#only how much misery he caused his friends

[delopsia]

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. 

[drunknillawafer]

right down the line: zuko x firebender!reader | part 7

You grew up close to the Royal Family due to your father's position as a General, but you ran away from home after the agni kai against your best friend, Zuko. Now, you've joined the Gaang and plan on doing your part in ending the 100-year war.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

hi part 7... picking up right where we left off... i think I'm going to post a masterlist & keep it linked on my pinned to make it easier to sift through and find, esp since i do plan on posting other fics once i finished my very first >.< also i want to post the songs i listen to while I'm writing and some visuals hehe... just to make it much more immersive. again i do not own these characters and they are not mine! (except my mc i guess) like comment reblog if ya like... enjoy! about 1785 words

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

We’re standing on a sand-colored platform of a structure currently being renovated or changed to fit Fire Nation standards. The usual for when they occupy lands that don’t belong to them. Aangs in front of me, with Sokka to my left and Katara to my right. We form a triangle and I'm thankful for the partial covering.

I’m thinking of the best way to summarize the threats ahead of us, just in case they try to change the plan. There’s a good chance this will go south.

“Mai, in the center, has good aim with her blades, but it’s Ty Lee, on the left, you should keep an eye out for.” I try to give my friends the run-down on my, I guess, old friends one would say. But we’ve only got so much time before all three of them realize that I’m here.  

They lower King Bumi from the top of the building using a metal crane. They’ve got him in a coffin-shaped cage with only his head showing.

“You brought my brother?” Mai speaks first, breaking the silence between the two groups. She squints at the sight of me, but I’m too far away for her to be sure it’s me.

“He’s here.” Aang solemnly replies. “We’re ready to trade.” In these moments, he’s got the grace of a 112-year-old.

Suddenly, Azula speaks to Mai in a hushed tone we can’t quite hear. Fine is never fine with Azula, nothing is ever the way it should be with her. There’s bound to be some trick up her sleeve that only feeds into her misery.

“I’ll help with the girl on the right, she’s the most vicious,” I warn them. I briefly make eye contact with Sokka. We haven’t talked about what was said and now wasn’t the time, but I couldn’t help but yearn for his gentleness. A reminder that I wasn’t like the enemies in front of us, but someone new. Someone he couldn’t hate.

Then, Mai steps forward. “The deal’s off.” With a lift of her gloved hand, King Bumi is raised once again by the crane.

“Bumi!” Aang cries out for his old friend and starts heading towards him, defying the laws of gravity bestowed upon the rest of us. It’s enchanting to see an air-bender. It’s so different from the rest of the elements. He looks like he’s flying.

As he does so, Azula strikes, and I see her blue flame for the first time. She must’ve perfected her oxygen levels for complete combustion; but if she’s the Azula I’ve always known, I know how to beat her. This time, I won’t go easy. I won’t make that same mistake again for nostalgia.

Aang’s head covering flies away as the air moves around him and his arrow is exposed.

I look down at Azula’s reaction and she’s close enough now to hear.

“The Avatar. My lucky day.” The princess smirks, re-organizing her plans for Omashu in her head.

“Remember, don’t let Ty Lee touch you!” I warn Sokka and Katara and dash toward Azula, offering Aang some support against the crazed fire-bender.

I follow her upward, burning the knot on the pulley to cause the rope to lift.

Azula can see me through the grids as the ropes pull us to the top of the building, and I can see her in real-time realize who I am.

“Well, if it isn’t the Royal traitor. Seems like you and Zuzu still share a brain.” She gloats.

“Leave the Avatar alone, Azula. I mean it!” We break through the ceiling made from wood and reach the roof of the building under construction.

She attacks Aang with a blue blast, causing him to break the metal chain. Aang instantly heads downward with King Bumi. He cushions their fall with an air bubble, and they land on the well-known ramps of Omashu. Azula quickly follows them using a cart, and I’m on her tail. If only I had Sokka’s boomerang right now, it makes so much sense to carry one in these situations.

We catch up to Aang, giving Azula the chance to strike him and Bumi.

I distract her with my own fire-blasts, making sure to lean forward and crash into her cart.

“Out of practice?” She questions.

“Out of patience.” I growl, punctuating my sentence with a blast from my right hand.

As we continue our fight by speeding through the ramps, I see Appa in the distance. Relief washes over me as I conclude Sokka and Katara must have gotten away from Mai and Ty Lee.

