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semification · 11 months ago

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- DIE WITH A SMILE . . . VERITAS RATIO ✧.*

Veritas comes to realize that he loves you, but perhaps he comes to that realization far too late.

content: fem reader, death, penacony quest spoilers, angst with comfort (?), blood & injuries, veritas is a meanie (but he INSTANTLY regrets it!1!), friends to (grins evilly) …lovers

authors note: first fic on this account i hope you guys like it <3 i ran out of motivation while writing this halfway can u tell. anyways go stream die with a smile by bruno mars and lady gaga because i was listening to that song on loop while making this fic and i think its a super fitting song for this hehe

wc: 5.9k (its a quick read i promise)

masterlist

“You’re being ridiculous, Veritas.”

Bickering with Dr. Veritas Ratio was not out of the ordinary. In fact, it was a pastime for the two of you, engaging in various academic debates to see which party presented a better argument. It was seen as a great deal of praise to be able to do such a thing with an esteemed man like Veritas. It made it seem like you two stood on the same ground–the same ground of a man who felt so out of reach.

“Oh, really now? I’m the one being ridiculous? I am ‘ridiculous’ simply because I am looking out for your safety, Y/N?”

This… however, this was not normal. This quarrel felt personal, stemming from your feelings instead of facts and objective data. This felt like an attack on your friendship–but from the amount of vile he’s spitting from his mouth, you wonder if Veritas has ever considered you as a friend in the first place.

The more he speaks, the more you are reminded that you didn’t stand on the same ground as him. You felt terrifyingly inferior, and even though he was right in front of you, you felt like you were miles away from him.

“No, I’m saying you’re ridiculous for calling me weak and incapable because apparently, I’m not good enough to go on this expedition when it’s my fucking job.”

However, you mostly felt like a fool.

You felt like such a fool for falling in love with a man like him. You fell in love with him because of his neverending thirst for knowledge. You fell in love with him because you were just as much of a bibliophile as he was. You fell in love with him because you wanted to spread your knowledge around the universe as much as he wished to. You fell in love with him because, for a moment, you thought he saw you differently from everyone else, and that he truly enjoyed being in your presence.

You turn away from him, tears forming in your eyes. You stubbornly blink them away, because you think back to what started this argument in the first place.

You had just finished detailing your mission to Veritas, which was your routine every time the Intelligentsia Guild dispatched you on some kind of research expedition. This mission was different, however. You would be gone for three months, longer than usual–and the mission was very combat-oriented and dangerous, which wasn’t like your usual expeditions. Despite the warnings, you still accepted it, thinking of it as something new, but nothing that you couldn’t handle.

Veritas seemed to think otherwise, however, because when you peer over to look at his reaction, he looked very displeased.

(It wasn’t a very uncommon look to see on his face, but you could tell he seemed more serious–like how the frown lines on his face were deeper than usual.)

You weren’t particularly surprised by the expression on his face. What surprised you the most was the first thing that came out of his mouth after hearing your expedition’s rundown. “Are you sure you’ll be able to go on that mission?”

You look at him incredulously, surprised at the amount of distaste in his voice. His displeasure was directed at… you? “What is that supposed to mean, Veritas?”

“I’m saying that you’re too weak and incapable to go on that expedition, Y/N. I do not know why the Guild would assign you such a difficult mission. They truly are overestimating your power.” The words came out of his mouth so casually, like you had just asked him about the weather. Is this how his students feel when they take his infamous course with a passing rate of a mere three percent? How his students feel whenever they get scolded by him?

You just can’t believe it. He said those words like it were a fact—straight from the myriad of encyclopedias that he’s read. Maybe because it was a fact in his head: he saw you as nothing but “weak” and “incapable”.

A stray tear manages to escape from your eye, and you quickly wipe it away angrily before turning back to Veritas with a sniffle. No. You cannot cry in front of his face. Crying is an expression of weakness–of vulnerability. And what you are trying to prove to Veritas is that you are not “weak”. You are not “incapable” either, and you are going to prove that to him by going on this mission and making him eat his words.

“I will be leaving in three system hours. Do not bother showing up during my departure.”

You cringe at the way your voice shakes at the end, but you stand firm. Those words were the last thing you said to him before leaving his office with a bitter heart. When you exit his room, you finally let your emotions run free, letting the tears stream down your face without end. You quietly sob as you retreat to your own office, closing the door and letting out a shaky exhale, escaping all the nosy whispers and chatter of the Guild members.

You sob at the heartbreaking realization that just when you think you’ve gotten close to the “untouchable” Veritas Ratio, he pushes you away just like how he does to everyone else… because that’s just simply what you are to him.

Another person who fades into the background, and nothing more.

Dr. Veritas Ratio is a man who exhibits prestige and greatness like no other. Throughout his academic career, he obtained eight PhDs and graduated with the First Class Honors Degree, which hadn’t been awarded to anyone for two Amber Eras. He was gifted with knowledge, and now he uses that knowledge and spreads it far across the cosmos to “cure idiocy”, treating it like a disease that needs to be treated.

And yet, for once in his life, he refuses to admit it out loud, but he’s acted like the one thing that he completely loathed. The very thing that he was trying to exterminate.

An idiot. He was an idiot, and it was all because he could not word himself correctly when he spoke to you. He has written hundreds of papers, essays, and dissertations, but time and time again, he could not seem to think—to be able to formulate the proper words to say when it came to you.

And now, Veritas has royally messed up, and for once in life, he has no idea what to do.

He was just genuinely concerned for your safety. It was all he thought about once you had finished detailing your expedition to him. He wanted to convince you—to pick the right words to say so he could persuade you not to go, but it seems that his fear of being seen as vulnerable shone through first. It reminded him of the days when you two weren’t close; the days he spoke to you while wearing his alabaster head.

He only wears that head because he “can’t bear to see idiots,” but given how he just called you “weak” and “incapable” in the argument that just transpired, one could almost laugh at the hypocrisy of it all. Veritas may as well talk to himself while wearing the alabaster head.

Because only idiots would address you with those terms.

You were an enigma to Veritas from the very beginning. People from the Intelligentsia Guild rarely stood out to him, but you were different—sticking out like a sore thumb the moment he laid his eyes on you.

That’s because your presence utterly enchanted him—you had similar tastes in literary works, you matched his sarcasm and topped it off with even wittier replies, and you also wanted to use your knowledge for other people to learn.

You were not weak and incapable. He saw you as anything but that, in fact. He was at fault for the argument, but he can’t bring himself to say it out loud, for Aeon’s sake.

He knows that he owes you an apology, it’s the least he could do... He just needs to apologize, then convince you to not go on that expedition. You’re scheduled to leave soon—approximately two and a half system hours—he still has time.

And yet, his mind is being stubborn. He knows that he needs to apologize, but he just can’t bring himself to. He can’t remember the last time he’s genuinely apologized to someone—an apology without a trace of sarcasm at that.

“Trouble in paradise, doctor?”

He could recognize the esteemed gambler’s voice from miles away, and it irks him how he always seemed to show up at the worst times. Aventurine’s got a knowing gaze on him—a stare that can pierce through any poker face so he could see exactly what they’re thinking. “I suggest not meddling in any business that doesn’t concern you, gambler.”

Except he’s already got him. “This is about Y/N, isn’t it?”

Hook, line, and sinker.

Aventurine believes that one’s eyes are the windows to the soul–and he doesn’t miss the way Veritas’ eyes soften when he says your name, smiling at the unintentional answer to his question. He definitely doesn’t have the best poker face in town. For such a stoic man, he surely cannot put himself together when it comes to anything that has to do with you.

Aeons. Just what were you doing to him?

There was no use hiding it from him, so he just silently nodded, with Aventurine clicking his tongue. “Rumors fly fast in the guild, especially when Dr. Ratio’s dear friend Y/N was seen walking out of his office crying. I just had to see what this was really about, you know?”

You were crying when you left?

He doesn’t voice his concern out loud, of course. Instead, Veritas just sighs heavily. “All I wanted to do was convince her to not go on that mission that she’s currently dispatched on. It just seems… far too dangerous.”

Aventurine’s got an idea of what happened next considering how you ran out of this room crying, but he decides to ask anyway. “Oh? And how did that work out for you?”

Veritas refuses to meet his gaze, his heart sinking when he simply thinks about what happened earlier. “…”

“At least humor me, doctor.”

He turns away from Aventurine completely, a deep shade of red coating his cheeks. Was it out of embarrassment? Shame? Whatever it was, he didn’t need him to see it. “…I called her weak and incapable.”

When Aventurine doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, Veritas speaks to fill the silence. “I admit, I did not know what was going through my head when I addressed her with those words.”

The uncomfortable silence drags on for a little longer until it’s interrupted by the piercing sound of Aventurine’s laughter. His laugh makes the red spread across Veritas’ cheeks even more—uncharacteristically so, especially since he’s normally so put together. He doesn’t even have the heart to tell Aventurine to stop laughing, because a small huge part of him feels that he deserves this.

He deserves to sit through this feeling because he knows you faced the same humiliation when he shut you out.

“Hahaha! I can’t—“ Aventurine’s nearly keeling over in laughter, and the gambler swears he could feel tears build up in his eyes. “Oh, please! You have such a way with words, don’t you?”

Aventurine continues, failing to conceal his hysteria. “Weak and incapable? If anything, that’ll only fuel the fire. She’d want to go on that mission just to prove you wrong.”

“I’m well aware. It is exactly what happened after all.” You’re leaving soon. The thought of you leaving makes Veritas’ stomach churn, and he has no idea why. Out of all the many expeditions you’ve been sent on, this is the first time he’s felt this way–been filled with so much dread.

“Well,” Aventurine pretends to think for a moment, putting his hand on his chin. “It won’t hurt to sacrifice a little bit of your already enormous ego to apologize to her, no? There’s enough of your pride to go around.”

I don’t know if I can bring myself to.

Veritas doesn’t say those words out loud. Instead, he masks his worries with a scoff. Aventurine doesn’t have to know. “Watch your mouth, gambler.”

“Oh my, I really struck a nerve there, did I?”

“Researcher Y/N? I’m sorry sir, she just departed a few minutes ago.”

You left.

The three system hours hadn’t even passed yet—there were still two hours before your scheduled departure—and you left early.

You left, and he didn’t even get the opportunity to apologize.

The researcher could only watch as the great Veritas Ratio, normally so composed, looks away from him wide-eyed and mouth slightly agape. He’s utterly dumbfounded, a look that is never seen on his face. What is he supposed to do now?

You’re too late.

For the next several weeks, Veritas could only wait anxiously for your return. Worry follows him like a cloud, and even his students pick up on his weird behavior. It’s all so grueling—waiting for you without so much of an idea of how you’re doing or if your expedition is going well.

While waiting for your return, he plans out his actions for the next time he sees you. He doesn’t want to apologize over text–Veritas sees it as inappropriate and prefers to show his sincerity in person. Face-to-face is how he is going to do it, and he sends you a message in preparation for that. “I’d like for us to talk when you’re back. Please message me immediately upon your arrival.”

…Except an error message stares at him back when he presses the send button. It’s almost mocking him in a sense, like the universe is doing everything in its power to prevent him from atoning for his mistakes. Of course you weren’t going to have signal when you’re so far away from him. Just what was he expecting?

You were scheduled to return after another few weeks, and Veritas could only prepare for the days to pass by excruciatingly slowly. Until then, he thinks over what he’s going to say for his apology. Maybe he could give you something too. He thinks that finding a way to get your favorite flowers is a nice start.

You’re tired.

Exhaustion envelops you like a blanket, and after trying your hardest to resist, you just can’t anymore.

You’re so tired.

You finally succumb to the fatigue, falling onto the ground as your sword clatters with a thud. You lay there, lying in a pool of your own blood, accepting that this was the cruel fate that the great Aeons above bestowed upon you in the end. You laugh at the absurdity of it all, but it only comes out as a weak cough, which quickly transitions into a fit of hacking up crimson droplets—lighting your throat on fire.

It was a fragmentum monster ambush. The planet you were exploring contained a lot of them–mainly due to the Stellaron corrosion that it was experiencing. After three weeks of exploring, it was supposed to be just another day of collecting data and extracting information for the guild. You’ve done this countless times already–anything out of the ordinary happening was beyond you.

The ambush had occurred when you least expected it–you barely even had the time to draw out your sword. One thing led to another, and at some point, there were just too many of them that leaving the battle unscathed was out of the question. And at the end of it, you were a mess, standing in a field of bodies with blood sticking to your clothes–a mix of the fragmentum and your own. The worst part was that it was mainly your own, with the source coming from a deep gash in your abdomen. You were losing blood at a terrifying rate.

Panic fills your veins once you fully process the gravity of the situation. Heart thumping, you realize that you’re going to die–and you are going to die alone.

What a pitiful end this was.

You’ve sent a distress call to the guild, but you know that your fate has been sealed already. You’ll be long gone before anyone will be here to help you, and they’d just be here to clean up your remains. You hope that the guild would at least grant you a proper funeral.

It’s truly comical how fate works. People your age are usually too busy thinking about marriage, or deciding how many kids they want to have in the near future. And yet, here you are, on the precipice of reaching death’s door, thinking about your funeral.

Your vision turns blurry, and you sniffle as hot tears begin to roll down your cheeks. Fuck, you don’t want to die. There are far too many things that you haven’t done. And yet, you can’t find the strength to continue on either. You’re just so, so tired.

In the midst of your cries, you softly mumble out a name. A name that you love, hate, and everything in between with a passion.

“…Veritas.”

You initially wanted to go on this mission with the intent of exploring this planet, but after the argument, you know you went mainly because you wanted to prove him wrong.

You wonder if he truly meant those words. Even if he didn’t, maybe he was right, because look at what your determination had cost you–lying in a pool of your own blood, all because you wanted Veritas to see that you weren’t weak and incapable.

Even though you went on this expedition angry at him, (a part of you still is angry) you’ve never wanted to see him so badly in your life. You were going to die with many regrets–perhaps the biggest one was that you never got to tell Veritas how you truly feel about him.

You just want to see him once last time. Is it selfish to ask for one more day with him? One more hour… or to engage in at least one more heated debate. Hell, you’d even take one more minute with him. And in that minute, maybe you’d slap him in the face for what happened. But maybe you’d tell him you love him and kiss him over and over, apologizing for even thinking about slapping his stupidly perfect face.

Despite how much of an asshole he can be at times, you love Veritas Ratio. You love his snark and sarcasm and everything about him, and you’re going to die without even knowing if he loves you back. This is your biggest regret.

No, you can’t die like this. You need to tell him. You have to.

As darkness starts to cloud your vision, you use all of your remaining strength to pull your phone out from your pocket despite the wound in your abdomen screaming in protest. Your fingers shakily make their way to Veritas’ contact, and with a pained breath, you begin to type.

“Take me to where she sent the distress call, now.”

There was a bunch of commotion in the guild—too much commotion considering how early it was. Veritas could only wonder what all the clamor was about, but he froze once he heard your name leave one of the researcher’s mouths.

And his biggest nightmare is now a reality once someone finally fills him in on the situation: Your signal had disappeared off the radar, but not after you sent a distress call to the guild. You needed help, yet you were so far from his grasp. “But Doctor, we-“

“I need not repeat myself. Her life is in grave danger, and yet here you are, arguing with me and wasting precious time when this time could be used saving her.” His words surprised both himself and the guild member, who shakily nodded at his request. Veritas was certain that if you were just anybody else, he could have less of a care about your distress signal. But no, this was you—and he needed to make sure that you were okay.

Veritas looked calm and collected on the outside, but on the inside, he was falling apart. Calm yourself, you need to be the strong one in this situation. She’s the one in danger here.

Aeons, all he had to do was convince you to not go on this expedition. Instead, he made everything worse with his poor choice of words, and now he’s paying the price for it. He could only hope that he wasn’t too late.

Wait for me Y/N. Please. That’s all I ask.

In his office, there’s a bouquet of your favorite flowers resting on his desk, and they’ve slowly begun to wither away.

When Veritas finally arrived at where you were last seen on the signal, there were bodies littered everywhere, and he could only hope that none of them were yours. Paired with those bodies was the color red—crimson was scattered all over, and it was practically all he could see. Did you take all of these fragmentum down by yourself?

As Veritas inspected all of the fragmentum bodies, all slain by a single blade, one of the researchers accompanying him pointed out a trail of blood leaving the site. It makes him freeze, because it might be…

“Y/N.”

Shit.

He immediately goes after the trail without an ounce of hesitation. The scene laid before him is something that has only haunted him in his nightmares, yet at this very moment, it lies before him as a terrifying reality.

His blood runs cold, and for the first time in his life, Veritas Ratio is rendered speechless.

Your limp body lies in front of him, in a pool of so much blood that just seeing it sickens him to his stomach. He can’t feel his own body as he falls to his knees, paying no mind to the other researchers around him. No, right now, it was just you and Veritas. Nobody else.

“No,” With trembling hands, he pulls your body close to his own as your blood taints his clothing. Even though he knows you’re too far gone already, he can’t help but try to feel your pulse, because there’s a part of him that just refuses to believe that he’s too late. “No, no, no—“

There was nothing.

It probably hasn’t been beating for a while, and that thought leaves him utterly empty, with a single stray tear rolling down his cheek.

If he were just a little bit faster, maybe he could’ve saved you. If he could’ve just formulated his words correctly so he could convince you not to go on this expedition. If he could’ve just apologized…

If he could’ve just been… a better friend.

All these could haves, yet Veritas didn’t act on any of them.

Pathetic.

Your phone is beside you, and Veritas gingerly picks it up. The screen was still lit, despite it being shattered to oblivion. It was open to the messaging app—specifically his contact.

It was never sent due to poor signal, but you were messaging him before you died. He was your last thought.

“I’m sorry, Veritas. I just don’t want you to think I’m weak and incapable.”

“Still, I want you to remember that”

You were the one apologizing to him, even after everything was said and done. He can’t even fathom that.

And weak and incapable, huh. You were anything but that. If anything, Veritas was the weak and incapable one. He was weak for not being able to swallow his pride even if he was the one in the wrong—and he was incapable of simply apologizing to you.

And the last message… What is it supposed to mean?

What do you want him to remember?

When Veritas was sent to Penacony and matters with the head of the Oak Family, Sunday, had been dealt with, he was finally allowed to leave. It was the first mission the guild had assigned him since you left, and his efforts to prevent Aventurine from going on an all-out suicide mission helped Veritas take his thoughts away from you, even if it was just for a moment.

And yet, you always find your way back to haunt him. Not even the Land of Dreams could prevent that.

Still, he had done his part, sorted out his deals in Penacony as a representative sent by the guild, and it was time to go.

It’s been a few months since your death, and Veritas thinks that living without you is like living without the sun. It’s funny how he’s only realized how much you’ve changed his life only after you’ve gone. You lit up his life, both metaphorically and physically—and now, everything feels so dull, and he constantly longs for your presence in the darkness.

But now you’re gone, and he feels so terribly lost, even now as he does paperwork in his office. Life became way more monotonous after you had left. The quiet is suffocating, because Veritas can only think about the times that the quiet office was filled with your voice instead.

Even now, in the rare moments that Veritas picks up a book nowadays, he thinks about how much you would have enjoyed it as well.

Paperwork is one of the few things that he finds solace in anymore, as it helps him drown out his thoughts so they don’t end up drifting back to you.

…You.

His eyes land on your sword before he can even do anything about it, and he swallows thickly. Your blade is displayed on his wall, another way for Veritas to show his honor for you.

The blade you singlehandedly used to defeat all those monsters, and the blade you’ll never be able to wield again.

He tears his eyes away from it before his thoughts can spiral again. He can feel his vision start to blur, and he blinks the tears away before they escape. He wonders how many tears he’s shed for you since you’ve been gone.

Veritas tries and fails to focus on his paperwork once more until he’s interrupted by a knock at the door.

He thinks a walk will do him good.

He stands up from his desk and slowly walks over to his office door, wondering who it could be. He rarely gets visitors nowadays, unless it’s something that’s of utmost importance. Everyone else is afraid to talk to him, as Veritas became… colder after your death.

If anyone were to ask why—it’s because when you died, a part of Veritas did too.

He turns the door’s handle, only to see…

You.

You were standing right in front of him, in the same outfit that you were in the day you left for your mission. Except this time, you were alive, and Veritas has no idea what to think.

You’re the first one to break the silence, whispering his name. “Veritas?”

Hearing you say his name feels like he can finally breathe again. “Y/N? Is it really you?”

Before you can even answer his question, he engulfs you in a tight hug, breathing in your scent. Veritas held you like his life depended on it—because at this moment, it felt like it did. He says the words that have been on his mind for the past few months. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry darling. If only I hadn’t-“

You pull back from the hug, putting your pointer finger against his lips as a signal for him to stop talking. Barely even registering the endearing name that he called you, you smile, cupping his cheeks before sighing tenderly. “I’ve forgiven you a long time ago, Veritas.”

He only hugs you tighter, coming to a revelation that only makes the pain in his heart ever worsen. He saw your lifeless body himself, he paid respects to your body at your funeral… and he laid your favorite flowers on top of your gravesite where your body rested, even though those flowers were supposed to be an apology gift. “You’re… not real.”

“I’m still in Penacony, right? This is all a dream.”

You smile, nodding in confirmation. “Nothing truly gets past you, does it? You’re dreaming what you desire the most right now.”

“I promise you that we will meet again, Veritas. it will not be today, but the day will eventually come, and I’ll be waiting for you every step of the way.” You breathe in deeply. “But right now, you need to wake up from this dream, before it's too late.”

He’s not sure if he wants to wake up, though.

“But what if… I just want to stay here with you?”

“We both know it’s not what you really want.” You can see right through him. “If you stay with me in this dream, you’ll be living nothing but a simulated life. I may be here with you, but you’ll never truly fill that hole in your heart, because I am not Y/N. I’m just a creation of your deepest desires, and you know that I’ll never be her. That is not a life worth living.”

“I know she would want you to live your life to the fullest, to truly experience things, to teach your students unforgettable lessons… so they become great people like you.” You pause, looking right into his eyes. They’re filled with pain, sorrow, and the desire to cling on to the past. “And when your time comes eventually, she will be waiting for you. You will apologize once again, because you never got to apologize to her before she died, but she has forgiven you long ago, and it’s all because…”

Despite that, you have to teach him that it’s time to let go. “She wants you to remember that she loves you, Veritas Ratio.”

“Still, I want you to remember that… I love you.”

A tear rolls down his cheek at your words, and then another…. and another. “Even if I don’t know how to apologize?”

You let out a watery laugh, nodding your head. “Even if you don’t know how to apologize.”

“Then… I will do as she asks. It is the least I can do to make up for what I’ve done.” He says, and he takes a deep breath before his next words. “Can I… hug you one last time? Even though you aren’t… actually her.”

“Go ahead, Veritas. But I’m afraid that after this, you have to let go.”

You need to let go.

He nods before wrapping his arms around your figure. It was such a vulnerable act, like a man putting the entirety of his heart and soul out for you to take. He breathes in your scent, wanting to take it in once last time before he has to bid you goodbye. You feel a few of his tears staining your clothing, but you pay it no mind.

How many tears has he shed for you since you’ve been gone? Not enough. He doesn’t feel that it’ll ever be enough.

When he opens his eyes, you’re slowly fading away from him. There’s a melancholic smile on your face, your eyes meeting his—filled with pain, sorrow, a desire to cling onto the past, and yet… a hint of acceptance.

“Still, I want you to remember that… I love you.”

Yes, he remembers. And he’ll remember your words for the rest of his life, until the moment that he leaves this cosmos on his deathbed. He’s just hoping that you’ll wait long enough for him to say it back.

Before you’re about to fade away completely, you lean in one last time and whisper to him…

“It’s time to wake up, Veritas.”

He wakes up from the dream pool with a gasp. The water splashes around him, and a few stray tears roll down his cheeks.

The rest of his actual Penacony trip went by surprisingly smoothly, and he doesn’t mention the dream that he had to anyone. It was like a secret shared between you and Veritas–and he was going to treasure that secret forever.

And now, the Charmony Festival has commenced, and the fireworks have begun. As he watches the sparks explode into thousands of dazzling rays of light above, he pulls out his phone to text you. Almost like one final goodbye, because he knows it’s what you would’ve wanted.

“I love you too, Y/N. I will love you my entire lifetime–past beyond the boundaries of eternity, even after all the stars long die out in the cosmos.

I long for the day that we will meet again… because then, I’ll finally be able to tell you this confession in person. For now, I hope you can continue to find the patience to keep waiting for me.

…Until the stars align, and we’re able to see each other once again.”

He looks up to the endless bursts of blazing rays lighting up the night, mixed with the eternal shine of the cosmos. It was truly a sight to behold. And for a split second, he could feel someone by his side watching the fireworks with him. It warmed his heart, even if it were just for a moment.

“Aren’t these fireworks beautiful, Veritas?”

“They will never be as enchanting as you, Y/N.”

#semi writes #dr ratio #dr ratio hsr #dr ratio x reader #veritas ratio #dr ratio x you #dr ratio fluff #dr ratio angst #dr ratio comfort #hsr #honkai star rail #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr angst #honkai star rail angst #hsr x you #hsr x y/n #divider by cafekitsune

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moonstruckme · 2 years ago

Note

perhaps whimsical!reader x one of the marauders (you choose) who’s being made fun of but doesn’t realize it? And they defend you or talk to you or something?

Thanks for requesting <3

Remus Lupin x whimsical!reader ♡ 745 words

Remus watches as your eyes drift out the window beside his couch.

“I think you’d like it,” James continues, unaware that he’s lost your attention as he tells you about the shop he’d gone to with Mary the day before. “They’ve got incense and crystals, all that stuff.”

When you don’t react, Remus nudges your leg with his.

You look at him. “Hm?”

“That does sound like someplace you’d like,” he tries to clue you in, “doesn’t it?”

“Oh, yes.” You give James a breezy smile. He returns it with ease, not a lick of pique about him. “Thank you, James, I’ll have to go. Where is it?”

James’ thick eyebrows come together. “You know, I’m not actually sure. Mary led the way there and I just sort of followed, but I want to say it was on fourth.”

You nod, and Remus smiles at your obvious expertise on the matter. He doubts there’s a shop of that kind that you haven’t been to, but you’re humoring James just to be kind. “Right, there’s a string of them on fourth street. Maybe I can ask Mary sometime and see if—oh, the fawn is standing up!”

You grab Remus’ hand excitedly, turning in your seat to get a better view out the window. Your eyes are very nearly heart-shaped as you coo over the baby deer wobbling to its feet a few yards from Remus’ home. “Oh my goodness, it’s so precious. Do you guys see it?”

Remus shoots James an apologetic look, but his friend smiles and shrugs it off, coming to lean over the couch beside you.

“It is really cute,” he agrees.

Sirius laughs. “You’ve really got yourself a goldfish, haven’t you Moony?” You don’t pay him any mind, but Remus regards him quizzically. “She can’t seem to talk to anyone for more than two seconds before she’s distracted by something shiny.”

Now, you turn, your head tilting like a puppy’s. “It’s not shiny, Sirius, it’s a fawn. Do you want to come see?”

“It’s a figure of speech, love.”

“Pads.” Remus’ voice is hard. “Don’t.”

Your brows pucker at your boyfriend’s tone. “Remus,” you sound almost hurt, “what’s wrong?”

He wraps a protective hand around your thigh, but James speaks before he can.

“It’s nothing,” he says cheerily. His voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper. “They’re always squabbling like this, they’re like an old married couple. Best to do as I do and stay out of it.”

“Oh, please,” Sirius guffaws. “Like you’ve ever stayed out of anything in your life.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” James says. Remus relaxes as the beginnings of a bemused smile touches your lips. “I don’t partake in any such childish quarreling.”

It’s only after his friends leave and Remus is cleaning up his kitchen from all the snacks they’d left strewn about, that he says quietly, “Don’t mind Sirius, dove. His sense of humor can be mean, but he wouldn’t tease you if he didn’t like you.”

You pause sweeping up the floor, looking at him curiously. “What do you mean? I thought they were both really nice.”

“They are,” he says, “but I just want to make sure you understand that when Sirius was making fun of you, he didn’t really mean anything by it.”

“He was making fun of me?”

Remus swears he feels his heart fall right out his ass.

“Yes, sweetheart, but like I said, he was only teasing.” He gives you a small smile, but at your puzzled look, reluctantly clarifies, “You remember when he said you were a goldfish?”

You nod.

“That was it, dove. That was the joke.”

“Oh.” You smile funnily, one side of your mouth quirking up more than the other. “Is that supposed to be a bad thing? I’d love to be a goldfish.”

A little laugh startles out of Remus. “Really?” he asks.

You nod happily, resuming your sweeping. “They can see more colors than humans, did you know? And they’re really very pretty.”

It’s all Remus can do to keep from crossing the kitchen to squish you in a hug. He’s grinning ear-to-ear. “Well,” he says, trying to match your serene tone, “then it suits you, dove.”

“I think so,” you say lightly. “You should be a goldfish too, Remus. Or actually, I think I see you more as a seahorse. We could both be seahorses, if you like.”

“Don’t seahorses mate for life?”

“Mhm. Suits us, don’t you think?”

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littleemissperfecttt · 3 months ago

Text

The Youngest Sorrengail

About the story: Y/n is violets twin sister. Unlike violet y/n was trained to be a rider by her mother and to be a scribe by her father. The sisters have a strained relationship. Will y/n continue to resent violet because of the past or will she help her in surviving basgiath war college?

Series Masterlist Next Chapter>>

Chapter 1

Y/n pov:

I had already crossed the parapet and have already given my name 'Y/n Sorrengail' the youngest daughter of Lilith Sorrengail- the general and the most hated amongst the marked ones- the unexpected daughter, they thought it was only violet but surprise surprise there i was. They didn't have to tell me I was unwanted, their actions spoke louder. I didn't have the hair like my sisters, mine was the same as our mothers and I had kept it long too

I didn't see the point of being 'marked' the last I heard about them was that they were strong and most of them had survived the threshing making them worthy... As worthy as any other rider out there. When i think of it I was a marked one too but without the mark since before the rebellion.. since the day I was born actually

I am standing alone in one corner waiting for my sister to cross the parapet or get the news of her death. I can feel the glares of the marked ones even with my eyes closed. I open my eyes to see my twin enter I scan her to make sure she is okay (not that anyone would know I am checking on her) I see she is barefoot and is searching for someone as the girl beside her walks away from her after giving her the boots

I sigh softly and walk towards her "why were you barefoot?" I ask glaring at her instead of congratulating her for crossing the parapet "thank you for congratulating me sister i am well how are you?" She asks sarcastically "Violet" i say as a warning she sighs and runs her face "i gave my boots to the girl who was behind me" i raise my eyebrows at her explanation "why so?"

"because she needed it" she said looking away not making eye contact with me "and you didn't?" I glare at her she sighs "Y/n I would love to quarrel with you but I need to find Dain now" I roll my eyes and nods as she walks away searching for Dain

Dain Aetos he has been our- Violet's childhood friend. I wasn't as close to him as Violet was. Heck I wasn't even his friend. I thought his father was a little too suspicious so I kept my distance from Dain. He was not as suspicious but he was most definitely a daddy's boy

My thoughts were broken when they told us to assemble I stand behind my twin and the girl- Rhiannon- who gave me a polite smile while my twin was obviously nervous "Three hundred and one of you have survived the parapet to become cadets today," Commandant Panchek starts his speech "Good job. Sixty- seven did not."

"I've heard this position is just a stepping stone for him," Tara whispers who introduced herself to me when I stood behind my sister. "He wants Sorrengail's job, then General Melgren's." I raise my eyebrows at her words but don't say anything in return

"He'll never get it," violet says quietly, knowing my sister she would be thinking of all the statistics "Melgren's dragon gives him the signet ability to see a battle's outcome before it happens. There's no beating that, and you can't be assassinated if you know it's coming."

"As the Codex says, now you begin the true crucible!" Panchek continues "You will be tested by your superiors, hunted by your peers, and guided by your instincts. If you survive to Threshing, and if you are chosen, you will be riders. Then we'll see how many of you make it to graduation."

"Your instructors will teach you," Panchek promises, his hand sweeping to the line of professors standing at the doors to the academic wing. "It's up to you how well you learn." He swings his pointer finger at us. "Discipline falls to your units, and your wingleader is the last word. If I have to get involved." A slow, sinister smile spreads across his face. "You don't want me involved. With that said, I'll leave you to your wingleaders. My best advice? Don't die." He walks off the dais with the executive commandant

A brunette woman with wide shoulders and a scarred sneer stalks forward, the silver spikes on the shoulders of her uniform flashing in the sunlight. "I'm Nyra, the senior wingleader of the quadrant and the head of the First Wing. Section leaders and squad leaders, take your positions now My shoulder is jostled as someone walks by, pushing between Rhiannon and me. Others follow suit until there are about fifty people in front of us, spaced out in formation.

