg. You can feel how hard he is already, the heat radiating from his groin makes you want to tear it off and release him—letting him feel just as good as you. The air between you two is stuffy.

You continue to lick Kabru’s skin, nipping him not so gently as you move down his chest. At his collarbone, one of your fangs accidentally pricks his skin. The man jumps, but doesn’t yelp—instead letting out a wanton groan of pleasure. His eyes are widened in what you think might be fear, but you’re proven wrong when he lets out a needy whimper. In this state, even pain must feel good…The delirium starts to take over you both.

Your tongue dives out to lap at his skin. The coppery taste of blood fills your mouth as you do so. It’s intoxicating. As if you’re tasting the sweetest nectar nature has to offer. Kabru’s panting underneath you now, desperate moans and whimpers now filling the air . His fists grasp at the fur on your back, anchoring himself in place as he continues to grind on your knee. He’s enjoying this just as much as you do—the stiffness of his length is more than proof of that.

Seeing him come undone underneath you is engrossing. With each passing moment, you feel you’re finally seeing something real, aside from the act he puts up. His scent even matches with the moment—proving to you that despite what he’s said, he wants this just as much as you. Perhaps more.

 Your own legs link around his now, allowing you to drag yourself along his clothed thigh. The friction is absolutely delicious. It elicits a deep growl from your throat as you start to pleasure yourself. Juices leak onto his pant leg and your clit starts to harden. Just how visibly you’re turned on now would be mortifying if it weren’t for the situation at hand. It must be the effects of the pollen, because you’re leaking slick all over Kabru’s pants after only a few motions. The linen starts to stick to the skin of his thigh, which only makes the feeling even more gratification as you grind against him.

Kabru starts to take more initiative now. He grits his teeth, brows furrowing as his hips grind into you with fervor. You continue to hump his leg as well—the two of you desperate to keep this pleasant feeling going. Grunts and growls fill the silence, only aided by the noises of fabric shifting and your claws scraping against the dungeon floor. Kabru slows without warning and shudders. His fists hold onto you with a vice grip, keeping him as tethered to reality as possible while an orgasm rips through him. There’s a graceful moan as he reaches his peak and a visible wet spot forms in the crotch of his pants. If you weren’t in an equally pathetic state, you’d have loved to make fun of him for that.

Despite cumming, Kabru still remains hard as a rock. His tent is much more visible now due to his wet pants. You start to drool from your mouth and from your hole. You need that inside of you. Now.

Your hands perch on Kabru’s shoulders, holding him firm against the ground as you move your crotch above his. Grinding against his cock is much, much more relieving than simply doing it on his thigh. The indent of his length glides nice and smooth down your wet slit. You frot your clit against him too, relishing in the shocks of pleasure it sends down your thighs. This is absolutely heavenly. 

The pollen from the Cupid’s Breath sends your mind in a haze. There’s nothing left besides chasing that sweet, sweet feeling of release. You’re humping the outline of Kabru’s cock with fervor, his hands move to rest against your hips and guide you up and down his length. Just like that. You bite your lip in anticipation. Your orgasm is right on the brink. Just one, two more movements…and you’re cumming. Your body seizes, thighs twitching and your ears fall back. You let out a high-pitched moan before it evolves into a frustrated hiss. 

There’s no relief. That wasn’t enough. Your body is just as on fire as it was before. The wetness between your legs continues to leak out, coating Kabru’s length which lies his pants. It’s soaking wet now, leaving nothing to the imagination.

And you need it. Bad. 

It seems Kabru has the same idea. Before you can tear into his pants, his hands grasp your wrists. He wants to be in charge now. You scowl at him and growl, flashing your fangs in a feral attempt to make him bend to your wishes, but he doesn’t budge. There’s a bit of fighting and scratching, but eventually, he wrestles you to the ground, pinning your wrists above your head. After a few deep pants, his eyes trail down…before he grimaces.

“What is that?”

It must be the total shock of the moment which snaps him out of the misty haze of the sex pollen. Kabru gestures to your inner thighs. It’s hard to tell whether you should be offended or not. He looks grossed out, but the crotch of his pants looks like it’s about to tear at the seams.

“Does it matter? Because you’re gonna stick your dick in it no matter what.” You sneer at him, panting in between your words. Kabru doesn’t seem impressed, but his fingernails start to dig into you now.

One of your clawed feet lunges out to scratch at his pants. Kabru gets the message and releases you to tear the garment, along with his underwear, off. The hastiness only makes him able to get it under his ass before he’s lining his cock up with your hole.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Kabru mutters. Maybe the prior orgasm didn’t provide enough relief to feel normal just yet, but it makes the two of you at least cognizant enough to speak. “But if I don’t fuck you, I think I’m gonna go crazy.”

“Same here. Y’know, I have standards too.”

Kabru grits his teeth. He’s angry. And totally conflicted. But he can’t not do this. The head of his cock lines up with your hole, and it barely takes a thrust from him before you’re greedily sucking him into you.

The two of you moan in sync, yours sounding more like a growl. Your hands anchor themselves on his shoulders, claws pricking his skin deeper and deeper with each thrust. Your hole swallows him like it’s starving. There’s zero resistance due to how wet you are, each time he thrusts in and out there’s a sloppy sound. The pheromones that hang in the air make your mind hazy. You feel utterly perverted doing this, letting this man you barely know–who’s you’re sure hates you, fuck you senseless.

One of your hands reaches down to stroke your clit. Underneath the pressure, it grows harder and harder at your touch. You feel your orgasm start to build once more. Kabru’s hands dig into the dust on the dungeon floor as he slams into you. His previous apprehension may still reside in his mind, but his body shows no resistance. His balls slap loudly against your ass, echoing against the rocky walls as your carnal sounds fill the silence.

Your genitals aren’t like those of humans. They’re designed to promote sexual intercourse and milk males for everything they’re worth, ensuring proper insemination. It’s something one like you could handle, but it’s an incredibly new sensation for Kabru. The fact that he’s been able to last over ten thrusts so far has you impressed. His stamina is something to be praised. 

His face is twisted in bliss as he continues to pound into you. He’s close, you can tell, but doing his best to last as long as possible. You’re unsure if it’s due to the fact he wants to indulge himself in this or if he’s actually thinking of your pleasure too…your thoughts are confined when he sits up and hikes your calves over his shoulders, now pushing your thighs against your belly in a mating press. He presses one palm against your upper groin, allowing him to more effectively hit your g-spot.

The new position has your toes curling. Of course he’d know how to heighten your ecstacy—all that time spent learning anatomy and he did end up with something useful. Not only is Kabru abusing your rapacious hole, but this position even has him grinding his pubic bone against your enlarged clit as he splits you open. You cry out at his pounds into your g-spot, grunting and groaning in a bestial sense enough to rival your own. The length of his cock drags against your greedy walls as you tighten around him. The brutal onslaught on your hole has you crying and cursing, burying your nails into him and slicing his skin. 

When he spills into you, you eagerly soak up every last drop. Nothing goes to waste like this— you’re bred effectively and purposefully no matter the circumstances. Kabru slides out of you with a sickeningly wet plop, then falls to the floor. His chest heaves as he attempts to catch his breath.

Meanwhile, you still have some steam left. Being affected by the pollen secondly must mean it’s still lingering. You remain under the influence.

You stalk over to Kabru now. He looks like prey, weak and vulnerable. His chest continues to rise and fall heavily as he quirks his brow at you.

“What…are you—“

You pounce onto him like a cat would a mouse. His seems to understand the reality of the situation, noticing that carnal hunger in your eyes. Kabru swallows—a mix of trepidation along with anticipation.

“I’m not done yet. I wanna fuck you now.”

You speak, frotting your clit against his cock. Kabru shudders and moans. He’s not exactly in his right mind. But all things considered, are you? After what the two of you have done already, there’s really not much left to be held sacred.

He opens his legs, almost shyly, as he allows you to center yourself between them more comfortably.

“Don’t…don’t go too crazy…” He whimpers when your wet clit rocks against him again. “I’ve never really—“

He’s embarrassed now. This type of sex is totally unorthodox. Especially with someone like you. In the back of his mind, he’s a bit concerned you may rip him in two with that monster strength.

“No worries. I’ll stay calm.” You lick a stripe up his neck. “As calm as I can be, that is. You’re the one that got us hit by the Cupid’s Breath. So you can’t run from the consequences now.”

Before he can reply, you let your fangs sink into the skin of his collarbone again. You wanna taste his blood again. You want everything his body can offer you.

Kabru yelps, and while he’s distracted, you sink your clit in between his cheeks, thrusting into his ass. The sex from earlier left more than enough lubrication between them, and the effects from the pollen and orgasms have his body much more relaxed than usual. Therefore, it’s easy to push yourself inside him.

The taste of his skin is still so delicious. You savor the taste as you lap up his blood, before moving down to suck on his hard nipples. Kabru grips at the dungeon floor, before ultimately deciding he needs to hold onto your arms. His teeth grit as a sharp exhale leaves his nose. Despite the tight squeeze, no, it doesn’t hurt—it actually feels really good. When you pinch his bud in between your teeth, the whine he lets out is carnal and desperate.

Meanwhile, you’re preoccupied with just how tight he is. Holy shit, he wasn’t lying, there’s no way anyone has ever fucked him like this before. You rut against him, slapping your thighs against his with each powerful thrust. Your pelvic fur is damp with slick. There’s an audible plap each time your hips meet, and when you pull out, you can feel the stickiness still connecting you and Kabru together.

Fucking his ass is greater than you could’ve imagined. Which admittedly you have quite a few times before. You always thought it’d be the perfect way to shut this guy up and get him out of his head. With your skills, you could get that stupid facade of his to crumble into pieces and make him a dumb cumslut. And your imagination proved correct. Kabru’s become reduced to nothing beneath you. He just lies there and whines, his breathing ragged and eyes squeezed shut as you thrust into him.

You’re curious. As good as this feels and as much as you want to cum already, you want to try something. You reach over and start to stroke his limp length in one hand. Kabru gasps, eyes shooting wide open to look at you. You chuckle as he leaks precum all over your palm.

“Gods, no-“ He sputters. “It’s too much. I can’t, not again.”

Kabru struggles under you, wanting to remove your hand from his crotch, but you just thrust into him harder, causing his body to seize.

“Don’t be like that. Just one more. I don’t ever get to see your real reactions to things.” You pant. “Let me have this.”