Aang attempts to lift Bumi onto Appa’s saddle with his bending, but he miscalculates and Bumi’s off to land on the ground. But his friend won’t let him go on his own. Together, they land on another ramp and head down to ground-level.

Azula’s right behind them, and I’m right behind her.

She attempts another attack, but a rock blocks her offense and bursts her cart into dust. I leap off mine before the impact breaks my cart too and we both land on our feet, an homage to our identical upbringing.

She lets Aang go for a reason I can’t quite put my finger on until she turns around to face me. We're still standing on the ramps.

“The key to never losing is knowing when you’re beat.” She says with her hands in defense, signaling that she’s waving the white flag.

I’m still in fight mode. I’d never let my guard down around her, not now, not ever. “You’ll always be beat as long as I’m here.”

She pauses to truly grasp my presence. It’s been three years since we’ve seen each other, and everything’s changed. We used to be on the same team, never friends but bonded by our birthplace. It’s the first time we no longer owe each other pleasantries. Azula, however, uses sweetness as a weapon. “Where have you been, Y/N? You’re missed at the Royal Palace.”

“I doubt it.” Zuko and his mother haven’t touched that home in years, making it impossible for anyone there to actually miss me.

“Your father misses you.”

“I know you’re lying, Azula.”

“You’ve never trusted me; I’ve never liked you. Now we don’t have to pretend do we?”

“Leave us alone,” I get in my fight stance. “Got it?”

“Fine. Loud and clear.” She dashes away in her infamous run toward the unfinished building, probably to catch up with her friends.

Fine isn’t fine. It’s I’ll get you somehow. I think to myself.

I watch her figure fade into the distance, when it hits me: “Seems like you and Zuzu still share a brain.”

Did Zuko abandon his ship?

Is she lying? She would have no reason to lie about something like that, other than to get to me or Aang. I can’t pinpoint a motive. I still won’t believe her 100 percent, but I’ll keep it in my back pocket.

I slide down the ramp Aang took and find the both of them at the very end, standing on a platform in another unfinished building. Once I’m off and my two feet hit the floor, Bumi bends rock to lift his metal enclosure up the ramp in a fit of laughter.

We both watch him go. “Your friend is very… eccentric.” I tell Aang, as he’s standing with Momo on his shoulders.

“Yeah.” I turn to face him, something’s wrong. He’s disappointed.

“He’s not going to teach you earth-bending?” I assume.

“No, he has to stay here to protect Omashu. I guess I got to find another teacher.” Now, he looks like a twelve-year-old boy with the weight of the entire world on his shoulders. There’s no way he’s meant to do this alone. I’d rather be here helping him than with Zuko.

“We’ll find one in no-time.” I reassure him.

“Who were those three girls?” He changes the subject.

“They were old friends too. Azula is Zuko’s sister.”

“Wow.”

“I know.” I sit on the edge of the platform, waiting for our ride with my feet dangling. Aang sits next to me, and for now, we’re just two kids talking, staring at the beautiful Earth Kingdom in front of us.

“What was it like… to grow up with them?”

“It was easy with Zuko. Azula… not so much.” I wince.

Aang’s face contorts, as if he’s remembering a distant memory. “Was Zuko good? Yaknow, back then?”

A smile creeps up on my face. “He was.”

“Do you think he still could be?”

Aang and I stare at each other. We’re choosing to live in the moment before my answer. The moment in which the possibility of Zuko changing his mind, realizing his mistakes, and helping us stop his father exists.  

“I don’t know.”

☆

The heat and the prickly bushes are upsetting him further with each and every single step. Looking for food when you’re used to someone cooking for you is daunting, Zuko realizes. How is he ever supposed to live like this? How did Y/N?

As he’s walking back to let Uncle know he couldn’t find anything edible, he touches the side of his hair. It’s grown back a bit since cutting it, slicing off his ties to the Fire Nation. Trading in the red for green, hoping to camouflage with the land and the Earth Kingdom people.

What a stupid idea, he thought. How could anyone ever confuse him with anyone else with the scar on his left eye?

But it seemed to be working so far. His sister hadn’t found them, and they haven’t been arrested for their crimes against every other nation.

In the humid morning, on his long walk back to where his uncle was staring at a tea leaf, he thought about the Northern Water Tribe.