That's when I see him Xaden Riorson looking at me observing what I am doing. I maintain my eye contact not showing him any signs of fear. I wanted to be a part of the marked ones as they are known to be strong and for various other reasons. For that i need to earn their trust

"Sections and squads," violet whispers to Rhiannon as i overhear breaking my eye contact with Xaden to look at my sister "Three squads in each section and three sections in each of the four wings."

"Thank you," Rhiannon answers.

Dain stands in the section for Second Wing, facing us. I make eye contact with him giving him a smirk as he quickly averts his gaze

"First Squad! Claw Section! First Wing!" Nyra calls out.

A man closer to the dais raises his hand.

"Cadets, when your name is called, take up formation behind your squad leader," Nyra instructs.

The redhead with the crossbow and roll steps forward and begins calling names. One by one, cadets move from the crowd to the formation I observe each and every one of them. Tara is called into the Tail Section, and soon they start on Second Wing

Me, my sister and Rhiannon are called to Second Squad, Flame Section Second Wing. We get into formation quickly, lining up in a square

Xaden watches my sister with a calculating gaze as my sister lifts her chin. He then looks at me as we go back to our staring competition? He cocks his scarred eyebrow. Then he says something to Second Wing's wingleader, and then every wingleader joins in on what's obviously a heated discussion.

"What do you think they're talking about?" Rhiannon whispers. "Quiet," Dain hisses making me glare at him

'Gosh what is his problem' I think as i roll my eyes. I look at my sister who stiffness for a second maybe shocked he isn't the Dain she knows

Finally, the wingleaders turn around to face us, and the slight smirk on Xaden's lips makes my eyes narrow at him "Dain Aetos, you and your squad will switch with Aura Beinhaven's," Nyra orders. I raise my eyebrows at the sudden change not thinking much to it

Dain nods, then turns to us. "Follow me." He says it, then starts walking to the fourth wing

Xaden's wing

I look back at Xaden who is assessing us. "You're all cadets now" He says "Take a look at your squad. These are the oth people guaranteed by Codex not to kill you. But just because they can't end your life doesn't mean others won't. You want a dragon? Earn on the courtyard"

Most of the others cheer hearing his words, i see people talking to their squad mates as he continues

"Sixty-seven people fell or died in some other way today. Sixty-sever" Xaden looks at me and my sister , and I can see my sister feeling nervous... Maybe uncomfortable too? "And I bet you feel pretty badass right now, don't you, first-years?" More cheers. "You feel invincible after the parapet, don't you?" Xaden shouts. "You think you're untouchable! You're on the way to becoming the elite! The few! The chosen!"

Another round of cheers goes up but i know it's not cheers it's them... The dragons

"Oh gods, they're beautiful," Rhiannon whispers as they come into view- a riot of dragons.

A few cadets scream.

Steam blasts mine and my sisters face as the navy-blue one directly in front of us exhales through its wide nostrils. Its glistening blue horns rise above its head in an elegant, lethal sweep, and its wings flare momentarily before tucking in, the tip of their top joint crowned by a single fierce talon.

"We're going to have to bring the masons in again," Dain mutters as chunks of rock crumble under the dragons' grips, crashing to the courtyard in boulders

There are three dragons in various shades of red, two shades of green-like Teine, Mira's dragon-one brown like Mom's, one orange, and the enormous navy one

They are indeed very beautiful, each dragon has their own speciality and i love all of them. I will survive till the threshing. I glance at my sister who is observing the dragons. I have to protect her too, teach her. Maybe now we can forget the past and move on... Hopefully... My thoughts were stopped when a cadet bolts out of Third Wing, screaming as he makes a run for the stone keep behind us. We all turn to look as he sprints for the giant arched door at the center. I can almost see the words carved into the arch from here, but I already know them by heart. A dragon without its rider is a tragedy. A rider without their aragon is dead.

The red dragon on the left opens its vast mouth, revealing teeth as big as I am. Fire erupts along its tongue, then shoots outward in a macabre blaze toward the fleeing cadet.

I scrunch my face in disgust because of the smell. I feel pity for the cadet as he had passed the parapet. That's what fear does. Showing fear in front of dragons is like a death wish

"Anyone else feel like changing their mind?" Xaden shouts "No? Excellent. Roughly half of you will be dead by this time next summer." The formation is silent except for a few untimely sobs from my left. "A third of you again the year after that, and the same your last ye No one cares who your mommy or daddy is here. Even King Tauri's secon son died during his Threshing. So tell me again: Do you feel invincible that you've made it into the Riders Quadrant? Untouchable? Elite?"

This time no one cheers. Not one sound came from any cadet

"Because you're not untouchable or special to them." Xaden points toward the navy dragon and leans forward slightly "To them, you're just the prey."

After the speech we were dismissed, I was bunking with my sister and Rhiannon. We will be getting individual rooms after the threshing

I lay on the bed as Rhiannon and Violet talk about the things that happened. I close my eyes as their voices fade in the background. Exhaustion pulling me to sleep

Next Chapter>>

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wolfiesmoon · 2 years ago

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What a fate

Ran x good girl! reader

this is a part 2 to my fic "i can't sleep", dont worry i'm feeding ur families they will no longer starve. apparently people are really into ran considering how many notes that fic of mine got (and who can blame them honestly)

unrelated but i cant believe it took me this long to get into housewife radio by ghost i love the horror vibes because of course i do

You've had a turbulent few days recently. Ever since you agreed to do that stupid dare Ran hasn't left you alone.

He did promise to do so but you didn't think he was actually serious about "making you his". How could you let this happen?

Things turned out completely opposite to what you expected, though. Instead of dragging you to his gang meeting to beat the crap out of you, he's taking you there to threaten his lackeys that if they even so much as lay a finger on his girl (you), they'd feel hell on earth.

You suppose that it's nice that he wants to protect you but you feel extremely out of place and uncomfortable at a gang meeting of all places.

Your parents think you're studying at a library right now. Somehow, you feel like you're commiting a crime.

You also met his brother at that meeting.

It seems being a good-for-nothing delinquent runs in their family. You feel sorry for their parents. If they even have them.

"Wow, I would've never thought the nerd would be your type." Rindou teased Ran. Actually, maybe it was both of you he was teasing.

"She's the one that kissed me first." Ran smirked at you.

"You're the worst. Both of you." you furrowed your brows, not finding either of them amusing in the slightest.

"Your girlfriend hates you, man. Personally I would not put up with that." Rindou seemed disinterested, checking his nails as he said that.

"I am not his girlfriend, either!" you defended yourself but Ran just looked at you like he pitied you and Rindou looked like he didn't believe you.

"Right, okay, if you say so. You two have your lover's quarrel on your own. I'm going elsewhere." Rindou just casually left, leaving you all alone with Ran in an abandoned storage unit. Oh boy.

"Umm, I should get going- ack!" you felt your wrist getting grabbed, preventing you from leaving. There's your only exit up in smoke.

"Leaving so soon? But we haven't even had our fun yet." Ran smiled at you and you honestly felt scared at that moment. Oh no, you shouldn't have yelled back at him so daringly just now. Now he's going to beat the crap out of you and drop you off in front of your parents doorstep as a warning to never mess with his gang again.

He leaned in closer and you braced yourself for the pain, but instead of that you felt his lips on yours.

Kissing...?! Again?! Well, atleast it's better than a punch to the face... You can't believe it's come to a point where you're glad to get kissed by Ran.

But still, does he have to kiss you in the least romantic place possible? Even if you did have feelings for him you'd totally find this moment cringy.

"You suck at kissing." He comments heartily, pulling away.

"I'm not the one who kisses a new girl every day. Maybe I actually have some self-respect." You crossed your arms. He was your first kiss after all.

"Every night is an exaggeration. It's like, every week." You couldn't tell if he was joking or being serious, even if you saw his expression.

"Oh, wow. Glad to know that I'll get cheated on in about 3 days. Way to make your 'girlfriend' hate you less."

"I'll stop for you." He smiled.

"Uh huh, whatever." You rolled your eyes.

Though, his kisses are actually kind of making you.... No, no! Don't fall for that! You can't believe you almost admitted that you'd fall for him if he kissed you more.

"How's it going with your new boyfriend, girl?"

"God, do not call him that." You held your forehead in frustration.

"I think he's taken a liking to you." Your friend nudged you, pointing at Ran who was sitting on the other side of the cafeteria and smiling at you as he ate.

"Great." You said sarcastically, immediately looking away when your eyes met.

"See? It ended up well. Now you have a hot bad boy boyfriend." Your friend kinda wished she'd done it instead of daring you.

"Didn't I just... ugh! I don't think my parents would agree with you." You placed your forehead on the table, groaning. "You date him if you want a bad boy so bad. But I hate you for dragging me into this." Your voice was slightly muffled.

"Yeah, we'll see. You'll be the happiest couple ever in like, two months."

You raised your head, looking back at Ran once again. You're in quite the pickle, aren't you? The next thing you know, you'll fall for Haitani Ran.

How scarily exciting.

"Hop on." Ran stopped on his bike in front of the library. How he knew you had a study session there today? Don't worry about the details.

Another motorcycle ride... You feel like you barely survived the last one.

"My parents expect me to be home in 10 minutes." You crossed your arms. You weren't lying, either.

"Who cares? Live a little." Ran rolled his eyes playfully. Clearly he isn't going to let you back down.

"I'll do it, but only if you keep it to ten minutes." He was right, backing down isn't your thing. You wonder how much resisting him you could get away with if you weren't special to him.

Special to him... huh.

"Killjoy." He insulted you lightly as you sat down in front of him. Again, neither of you are wearing a helmet. This is the last time you'll let it slide.

"I prefer to not get scolded endlessly." You held onto him tightly because you knew what was coming and didn't want to almost fall off the bike again. He felt proud when you held onto him like that.

Like you're finally his. To be honest, he didn't really care much for you until you kissed him out of nowhere like that. How bold of you, the top-of-the-class rule stickler. But he likes that. And that's why he decided to make you his.

Isn't the fact that he lets you ride on his motorcycle enough to see that?

You felt the wind blowing against your face as you set off. Now that you feel it again, it doesnt feel too bad. It's kind of nice, actually. And Ran is warm, too.

The scenery moves past the two of you and strangely, you feel really calm and at peace. It feels like your parents don't exist in this moment and that you can just... live, and feel the adrenaline of the high speed.

This is so scarily exciting.

"You look relaxed." He said, looking down at you.

"I am. And look at the road, will you?" You scolded him but your voice was still relaxed. You look up at him again.

He actually isn't that bad looking. You kind of understand why some girls would fall for him. You, on the other hand...

Are unfortunately befalling the same fate.

He didn't say anything but you had a feeling he knew you were staring.

"You look like you're in love."

"What?! How would you even know?!" You looked back at the road, hiding your face from him. You can't help but get defensive of such a thing.

God, you hate that he's right.

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koiiiji · 1 year ago

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windbreaker characters & their possible love trope (part 2)

warnings : smut part with wooin but i tried to make it more sensual then sexy, prob fluffiest stuff i ever wrote, as usual it might be ooc, not proofed read on your own risk!!)🧣💞🦢

thank you all guys for 287 followers!!(i wrote when it was 260!!) i hope my works makes your day a lil bit better and set some mood. i really appreciate all likes, reposts and especially!! comments and replies, in love with @sugardollie-907 @hjunsjoy @cozyunderworld @dialoguestetatet and wildylisa but idk why i can’t tag((( and so so many other people who comment (but i swear this holy five lives rent free in my comment section and it such a blessing🙏🏻)

thank you to every-everyone who supporting me, my works, it’s so gratifying to come here and see all notifications about your feedbacks!! also want to say thanks to all wb authors who ever posted and posting!! another source of motivation and inspiration🫵🏻😌💋💯🎀

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

vinny - a friend’s sister. you were definetely dom's or jay's sister, and vinny was so annoyed by you in the first place. not because of your personality or you annoyed him directly, but you were that "genious" in your sport, and vinny unitentionally compared you to jay jo, who were gifted with talent from birth. he was angry or annoyed to the point of goosebumps, he didn't even understand exactly what he was feeling, but he understood that this was a very strong storm of emotions and he was fixated on you. honestly? when your brother watches your competitions or casually tells about your successes, Vinny records it in his memory and will congratulate you later(dom as an older brother will 100% hype you up, fight me. he would show his phone to hummingbird crew with tearing puppy eyes “look, my lil gremlin winning those competition of hers”🥹🥹)Vinny would rather die by biting his neck than admit his feelings to someone, so it happens accidentally, maybe your chat went further than congratulating each other on winning competitions or your calls to him to find out where your brother is hanging around today. but because you were tired after the competition, you fell asleep leaving the chat open and not responding to his messages, leaving him on read. not to say that Vinny was offended by you, he just snapped at you for 3 days in a row, refusing to respond to messages. you had to take the situation into your own hands and hold his hand after another training and talk. “ta hell you want?” he said, frowning down at you. “just to talk and clearly” - you explained the situation to him and told him why you didn't answer, but since Vinny didn't know how to apologize and he had certain trust issues, it turned into another skirmish. it was evening and it was unnoticeable how the clouds thickened and the rain began to fall, but it didn't seem to bother two of you much because you were standing and yelling at each other for a reason you both didn't understand. Vinny's patience had always been zero, but now it seemed as if he was on the verge of reaching another stage of rabies. while you were shouting at him that you didn't understand why he started this quarrel at all, he just exhaled irritably and unknowingly blurted out “FUCK! because i was worried about you!!” as the argument reached its peak, Vinny's frustration peaked, his heart pounding with a mixture of anger and apprehension. yet, amidst the chaos of their exchange, a surge of emotion overcame him, compelling him to act on the impulse he'd long suppressed. with a sudden surge of courage, Vinny closed the distance between you, his hand reaching out to cup your cheek. eyes met, mirroring the intensity of emotions, as Vinny leaned in, capturing your lips in a tender kiss. the rain continued to fall, its gentle rhythm enveloping both of you in a cocoon of intimacy as you melted into each other's embrace. Vinny’s body pressed to yours, rain-soaked and trembling, as the warmth of the spring evening mingled with the cool touch of the rain. in that moment, amidst the soft glow of the night lights and the soothing patter of raindrops, time seemed to stand still. the world around you faded into obscurity, leaving only the two bodies locked in a passionate embrace. as your lips parted, a sense of relief washed over, breaths mingling with the cool night air as you savored the sweetness of the moment. in the gentle caress of the rain and the warmth of each other's touch, you found solace, knowing that despite the storm raging around two of you, they were anchored in the calm of their love. as you kissed beneath the spring evening sky, a sense of peace washed over them, the tension of their argument melting away with each tender caress. In that fleeting moment, surrounded by the gentle embrace of the rain and the comforting glow of city lights, they found solace in each other's arms, their love renewed and strengthened by the storm they weathered together.

wooin - fake relationship. he commited it in the first place. since his work wasn’t permanent and he was constantly on the move, hanging here and there, Wooin thought it would be nice to have something permanent in his life. he needed excuse to tell his family why he can’t visit them on weekends - his girlfriend doesn’t feel well. them asking him all this “start a family” questions? sorry, y/n isn’t ready yet. some unforeseen situations? oh, y/n can be his trusted person. something didn't go according to plan? he can rely on y/n, if it isn’t something too difficult or dangerous. as a substitute he will gift you something, or will took you somewhere, thanking you for being his backup. genuinely it wasn’t something like friends with benefits, no, you two clearly share a bond, but it was something on the edge, as everybody thought you were dating. and in fact all this acts, you being his backup, him giving you small gifts, taking you on dates, sharing a bed - it all feels more like a relationship. but you never had this conversation, after another hot sex you could fall asleep together, for sure, but in the morning one of you definitely woke up in an empty bed. of course, it also happened that you woke up together, but in the morning Wooin was simply unbearable, and more often it ended with too caustic jokes. and it was always on the edge, you weren't in a relationship, you weren't friends, you weren't strangers, you were all together at once. at some point, it started to get exhausting. you noticed it first, but Wooin started talking about it first... well not actually talk, but mutter in the crook of your neck… today’s sex was different, the encounter was filled with a blend of sensuality and intensity, both of you asserting your desires while maintaining a balance of power. you bite each other, when it feels like too much, but immediately kissing and licking bite place, each of you tried to get leading role while another didn’t let it happen. today, Wooin's approach was different - not sloppy, fast and erratically, but slower, more deliberate, his touch gentle yet his thrusts firm. you were suffocating in his arms, and it seemed to him that he was drowning in the smell of your hair, your moans, how you trembled slightly from his hands on your chest, hips and neck. Wooin burrowed his nose deeper into the crook of your neck, breathing heavily and sniffing your scent. it was intoxicating, that feeling when you were next to him, when his hands slid over your body, your soft sobs, how the emotions on your pretty face changed depending on his pace. now, with his whole body pressed against you from behind, one hand holding your hip, and the other between your head and the pillow, his palm rested on your collarbones. while he was slowly sinking into you, and you were smiling and almost purring with pleasure, he caught himself thinking that he liked your smile. he likes to spend time with you, he likes to use an excuse in front of his parents and call you his girlfriend. his. Wooin liked the idea of you being his. he liked you. along with these thoughts, his pace increased, now he was digging his fingers into your thigh, and the other hand slid to your breast, squeezing it a little harder. you were both lost in your pleasure as you moaned louder and louder, he pressed his nose harder into your neck, whispering something that you couldn't make out. at one moment, he lifted his head, biting your earlobe, and pulling it slightly towards him, in a burst of emotion, he whispered "i like you"*

kwon - stranger to lovers/soulmetes - for the first time it seemed like someone corsed you. you moved to new flat in different district of Seul and now it was time to transport your stuff from old flat. everything started when you recieved message from a men who drove the car with your stuff, saying that he is stuck on a street because there are some stupid cycling competition and usual road is closed. amazing, you already were so stressed and here some cycling competition, but thankfully in the evening you finally recieved your stuff, mostly some boxes, small and big. when you were about to pick another heavy box you felt that it seemed strangely light. when you rise your eyes you saw a young man around your age. you thanked him for helping and he turned out to be almost your neighbor, one floor above and to the left of your neighbor's wall. next time you saw Kwon Hyeok in evelator…and you two were stuck there…for 3 hours…you were about to meet with your friends and, as you learned later, he was about to pick something to eat in nearest market. week later you met him in random cafe, where you decided to have a dinner alone, the owner of the cafe came up to you, saying that all the seats are occupied, but since you are alone, there was an empty place, behind the bar, just next to a guy your age (the old man grinned and has obviously already married you two in his head) so when you sat down carefully and apologized for the intrusion, you recognized that it was Kwon. you ordered your food and few drinks, and had a nice time together. and after a month of such unexpected encounters, you began to suspect 2 things - either fate brings you together, or he is a stalker. thankfully when you ran into each other again in the same cafe and drank a lot more this time, you admitted that you suspected him, and he, in turn, thought the same - that you were weird stalker girl who followed him around, and in that evening you laughed together from many things. when it was time to leave he understood that you were so drunk that you couldn’t even stand straight, so he took you by the elbow, hugged you with his free hand a little bit higher than your waist and led you home. along the way, of course, you mumbled something about how you like one handsome boy and he seemed like not paying attention to you and probably not even interested and why you're still alone…and then, under the soft glow of streetlights, amidst the hushed whispers of the night, it happened. in a moment that felt both inevitable and surreal, your lips met in a tender kiss, sealing the bond that had been silently growing between you. in that stolen moment, amid the chaos of the city, you found solace in each other's arms, knowing that fate had finally brought you together as more than just strangers in passing.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

* i’m sorry, i don’t really know how to finish this part with wooin, as it already feels too ooc, it was more self inserted, like i was inspired by my latest situationship, bc i was in fucking same situation(it didn’t end well) , and it’s still kinda my roman empire, so i leave space for your imagination… if u don’t mind of course…🥹

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aesteries · 7 months ago

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*ੈ𑁍༘⋆ ─ ❝everbloom❞ ─ jacaerys velaryon and tyrell!reader. | the unforgettable gift of a first-time lover.

❝If I had a flower for every time I thought of you...I could walk through my garden forever.❞

WARNINGS: attempt at fluff smut, everything threatens to choke jacaerys, he needs new lungs, mentions of arranged marriages, baela and unnamed betrothed are aware, reader is from house tyrell but with no description of features other than having breasts, friends and first love to strangers, doomed, first-time sex for both of them, loss of virginity as a gift, semi-public oral (m&f), unprotected p in v, love marking, worship.

words: 9.9k

Winter had fast approached King's Landing, the barely-felt chill seeping through the castle’s stone walls in an attempt at soothing the usual humid heat of the capital, like a faint veil compared to what it could do just a few hours on dragonback away. The days started late now and were much shorter, with a dim sun struggling to rise over the horizon on the morrow. Its sibling, the moon, chased after it as it barely reached its peak across the sky, a mocking younger brother eager to ruin its sibling. The shift of the season had brought a different effect on the family, as the usual venom underneath seemingly innocent words had been packed away with the autumn leaves and spring’s blooming flowers.

The empty chambers of the southern wing of the castle would soon be filled with life, laughter, and music with the visit of members of Great Houses as they paid their seasonal visits to celebrate the holy days of the Faith of the Seven with their liege. To Jace, though, winter brought something completely different. Despite the blood of the dragon that ran through his veins and ignited himself, the lick of his winter nameday sent shivers down his spine.

Ten and eight.

It would all change for him in the coming year—a turning point, for better or worse; he could not decide yet. Now a man grown, his long-awaited union with his betrothed would be formalised with the blessings of a grand ceremony in front of the important people of the seven kingdoms. A wedding would open doors to new responsibilities, tasks, and worries. This rite of passage, the bounding of a ring on his finger and his soul with another, would also take him to a new place in the royal council, where he was to assume a more important role, a heavier voice over esteemed lords, as he began to prepare for his future.

It was what he wanted all along, or at least, it was what he had been raised to desire. So, on the very day of his nameday feast, as he leaned against one of the silent corridors of the Red Keep with his eyes falling over the training yard to watch his younger siblings quarrel, he could not help but feel the anxiety build in the pit of his stomach, an annoying itch that he could not ignore.

His brown eyes, as intense as fire, were fixed on the two small frames that moved in sync with the older men, white hair caught in the light as the sun began to dance over the sky while the moon teased its appearance. Aegon and Viserys, sons of their mother’s second marriage, were the very image of Old Valyria, with pure dragon-blooded ancestry on their skin. Despite the immense love he felt for them, a nagging doubt crept into his mind—would one of them eventually turn against him when he claimed the throne, fuelled by the whispers and speculation surrounding his true lineage? He forced himself to take a deep breath, suppressing the bitter taste of anxiety and the lump that often formed in his throat, threatening to choke the air out of him.

Jacaerys had been so consumed by the uncertainty of his future, his blood, and his life that he failed to notice as a second heartbeat approached him slowly, a quiet rustle of fancy clothes while the figure tiptoed around corners and down the deserted corridor where he remained. Normally, his senses would have been on high alert, but this particular day, his mind was elsewhere, making him vulnerable to the sneakiest of attacks. The delicate figure moved closer with an almost mischievous glint in their eye, savouring the element of surprise they had over the young prince.

A hand crept forward, slender index finger extended, poised to deliver a playful jab to his ribcage. And then, the figure exclaimed, “Boo!”

Jacaerys’ soul was yanked out of his body, or so it felt like, leaving him disoriented as he spun around with indignation, ready to confront whoever had dared to disturb his daydreaming. But instead of finding a scowling, unfamiliar face, his gaze fell upon a vision that had him choking on the very air he was breathing. It was her, beauty and grace, an everblooming flower. His heart raced at the mere sight of his first love, the secret that he guarded fiercely, his one and only. The memories of the countless summers they spent together came flooding back as he set his eye on hers. As children, the two had spent two moons every year together after their mothers formed a strong bond and brought the two families together. The nostalgic ache in Jacaerys' chest reminded him of the joy, the laughter, and the secrets they had shared.

Even now, no longer a child, her face still blossomed with that radiant smile that had first captivated him. Her cheeks flushed with the gentle touch of rose petals, a kiss of flowers on her skin. Her eyes, so vibrant and full of life, sparkled with mischief under the golden hour. The corner of her full lips twisted into that smile that always told the truth of her intentions, the playfulness of it all. She stood tall, taller than before, with her hands behind her back in perfect poise, as expected of a high-born lady. Her voice remained that sweet melody that soothed his heart, a song from the wind. "It is nice to see you again, my prince," she greeted him.

He curtsied with exaggerated flair, his eyes never straying from hers as his entire self relaxed in front of her, his worries slipping away with the winter breeze. ”My Lady Tyrell," he laughed.

Her response was immediate, infectious laughter bursting from her like a ray of sun making its way through a cloudy day. She had to cover her mouth to try and contain the radiant smile that threatened to take over her entire face, and he was quick to join in with her laugh, their voices echoing through the empty corridor like the misbehaved children they used to be. He took a step forward, his arms opening wide to welcome his girl in a warm embrace, and for a brief moment, they were lost in the joy of their reunion. It had been a long year without each other, and exchanging letters was nothing compared to having her in his arms. Her face was nestled in the crook of his neck, breathing in the familiar scent of his skin—the stinky dragon, as she would say, had become her most favourite smell in the world. When they finally drew apart, their eyes met, a loving gaze.

“Happy nameday, you dirt-eater.” Her voice trembled as she could barely hide her excitement. The butterflies in her stomach took flight, fluttering with anticipation, nothing in comparison to the wild dragons of the prince before her. He cleared his throat, shoulders squaring as he pulled himself together, the embarrassingly dumb smile still plastered on his face. She brought forward a mysterious box that she had been hiding behind her back and away from his attention, wrapped in delicate pieces of black cloth and with a green velvet ribbon keeping it together. The wrapping could have used some work, as it was obviously put together by her own hand, but that only added to the charm. The weight of the box was unexpected, and as he accepted it, the object inside shifted, its contents rattling softly against the sides.

His hand quivered like a weak leaf as he grasped the delicate box, and the words barely escaped his lips, "A gift, my flower?" His voice trembled as he whispered, "Your presence is enough to illuminate my world.”

Jacaerys gazed into the colour of her eyes, the tidal waves of memories crashing over him like the shores of Dragonstone, a reminder of home, taking him back to the earliest days of their friendship. He could recall their initial encounter, an awkward meeting forced by their mothers, which, in the end, marked the beginning of a bond that would blossom into something more beautiful. The countless afternoons they spent playing, laughing, and bickering when they fought like the children that they were, the many falls and scrapes that left them bruised, and the quiet comfort when words were unnecessary. The innocence of those days had been kind to them, allowing them to unfold together like the petals of a flower. And who would forget that one life-changing night when, at the tender age of ten and two, they stole each other away to the darkest corners to experience the love they witnessed from the adults with inexperienced kisses and hugs that were kept secret from the prying eyes of others?

And after all these years, as they continued to steal glances and kisses and love only they could understand, the emotions between them intensified, refusing to be extinguished even as their moments together began to grow forbidden and inappropriate as they reached maturity.

She flashed a confident smirk, her eyes sparkling with mischief, as she reached forward to unveil the gift that would forever bind them together. "I had to," she said, her voice low and husky, "so you'll always carry a piece of me with you, even as we take on our separate journeys into adulthood."

He tugged on the ribbon with extreme care, his eyes widening as the wrapping made way to reveal the treasure within. The box creaked open, allowing him to set his gaze on the stunning dagger that was nestled in a bed of white velvet. The handle was crafted from a vibrant green glass that matched the scales of his dragon, and a bright red rose was suspended within the glass, a symbol of their unbreakable bond. A dragon and a rose, together forever.

She took a step closer, enveloping him in the familiar flowery perfume that he adored, making his senses tingle. She pointed to the rose with a delicate finger, her eyes searching for him. “A little bit of you and a little bit of me,” she smiled, “so you never forget me.” The dagger was the perfect representation of both of them, and he would treasure it with his life.

“I would never be capable of forgetting you.” He whispered, his voice broken with emotion. The weight of her gesture was still shaking his heart as he set the gift aside on the railing behind him, freeing his hands to take hold of his beloved once again and bring her against his chest for another warm embrace. Her body moulded perfectly against his, and her arms wrapped around his middle as he continued to praise her, “You are my flower.”

They knew that it was dangerous, forbidden, wrong even. They were promised to others, bound by duties and law far greater than themselves, yet the feeling of being in each other's arms was difficult to compare, intoxicating, a sweet temptation. The young lady could feel his heartbeat as she rested against his chest, a soothing melody while Jace buried his face in her hair, wishing he never had to let go of her. He felt like a bee stuck in honey, unable to tear himself away from the sweetness of their embrace. The dagger was long forgotten as they lost themselves in the tender embrace, feeling her love as his most precious gift. The warmth of their bodies intertwined, and the world around them melted away, leaving only the softness of her skin and the rhythmic beating of their hearts. He leaned down, his breath caressing the shell of her ear, and whispered, “You look more beautiful every time I look at you.”

She pulled back from his embrace, her eyes locked on his as her face flushed with the most gentle of colours at his compliment. Her soft and gentle hands cupped his face lovingly, bringing him to her for a brush of their lips. Their mouths parted over each other, overwhelmed by their need for each other. Jace’s arms encircled her waist, surrendering to her as she wrapped her arms around his neck, allowing their kiss to escalate into an all-consuming dance of romance.

He was powerless against her lips, giving in to their sweetness, drawing him. His kisses travelled to the corner of her mouth, teasing a gentle path down her jawline to the irresistible softness of her skin as he left a trail of wet kisses down the side of her neck. Eventually, he found himself at the sensual curve of her chest, ghosting over her collarbones, aching to move further down the neckline. She knew his longing too well, all the signs that he yearned for more, and she felt the same way. Yet, Jacaerys was a gentleman, and he would never be the one to cross the line between them. The decision, then, rested with her, and she was willing to take the risk. With a subtle tilt of her head, she created space for him, her slender fingers weaving through his curls as she drew him closer, his face disappearing into the softness of her chest, nestled between the curves that spilt over the edge of her gown.

He took a deep, sharp breath as his fingers tightened around the fabric of her dress, his heart racing like a runaway horse, pounding painfully inside of his chest. He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to remember that she deserved respect, that she should not be in his mind the way that she was. But then, he heard a sound that was like nothing he had ever heard before—a soft, angelic moan that sent a shiver down his spine. The sound made the sweetest of melodies seem dull in comparison, an intoxicating sound that consumed him. He needed to hear it again; he needed more of it.

Completely under the charm of her music, his hand began its journey over the delicate curves of her waist and bodice. His fingers, trembling in an inexperienced dance, curled around the fabric to pull it downwards and reveal the promise of her form while his other hand wrested with the stubborn laces that kept her hidden away, tugging almost desperately for release. He needed to put his lips on her skin once again, to draw out that melody, to hear her. Her once steady breath now quickened, becoming shallow and laboured, her chest rising and falling as if her very being depended on the touch of his lips. The air was heavy with anticipation, his passion a tempest waiting to be freed.

At last, the laces gave up, and her breasts, heavy and eager, spilt forth from their confines. His lips claimed one of them, his tongue dancing across the tender flesh to taste the sweetness of her forbidden skin. A shiver ran through her, a delicious ache spreading through her body as the unfamiliar sensation ignited her senses, her core growing wetter and wetter, her thighs involuntarily pressing together. He could barely contain his desire. There was so much he wanted to do, so little time, so little space. For now, he would be content with this, with the soft gasps escaping her lips as he teased and tormented her. He broke free, his mouth seeking hers once more, while his hands, possessive and demanding, kneaded her breasts, his thumbs tracing circles over her hardened peaks.

"My prince..." Her voice was a barely audible whisper of lust, lost to the feeling of his mouth on her sensitive body. Her eyes seemed clouded, half-lidded and unfocused, lost in a sea of emotions that made it difficult to form coherent thoughts, yet her purpose remained clear. "Let me..." she struggled to start through her breathing, but her sentence remained unfinished as his lips crashed on hers once again in a fervent dance of open-mouthed kisses, the world fading away and leaving only the sweet, sweet sensation of their lips together.

Her hand, delicate in its dance, wandered down his torso, caressing the contours of his body, trailing over his hips until she finally found her way to the bulge that had formed at the front of his pants. It was his name-day celebration; he would be receiving many gifts, and she was determined to make hers stand out from the rest. She pulled back from his kiss, his lips chasing hers in an attempt to reconnect. He looked into her eyes and noticed that glint, that dangerous, mischievous smile across her face, her warning sign. She was plotting something, and he would be at her mercy.