Kabru whimpers. Another thrust has him falling limp under you. You pick up the pace, now fucking his ass throughly as you pump his cock. Drool leaks from the side of Kabru’s mouth as he moans and whines with fervor. You take the opportunity to lick it up, then gently kiss his lips—which he reciprocates.

That action was oddly intimate. You pull back. You’re not sure why you did that. Whatever.

Your thrusts begin to get faster, lazier, and then you’re cumming for a third time, spreading warmth and slick all down your thighs again. Kabru manages to cum too. He bucks his hips, letting out a harsh cry as watery cum pours from his head. As the two of you lie in the afterglow, both trying to catch your breath, residual shocks of pleasure cause you and Kabru to involuntarily twitch and writhe.

Your own lips move to gently kiss his skin now, trying to soothe where you bit along with just coaxing Kabru through the aftermath of all this. Your mind is just starting to come down from the haze along with his. And you know that last orgasm must have hit him hard. Warm lips press against his throat, his cheek, his temple—until you finally meet his lips again. Kabru doesn’t resist. Almost reacting on instinct, they press back against yours.

You pull back. Your mind seems a lot clearer now. You can actually think rationally. And the regret slowly begins to sink in. 

Did this really just happen? What if the others heard? You’re praying they got trapped somewhere nice and far away. Ideally fully soundproof as well.

Kabru starts to sit up. You take this as a sign to hop off of him, now awkwardly seated beside him.

“We need to get cleaned up.” He states, running a hand through his hair. He looks a mix between upset and exhausted. You’re not sure what to make of it. But for now, you’re happy to just move on from the situation at hand.

“Right.”

Thankfully, the fourth floor hosts plenty of opportunities to bathe. You can tell there’s running water nearby, too. In the direction you were going before this incident, you could hear it.

You grab your clothes, chuck your bag over your shoulder, then beckon Kabru to follow. He does without question.

The walk to the bathing pool is silent. Neither of you really want to address what happened, at least not now. Thankfully though, when you reach the pool, there’s no awkwardness with getting undressed…considering the two of you have been exposed for quite a while.

The water is cool, but refreshing. As you sink into it, you let out a relaxed sigh. The feverish feeling from earlier starts to finally melt away. Kabru stands about ten feet away, his back turned towards you. You take a moment to appreciate his frame. He’s pretty. You can admit that now without feeling the need to berate yourself for thinking that.

However, his back’s coated in angry, red scratches. A few still dribble blood. He does deserve it for what he said to you earlier. Still, oddly enough…you feel bad. It was hot in the heat of the moment. Now he’s probably left with the residual soreness other pain for a while. There’s no way he’s going to ask Holm to heal that for him.

“Hey,” You tread water towards him. “Let me wash your back for you.”

Again, you know you don’t have to offer him this relief. But you want to. Kabru doesn’t react much. He shrugs. You take it as a yes, then move to take the washcloth from him.

Now, Kabru’s far cry from his usual self. There’s no remnants of the charming, charismatic leader from hours before. He’s exposed in a physical and emotional sense. Seeing him so vulnerable in front of you like this is akin to watching a newborn fawn. You feel like the predator in this situation now. None of this was your fault, if anything Kabru is to blame for disturbing the flower, but you’re still guilty. Kabru’s feelings about monsters don’t stem from usual assumptions about them. From the way he’s acting, you can tell something happened. Something terrible. You wonder if it really is best for you to be interacting with him right now. 

“I’m sorry.” You mutter to him, gently washing his wounds. “For this. Whatever happened to you.” 

He’s silent. You can hear his mouth open, and there’s a sound as if he’s trying to say something, but he doesn’t. Kabru sinks into the water.

“I’d like to be left alone.” He says. His voice is shaky, back still turned to you. Gods, you feel shitty. You place the washcloth on his shoulder.

“Okay. Let me know when you’re ready to leave.”

You don’t spend much time at the freshwater pool. Your bodies and clothes are clean from pollen, along with other contaminants now. The only reminder of what happened is the damage to the clothing, but that can be explained to the party with a quick story of a monster, which they’d easily believe. Rin and Holm could patch them up quickly. And due to Kabru’s acting skills, they’d do it without asking unnecessary questions. (Mainly why the tears seem to be so uniform and focused on intimate areas.)

“Ready to go?”

There it is. That voice. The overly perky tone he uses as if he’s forcing himself to be polite again. You want to pull your fur out. His mask is back on.

“Yeah, let's.” The heavy weight of your travel pack is nothing compared to the burden weighing on your mind. 

Your own curiosity about the man grows. You wonder if he’s ever going to address this. Give you a chance to get closer to him. You’d be willing to open up to him as well. 

Kabru smiles. You pretend its legitimate. His footsteps and musings on where the others might be linger in the dungeon halls.

Probably not, you figure. Questions for him bubble in your throat, but you swallow them down. You don’t need to get close. 

This is just another job. 

[lila-lou]

✨ His second exception - Pt. 2/? ✨

Summary: The moment Ben found out you were pregnant was probably the happiest moment of his life. However, happiness proved fleeting. Now, he is faced with the aftermath of his shattered dreams. Of what is left of you, and what is left of him.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Warnings: Language, Ben being hurt, Reader being hurt, soft Ben, sad Ben, Ben loosing his shit- it´s STILL a fucking mess

Word Count: 5981

A/N: This is the sequel to “His only exeption” - and Part 2 of "His second exception".

English isn’t my first language, so please be lenient. 💙✨

It had been three days since you returned from the hospital, and the house felt eerily silent. Ben had been trying, so hard, to get you to talk to him, but you couldn’t. Every time he asked a question or tried to start a conversation, you barely managed more than a monosyllabic response.

You spent most of your time in bed, staring at the ceiling or out the window, lost in your own world of pain. You barely ate or drank, and your physical and emotional exhaustion seemed to deepen with each passing hour. The grief was all-consuming, a dark cloud that overshadowed everything else.

Ben was at his wit’s end. He wanted to help, to ease your pain, but he felt powerless. He had tried bringing you your favorite meals, but they remained untouched. He had tried sitting with you in silence, hoping his presence alone would be enough, but it seemed to have little effect.

On the morning of the fourth day, Ben decided he couldn’t let this go on any longer. He needed to reach you, to pull you out of this spiral of despair. He found you in bed, as usual, your eyes blankly staring ahead. With a heavy heart, he sat down beside you, his hand gently resting on your arm.

“Hey”, he said softly, trying to catch your gaze. “I know you’re hurting. I am too. But we can’t keep going on like this. Please, talk to me. Tell me what you’re feeling”.

You didn’t respond, your eyes flickering with a mix of emotions. It was clear that you were struggling, caught in a web of grief and numbness. Ben’s hand tightened slightly on your arm, a gentle squeeze of encouragement.

“Please, just let me in”, he continued, his voice breaking slightly. “I can’t stand seeing you like this. I want to help”.

You turned your head slowly, your gaze meeting his for the first time in days. “Just leave me alone”, you whispered, your voice filled with a mix of sorrow and frustration. “I can’t do this right now, Ben. Just… please”.

Your words cut through Ben’s usual cold and unhurtable demeanor like a knife. He felt his heart clench painfully in his chest. For a moment, he didn’t know what to say. He had always been the strong one, the one who never let anything get to him. But now, seeing you in so much pain and being unable to do anything about it, he felt utterly helpless.

“Alright”, he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll give you space. But please, if you need anything, anything at all, just let me know".

You turned away from him, tears streaming down your face, as he slowly stood up and left the room. The silence that followed was deafening, a reminder of the emptiness you felt inside.

Ben walked downstairs, feeling more lost than he ever had. He wanted to scream, to punch something, to do anything to release the frustration and pain that was consuming him. Instead, he walked into the living room and sat down on the couch, his head in his hands.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, staring blankly at the floor, before he left the house.

Eventually Ben couldn’t bear the suffocating silence any longer. He stood up from the couch and left the house, feeling like a shadow of himself. On the way to his car, he pulled out his phone and texted you, his fingers trembling slightly as he typed.

“I’m heading to the tower. If you need anything, call me”.

He slipped his phone back into his pocket and got into the car, the drive to the tower feeling both too short and agonizingly long. Each mile away from you felt like a betrayal, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that his presence was doing more harm than good.

When he arrived at the tower, he parked and walked in, feeling the familiar weight of responsibility settle on his shoulders. He needed to be Soldier Boy now, to bury his personal pain and focus on something, anything, that could keep him from falling apart.

As he entered the meeting room, he found Butcher and Annie still discussing the repairs. They looked up as he walked in, their expressions a mix of concern and surprise.

“Ben”, Annie said softly.

Ben's demeanor shifted almost instantly as he entered the meeting room. The weight of his personal anguish was momentarily pushed aside as he slipped into his Soldier Boy persona. He greeted Butcher and Annie with a nod, his expression now focused and determined.

"How's the progress on the repairs?".

Butcher and Annie exchanged a glance, recognizing the change in Ben's demeanor. Butcher leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. "Slow, but steady", he replied. "We're getting there".

Ben nodded, his mind already racing with thoughts of logistics and strategy. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small vial of cocaine, setting it on the table him. Without missing a beat, he began to prepare a line, his movements practiced and efficient.

Annie and Butcher watched Ben as he prepared the line of cocaine, concern etched on their faces. Annie couldn't help but feel a pang of worry for him. She cleared her throat, her voice soft and tentative.

"Ben, are you… okay?", she asked, her tone filled with genuine concern.

Ben looked up briefly, his eyes glazed and distant. He flashed a strained smile, trying to appear unaffected. "Peachy", he muttered, his voice tinged with bitterness.

As he rubbed the white dust from his nose, Annie exchanged another worried glance with Butcher.

Annie hesitated, sensing the tension in the air, but she pressed on, her voice gentle. "How's… how's (Y/N) holding up?".

Ben's jaw clenched, his frustration bubbling to the surface. He snapped at her, his tone harsh and biting. "Everyone's fucking fine", he growled, his voice laced with anger. "Just pass me the fucking construction report".

Annie recoiled slightly at his outburst. It was clear that Ben was struggling, and they would need to tread carefully around him.

Without a word, Annie handed Ben the construction report.

After a while of talking about the rebuilding, Hughie and Frenchie stepped into the room, their eyes widening as they spotted Ben sitting at the table. They exchanged a confused glance, clearly surprised to see him there.