He wondered if Y/N was okay from his strike. Maybe the water-bender girl could heal her, and she’d be okay again. He didn’t mean to. He’s been this hard and heavy with everyone else for the sole purpose of returning home, he forgot Y/N was his home. He’s been in fighting mode for so long, he’s forgotten to turn it off.

She wasn’t home, though. She was with the Avatar. Defending him and betraying her nation. How did she get there? He wondered. He had so many questions about everything. Zuko’s sure she had just as many questions for him.

Could he find her now that he was labeled a traitor?

Where his mind led made his empty stomach drop.

If he found her, he’d find the Avatar. Then, he could go home. But if Y/N was not there, would he still want to go back? Did his father’s acceptance matter above all else? It didn’t for Y/N, but she was always braver than him.

Zuko wasn’t ready for that thought, so he pushed it away.

It wasn’t hard to do when your stomach was louder than your thoughts.

------------------

tag list <3: @camilleverreault @staygoldsquatchling02

[heybiji]

Dande says, “I really wanted to get things right today. I wanted you to see that I could get it right.”

Clover asks, “Me?” and he says, “Yeah… yeah. I really… fucked you over. So I just… I wanna prove to you that I can do this."

[beomiracles]

⌞ 𝐍𝐎𝐎𝐍𝐀'𝐒 𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐌 ⌝

DREAM RECALL your brother's best friend always seemed to have it out for you. But when he sneaks into your room one night, you start wonder if this is another one of his sick games.

wc -> 6.2k

pairings brother's best friend!taehyun x afab!reader warnings older!reader, kind of perv!taehyun, protected sex, vaginal fingering, slight edging?, tiny bit of marking (tiny tiny), taehyun refers to reader as "noona", some dom/sub dynamics, sub!taehyun + dom!reader, but they're both kind of switchy, idk how to tag it, just read heh

#serene adds ✎ @binniesbooks ahh baby I know I'm late but here's your little birthday gift!! happy belated birthday love (..◜ᴗ◝..) I originally didn't plan for it to be this long but I can never stfu when I write so I'm not very surprised heh :3 oouuu but I really like how this one turned out and I hope you will to, kisses from serene <3

The paintings on your wall rattled, the floorboards of your bedroom practically thumping in rhythm to the obnoxiously loud beat coming from your brother’s room. You tried to ignore it, pressing your headphones against your ears as you fought to block out the heavy bass. How long had it been, twenty minutes? It sure felt like three hours. — That’s it, you’d had enough.

Your blaring fists against the wooden door were barely heard, and after your third attempt, you kicked it open, causing it to slam against the wall with such force that Beomgyu finally turned around in his seat. His gaze flits between the squeaking door and your furious figure. “Sup sis?” He flashes you a small grin, leaning back in his gaming chair as he studies you expectantly. 

His ignorance only fueled the fire already searing within you. “Turn that down!” You yell, trying to overpower the thunderous noise of his speaker. Your brother’s grin only widens. “What was that?” He asks, his brows knitting together in a play-pretend frown, undeniably enjoying the rise he was getting out of you. But you weren’t going to let him have it, not today. 

With fast and determined strides you march over to the source of your misery. Pulling the thick cord from its component, you breathe out a small sigh of relief as the speaker falls silent. — “Oh come on, don’t be such a mood killer”, Beomgyu whines as he reaches for the cable in your hands, much to no avail as you step back. 

“Yeah, what’s got your panties in a twist?” Another voice carries out from somewhere to your left. Oh great, he was here too. Your glare is redirected from your pesky brother by his desk and over to his even peskier best friend. — Sprawled on Beomgyu’s bed, Taehyun shoots you a smug smirk as he watches the way your face contorts from anger into pure rage. 

There was little to be enjoyed about your brother’s best friend. And by little you mean nothing, the guy didn’t carry a single positive trait. Sometimes you thought he might’ve just been put onto this earth to serve as a plague to others. — Judging by how he made your life a living hell, you guessed it wasn’t far from it. 

Taehyun would come over more than often, it was almost as if he used yours and Beomgyu’s shared apartment as an extended home. Something about his dad being a shit person and him having nowhere else to go since he dropped out of college, at least that’s what your brother said. Honestly, you couldn’t care less. What you did care about was your studies, your peace and most importantly, quiet. 

You didn’t like Taehyun, you didn’t like the way he made your brother act. Sure Beomgyu was an ass most of the time, but it was manageable. Though whenever his best friend was around it was like your brother became a completely different person, an almost unrecognizable one. — Beomgyu was always the first to jump in front of Taehyun, defending his every word and action, all the while his so-called ‘best friend’ couldn’t be bothered to even lift a finger. 