She whispered a husky promise, her breath dancing across his ear: “Let me make you feel good, Jace.” The sight was the very image of sin itself, as the beautiful girl lowered herself on her knees for him, her bright eyes looking up into his with a wicked innocence.

She wasted no time, her fingers moving with calmness and precision as she navigated the threads that kept his breeches tightly over his hips. In stark contrast to him, who had awkwardly struggled with her laces, it was as if she had rehearsed this very moment, her hands moving with a practiced confidence that left him in the dust. In no time, his breeches had been lowered to his thighs alongside the small clothes that had covered him, the cold breeze brushing past his hardness.

He was a sight to behold, pulsing with life. A glistening sheen of pre-cum on the surface of his cock, tracing a path down the sides as he leaked in anticipation. His head was a shade of pink, bordering on an angry red as it demanded attention, and the sight sent shivers down her spine to ignite the fire in her core. Her heart pounded in her chest as she reached out, her fingers taking his base and gently wrapping around him to feel him for the first time. Jace gasped, but he bit his lip to stop himself from making another sound, fearing he'd turn into a pathetic, whimpering mess in front of her. It was strange for the both of them, yet they were eager to see what this would bring. Slowly, she guided him towards her mouth.

He could not help the thunderous groan as her mouth engulfed his lenght, the sound so loud that it worried him that the people in the courtyard below might hear him. He reached back for the cold railing that was behind him, his knuckles turning white as he kept himself from falling to the ground at the new pleasure he had discovered. His eyes were squeezed shut, his chiselled features twisted as the intense heat surged through his body like a raging fire, consuming every fibre of his being.

She did not stop until she had taken his entire member, the salty tang coating her tongue as he entered her inch by inch, with the tip teasing the back of her throat. She could feel the threat of gagging, so she gently coaxed him back out and took on a rhythm. A dirtier, more sinful dance began, a symphony of fluids as she bobbed her head, taking him deep and pulling back to tease his swollen tip with her tongue. His body was a fountain, spilling forth a cascade of precum that trailed down her chin, neck, and chest, each drop a testament to her power over him.

Jace's soft moans spilt through the hand on his mouth, his sensitivity driving him to the brink of ecstasy with each lick and suck. His body contorted, his hips eager to push deeper into her mouth, desperate for the delicious torture she gave him.

Her hand joined, stroking the shaft when it left her mouth, moving softly over the wet saliva left behind from her mouth. Her eyes moved up, such a sinful sight for both of them, and met with his. Jace could feel the promise of fire burning away at the pit of his stomach, overwhelmed by the pleasure and the sounds of her mouth as she swallowed him to the base and brought him right back in a new pace, quickening by the second and encouraged by the pathetic sounds that left his mouth. His tip teased the back of her throat with a strange tickle, yet she did not mind and continued to take as much of him as she could and bury him to the very end. With a strangled groan, he reached his breaking point, his body convulsing as he released his seed over her. It coated her face, neck, and chest as she pulled herself back from his pulsating cock, dripping cum as the prince left himself be consumed by his orgasm.

He was swept away to celestial realms, and his eyelids squeezed shut with an intensity that bordered on pain, his eyebrows furrowed. Every muscle in his face was contorted, twisted by an overwhelming emotion that had taken over his entire being. The air seemed to vibrate with his ragged gasps as he struggled to refill his lungs, his body slowly descending back to earth. As his eyes fluttered open, his gaze drifted downwards, drinking in the breathtaking sight before him.

He found her even more beautiful, a twisted sort of beauty, marked by his possession. Her skin, glistening with his seed, was proof of his pleasure.

Jacaerys quickly lowered himself, reaching for the crimson cape that draped over his shoulders as he was brought back to reality. He took his time, savouring the moment as he wiped away the remnants of his passion. His shaky fingers lingered on her breasts, enjoying the gentle bounce as he pressed against them to clean off her skin. "You shouldn't have done that, my lady," he murmured, his voice low and husky, slightly wavering from the pleasure he had felt.

"Why not, my prince?" she replied as her finger wiped some of the remains on the corner of her mouth.

He felt the weight of expectation on his shoulders, the grip of duty around his neck, as he struggled to find the words. It was not proper, he wanted to say; it is not meant to be; it is wrong. So many words swirled in his mind, yet he could not convey the message. He could not form the words to say that what they had done had been a mistake because deep inside he felt that it was not. He was bound to marry his cousin, Baela, in a strategic union while she was promised to a lord of another prominent house, yet as they stood together, bathed in the glow of each other’s presence, the ties that had been made for them seemed to burn into insignificance, overtaken by the hum of their forbidden bond.

She gazed into his eyes, clouded by his torment, duty and passion struggling to dominate the other. With a tender gesture, she cradled his face in her hands once again, her lips uttering a gentle whisper of his name, "Jacaerys...". His eyes brimmed with tears, perhaps not of sadness, but out of frustration that he fought to conceal. The longing in his heart was palpable—he yearned for her with his entire being, yet the gods had forbidden their love with a cruel fate that taunted them. In a matter of weeks, they would be in someone else's arms. She was bound to a man she did not know, and he, to a woman who couldn't claim his heart.

But for now, they could find comfort in each other’s lips.

The palace was buzzing with excitement as people gathered to celebrate the day of the heir's firstborn son. Jacaerys was overwhelmed by the attention, sitting at the centre of the grand feast with everyone fixed on him. The sound of laughter and chatter and music gave him a pulsating headache, and he had no choice but to ignore it as the many lords and ladies came to pay respects, bowing and introducing each other before returning to their seats. He had to sit through all of the greetings and listen to the repetitive wishes for his health and happiness. He sat stiffly between his mother, Queen Rhaenyra, and his cousin and betrothed, Princess Baela, who chatted incessantly, trying to engage him in conversation, completely unaware of his discomfort.

He was a pathetic man, he decided, as he felt the bitter gust of jealousy sweeping over him every time his eyes were drawn to that specific corner of the room to see her laughing with the man she was to marry. He couldn’t help but wonder if their encounter had already been forgotten as she seemed so carefree while his manhood still pulsated with the ghost of her mouth. His mind constantly replayed the moment, over and over, tormenting him and leaving him aching for another taste.

"Jacaerys." Baela's voice cut through the air, stern and with an obvious anger that had him whipping his head back to face her. Her features were twisted in a deep frown, her eyes blazing with the hint of fire that seemed to burn him away with her mere gaze. "I see how you're looking at her." her voice was low, not wanting anyone around them to hear her words, "Everyone can see."

He let out a sigh, his shoulders sagging in defeat as he began to explain, "It's just—"

But Baela wouldn't let him finish, her interruption swift, like the stab of a knife.

"No." She snapped, and her voice was like the crack of thunder that shook him awake in the middle of the night. "I will not go through the embarrassment of an affair, Jace. This must end before we are wed, or there will be consequences." Her words were an obvious threat, making him wonder what exactly she meant by that. What else could she do? She already knew that they were destined to fail, to wither away, and she just had to get through one last night before she was out of their life, hopefully, forever. She hated doing that to him, but Baela knew that she was as tied as Jacaerys in this situation, and she would not become the laughingstock of the court.

But his flower commanded attention with the dress of deep crimson that she wore, decorated with intricate gold details and a daringly low neckline that drew the eyes of the room to her beauty. It was impossible to look away from her; his gaze was stuck on the way her locks cascaded down her shoulders and back, with a sprinkling of jewels falling over her forehead to add to the captivating presence. She must have felt the weight of his eyes, he thought, as she slowly turned towards him, and their eyes locked, which made him feel impossibly close to her. The rest of the room faded like mist, insignificant.

He pushed his chair back, the wooden legs scraping against the stone floor, and rose from the table, his family's eyes upon him. As he walked around the table, his boots clicked on the floor, and he caught a glimpse of Baela's questioning gaze, but he dared her to speak out against him as he raised his head. His legs carried him towards the far end of the hall where his lady sat with her family. The members of House Tyrell ceased their conversation, their faces sombre, like if a shadow had fallen over them, as he halted beside their table, his hand extended in invitation to the youngest daughter of Lord Tyrell. Next to her, her own betrothed's face flushed, but he couldn't refuse a prince of the realm, no matter how awkward the situation. The eyes of the men met for a second, and there was a clear rivalry in them, but one was declared the winner by the gentle touch of her hand.

"A dance, my lady?" he asked, his deep voice ringing out across the silent corner, his eyes locked on hers, expectation on his face.

She didn't need to be asked twice. The prince grasped her hand, pulling her into the whirlwind of dancers on the crowded floor. As they took their position, his hand settled comfortably on her hip, a gesture that felt like second nature.

Everything seemed effortless with him by her side, and she could not explain why being with him made her feel that way. So intimate, so loving, so carefree, and yet so heartbreaking. They spun across the floor in a perfect dance, just like they had done since they met, and now no longer children. They laughed together as one made a mistake, stepping over the foot of the other, but the joy was overflowing between them. They must have danced for too long, because the couples around them shifted, came, and went while they remained the same. As he looked at her, he was once again hit by the realisation of their relationship, and there was a sinking feeling in his chest. Yet he was forced to push it aside for her, who looked radiant with her smile as he twirled her around once more. As they swayed to the rhythm, the girl leaned in close, her chest pressed against Jace's, her voice barely above a whisper. "I have another surprise for you."

A mischievous grin spread across his face as he played along. "What more could you possibly give me?"

For a fleeting moment, their eyes locked, and Jace was captivated by the intensity of her gaze. It was as if the very fire of candlelight burnt behind her eyes, melting his heart and awakening feelings he'd never experienced before. The back of her hand dared to caress the skin of his cheek in a scandalous public gesture as her lips curled, a dangerous smirk.

Her words stopped him in his tracks.

"Tonight..." Her voice was soft. "I will gift myself to you, and you will be the first to watch as I come undone completely beneath your touch."

And when the music had reached its climax, she slipped through the sea of dancers, her figure consumed by the crowd in a fascinating disappearing act. The sounds, colours, and sensations blurred around him as he frantically scanned the room, searching for a glimpse of her and her gown, but she was gone, a petal gone with the wind.

A whirlpool of emotions destroyed him, a dangerous mixture of worry, excitement, and fear. His heart was racing like a free stallion running through the open vale as his mind went around the whispers of his flower. The gentle touch of her hand on his arm, the rustle of her gown, the smile... the secrets. He found himself dragged back to his position within the rest of the royal family. He stood frozen, lost in time, completely unaware of the eyes of his family on him until he was nudged forward to prepare to give his speech to his guests. His heart sank with her absence; instead, he locked eyes with one of her sisters, whose knowing glint told him she was aware of her younger sister’s mischief. The sister's piercing gaze seemed to hold a secret message; she was silently daring him to wonder what kind of adventure she had concocted, leaving him to sweat it out in front of the crowd.

His cock stirred.

Jacaerys muttered a quiet curse, his posture twisting and turning uncomfortably in an attempt to fix himself as his mother’s words droned on. Lucerys, catching sight of his brother’s situation, had to stifle a laugh behind his hand while he innocently moved one of their youngest siblings to the front of the family to cover the heir’s decency. Yet, it continued on, with well-wishers and bootlickers taking turns to congratulate him and blessing him on his coming marriage. While Baela did not seem to mind the attention, he felt like the earth had opened up to swallow him whole. His mind raced with thoughts of escape, his face burning with embarrassment.

As the crowd finally bgan to disperse, he made a hasty exit with a mumbled farewell before he stumbled down the stairs with a stiff posture, each step feeling like a thousand stones had been poured into his boots. The dark hallway enveloped him, but the cold wind of night did little against the fire underneath his skin. His mind raced, everything he ever knew and wanted taking over his thoughts. Was she waiting for him in his chambers, hiding from the multitude of people? He needed clarity.

But he could not deny that raw, primal urge that coursed through his veins. He wondered if what he felt was that ‘masculine power' that Daemon had once joked about with him; of course, at the time he did not understand, but now he knew. If she was offering herself, he would take her and give in to the sin that was his desire. He craved her, all of her and more. Her body was his forbidden treasure, and his lips his map. At that moment, he felt an overwhelming reality: no one in this world deserved her more than he did. She belonged to him, and no one else would ever fill the void she occupied in his heart.

The heavy doors to his chambers creaked open, almost a mocking sound as they parted in desperation, drawn back by anxious hands. The room was shrouded in darkness, except for the solitary candle that barely illuminated the space and the sheer curtains holding the full power of the light of night back. Yet, amidst the gloom, a sweet aroma danced through the air, transporting him to a memory of her. The scent of flowers clung to him, tenderly reminding him of the warmth of her skin.

His deep voice, heavy with longing, echoed through the room. “You left me.”

A gentle hum, a teasing sound, was her response. “I wanted you to think about me.”

The words hung in the air, a challenge, a provocation. “I think about you every waking moment,” he replied, his voice trembling with the weight of his emotions.

In response, the curtains shifted, and the silvery light of the moon spilt into the room, its radiance highlighting her beauty like a work of art. The dress she had been wearing lay discarded, abandoned over a chair, and in its place, she wore a slip of silk with a green velvet ribbon that tied at the front of her body, a gift, just like the dagger she had given him earlier in the day. She had planned this all along. His flower pushed herself off the bed, and her hips swayed with a sensual grace as if calling him to come closer. He felt his throat close, almost losing his breathing, his hands instinctively reaching out to claim her as soon as she was within reach. His fingers settled on the soft fabric of her waist, feeling the gentle curve of her body beneath.

Her hands came to claim space over his chest, her delicate fingers tracing gentle shapes in an attempt to calm the turmoil inside of him, feeling the material of his clothing, feeling his form underneath. Her voice, so sweet and velvety, was full of adoration as she spoke to him. “You are so sweet, Jace, my gentle dragon.” Her praise fuelled his fire within, his love for her reaching the skies above him, a rival to Vermax and his wings.

Jacaerys's response was low and husky, his words barely above a whisper as he was on the edge of falling apart under her touch. “And you are my everblooming flower.” The longing had become unbearable, and he slowly leaned in, his lips yearning to bridge the gap between them. The kiss was deep, passionate, and all-consuming, a fusion of their bodies and souls. Heads turned, lips met and moved, and sounds of passion echoed around them and throughout the empty chamber.

Her arms snaked around his neck, pulling him in as if trying to merge their very essence to become one being, inseparable and indivisible, never to be parted. The world around them melted away, leaving only the two of them lost in their beautiful desire. He could feel himself hardening in his breeches even more, growing more uncomfortable by the mere second as he was taken over by his needs. She could feel him, that strange pressure against her front as she was weakened as well, her mind lost in a haze and anticipation.

Almost violently, like the tearing of tender skin, the lovers ripped themselves apart from their suffocating kiss as they ran out of air, their chests rising and falling in ragged unison as they battled to refill their lungs. The prince's lips then grazed the gentle curve of her neck, planting tender, deliberate kisses on the sensitive skin, prompting a soft hum of satisfaction from her, ”Will you accept my gift, my love?" she whispered, her voice barely audible over the heavy silence, the ringing in his ears.

Jace's entire being seemed to seize, his lips still lingering on the delicate curve of her neck, as he wrestled to process her question. She was willing to surrender herself to him, completely, and brave the repercussions of an unmarried night together. Could he accept such a sacrifice? Was he monstrous enough to put her in such a precarious position? His thoughts swirled in turmoil, a part of him screaming that it was morally wrong, while another part yearned to devour her whole.

"I could not do that to you, my flower," he breathed out, brokenness hidden in the crook of her neck and his words laced with a mix of longing, "think of your husband—“

But her interruption was swift and sharp, like she had anticipated his thoughts. "He does not mind," she said, her voice low and resolute. "We reached an agreement.” The prince's eyes widened in stunned surprise as he pulled himself back, his gaze locked on hers.

"What do you mean?" he demanded to know, his voice laced with a mixture of curiosity and a strange fear. Could he trust her future husband’s words? What if he were to turn on his agreement, accuse her of betrayal, and strip her of her honour?

Her eyes sparkled like emeralds under the silvery light, brimming with tears that threatened to spill over. "He knows what this means for us," she whispered, her voice cracking with emotion, "that it is goodbye.” She shook her head, her hair bouncing around her cherubic features as she looked into his eyes, hopeful.

Goodbye.

It was goodbye.

In no time, they will belong to other people.

The next time they meet, they will not be lovers; they will be forced to be strangers.

She knew him too well and knew that his struggle with morality was the only thing that was holding him back from surrendering to his desires. She wanted him to understand that she wanted this, wanted him, regardless of the consequences. So, in a last attempt to let him understand, she reached for the delicate ribbon that was holding her slip together to tug on it and allow the material to shift ever so slightly, revealing just a small hint of her bare skin hiding underneath. As the gown slid open, it seemed that the sound of her rapid heartbeat was the only sound that filled the silence, a reminder that the outcome of this moment was far from certain. He could very well reject her final approach, and she would have to understand.

The velvet parted like curtains as the breeze made the fabric sway gently over her body, leaving almost nothing to the imagination as his eyes were drawn to the womanly shape of her body. His gaze turned into the very mirror of a predator, like that dangerous glint in Vermax’s eyes as he watched his prey. He was drawn to the alluring curve of her breasts, the soft shape of her hips, and down to the forbidden fruit between her tightly clenched thighs, suddenly too aware of his sight over her. At that moment, like a rope snapping, his restraint evaporated, and a primal hunger consumed him. The cold night air seemed to fuel his desire, igniting a fire within him that burnt away any remaining inhibitions.

His hands took hold of her waist, right where they belonged, dragging her in as he claimed her lips once again, sending goosebumps all over her skin. The pressure of his mouth coaxed hers open, and his tongue delved in to find the warmth within. As they kissed, his hand began to roam freely over, pushing the now bothersome velvet aside as he traced her curves, lost in the silkiness of her skin. Her body responded to his touch, her back arching as she suddenly found it difficult to keep her balance, her nails digging into him. The intensity of his kiss was almost overwhelming, leaving her breathless and her senses reeling.

His feet carried them with clumsy steps, legs entwined with each other as they found their way backwards to where she had been waiting for him. The bed, perfectly arranged with soft sheets and plump pillows, was awfully inviting as it seemed to wait for the lovers to surrender to its comfort. She yielded to his guidance, her trust in him allowing them to tumble backwards until the back of her legs found the edge of the bed and she sank down onto the mattress. She settled against one of the many pillows, her shift giving up its attempt to cover her and being discarded aside as she reclined onto the pillows, hair cascading around her like a halo, an otherworldly beauty in the darkness.

Jacaerys felt like he was going to suffocate under the uncomfortable weight of his attire; too many layers threatened to choke the life out of him, so yet again, his inexperienced fingers began to unbutton his clothes, desperate to feel her skin against his and elevate their intimacy. His eyes had darkened to a deep, burning intensity as he looked at her, his lust barely contained behind his restraint. Finally, the last layer had been shed, and he stood before her, bare in body and soul.

With a delicate tug of her hand, she helped him closer to rise on the bed and come to her. He climbed in beside her, together like two pieces of a puzzle, meant to find each other. He hovered over her, his hand on each side of her head as he looked down at her with a love so strong, so deep, and so clear that it made her heart ache with its intensity. He knew that this night would be their only shared secret, one last night before they parted ways forever. She could feel her heart breaking, so she pulled him down to her to take his lips in a kiss that liberated her, pouring all that she felt into the embrace before she could break down in front of him. The young prince's response was immediate, their lips moving in perfect sync as they surrendered to the longing they had repressed.

As he slowly pressed his weight over her, he finally indulged in the desperate wish he had harboured for so long. It was as if he was about to detonate, about to disappear into their passion, never to resurface again. His hands worshipped every inch of her skin, tracing the curves of her hips, the gentle slope of her waist, the softness of her chest, and the slender column of her neck, as his desire reached a fever pitch. His hand, a gentle touch, descended into the valley between her breasts and lingered on the soft expanse of her stomach, igniting a fire within her. Lost in the intensity of the kiss, his palm rested on the mound between her legs, the tips of his fingers teasing the delicate curls. A soft, angelic gasp escaped her lips, “Jace..."

The girl parted her legs in an unspoken invitation, her desire taking over her and clouding her mind. He was a gentleman; he loved her, and he would honour her desire. Every shiver, every arch of her back, every sigh that came through her lips just pushed him to explore further. His fingers slipped between her folds, through the unfamiliar warmth of her arousal. A low groan rumbled in his throat as he felt her for the first time, finding her soaked in a testament of her need for him. Her feelings for him, her desires, her very essence, were laid bare before him.

When her restlessness grew as he touched her, she rolled her hips, a silent plea for more.

"My beautiful girl," he murmured, his voice a low purr against her lips. "Beautiful."

His fingers found peace in a slow dance over her bundle of nerves, testing her limits, finding her pleasure to push her to the brink of ecstasy, to give her what she deserved. She mewled, hips undulating with his touch as his fingers became soaked in her. He followed the rhythm of her body, strokes going harder and faster until she began to drown in a whirlwind of sensation. But his hunger was insatiable. He yearned to give her as much pleasure as she had given him. Pulling away from her lips felt like a betrayal, but he had a different plan in mind. He traced a path of kisses down her neck, across her collarbones, and over the peaks of her breasts, his tongue swirling around her nipples. With each kiss, he counted, an act of devotion.

Eight… twelve… sixteen…

He would remember this moment for the rest of his life, he decided, as he committed to memory every inch of her body, her map of treasure that led to her gold. He left traces of his lips as he went, small but distinct spots of reddening flesh as he took her skin into his mouth, made it his home as he kissed down her body. He lowered himself on the bed to comfortably lay between her legs, on his stomach, his face coming to the very centre of her being, his warm breath mingling with the chill of her skin as he delved into the intimate valley between her legs. The heat radiating from her core enveloped his face as his tongue dared to taste the nectar of her womanhood, tracing a path from base to peak.

Jacaerys Velaryon, accustomed to the finest delicacies, had never tasted anything as intoxicating as his beloved girl. He grew on the sweetest of desserts, the juiciest meats, and the finest wines, but nothing compared to her addictive flavour. He devoured her, his mouth unstoppable as he drank her in. The room was filled with the symphony of her moans and the wet, rhythmic sounds of his tongue against her, lapping at the juices that pooled from her most sensitive place. His hands, strong and possessive, held her hips steady as she bucked and writhed beneath him.

His cock, hard and needy, throbbed against the sheets under his body, dampening them with his pre-cum, the sensitive head rubbing against the rough fabric when he ground his hips against the cushion in desperation while his mouth savoured the sweet fruit of her pleasure. He would never get enough of her, he knew, as he took his time with long yet hungry laps at her apex, swearing to never forget the taste of her on his tongue.

Then, she broke, her cries a siren song that drove him wild. Her body arched, her thighs closing around his head as she reached for the heavens. Her first climax washed over her, a wave of pleasure that left her breathless. She spilt into his mouth, and he took her in willingly as he used his tongue to clean her up completely before he pulled back with a satisfied smirk on his glistening lips, coated in her.

He trailed kisses along the delicate skin of her inner thighs, a shiver rippling through her as she climaxed. His lips lingered, savouring the taste of her, the feel of her skin. He knew that marking more of her skin was dangerous, but he could not help himself from sucking in and biting the plumpness of her thighs as he had done all over her stomach and chest, forming a constellation of love bites as he moved. He wanted to taste every inch of her, to mark her as his as his possessiveness took over, as wrong as he knew it was. Her eyes, half-lidded with remaining pleasure, met his, a silent plea for more. She yearned for him, for the fullness he promised.

Jace, his desire burning, pushed himself up on his arms to crawl over her body. His hips pressed against hers, the hard length of him aching against her soft belly. His own juices seeped from him, a tantalising promise of the pleasure to come. He could feel her anticipation, the way her body tensed and relaxed and shifted, the way her breath quickened. He wanted to lose himself in her, to feel her around him, to bury himself in her warmth.

“If you want me to stop,” He whispered, his voice rough and his throat rather dry, “I will.”

But she reached for his face, her lips curving into a smile that held the promise of endless pleasure. He felt a surge of desire as she parted her legs, inviting him into her embrace. With trembling hands, he guided himself towards her, his aching member finding its way to her entrance. A moment of anticipation passed as he positioned himself, and then, with a gentle push, he entered her, embraced by the foreign feel of her cunt. She tensed, her features twisting as the strange burning of his member settled itself deep within her, breaching her and taking that said innocence of hers.

Jace was engulfed by her warmth, a low groan escaping his lips as he thrust deeper. The friction, the sensation of her tight grip around him, drove him wild and ate at him, begging him to move. He could feel her initial resistance, her eyes fluttering closed as she endured the initial discomfort, and he ached for her. But as her body began to yield to him, her grip loosened, and her eyes, filled with a mix of desire and surrender, met his. He knew then that she was his, body and soul, and he would be deserving of her. Always.

His hips moved with a tentative rhythm, his eyes locked on hers, searching for any sign of discomfort or regret. Her breath quickened, soft whimpers escaping her lips as pleasure began to blossom within her when the initial pain had died out. He claimed her lips once more, their kiss deepening as their bodies moved in a primal dance, moving in a way that seemed natural for them. The initial awkwardness soon gave way to a more confident rhythm, their movements becoming more fluid and passionate.

The room filled with the music of their passion—the soft sighs, the guttural moans, the rhythmic slapping of skin on skin as they found a pace for both of them. The wet, sucking sound of their bodies melding together was a rhythm, driving them to the brink of ecstasy. Jace felt a growing intensity, a hot, pulsating knot forming low in his belly. He wanted to hold onto this moment, to prolong the pleasure, to give her everything he had. This was the first and last night they would spend together; then he would fuck her until the sun found its way back to the skies. Her legs, strong and eager, wrapped around his hips, urging him on. Her heels dug into his back, a silent plea for more, faster, harder. She was edging closer to the precipice, her body trembling with anticipation.

“Jace…” She moaned his name, such a delicious sound that made him feel delirious.

He clung to her, his body surrendering against her, his arms around her and pulling her closer. His hips pounded against hers, relentless as he drove them both to the very end. He could feel her breasts pressing against his chest, soft and warm, bouncing with each move of his body. As they reached their peak, they soared together to the heavens amongst the stars and the planets, lost in a concert of moans and gasps, the music of lovers. He gave himself completely, shooting hot ropes of seed deep into her womb, forgetting themselves in the danger of taking root within her, but still, she kept her hold on him, legs clasped down around him. In that moment, they were one, lost in the euphoria of their shared climax.

The aftermath of their passion left them breathless, their bodies slick with sweat, their hearts pounding. He collapsed onto her, a heavy weight of love and longing. She clung to him, her face hidden in his shoulder to hide the tears welling up in her eyes. The realisation of their separation was a bitter taste to swallow, and it only made her heart ache after her pleasure had taken her. He was hers, and she was his, forever, yet fate had decreed otherwise.

She hummed a soft melody, a song they had created together as children to distract herself from the impending pain of their separation once she left his chambers. It was a simple tune, a secret language between them, something safe from the world, something only they had. Jace, ever knowing of her emotions, understood the unspoken message in her song, the reason why she had now decided to sing to him. He knew the depth of their love, the intensity of their connection. They were two souls intertwined, bound by a love that would burn for eternity, the dragon and the flower. He had a duty as the heir of the kingdom, and she to the future of her house and family. They met when they already belonged to others, and for that, he would never forgive the gods. They gave, and they took.

And for a long moment, they remained together, hearts beating in unison as they flew back from the very heavens above. The silence, however, was comforting, a warm veil over their tired bodies, a shared understanding of their feelings. It was pure intimacy, trust, and love that kept them safe from the harsh realities of their world. He needed her to know that their love would endure; no matter what, she would always be in his heart. "I love you," he declared, his voice a gentle whisper, overwhelmed by emotions. As she wept, he gently wiped away her tears, his touch a source of comfort that tore at their heartstrings. "I will always love you," he vowed, his gaze unwavering, "and only you.”

“Thank you.” She choked out, “For loving me, though I do not deserve it.”

Jace shook his head, his dark curls matted with sweat. His eyes, filled with a mixture of love and despair, met hers. He pressed his forehead against hers, his lips quivering as they threatened to part in a sob that bubbled in his throat. He yearned to give her the world and for a moment wished he was nothing but a simple man deserving of her. “I love you, with my heart and soul, now and forever.”

She, too, was consumed by their love, “Now,” she whispered, her voice trembling, "and forever.”

They spent the night together, finding their pleasure over and over in each other's arms with words of passion and declarations of love, a shared light in the darkness. As dawn approached, casting a soft glow over the room, they lay together with bruised lips, exhausted but content, heartbroken but fulfilled, together. Their secret was known only to a select few; their absence was explained away with elaborate excuses. Her sisters claimed she had spent the night with them, chatting away mindlessly under the light of candles, while his brothers and reluctant cousins feigned ignorance of his whereabouts, pretending that they saw him headed to the dragonpit in the dark of night.

Rhaenyra, however, knew the truth all along yet remained quiet. She had been the witness of the purity of young love from the very moment the two had first met. The queen had tried her hardest to prevent them from committing the same mistakes, yet her efforts were not enough. Her heart ached for her firstborn, who, like her at his age, was bound by duty and forced to sacrifice his happiness. As she gazed upon the sleeping form of her second husband, Daemon, she could not help but wonder if the two of them would ever meet again and eventually be together.

Their weddings took place at the same time, in different places, almost poetic. Jacaerys’ wedding was a lavish celebration witnessed by as many people as they could, with guests from all over Westeros and beyond. Poets and musicians were moved by his sorrow during the festivities, his longing for a love that could not be so evident as he held his bride for their first dance that it would inspire many tales across the realm for centuries to come. Her wedding, though modest, was no less significant. As she was presented to her husband, her heart heavy with sorrow, she forced herself to fulfil her duty. Yet, her tears spoke volumes, revealing the depth of her pain. Despite the circumstances, she endured, as a promise made in a night of heartbreak.

Their paths remained separate, their destinies sealed in the stars. The lovers would never meet again, at least not in this life.

It cannot be denied that, over time, a close bond would blossom between Jacaerys and his cousin-wife, a genuine connection and source of comfort. Together, they welcomed four children into the world: three sons and a daughter, whose name seemed to befit that of a lady of House Tyrell instead of the Valyrian houses. As the years passed, driven by a desire to spare his children from arranged marriages, Jacaerys attempted to reform the traditional customs so his children would be free to choose their own partners, guided by love rather than political advantages.

She brought forth two beautiful twin girls, the mirror images of their mother, and would, unfortunately, pass from an untreatable sickness as her second pregnancy debilitated her young body. The loss of the young Lady of Flowers was a devastating blow to all who knew her, close and far. When the news of her passing reached King’s Landing, Queen Rhaenyra ordered her portrait to be displayed in the Red Keep, under the excuse of her love for a child she had seen grow in front of her eyes. However, those close to Prince Jacaerys knew the true significance of this gesture: it was a silent acknowledgement of the profound love and loss he endured.

As if coming alive from the song of a bard, one of his sons would meet one of her daughters and, with a sweet symphony, would find true love in each other’s arms, just as their parents once did. Yet, this time, their love would be allowed to blossom in the most beautiful union, with the heavens above coming together to bless them. Their love would remain everblooming, a seed planted to grow for many generations to come, a tree of life that would never be cut.

ᡣ𐭩 ─ author's note ;

two months of writing and editing and screaming for THIS?! wack. anyways, happy debut into fluff-smut to me! this oneshot has been through a lot, poor little document. i cannot keep doing this to myself. it's been a long time since i last used the word COCK and it's horrifying lmfao. i need to work on dialogue, i feel like i was limited on that here.

few curious facts about everbloom's world: instead of a reader insert, i had originally created an original female character by the name of alerie tyrell, and the name of jace and baela's daughter was alerya in her honor. the deal she had made with her husband-to-be was that she would never see him again, or mention him in any way. in the first draft, she had a girl that looked just like jace, but the time of their last night and the beginning of her pregnancy was not close at all, so she thought it was a sad gift from the gods. in another draft, she attended jace's crowning ceremony and watched from afar with her children. some of the original ending ideas included a version of hanahaki disease for jace after she passed in childbirth, but i said enough suffering.

i hope it's decent! forgive any grammar mistakes, weird pacing or awkward romance. we can only get better from this!

╰⪼ thank you for reading!