Frenchie couldn't hide his excitement, a grin spreading across his face. "Soldier Boy!" he exclaimed, his tone laced with genuine happiness. "You're back!".

Butcher shot Frenchie a warning look, silently cautioning him to tread carefully. He knew that Ben was in a fragile state, and they couldn't afford any missteps.

Ben's expression remained impassive, his eyes flickering briefly as he acknowledged Hughie and Frenchie's presence. "Yeah", he muttered, his voice flat. "Back".

Frenchie rambled on, trying to lighten the mood with his usual brand of humor. "Fuck, Butcher", he said with a chuckle, "you were a pain in my arse the last three days. I thought I was going to lose my mind without Soldier Boy around to keep you in check".

Butcher rolled his eyes, but a small smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth.

Meanwhile, Hughie made his way over to Annie, pressing a gentle kiss to her temple. "How are you holding up?", he asked softly, his concern evident in his eyes.

Annie nodded in agreement with Hughie's question, her expression grave. "I can't lie, Hughie", she murmured, her gaze flicking towards Ben. "It's good that Ben's here to take a look over everything. The tower's been a mess the last three days, and we could use his leadership. But… he's not in a good mood".

Ben's grumble cut through the air, his frustration evident as he continued to pore over the report. "I can fucking hear you", he muttered under his breath, not bothering to look up from the papers in front of him. He grabbed another file and handed it to Butcher without a word, his jaw clenched with tension.

Annie watched Butcher carefully, then turned her attention back to Ben. "Ben", she began tentatively, "maybe you should take a break. You've been at this for hours".

Butcher glanced at Annie and then back at Ben, his expression unreadable. "She's right, mate", he said gruffly. "You look like shit. You need to get some rest".

Ben's jaw tightened, but he didn't argue. Instead, he pushed himself away from the table and stood up, running a hand through his hair. "Fine", he muttered, his tone terse. "But get those files to A-Train and MM. They need to deal with that supe in Florida".

He handed Butcher the file and then turned to Frenchie, thrusting another folder into his hands. "And you", he said, his voice clipped, "go after the supe in that file. Take your… chinese chick with you".

Frenchie raised an eyebrow but didn't comment, nodding in understanding as he took the file. "Got it", he said simply, his gaze flicking to Annie and Butcher before he headed out of the room.

Annie exchanged a worried glance with Butcher as Ben stormed off, his frustration palpable in the air. It was clear that he was struggling, but for now, all they could do was wait and hope that he would find a way to cope with his grief.

Hughie shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips. "Say what you want about him, but Soldier Boy sure knows how to get things done", he mumbled, his admiration evident in his tone. "Efficient as hell".

In his office, Ben went for another line, the bitter taste piercing through the haze of his thoughts. He followed it with a sip of whiskey, the burning sensation offering a momentary distraction from the weight of his emotions.

Ben descended to meet with the heads of the departments, his mind focused on the tasks ahead. He outlined the plans for the next few weeks, his voice steady and authoritative as he issued instructions and delegated responsibilities. Despite the turmoil raging within him, he remained composed, his determination unwavering as he worked to keep the organization running smoothly.

Meanwhile, back at home, you moved slowly through the house, your footsteps heavy with the weight of your grief. You found yourself standing in front of the door to the baby's room, a door you had avoided for the past three days.

Taking a deep breath, you pushed the door open and stepped inside. The room was just as you had left it, filled with the soft pastels and gentle touches you had so lovingly chosen. The sight of the crib, the tiny clothes, and the toys you had carefully arranged brought a fresh wave of pain crashing over you.

You walked over to the crib, your fingers tracing the delicate patterns on the blanket. Tears blurred your vision as you sat down in the rocking chair.

It was late when Ben finally came back home. The weight of the day's responsibilities and the lingering grief pressed heavily on his shoulders. Part of him dreaded returning, unable to face the sight of your suffering and the possibility of being rejected again, but he knew he had no choice.

As he walked through the house, he searched for you, calling your name softly. There was no response. Panic began to creep in until he noticed the open door of the baby's room. His heart sank as he approached it.

He stepped inside quietly, his eyes quickly finding you curled up and sleeping on the rocking chair, the little plush eagle clutched tightly in your arms. The sight tore at his heart, the depth of your grief mirrored in your posture even as you slept.

Ben knelt down beside the chair, his fingers gently brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. He could see the tracks of dried tears on your cheeks, your expression troubled even in sleep.

For a moment, he just watched you, his own pain surfacing again. He wanted to hold you, to comfort you, but he feared waking you and causing you more distress. Instead, he sat there, for a while, his presence a silent promise that he was there for you, no matter how difficult things became.

Finally, he reached out and gently touched your shoulder, his voice soft and filled with love. "Hey", he whispered. "Let's get you to bed, okay?".

You stirred, your eyes fluttering open to find Ben's concerned gaze. The sight of him brought a fresh wave of emotions, but you were too exhausted to cry anymore. You nodded weakly, allowing him to help you up from the chair.

Ben wrapped his arms around you, guiding you back to the bedroom. He helped you into bed, tucking the blankets around you with care. As he moved to leave, you grabbed his hand, holding on tightly.

"Stay", you murmured, your voice barely audible. "Please".

Ben's heart ached at the plea, and he nodded, slipping into bed beside you. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close as you both lay there, enveloped in the shared silence of your grief.

The night passed slowly, Ben lying awake, his mind a storm of thoughts and emotions. He kept his arms around you, hoping that his presence might offer some comfort, even if just a little. But sleep eluded him, his eyes remaining open, staring at the ceiling as the hours ticked by.

When morning came, you stirred in his arms, your eyes fluttering open. The room was dimly lit by the early light of dawn seeping through the curtains. As you fully awoke and realized Ben was still holding you, you turned around, facing away from him, your back to his chest.

Ben felt the shift, a familiar pang of sadness settling in his chest. He understood that you needed space, but it didn’t make it any easier to bear. He released his hold, his arms falling to his sides, giving you the room you seemed to silently ask for.

“I know it’s hard", he murmured softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I just want you to know I’m here. I won’t leave you”.

You didn’t respond, the silence heavy and thick between you. The pain of your loss was still raw, a wound that had barely begun to heal. Ben sighed, pressing his eyes shut for a moment, willing himself to stay strong for both of you.

After a few minutes, he slowly got out of bed, moving quietly so as not to disturb you further.

Downstairs, he went through the motions of making coffee, the mundane task a small anchor in the sea of emotional turmoil. He poured himself a cup, but the familiar taste offered little comfort.

His heart ached, but he pushed the pain down, focusing on the present moment. You needed him, even if you couldn’t express it, and he would be there.

After a while, he heard soft footsteps behind him. Turning around, he saw you standing at the foot of the stairs, looking as fragile as he felt. He wanted to reach out, to pull you into his arms and promise that things would eventually get better, but he knew words were useless right now.

“Morning”, he said gently, trying to offer a small semblance of normalcy. “I made coffee. Want one?”.

You just shook your head, the weight of your grief making it hard to form words. You wanted to leave the kitchen, to escape the suffocating memories that seemed to cling to every corner of the house. But Ben reached out, his hands gently grasping your hips in a tender attempt to connect.

The touch, though well-intentioned, felt like a spark igniting a volatile mixture of pain and frustration. You snapped his hands away, your voice rising in a sudden, uncontrollable surge of anger and sorrow.

“Don’t fucking touch me!”, you yelled, the words echoing through the quiet house. Your face contorted with a mix of rage and heartbreak, tears welling up in your eyes once more.

Ben recoiled slightly, the hurt clear in his eyes, but he didn’t back down. “I just… I just want to fucking help you (y/n)”.

“Just leave me alone, Ben”, you sobbed, your voice breaking. “I can’t do this with you. I can’t… I can’t even look at you right now”.

Ben’s heart felt like it was breaking all over again as he watched you retreat, your words like daggers stabbing into his already wounded soul. Once again, you had pushed him away, making him feel like everything was his fault.

He stood there, feeling utterly helpless, as the weight of his own grief threatened to crush him.

He clenched his fists at his sides, his jaw tight with the effort to hold back his own tears. He wanted to scream, to rage against the unfairness of it all, but he knew that wouldn’t change anything.

With a heavy sigh, he turned away, his footsteps heavy as he left the kitchen.

As Ben turned away from the kitchen, the weight of your words still heavy on his heart, he paused for a moment in the doorway. His shoulders slumped with defeat, he mumbled softly, almost to himself, "I'm at the tower".

Without waiting for a response, knowing that none would come, he left the house, his steps heavy with the burden of grief and guilt. Outside, he climbed into his car, the engine rumbling to life as he drove towards the tower.

When he arrived, he didn't waste any time. He quickly changed into his supe suit, the familiar fabric feeling like a second skin. It was a facade, a mask he wore to hide the pain and turmoil raging inside him, but it was the only way he knew how to keep going.

As the days passed, the chasm between you and Ben seemed to widen with each passing moment. At night, when the darkness pressed in and the weight of your grief threatened to suffocate you, you found yourself yearning for his presence, craving the comfort of his arms around you.

But as the sun rose and the day stretched out before you, the ache in your heart turned to anger, and you pushed him away with every ounce of strength you had left. You couldn't bear to look at him, to see the pain in his eyes mirrored in your own, so you shut him out, retreating into your own world of sorrow and silence.

For Ben, each day felt like a battle, a constant struggle to navigate the shifting landscape of your emotions. He wanted to help, to ease your pain and bridge the widening gap between you, but every attempt seemed to only push you further away.

He tried to give you space, to respect your need for solitude, but it tore him apart to see you suffering and know that he couldn't do anything to ease your pain. The nights were the hardest, when he lay awake beside you, listening to the sound of your uneven breathing, knowing that even in sleep, you were haunted by the ghosts of your grief.

But he refused to give up.

This evening was no exception. As Ben emerged from the shower, the towel loosely draped around his hips, he felt the weight of the evening settling around him. He glanced at you lying in bed, the distance between you palpable even in the dim light of the room. It had become a familiar routine – he was only allowed to be around you at night, while over the day you didn’t want to see him or talk to him.

With a heavy sigh, Ben walked towards the closet, his movements slow and deliberate. He could feel your gaze on him, heavy with unspoken words and unanswered questions.