“He’s got a rough time at home, cut him some slack.” Your brother had practically wailed as you had forbidden his friend from ever stepping foot inside your flat again.”I don’t care Beomgyu, he’s an ass. Can’t you see how he treats me?” You huffed as you ran a hand through your hair. But your brother only shook his head, feverishly grabbing onto your arm as he begged for you to reconsider. And unfortunately you did.  

“Come on, it’s only a bit of music”, Taehyun presses, propping himself up on his elbows as he tilts his head to the side ever so menacingly. You scoff in disbelief, gripping the wire tighter between your fingers. “If it’s only ‘a bit of music’ then I’m sure you’ll suffice without it.” Without waiting for them to get another word out, you turn on your heel as you storm out, not bothering to close the door behind you. 

It wasn’t like your hatred toward your brother’s best friend was unbiased. There were plenty of instances in which Taehyun had effectively fucked things up for you. Just thinking about them made your blood boil all over again. — For one, there was the shower incident. 

It had been a Thursday afternoon, your brother was in class but since yours had been canceled the day prior, you took some time to yourself. The apartment was silent, save for your quiet hums as you rinsed the shampoo from your hair, warm water cascading down your bare skin. — You later found out that Beomgyu, that idiot, had given him a spare key, and that’s how he got in. But unbeknownst to you on that fateful Thursday, Taehyun had let himself inside your home. For whatever reason, you had yet to be made aware of. 

Not only was he an annoying piece of shit human being, he was also a fucking perv. Upon turning the shower off, your hands in your hair as you squeeze the remnants of wetness from it, you pull the curtain to the side only to let out an ear-piercing scream as you come face to face with your brother’s best friend. — Taehyun was leaning against the door frame, arms neatly folded across his chest as his gaze roamed your bare body. 

“What the fuck!” You yell, immediately wrapping the drenched shower curtain around yourself as you shouted for him to get out. But he doesn’t budge, his eyes still fixed on your figure, barely shielded from his view. “Get out you freak!” Your words have little effect as Taehyun merely shifts on the spot, “I’m not a freak”, he counters, his brows drawing together in an offended frown. You scoff, “you act like one.” — He shakes his head, “a freak would like what he saw”, his eyes snap back up to your own, “I don’t.” 

Your mouth falls open in bewilderment as you let out a short breath of air. “Well then that solves it, get out.” The corner of his lip twitches, and he chuckles, shaking his head but he still complies; sauntering down the hallway without the decency to even apologize. 

The second incident happened not long after. 

“Where the fuck is my laptop?” You had turned your room upside down in search of the device, frantically going through drawers and getting on all fours to peek under your bed. But it was nowhere to be found. — “Beomgyu I swear to god if you so much as lay a single hand on my shit– …you!” Stopping dead in your tracks, your gaze falls on Taehyun, perched on the sofa in your living room with your laptop in his hands. 

He gives you a small grin, but it was impossible to not catch the mischief lingering in his eyes, “your brother said I could borrow it.” Your mouth opens and closes several times as you try to comprehend the scene before you. “Can’t you use his? — And did you fucking go in my room?” You practically seethe as you point an accusing finger toward him. But Taehyun only shrugs, his attention shifting back to the screen in front of him, “maybe.” 

You have to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from saying the things on your mind. It was one thing to be allowed in your home, where he had made himself more than comfortable, but it was a whole other thing to go through someone’s stuff without their knowledge, much less their permission. — And you knew for a fact that Beomgyu hadn’t allowed him to take your computer, ass or not, he had at least some sense. 

When snatching the laptop back, you found that he had managed to install not one but three different viruses. It took you about a week to get rid of them all before you could resume your coursework, and after that, you made sure to hide your stuff well. 

Those were only a few of the many occasions in which you had wanted to snap his neck in half. And as you flop back down against the soft mattress of your bed, discarding the cable somewhere on your floor, you let your eyes shut as you prepare for the very long day ahead. 

⋮

You spent the majority of the remaining afternoon cooped up in your room. Immersing yourself in your studies as you sought to block out any indication of Beomgyu and his friend’s presence. It proved very difficult as the pair would yell at one another, the game they played blasting through your small apartment. It seemed like disconnecting just the speaker in Beomgyu’s room served a minor threat to their antics. 