#ᡣ𐭩 #*ੈ𑁍༘⋆ ─ ❝everbloom❞#jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys x reader #hotd #house of the dragon #jace x you #jace x reader #jacaerys x you

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mossangelll · 7 months ago

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HII HOW R U?? I was wondering if u could make a yandere caitvi x reader(like a poly relationship). Just headcannons if u like!! I really love ur postss💗💗

Yandere!Caitvi x Reader Headcanons

i’m great, tysm for requesting! sorry it’s taken me a while to get to this ^^

i was gonna add a section on how they kidnap you (figured i’d use it for a different fic) and an nsfw section but i didn’t know if anyone wanted that so i skipped it this time

HOW THEY MEET YOU

ok so vi is the one who notices you first - at first, you’re just another person who blends into the crowd at her fights

but then she begins to see you at every single fight of hers without fail, always with a huge handmade sign that says something like “step on ME, vi” or “vi, you’re the BEST!”

she thinks it’s endearing how someone like you, so unassuming and cute, is hanging around shady dens like this just to support her

you manage to catch her at the bar after one of her fights and you two strike up an unlikely friendship

she starts to fall head over heels for you - you don’t seem to care or even notice that she’s a mess

in fact, you’re hellbent on fixing her and she can’t help but have massive heart eyes at this point even though she’d normally find something like this demeaning (she doesn’t need to be saved!)

all her life, she’s chased after the people she loved and prioritised their well-being and now someone’s finally doing the same for her

you make her feel so seen at a time in her life when she feels incredibly lost and worthless

however it’s at this point vi leaves the fighting scene and reconnects with cait - you gave her the strength to do so

vi always feels guilty about this but you’re always in the back of her mind, a hopeful what if to ponder on the lonely nights after a lover’s quarrel with cait

so it’s nothing short of serendipity when cait starts to come home later and later, talking about a new recruit who has potential that needs to be nurtured and look at that - it’s you

cait knows she needs to be faithful to vi, she would never dream of going behind her back, but she’s drawn to you in a way that simultaneously confuses her and excites her

she becomes your mentor and sees parts of herself in you and that just makes her obsession infatuation that much worse

cait blurs the line between appropriate behaviour between a subordinate and their junior; she shows up at your door randomly for a “work assignment” and pries into the private details of your love life

if she finds out you’re dating someone or interested in someone other than her, your work life becomes a living nightmare

you’ll constantly be admonished for the tiniest infractions simply because she’s wants you all to herself and doesn’t know how to express her emotions in a healthy way

vi can’t even find it in herself to be jealous when she sees the lustre in cait’s blue eyes, one that’s only reserved for her, starts to come out whenever she’s around you but she does feel left out, after all, vi found you first

the two end up having a conversation and realise that they can’t live without you in their lives - all to themselves, that is

OK TIME FOR WHAT THEY’RE LIKE IN A RELATIONSHIP

honestly i think vi is the one you can wrap around your pinkie finger - she has such a soft spot for the people she loves and she’s not afraid of making it known

you want more treats? she’ll sneak them in

you want to go outside? ok, but vi is handcuffing you to her and you can only stay out for five minutes

surprisingly she respects your boundaries and tries not to be overly affectionate with you when you don’t want to be, even if it kills her inside

don’t think you can ask to talk to family and friends though, that’s completely off-limits and you will see a sadistic side to vi she doesn’t normally let out

i imagine her punishments would be something to the effect of her saying extremely cruel and upsetting things to you to remind you of your place

she would also be into physical punishments like spanking but not anything that could really hurt you - she would have a breakdown if she hurt you to the point of serious injury and would never forgive herself

cait on the other hand is essentially the “bad cop” in this scenario, it’s not that she doesn’t love you, in fact i would say she’s probably more obsessed than vi is, it’s that she doesn’t want to risk anything bad happening to you whatsoever

she went lax on punishing zaunites and it ended up with her mother dead - she’s not taking any risks when it comes to you

it harder to tell with cait but she does try to show her affection, it’s just not as obvious as the way she acts to vi

she does like to be physically affectionate with you more than vi does but this too is very subtle

she likes to make these actions seem like a necessity when really it’s for her own satisfaction

e.g. she’ll hold you hand and profess it’s because “you might fall over” even though you can see the faint blush on her cheeks - you’re both aware it’s a terrible lie but are equally too embarrassed to mention it

like in my other work, her shows of affection come from giving you books, painting lessons and expensive clothes, etc. - she wants to nurture your talents and expose you to the finer things in life that you’ve missed out on

she lowkey has a superiority complex when it comes to this lmao but i think she does it all to mask her deep insecurities

she doesn’t want to seem weak in front of her darling

her punishments are more harsh. i feel like she would put you in isolation and leave you hungry if you refuse to abide by her or vi’s rules

i hc that this stems from her childhood; her mother would withhold affection (maybe not to this extent) whenever she misbehaved and this way of thinking carried over to adulthood

this means that caitlyn and vi do tend to argue over what they think is best for you and it lowkey gives divorced parents energy - they’re constantly trying to prove themselves right

it’s a very volatile environment to be in

imo this is kinda cait and vi’s way of flirting too 😭 in the aftermath they look back on it like ‘awww she cares so much about our darling she’s willing to fight over them - so cute!’

their relationship stays mostly the same as it was before just a lil more intense

they’d both be yandere for each other, it just manifests a lot more strongly with you

like, they know they can look after themselves but you’re so weak they need to go above and beyond to ensure their most precious darling is safe

they both plan detailed daily routines for you and you’re micromanaged down to the smallest details: how long you can sleep for, the food you eat, the exercises you do, the clothes you wear, the people you can interact with

in my mind, this takes place at the end of s2 so you live with them in cait’s mansion - they’ve both experienced a LOT of trauma which contributes to them developing a codependent relationship and having to drag someone else into their mess

it’s definitely a stifling relationship and it feels like you’re never truly alone, if for some reason they can’t be there with you there’ll always be a trusted maid or enforcer keeping tabs on you

omg wait they definitely give you a diary and say it’s private but at the end of the night they’ll read through it to see if you’re planning anything they wouldn’t agree with

cait came up with the idea and vi thinks it’s a violation of your privacy but she goes along with it anyway

would never admit it but secretly it’s her favourite time of the day (if she respects your physical boundaries, she’s gotta break some other boundaries - give her a break!)

they just want to patch up the pain they feel from all the losses they’ve had to deal with and unfortunately for you, you’re their bandages

masterlist

#request #yandere!caitvi #yandere cait x reader #yandere vi x reader #yandere cait #yandere vi #arcane #arcane headcanon #yandere x reader #yandere #cait x reader #vi x reader #cait x reader x vi #cait x vi #arcane request

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ronhazmione · 8 months ago

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Thinking about Harry who’s only friends were spiders, who never had any friends of his own because of Dudley’s bullying and who was avoided because of his dirty hand-me-downs, and Hermione who didn’t feel like she could connect to people and isolated herself with books and felt alone because people were intimidated with her intelligence and thought she was obnoxious for being outspoken, and Ron who never had any friends of his own and always felt like a spare and like an afterthought to his brothers, finding friendship in each other and realizing they didn’t have to change or diminish any parts of themselves and truly accepting one another,

They mean so much to me, the way they can just sit in silence with each other and just exist is so precious to me, the idea of them hanging out is just doing homework next to each other in the common room, occasionally taking walks to the lake and hogsmeet and sipping butter while gossiping, Ron copying Hermiones notes while Harry struggles to write his potions essay, Hermione grumbling while Ron and Harry make up random predictions for divination, Harry petting crookshanks while Ron and Hermione play chess… they’re so 🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽😭😭

It’s also the way they’re incomplete without the other,

Ron is the joy/humor in the trio and when he’s not there you can see the happiness and joy leave Hermione and Harry, the way they mope at the library quietly because they don’t know how to start conversation without Ron and miss the way he grounds them to normal life where they can just be Ron, Harry, and, Hermione and not have to hide behind personas to please other people,, Hermione needing someone to contradict her and threat her just like a normal person and so she can be challenged to think past what she already knows who needs Ron to challenge her thinking and push her beyond her usual intelligence and Harry who needs Ron to remind when what truly matters and to validate how he’s feeling and making him laugh when his whole world feels like falling apart

Harry who is the perspective/clarity when Ron and Hermione get too caught up to look at the big picture, Romione who constantly fight and nitpick the tiniest details even to their own detriment, and can keep grudges like it’s a professional sport not wanting but needing Harry to remind them about the important things in life and keeping them on the right track even when they lose themselves in the forest and wander off path. But he also lets them wander off the path and goof around, Ron and Hermione who need Harry because Harry looks at them like they are is whole world, no matter how ridiculous they act and how stubborn they are to prove they’re right and win whatever argument they’re having, and Harry will let them because he doesn’t care about it as long they’re happy, Harry will go the library even when he doesn’t want to, he’ll sneak into Hogsmeet to see them, He’ll go through hell and back if it meets he can go back to them, Harry indulges they’re silliness because he loves them unconditionally, they are his family

Hermione who is clearly the logic and knowledge in the trio, Ron needs her to humble him and Harry needs Hermione because unlike Ron reminds Harry that he doesn’t have to anything other than Harry, Hermione pushes Harry to be a better version of himself and truly find his confidence. Ron and Harry are so aimless without her, yes they get along but they need her because she reminds them to never overlook anything and always looks out for her younger friends, she reminds them to finish their homework and to not do anything that could get them into trouble. Ron and Harry can be so dismissive of their own health but Hermione reminds them to take care of themselves

They’re so realistic too, they way they fight and bicker but always come though for each other,

Golden trio is important to me because they never leave each other, yes they fight and quarrel but they always come back, they care so so much about each other <33 they truly do provide a safe space for each other where they can truly be themselves,, They find each other in every life

#harry james potter #golden trio #golden triad #ron weasley #hermione granger #romionarry #tani rambles

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majeoeje · 7 months ago

Note

hi, so I find comfort/solace in your Tanjiro fics, specifically the kimono one, so thank you. It really helped me in a way. Like I was really sad and your fic helped me. Thank you once more.

If it’s not too much to ask, can you do something similar with a request I have in mind? Where they’re married and he’s having one of those “im falling for my wife.” or “she’s so pretty.” moments while she’s sleeping? Absentmindedly touching her hair and caressing her cheek? Basically some cute morning fluff, tooth rotting morning fluff. If it’s too much to ask, it’s alright. I understand. But truly thank you. 💗

EEEEK THIS IS SO CUTE.

Next To You

Tanjiro x fem reader

Nothing would make me happier

Synopsis: Morning cuddles, that’s it

Ever since Muzan had been defeated, everything had gone right for Tanjiro. Nezuko had turned back into a human, his friends lived together with him, they don’t have to work day and night for money, they have plenty of food on the table and a bountiful of happiness.

Deep down inside, Tanjiro had a growing pit of fear that everything that he had worked tirelessly upon would be taken away from him. In truth it wouldn’t be the first time for him. He was scared that one day his luck would run out and that familliar anguish would rain a snowstorm of despair back to his conscious. Everyday, no matter how mundane, he would be accompanied with these thoughts.

And it was the worst by the time Tanjiro asked your hand in marriage. He was fully convinced that it was truly the day that his luck would run out. It wasn’t out of his self inferiority, it was more in a way that he can’t imagine his dreams of being happy with you could actually come true.. he had everything already, even you as a precious companion. Is it right to be greedy? To want more?

But despite all his inner self quarrels he still asked you to marry him. Despite every standing obstacle, his love for you had overshadow all.

Though when he first uttered his proposal, he already felt guilty. Because when he did so you started crying. All sorts of thoughts ran through his mind seeing your tears spilling down your cheeks. Oh gods! Did he say something wrong?! What did he do?? Did you hated him so?..

As Tanjiro’s mind continues to run in circles, you managed to let out a few words.

“Nothing would make me happier” you stuttered all the way through your sentence, as you wiped away your tears.

What?

What did you say?

Despite his ruptured eardrums he still managed to hear you loud and clear. But he was still scared to make himself believe that happiness.

“Tanjiro??” You called out to him, he had been silent for a minute

“You..want to marry me?..” he was hesitant in letting himself hope

“Yes”. You stated, loud and clear for him to hear.

He couldn’t believe it. Was this real? He wasn’t still stuck in that train now was he?

“You do?!”he shouted.

“Yes!!” You shouted back.

The next thing you knew he was crying. He kneeled in front of you with tearful eyes and didn’t stop spouting about how he will make you happy and how he’ll love you forever. He sobbed as he hugged your waist tightly. Probably the tightest he had ever held you before. Only in that moment, the thoughts in his heart stopped tormenting him.

He still thinks of that day often. Especially when he is cuddled up beside you underneath your futon. You didn’t need to share a futon but you may or may not had lied about being really cold in the morning.

It was already noon, but he didn’t have the heart to wake you up. You deserve days where you can rest and sleep to your heart’s content. You worked hard for this peaceful life as much as he did afterall. Well he can’t argue wanting to admire you to his heart content wasn’t a part of his reason.

Back then he never thought he would be the lucky man to marry you. Now here he was building a life with you.

“My wife..” he said, smiling to himself as his heart swelled with glee. “Sometimes i just can’t believe it”

Tanjiro fell for you because of how strong you were. It was an undeniable admiration. Everyone could practically see how smitten he was everytime they saw the way he looked at you while you train. His eyes were glued to you like nothing else had matter. Your stance was firm, like nothing could bring you down. The way you strike was nothing short of a master’s work, like you could cut down any obstacle in your way. To him, you were outstanding. And he could not afford to pry his eyes off of you everytime he gets a chance to see you in action.

But that was what he thought then. Now, you don’t have an obligation to lift up a katana. You could just live your life and take a rest as much as you like. During these peaceful days was when Tanjiro saw another side to you. Something more gentle.

For example your sleeping form right now. Back then you would be the one who was waking him up for morning training. Now you could just sleep away your exhaustion from your previous nightly escapades.

He moved aside strands of hair that was covering your face. But his hand couldn’t help but linger for far too long.

“Beautiful” you are breathaking.

Tanjiro rest his head on his elbow to take a better look at you. Your relaxed expression was far different than your usual harden gaze accompanied with the faint sound of your breath that sounded melodic, serving as a reminder that you were still here. He never thought you could look so..precious.

“You’re not going anywhere, right?” He whispers, muttered underneath his breath.

He’s scared. Perhaps he’ll always be because family what happened to his family. But you’re still here right?

Tanjiro didn’t anticipate you to scooch in closer to embrace him in your sleep. The way you held him by his waist calmed his overflowing thoughts. He was glad he could have this life. He was glad he could live to be with you.

You’re still here

And other than that, in this proximity what else could you expect other than loads of kisses?

By the time you woke up, he probably already placed a kiss in every part of your face.

(A/N:sorry for the long wait anonym, i just figured out how to open my inbox lmao)

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kingkat12 · 7 months ago

Text

mistletoe (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: 18+, dumbification, mature themes, manipulation, toxic relationship, sorta uncomfortable oops, is Roman using his powers or not?, angsty fluff

summary: one week of repeated quarrels brew down to a heated conversation at a Christmas party... will Roman be able to convince you he knows what's best for you?

word count: 1,536

a/n: hey again!<33 i wanted something cute and Christmas-y, but damn... this is far away from that. I doubt Roman likes Christmas at all anyway, so I couldn't bring myself to write something fluffy omg. read at your own discretion, love u<33 merry christmas!!!

"... You hung it up there on purpose,"

"I didn't," Roman said, smirking down at me as he pointed at the mistletoe above us. Evil man, cornering me in the doorway to the empty kitchen. "This is fate. You have to kiss me now."

Under any other circumstance, I would've been a blushing mess. I might've indulged the banter, I might've already dragged him down to my level and kissed him, but alas-- I didn't have it in me. Not after we had been bickering for a whole week. "Since when were you an avid participant in tradition?" I snarked, crossing my arms over my chest as I glared up at my tall boyfriend. "You hate everything else, but this mistletoe-stuff is acceptable to you?"

Roman rolled his eyes, snapping out of his feigned indulgence. "You're being difficult,"

"And you're yet to apologize!"

"Come on!" Roman let out a big huff, pointing at the sweater he had been forced to wear to this party hosted by my friends; the theme was ugly Christmas sweaters, and I bought him one that was just perfect. Seeing the big, bad Roman Godfrey in a reindeer sweater with a red nose that lit up when you booped it was a consolation prize after our quarrels this week. "Look at the shit I do for you, okay? Now stop giving me grief and kiss me!"

Had I not been wearing heels, I would've probably stomped my foot like a toddler-- "No! I'm still mad at you!"

"For what?" he snapped, his green gaze narrowing with his next words; "For that thing I said about your friends?"

What a stupid question. "Obviously!"

Roman let out a patronizing laugh as he rolled his eyes, reaching up to touch the mistletoe above us in the doorway. "They do suck,"

"They do not!"

"They come up with humiliating Christmas sweater parties, and on top of that, they suck,"

Fucking hell. Dating Roman was impossible at times. I glanced around, making sure no one was around to hear this conversation-- I doubted my friends would be happy to hear this coming out of his mouth. "And you think I'm the biggest fan of Peter?" I hissed, turning to face my boyfriend again. "He keeps reciting Romeo and Juliet and claiming he wrote the passages! He's crazy too!"

That seemed to strike a nerve with Roman; "Hey!"

"Hey right back at you!"

"At least he's nice!"

"My friends are nice too!--"

"No, they suck!" Roman leaned down to my level; he scanned the annoyed look on my face as he took a step forward, forcing my back up against the doorframe. "You know they hate me, right?" he said, lowering his voice.

My eyes rounded out, feeling my breath get stuck in my chest. "They don't," I tried not to sound so meek, but it turned out to be impossible. I couldn't bring myself to raise my voice at Roman now that he was so close, now that his breath was falling hot against my cheek.

He tilted his head to the side, sending me the condescending look I knew all too well. "You're so naive," he whispered. "They talk shit about me, and they talk shit about you. Do you know why I've been so pissed at you all week? It's because you can't stand up for yourself when it comes to those bitches!"

I didn't want to hear it. I really, really didn't. "Roman--"

"They walk all over you, do you not see it?!"

Angry tears were welling up in my eyes; "Stop it!--"

"You think I want you to be around people like that? Don't you think I want what's best for you?"

"You don't know what's best for me!" I hissed, deciding to get back up in his face. Roman was pissing me off more and more by the minute. "You control every other aspect of my life, and I let you, but not this one! My friends are my territory, and I need to have some autonomy here!"

It was true-- I liked turning my brain off around Roman. I liked that he had money, that he drove me everywhere, that he paid someone else to get my homework done, that he paid for my manicures, because why should I not allow myself the luxury? He got off on it, anyway. It drove him absolutely mad, gave him a high to doll me up and parade me around. So yes, I allowed him control of almost every part of my life, but not this one. I had to be able to make one good choice, no? Or was my brain already too far gone, too fried by pleasantries to function?

Roman's green eyes narrowed as he glared down at me. He let out a sharp breath, visibly growing angrier by the second. However, he contained it with bitten-down words; "And you know why you're so happy to give me control? Because deep down, you're aware that you make bad choices,"

"I don't!--"

"You do,"

Every piece of my self-worth was crumbling at his feet. I let it all sink in, and allowed myself to chew and process the truth he was serving me; Roman was painfully right. I had never been the best at making any choice of any sort. I wasn't sure why my lower lip was quivering with my next quiet words; "But... I like my friends,"

Roman sighed, eyes softening at the sight of me. "I know," he cooed, reaching forward to stroke his thumb across my cheek. "But I'll find you some new ones, okay? Let me deal with it for you."

I didn't want to fight anymore. Didn't want to fight this-- Roman's eventual occupation of my whole life, and his need to conquer every piece of me. There was something about the spark in the green of his eyes, the hidden fire behind his innocent, sweet words that I innately liked, anyway.

Roman made me feel dumb.

So unbelievably brainless.

... Because maybe I was?

I let my inner monologue die out, go into static noise, as Roman's hand went into the hair at the nape of my neck. He twisted his fingers harshly into my locks as he grinned against my lips-- He had won. Fucking Napoleon. "I'm gonna take such good care of you," he cooed. "You don't ever have to see any of these people again, I'll make sure you don't."

Maybe that was for the best?

Roman knew better than me, anyway. Roman was smart.

I was nothing compared to him.

Nothing.

Roman's eyes sparkled with glee at the sight of the wreck he had made out of me. Finally, after one week of planting seeds of doubt in my mind, he had gotten through to my psyche. "What do you say we get out of here, hm?"

I nodded, trying not to hiss as his fist in my hair tightened. Now, I couldn't move-- I was forced to look straight into his eyes, unable to escape his gaze.

"Gonna fuck you real nice for being such a good girl," Roman whispered, brushing his bottom lip against mine as I let out a shaky breath. "How many times do you want to cum tonight? I'll do it all for you, don't be shy."

I so desperately hoped no one was hearing this conversation. However, it hit me that it didn't matter; I wouldn't see these people again. Roman would make sure of that. "Two?" I tried, not sure what to answer. He got so intense sometimes, it made me weak at the knees with discomfort.

Roman tsked, grinning; "I think we can shoot higher. Let's say three,"

Who was I to deny myself such pleasure? "Okay," I breathed, feeling my cheeks turn a light shade of pink. Nonetheless, I made a point out of getting up on my tippytoes to get closer to his face. "Roman?"

He seemed as amused as ever; "Yeah?"

"Did you still want that kiss?"

Roman glanced up at the mistletoe, momentarily letting out a short laugh. I was sure he had forgotten about it. "You bet," Roman murmured, glancing back down at me before leaning down, nudging my nose with his as an invitation.

I smiled as joy coursed through my veins-- I knew I was in good hands. Roman knew how to take care of me properly, much better than I ever could myself.

It took me about a second before I realized I was leaning in.

Two seconds to realize Roman's soft lips were on mine with the gentlest touch known to man.

And three to realize I was the luckiest girl in the world.

Someone who kisses like this couldn't ever want anything bad to happen to me, right? His motives couldn't be selfish-- no, that was impossible. Roman's kisses were merely touches of utter love, kisses to ease me, disarm me, and push me into the right path of submission. Every brush of the soft pillows of his lips against mine was the equivalent of a verbal confession of love.

As I pulled him closer, mentally thanking the person who hung up the mistletoe here, I saw red lights shine through my closed lids-- I smiled into the kiss, realizing we had set off the red reindeer nose of his sweater.

This is what I was made for.

This was who I was made for.

Roman-- only Roman.

#roman godfrey #roman godfrey x reader #hemlock grove #bill skarsgård #fanfic #x reader #fanfiction #bill skarsgard #oneshot #christmas oneshot #hemlock grove fanfiction #bill skarsgård fanfiction #this is so problematic omg #i have no idea what came over me #oh well #i miss posting!!!

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squinkyduckling · 4 months ago

Text

Obsessively Infatuated | KCD Henry x Reader

After meeting for the first time, Henry falls madly in love with you and is willing to go to extreme lengths to be with you.

But when jealousy is thrown into that mix of infatuation and determination, morals are quickly thrown to the wind.

Content Tags: 18+ (consume responsibly), Sexual content, afab!reader (+ she/her pronouns), possessiveness, toxic behaviour, kissing, descriptions of blood and tasting it, violence (not towards reader), questionable morals, implied character death (not reader + it's open to interpretation), Henry is slightly OOC

Word count: ~6.3k

A/N: I couldn't find so many KCD x Reader fanfictions, so I decided to write my own. i admit the ending is a bit rushed/ weirdly paced, and at times it's a bit corny but I am quite happy how the story turned out. ^^

hope you enjoy! :)

Please note that this story is also posted on my AO3 - here.

The first time you had met Henry was shortly after your family had settled in Skalitz. You moved there from Prague after your grandfather had died, leaving his apothecary shop for your father to take over. But your father was a trained physician, so it did not take long until people would come to your shop not only for potions, herbs and ointments, but also in hopes of more extensive medical care. After all, Sir Radzig’s court physician was expensive and not often available to the common folk.

You had seen Henry around town many times, but never officially met him. That was, until one evening in late spring.

Your parents had left on a trip to Talmberg, leaving the Apothecary shop in the care of your older brother and you for a few days.

The shop had already been closed for the day, with your brother having gone to the tavern to meet his friends.

You, on the other hand, were occupied with your evening chores around the shop.

And when those were done, you were too tired to do anything except sleep. That was, until a loud noise ripped you from your slumber in the middle of the night.

Heavy pounding sounded against the front door of the house, jolting you upright in your bed. You nervously gripped the gray sheet that you used as a blanket, as the pounding continued. You glanced over to the other bed in the room, your tongue feeling heavy in your mouth at the realisation that your brother had not yet returned, making you the only one at home.

Another round of poundings rattled the wooden door, sounding weaker this time, and you could make out a voice calling out. You sighed, your curiosity winning over, as you got up, grabbing the lantern off the small wooden stool between your and Jakub’s beds, before slowly descending the stairs that lead down to the shop area.

More knocking and a muffled groan came from behind the door.

“Who goes there!?” you called out warily, keeping a few steps of distance between yourself and the door.

“Sister! Open the door…” your brother's slurred words came as a response. “We need… your help-”

Your eyes widened as you quickly put down the lantern to the floor, hurrying over to the door before swinging it open to reveal two hunched figures standing in the night.

“Jakub!” you exclaimed. “What is going on?”

Your brother didn't respond, instead pushing past you into the house, dragging a stranger with him.

The faint light of the lantern illuminated the two figures, yet you still couldn't tell who it was that your brother brought in because his head was hanging low, obscuring his face. What you could make out however were the bruises on your brother's face, and the dark red stains on the front of the other man’s shirt.

“Jakub, what happened!?” You gasped at the sight "Who is this?”

Before responding, your brother made his way into the back part of your house, stumbling into the living area.

“We had a quarrel…” he trailed off, voice slurring drunkenly.

You huffed in annoyance. It was just like him to get into trouble the first chance he gets, with your parents out of town.

“With who?” you asked, following him up the stairs, one hand holding the lantern, the other outstretched towards his friend’s back, to provide them with stability. Jakub’s friend let out another pained groan as he was haphazardly dragged along.

“Hannes,” Jakub said. You recognised that name; you had seen him around town often, but your brother always talked negatively about him. You were about to give a comment when your brother added: “And Alex.”

You shook your head in disbelief. “The bailiff’s son? You are unbelievable…”

Jakub stumbled towards his bed, where he sat his friend down.

In the glow of the lantern, you finally recognised the unknown man as the blacksmith’s boy, Henry. His face was littered in bruises, dried blood from his nose caking his busted lips and chin. He seemed to be drifting in and out of consciousness, swaying from side to side, pained groans interrupted by occasional drunken hiccuping.

His state made you almost feel sorry for him, if it weren't for the apparent circumstances under which he got into said state.

“Why did you bring him here?” you asked, turning towards your brother with a frown.

To your dismay, you found him slumped onto a bench near his bed, snoring quietly. You sighed defeatedly, turning back to Henry, who was now laying down. His eyes were closed, breathing heavy, as you watched him dart out his tongue over his lower lip only to wince at the contact with a split wound on the soft skin.

Your expression softened at his miserable state, and you made the decision to put your limited Apothecary knowledge to use and try to tend to his wounds.

__________________

Henry stirred awake to the slight sting as something touched the rough bruises on his knuckles.

He sharply sucked in air through his teeth, blearily opening his eyes to the sight of your unfamiliar face leaning over him. He swallowed dryly, mouth slightly agape, as he took in your form.

Your face, illuminated in the soft glow of a lantern, was gracefully framed by your hair. Your eyes, hidden behind long lashes, downcast as you gently worked on his hands. Your skin against his was smooth, your touches almost feathery. For a moment, Henry might have deliriously thought you were the Virgin Mary herself, before common sense scolded his absurdity. To him you were perfect.

You grinned sheepishly at him. “Don’t you know it’s rude to stare?”

Henry blinked a couple of times, tearing himself out of his stupor. “Forgive me,” his voice was coarse and he cringed at the sound of it.

You did not respond, instead continuing to dab ointment on his knuckles before wrapping them in thin bandages.

Henry’s gaze drifted around the room before falling to the sleeping form of his friend on a bench next to the bed. Seeing Jakub suddenly brought back the memories of how he ended up here in the first place, and only then did he realise who you were. Guilt rose inside of him at the hassle the two men had apparently created for you.

He looked back at you, just as you finished bandaging his hand, holding it in yours for a moment longer.

“I am sorry for the… trouble,” he said bashfully.

To his surprising disappointment, you let go of his hand with a chuckle. “I agree, it certainly isn’t how I imagined my night to go.”

You paused, regarding him with a thoughtful expression, before adding with a quieter voice: “It’s odd we have never talked before, is it not?”

Henry nodded slowly, trying to remember anything that might contradict your statement but only drawing blanks. “I am glad we have now,” he finally said, hoping he didn’t mistake the way you cast away your gaze in flushed embarrassment at his words.

You cleared your throat, moving away from the bed. “You should sleep while you can. You are pretty battered up after all,” you said, extinguishing the lantern, leaving nothing but the silvery moonlight to aid Henry in watching your silhouette climb into bed, before closing his eyes and drifting back into unconsciousness.

_____________

The next morning, both your brother and Henry seemed to have sobered up.

You had applied another round of ointment and bandages to Henry’s wounds before he would head out to return to his own home.

“If I stay any longer, my parents might rally a search party,” he had chuckled, standing at the door that led outside.

As he said his goodbye’s, thanking you and Jakub for taking him in and caring for his injuries, his eyes remained on you for longer than what might seem usual. Your gaze found his, causing his lips to form into a small smile, eyes shining with a fond adoration unlike anything anyone has ever regarded you with. Your cheeks flushed with blossoming heat under Henry’s lingering stare, and it was only at your brother’s awkward cough breaking the silence that you tore yourself from the moment that was shared between you and Henry. Embarrassed, you averted your gaze away from Henry’s face, watching wordlessly as he finally left.

Now alone, Jakub chuckled. “What did you do to him to have him drooling over you like that?”

You huffed, brows knitted into a scowl, a hand flying out to hit your brother's shoulder. “Sakra! Don’t be ridiculous, you moron!” you exclaimed, causing Jakub to break out into loud laughter, blocking your smacks with his own hand.

Ceasing your assault, you stuck your tongue out at him. “Better start getting the shop open, before any more crap comes out of your mouth.”

He waved you off, but nevertheless made his way to the shop room of the house, still cackling, leaving you alone to tend to your own chores.

In the following weeks, you became less and less sure whether Jakub had really been as ridiculous as you had called him.

After your parents returned from Talmberg, you had significantly more free time on your hands again, meaning you got to spend more time hanging around town with your friends. Theresa was the one you’d call your best friend, having befriended her just shortly after coming to Skalitz. But you also counted Bianca, the alehouse maid, and Johanka, who you were introduced to by Theresa, as very close friends. The four of you would often spend the majority of your free time together, and even hang around the tavern if Bianca had to work for her father.

During these times, you started to run into Henry more and more often.

At first, it seemed perfectly coincidental when you saw him outside the tavern accompanied by his friends, while you and your own friends were gathered around a table, waiting for Bianca’s father to release her from her duties. He had stopped to greet you with a boyish grin, asking about your day, before being dragged off into the tavern by his friend Fritz.

You also didn’t think anything of it when you crossed paths with him every time you ran an errand for your father around town.

“You seem to have so much free time. Does your father not put you to work, strong as you are?” you had laughed on one of those occasions and the way his eyes lit up at your subtle compliment was not lost on you.

“Of course he does,” he had replied, a twinge of exasperation unmistakable in his voice, “it must be good fortune that I still find the time to run into you so often.”

“Or it’s you slacking off…,” you had suggested with a teasing smile, before parting ways with him.

It was not just coincidental run-ins however. Suddenly, Henry stopped by the apothecary more and more often. A bruise here, a cut there; one week his muscles were sore, the next he had a sudden onset of fever. Everyone, including you, assumed he just made up excuses to not have to work and hang out with Jakub instead - which he usually did after these visits. However, you occasionally caught him watching as you did your chores around the shop, perking up ever so slightly if your gaze found his, a jovial smile forming on his lips.

In turn, it seemed that said chores took you on more trips to Henry’s father, the blacksmith, than usual. The fence around your family’s property being unexplainably damaged, requiring new nails to be fixed; shop tools going missing or breaking, needing to be replaced urgently - no matter what, your errand runs to the blacksmith became as frequent as Henry’s visits to your family’s shop.

Eventually, as time went on, it became nearly inevitable to run into Henry at least once during your day. Before you even had a chance to fully realise, you found yourself looking forward to these meetings - and you could feel the dull twinge of disappointment pulling at your heart on the rare occasions you didn’t see him.

Of course you were not oblivious to the way Henry acted around you - Jakub made thoroughly sure of that with his endless teasing. You didn't ignore his longing stares in your direction, the mirthful smiles lighting up his expression or the subtle brushes of his hand against yours if you stood close enough. But, it was never more than that, never more than distant affection; yet you could not help but find comfort in his fondness of you.

And it was only weeks later, during a warm summer afternoon, that your gentle yet stagnant relationship would change.