As he pulled on a fresh pair of underwear, he couldn’t shake the feeling of emptiness that seemed to permeate every corner of the room. The silence between you was deafening, a stark reminder of all that had been lost.

Finally dressed, Ben turned towards the bed, his heart heavy with the weight of the evening ahead. He knew that tonight would be no different from any other night – the same silent longing, the same unspoken desires. But still, he couldn’t help but hope that somehow, things would be different.

As soon as Ben slipped inside the bed, you instinctively cuddled against him, seeking the warmth and comfort of his presence. He felt a pang of both relief and sadness as you nestled closer to him, the physical closeness a stark contrast to the emotional distance that had grown between you over the past two weeks.

Unable to resist any longer, Ben finally broke the heavy silence that hung in the air. His voice was soft, tentative, as if afraid of shattering the fragile peace that had settled between you.

“Is this… Is this how it’s going to be from now on?”, he asked. He couldn’t bear the thought of continuing to drift apart, of living in this limbo where neither of you truly knew where you stood.

You didn’t respond immediately, your silence stretching between you like a chasm. Ben held his breath, waiting for any sign of acknowledgment, any indication of what was going through your mind.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you spoke, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know, Ben”, you said, the weight of your uncertainty heavy in the air. “I don’t know if I can go back to how things were before”.

Ben’s heart sank at your words, the fear of losing you threatening to overwhelm him.

Ben sighed heavily, the weight of exhaustion and emotional turmoil bearing down on him like a heavy burden. He looked at you, seeing the toll that the past few weeks had taken on both of you. His heart ached with a mixture of sadness and frustration.

He felt utterly drained from the lack of sleep, from the constant back-and-forth of your emotions, from the feeling of helplessness as he watched you suffer. Each night, he lay awake, his mind spinning with thoughts of what could have been, what should have been.

He was exhausted from hearing your tears, from feeling your anger directed at him, from the overwhelming sense of rejection that seemed to seep into every corner of their relationship. But most of all, he was exhausted from the silent pain of losing a child, a pain that you seemed to have forgotten was his too.

As he lay there beside you, he couldn’t help but feel a pang of bitterness and resentment. He wanted to scream, to shake you and demand to know why you couldn’t see the pain he was in, why you couldn’t offer him the same comfort and support that he had tried so hard to give you.

But he knew that would only push you further away. So instead, he wrapped his arms around you, holding you close as if trying to bridge the growing divide between you.

It had been one month since the loss of your baby, and the house felt more like a ghost of the home it once was. Ben had thrown himself into work, spending long hours at the tower because you kept pushing him away. Meanwhile, you remained in your own world, a silent observer of a life that seemed to pass by without you.

You sat on the couch, curled into a blanket, staring out the window, lost in thought. The world outside moved on, but you felt stuck in a place of endless grief and numbness.

The front door opened, and Ben walked in, followed closely by Butcher. You barely registered their presence until Butcher's voice cut through the silence like a knife.

"For fuck’s sake, Soldier Boy!", Butcher snapped, his tone filled with frustration and concern. "You need to sleep. You almost got yourself killed today".

Ben's eyes were dark with exhaustion, the lines on his face deeper than usual. He rubbed his temples, a weary sigh escaping his lips. "I'm fucking fine, Butcher. I can handle it".

Butcher stepped closer, his expression hardening. "No, you bloody well can’t. Look at yourself. You’re a fucking mess, and it's gonna get you killed if you don’t get your shit together".

Ben's jaw clenched, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "I said I’m fine", he repeated, his voice edged with irritation. "Just drop it".

You watched the exchange from your spot on the couch, your heart aching for Ben but feeling too numb to intervene. The room fell silent, the tension thick in the air.

Butcher glanced at you, his expression softening slightly. "You two need to sort this out", he said more quietly. "This can’t go on".

Ben turned to look at you, his eyes meeting yours for a brief moment before he turned away, the pain in his gaze clear.

You simply stood up, the weight of the moment pressing heavily on your shoulders, and walked upstairs without another word. The sound of your footsteps on the stairs echoed through the house, amplifying the silence that followed.

Butcher turned to Ben, who was pinching the bridge of his nose, looking more defeated than Butcher had ever seen him.

“Ben, you need to face this head-on”, Butcher said, his tone a mixture of frustration and sympathy. “You can’t keep running on fumes and pretending everything’s fine”.

Ben dropped his hand from his face, his eyes burning with a mix of anger and helplessness. “What the fuck do you want me to do, Butcher?”, he snapped. “She doesn’t want to talk to me. She doesn’t want me around half the time. I don’t know what to do anymore”.

Butcher sighed, a heavy weight settling in his chest as he looked at Ben. "I know it's tough, mate. But you can't keep going like this. You need to take a long-ass nap, clear your head, and try talking to her again tomorrow".

Ben nodded, the exhaustion evident in every line of his face. "Yeah, you're probably right", he admitted, his voice heavy with defeat.

Butcher clapped him on the shoulder, offering a small, supportive smile. "Get some rest, Soldier Boy".

With that, Butcher turned and left Ben alone in the living room, the weight of his words hanging in the air. Ben sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair as he contemplated his next move. He knew Butcher was right—he couldn't keep going like this. He needed to find a way to break through the wall of silence between him and you, even if it felt like an impossible task.

With a weary sigh, Ben made his way upstairs to the bedroom, hoping that a few hours of sleep might bring some clarity to the tangled mess of emotions swirling inside him.

As Ben lay beside you in bed, the weight of the past month pressing down on him, he felt a pang of sadness at the growing distance between you. Unlike two weeks ago, when you had sought comfort in his embrace, the last few days had been marked by a coldness that seemed to permeate every interaction between you.

With a heavy heart, Ben reached into his pocket and pulled out the pills Butcher had given him. He swallowed them without hesitation, hoping that they would bring him the elusive sleep that had eluded him for so long.

As he lay there, waiting for the pills to take effect, Ben felt the exhaustion of the past month wash over him like a tidal wave. His eyelids grew heavy, and he welcomed the darkness that enveloped him, if only for a few hours.

With a final sigh, Ben closed his eyes.

The next day, Ben woke up to find himself alone in bed. After taking a shower and getting dressed, he searched for you, eventually finding you sitting on the floor in front of the crib. He approached you cautiously, the tension in the air palpable.

"Hey", he said softly, his voice breaking the silence. "How are you feeling today?".

You remained silent, your gaze fixed on the empty crib before you. Ben's heart sank at the lack of response, but he refused to give up.

"I know this has been hard", he continued, his voice filled with empathy. "But we need to talk about what happened. We can't keep avoiding it forever".

Still, you said nothing, your silence like a barrier between you. Ben sighed, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on him.

"Please, (Y/N)", he pleaded, his voice barely above a whisper. "I can't do this alone. I need you".

You snapped, your frustration boiling over. "Just leave me alone, Ben!", you exclaimed, your voice trembling with emotion.

But Ben, no longer overwhelmed by exhaustion, refused to back down. His patience had worn thin after a month of trying to navigate the minefield of your grief.

"I won't fucking leave you alone", he snapped, his temper finally breaking. "I'm fucking tired of this shit! We need to face this together, whether you like it or not".

His words hung in the air, the tension between you thick and heavy.

Ben’s steps were heavy as he closed the distance between you, his frustration palpable in every movement. With a firm grip, he cupped your jaw, forcing you to meet his intense gaze.

“Fucking look at me when I talk to you!”. His voice cracked with raw emotion, a mix of anger and desperation lacing his words. “Baby, I can’t do this anymore", his voice breaking.

You pushed against Ben's grip, the overwhelming need to escape consuming you. With a determined strength, you stood up, ready to flee the suffocating confines of the room.

But Ben wasn't having it. In a swift motion, he grabbed both of your wrists, his touch firm yet gentle, pulling you back towards him. You stumbled against his chest, the warmth of his embrace enveloping you despite your resistance.

"Let me go", you pleaded, your voice barely a whisper, your heart heavy with sorrow.

But Ben held you close, his arms wrapped tightly around you, refusing to let you slip away. Your hands remained trapped between your bodies, a physical manifestation of the emotional barrier that had grown between you.

"Please", you whispered again, your voice trembling with emotion.

"I can't". Ben replied, his own voice choked with tears. "I can't lose you too".

As you wiggled free from Ben’s grasp once more, determination fueled your steps as you began to walk away from him, your heart heavy with the weight of your shared pain. But within seconds, the air crackled with tension, a palpable sense of impending doom hanging over the room.

All the weeks of Ben suppressing his emotions, of being unable to grieve openly, of shouldering the burden of strength for both of you, came crashing down in a torrent of rage and despair. With a primal scream of anguish, he grabbed the swinging chair nearby, his muscles tensing with the force of his fury.

In one swift, violent motion, he hurled the chair against the baby’s closet, the impact echoing through the room with a deafening crash. The sound of splintering wood and shattering glass filled the air, mingling with your cries of shock and despair.

The closet collapsed under the force of the blow, its contents tumbling out in a chaotic jumble of memories and broken dreams. You stood frozen in horror, tears streaming down your cheeks as you watched the wreckage unfold before you.

As the chaos unfolded before your eyes, you screamed at Ben, the words tearing from your throat in a desperate plea for understanding. "What the fuck are you doing?!". Your voice echoed off the walls, a mixture of fear and anger fueling your words.

But Ben's rage consumed him, his eyes wild with desperation as he stormed towards the changing table. With a primal roar, he brought his fist down with a sickening thud, the wood splintering beneath the force of his blow.

You recoiled in horror, the sound reverberating through your bones as you watched him unleash his fury upon the furniture. But it was when he reached for the crib that your heart skipped a beat, a cold shiver coursing down your spine.

His hands hovered over the crib, his breaths coming in ragged gasps as his eyes landed on the little plush eagle nestled among the blankets. In that moment, time seemed to stand still, the air heavy with the weight of unspoken grief.

Tears welled in Ben's eyes, his chest heaving with emotion as he reached out to touch the soft fabric of the toy. And in that simple gesture, you saw the cracks in his armor, the raw vulnerability hidden beneath his facade of strength.

For a moment, the room fell silent, the only sound the soft whisper of your breath mingling with the quiet sobs that wracked Ben's body.

The soft glow emanating from Ben's chest pierced through the haze of grief that had consumed you for four long weeks. In that moment, the realization hit you like a bolt of lightning: Ben was hurting too. He had been shouldering the weight of your shared pain, sacrificing his own emotions to be strong for you.