______________

The sun was swelling hot in the sky, as Henry walked the familiar trek to your family’s house.

Nearing the building, he spotted Jakub hammering away at the wooden fence in front of him, trying to keep a plank upright without hitting his fingers. A faint sense of guilt rose up in Henry’s chest as the memory of kicking the fence’s post, breaking the attached planks in the process, invaded his mind. He quickly swallowed the feeling down, reminding himself that his actions were with noble intent and Jakub surely didn’t mind the extra work since it was for a good cause.

Henry came to a halt in front of his friend, who looked up at him with a flash of recognition glinting in his eyes.

“How kind of you to come and keep your best friend company during his hard work,” Jakub said conspiratorially. “Assuming that’s why you’re here, of course.”

“Why else would I be here?” Henry said innocently, leaning against an undamaged fence post next to the broken one.

Jakub regarded him with a knowing look. “Henry, I know what you are doing.”

Henry’s eyes widened ever so slightly at the statement, guilt again rising up his throat like bile, this time mixed with panic. His eyes flitted to the broken planks on the ground and to the familiar nails in his friend’s hand. Did Jakub really know?

“Wha- How do you-,” Henry stammered, frantically racking his brain for an excuse.

Jakub interrupted him with a breathy laugh, shaking his head. “You are so painfully obvious. The way you are trailing around everyday like a lovesick fool, hoping to run into my sister.”

Henry blinked at his friend perplexed, before letting out a relieved breath. He felt his face grow hot at the realisation of Jakub knowing about his infatuation; but it was better than knowing what he got up to at night around the Apothecary shop.

A bashful grin broke out on Henry’s face, due to both relief and embarrassment. He scratched the back of his neck, before asking: “Does it bother you?”

Jakub remained thoughtfully silent for a couple seconds, hammering wordlessly at the plank in front of him. “It’s fun, watching you dance around her,” he finally said. Looking up, he added in a more serious tone: “Make sure not to turn it un-fun, Hal.”

Henry nodded; he understood Jakub’s meaning perfectly - ‘Don’t hurt my sister’.

Jakub spoke up again, before Henry’s thoughts could dwell on the warning. “On that note, she isn’t here. I believe she went to the pond with her friends.”

Henry’s eyes lit up at the information, thanking Jakub, before leaving him with a promise to stop by and chat later. The sliver of guilt at his own involvement in his friend’s predicament was immediately forgotten, replaced with a rush of excitement at the thought of seeing you, as he hurried along the path through town that led to the pond that Jakub mentioned.

________________

You sat on the grass at the very edge of the pond, dangling your feet loosely into the cool water.

Next to you, Theresa did the same. Behind you, Bianca and Johanka sat cross-legged in the meadow, picking daisies to weave them into delicate flower crowns.

Johanka sighed. “I just don’t believe he even sees me.”

“Matthias will come around eventually,” Theresa assured her, to which you and Bianca hummed in agreement.

“But not soon enough to ask me to the dance,” Johanka whined, causing you to send a sympathetic smile her way.

The four of you had been talking about tomorrow’s village dance for quite a while. Theresa and Bianca had been invited by Matthew and Fritz respectively, and Johanka was holding out hope for Matthias. No one had asked you yet, and you started to doubt anyone would at this point. Bianca had offered to get her brother Adam to take you, but you declined; the awkwardness of forcing someone to be your dance partner would be too much to bear. So you just resigned yourself to the very real possibility of going to the dance alone. You had even joked about taking Johanka, if Matthias would not, to which she had simply given you an affronted pout.

You could not deny the part of yourself that was disappointed that Henry hadn’t invited you, with the way the two of you had seemingly been dancing around each other for the last few months.

You lied down on the grass with a quiet sigh, staring into the blue sky, feet sploshing lightly in the water.

As if she could read your mind, Theresa said with a mischievous tint to her voice: “It’s odd Henry hasn’t tried inviting you, is it not, (Y/N)?”

You furrowed your brows at her teasing question.

“Now that you say it, Theresa, it does seem strange, what with all the time they spend together lately,” Bianca mused, before you could even think of a response.

“Maybe he is shy and waiting for her to invite him instead,” Johanka chimed in.

You craned your neck to where she was sitting, shooting her a glare. “Maybe the same is true for Matthias,” you retorted, playfully sticking out your tongue at your friend, earning yet another pout from her.

Before she had the chance to respond, Theresa made a shushing sound, whispering: “Speak of the devil!”

You abruptly sat up, looking around to see Henry walking off the path that led past the pond, making his way towards your group.

When he came to a halt with a greeting, he gave everyone a once-over, before resting his gaze on you. You looked at him expectantly, as you were sure the others did as well.

Before he had the chance to say anything else, Bianca interrupted him. “So, what brings you to us?” she asked, with a playful eagerness lacing her voice.

Henry chuckled bashfully. “I was hoping to talk to (Y/N). Maybe alone…,” he trailed off.

His words prompted you to get up to follow him to a spot out of earshot from your nosy friends, if it weren’t for a hand next to you giving the hem of your dress a subtle but firm tug to keep you in place.

“But she is sitting here so comfortably. Surely you can speak freely in front of us too, can you not?” Theresa chimed in, causing you to roll your eyes slightly at their transparency. They could not make their curiosity any more obvious.

Henry glanced at you, presumably searching for help but you just nodded at him with a smile, a part of you not minding seeing him being put on the spot.

“All right then,” he breathed, focusing his attention fully back on you, “would you like to accompany me to the dance tomorrow?”

Now it was your turn to be put on the spot, as your friends’ heads quickly turned towards you, their eyebrows raised expectantly.

Beneath your surprise at the invitation and the tension of the girls’ bated breaths, your heart swelled with a mixture of relief and joy. While you had never explicitly voiced it to anyone, you wouldn’t deny that you did indeed feel the gentle pull of a blossoming infatuation drawing you to Henry.

Your smile grew involuntarily wider, as you nodded quickly. “I would like that very much.”

In an instant, any trace of shyness was wiped off Henry’s features, the boyish grin that he sported so often returning to his lips.

“I’ll see you then,” he nodded, more to himself than anyone else. He turned around with a slight spring to his step, leaving you to look forward to the next day.

Before he was even really out of earshot - let alone sight - you and your friends broke out into excited giggles.

____________

The next evening, hours after he had picked you up from your home and taken you to the dance, Henry was sitting on a wooden bench against the tavern’s outside wall, a half-full tankard of beer in his hand. Next to him, Fritz, Matthias and Matthew were talking, their words more slurred than not, occasionally roping him into the conversation.

But Henry’s gaze remained fixed on you, swirling around the tavern’s yard with the other women, dancing mirthfully to the music. He watched you link your arm with Johanka’s, straining his ears to catch the tune of your voice over the crowd, as you laughed at something your friend had whispered to you.

Henry himself had danced with you to many songs over the course of the evening, until you had insisted on spending time with your friends as well - with a twinge of concealed disappointment Henry had settled on just watching you instead, content with the occasional smiles you threw his way, eager to reciprocate them.

In-between staring at you and occasionally tearing his eyes away to pay attention to the friends next to him, he noticed Zbyshek, leaning against a tree a small distance away. The other man’s eyes had been transfixed on the dancing crowd for a while, and when Henry eventually followed his gaze, he realised that Zbyshek had been staring at you in much the same way he had done himself.

Henry’s brows knitted into a scowl at the sight, his jaw hardening from his teeth grinding together. He already disliked Zbyshek enough due to the man’s cowardice and antagonizing behaviour towards him and his friend; he did not need other reasons for his disdain. But the way Zbyshek’s eyes followed you as if in a trance, the way his mouth was slightly parted, his eyes half-lidded; it made Henry’s blood boil. He thought the tankard in his hand might have burst if he had gripped it any harder, undecided if he should pretend it was Zbyshek’s face or simply throw it into the very same.

Relieving Henry of the burden of making a decision, the other male’s gaze flitted to where he was sat, as if his seething thoughts were loud enough to hear. Zbyshek’s eyes widened, before quickly looking away, making his way towards the crowd and out of Henry’s sight. With half a mind to follow him, Henry was snapped out of his angry daze by your voice calling out to him. You came to a stop in front of him, out of breath, radiant with glee, and it was as if Henry’s ire was soothed at the snap of a finger.

“Someone brought up the idea of playing Hide and Seek in the forest, will you come with us?” you asked excitedly, a faint but unmistakable lilt of alcohol in your voice.

Henry’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “The forest!? You couldn’t have picked a less dangerous place?”

You groaned playfully. “Oh don’t be a chicken, Henry!” you said, adding with a wink: “Besides, you guys will be there to protect us.”

Henry could not refuse you even if he wanted, especially not at the prospect of you relying on him to keep you safe. So he agreed, and along with Matthew, Matthias and Fritz he joined the group. The fact that Zbyshek tagged along as well was not lost on Henry, a dull annoyance settling in the back of his mind.

The trek to the forest was spent with jovial chatter and shared sips from wineskins that Bianca had smuggled out of the tavern. Henry for his part was torn between the cheerful mood of the group and the irate itch he felt at the sight of Zbshek trailing so close to you. Did he not know that you came to the dance with him, accepted his invitation? Did he not know that you were his alone?

Henry swallowed thickly, pushing his indignation to the bottom of his thoughts, shifting his attention to your voice as you giggled with Theresa, and at the occasional brushes of your knuckles against his own.

Eventually, the group reached a small moonlit clearing in the woods and Matthew volunteered to be the first seeker. After deciding on the bounds of where to hide, determined by recognizable sites in the forest, everyone scattered in pursuit of a hiding spot, leaving Matthew to wait with a small lantern in his hand.

The forest itself was much darker than the clearing, but still the canopy of the trees was sparse enough to allow sufficient moonlight to illuminate the ground. Thanks to that, Henry noticed Zbyshek following a distance behind you instead of searching a solitary hiding spot like everyone else. A scowl returned to Henry’s face, new white-hot fire traveling through his veins at the sight and he decided to follow as well, if only to uphold his unspoken promise to keep you safe for he didn’t trust Zbyshek any farther than he could throw him.

He trailed closely behind the other man, far enough to go unnoticed, but close enough to still glimpse the red colour of the cowl he wore. Henry wondered if you were still in the vicinity as well, since he lost sight of you due to the dark shadows between the trees. His thoughts were quickly interrupted by your voice ringing out a good distance ahead of him.

“Get lost, Zbyshek! You’re gonna get me found,” you called out to your pursuer, before quick rustling of leaves and breaking of twigs led Henry to believe you ran away in order to shake off Zbyshek.

The man in question looked around dumbfounded, seemingly trying to discern where you made off to, and Henry took the opportunity to catch up to him.

“Looking for someone?” Henry spoke through the darkness, causing Zbyshek to turn around, eyes widening.

“What’s it to you?” he retorted, chin raised defiantly.

Henry huffed at Zbyshek’s behaviour, eyes narrowing with anger. “I saw you stalking behind (Y/N).”

Zbyshek’s expression faltered at the accusation. “That’s none of your business.”

Henry shook his head, stepping closer to the other man. “I think it is,” he said, shoving Zbyshek’s shoulder’s roughly to accentuate his point. “Stay away from her.”

Zbyshek’s face contorted with exasperation when he mimicked Henry’s gesture. “She doesn’t belong to you,” he spat, teeth bared.

Every ounce of white-hot anger that Henry had suppressed over the evening bubbled up inside of him. Searing rage boiled his blood, travelling through his veins to his hand that he clenched into a fist - so tight that his fingernails dug into his palm, breaking the skin. The resulting sharp pain should have alarmed Henry, if it hadn’t been for his attention wholly focused on Zbyshek in front of him.

When Zbyshek called Henry pathetic, the words barely reached his ears, before the man’s words were cut off by the ugly crack of his nose caving under Henry’s fist.

________

After having shaken off Zbyshek, you had found a hiding spot at a small rock formation. It covered you from a lot of sides and would allow you to circle around to avoid Matthew, should he make his way to you.

It didn’t take long for you to hear rustling close to you, and you pressed closer to the rock, prepared to slip away. However, the noise was all there was - no sight of the lantern light that should accompany Matthew.

You furrowed your brows as the rustling grew louder, your first thought assuming it was Zbyshek once more trying to tail you.

You knew you should stay hidden, because for all you knew it might have been a wild animal, but curiosity took over your ale-addled mind and you opened your mouth to whisper-shout: “Who’s there?”

The noise ceased immediately, replaced by a tense silence. Your heart pounded in your chest, blood thumping in your ears with anticipation. Your mind swirled with regret and fear; what if you really had just attracted a dangerous animal to you - or worse, a bandit?

You held your breath for what felt like forever, until finally a familiar voice called out your name.

You exhaled, relieved at the sound, and emerged from your hiding spot.

“Henry!” you called out, relief lacing your voice with a newfound mirth. “Why aren’t you hiding?”

He took slow steps towards you, as he said “I was looking for you.”, earning a chuckle from you.

“That’s not how the game works, Hal…” you said, but trailed off when Henry was finally close enough for you to properly see him under the moonlight. He looked disheveled, more so than usual. His shirt was displaced and slightly torn, wetly darkened in various spots. What looked like blood gushed from his nose over his mouth to his chin, smudged where he must have tried to wipe it off. Your gaze travelled over his face, bruises and cuts littering the skin. It was almost like the very first time you had met him all those weeks ago in the Apothecary shop where you had nursed his wounds.

Almost - because back then his stare didn’t fill you with an odd sense of dread.

“What happened?” you whispered hoarsely, throat dry from nervousness, as you took a small step back.

As if sensing your unease, Henry’s gaze softened and he quickly closed the distance between you, hands placed on either of your arms. “I was looking for you,” he repeated, before adding: “I saw Zbyshek following you, so I wanted to make sure you are fine.”

Your brows knitted in confusion at his explanation. “Zbyshek…?” you spoke slowly, gaze wandering to the dark blotches on his shirt, now clearly recognizing the dull crimson. Your eyes widened in shock. “Henry, what did you do?” you asked, grimacing at all the possible answers to your question swimming around in your thoughts.

“I…” Henry stammered, desperation trickling into his voice. “I did what I had to! I only meant to protect you!”

Your stomach churned at the implication of his confession. You gulped hard, trying to keep the rising nausea at bay, before speaking once more, voice quivering. “How could you?”

“For you!” he spoke without letting so much as a second pass, pleading eyes searching for your own. “I did it for you,” he said, tightening his grip around your arms, forcing you back until you hit the rough bark of a tree.

Now you were truly trapped, and another wave of dread followed suit behind your realization. It was dizzying how fast the comfort that Henry’s presence had once brought you turned into fright; how his touch caused your skin to sear with panic; how his gaze elicited a shiver of fear to run down your spine.

But as you regarded his frantic expression, the way his eyes begged for your approval - your forgiveness - a small part of your mind, one that resided outside of sanity, wondered if you could ever be truly scared of Henry.

As if hearing your conflicting thoughts, Henry loosened his grip on your arms, instead settling his hands on your cheeks. He drew his face so close to yours that your noses were almost touching, the metallic tang of blood invading your senses in a dizzying haze.

Out of the corner of your eyes, you caught the same crimson colour that stained his face, glistening on his teeth. “I do everything for you,” he stressed with a whisper meant for your ears alone, so low that the forest itself could not have possibly heard it. “You are everything.”

You gasped at his admission, your breath hitching in your throat. Your eyes rapidly flickered between his, unsure of what to say. The flushing heat that crept its way onto your neck and face felt indecently out-of-place when the scent of blood was still a constant reminder of the situation you were really in. Your heart beat so fast, it might have threatened to jump out of your chest, if it weren’t for the aching tugs of clashing emotions threatening to tear it apart.

Your silence urged Henry to speak once more, now even closer than before, his warm breath ghosting over your lips. “May I kiss you?”

It was less a question and more a plea, a desperate demand almost. You wanted to tell him no, to push him away and call for help. But that was a task for the sane and logical part of your mind; not for the foolishly infatuated part that had wrestled itself into control slowly but surely. And against your better judgement, you answered Henry with a breathless ‘Yes’ muttered against his already impossibly close lips.

The kiss was intoxicating and nauseating at the same time, tasting bitter and sweet all at once. Henry roughly pressed against your lips, tightening his hold around your face.

You closed your eyes, hands grasping at Henry’s torn shirt. His tongue grazed over your lips and without much thought you parted them enough to allow the kiss to deepen, growing more fervent by the second. Slowly, his grip on your head loosened, as his gentle yet desperate touch trailed past your neck, grazing along your breasts and sliding over your hips.

A surprised gasp caught in your throat when he gripped the fabric of your dress, pulling it dangerously up your legs.

You tore yourself from the kiss, hands flying down to stop the movements of his arms. “Henry,” you panted, trying to catch your breath, “we shouldn't do this.”

Henry regarded you with a confused - almost pained - expression, his hands still holding the hem of your dress close to your thighs. “Why?” he asked. “Don't you want me?”

You met his eyes, biting your lips nervously under his pleading gaze. “I do,” you responded, “but the others will come looking for us. What if they find us here; find you - looking like this?” Your eyes flitted to the blood on his face and clothes. The reality of the situation you were in was not entirely forgotten; only pushed further into the recesses of your mind when Henry captured your lips in a kiss once more.

“Let them,” he breathed against you in-between kisses.

“I don't care.” He trailed down, planting rough kisses in the crook of your neck, teeth grazing against the soft skin.

“Let them know how much I need you.” He dragged the fabric of your dress further up to your waist, exposing you to the night air, its coldness only surpassed by the heat blooming throughout your body.

“Let them see that you are mine,” he spoke, pulling your hips towards himself, the hardness of his groin pressing flush against you.

One hand holding your dress, the other dug into the soft flesh of your butt with urgent fingers, eliciting a moan from you at the painful yet pleasant sensation.

You hand wove into his hair, fingers lightly tugging at his dark locks, drawing a low groan from Henry. You dragged him away from your throat, meeting his half-lidded gaze. All of your concerns abandoned, you drew him in for another kiss, swollen lips moving against each other, even more feverish than before.

Henry’s free hand wandered along your thigh, hooking behind the back of your knee, holding your leg to his side and pressing closer into you. You hummed in content when he rolled his hips against yours, his clothed length rubbing against your heat. You felt a warm dampness pooling between your legs and you had no doubt there would be a wet spot on Henry's pants where you two met.

Pressing you more into the tree to keep your dress in place, Henry's fingers trailed across your stomach towards the apex of your thighs, leaving goosebumps of anticipation tingling on your skin.

Just as Henry's thumb ghosted ever so slightly over your clit, loud voices rang out near you.

You broke away from the kiss, spotting a light from the direction of the voices, realising they were calling your names. Despite Henry's earlier professions about his indifference towards being caught, the reality of that possibility made it hard for you to share his sentiment, so you quickly pushed him away from you, earning a surprised yet irritated grunt.

“Sakra! It's Matthew and the others,” you whispered, panicked, smoothing your dress back in place to cover your private parts.

Henry stepped closer to you again. “I told you, I don't care-”

“But I do, Henry,” you interrupted him. “You’ll be in huge shit if they see you like this.”

He regarded you with a mix of defiance, but also understanding and even a faint trace of guilt.

“You should go. We’ll say later you were attacked by a wild animal, or something like that…,” you trailed off with a mutter, not entirely convinced about the validity of your plan.

Henry nodded slowly, before pressing another kiss to your lips, the smell of blood once again becoming present to your senses.

“I’ll meet you later,” he breathed, before hurrying off into the woods.

“Of course…” you whispered to yourself.

Now that he was gone, the gravity of the situation settled heavy on your mind. Henry had done something horrible, and yet you had been willing to give yourself to him, not to mention covering for him in front of your friends and possibly everyone else.

You sighed, mustering up the courage to call out to your friends, before your guilt over your actions would become too strong.

#kingdom come deliverance #kcd henry #kcd henry x reader #kingdom come deliverance x reader #kcd x reader #henry of skalitz #henry of skalitz x reader #fanfiction #reader insert #x reader

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delopsia · 10 months ago

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nosedive | rhett abbott x reader

Word Count: 18,900 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, AFAB!Reader. Storm chasers AU, Kate, and Tyler appear but are so inconsequential that they can be read as OC's. You do not need to watch Twisters to understand and read this fic! Arguing, brief food mentions, undisclosed past trauma, storm chasing, vehicle accidents, anxiety attacks, friends to lovers, grinding, unprotected sex, includes a sketch that I traced from stock photos I stitched together. Brief Summary: You swore off storm chasing a long time ago. You haven't been able to look at that old truck since the accident, and if you could have your way, you'd never think about that part of your life ever again. You've moved on. Every time you touch that damn truck, something goes wrong. But when your friend and her so-called business partner become wrapped up in a never-ending quarrel, it's Rhett who becomes your biggest supporter. You think you're beginning to remember why you used to love this. How you used to live for your out-of-this-world builds and ideas. Or maybe…just maybe, you're beginning to fall in love with something that isn't a truck.

"So, at what point are we going to tell them?"

"What would that be?" Speaking with the straw against your lips, seconds away from taking another sip of that cheap gas station coffee. "That I'm the one who keeps filling Rhett's truck with tiny ducks?"

"No," Kate's eyes roll, her head shaking ever so slightly, not quite ready to admit to her part in it. "About Dallas."

A gust of wind blows past. Entirely invisible to the eye, and yet you catch Kate's head following as it twists through the field, the wheat rippling in waves. Strange how something you can't even see can cause so much trouble, ripping up the garage roof, blowing Rhett's hat down the driveway, and taking that long-awaited Amazon package across the lawn.

Worse, it blows your straw around, leaving you to gape like a fish as you blindly try to find it again. "Do we even want to tell them?"

Her brow furrows. Confused.

"You can't convince me it's not entertaining to watch them puff up like a bunch of peacocks when we mention him," you can't help but giggle, memories flickering through your head like a slideshow. Rhett grumbling about Dallas under his breath. Tyler pulling up his YouTube channel to prove he's done bigger things than this Dallas guy ever could. Overhearing them griping about him in the hotel gym. "Can you imagine the look on their faces when they finally see him?"

A smile bursts onto her face. "You drive a fair point."

Something clangs to the left. Appearing so suddenly that both of your heads swivel toward it.

Speak of the devil.

Rhett and Tyler. Hauling some kind of unnamed contraption to the trucks. You're pretty sure that it's supposed to put extra weight on the chassis to prevent them from being blown around as easily. Rhett's been muttering about having to build a new one ever since his original build cracked a few days ago.

If you weren't distracted, you think you would be able to recall more of the details, but all you can focus on is...

"Are they allergic to shirts?" Kate chirps after a long moment, but she's not making any effort to peel her eyes away.

Neither are you. Too wrapped up in the way Rhett's bicep flexes as he readjusts his grip on the steel frame. Not quite as bulky as Tyler, but he's got a wiriness to him that almost seems to hypnotize you, stuck staring until you run the risk of being caught. "Are we complaining?"

"Absolutely not," and you only peel your gaze away when you realize that they're walking toward your little afternoon coffee party. You're not dealing with the misery that is Tyler's cockiness again.

Kate's got the same idea, her cheeks dusted with a subtle shade of pink that wasn't there a few seconds ago. Something flickers behind her eyes, the same kind of glint you're used to seeing when she's caught the trail of a brewing storm, but she doesn't say anything.

You wonder if this new frame means they'll focus on upgrading those drills next. Anchoring two feet into the ground was likely an impressive feat when they first installed that onto the rigs, but the technology has progressed so much further since then. Longer augers would be a start, twisting deeper into the earth, harder to be ripped out by high winds.

"So, do you know when Dallas is coming in?" Kate asks once the boys are within earshot, like she doesn't know the answer to her own question.

Rhett's head perks. Tyler peeks over his sunglasses.

"Few more days, I think," feigning interest in your drink, swirling the straw in circles, anything to pretend that you haven't noticed them yet. "Sunday at the latest."

"Dallas!" Tyler crows. So loud and sudden that you jolt in your seat. "Finally comin' to meet us, huh?"

Rhett peeks at you through the corner of his eye, either too focused on the task at hand or not quite bold enough to match Tyler's antics. Even from a distance, it's difficult to miss the way his gaze rakes up and down your frame as if transfixed by your pajama shorts and the beauty that is your half-awake face.

"He was supposed to be here earlier, but..." motioning toward the empty beer can blowing past. Budweiser's aluminum version of a tumbleweed. "Another wind delay."

Tyler scoffs, the heel of his boot thunking against the can and sending it flying. "How many more times is he gonna use that excuse?"

"As many times as he wants," Kate's stolen the words right out of your mouth, her shoulders shrugging as she turns her attention back to her cell phone.

Wind howls in your ear, rolling the ballpoint pen across the table and right into your cup. It tips before you can even comprehend what's happening, the remnants of your coffee spilling into the dirt.

"I reckon that's my sign to head inside," you sigh, defeated. This battle was lost the moment you quit paying attention to your drink.

There's not much for you to gather, but nature herself had might as well be interfering with your every move. Blowing the cup toward the garage, rustling your notebook pages when you scoop it up, the pen jumping off the edge of the table just to rub salt into the wound. It's not bothering anything else, not Kate's hair, not the dumb hat on Tyler's head, just your things.

Talk about a personal vendetta.

At least the garage has never betrayed you like this. Cozy and windless, albeit a bit dusty, depending on the day of the week and what project Rhett is working on. The loveseat tucked into the far right corner is much softer than that sunbleached wooden chair, the beaten cushions enveloping you in a loose hug. The thick armrest is the perfect size to fit your notebook. Doesn't have you trying to cram yourself into an itty bitty space.

And with the back of the couch being up against the wall, there's no opportunity for someone to mosey up and peek at your notes, either.

The side of the pen is dented, the groove creating the perfect space for your finger to settle into as you begin to draw. This must be the pen that you forgot on the roof of your car and wound up driving overtop of.

Ink drips from the tip in spurts, scattering across the page in small, ugly blotches. What's supposed to be your delicate sketchings of an idea are starting to look more and more like an interpretive art piece in a museum. Is it a component for one of the storm vehicles, or is there an underlying message about the beauty of mistakes and brokenness?

Whatever. The answer only matters if it's attached to a big, fat check from a private collector looking to hang it next to a myriad of other, questionably produced works.

"Whatcha ya doin' over there?" Rhett's voice echoes through the garage, seems to come from so many directions that you don't realize where he is until you spot him in your peripheral. Red dirt and grease smeared across his forearms, sweat glistening in the overhead light. You already know he doesn't smell the best, but you can't say you hate the sight of him.

Your pen drifts across the paper once more, streaking through a blob of collected ink in your efforts to build the general shape of a truck. "Sketching."

It's such a bland reply. Shouldn't intrigue him in the slightest, and yet you can hear the soft thunk of his boots against the cement floor, drawing closer. "Sketchin' what?"

"A fantasy for an advanced anchoring system," your pen darts across the metal arms, extending from the roof of the truck, one on the passenger side and one on the driver, anchored into the ground. "Buildable, but it's not a feasible idea."

The light reflects off of his rodeo buckle. Amelia County's bull riding champion. "Can I see?"

You're not sure why he wants to look at your fantasy sketches, but you don't have the energy nor the will to tell him no. Certainly not when he's bending down next to you, so close that his bicep bumps into your arm, hot and swollen from hauling around that heavy frame. You're making no effort to move away, either. If anything, you're moving closer, turning the notebook for him to see.

As if to guide his thoughts, his index finger traces across the lines, grease-stained and so, so much thicker than yours. "What's makin' ya think it won't work?"

"It's not realistic." Easy answer. There's a reason why nobody else has done this.

But Rhett's head just tilts to the side, a thought visibly crossing his mind. You know it's there; can see it glisten in his eyes as it passes by. "Yes, it is."

You feel the tug of your arm and the warmth of his hand around your wrist before you realize that he's pulling you up from the couch. There's a creak in your knee as you rise, helplessly stumbling after him.

"What are you doing?" You're chirping, but Rhett doesn't reply, too dead set on hauling you to the other side of the room.

He spins. So do you. The garage blurs into streaks of gray.

Then your back bumps into his sweaty chest, and you're staring at...a newly built drill for the frame.

"Does this look unrealistic to you?" His voice rumbles straight through you, low as the thunder that you've spent too much of your life chasing.

"Well...no," you croak after a long moment, "but you already know that it—"

"What about that?" His hand darts out, pointing toward the old radar, built out of scrap material and the sheer power of will. It doesn't work anymore, not after that hunk of debris split it down the middle, but it did for a good few weeks.

Rhett isn't waiting for you to reply, already pointing toward another contraption. The roll cage, and the rest of the steel exoskeleton frame that hasn't been welded onto Tyler's truck. Then he's guiding your attention to the windshield and window cages; lord knows those glass replacements are getting expensive. The armor plating that has yet to be welded to the vehicles, the reinforced overhead spotlights, the custom grill guards, and all of the little, unnamed crafts that you have yet to see in action.

"None of this was feasible, either," his words are solid, fleeting things, dancing around your head like words from the gods above, "but we still gave it a shot."

A puff of air breaks past your lips.

All of that happened long before you and Kate stumbled across them crammed into the corner of a Waffle House. Their trucks were already built. Field tested beyond belief. But...well, you suppose his ideas had to have started the same way yours do, a random thought that evolved out of control until it became a reality.

"Your ideas are no more unrealistic than these were," Rhett murmurs, and it almost sounds like he's sharing a secret. A whimsical little thought meant to stay between the two of you.

...maybe he has a point.

You turn, twisting to face him. The tips of your noses bump. Piecing blue eyes staring right back into yours, wide as can be. Too close. Way too close. But you don't make any effort to move, and neither does he. He should. Fuck, any closer, and you'd be kissing him, can already taste his minty toothpaste on his breath.

"Rhett!" Boone's voice arcs across the room like lightning, sends you jumping apart as if struck by it. "You fixin' to bring that upper frame or what?"

Whatever that moment was, it's gone in an instant.

Your head comes so close to hitting the ceiling that you can feel it graze past. Seatbelt cinching tight around your chest. Ass bouncing against the seat. Struggling to keep both your hands on the shivering plastic handle overhead. Something clatters across the floor, landing in the mess of components and contraptions that met their maker three bumps ago.

You'd complain, but Tyler's rollercoaster of a truck looks even worse than whatever the hell you just experienced.

"I'm shocked this old truck has survived this long," you're trying to sound calm, but it comes out resembling a yelp more than anything else. "I remember you driving to high school with this thing."

Rhett's hands flutter across the wheel, a wave of mud kicking up from under the back tires. "These ol' ranch trucks last forever if you take care of 'em."

"Doesn't care involve things like...not driving into ditches?" Your shoulder presses against the glass, sliding around as the truck veers to the left, loosely chasing Tyler's messy trail.

"Probably," he laughs, "but we survived, didn't we?"

"I'm not too sure about that," frankly, you think half of your soul may still be sitting on the road, milliseconds away from experiencing the horror of Rhett's truck diving into the ditch.

"Oh, c'mon," his hand darts out, nudging your arm, "ya worry too much."

You haven't forgotten about the clouds twisting up ahead, downward spiraling, growing thinner and thinner as it nears the earth. A plume of red dirt rises, staining what was once a perfect, white funnel cloud. Wind squeals around the edges of the truck, wedging its way through the nonexistent gaps between the windows and wailing in your ear.

Tyler's truck rips straight into the center, unhindered by the mud and soybean plants being hurled against it. There's already a drone dancing around the upper part of the funnel, bobbing and weaving, serves as the eyes for however many people are watching the live stream it's broadcasting.

Rhett's a little more conservative, looping out to the side and into the path of the tornado instead. Leaves scatter across the windshield, wedging beneath the windshield wipers. But the nose of the truck turns to face the cyclone, and the wind is already beginning to tear them away.

"Wanna press the button?" You can hardly hear him. Only realize he's talking when you notice his mouth moving.

You're already reaching out, pressing the little green button on the dash.

The drills whir to life, entirely inaudible, but it's impossible to miss their vibration as they dig down into the soil, the truck gradually sinking lower.

One blink and the world around you turns to dust. The little ranch truck shivers under the battering of the wind; feels like you're going to blow away at any moment, but nothing around you is moving.

Hesitant, you peek out the passenger window up at the tornado overhead. It's almost calm. A little quieter now. The crystal sky peeks through the twirling clouds, and if you tilt your head just right, it kind of looks like one of Rhett's gentle blue eyes.

Rhett's elbow nudges yours as you settle back into your seat.

You know what he's going to say before he's even opened his mouth.

"Now, is this more fun than it is with Dallas?" Always comparing your ventures together to what you've done in the past, like he's aiming to jump up to the top of your 'Best Experiences' list.

"Nah," repeating the same thing you always tell him. He should have expected this answer from a mile away. "Dal still has ya beat."