With trembling steps, you approached him, the floor cold beneath your bare feet. You watched as he sank to his knees, the plush eagle clutched tightly in his hand, a symbol of the innocence lost and the love that still remained.

Your heart ached as you knelt before him, the weight of your sorrow pressing down upon you like a leaden shroud. But despite the heaviness of your grief, you reached out, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders, offering what little comfort you could.

His body trembled beneath your touch, his breaths ragged and uneven as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. Tears mingled with yours.

In that moment, you didn't care about the risk, about the possibility of his radiating chest exploding and engulfing you both in its fiery embrace. All that mattered was the need to hold him close, to offer him the comfort and solace he had so selflessly given you in your darkest hours.

With his face still buried against the curve of your neck, his silent sobs reverberating through your shared embrace, you pressed him closer to you, your arms wrapped tightly around his neck. You could feel the warmth of his tears mingling with your own, a bittersweet symphony of grief and love.

Time seemed to stand still as you held each other amidst the wreckage of your shattered dreams, the world outside fading into insignificance. In that moment, there was only the two of you.

After what felt like an eternity, Ben finally wrapped his arms around your small frame, pulling you closer against him and onto his thighs, his grip strong and unwavering. Without lifting his head, he held you tightly, as if afraid that letting go would mean losing you forever.

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A/N: Honestly, I fucking loved that chapter.. please let me know what you think.🥰

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Part 3

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Taglist: @deangirl96, @thatgirljayy, @suckitands33, @deans-spinster-witch@mimaria420@kaz11283@uncle-eggy@jackles010378@vxnilla-hxrddrugs @meowmeowyoongles@sarahgracej @zemosdarling228 @leila22rogers @mostlymarvelgirl@emily-winchester @blacknoirr @onlyangel-444@seasonofthenerd@staple-your-mouth@artemys-ackles@selfdestructionandrhum@mystic-mara @kat-nee @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @star-yawnznn @me1501 @CheyNovaK @faephoria @hobby27 @baby19sthings

[flowerandblood]

The dearest embrace (AE)

Alternative Ending of The sofest whisper Oneshot

[ Aemond • Targaryen x servant! • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, oral sex, angst, smut, breeding and breastfeeding kink, miscarriage, murder, violence ]

[ description: Aemond manages to escape the clutches of death and defeats his uncle in a battle in the skies. He hopes to find his servant there when he returns to Harrenhal, but she has, on his advice, fled. Although he tries, he cannot forget the night he spent with her, a night that was to be the last of her life, and he decides that he will not rest until he finds her. Obsessive, possessive, dark Aemond. ]

The first oneshot ends as it does in canon - Aemond's death during the battle with Daemon. However, I thought it would be interesting to present how I would imagine their fate if he managed to survive. If you thought the first ending was perfect and that an additional story would ruin the story for you, just don't read it.

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

My other works: Masterlist

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He survived.

Although it was he who was to die, Daemon fell into the abyss.

The gods flipped a coin again and this time showed him mercy.

He wasn't sure how he felt when he returned to Harrenhal, when Alys threw herself around his neck with a sob, ready to forgive him for what he had done the night before, ready to accept him deep inside her again, thinking only that he was back.

He, however, instead immediately went to his chamber hoping that he would still find her there, that she had not managed to escape, that she believed he would survive.

That she was waiting for him.

He walked into his chamber and saw emptiness – the only trace of what they had done was a bloody sheet, gone was the bag of coins he had left for her on the table.

She ran away.

Smart girl.

He avoided Alys, saying he needed to rest in solitude and write a letter in peace to his brother-king informing him of his victory.

The truth, however, was that after what he had endured with her that night, after the mesmerising kind of tenderness, intimacy and closeness he had experienced with her convinced he was going to die, his rapprochements with Alys appeared to him as purely animalistic, aggressive, empty.

He spent the next few days thinking about where she might have escaped to as his men searched for her, but to no avail.

He was furious.

He wanted her.

He needed her.

To Alys' despair, he returned to King's Landing unable to endure her constant efforts to gain his attention again, to win his heart back.

It was too late.

It was too late the very moment he saw her in his chamber for the first time.

After convincing him with a few gold coins, one of the innkeepers admitted that he had recently hired a young girl matching his description and that she had rented one of the rooms from him.

His envoy had only managed to find her trail after two months of his constant agony, rage and despair, during which he continually imagined the events of that night.

The way his fingers had driven into her soft flesh, what sweet sounds of pleasure and despair had risen from her throat as thrust after thrust he had taken away her maidenhood.

He set off there immediately on horseback together with some of his guards, without informing either his brother or his mother, disguised in a long grey cloak, a hood over his head so as not to attract anyone's attention with his long white hair.

He stepped into the inn late in the evening, when there were plenty of people there to disappear into the crowd, and felt a painfully strong thump of his heart when he saw her behind the counter – her hair was entwined in a long braid, droplets of sweat from exertion on her face and a calm, warm smile, her slightly rounded abdomen girded with an apron.

She was carrying his child under her heart.

He stared at her from a distance completely frozen, unable to look away, thinking of only one thing.

He walked slowly towards her and she took a step back, terrified, not knowing what to do, how to behave, a man in armour shouted to her impatiently to pour him more beer.

She noticed out of the corner of her eye that someone had walked inside and glanced in their direction. He saw her freeze and turn pale, her eyes big, her mouth parted wide in disbelief.

He saw everything in her gaze: fear, joy, disbelief, longing, pain, grief.

"− yes, my Lord −" She mumbled, saying something quickly to the older man who stood beside her. He glanced worriedly in his direction as she spoke to him, then nodded and moved towards the man who was raising his empty tankard into the air.

She walked out to him, wiping her hands on her apron in a nervous gesture, trembling all over, her breathing ragged and uneven, her lips quivering as she spoke to him in a whisper.

"− Your Grace, I −"

"I want to speak with you. Alone."

She nodded, swallowing loudly, and indicated with a hand gesture for him to follow her up the stairs to the inn floor. She pulled a key from the pocket of her bottom gown and slipped it into one of the doors, then opened it.

He walked behind her into a tiny, modest room with one small bed, a table, a chair and a wooden wardrobe. She walked quickly over to the candle and lit it so they wouldn't be standing in complete darkness.

He closed the door behind him and pulled his cloak off his head, never taking his eye off her.

She was exactly as he remembered her.

He could see that her condition was getting worse, the shock beginning to subside with the realisation that he was really standing in front of her, that he had found her.

She moved towards her wardrobe as if she remembered something and from under a pile of blankets pulled out the same bag of coins he had given her. He furrowed his brow as she approached him with it, holding out her hand.

"I spent very little, just on travel, food and rent here the first few nights." She explained in a trembling voice, as soft and warm as he remembered. He pressed his lips together at her words.

"This is your money. It belongs to you." He replied dryly, feeling insulted at the thought that she thought he had gone to so much trouble for a few golden coins.

She swallowed loudly, putting the bag down and looked away, unable to bear his burning gaze.

"Aren't you going to say anything? Aren't you glad I survived?" He asked with a pain and disappointment that surprised him, as if he expected her to throw herself into his arms with tears.

She looked at him with those big, warm eyes of hers, her eyebrows arched in pain, her lips trembled at his words. She pressed her hands against her stomach – for a moment she looked as if she was choking, tear after tear began to run down her cheeks red with emotion.

"What I am feeling now I can only reveal to the gods in my prayers. In the same ones in which I begged them to spare your life." She choked out finally, and he swallowed loudly, feeling a squeeze in his throat and chest, his hands clenched into fists.

"Is that my child?" He asked, a grimace of pain passed across her face – she covered her face with her hand as if she didn't believe this was really happening.

"− please − have mercy −" She mumbled and he approached her with a sudden, aggressive step, towering over her. She drew in the air loudly, looking at him terrified, his hand tightened on her hair not allowing her to turn her face away.

"Don't you feel anything at the sight of me? At the memory of me deep inside you? Hm? It means nothing to you?" He asked coldly, her eyes hot, warm tears running down her cheeks and dripping onto the exposed skin of his wrist, her body twitching in convulsions.

He kissed her, kissed her as if she were a spring of water and he hadn't drunk in months, as if she were a warm bed and he hadn't been able to rest for many nights, as if she were a soothing whisper when all he could hear in his head was a thousand screams.

His tongue slid between her lips in a lingering, deep kiss, her startled, stifled moan caught in her throat, his hand holding her in a steel grip, refusing to let her move away.

He hummed low under his breath, satisfied when he felt her lips part invitingly, brushing his thirsty, longing-filled skin – they embraced at last and pressed against each other like a pair of lovers, her rounded belly pressed against his body.

He took her with gentle, steady, deep thrusts on her bed, lying behind her, panting loudly along with her, the wooden frame creaking each time he stretched her wonderfully tight insides again and again with his painfully hard cock, swollen with yearning.

"− did you long for it? − did you dream of me coming back and doing it to you again? − of my cock deep inside you? −" He gasped out, tightening his hand on her plushy hip.

She mewled softly, her fingers clenched on his arm with which he embraced her waist, his nose pressed against the hollow of her neck, inhaling the scent of her sweat, their bodies, hot and sticky with exertion, slapping against themselves with each of his thrusts.

"− yes − gods, yes −" She mumbled, tears of pain, longing, terror and joy running down her fair, hot, soft cheeks, her thighs spread wide in a gesture of complete submission, allowing him to slam into her as deeply as he wanted.

"− you did so well − already carrying my child − I'm going to put another and another inside you − hm? − my sweet little girl −" He breathed out into her ear and she came hard at his words, moaning and sobbing, her fleshy, hot muscles began to clench on him greedily in pleasure, squeezing his seed out of him. He closed his eyes in pleasure, his naked, sweaty chest pressed against the skin of her back.

"− that's it − don't waste even a drop − yes, just like that −" He murmured in delight, thrusts of his length pushing his spend as deep inside her as possible.

They lay breathing loudly, embracing each other, their bodies entwined together with their hands and legs, his cheek pressed against hers, his soft manhood still deep inside her hot body.

They were one.

"Return with me to the Red Keep." He whispered.

She trembled all over and swallowed loudly, her whole body tensing in terror. He felt it and placed a soft, light kiss on her bare shoulder.

She was a free woman.

He could not take her against her will.