His eyes roll, but he laughs nonetheless. Defeated again. "One of these days, I'm—"

Bang.

The truck jumps.

Something sharp scatters across your face. Wind screams in your ears.

The world flips on its head. Upside down. Rightside up. Upside down again. It jars you so hard that your teeth snap together, head smacking against the seat, and there's something yanking against your chest, and your ears are popping and, and, and—

You should have known that was coming.

Why didn't you know that was coming?

You don't feel the pressure on your shoulders until it's gone. Replaced with something warm that you can't identify. Can't think to try and identify where it's coming from. Something about your head doesn't feel right, but it doesn't hurt. Tickles. Like something is running down the side of it.

The truck flipped. How did the truck flip?

Fuck.

You, from three years ago, would have seen that coming from a mile fucking away. How have you gotten worse at the one thing you're supposed to be good at? You should've checked the drills, the circuits, the wires. Why didn't you run through any of the safety checks before you left? What if the tornado had been stronger? Sucked you up and spit you out several hundred feet into the air?

Did you not learn from the last time?

This was entirely avoidable.

There's something muttering near you. Sounds like thunder in a strange sort of way. Deep rumbles, rolling in one ear and out the other. But thunder doesn't pause in the middle of its booming, not like this.

"We're okay."

Your throat is so raw that you can hardly speak. Dry, too. Chest heaving, sucking in air faster than your lungs can handle it. What, what...what...

"We're okay," Rhett. That's Rhett's voice in your ear. "We're okay."

And he keeps saying it. Over and over, like he's trying to convince himself just as much as he's trying to convince you. But it's not working. You're still shivering, and his voice is lodging in his throat, and...

Your head goes dark.

You don't necessarily know if you pass out or if your memory decided to stop writing things down.

One moment, you're in the truck, and the next, you're sitting in the middle of a hospital room, squinting as a nurse shines a blinding light directly into your eye. She hums something to the woman next to her, then turns the light off.

There's a spot in your vision now. Dead center, lingering as you turn your head to look at whoever is sitting next to you, entirely blocking out their face. Their hand over top of yours, thumb swiping idly across your skin, back and forth in a rhythm that you haven't figured out yet.

"What failed?" You know it's your voice, can feel your mouth shaping around the words, but it sounds nothing like you.

"Hm?" Rhett's hum nearly disappears amongst the commotion going on around you.

"The truck," trying again, a little more specific now. "What went wrong back there?"

Stitches line his forearm, probably sliced open by the same thing that left the cuts on the left side of his cheek. Glass from the shattered windshield, you think.

"You'll never believe this," he leans closer like he doesn't want anyone else to hear what he's about to say. "We got hit by a tree."

That doesn't... "A...tree?" Parroting him. You're expecting for him to furrow his brows and ask how in the world you've managed to mishear him, but all he does is nod. You heard him perfectly.

All of that was because of a tree hitting the side of the truck. Probably struck hard enough to rip the drills from the ground and gave the tornado all the leverage it needed to start throwing you around like a children's toy.

...huh.

"Hey, is there a lug wrench sittin' over there?" Rhett asks, his foot kicking out toward the tool cabinet as if to try and point you toward it. Whatever he's doing up under the truck, he must not be able to see that you're already standing in front of the damn cabinet.

You already see them, sitting amongst the mess of tools resting on top of it. "You've got two."

His head pokes out from the side. "I do?"

"One is silver, the other is black," lifting them both for him to see. You don't see a difference between them; they both do the same thing, but you're not the one needing them.

"Give me..." his lips purse, "the black one."

You bend down, handing the tool off to him, but the silver one is still in your other hand. "Remind me again what drawer these belong in?"

He taps the thing against his chin. "Any of the middle ones is fine."

"And here you wonder why you can never find anything," you tease, an ache blooming in your chest as you laugh, still a bit sore from being rolled around like Mother Nature's bowling ball.

Something metal hits the floor, audibly rolling away. A bolt, you think. Rhett swears, boots squeaking as he clambers out from beneath the vehicle. "'ts hard to stay organized when ya share a garage with someone like Tyler."

"That bad?" You would look to see what he's chasing, but organizing this mess is higher on your priority list.

There's so much junk on the top of this cabinet that you can't figure out what is what, in such a disarray that it seems to swallow up everything you sit on top of it. Somewhere in here is your ten-millimeter socket.

Kate's voice echoes from outside, loud enough for you to hear her but not enough for you to understand her. Tyler shouts back, the slam of a truck door punctuating whatever he has to say. You think he's still talking when Kate blurts something that sounds like an "I don't care!" Tyler doesn't seem to like that at all.

You turn to look at Rhett right as he does the same. Defeat. Confusion. An overall look of being absolutely done with hearing it from them. You recognize it all; you're feeling the same damn thing.

And here you thought you'd found a place to escape from them.

"Are those two ever gonna get together?" Rhett whines after a moment.

Your head shakes, "Kate's got a strict 'no dating business partners' clause."

They're getting closer now, slowly but surely carrying their argument to the garage. You're not sure why. Everyone was there when the argument started in the restaurant, gradually clearing all of you out of the booth with to-go boxes and a migraine to boot.

Rhett reaches through the open truck window, pressing the garage door opener. With a groan, it starts to close, taking away your fresh midnight air but granting more silence in return. "Does that rule apply to you, too?"

"I'm not sure," you'd never actually...considered if you were wrapped up in that law or if it was Kate-exclusive. "Why?"

Rhett's eyes dart away.

Have his ears been red this whole time? Or maybe it's a trick the light is playing on you because it seems to disappear as he rushes toward the side door, sliding the deadbolts into place and twisting the locks.

There's no way that he's... "Are you seriously locking them out?"

"Do you wanna hear them argue for another hour?" He doesn't need for you to answer that; he already knows the answer. "Get me that padlock off the table."

Padlock. Shit, where did you last see that?

There's so much on this table. Jumper cables. Tools. Tools. More tools. Bolts. A box of nails. Your missing socket. A chocolate candy wrapper. Tootsie rolls. Another box of nails. Shit, is that a broken phone case? You push your hands through the mess, shoving it all to the side, but you don't see it. Where is it? Where is it?

Someone knocks on the garage door. Rattling across the garage.

Fuck, fuck, where is it? You don't see—

There it is.

You don't feel it in your grasp until you're halfway across the room. Shoving it into Rhett's open hands. The garage door rattles. But Rhett's shoving the hook through a hole in the tracks, squeezing it closed until it clicks.

"Are y'all in there?" Tyler's muffled voice is the last thing you want to hear.

Something moves in the window.

Your body moves on its own. Grabbing Rhett by the bicep. Diving toward the couch.

He's too big to be tumbling after you, but he does, the loveseat squealing as he lands on top of you. An elbow finds its way into your ribs. Your knee slots between his thighs. His hair is in your face, and you can smell the vanilla of his cologne, and his hand is on your waist—

"Rhett?" Tyler tries again. Knuckles tap at the window.

You know they can't see you. If they could, then they would be calling you out on it.

This couch isn't wide enough for you and Rhett to be lying on it like this, your shoulder hanging off the edge, his knees awkwardly bent to make room for your legs. He's finding a way to make it work, though. Wedging himself up against the back cushion, granting you enough room to roll onto your side without falling off.

You're not sure if you want to comment on the arm that drapes around your waist, securing you to him.

"I entirely forgot about the window," he whispers. Does he think Tyler can hear him talking from outside?

Laughing, you tap him on the nose. "I know you did."

So much of his hair has fallen into his face that you can no longer see his expression, concealed under a mass of unruly, brunette curls, untamable by any means of the word. He can very well push it out of the way himself, but for some reason, you find that your hand is beginning to do that for him. Collecting locks of it with your fingers, sorting them to their respective sides, tucking some of it behind his ear.

"Watcha doin'?" He asks as you unveil his hidden eye. It looks bluer than it was before.

Your touch falters. "I wanted to see your face."

"Yeah?" The corner of his lip lifts a little.

"Yeah." Nodding.

And your hand just...falls onto his cheek. Idly resting there, like this is exactly where it belongs, where it's always gone after you've finished fixing his hair.

Worse. He doesn't make any effort to stop you, lets your thumb swipe up and down his skin, meandering across the tiny cuts that linger there. If you didn't know any better, you would think he nicked himself while shaving, but there are far too many of them for that. Too high, too. There's even one up beside the corner of his eye.

"No!" Even the garage door isn't enough to muffle Kate's voice. "We're not doing that, Tyler!"

Tyler isn't quite as loud. You can hear the general sound of his voice, carrying through a sentence or two, but you can't make out a single word.

"Because—because it's ridiculous," Kate's still going. Tyler says something a bit louder.

You don't know when Rhett started moving, but all of a sudden, you're way too aware of how close his face is getting. Inching closer and closer until...

He rubs his nose against yours. Slow little motions that don't stop until you can no longer fight off your smile.

"What're you doing?" You giggle, making no real effort to stop him.

He's too close for you to see his mouth, but you recognize the way that the corners of his eyes turn upward with his grin. "Distractin' ya."

It must be working because you no longer have the capacity to think about what's going on in the driveway. His hand smooths up your back, making its way up to your face, and he's so warm, heat radiating off his palm like he's got a small fire burning in his veins. Rough fingertips brush against your cheek, hesitant to make any solid contact.

"Your cheek is still swollen," his palm gradually comes to flatten against your cheek, his hand so big that it seems to cover your entire face.

Kate's voice echoes in the back of your head. No dating business partners. But something about his touch...it's addicting. "Well, that's what happens when you get thrown around by a tornado."

He doesn't seem to have much else to say to that.

To be fair, you don't know what you would say to that, either.

His thumb swipes across the upper portion of your cheek. Your fingers find their way down to his jaw, pushing through the stubble there. It's soft, has had time to lose the stiffness that comes with being recently shaved.

It seems that you may have finally lost Kate and Tyler; you don't hear them bickering outside, at least. You lift your head, craning to look over the arm of the couch and at the door. The window is impossible to see from this angle, but you get the feeling that they're no longer standing outside.

"What's that?" You ask, nodding toward something that you know he can't see.

Rhett's fingers trace their way over to the shell of your ear, not interested in trying to look at what you're asking him about. "Hm?"

"The little contraption sitting next to the door," clarifying, "it looks like a bunch of pipes welded together."

"Oh, that's...supposed to be a tree to hold a bunch of different instruments," he tilts his head back a little, realizes he can't see anything without sitting up, then immediately lets himself fall back against the couch. "I can get everythin' on it, but I can't get it to stay on."

"Industrial glue and steel hose clamps." You have to pause for a moment, sifting through dusty memories, trying to recall how you used to protect Kate's old contraptions. "Maybe build a thin cage around it in case those two things fail."

Rhett's quiet again, his brows knitting together.

Is he confused, or is he just thinking about what you said?

It takes him some time to find his words, half-built sentences flickering behind his eyes. You can practically hear the gears turning up in his head. And then, hestiant, his lips part. "I feel like you know a lot more 'bout storm chasin' than you let on."

Something in your lower belly twists. "What's telling you that?"

"You're confident when you're in here," he doesn't need any more time to think on this, his thoughts flowing off his tongue like a waterfall, "most of the folks who walk in here don't have the slightest clue what we're building, but you recognize almost all of it."

Your eyes dart away, looking down at your intertwined legs, bent and crammed onto this tiny little couch. His fingers curl around your jaw, gently guiding you to look him in the eye.

For reasons unbeknownst to you, you don't fight him on it.

"You draw up some of the coolest concepts I've ever seen, you...you..." the corner of his lip wobbles up and down. The sight of it makes your head feel funny. "Shit, you make me feel like I'm not the only person here who knows how to do this kind of stuff."

You suppose you should have expected this. It takes one to know one, and you haven't done yourself any favors by always working with him in this dingy old garage. But you don't entirely know how to respond to that or where you should even start...

"I used to work on an old storm truck that Kate and I owned," it comes out so easily that it almost surprises you, "but that was...god, that was forever ago."

Rhett's eyelashes flutter, his head tilting like that of a curious puppy. "Why'd you never tell me?"

Shattered glass. The snap of hydraulics splitting in half. Blood blurring your vision. Ear-splitting howling. The world flipping on its head. Rain in your eyes. Steel digging through your back. Your chest tightens. Hail pounding into your skull. The screaming. It's your fault. It's your fault. It's your fault.

And you're...warm.

"'m sorry," Rhett murmurs, and you don't know when he got so close, but you can feel the vibration of his voice against your nose. A careful hand smooths up your back, another arm securing you to him, tucked up under his chin, shielded from the glaring openness of this too-big garage.

He doesn't move, and neither do you. But this time...this time, you think you know why.

Rubber squeals against the pavement, so shrill that it soars above the roar of the engine. Your shoulder slams into the window, seat belt cinching tight as everything spins into a blur.

"Tyler!" Kate yelps.

"Kate!" Tyler. Ever so mocking.

"You're gonna get another ticket." Her hand darts out, smacking his arm. Tyler's got something clever to say about that; you don't hear any of it. If you start listening now, you'll have a migraine before the funnel cloud touches the ground.

Rhett meets your gaze out of the corner of his eye. Telepathy must be real because you know exactly what's running through his head.

Here we go again.

If you'd known this would start up again, then you probably would have faked an illness to stay home. A headache, an upset stomach, or a sudden onset of death that will miraculously cure itself when the storm chase ends. Anything.

Tires squeal again, the truck seeming to tip onto its front wheels. The seatbelt yanks on your shoulders, throwing you back into the seat. Rhett's phone smacks against the console. A scattering of papers, nameless weather instruments, and unlit rockets scatter across the floor.

Wind rocks the vehicle back and forth. Squealing through the crack in the window like a kettle boiling over. Or maybe you're just hearing things because nobody else seems to hear it. Tyler's shouting into his camera. Kate's rattling something off about how the tornado is forming directly above the town you're driving through.

A wave of rain pelts the windshield. Hail pattering on the roof. Something silver flies past the nose of the truck, striking the building to your right. The brick splinters, debris falling like rain. Kate yells something. Tyler shouts back at her.

"Hang on, hang on," Rhett jumps in his seat, blindly smacking his hand on the console, looking at something you can't see, "stop the truck."

But Tyler is saying something into the CB radio, veering the truck to the right with one hand. Kate doesn't lift her head from the scanner. And they're still fucking arguing. You don't know if they even hear Rhett over the clash of their own voices, nevermind the storm.

Rhett yanks on the door handle. It peels open, rain spewing through the gap. "Ty, stop the damn truck!"

"Rhett?" You yelp. Scrambling. "Rhett, wait!"

You can't stop him.

He's jumping out of the truck before it's even stopped moving. Bricks and sheet metal hurl past. The door slams closed. You don't see where he went. Where is he? Where did he-where did he go? Why is the truck still moving—

"Stop the goddamn truck!" Screaming so loud that it doesn't even sound like you.

The truck lurches. The seatbelt rips the air from your lungs. Taking it off is the last thing you should be doing, but it's already unclipped. Papers crunch as you scurry into Rhett's seat. Wind beats against the door. Does everything in its power to keep you from forcing it to open. You can't see a thing. Not even with the damn door halfway open.

"Where's Rhett?"

You don't know which of them asked that. You don't care to figure that out. "If you two could stop fighting for two fucking seconds, then maybe you would know!"

It's like someone flipped a switch. The wind and rain just...dies. There's a reason for that, a term and definition that Kate probably memorized in college, but you're not sticking around to hear it. Slipping out of the truck, you dart out into the mist. Fog already licks at your heels, so humid that it feels like you're wearing a second skin out here.

"Rhett?" Calling out.

You don't see him. There's nothing but debris and disheveled produce stands, all the cracked open watermelons and runaway apples in the world, but no cowboy. But where did he... Turning around. Where did he get out of the truck? It was further back than this. Yeah. He must be further down the road.

"Rhett?" You're trying again, toeing through the mess.

There goes the rain again. Starting up so quickly that you wonder if Mother Nature accidentally pressed pause on her remote. Something carries over the rumbling thunder. Something that sounds like your name.

You hear him, but you don't see him. "Rhett?"

"I'm over here." He's already walking toward you, must have seen you coming before you even realized where he was. The rain thickens, but you can see the rip in his shirt clear as day, blood pouring from his shoulder like the water falling from the heavens.

"God, Rhett—don't do that!" It comes out a little too loud. A little too quick. "You can't just go hopping out moving vehicles—"

He throws his hands behind him, gesturing at something. "She needed help!"

You hadn't seen the little old lady standing on the other side of the road until now, being helped back into the safety of an untouched house. You suppose that's who he's talking about, but... "And what if something happened to you?"

"Nothin's gonna happen to me!" Thunder booms behind his words. Just as irritated as he is.

Your hand flies out, gesturing to his bloody arm. "Clearly, it already did. Look at your shoulder, Rhett!"

"God, why are you always so worried?" He spits. Doesn't hear a word you just said.

"I don't know; maybe it's because we almost got sucked into a tornado three days ago?" You can feel your face getting hot. Teeth grit, jaw popping under the strain. "Maybe it's because I've seen storms kill people, Rhett!"

He stiffens.

So do you. Glued in the middle of the street. Even the rain stabbing at your eyes can't make you blink. But the wind is one of those things that forces you to move—swaying sideways, shielding your gaze with an arm. A horn honks, headlights piercing through the silver veil.

Getting back into the truck with him is the last thing you want to do.

Gravel crunches beneath your feet. Shifting under your weight, seeming to drag you in like a thin layer of quicksand. Tiny little pebbles leap into the tops of your shoes, wriggling down through the gaps and working their way up under your foot. Walking barefoot would have been more comfortable.

Ugh, but then you would have to worry about dodging the sharp metal hiding beneath the rocks, leftovers from experiments gone wrong, and backyard-tested explosives.

The spare garage isn't much further up the driveway. Smaller, built to hold only one or two vehicles, depending on their size. There's no point in adding all of the extra space, not when the main garage is on the same property, fully decked out with its fancy tools, wifi, and air conditioning.

Understandable, but you wish someone would have stopped to consider installing a light all the way out here. You can't see a damn thing this far out. Is there a bobcat standing between you and the building? Nobody knows!

There doesn't seem to be anything lurking in your path. You certainly don't feel anything brush past, even when you peel open the door and blindly feel along the inside wall, looking for the light switch.

The grill of a truck glares back at you. Same old golden paint, still the same diamond-shaped chip beneath the left headlight. The dust is new, and yet, somehow, it's the same too. Exactly how it's always been.

And how it will stay if you can help it.

It's a beautiful truck, really. Only one previous owner, still relatively new, decorated in gadgets that you've long since forgotten the specifics of. It's got everything. A roll cage. Bulletproof glass. Window cages. Augers hang on either side of the vehicle, in combination with the overhead arms, and those are only the things you remember installing.

There's a wire sticking out of the cables for the drills, has inexplicably wriggled its way out of the covering. That's what you get for choosing the cheapest company to haul this piece of junk all the way out here. You don't want to touch it, but...it's a simple fix. You've just got to slide this strip of metal up and—

Sparks scatter. A shock bolts through your fingers.

"You mother—mmh!" Yelping. Yanking your hand back. A twitch runs up your arm, the muscles in your hand shivering.

And here you wonder why you quit messing with this goddamn truck.

You peel the door open, blindly feeling around the console until you find the stupid tool you came all the way up here for. This old hunk of metal can sit here and rot for all you care. Why did you even try to mess with it? You know full well what will happen if you do more than open the door.

Something always has to go wrong.

You don't even feel your hand touch the light switch, but the room plunges into darkness all the same. To hell with—

"Am I interruptin' anything?"

The door slams shut behind you, the knob jabbing into your spine. "Rhett?"

It's so dark out that you nearly miss the way his hands twist together, his head tilted toward the ground, not quite bold enough to look you in the eye. "I just...wanted to come and tell you I'm sorry," he pauses, peeking up at you through his lashes. You've never seen someone look more like a kicked puppy in your life. "I was actin' just like Tyler back there."

...huh.

Can't say you were expecting that.

"It's...uh..." What do you say? You can't say that it's okay. It's not okay. "Thank you?"

That seems to be enough for him. Shoulders falling, finally lifting his head to look at you properly. But then, his brows knit together. It's too dark to see where he's looking, but you can almost feel the heat of his gaze fixating on the garage behind you. "What're ya doin' out here?"

"Working on something?" This is what you get into focusing on creating an excuse and not rehearsing it beforehand. An amateur surrounded by Hollywood stars would be more convincing than you are.

"Top secret stuff, huh?" Is he buying it? He sounds like he is. "Somethin' broke on that gold truck of yours?"

...

Son of a bitch.

"How did you..." you don't...you don't know what to...say... "know about that?"

He jams his thumb over his shoulder, pointing blindly toward the heap of metal a few hundred feet away. "Was over in the scrap pile when ya brought it in a few weeks ago."

He's fucking with you.

He's got to be fucking with you.

"And you never said anything about it?" You feel like a deer caught in the headlights of a bullet train. Nowhere to run. Facing down your doom as it barrels toward you at a hundred miles an hour.

"Figured you'd talk about it when y' wanted to," Rhett says it so matter of factly. Like this isn't a big deal. Like you haven't had Kate thinking that the truck has been delayed for the past month and a half.

It takes a moment to gather words on your tongue. It takes even longer to arrange them into a comprehensible sentence. "Does anybody else know?"

Rhett shrugs. "Not that 'm aware of."

You don't entirely know what it is that leads you to reach for the doorknob and twist it again. Nobody is forcing you to show him the truck. Hell, he's not even asking or acting like he wants to see it, but your body seems to be moving on its own accord. Maybe it simply can't handle another day of carrying around the secret, or maybe it's something else. Something that words aren't capable of describing.

Rhett doesn't say a word. Quietly following you into the dark garage, winces when you flick on the overhead lights without warning.

And then his eyelashes begin to flutter in that dumb, endearing sort of way. Intrigued. "What made ya wanna hide this?"

"Because if Kate finds out it's here, I'll have to work on it," you almost lean your hip against the front bumper. Almost.

Damn thing would probably blow up if you actually followed through with that impulse.

"I'm not followin'." Rhett runs his fingers across the hood, leaving behind little trails amongst the collection of dust.

"Every time I touch this truck, it ends badly," now that you're saying it out loud, it sounds like you're trying to convince him that the thing is haunted. "I drove it here, and a headlight blew. Tried to fix that exposed wire on the driver's side and shocked the hell out of myself."

"What, two—"

"Time before that, the hydraulic arm snapped, and we turned into an EF3's playground toy." Not giving him any time to wiggle into the gaps of your argument. You're not touching it. End of story.

He doesn't push it any further. Doesn't downplay what you're trying to tell him or try to sell you on the novelty of coincidences and misinterpretations. No, he just...hums and nods his head as if this is a story he hears all the time.

A part of you hates that you ever expected anything less of him.

The cicadas take over. Singing their shrill, repetitive tune that somehow manages to get louder when you're inside. You don't know if it counts as silence when there are hundreds of bugs screaming the song of their people, like nature's rejected choir.

"Do y' want me to fix it?" Rhett's voice is like silk against the grating little pests lurking outside.

"Fix what?" You're lost.

"The headlight," he taps his knuckle against it, visibly disturbing the dust there, "and the wire that shocked ya."

You're not entirely sure if you want to put the time and effort into this old piece of junk. There's a fairly large possibility that something internal has dry-rotted over the years and is bound to break at any moment, something that will cost a whole lot more than a cheap little headlight. But...

"Only if you want to," you don't mean for it to come out so miserable. Like you've had to strangle the words out of your own throat.

Rhett doesn't seem to notice it, his lips pulling up into a meager smile right before he moseys off to mess with the exposed wire. He taps his finger against the metal casing, following it up to where it ventures over the roof, then follows that until it guides him toward the driver's door.

It's like he's got a blueprint of how you rigged this together, knows exactly where you've got the electric control box sitting, and which of the wires belong to the exposed one. The cover snaps back into place with the slightest bit of pressure. Easy as can be. No sparks, no shocks.

The headlights are a bigger pain in the ass than they should be. You remember that all too well, the tediousness of removing the internal cover, several screws, and the grill, all to reach what should be an easily accessible headlight.

"At the risk of soundin' dumb," Rhett's talking funny with that screw resting in the corner of his lip, "but you really built this thing?"

"Once upon a time, yes." It doesn't even feel like you were the one who came up with all of this.

The countless sleepless nights spent tweaking and redrawing plans. Building or scouring the ends of the earth for specific little parts. The perpetual stiffness in your neck from building your inventions into the truck. God, the grease stains that claimed so many of your t-shirts.

The memories are all there in your head, and when Rhett tugs at the grill housing, your hands still twitch with a muscle memory you've yet to lose. He needs to tilt it up and towards himself. It's easier that way. But the memories don't feel like your own. Belonging to a past life, a glimpse of something that was never really meant for you.

A stray thought draws to the forefront of your mind. "How's your shoulder?"

"Hm?" He lifts his head, staring at you. Then, realizing what you said. "It's a'ight, jus' needed a couple stitches."

You wonder what he defines as 'a couple'. But he doesn't push for any more history between you and the truck, so you don't push him for anything, either.

There's a bunch of spare bulbs hiding in the main garage, and that really should be the end of it. Once the hood slams shut, there shouldn't be anything left to tinker with. The light works, the wire is no longer exposed, and everything is in order. You have absolutely zero reason to lay eyes on this truck again.

To be fair, that's exactly what happens.

For a day.

"I thought they were s'pposed to quit arguin'?"

You hear Rhett before you see him. Half-open eyes and messy hair stumbling down the unlit hallway, his arms full with his fuzzy brown blanket. Must have had the same idea that you did, seeking out the room furthest from Tyler's, hoping for another minute or two of sleep.

You hate to tell him that there's no peace to be found in this damned house.

"Bold of you to believe them," your attention darts back to the notebook resting in your lap, pen idly drawing across old lines, darkening them. Four in the morning is too early for creativity, but you can't fall back asleep, and you didn't bring anything to distract from the never-ending quarrel.

The couch cushion dips, Rhett's heavyweight settling in next to you. His cheek finds its way to your shoulder, landing there so naturally that you hardly even question it. "What're ya drawin'?"

"Same thing as before, just making it look a little less..." You don't know where you were going with that. Rhett isn't awake enough to catch it.

His gaze is so warm that you can feel it following your hand around the page, drinking in the careful strokes of the pen.

It's almost enough to distract from Kate's muffled swearing, but nothing short of a speaker at full blast is going to drown them out. So the pen continues to dance across the paper, and the silence remains battered by two people who need to suck up their pride and kiss already. If not for the sake of their own mundane love lives, then for the sanity of those around them.

"Have ya ever considered buildin' this idea?" Rhett reaches out to trace his finger around your crudely drawn wheel, the only spot he can touch without getting in your way.

"I started on it a long time ago," rattling it off without much thought. You don't have the capacity to consider what you're saying right now. "The sockets and connections are already built into the roof, but I could never get the hydraulic arms right."

"I could help."

"Yeah?"

He tilts his head up to look at you, and you're just awake enough to realize that those aren't actually stars sparkling behind his eyes. But damn, does it sure look like tiny galaxies are lurking beneath the sea of blue.

You don't know why you let him lean up and rub his nose against yours, but it must be the reason why you nuzzle him back.

If there is one thing more awkward about sitting through Kate and Tyler's never-ending argument, it's having to survive their new form of fighting—the silent treatment. Each refusing to say a word when the other is in the room, resigning to comments filled with double meanings and glares out of the corner of their eyes.

You, quite frankly, might combust if you have to sit through another silent meal. If you wanted to be put in timeout, you would go back to elementary school.

"I see we had the same idea," you yawn, fighting to keep your eyes open as it takes over. One wrong step and your food is going to find itself in the gravel, and you're not looking to brave the wall of silence for a second time.

"Great minds think alike," Rhett kicks his foot at you, perched up on the tailgate of his truck. "Unless your mind belongs t' two people I cannot name."

The initial plan was to wait until the weekend before you spent any time working on your truck, but it's hard to put it off when Tyler and his fleet of vehicles tear out of the driveway before noon, taking away damn near ever project Rhett had on the drawing board. You don't see Kate leave, but her car is missing from its usual spot, and you're in no mood to learn any more than that.

They'll get over it.

...once hell freezes over.

It's like you become caught up in a time loop. Every day, you wake up expecting to be put to work, to chase a storm, or to go on a supply run for weather equipment that you don't know the name of. Every day, you eat breakfast in the back of Rhett's truck and watch as every vehicle on the property flees the premises. Every day, you walk into that spare garage, roll up your sleeves, and begin tinkering with last night's project.

And Rhett just keeps coming around. Always the one to attach your creations to the truck, races you to pick up the heavier things around the shop, pokes at your sketches until you've explained every little thought and whim that went into why you created that particular part.

Working with him is so much different than it was with Kate. She was never difficult to work with in the past; nothing big stands out in your memory, but you distinctly recall every frustrating moment she asked to change something that she didn't fully understand. Builds like these were nothing like what she was familiar with. She knew weather, not cars, and that was okay, but...

Fuck, it's like Rhett shares a brain with you. It's strange; he looks at what you're doing, and he just...understands it. Like you've finally found someone who understands a language that only you have spoken until now.

It's two weeks before the parts begin to fall into place, but once they do, it's all uphill from there. The hydraulic arms fit like a glove, and the batteries built beneath the seat offer more than enough electricity to operate them without sucking power from another operation. The drills spin as they're supposed to; they don't even warp when they sink into the rocky Arkansas soil for the first time.

Sunlight reveals that the cage protecting the windshield has rusted to hell. Rhett's sputtering about an improved design before you've even realized how bad it has gotten. A few of the tires need replacing, and if you don't let him fix those mismatching rims, he might just lose his mind.

"How d' you just let it look like that?" He's gotten heated so quickly, but that growing smile suggests he's only trying to bother you for the fun of it, "'n how did I miss this for so damn long?"

"It doesn't affect the performance," you shrug, don't really recall when or how you wound up with one rim that doesn't match the others. Don't particularly care, either.

"It's affectin' mine!"

Your afternoon plans didn't originally include running between three shops in search of rims that match the aesthetics of the truck, but it's hard to say no when Rhett grabs you by the hand and guides you along like he does.

And he...doesn't really let go.

Maybe he does a few times, but he's loosely holding your hand in his while you walk from one store to another, and he's grabbing it to show you a set that he thinks is perfect for the truck's aesthetic. He's squeezing it when someone starts eyeing you up in the checkout lane. He's toying with your fingers at the stop light. And he reaches for it again at the end of the night when the rims are finally, finally on.

Now that you think about it, 'no dating business partners' almost definitely applies to you, too, but...

Oh, what the hell, why do you care?

"Do you...want to try something?" Rhett's thumb swipes across your knuckles, idle little motions that seem to burn into your skin.

You think you know what he's about to try and do, but... "Okay."

He's gentle about it, guiding you forward toward the shimmering gold vehicle, sparkling in all of its post-bath glory. His other hand finds your waist, drawing you to stand in front of him, back kissing his warm chest.

"What are we doing?" You know what he's doing.

"Nothin' huge," he murmurs, voice low in your ear, so close that you can almost feel his lips brushing against the shell of it, "just...touchin' the door, a'ight?"

His hand slips behind yours, grasping it from behind. Gently, he pushes it forward, so light that you can hardly feel his touch at all. Your stomach twists. That paint is too close.

Your arm stiffens. He doesn't push any further.

It's too...well...if Rhett's not afraid of it, you suppose that...

It's cool beneath your touch, like ice, when you compare it to the burn of Rhett's palm. There's a scratch in the pain that you hadn't noticed up until this very moment, just deep enough to feel when the pad of your finger drifts across it. It feels...well, like a perfectly normal truck. You're not sure what else you were expecting.

Your eyes dart to the window, peering at the silhouette of the steering wheel.

Rhett's hand disappears from behind yours, leaves you cold and alone, up against this truck, but he makes no move to step away. Still here, even if you can't necessarily feel him. "That's not so bad, is it?"

"You're not gonna make me drive it next, are you?" You don't mean for it to come out sounding so annoyed, like a petulant child.

His laugh echoes through the room and out the open door; doesn't seem to mind your tone at all. "Nah, we can wait on that."

You don't touch it again until a few days later, your hip idly coming to rest against it during a conversation. And again, when Rhett's on the roof of the vehicle and needs you to climb up and hand him something. It doesn't shock you. The door doesn't magically slam shut on your fingers. It's...normal. Hell, it's at the very bottom of your list of inconveniences.

That's mostly because two names have taken over the rest of the page, but you digress.

There's a moment when you catch yourself climbing into the driver's seat; you accidentally spilled a jar of bolts all over the floor, and the only way to fully clean it up is to get the truck out of the way. The key finds its way into the ignition without question, twisting so easily that you hardly realize what you're doing.