"I will only bring you dishonour and shame." She mumbled through her tears and he chuckled low, stroking the bare skin of her slightly rounded belly with his fingers.

"I am a kinslayer. You are incapable of bringing me greater dishonour than that which I have brought upon myself."

His mother took his decision with fury. What he was doing was against their faith and beliefs, against good customs. She spoke to him about marriage, about the disgrace to his future wife. He laughed at his words.

"What self-respecting lady would marry a kinslayer? I have no desire to push my child inside a woman who feels nothing but disgust for me, mother. I cast Daemon down from the heavens, I won the war for us. This is what I demand in return."

He assigned her a chamber in a seldom-visited part of the keep, hiding her like his secret treasure, watching her abdomen swell from his heritage, from his seed.

He cherished her character, the fact that she understood their situation and that it would never change, that she would never become his wife, that their children would be bastards, that the kingdom would call their relationship sinful and ungodly.

He made sure that the other servants did not get the idea of hurting or poisoning her as a gesture of jealousy or honour, and promised that if anything happened to her, each of them would lose an eye.

They knew he wasn't lying.

Although the news of Alys' pregnancy broke him down at first, he later came to terms with it, however, it was seeing his servant with a stomach swollen from his child that brought him some kind of satisfaction and contentment.

When he visited her he would watch her lying on her bed in her nightgown, sitting in his chair, one of her hands stroking her belly, the other holding the book she was reading to him.

This was their ritual, their time of intellectual intimacy.

He felt some kind of pride hearing how fluently she read, almost no longer making mistakes.

She shuddered suddenly, pausing and looked down at her rounded abdomen with a smile.

"− our child is wriggling − someone here was intrigued by the story −" She said with the warmth, joy and lightness characteristic of her. He hummed under his breath, squinting his eyebrows in satisfaction.

Then he undid the buckles of his black tunic, untied his breeches and lay down behind her, putting his arms around her, her hands immediately on his, a murmur of comfort, contentment and security emanating from her breasts.

He usually took her before she went to sleep, sinking between her thighs with a sigh of delight, wonderfully squeezed on all sides. He forced his way into herwith his always ready, hard erection, which she welcomed inside her with the patience of a saint, moaning sweetly in his arms, her moisture slick against his thighs each time his naked body slapped against her sticky buttocks again.

He felt a sense of peace.

She did not demand anything from him.

She didn't ask him uncomfortable questions.

She didn't get upset when he couldn't spend time with her, taking handfuls of what he gave her.

For the first time in his life, he finally felt like he was enough for someone.

Her understanding, her humility, her patience, her warmth and joy at every moment they spent together filled his chest with a warm feeling he didn't want to feel.

The only thing she feared was that Alys would try to poison or hurt her. He hadn't visited her since he brought this innocent creature to the Red Keep, filling her to the brim with his seed almost every night.

He guessed that she already knew that she was expecting his child. He ordered his servants to try her food and drink before giving her anything, two of his trusted guards watching her chambers in his absence on his command.

Eventually, however, he received a letter from Harrenhal that Alys had given birth to his son and that her condition was good. He welcomed this news and, albeit reluctantly, decided to travel to Harrenhal to greet his offspring.

He had informed her of this the day before, lying in bed with her, taking an unruly strand of curls from her warm face, raspy with exertion after he had came deep inside her.

"I have to leave for a few days." He said briefly and matter-of-factly, not wanting to get into the subject.

He saw in her gaze that she understood at once what he meant, her eyebrows arched in pain. She nodded, in her eyes both regret and understanding at the same time.

She said nothing.

She knew that she had no right to demand anything from him.

However, he allowed her to snuggle into him, giving her comfort in his arms, enveloping her into his embrace, creating a fortress out of his body in which she could hide.

When he arrived in Harrenhal Alys greeted him with his son in her arms. He kissed her forehead and looked at the white-haired infant with satisfaction, expressing his sincere joy that the child was healthy and that she had survived the birth without complications.

He ate supper with her, however, despite her pleas, he did not stay in bed with her.

He had no desire to do so.

"You are here in body, but not in heart." She said to him regretfully as he sat in a chair in front of her. He looked at her impassively, not knowing what he should reply to such a statement, or from her perspective, an accusation.

"I am performing my duty. Harrenhal is yours, and after your death it will fall to our son. You lack nothing. What more do you want from me, Alys?" He asked frustrated, and she furrowed her raven-black eyebrows, shaking her head.

"I want you. I've lost you." She said in pain, her green eyes red from tears she was holding back by force of her will. She walked towards him and kneeled in front of him, looking at him pleadingly, reaching with her hand to untie his breeches. He stroked her cheek.

"I'm not for sale." He said calmly, pushing her wrist away with a gentle flick of his hand, then slowly got up and walked out, leaving her with an expression of despair and shock on her face.

He had no intention of forcing himself into anything.

He had no intention of pretending.

He never promised her anything.

All he could think about was her sweet lips clenched around his fat cock, sucking it in a wonderfully unhurried, tender rhythm, each time bravely swallowing everything that spilled out of him, doing so with a surprisingly innocent, calm look on her face, drawing from his throat sounds he had never made before.

However, he wanted to be a good father and promised to visit his son once every few months, giving him his full attention.

He returned to King's Landing on Vhagar with a strange kind of relief, tired and discouraged, the stares and silence of Alys driving him mad.

He headed straight for her chamber, wanting to touch her, to smell her, to see her face unbidden by resentment, disappointment and regret.

When he opened the door she shuddered, lifting herself up on the bed, snapped out of a deep sleep. She rose from her place and ran to him, throwing herself into his arms.

He was relieved to snuggle his nose into her hair, embracing her warm, small body with his arms.

"I'm back."

He took her slowly, asking her how much she had missed him, whether she had obeyed and not touched herself in his absence as he had commanded.

"− I have obeyed you, my Prince − I swear −" She mumbled, her breasts bouncing gently with each of his slow, firm, deep thrusts, her hot muscles throbbing hungrily against him, wanting to keep him inside her, thirsty and yearning.

He hummed contentedly at her words, delighted by her obedience, by the fact that she always did everything to please him.

"− very well − my little girl deserves to be taken care of, hm? − to relieve her a little −" He murmured between tender kisses placed on her neck, his hands roaming over her breasts and belly, her skin wonderfully soft and warm, her scent filling his lungs, her fingers tightening on his arms.

"− yes − please −" She mewled, writhing before him, impatient, having not tasted fulfillment for days.

"− please, what? −" He growled out warningly, tightening his hand on her thigh, lifting it up slightly, sliding into her faster, more violently, her head tilted back.

"− please, my Prince − please, I have waited so patiently for this −" She whimpered, and he chuckled at her words, delighted by her desperation and helplessness.

"− indeed − you deserve a reward − that's right, there you go − good girl −" He praised her as she cried out feeling his hand between her thighs, his palms spread her moisture over her hot womanhood and began to rub her puffy bud with circular, sure strokes, drawing sweet, helpless sounds from her throat.

"− oh, gods − ah −" She mumbled unable to get any meaningful sentences out.

He leaned back pulling her with him, resting the weight of her body against him, gripping her jaw in his hand, the other caressing and teasing the spot of her greatest pleasure. He forced her to look down.

"− look how good you're taking me − how tight you are, how my cock is stretching your body − see? −" He breathed out into her ear and she nodded, moaning and sobbing, her hand rising and involuntarily gripping his hair, her hips responding to his every thrust, their bodies slapping against each other with a wet, loud smacks.

"− do you like this view? − hm? −" He asked in delight, and in response received her loud, pathetic whimper and a powerful orgasm that shook her body.

"− fuck −" He muttered, panting along with her, their bodies relaxed as they lay in a tight embrace, their legs and hands entwined together, his cheek pressed against her shoulder.

He moaned low, surprised, pressing his face against her neck, prolonging his pleasure with a few more desperate thrusts before he peaked inside her with a sigh of relief.

He wasn't sure he'd ever come so hard before.

By a hair's breadth, words would burst out of his mouth that he would later regret, that he would be ashamed of.

Never in his life would he admit out loud that he longed for her.

He licked his effort-dry lips and sighed quietly, closing his eyes, exhausted, falling asleep with her almost immediately, his lungs filling with her pleasant scent.

On the day of her delivery, he was restless, walking around his chamber waiting for any news. He prayed that she would survive, that the child would be healthy, that the gods would not punish them for his actions, for his sins.

When his servant told him that it was all over he waited impatiently until night fell, not wanting to stir up yet more gossip and commentary among the court, and headed to her chamber to visit her.

He felt an immense sense of relief when he saw her lying on her bed, already dressed in a new, clean nightgown, lying under fresh sheets, her hair loose, a dark-haired infant in her hands.

She was rocking their child with an expression of contentment and tenderness on her face from which he felt a squeeze in his chest.

When she heard him enter she lifted her gaze to him, a wide, sincere smile on her face, her eyes shining with happiness.

"Look, my Prince. I have never seen a more beautiful creature than your daughter." She said warmly, and he felt a tightening in his throat at her words, at the news that he had a daughter who could be as kind, warm and affectionate as her mother.

Her mother leaned over her and tenderly kissed her little forehead, humming contentedly.

He approached them slowly and stood over them with his hands folded behind his back, looking at the infant dressed in a long white robe.

His daughter had his eyes.

"She smells wonderful. It's almost addictive. What shall we name her, my Prince?" She asked quietly, lifting her soft, warm gaze to him, their daughter's tiny hand clenched on her finger.

He swallowed loudly, feeling that his throat was strangely constricted, something moving about the sight. He grunted quietly, thinking.

"Rhaenys." He said lowly, pressing his lips together, recalling a sentence in one of the books he was reading, dedicated to Aegon the Conqueror.

King Aegon the Conqueror was said to have married Princess Visenya out of duty, and Princess Rhaenys out of lust and love. For one night with Princess Visenya, he spent ten in his younger sister's bed.

She smiled and nodded, accepting his decision without a word of complaint, apparently deciding it was a nice name, kissing her little daughter's plump cheek.

He did not know why, but he could watch the interactions between her and their daughter for hours sitting in his chair.

Rhaenys appeared to be a cheerful child, babbling loudly, through her mother's incessant speaking to her she reacted vividly to her every move or facial expression, squirming and giggling, catching her feet in her tiny chubby hands, swinging from side to side.