But then the engine rumbles to life, vibrating beneath your feet and echoing around the tiny garage like thunder, and ice forms in your joints. Stiff, freezing you into place like someone's pressed the pause button.

Rhett tilts the broom handle toward you; those blue eyes are warm enough to melt you back into motion. Something about him keeps reining you in. Stops you before you can force yourself beyond your boundaries before you're ready.

You're starting to love that about him.

"I thought we were past this," you mutter, chin resting heavy against your knee.

A midnight breeze swirls past you, bringing a chill that has you drawing your legs closer to your chest. At least the night is quiet, even the chirping cicadas have turned themselves down, nothing but a distant melody that you can hardly hear. Your ears catch the sound of a fork striking a plate, so sharp that it carries through the window and out into the parking lot.

"'m sorry," Rhett's knees crack as he bends down to sit next to you, back coming to rest against the cool exterior of his truck. He's so close that you can feel the heat radiating off his arm, warm and cozy like the flames of a campfire.

"You've got nothing to apologize for," it's not his fault. Nobody could have expected that bringing up the YouTube channel would end in...that.

He hums. "I know."

Wind slams against the truck behind you, rocking it just enough for you to feel the motion against your back. Rhett's hair lifts. Dancing. Twisting along with it. Blowing into his face until he sputters and forces it behind his ear once more. If you had known you would be sitting outside, then you would have grabbed your coat before you came all the way out here.

But hindsight is twenty-twenty, and you've got nothing but this thin t-shirt and the warmth of your own body to get by on, hugging your legs even tighter. They've been in this position for so long that they've begun to go numb, but you prefer this to shivering.

"Cold?" Rhett leans over, nudging you with his elbow. You think he leaves a small fire behind, burning a little spot into your skin.

"Little bit," biting back the waver in your voice.

"C'mere," and he's not really waiting for you to give him a yes or a no, already lifting his arm, beckoning you into his warm side. You shouldn't, but...

Oh, what the hell.

One little motion is all it takes to scoot under his arm, your head dropping to nestle against the expanse of his chest, and fuck, he's burning up. It's like snuggling into a big, cozy flame, one that envelops you before you can think twice about it. His head tilts, his chin coming to rest against your forehead, freshly shaven and a little bit prickly.

You can hear his heartbeat right here. Deep little thump, thump, thumps, following an unnamed tune that you've never heard before. It seems the cicadas have drums now. Performing their little melodies for their barely-there audience, punctuated by the drone of a car crossing through the lot.

"What if I drive us to McDonalds?" Rhett's voice vibrates through your skull. Your head goes quiet. "Think there's a Taco Bell down the road, too."

Finding the ability to speak is...hard. "I'm not sure if I'm ready to move yet."

"That's a'ight," his lips press to your temple, "we can stay here, too."

He doesn't say anything about what he just did. Neither do you, but it sticks in the back of your head like glue. You could convince yourself that it's just a ghost, one who has decided to follow you around and kiss the side of your head every time you think about him, the lingerings of a memory that refuses to leave.

It's there when you lean up against the passenger side door, bent legs lazily slotting between Rhett's as you eat your greasy fast food. It bubbles to the surface when you run into each other in the living room and become sucked in by the Dr. Phil episode blasting from the neglected television. You can feel its presence when you spot him outside the garage while you and Kate are having coffee on the porch.

You don't know if she realizes that you tune out of the conversation right then and there, mindlessly following the sight of his pale shoulders as he hoses something off. Muscles flex with the mundane effort, thick enough to cast a shadow.

"I mean, can you believe he said that?" Kate's still going, the ice rattling in her cup as her hand moves about. "Yes, I'll admit I have feelings for him, but you know how that would affect the business!"

"Who says that kind of thing?" You wonder what it would be like to dig your nails into those shoulders. What it would feel like for those jean-clad hips to slip between your parted—

"Exactly!" Kate hasn't the slightest clue what kind of daydream she just interrupted.

The memory of a kiss has zero reason to make itself known in the middle of an auto parts shop. When your hands are stained in indescribable grime that has no doubt managed to mar your face, the rattiest clothes you own hanging from your body with all the grace of a cardboard box. If you don't already look your worst, then you certainly feel your worst.

So why do you have the audacity to think about crossing the aisle and kissing him until you get kicked out? What provoked you to start thinking about this? You're supposed to be looking for that stupid...battery...damn which of these...did...

"Which brand were you looking for?" The question is so prominent in your mind that it slips out of your mouth before you can realize it, already turning to look in his direction.

"The purple one," he rattles off, staring down at something in his palm.

The...purple one?

Huh, you'd thought it would be a lot more complicated than that.

"I..." Rhett lifts his head, a lone curl casting across his cheek, wide blue eyes staring back at you. There's not a thought behind them. "I...forget the name."

Not your truck, not your fight. If he wants the one with the purple label, then that's what you'll pull off the shelf—

Shit, you forgot how heavy these damn things are. Your elbow pops, shivering under the sudden weight. It's not too heavy; you were just...not ready to actually carry something heavy. If you'd remembered, then you would have lifted it differently.

Rhett's arm drifts past your chest, his hand curling around the plastic handle, taking it from you so easily that you hardly feel it leave your grasp. "I got it."

You understand why you were so unprepared now.

It's because he makes the thing look light as a feather, only needs one hand to hold it as you walk to the checkout together. He doesn't even need help to put it up on the counter, so nonchalant about it that he doesn't even pay attention to what he's doing.

An ancient little television buzzes in the top right corner, directly above the chair of the missing cashier. You don't think it's been touched since it was hung when this place was built, a mountain of dust resting atop its boxy shape, but it still plays. A blurry newsreel crosses the screen, a bald-headed man pointing at a live weather radar.

The nameless man waves his hand across a patch of red and purple on the screen, rattling off words that take you a moment to process. "As this growing storm bears down on—"

"Y'all ready to check out?" The cashier is right in front of you all of a sudden. Rhett says something that you don't entirely catch.

This is the storm Kate was muttering about earlier, up in the northwest corner of the state, projected to produce conditions ideal for one of her beloved little tornadoes. The tiny ones that do nothing but rock the trucks back and forth, maybe striking a few unlucky houses but not taking out entire towns.

Your lower belly twists.

You're not entirely sure why it happens, but it does. Stomach churning back and forth like you're about to be sick, all over the sight of a television screen. Something in the room begins to ring, quiet but gradually growing louder, right in your ears, this piercing noise that you can't seem to shake. Your tongue is numb in your mouth, the air cold in your chest.

The scene changes. A woman in a raincoat, holding a microphone to her lips as she gestures broadly at the road behind her. Cars rush past. A Prius, a minivan, two Volkswagen Beetles, a silver truck, a red truck, an ancient motorhome...

"There they are," Rhett mutters, just barely audible over the ringing. You and he are supposed to be out there with them.

You think your hand is shaking.

Again, the cameras change, jumping back to the same bald weather forecaster as he points to something you don't understand. But they've laid it out for people like you, all of Kate's unexplained terminology has been dumbed down into vague, simple terms that you recognize loud and clear.

"That storm is gonna be too much for their trucks to handle." It darts out of your mouth before you can think about what you're about to say, teeth chattering around the letters.

Rhett tilts his head. "What do you mean?"

"The storm trucks," your jaw shivers, muscles fighting to disobey your every command. "Are any of them rated for tornadoes stronger than an F2?"

"None of 'em are," he reaches to pull his card from the reader, then, pausing, "the only rig that can handle that sort of thing is..."

You tear your gaze from the television, the reporter's voice droning on and on about something you don't entirely understand. Rhett's already looking back to you. Still frozen in place. You think you catch one of your own thoughts flickering behind his eyes.

But you can't help yourself, looking back up toward the grainy screen. The weatherman is still talking, his warbled voice drowning in the squealing filling your ears. You think you catch the card reader beeping, yelling about a forgotten credit card. The storm wasn't this big when it crossed Kate's screen; you remember it fit perfectly between these two towns. The forecast entirely covers them now, extending out to the areas nearby.

Something warm curls around your hand.

The ringing stops.

You don't know where the cashier has gone or when Rhett walked up next to you. But you can hear the shallow sound of your own breath, the sharp ins and outs that mismatch with the slow puff of Rhett's.

It's still audible, even as the room changes. Ever so present when the tile floor morphs into smooth concrete, that familiar musty scent swirling around your head, assaulting your nose and drying your mouth out. Shimmering gold paint glares back at you. But your right hand is still warm.

"You've got this," the keys jingle as Rhett talks, awkwardly holding them out with his other hand. They're right there for you to take. You don't even have to reach. "I know y' do."

You're still not so sure about that. But the radio in the corner is blaring its muffled severe weather alert warnings, the old television screen is burned into your retinas, and this damn old truck isn't going anywhere, regardless of how hard you glare at it.

Rhett's shoulder nudges yours, his hand squeezing a little tighter. "It's just a grumpy ol' truck."

The truck roars. Back tires squealing as your hands fly across the wheel. Cinching all twelve thousand pounds of machine to the left. The guy behind you blares his horn.

"Prick." Rhett snarls under his breath. His hand on the overhead handle tightens. Muscles and veins flex so harshly that you can see it in the corner of your eye. The front right tire dips off the pavement, the steering wheel almost ripping itself to the right.

Where are they? Where are they?

"I thought you were navigating!" You don't mean to yell. Too focused on jumping your foot between the brake and gas pedals, fighting against a speed limit that you know isn't being enforced right now.

"I am!" Rhett's nail taps angrily at a screen. "Wherever they are 's got no fucking service."

The storm seems to be further to the east, right might be your best bet. But this road doesn't look like it goes on for at least another mile, and you can't take another dead end. Not with the rapidly darkening sky overhead. Looming. Waiting for the right moment to drop an ocean's worth of hail and rain upon you.

"Right!" Rhett yells. "Go right!"

The tires scream. Foot tapping the breaks. The steering wheel spins. You're vaguely aware of your body tilting in the seat. Shoulder bumping into the glass.

But you never teeter off the road.

Even if you come close to it.

"What made you decide that?" You feel as if you're still spinning, even as the road straightens out in front of you.

His hand lifts, middle finger pointing toward something you don't have time to identify. "I remember them passin' them grain silos before the live stream cut off."

You see them. A cluster of six, up in the distance, towering over the corn fields that have swallowed you whole. Maybe a mile or two up the road, give or take. Plenty of time for you to lean on the gas pedal again, the floorboard rumbling as the speedometer crawls back up to seventy.

Everything still seems attached. No sensors are going off on the control panel crudely built into the center console. You know Rhett would have said something if one of them lit up, but you're looking at them anyway. Just in case one magically decides to light up with a catastrophic error in the next thirty seconds.

You've already got to tap the brakes again. Stupid, winding country roads forcing you to crawl back under fifty to avoid tipping over. It would be so much easier to cut through this patch of field that has already been harvested, barren, until spring rolls back around. Dodge the curves and jump right back onto the main stretch. Actually...

If Kate can accidentally drive this truck into a small river and come out fine, then a little offroading shouldn't hurt it in the slightest.

What's stopping you?

"What the hell?!" Rhett squeals. "You coulda damaged the damn—!"

"Dallas has handled worse." There's no way you're doing this. There's no way you're really driving this rig. Never mind hauling it straight through someone's old cornfield. Bouncing up and down with every little bump in the soil.

Rhett's head whips toward you. Still clinging to that oh-shit handle. "Dallas?"

...well.

He had to find out eventually.

All it takes is the slightest nudge to the left to jump back onto the road. And you never realized how quiet driving on the pavement is until now. Virtually silent as you reach for the turn signal, easing through a turn that you were definitely supposed to stop for.

The cornfields break apart up ahead, diving down into the much shorter soybean crops, expanding as far as the eye can see. No police cars around to catch sight of you blowing through another all-way stop, straddling the thin expanse of pavement.

There's a van parked on the side of the road, tucked away in a little patch of gravel. Lights and cameras flash. Yellow and white ponchos scurry back and forth. Dressed in t-shirts and shorts and flip-flops, not one of them prepared for more than mild rain.

"There's no way they didn't come this way," Rhett's echoing the very thought that just crossed your mind.

The first drops of rain come in one thick sheet. Slamming against the windshield. Blurring sight of the rapidly deteriorating road. You've only just turned the windshield wipers on, but they're still not enough. Whirring back and forth as fast as they can possibly go.

Everything around you has gone white. You can't—shit, you can't see the road. "Can you see anything?"

Rhett leans forward, chin bumping the dashboard. The tablet in his lap beeps. Once. Twice. Three times. "Not a fuckin' thing."

The console lights up. Purple in color. The wind gauge.

"What does...?" Rhett doesn't finish that question. Doesn't really need to.

"The wind speeds are higher than a hundred-fifty miles an hour," your mouth is moving, but you don't recognize what you're saying. Don't have time to focus on that. "Tell me if the green one comes on."

Gravel abruptly appears under the tires. Panging against the sides of the truck like hail.

Rhett reaches for something on the dash. "What does green mean?"

"That we should go in the opposite direction." And you don't want to remember if that light is meant to detect two hundred mile-an-hour winds or two hundred fifty.

Fog melts from the windshield. You didn't recognize it was even there. Fading away into a clearer world. You can see the fields again, mere feet away from the vehicle, as you tear down a road too tiny for your tires to fit on.

Clouds stir overhead, so dark that they're visible even through the rain. Twisting in a slow spiral, gradually descending to the earth below. But she's not here yet. She still needs a minute to gather her momentum before the clouds can kiss the ground.

Red flashes up ahead.

Your stomach drops.

"Take this left!" Rhett's order is your command. Shooting off onto an even smaller dirt path. A windmill shudders to your right, swaying back and forth.

There they are.

Drills whir on either side of Tyler's truck. Digging deep into the earth. But there's nothing to help the aluminum trailer hitched to it, shivering violently under the wind.

"You're sure they don't have this covered?" Rhett has to shout for you to hear him. Even then, you don't think you do.

The back of your throat is sour. It's crawling into your eyes, clawing at your belly. Your hands shiver. The steering wheel briefly slips from your grasp.

Something isn't right.

Your foot slips off the gas pedal. Sporadically tapping around, struggling to jump back on. Dallas's engine roars louder than the winds squealing past.

"It's not working!" Tyler's voice arcs across the radio.

Hail crashes into the roof. Scattering across the windshield cage.

"The barrels aren't deploying!" Kate.

The backend of their trailer jumps. The left auger slips through the soil. Tyler's truck twists a few feet. Was never meant to withstand this kind of wind.

Dallas is slipping. Tires fail to cling to the ground as you rush forward.

"Rhett—"

"I'm on it." He's already got his hand on the overhead button. Thumb hovering over the red light.

You're almost—you're almost. Just a few more yards is all you need. Almost. Tyler's door parallels with your passenger side. Little more. Little more—

The brake pedal spurs beneath your foot. Kicking back. Dallas lurches. Something internal shrieks.

"Now!"

Drills spin. Digging into already saturated ground. The engine roars impossibly louder, and the lights begin to flicker. All power concentrates over your head. Groaning to life, the hydraulic arms resting overhead begin to extend. Arking high into the air. Twisting outward. The tip of a drill bumps into the trailer, but it's still moving. Swinging over top of Tyler's rig, drills sinking into the ground on the other side.

A blackened wind takes hold of the outside world. Dallas shudders. But the steel arms never let Tyler's truck out of their hug. You don't think they're slipping any further. Fuck. Fuck you couldn't tell even if they did. Why did you think this was a good idea? Why did you think this was a good idea? Why did Rhett let you do this? It's too loud to hear if they've blown away. And you can't see a single—

"Hey."

Your shoulder is warm. And that sensation is crawling up the back of your neck, forcing your head to turn. Rhett's hands crawl up to your cheekbones, blocking out your surroundings. You're trying to look out the windshield, but he's not letting go.

He's the only thing in existence.

The console digs into your side as he pulls you toward him. His forehead kisses yours. Noses resting against each other. It's so dark, but the blue of his eyes is still as bright as the sky lurking above the clouds. The howling tornado softens into a hum.

"We're okay," it's nothing but a whisper in the rampage, "we're okay."

You hear him. There's no reason you should be able to. His mouth is moving. The words never greet your ears. Lost. Drowned out by a muffled sound that you're no longer capable of comprehending.

But you hear him.

This mattress...is the lumpiest thing you have ever felt in your life. A bed made of bubbles would be more even than this is, digging into the curves in your spine and nudging awkwardly beneath your hips. But you can't bring yourself to move. Not when the tension is easing from your back and shoulders. Has been there for so long that it almost hurts to let it slip away.

The television is on, multicolored lights flickering across the screen, playing what you think is another newsreel, but you can't look at it. Not today. Not tomorrow. You're dying here in this cheap motel bed. The last thing you plan to hear is either the slow drone of the weatherman or the boom of thunder outside.

Someone knocks at your door.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

"Who is it?" Using your voice requires far too much effort on your behalf.

A muffled sound works its way through the scratched wooden door. You don't know what he says, but you know who it is.

Your body tells you that getting up is impossible. Your heart already has you sitting up, sore feet falling onto the thin carpet without complaint. Something twitches in your back as you walk toward the door, wordlessly begging for the comforts of that shitty bed.

"Hey," you breathe.

Rhett's eyelashes flutter. "Hey."

Neither of you say anything further. It's as if all of your words have spilled out of your brain and carried off with the breeze, venturing off into the storm, never to be seen again. You think the same thing must happen to Rhett because he doesn't seem to have any words left, either.

Wind twists through his hair, whirling past and into your hotel room. Its invisible hands find your backs, pressing until you fall together like a pair of dolls. Like two trucks who needed one last nudge to nosedive off the cliff. His arms curl around your waist, and your nose is buried into his shoulder, and he's so warm and real.

"So Dallas, huh?" His breath tickles your ear, almost enough to make you shudder.

"You gotta admit, I had you convinced," talking into his shoulder, unbothered by how muffled it makes you sound.

"Sure y' did." It's his laughter that does it, sends a shiver racing down your weary spine. You think you're going to collapse into a million tiny pieces. "I would've never guessed that it was your fuckin' truck."

There's a part of you that wonders how he never figured that out; you're pretty sure that you scribbled Dallas's name into the license plate of your sketch that he's looked at so many times. Or maybe he did and simply didn't make the connection that Dallas was a truck and not another man.

"Found out why those two losers were always arguin'," he makes no effort to draw away from you, his arms remaining comfortably looped around you.

"Really?" Perking up. Maybe you've got a little bit of energy left after all. "What was it?"

Rhett leans back a little bit, enough for you to see his face, but he's yet to let you out of his grasp. "Dallas."

"Oh, so you both fell for it!" You giggle, and you're only vaguely aware of the door slamming shut on its own, cutting off the shrill embrace of the midnight air.

"Hey, at least I didn't make snide remarks about 'em," but you can still see the lingering embarrassment coloring his cheeks, unusually rosy. He fell for it, hook, line, and sinker, but...

Your hand darts up, pushing a strand of hair behind his ear. "To be fair, you have always been the sweet one."

The corners of his lips quiver, gradually curving upward, but his eyes refuse to meet with yours. "Y' think so?"

You know so, but those words don't dare to make their way out of your mouth. Even if they did, it would be no use because they fizzle away the moment the bridge of Rhett's nose bumps into yours. He's been eating those butterscotch candies again; you can taste them on his breath, sweet as can be.

You could kiss him if you wanted to.

All it would take is the littlest nudge forward for your lips to collide. A clever gust of wind could even do it, forcing you to take that final step forward, throw yourselves into fate's palm, and see what she decides on the matter. You could spend the rest of your life doing just this, gazing into soft hues of blue, kissing him through every storm that will ever pass. Or, this could be the only night that you ever experience this.

Thunder rumbles outside, the overhead light flickering with it in perfect synchrony. There's no stopping this one. No amount of magic powder can ease up the onslaught of rain and hail raging outside of your window, pelting everything in its sight.

"'s probably my cue to get out before the rain picks up too much," he says, so suddenly that you're almost shocked to realize that this isn't a dream.

He disappears so easily. Slipping away as easily as an afternoon daydream, those eyes daring to linger for a second longer before he turns to reach for the door. That big, bruised hand of his dwarfs the knob, gingerly wrapping around it like it'll break at any given moment.

Your lower belly coils. Sour.

You should kiss him.

And that might be how his name tumbles out of your mouth. That might explain where you get the nerve to grab a fistful of his t-shirt, yanking so hard that he stumbles. His gasp is the last thing you hear.

It's messy. Chapped lips collide, and noses crash. His chin bumps into yours too hard, and his chest hits you with the force of a freight train. But he exhales when you do. He tilts his head forward, and you think you're beginning to fall, plummeting off the cliff and into the nebula.

Rhett draws back just as quickly. His eyelashes flutter. You release your grasp on his shirt. Maybe you shouldn't have—

The corners of his eyes curve with his smile. You blink, and he's leaning back in.

You're not falling into the abyss alone.

Except, you literally might be falling because you're vaguely aware of the world spinning around you, seemingly weightless for a few fleeting milliseconds, before your back finds home in the lumpy mattress you paid fifty-something dollars to sleep on.

"Shit—" Rhett blurts, jerking away as if burned. "'m sorry, I..."

You only realize you're moving when you see your hand coming to rest against his cheek, coarse and unshaven. It's been a few days since the last time it was trimmed, has had time to soften and lose that sand-papery texture.

"I don't mind this," you confess. Lightning crackles outside, so bright that you can see the flash of it through the curtains.

Rhett meets you in the middle. Your noses bump once more as teeth unexpectedly clash, such a disaster that it ought to make you embarrassed, but you don't have the capacity to think about that right now. Not when he's letting himself settle against you, his heavy body slipping between your parted legs, fitting against you like he was built just for you.

Kissing him is...kissing him is like running into a tornado head first. He's so strong, pressing you down into the bed, anchoring you here with his weight alone, and he's just...Fuck, he's everywhere. His hand is curling around your face, and his belt buckle is digging into your lower belly and he smells like the rain that has enveloped the outside world.

He's traveling. Working his tiny, open-mouthed kisses across your cheek, the tip of his nose tickling the side of your neck as he finds his way to a spot beneath your ear.

Your hips jerk up into his.

He gasps.

"Is this...can I...?" Breathy. Hesitant. Like he's lost the ability to think.

It must be contagious. All you can do is nod. Dumb. But it's enough. It's more than enough.

No dating business partners, but surely they'd make an exception for a pretty cowboy, right? Kissing him doesn't count. Tangling your fingers in his hair doesn't count. It doesn't count if they never find out. Whatever the repercussions may be, they're not enough to stop you.

They would understand if they knew he tasted this sweet. If they knew that he hums when he tilts his head, leaning deeper into you, as if he hasn't gotten enough of you yet. His chapped lips tangle with yours so easily that you almost think you've danced to this tune before, falling into a routine that you haven't thought about in years.

The hand on your cheek disappears, fingertips idly tracing across your skin, down your neck, and then up to the corner of your eye, doing nothing but feel you. Something rumbles outside, in perfect tune with the slow roll of his hips, grinding down into you.

"Rhett," your head is spinning, idly grabbing at his biceps like that will somehow anchor you down.

"I ain't goin' nowhere," uttered like a sacred promise.

But the need for oxygen strikes you at the same time. Reeling back. Gasping. Eyes peeling open for what must be the first time in hours. Days, even.

Oh, he is something. Swollen lips and pink cheeks, his unruly hair ruffled and stubbornly falling into his face, so long that the ends of it tickle your face. You can only tuck so much of it behind his ear before some of it escapes and falls forward again.

Your eyes meet.

He laughs. "I feel like a damn mess."

"I'm sure I don't look any better," your thumb wanders out, tracing across his bottom lip. His tongue darts out, timidly wetting the pad of your finger. It's the last push you need to lift your hand and tap him on the nose with it.

Those eyes scrunch shut. Overreacting just a little bit.

Thunder slams into the ground with its heavy iron fist, shaking the motel and rattling you back into motion. Leaning back up to drown in him once more, almost sighing as he meets you, grants you the luxury of settling your head against the pillow. You think he only means to shift his position, but the bulge in his jeans grinds into you all the same, a little spark of heat bolting up your core.

"This is okay?" He whispers against your lips, those big forearms settling on either side of your head, seeking more leverage.

Your tongue is limp in your mouth, distracted by how the dim light catches on his bicep, illuminating a bulging vein there. Thick, winding down into his forearm and into his big, meaty palm.

Rhett's nose finds your cheek, gently nudging.

It takes a moment to recall his question. "More than okay."

Rhett's chuckle is a fleeting thing. There one moment and dissolving the next, overtaken by your sudden movement, too impatient to wait any longer. But you miss. It's hard to find any leverage when you've got him between your legs.

His hips roll down; you're convinced that you feel him twitch in his jeans. "That what yer after?"

There's no reason why this should work the way that it does. These layers between you should be making this harder to feel, but you're nearly convinced that the clothes are a minor hallucination because they do nothing to stop the feeling of him slowly rutting against you. The coarse material of his jeans drags against your thighs, the tent in his jeans heavy against your core.

You can't help yourself. One of your hands are tangling in his hair, and the other is grabbing hold of his bicep, greedily squeezing the thick muscle that you've spent too much of your life staring at. It flexes in your grasp, shamelessly showing off. You'd call him out on it if not for—

"Your ass is vibrating," you can feel it against your knee, a steady buzz that wasn't there before.

"Think it's Ty," he doesn't reach for his phone. Instead, his finger curls into the pearl snap buttons of his flannel, raking down and popping them open one by one.

His pale chest is...distracting.

"Are you gonna answer?" You croak, already fixating on that bucking bull tattoo. Old. Faded. Some little thing he picked up right after he turned eighteen, a discount job that has already begun to wear down. You recall him saying that his momma almost kicked him out of the house for it.

"Nah," the thin fabric falls from his body like a distant memory, landing somewhere on the floor. "Whatever it is can wait 'till mornin'." It's the tiniest motion, reaching into his pocket and tossing his phone off to the side, but the light catches on his chest just right, and...

"Rhett, this is..." You had a feeling it was worse than just a few stitches, but the image in your head wasn't this.

It's just below his collarbone. Healed at the top but opening up into a wide gash that is far too wide to be stitched closed, scabbed over, and surrounded in a sea of yellow and purple. You can see where the stitches once were, little red dots following the space that has already scarred.

"I know," he mutters, almost sounds ashamed.

You don't know what makes you do it. But you lean up, lips delicately pressing to the thin line of pink skin. Just two slow pecks, steering clear of what you know is a sore wound.

"'re you kissin' me better?" His voice is right in your ear, his smile shifting the tone of his words.

"S'ppose I am," there's an unexpected twang to your tone; you're starting to sound like him.

Your foreheads meet. Softly thunking together, noses rubbing back and forth in their own unspoken dance. He squirms, pulling himself a little higher on the bed, and—

"Shit." He's hissing, dragging his hips against yours again—something about that angle, fuck.

Rhett's the one who's taken charge of this, deliberately grinding himself into you like he can't think of doing anything else, but it's you who pushes things further. Craning your head up to find the prickly underside of his jaw, pressing your lips to the space beneath his ear. It's just so hard to stop yourself, lightly sucking on the skin there, enough to hear him gasp and leave a faint red patch in your wake.

One after another, gradually making your way down his neck, his heavy breaths enough to make you dizzy. Only stopping when you can no longer reach, forced to reel back before the ache in your neck begins to grow.

Rhett picks up right where you left off, his tongue poking between his lips as he kisses down your neck, leaving behind little wet spots that seem to freeze over in the chilly bedroom air. His big hands dip beneath your shirt, callouses dragging against your sensitive skin. You know what he's about to ask, and you're already arching your back off the bed.

But he doesn't take it off. Stops right as he pushes the fabric up to your neck, skipping across it, lips finding your naked chest instead. "You'll get cold if I take it all the way off," he murmurs as if he can hear the question floating through your head.

Without warning, his mouth finds your nipple. Delicately pulls it into his mouth like you'll shatter if he's too rough, his tongue swirling around the little bud in such a way that your head spins in tune with it. Your hands are in his hair, clinging to those curls resting at his nape, a little noise whistling out of your throat.

He draws away, and—shit, it really is cold in here.

Your hips jerk on their own accord. Impatient for something you weren't thinking about.

"Hang on, hang on," Rhett's chuckling at your antics like this is a little game you've been playing for years on end.

You're playing into it. Lifting your hips when his fingers curl beneath your waistband, shyly drawing your legs together when you realize that he's taken your underwear with your shorts, all in one go. It's easier to ignore the sudden over-exposed sensation when he reaches for his belt, pinching it open and squirming out of those too-tight jeans that have no right to cling to him like they do.

He's here before you hear the clothes hit the floor. Slipping between your legs once more, his body so warm against your chilly skin. Melting away the metaphorical frost that has already begun to call you home.

Oh.

You didn't realize he was—fuck, that's so much better without clothes in your way. His cock slipping between your folds, the thick underside massaging against your swollen clit so easily.

"Rhett..." aimlessly babbling, grasping at his biceps before you can think twice about it.

You don't know if it's because you never gave it much thought or if it's because it's been a while, but he's so much bigger than you thought he'd be. Just the sight of his thick, weeping tip is enough to make you dizzy, the kind of size that almost makes you feel minuscule in comparison.

"So fuckin' wet already," you don't know when he got so close to your ear, a violent shiver quaking across your body as he whispers in that stupidly low voice of his. "were y' wantin' me that bad, sweetheart?"

You can't respond. Not when he's using his own body weight to keep you pinned to the mattress as he ruts his big cock against your pussy, deliberately targeting your poor clit over and over. Little fireworks rattle up your spine and explode in your head with every motion, glittering behind your eyelids, staining your view of his face.

"I...shit, Rhett..." speaking is like swimming through a tsunami, words there and gone in a matter of milliseconds, washed away to the back of your mind. "Rhett..." It's no use. You can't...you can't...

The bridge of his nose kisses yours, one of his stray brunette curls coming down to tickle your cheek. You fear the day he cuts his hair short. "Say it again."

He's said...something, you know he did, but it's so—it's so hard to focus. Too distracted by the way precum obscenely spills out of his slit, mixing with your own wetness, sickening the glide of his length, his every motion punctuated by a quiet squelch that's too loud for this little hotel room. Kate can hear it from down the hall; you're sure of it.

Hell, maybe she's too busy with Tyler. Maybe she'll throw that 'no dating business partners' rule to the wind and shut that loud-mouthed cowboy up once and for all.

"...huh?" You think you were supposed to be figuring out what Rhett said. Still haven't done that.

"Say my name again," he sounds a little breathier now, his sharp hips forcing your thighs to rise and fall with the motion of his body, clinging to him like he's the only stable thing in this big, blinding world.

"Rhett." It slips out like you've been uttering it your whole life, tongue hand-crafted to do nothing else but form the shape of his name. Can't really stop yourself now that you've begun to say it. Mindlessly mumbling his name with every long thrust. "Rhett...Rhett!"

Pressure unexpectedly blossoms. Air catches in your throat as his cock head dips into you.

"Shit—!" Rhett's yelp dissolves into a muffled groan. "I didn't mean..."

But your legs are curling around him, your heels digging into the swell of his ass, urging him deeper. More. You want more of this.

Oh, and he gives you exactly what you want. Softens and lets you draw him in, so overtaken by the sensation that he visibly fights to keep his eyes open. You weren't ready for this at all and you don't even care. It's hard to think about the ache when he's already dragging against a sensitive cluster of nerves, his cock so thick that it rubs against them without even trying.

"'s it feel good or 'm I hurtin' ya?" Rhett's voice is like gravel. So much lower than what you remember it being.

"'s good," you're whining, absently squeezing at his biceps as he sinks further and further into you. There's just so much of him to take, slowly splitting your poor pussy wide open inch by fucking inch.

Thunder booms outside, but it's not near as scary as the monster between your shivering thighs. Lightning flickers as you feel him bottom out, buried to the hilt, and you don't...you don't know if you have room left to even breathe.

There's no real waiting. He can't, with you taking it upon yourself to dig your heels into the bed and impatiently rutting yourself against him. Shallow little ins and outs that very nearly punch the air out of your lungs.

"So fuckin' impatient," his chest settles against yours, anchoring you into the bed and forcing your squirming hips to hold still. "Needin' my cock that bad, baby?"

You've got just enough of your bearings left to glare at him. No, you were wanting him to buy you a snack out of the vending machine. What else could you want?

"Hey, I didn't say I wouldn't give it to ya," he chuckles like he can hear every little snarky thought that crosses your mind; maybe he's been reading your mind ever since the day you met.

All of a sudden, he's moving, drawing those strong hips back, only to rock back into you, doing nothing but shallowly rut his cock into you. If it were anyone else, this wouldn't work, but fuck he's already got this figured out. Massaging against those little nerves you haven't touched in so, so long, such a simple thing that has you clenching around him.