He felt something when he looked at them – he knew it and it frightened him, but he also found some kind of comfort in it.

He could no longer spend a day without visiting them, he spent whole evenings in their company.

At night, when Rhaenys finally fell asleep in her mother's arms, her belly full of her milk, he gave his attention only to her.

He could not find them conversing much, if anything discussing what she was reading to him, however, the way they kissed, the way their lips found each other instantly as soon as he lay down beside her, the way their hands stroked their cheeks and hair made him feel a pleasant, light tickle in his abdomen.

He adored her body, the way it reacted to him. He adored the way she sounded, sweet and innocent, he adored the way she melted under his fingers as he forced his tongue deep inside her, rewarding her for her devotion, for her patience, for her forbearance, as he opened her wide with his cock, hard with desire, to fill her again with his seed.

Not even a few months had passed and she was expecting his child again.

He was paying great attention to her breasts, wonderfully full of milk, sucking her breastmilk from her nipples, sweet and warm, whimpering and panting along with her as she rode him.

"Leave something for our daughter, my Prince." She cooed with warm amusement, stroking his hair and hugging his head to her chest, coming with delight on his painfully hard cock as she listened to him swallow her milk greedily, unable to pull away, filling her with himself with a wonderful sigh of relief.

And then his worst nightmare came true.

Under the inattention of his guards, a strange man burst into her chamber with a dagger, lashing out at her. She struggled against him, but he covered her mouth, trying to cut her throat with his other hand – only the screaming and crying of their daughter brought the guards inside, who disarmed him.

He only managed to slit her arm and wrist, however, what was most frightening when he burst into her chamber, terrified, was the sea of blood between her thighs where she was lying, sobbing loudly.

Their child in her womb.

It was the first time he'd ever heard anyone make a sound like hers – she was wailing and howling as if she were an animal, and he felt as if someone was ripping his insides out from the inside.

He was afraid to touch her, afraid that he would hurt her even more, unable to find words of comfort either for himself or for her.

He sentenced the guards who had allowed this to happen to death despite his mother's pleas for him to show them mercy.

He himself had supervised the interrogation of the man who had been caught, wanting to draw out of him who had done it.

He insisted that he didn't know where he got the money from, that an intermediary had come to him, set him a task and told him he would be paid double if he managed to kill both the girl and their daughter.

More elaborate torture, however, refreshed his memory, one very important detail, the place from which that man had come.

"Harrenhal."

At first he wanted to burn Alys alive in the Vhagar's fire.

Later, however, he decided that he would show her mercy and sent his envoy to her, who after a few days reported to him that the matter had been resolved.

He wrote him that she had not defended herself against the cut of his dagger, as if reconciled to her fate.

He personally flew to take his son from Harrenhal, having no intention of leaving him in the care of strangers.

He was of his blood.

He was relieved that she was treating Vaemond as if he were her child, offering to look after both his children as they needed a mother in the same way. He agreed seeing how quickly his son bonded with her, how he lunged into her embrace reaching out his chubby arms to her, impatient.

He wasn't sure Alys had ever shown him as much tenderness, interest and care as she had. She sang to him and read to him, carried him in her arms for hours when he had a colic or cried.

His presence helped her deal with the grief and suffering of losing their child, her scars had healed, but he knew that, like the one on his face, they would remain on her body for life, reminding her of this event.

Precisely because she had been so caring towards him, his son and their daughter, during the night when he was reunited with her with his body he was even more tender to her, even more understanding, caressing her for hours with his tongue alone, teasing and sucking her bud, making her a babbling, helpless mess, ripping from her fulfilment after fulfilment.

When his brother decided to give him Dragonstone as a reward for his services he took her with him, not imagining that she should be anywhere else.

She wore the gowns he had given her, blue, with long sleeves reaching the ground, emphasising the wonderfully dark colour of her hair, eyebrows and eyelashes, sapphire necklaces around her neck.

Looking at her from the side, sitting on the stone floor, reading to his children at his feet, he thought that enough was enough.

That he would do it right.

He called the right man and told her to follow him into the night without asking where they were going or why.

They got out through a back passage to the seashore.

She did not understand what was happening, why he had said he would cut her lips and her hands, let alone why he had told her to do the same. She trembled with tears in her eyes as he cut her soft skin with the dragonglass, and he watched the sight as if enchanted, strangely calm.

He told her to drink their mingled blood from the goblet, so she did, terrified, touching him by the fact that, as usual, she obeyed him, full of trust.

He took the goblet from her and drank a deep sip from it himself, licking his lips, delighted by this sensation, this ritual that united them forever.

She looked at him questioningly as he handed the cup back to the man standing next to them, wanting to understand what had happened, why they were doing this, what purpose it would serve. He looked at her and for a moment he couldn't get anything out.

He was furious with himself, but he was emotional, his throat constricted.

"I just became your husband."

She looked at him in disbelief and laughed, thinking he was mocking her.

After a moment she made big eyes, her eyebrows arched in pain, her lower lip trembling.

"− please, my Prince, it's not funny −" She gasped regretfully.

He looked down at her with calm eyes, waiting for her to realise he wasn't joking.

If it didn't get to her then, she understood it when he pressed her face against the cold wall of the underpass under Dragonstone, pulling her skirt up, the space between her buttocks shiny and glistening from her juices. He slapped her there with his hand and she cried out loudly, clasping her hands on the stone wall, leaning forward.

"− my little wife is always so fucking wet − hm? − constantly asking for my cock −" He hummed, untying his breeches and lowering them quickly, with one, sure thrust, stretching her tight, hot walls to their limits, their loud moan echoing around them as he began to fuck her with brutal, deep stabs of his hips.

They had their wedding night long ago then, in Harrenhal.

Now he just wanted to fuck her.

"− happy now? −" He mocked and she nodded, all red and hot with emotion, her whole body trembling in convulsions.

He could feel by the way she clenched down on him that she was close to fulfilment and watched with delight as with each thrust his length stretched her tight, hot walls again and again.

"− I'll put my next child inside you − hm? −" He hissed, tightening his fingers more firmly on her hips, pumping his manhood even deeper into her, all the way to the end, her moans turned into mewling and whimpering.

"− you must secure my inheritance − as any − good − wife − would − do −" He growled, the last words uttered accompanied by determined, deep thrusts from which she almost screamed, her face wonderfully red and warm, stunned by the pleasure and this partly brutal, partly passion-filled sensation.

"− please − oh, gods −" She sobbed loudly, coming hard on his length with her mouth wide open, he sighed heavily tilting his head up, feeling her walls throbbing against him and he gave in, filling her at last with himself.

"− take it − take your husband's spend like a good wife − you'll give me many more children − fuck, yes −" He breathed out, looking down at her, holding her hips with his hands, feeling her slump to the ground otherwise.

She opened her eyelids and looked up at him with her hot gaze, the kind he adored most, and whispered the words that sent a shiver through him.

"Fill me again in your bed, my husband."

_____

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[notsunnyowo]

Iᖴ YOᑌ ᑕᗩᑎ'T ᗷEᗩT TᕼEᗰ - ᒍOIᑎ 'Eᗰ

ᑭᗩᖇT 2

Part 1

Summary: After experiencing the thrill of being flustered for the first time - Satoru Gojo decides he needs to feel it again

Content: Fluff, Flirt! Gojo, Female! Reader (AFAB), Teen! Gojo x Teen! Reader (Reader is the same age as Gojo)

Word Count: 631

Satoru Gojo was on a mission.

Get the pretty new girl in his class to flirt back with him.

Ever since getting a taste of what it felt like to be on the receiving end of the flirting game, Satoru was hooked.

He desperately needed to feel the same emotions the new girl had somehow managed to stir within him.

And he was going to get what he wanted.

He always did.

And so- That's how his 'mission' started.

After that fateful day in your classroom, Satoru stepped up his game. He was a determined young fella. One that, when he set his mind to something, did everything in his power to obtain his goal.

Yet despite Satoru's persistence, you didn't seem to be doing what he was hoping for so desperately. That, however, didn't necessarily mean that his actions weren't getting to you. You hadn't even realized it when you started to actually enjoy his flirting attempts.

"Oh? What's this?" Satoru chirped, large frame shifting as he looked down at you. "You, giving me the time of day?" He grinned. Earlier that day, Satoru had come to you with another cheezy pick-up line and you'd actually giggled at it. To say that the young sorcerer was ecstatic would be an understatement. He was on cloud nine. "What's changed?" He cooed, tone dropping an octave as he continued. "Finally admit I'm hot as hell?~" Looking back at him, you tried to hold your serious expression, you really did, but there was something about the way Satoru had you practically pinned against the wall made your expression falter. You could feel the rosy blush slowly climbing up your neck, threatening to tint your checks with its vibrant rosy color. "You wish." Your reply was short, for you feared that if you were to continue speaking Gojo might notice the falter in your voice. You mentally scolded yourself for the way your heart thumped faster with each passing moment you spent so close to him. Letting out an amused chuckle Satoru teased. "You're such a bad liar, sweetcheeks." Gently raising a hand to grab your chin, forcing you to look straight up at him he continued. "You know I've been trying to date you for how long..? -Think it's been around six months." He said referring to somewhere in the beginning of the school year. "And yet, you're still givin' me the cold shoulder." God he was so close. Way too close. "What's a guy gotta do to get a date with you huh?" His words were so smooth, rolling off his tongue with practiced ease. You'd think they were some rehearsed lines for a romance movie. As your eyes met with his, you could feel the way your body reacted to him. The way goosebumps traveled across your torso to your arms, not to mention the way heat rushed to your cheeks. Fuck it. "That's what you want?" You asked, shooing his hand away from your face. "Fine then. You can take me out on a date this weekend." Did he hear that right? Did you really just agree to go out on a date with him? And that easily?? There it was again. That familiar warm feeling in his chest. Satoru looked back at you, his checks involuntarily turning a soft shade of pink. If you only knew the things you did to him. "Pick you up at seven, sweetcheeks." Quickly composing himself the young man took a step back from you. And with that he left, mostly because Satoru wasn't sure how much longer he could hold his excitement in him and not let it show. Meanwhile you were left there staring at his retreating form, with an amused smile on your lips. "Let's see what you've got, Satoru Gojo."

Author Note:

Wrote this while I was supposed to be sleeping so it might not be the best-

Regardless I hope you had fun reading! :)

[haikyu-mp4]

When in Rome

word count; 2392 – f!reader

Moving to Italy as a young adult to work as an au pair through a shady website wasn’t the most reckless thing anyone your age ever did. However, you hadn’t counted on the job being a complete lie and ending up stranded at the airport with nowhere to go.

You strolled over to the large notice board by the taxi section where people promoted anything the tourists might not want to miss. Your eyes skimmed over a few places to eat and cheap Airbnbs, and you sighed loudly until your eyes zeroed in on a laminated note.

‘Professional athlete needs an in-house cleaner and language teacher’ it said in Italian, and you had never been so thankful for taking all those language courses prior to this.

Hurriedly, you called the number and were greeted by an older man’s voice claiming to be a manager for Ali Roma, whatever that meant. You claimed to have experience in anything he asked and responded just quickly enough in Italian that you got the job.

By the time evening rolled around, you were sitting by the wall and leaning on your suitcase. The manager needed time to produce a contract and send it to your e-mail. Thank goodness for airport wifi. You had the contract open on your phone and quickly skimmed through it until you found the section where you would be living in an adjacent apartment by his house, before immediately completing the e-signature.

When you got there for the first time, that manager had been waiting in your new apartment to greet you and go over some details, also making sure you were who you said you were and then introducing you to Kageyama Tobio.

He was interesting, that Kageyama. Not as old as you might have imagined, and ridiculously handsome. Seemingly shy but not against having company. Kind but very direct.

It had been a long day of cleaning, which was the kind of manual labour your body wasn’t so used to performing yet. Finally off work for the day, you were singing to yourself over the stove, trying to read something off a food label when a dark head of hair appeared in your peripheral vision. Jumping in surprise, you held up the pasta packet as if to throw it, only to see Kageyama’s upper body leaning into the doorway with a curious wiggle of his nose. “Kageyama, you scared me.”

“I’m sorry.” The sauce was still cooking as you had forgotten to put on the pasta for boiling, so it would have to simmer for longer, but the smell must have wafted far enough to draw him in. “Did you make that?”

You proudly flourished your hands over the food. “I sure did,” you picked up some sauce on a spoon, holding it up for him with a hand underneath. “Wanna taste?”

The two of you spoke to each other slowly in Italian, adding some English words here and there. “Yes,” he confirmed, coming into the kitchen and walking straight over to you. You expected him to take the spoon from you, but your ears burned red as he leaned in close and ate the sauce right off the spoon. He seemed to consider the taste while all you could do was try to stay focused with him so close. Finally, he nodded and looked at you. “It’s really good, can I have some too?”

Luckily you had made a lot, intending to save some portions for later, so you spent the evening eating with Tobio – he insisted you call him Tobio – in the setting Italy sun.

Tobio had a lot of practices and seemed to stay longer than planned almost every time, so you would typically have a cup of tea and lounge on his couch, which was much more lavish than yours until you heard the door unlock. The general idea was for you to clean while he was out, so when he stayed longer than what it said in the schedule, you happily enjoyed the quiet luxury of his living room or the heat of Italy from his balcony after finishing the obligatory work. Then when he got home, you would often make dinner, which was not part of the original plan but naturally became part of the routine.

He was funny, in his own way, and the way you both laughed so quietly sat well with you as the sound of the busy city flowed through the open windows in the background.

Over the first weekend, you had done your best to prepare some learning materials that would suit his level, and you two would mostly use conversing as a way of learning, spending a few hours every Saturday. Whenever he hit a word he didn’t know in Italian, he would awkwardly move his hands in the air and look at you for help.

And sometimes, you weren’t sure either. “Oh… I don’t know that, actually,” you admitted, feeling your ears burn red as he was still staring at you expectantly. You chuckled under your breath to relieve the tension and opened up your computer to look it up. When you finally found it, you looked up, only to realise he had scooted closer on the couch to look at the screen too, not noticing how you took in a sharp breath of air at how your arms brushed against each other.

He nodded, seemingly happy with the answer as he tried to say it out loud. “Chiacchierare.”

You repeated it back to him with emphasis on where he struggled with pronouncing it. “Chiacchierare.”

And when you focused back on his face, he was staring at your lips, probably because you were teaching him pronunciation, but it still made you feel flustered. He repeated the word more properly, until he looked back up at your eyes, expectantly again.

“That was… good.” You cleared your throat and glanced at the wall clock before turning back to him. “Did you already go for your jog today?”

Tobio looked at his wristwatch and seemed to frown. “I would rather go later, it’s still pretty hot outside,” he said, getting up and walking into his kitchen now that it seemed you wanted a break. “Do you want anything to drink?”

“Just water, please!” You started packing up the teaching materials you always had lying around for the basic rules when Tobio came back in with two tall glasses of ice water.

“We’re done for the day?” he asked, and your heart skipped a beat at the disappointed look he wore.

“I just thought…” You drifted off because you weren’t sure what you thought. He just looked so ridiculously handsome in his leisure wear, and when he scooted closer, he smelled so good, and…

“Maybe we can do something else?” he asked, putting the glasses down without any coasters, so you added one underneath each glass. “Like go swimming?”

Tobio started asking you to do more things with him that couldn’t be considered something you weaved into the routine of your job. They were more like… dates. He would take you mini golfing, hiking or to a volleyball court, and then always buy you dinner wherever you wanted to try eating next. Whether it was some exclusive local restaurant or in the next town over, he would get you there.

Obviously, you knew what this might look like, what it might be becoming, but bringing it up brought on the risk of bursting the bubble. You were still keeping up with all the work they expected from you, and your time together never affected his practices or other work routines.

You fell in love with Kageyama Tobio and he fell in love with you.

A right person, right time kind of love.

It was the most casual evening you finally gave in to it. You were in your own kitchen, once again humming under your breath as you cooked, Italian tunes playing from the radio.

The sunshine came through the windows and lit up the room, alerting you when Kageyama’s shadow crept in. “Hello, there.” You looked up at him and smiled softly, stirring the pasta sauce that had a much better recipe now than it did when you first arrived. Speaking with the locals and making friends outside of work hadn’t been easy, but you got there.

“Hi.” He walked closer until he stood arm to arm with you, picking up the ladle to unnecessarily stir the pasta while you worked the sauce. His hair was damp, telling you he just got out of the shower after practice. “How was your day?”

“Very relaxing, video called my parents and went to the old neighbour for lunch,” you recalled. “She told me to bring you next time, said it’s been too long.” You bumped him with your elbow and he smiled, doing the same back. He didn’t need to know said neighbour referred to Tobio as your partner. “And you? How was practice?”

You couldn’t help but glance at him when he pouted. “It was fine, but I had some trouble with my serves.”

“Serves?” you repeated. “Were you trying something new?”

“Not really, just… had my mind on something else, I suppose.”

You hummed in understanding, then the Italian tunes took over the aura again as you finished the food, putting both the pot and pan on the cold parts of the stovetop.

You both slowed to a stop and seemed to be waiting for the other to choose your next move. In the end, you would never be able to tell anyone the answer to who moved first, because it only took a second for the two of you to be devouring each other.

Tobio had one hand on the back of your head, the other hand splayed across the middle of your back to pull you closer. Your arms clung to his shoulders to make sure he was actually there with you.

Your lips moved in perfect sync, and then either of you interrupted the flow with a different tangent in irregular intervals before naturally syncing back into each other’s pace.

By the time you two snuck back out of the bedroom that night, the pasta was cold, and he kissed you against the kitchen counter as it heated back up.

This routine you had been trying to piece together eventually blurred into your day-to-day life. Tobio would go to practice when he needed to, and on the days he stayed late, you were sometimes already snoring away in his bed, or sometimes waiting for him with a cup of tea by the time he returned. While he was out, you always cleaned the house, enjoying how it visibly turned into a home for two. Your clothes from yesterday needed to be thrown into the laundry because Tobio had made quick work of them before bed and his finished protein cup was left on the table in the dining room because he didn’t have time for everything in the morning. Every little thing made you smile.

You two eventually spoke almost exclusively in Italian, leaning affectionately on each other while searching up any words you didn’t remember. The neighbours loved you, and you even hosted a dinner for some of the local couples you spent time with.

“Y/n?” you heard called from the hallway. You sat on the sofa with Tobio’s iPad and browsed open positions in the area or online. Even though Tobio said you didn’t need to work to be with him, you wanted something to give your life some extra colour. Something like working with children or teaching language to people of all ages interested you greatly.

“Tobi?” you responded, lifting one arm to let him settle his head in your lap, letting your arm fall back over him while still scrolling.

“Let it go for today. We still haven’t talked to my manager about ending the contract,” he mumbled, closing his eyes to rest. He had early practice today, which left him plenty of quality time that you should be spending on giving him your attention!

You chuckled airily. “Did you do well at practice today?”

“Very well,” he confirmed, giving you that stiff smile that made you laugh more and think of the high school photos he had shown you before. “Hinata will be here in a week, we should settle everything with my manager by then so I don’t have to explain it to him. He’s not very smart.”

As your fingers stroked through his hair, you put the iPad to the side after locking it. “I’ll do it tomorrow,” you said. “For now-“ Tobio opened one eye to watch you, finding a coy smile. “Tell me what you’ll introduce me to Hinata as.”

He wasn’t sure how to take your tone. Was this relaxed attitude real or were you just waiting for him to say the wrong answer? “You’re my- Uhh… I can’t say girlfriend?” he asked and felt some relief at how a bigger smile stretched across your face. Then you leaned over to squish his face and push your lips against his in several small but loving kisses.

“Of course you can!”

“Tobio?” you yelled when you walked out of the kitchen to greet him at the door. He wasn’t supposed to be home for another ten minutes according to his last message, so you were curious about who else would just walk right in.

You stopped abruptly in the hallway as you saw his manager, staring at you with furrowed brows. You looked down at your bare legs and Kageyama’s hoodie, then back up in horror.

“I was going to ask if you know who Kageyama is seeing.” A silence fell over you where you did whatever you could to not meet his eyes. The heat crept up your neck and over your cheekbones. “But never mind!”

You would both later agree on ending the contract early, as Kageyama wouldn’t need your services anymore in the same way and you wouldn’t need to use the adjacent apartment.

Instead, he would save up some of that money he could have paid you with to buy you the kind of engagement ring that best suited your style.

Tobio wanted to spend the rest of his life with you. You were the right person, and it was the right time.

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