And you're helpless to do anything but cling to him and take it. Pinned to this shitty motel mattress as the storm rages on outside.

"'s that better, hm?" He coos, nuzzling your noses together as if to soothe the pitchy noises he's gently punching out of you. "I can feel your little legs just a shakin'."

There's nothing you can say. Stunned into mindless sounds that you can't seem to stifle, all too aware of how he's beginning to pull out further, fucking you in long, heavy strokes that leave stars sparkling in your vision.

Your hips involuntarily buck. The angle shifts.

"Aha—!" You're crying out. Way too loud. The neighbor absolutely heard that.

But you can't think about that because Rhett's caught onto it, swiveling his hips. Misses on the first try. Drifts closer on the second—

Not a thing escapes your lips, but your back rises up off the bed, clenching around him as he strikes that spot again, and you're only vaguely aware of how you're getting wetter. Absolutely dripping around him, every little motion punctuated by a sickening squelch that you can't possibly ignore.

"This poor lil pussy of yours," he's so talkative, purring those filthy words against your lips like they're gospel. "Gonna have ya limpin' all tomorrow."

You can't...you can't keep still. Wriggling helplessly, not sure if you're pushing up into him or trying to pull away; whatever it is, it's not working. That fat cock of his is still sinking into you at his own pace, balls lightly smacking into your ass, heavy and full and...

"Probably have to tell 'em a little lie or two," kissing him only briefly shuts him up. He's talking the moment you part ways. "'s not really acceptable to tell 'em the shop mechanic was—mmh between your pretty little legs all night long."

Your hand finds its way up his arm. Crossing his shoulder blades. On a one-way track to tangle in his messy hair and pull. It's enough to yank his head back, that pretty, pale throat on full display as a warbled moan jumps out of him.

Rhett's teeth sink into his bottom lip, muffling something you wish you could hear. "Talk to me, baby."

"Wanna...wanna hear you," that doesn't sound like your voice at all. If you couldn't feel it coming out of your own mouth, you'd think it was someone else entirely. "Please." For extra measure.

You'll fuss about begging on another day. When you're not—oh, when you're not...

The tiniest noise stumbles out of Rhett's throat. Music to your fucking ears. You want more of it.

It takes a moment. Gathering the strength to use the rest of your body. But then you do, and you're deliberately clenching around him, shivering thighs squeezing his pistoning hips as tight as you can, and he whines.

"Fuck, I...I..." Stumbling out of him. Aimless, but it's damn near enough to make you dizzy.

"Uhuh," is all you can utter. Dumb.

Lips collide. Crashing so clumsily that it's a wonder you don't knock a tooth out, nothing but open-mouthed entanglements and tongue. Calling this a kiss would disgrace the very word. Kisses are meant to be elegant. A beautiful sort of dance that no language will ever be able to properly describe.

Soft little whimpers creep past his defenses. Faint at first, but it's so hard to stop once he starts crying into your mouth when you clench around him once more. You don't know if it's the sound itself or the delicious drag of his cock that sends the wave of heat roaring into your lower belly. Hell, maybe it's both.

"Sound so fuckin' pretty." He's the one who says it, but you utter it in the back of your mind, too.

This room is so damn hot all of a sudden. A familiar pull has you fluttering around him, spasms that you feel just as much as he does. And he's driving directly into those little nerves so easily that your entire body is beginning to tingle with it, his weeping cock head striking them over and over and over.

Rhett shivers. A bead of sweat runs down his flushed face. "Fuck, I'm—"

"Close!" You blurt. Didn't mean to finish his sentence for him, but it's already out there, and oh, oh, oh.

His motions are quickening, unexpectedly thrown off of his rhythm, only for his hips to slam into you so hard it rocks the headboard. An unfamiliar heat blossoms, and you can feel his cock twitching inside of you and—Oh, he's cumming in you.

That's all it takes.

Your ears go numb as your back arches. Heart hamming in your chest. Crying out something that you never get to hear as you cum around him without warning. Little sparks firing across your nerves, and for the briefest moment, you think you've been swept up into a twister. Swirling 'round and 'round, nothing but Rhett's sweaty body to keep you from flying away entirely.

And the storm whispers your name, barely audible over the hammer of your own heart. Echoing as the color drowns to black, warping until you can't no longer hear that, either.

One of your eyes peeks open.

Did you fall asleep?

Because you feel like you fell asleep. Don't quite recall feeling so groggy, gravity weighing heavy on your eyelids, fighting against all odds to stay closed. Your tongue is almost stiff in your mouth, difficult to move.

Rhett's hand has long since curled around your face, his thumb stroking the thin skin beneath your eye. Delicate. You don't think he's realized you're back yet, so distracted that the proof of it is evident in his face. Those deep blue irises flickering across your face, trailing across your forehead, your cheeks, your bitten lips, cracked and dry from the elements.

You're far from looking your best. That you know for sure, but something about the way he looks at you...has you feeling like the prettiest thing this side of the country.

The corner of his lip rises the moment your eyes meet. "There ya are."

"I think I fell asleep," you croak. That still doesn't sound like your voice, but there's nowhere else it could be coming from.

"'s only been a few minutes," pausing to press a kiss to your temple. That might be a faint hickey forming beneath his ear. "had me thinkin' I killed ya."

You can't help but giggle, an image emerging to the forefront of your mind. "Could you imagine having to explain to everyone that your dick killed me?"

His eyes roll as hard as they possibly can. You're almost disappointed that they don't get stuck. "'s not that big."

"You'd sing a very different tune if we could swap places," you mumble, reaching for his hand. So much bigger than yours, you can hardly even cover half of it.

"Who says we can't?" He says it so...bluntly.

...is he already implying that pegging is on the table?

You can't find your words. Neither can he. All too quiet as you stare back at each other.

You crack at the same time. Sputtering into laughter like a pair of dumb kids, collapsing into perfect synchrony as you scramble out of the bed. Don't need to utter a word to Bare feet stumble across horrendously patterned carpet. His hand guiding you along on a one-way race to a too-small bathroom.

You're beginning to realize that cowboys and mechanics are just nerds with a very specific niche.

There's no way that Rhett is still out there poking at Dallas, running his hands over the different components, pressing on buttons just to see what they'll do if anything at all. Even from the door, you can see the gears twisting and turning in his head, processing every little detail and scratch like it's a work of art he's never laid eyes on before.

Except he has laid eyes on Dallas before. More times than you can count, and that beat-up old thing is far from a work of art. At least it's still prettier than Tyler's rusty old rig over there in the back...

No, it's not there anymore.

Did they leave already?

"Where's thing one and thing two?" You hope he doesn't notice the way you waddle across the parking lot, an ache plaguing you with every step. It was cute, the idea of being sore from a night in bed with him, but hell, is the actual experience a lot less romantic to deal with.

"They ditched us fer a date at some kind of storm chaser convention."

And here you thought Kate would at least give you the luxury of sticking around to tell you where she was going. Better yet, sending a text.

"A date?" Tilting your head to the side, like that'll somehow make you hear better.

Rhett presses another button. Every light in the truck turns on. "'s what it looked like on Ty's Instagram story."

You've already dug your phone out of your pocket, thumbs fumbling over each other as you search for your friends. Kate's account is the same as it was three days ago. No new posts since July of last year, but Tyler's...

There they are. Posing in front of the camera, spinning it around to unveil a line up of storm trucks. There has to be at least two dozen of them, sidled up next to each other in a perfect line with little white boxes resting on their hoods. A blurry sign sits behind them, forces you to replay the video and squint in order to read it.

Voting opens @ 4 PM.

"You have got to be kidding me," deadpan. Damn, not even an invite? After all that arguing? After yesterday? They wouldn't even have a truck to enter if it weren't for Dallas!

"Hm?" Rhett blinks at you. If this were a cartoon, he'd have a question mark hovering over his head right now.

You turn the phone around, showing him the video he's already seen. "They entered a competition for the best storm rig in the state!"

He bites the inside of his cheek, watching it again. After a moment, those big blue eyes flicker up to you. "...we could beat 'em."

"You think so?" Is this what you're doing now?

"I know so." Grinning.

They'll never let you hear the end of this.

And that's exactly why you find yourself bouncing up to him, your hands bracing themselves on his chest as you lean in to steal a kiss from his waiting lips. Curling a fist in his t-shirt, don't even need to tug for him to fall into line, boots thumping along as you dart back into the room. Scrambling to collect your bags, tripping over him in your effort to shove your pajamas back into the suitcase.

"Who's drivin'?" He giggles, leaning across you to get the room key.

The answer is obvious. "I am!"

Kate and Tyler don't realize you're there until it's too late.

#rhett abbott x reader #rhett abbott #oneshot #afab reader #outer range #tw food mention #description is subject to change (i hate it)#delgato writes

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fushitoru · 8 months ago

Note

geto lore in the bridgerton au is crazyyyyyyy ‼️‼️ (gently asking for more if you’re up to it 🥺🥺)

omg nonnie ily for this ask thank you for letting me yap

geto is a lady KILLER. whenever he enters a brothel, prostitutes are throwing themselves at him, and all the eligible ladies in the ton would KILL to be wed to him. unfortunately, geto has not secured a match (yet!). while gojo also attracts a lot of ladies, geto attracts even more despite only being the heir to viscount. if im going to be honest, geto's also gotten action with men at some orgies but stopped because he was scared of getting caught.

he's a sweet talker, very charismatic, but he's kind of like gojo in that he's looking for someone capable but within reason. he doesn't see himself falling in love but would be open to it.

when he went on his tour of europe, he did in fact appreciate art. bridgerton!geto is very artsy, and he would go to art school if he wasn't the eldest son. regardless, he enjoys composing poems.

he's also a hopeless romantic. he dreams of sneaking into his future love's room late at night by climbing a tree, reciting sonnets just like romeo. but no one would know this, geto is a bit private even with his friends (gojo would tease the fuck out of him).

gojo and geto are best friends ever since they both became eligible and started to see each other on hunts. they were easily the best and the strongest, forming a relationship.

he respects nanami a lot because nanami is very rational, mature, and a much needed break from gojo. they met because the geto family and nanami family are close. their mothers share tea at least once a week! however, he is likely to join gojo in an endeavor to prank nanami.

geto didn't really agree with gojo's assessment of miss itadori at all. he thinks you are smarter, more cunning, and more dangerous than you let on. it kind of amuses him because gojo's usually very adept at reading people but he definitely misread you. it kind of makes him intrigued---he thinks gojo was overwhelmed with some sort of emotion for him to be so wrong about you. he also thinks that you and gojo make a good match.

geto also REALLLYYY likes tea. like he loves to gossip. he gossips a lot with his mother over tea, and he is actually anticipating going to the gojo manor, as is the rest of the ton, to see what the result was of your early visit. he's also not above involving himself in the tea. is this a bad quality or good one? we'll find out. perhaps even through him getting involved in you and gojo's quarrels

#aashi answers #bridgerton!gojo

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sadly-never-after · 11 months ago

Text

God this escalated but I had so much fun with it

Some headcanons about duchess relationships

Canon (kind of) Friends

Sparrow Hood

Sparrow gave her the earrings she wears with her main outfit.

They were friends since they were kids but they started drifting apart on their first two years of high school because of the royal vs. Rebel conflict and Duchess growing bitterness over her destiny. Their first real and biggest fight was on True Heart’s Day and they later had another falling out because of NTV. However shortly after they started reconciling and by the time the Spring Unsprung Festival came they were back to normal.

One time during one of their quarrels, Duchess transformed into a swan and left angry. Later he found her and tried talking to her. They had to do some throne work together and eh was too tired to keep being angry. He tried to talk with her but she wouldn’t transform back so he took her in his arms and carried her to their classes. She still refused to transform back and he was getting annoyed because she pecked and batter her wings at him the entire time. The teachers asked him why he brought that bird to class and he was just like “It’s Duchess. She is just honked off” He basically dragged her to lunch and sat them down with Kitty & Faybelle. He explained and they smiled. Faybelle said “I hope she gives you hell” and Kitty giggled to his annoyance. After classes were almost finished he saw her eat a bug and he started getting worried. He thought for some reason her curse had taken hold of her and was terrified. He asked Cupid which Princes at school had just gotten in a relationship because maybe if he broke them up Duchess would go back to being normal. Among other people, when he was borderline desperate, he realised Dexter (epitome of a “failing” prince) had finally gotten together with Raven. He tried to break them up because maybe Dexter was meant to be Duchess’s prince. When that didn’t work the two tried talking to him. He explained and Raven agreed to help him break Duchess spell. They want to pick Duchess, whom Sparrow had left in his Treehouse. Her magic didn’t work, probably because it was a benign spell and Sparrow almost broke down, they then headed to the students lounge to get Farrah. As soon as they entered they saw Lizzie, Kitty, Faybelle & Duchess playing cards together. His first emotion was immense relief and he gave her a hug so hard he ended up lifting her in the air. He was so happy he didn’t care when she called him bird bray and yelled for him to let her go. Then he realised he had been carrying some random bird around school the entire day and that people had seen him cry because of Duchess. He was less relieved. Embarrassed…slightly confused over how much the entire thing seemed to affect him.

Duchess has only taken two people to see her mother. When she took Sparrow, she didn’t tell him about her mother, she just took him to the lake. He got bored really fast because of how quiet she got and because she told him not to make any noise. Then he started commenting on the swans and was like “what’’s up with that one?” when he saw one that was further away from the others and hissed at nothing. Duchess didn’t answer and just kept feeding the other swans. Then she started crying “Man someone should put that thing out of its misery.” and she responded with angry tears on her eyes, “That’s my mother.” He didn’t say much for the rest of the day. They just stayed there and he put a hand on Duchess shoulder when she started crying, he sat next to her, played some of her favourite songs and after a while she rested her head on his shoulder. Later they walked back together and they haven’t spoken about it ever since.

After that happened, he started feeling a bit weird around Duchess and then after some soul-searching he realised he was a bit in love with her. Not a crush, didn’t feel as passionate as a crush, but maybe equally intense. He decided not to act on it though because he is not that stupid and knows it would be really destructive and unhealthy. He told Tucker about it and told him he and the band always suspected it but they didn’t want it to be true.

Duchess’s grandmother dislikes him a lot. She is always relieved when they get into a fight and always disappointed once the two start hanging out again. However, since this has never negatively affected Duchess’s academic performance she lets it pass. As strange as it is, he does find it weirdly touching that she defends him.

They usually spend parents weekend together. Maid Mariam is busy as she is part of the teaching staff and Sparrow’s dad is dead. The two just hang out together and judge (secretly envy) every student who is having a sweet time with their parents.

It annoys her a lot but she has never missed a single one of his concerts. At first she would claim she just happened to be around and din’t know they were going to play. Later when he started playing for the school she excused herself saying it was because she couldn’t just avoid it. As of now she usually claims that she has nothing better to do but no one believes her.

However, she always does his makeup for the stage. She knows about that stuff, being a ballerina, and she claims she doesn’t want him to look ridiculous because it will affect her reputation (pls take that hat off). At first Sparrow hated it because he thought it was girly but there was something relaxing and cozy about closing his eyes and letting her use brushes on his face. By now he actually likes it a lot and even wears eyeliner with most of his outfits.

He got Duchess into listening some of his favourite bands and recurrently makes her mixtapes that consist mostly of rock versions of classical music, some of his newest songs. They have spats about infamous female punk rock Idol, Courtly Love. Duchess defends all of her actions.

Faybelle Thorn

They met at spellementary school and became fast friends by neither of them being intimidated by the other. It was a welcomed challenge that developed into genuine friendship over the years. Initially, Duchess’s grandmother wasn’t very approving of their friendship and was even rather unnerved by Duchess’s two main friends being the lazy son of a known criminal and the very competitive daughter of a known evil-doer. She isn’t overly fond of Faybelle but has seen how happy this friendship has made Duchess and became a lot more supportive of the two when she realised how their competitive side got them to be on top of their classes.

They have quarrels about the differences between being a cheer hexer and a ballerina. Faybelle tried to convince her to get into cheer hexing but after thinking about it more deeply she realised that could be detrimental to their friendship since they would get overly competitive

Their second year at school distanced them a little because they have very few classes together and each of them is also giving their 100% on throne work and extracurriculars so they made a promise to try to have a sleepover/friendly date every Sunday and pick each other as partners for class assignments as often as possible. Once Bunny was assigned as Fay's roommate it, Duchess & Bunny just switched dorms so the wondelrandians could have sleepovers at Duchess & Lizzie's dorm.

They are the sort of friends who can spend months without talking but still refer to the other as "my best friend forever after" when talking to other people.

Mutually judge each other over Briar/Sparrow.

They borrow each others jewellery all the time to the point sometimes they don't know who it actually belongs to.

Fay has a tendency to do cheers for Duchess after she's done with a performance. Duchess is usually embarrassed by how inappropriate they are for a ballet function but she always gives her a hug and thanks her for it.

Faybelle is the friend with whom she is never sad when she is around. She knows how to cheer her up, how to be so mean that Duchess can take it as motivation. She knows how to provoke her into action

Duchess has only taken two people to see her mother. Sparrow is one, as already mentioned, and Faybelle is the other. Unlike with Sparrow, Duchess told her that she wanted to take her to meet her mother. Faybelle immediately knew which swan was Duchess's mom. How could she now? Looking all scared and aggressive? With all that bare skin from plucking its own feathers? Something was obviously wrong with that animal. It was a really difficult thing to see and they didn't say a word while Duchess threw bread crumbs and fruits at the swans but Faybelle thinks of it as "The moment she knew she would never forsake Duchess". She hugged her mother extra tight the next time she saw her.

Duchess told Faybelle about the entire deal of her ending up in General Villainy class and of the possibility of her becoming the evil queen and Faybelle was charmed. She knows that’s not Duchess’s ideal ending but come on!!! We could rule the world together! She isn’t pressuring her or anything but man she would love it if Duchess embraced a destiny of villainy instead one of punished selflessness.

Lizzie Hearts

First they both thought that the other was too loud and talked too much. Now they send each other “the yapper-the listener” memes but both of them are convinced of being the listener and think of each other as the yapper.

They started warming up to each other as the months passed by. Lizzie felt more at home with Duchess brutal honesty and sarcasm than with the other princess and Duchess started spending a lot of time with her and Kitty. It was really nice for her to finally have a fellow princess to bond with.

They had a massive fall out due to Next Top Villain. Even after Duchess saved Lizzie, it was still a bit awkward around them. Just when things were getting almost back to normal…the thing with Daring happened. It distanced them even more and brought a lot of conflicting feelings for the two of them. It took a lot of time for the two of them to mend their friendship again.

After they got over the entire fiasco with Daring , they decided that from then on they would take each other on a date to the cinema once or twice a month. They loved “Lost in Riddlish”.

Only four people know about what happened with Lizzie, Daring & Duchess at the cinema; Kitty, Lizzie, Daring & Duchess. The two of them have talked about it quite often to the point where Duchess thinks Lizzie was maybe flat out in love with Daring. One time she asked her, months after it had happened and Lizzie started crying and didn’t answer.

Duchess knew they were back to being friends, perhaps even better friends than they had ever been, and that she had been truly forgiven, when Lizzie gave her a present. It was her Birthday Ball dress, sewn by Lizzie herself.

If Faybelle is the friend with whom she is never sad when she is around, then Lizzie is the friend with whom she can allow herself to be sad. Their history has been turbulent and perhaps because of it, there’s an air of melancholy but coziness when they are alone. Sometimes they just lay on the carpet and talk until the late hours of the night. Lizzie doesn’t necessarily feel understood when she tries telling her about her issues with having to flee Wonderland, but she feels seen and acknowledged.

They know each others orders both for Hocus Latte and Wonderland Haberdashery & Tea Shoppe. Sometimes when they know the other is stressed out because of hexams they will pick up something for them without asking. It’s a small detail they cherish in their friendship.

During their summer vacations after their second year, Duchess invited Lizzie to her Grandmother’s home and they spent the holidays together. Out of Duchess’s few friends, Lizzie is by far her Grandmother’s favourite. The two spent a lot of time swimming around the lakes, Lizzie taught Duchess how to play croquet (with custom swan looking mallets), and she also found a lot of fashion inspiration in the scenery. It was Lizzie’s favourite trip since she left Wonderland. (She sent her mother pictures)

Lizzie is now teaching her how to speak riddlish because she would eventually like to take her to Wonderland one day too.

Family

⛸️･:*:｡Duchess’s Grandmother

She is her paternal grandmother. Her father is currently spending the rest of her life happily married to his Odile and him and Duchess have never been allowed to contact each other. She isn’t affected by it as hardly as she should be. It has been like this for generations, so she doesn’t question it much. Duchess’s Grandmother doesn’t talk about her son, she had to break contact with him as well the day she started caring for Duchess. The fact that the Book of Legends chose him as the next Prince Siegfried is proof that he wasn’t an appropriate Prince Charming and she takes this as her own failure in raising a proper prince. This is why she is strict in regards to Duchess being the best possible student she can be. She is quite proud of Duchess following her advice and being a top student. She still misses her son.

One of the few things she truly dislikes about Duchess are her friends. She would have much rather liked it if Duchess had been more amiable and well-mannered, maybe spending time with Apple White or Darling Charming; princesses of good families with actual respect for tradition and propriety. Instead she gets a common thief with no taste for the arts, a mediocre gymnast (she considers cheer-hexing a bastardised and clearly inferior version of ballet) and a homeless princess with anger issues.

She deeply loves Duchess, even if she’s sometimes a bit cold towards her, she considers her the daughter she could never have and deeply fears the day her fairytale begins because she doesn’t know how she could bare having to lose another child. Sadly, Duchess’s rebelling wouldn’t solve any of this. She would be too ashamed of both of the children she raised being “failures”.

She heavily discourages Duchess from dating, not wanting her to get attached to anyone knowing what awaits her at the end. She knows of her crush on Daring and doesn’t mind letting her daydream because she knows a son of the Charming Family will never pay attention to her, so it’s not like she’ll have any false hopes.

They love ice-skating together. It was Duchess’s Grandmother who taught her and it’s their favourite winter activity. .

She used to attend every single one of her ballet performances and was on the first row smiling reassuringly. Her health started declining once Duchess started her time at EAH but whenever she can’t be there, she sends her a bouquet with a letter and has the school film the act for her.

Duchess gets her snark, sarcastic and mean side from her and both of them love that. They like to judge other people’s outfits together and always share gossip with each other.

‎♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧ Odette (Duchess’s mother (I want to call her Bella Swan. Stop me.))

She started writing a series of letters for Duchess after signing the storybook of legends, knowing that her end was near. She asked Milton Grimm to give them to her once Duchess started attending EAH but once students started to rebel against their destiny he felt that it could mislead Duchess into trying to rebel so he decided to burn them.

During the first months of Duchess’s life, the first months of Odette’s transformation, she was still conscious of her life and of being a woman trapped in the body of a swan. She would fly up to Duchess room and would settle next to her sleeping body, letting her baby hug her neck.

Sometimes Duchess’s grandmother brought Duchess to her mother’s lake and would watch as Odette & Duchess splashed around the water.

When Duchess was four she once ran toward her and Odette instinctively batted her wings at her and hit her hard enough for Duchess to fall into the water. She didn’t know why she did. It just felt natural to her. When she tried to soothe her by rubbing her peak next to her daughters face her daughter backed away and for some reason Odette hissed and raised her wings as a warning once again. That very same day she realised how strange her feathers felt. They itched and she started plucking them away with her beak but the skin was still left raw, burning.

When Duchess was five she still went to the lake as often as she could but Odette no longer truly recognised her. She felt some sense of affection for the kid but didn’t know who those people were to her. Whenever she saw her or the Grandmother she started plucking her feathers, completely confused and irritated by something she couldn’t quite identify.

When Duchess was six the swan didn’t approach her anymore, not at all. It wouldn’t get near her or her grandmother when they started throwing crumbs at the lake and she would hiss if they tried to approach it. It seemed to avoid the other swans as well and it’s skin was bare, a little bloody.

Duchess’s grandmother stopped taking her to that lake after that. Duchess goes once or twice a year on her own now but most of the time she avoids it.

Not friends but honorary friends/people she treats better than she treats most people

Courtly Jester

Ok, hear me out, Courtly considers Duchess her friend, even her bffa. Duchess DOES NOT consider Courtly her friend, they don't know each other that well on her opinion, but Duchess undoubtedly admires Courtly even if she knows she shouldn't.

This is the girl who had the guts to do what Duchess has been dreaming of doing. Take the destiny you think you deserve! To hell with those who are given that which you are denied! Even if by doing so you endanger the friend I deeply care about and whom I have already fucked up with badly! Twice!

With this in mind, obviously Duchess was a bit more open to Courtly when she enrols at EAH. Not overly friendly but more of "the one not straight up mean kid". She was concerned because of her fragile friendship with Lizzie and how this could affect it. Courtly kind of attaches herself to Duchess due to this minimal act of kindness.

Nevertheless, Duchess will admit that she likes it when Courtly sits next to her at class. 1. Because that means all of Courtly's fucking bells won't be in the way of her seeing the board and 2. Because she will make nonsensical and funny remarks about the other students and it will make her giggle. She finds it a bit sweet to realise most of the people she draws in are like this (Faybelle, Sparrow).

Kitty Cheshire

They barely interacted until Duchess & Lizzie became roommates. Kitty was amiable at first since Lizzie didn't talk too badly about her and they even became fast friends, going for tea dates at the Wonderland Haberdashery & Tea Shoppe, hanging out at the lake together and overall just hanging out together. Lizzie was their union most of them time but they liked each other.

....Then Duchess publicly humiliated and betrayed Lizzie because of the next top villain assignment...Kitty couldn't stand her anymore and would have made her life impossible had it not been for Lizzie. When Lizzie & Duchess reconciled Kitty kept being cold but wasn't on attack mode.

....And then the thing with Daring happened... and even if Lizzie knew it wasn't Duchess fault and it didn't fully strain their friendship, it did affect Kitty & Duchess's slowly recovering friendship... And then just when things were getting better between them and they were back to sitting together at the casstleria...Courtly called Duchess her BFFA... Kitty is now hostile, even if it's one-sided and even if she and Courtly get along pretty well. Duchess & Kitty can be in the next room and spend time together with Lizzie, but Kitty will not answer any of Duchess comments unless it's with malice. You don't find them alone anymore.

Duchess actually really misses her. Sometimes she talks to Lizzie about it in their shared moments of nostalgia and Lizzie doesn't reassure her. Duchess still misses her.

Nathan Nutcracker

Had to partner once because Duchess was sick the day the partners were assigned and her teacher “forgot” about her. It was a catastrophe. She was already frustrated and when he almost dropped her, she took it out on him and treated him badly. Later, after prompted by Lizzie, seeing how sad he was + the fact that they still needed to work together for a dance she ended up apologising. Nathan then convinced her of exchanging their roles and costumes! Although Duchess was initially very reluctant they did and it was a success.

After that, they were short guy in ballet/tall girl in ballet solidarity.

They have very sassy pretend-mean debates on classic ballet vs modern ballet, and on whether ballets is an art and sport or only an art. Nathan is a defender of modern ballet and considers it to be also a sport.

They tease each other about their love lives; Duchess teases him about Briar & Cedar (he denies both of them but blushes and stutters) and Nathan teases her about Daring & Sparrow (She openly admits Daring and vehemently denies being into Sparrow but seems a lot more passionate when talking about Sparrow for some reason. )

Maid Marian

When Duchess & Sparrow were kids it was Mariam who encouraged them to befriend each other. She knew Duchess mom and felt sad upon seeing this lonely girl. This backfired somewhat because they became menaces together and started bullying Raven.

She loves how responsible she is (and how Sparrow becomes a bit more responsible when they are on good terms) and is one of the few teachers who treats her justly, often involving her in the class and sometimes even showing some slight favouritism (although Darling is her actual favourite) by making snarky side comments.

Suspects Sparrow might be into her but has never said anything about it because she doesn’t want to get in the way of their relationship regardless of how it develops.

Is rooting so hard for her to rebel. She has thought about it so much, is daydreaming of plans and subtly tries to inspire her to do so by telling her about how she got her happy ending by going off page. She even sets her up with Darling in partner assignments to try to influence her (this is what Duchess lets down her hair should have been about).

Melody Piper

Had a warm but not particular relationship. The two of them regarded each other as "that other girl who hangs out with Sparrow sometimes".

But! after Melody asked her dad to help her mix some of his classic music with her beats, Duchess became one of her biggest fans. The two would hang out together to plan choreographies for Duchess to dance so Blondie could advertise Melody's newest album on her MirrorCast. Melody still considers her to be too dramatic and high maintenance for them to become friends but it was a cool thing both of them experience and it made them think more fond of each other. It established a type of warmth.

After that they became two snarky menaces for Sparrow to suffer. They annoy the hell out of him and usually they even get the support of the merry men...sometimes even his mom's.

(She lowkey likes Melody's music more than Sparrow's but she won't hurt him that bad.)

Humphrey Dumpty

After Humphrey helped her on Muse-Ic class, he decided to follow her on MyChapter. To everyone’s surprise, she followed him back. Sometimes she even comments or likes his posts.

They share tips on how to help with each others chronic pain and complain about it together. Duchess gave him a pass through her spa membership and he recommended her a good physiotherapist.

Duchess sometimes asks him to film her practicing when she is trying to improve on something or when she realises that she’s making certain mistakes on her steps. He’s been teaching her how to work with a camera because of it.

He wrote a rap for Meeshell and decided to perform it for Duchess since she was a girl and he wanted to know what she thought of it. She didn’t have the heart to tell him the truth because of this being one of the first times someone who isn’t Sparrow, Faybelle or Lizzie cares for her opinion, and also because she figured Meeshell would probably like it regardless.

Littlest billy goat gruff

He is her abhorrent admirer, alright, but she knows what that’s like and quite honestly it’s just nice to feel like someone likes her a bit. She feels weird around him because he is one of the few people she doesn’t want to be rude to but she also doesn’t want to date him.

Sometimes she sees him eating grass and flowers around the lake and it makes her chuckle a bit because it reminds her of how she would eats water plants and insects when she was a kid. One time she eats a lily flower in front of him and he is so astonished his mouth hangs open. Then the two laugh.

Protective over the little guy.

One time he heard about Sparrow inviting her to one of his concerts and he asked if he could go too. It was a lot more fun than anyone expected.

Tucker

Ok listen it’s not that Tucker hates her or anything but he’s so tired of all the unnecessary drama surrounding her and Sparrow’s friendship/love life/situationship/whatever the fuck is going on between them.

However when the two are co-existing alone they can be pretty amiable with each other.

He actually really likes working with her as a partner in muse-ic class. Since she is pretty bad at it she allows him to take the lead on the creative aspects while she acts more responsible about the theoretical and more objective parts of the assignment. And it’s refreshing to play “the face of the band” for a short bit even when he usually prefers to stay in the shadows as the second guitar.

When Duchess gave him a mood rose after they were shot with cupids arrows on “Heart Stuck” it turned yellow and although they’ve never talked about it, he was kind of touched by it.

The Dark Fairy

They Have a good bond over both of them loving Faybelle.

Although Duchess’s Grandmother is irreplaceable, Duchess sometimes thinks that, had she gotten to meet her mother as a person, she would have liked her to be like The Dark Fairy.

The two planned a party once and didn’t invite Faybelle. When Faybelle discovered it and irrupted in an overly dramatic way she found out it was her birthday party. It was the only reason she didn’t curse Duchess and instead gave her a really hard hug and The Dark Fairy was extremely proud of her daughter.

Dark Fairy has sometimes wondered if perhaps she can break or at least twist Duchess future curse after all the necessary parts of her destiny have been acted out.

Meeshell Mermaid

Was very weary on the new kid but once she found out about her destiny, Duchess became more soft-hearted around her because of how both of them are so very doomed by the narrative and a prince who chooses another girl

She once went to her lake to dance and found Meeshell already there, swimming and singing gleefully. Meeshell wanted to leaves, she was embarrassed and a bit afraid since she had heard of (and witnessed) Duchess's cruel reputation. Duchess however, very surprisingly told her she could stay if she wanted and the two just ignored the other as each indulged in their respective passion.

The more time passed the more the two started warming of to each other even if they didn't talk much.

One day Meeshell was oddly happy and excited and Duchess commented on it, which lead her to tell Duchess about her Date with Humphrey. The two had an oddly intimate and long conversation that day about what it means to have a future in which you are meant to be unloved and how this influences them to become unloveable while deeply starving for validation. They didn't become immediate friends but it was one of those things that neither of them forget about and ever since there is a sense of mutual understanding between the two

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