Briefly you considered telling them off once more, but you realized that it would probably only add to the building headache you were already experiencing. Instead you waited them out, Taehyun was bound to leave sooner or later, right? — Wrong. By 8 pm the game was still roaring, loud as ever and you were beginning to lose your last piece of sanity. 

Just as you were about to head out and get a look for yourself, there’s a knock to your door. You don’t know why you had expected it to be his best friend, but you’re relieved when Beomgyu pokes his head through the small opening. “We’re ordering pizza, you want something?” He asks and you hesitate for a moment before nodding, “sure, get me whatever.” Your brother grins before disappearing once more. — Oh well, at the very least the obnoxious sound of their game had died down. 

You think about thirty minutes had passed, thirty minutes of the apartment being basked in a calm silence. It was nice, your mind finally felt clear, but the persistent ache pounding in your head had yet to subside. With lazy feet, you drag yourself from the comforts of your bed, from the safety of your room, before venturing down the hallway, aiming for the kitchen. 

Your light footsteps seemed to echo off the wooden floor, every small noise making your head flare up in pain. Gripping your temple, you reach for a glass to fill, the pour of water sounded like thunder in your ears. As soon as the pizza arrived, you would head back to your room, eat, and then go straight to bed. With that gameplan in mind, you swallow the small pain killer, chugging half of your glass before setting it down on the counter. 

“What’s that?” 

The voice of Taehyun makes you flinch as you spin around on the spot, catching him by the entryway, a harmless smile on his face. But you knew better, you could see right through him, or so you told yourself. “Where’s Beomgyu?” You ask, clearly on edge as you study him with distrust. — Taehyun shrugs, pushing himself off the door frame as he walks over to the small kitchen island. “He went to get the food.” 

“You didn’t go with him?” It was odd for the two of them to ever be seen without the other, but your brother’s best friend doesn’t seem to mind as he leans against the smooth marble. “No”, he simply states, his gaze falling on your discarded glass. — “You took something”, he then adds, his eyes flitting up to yours. Still wary of the intent behind his question, you frown. “Yeah, painkillers.”  — “Why?” 

His persistent probing both confused and irritated you. “I don’t think that’s got anything to do with you.” Your voice grows snarky, you know he can tell by the way his lips twitch into a small smirk. “Why the sudden apprehension? I’m just making small talk.” He sounds almost defiant as he shifts against the countertop separating you. Sure, but Taehyun had never made small talk for the two years Beomgyu had known him. In all honesty he hadn’t even bothered to learn your name until his fourth visit here. 

“Cut the bullshit, there’s no point in acting coy now.” You snap, grabbing your glass as you empty the remaining water down the sink before setting it down amongst the other dirty plates, you can feel his gaze on you as you do. With your back turned on him, it’s impossible to read the expression on his face, but the smugness in his voice speaks for itself. “I’m not acting. I wanted to talk to you, noona.” Your jaw clenches at the formality, the way he drags the word out, each syllable sickly sweet on his tongue. — You often forgot the fact that Taehyun was a year younger than both you and your brother; a fact he would use to get his way with Beomgyu, but that wouldn’t work on you, not in the slightest. 

“Why, so you could pester me further?” You wonder, turning back to him with a small grimace. He shakes his head, the smirk on his lips growing with each passing second. “Not at all, noona.” — Biting the inside of his cheek, he hesitates, if only for a moment, “this is the only way I could get you alone. Letting him go without me I mean.” 

You were almost certain that the lines on your forehead would become permanent if the frown on your face didn’t ease up soon. “And why would you want to get me alone?” You huff, trying to hide the sheer curiosity behind your snappy voice. Taehyun leans even further across the small island, inching dangerously close to where you’re currently standing. “Isn’t it obvious?” He cocks an eyebrow, letting his head tip to the side as his eyes roam your bitter expression. 

“I think you’re pretty.” 

Alright, that’s it, if Beomgyu doesn’t walk through the door right now you would surely have his best friend killed. Taking a small step back, you shake your head as you try your best not to laugh at the corniness of the situation. “Your jokes have not gotten any funnier”, you mutter, moving to walk around the countertop and head back to your room. In your haste, you fail to notice the frown etching itself onto his otherwise unwavering face as he turns around to follow your figure. 

It’s not until his fingers wrap around your forearm that you freeze. “Taehyun I’m serious–” Just as you’re about to tell him that you’re not in the mood for any more of his sly comments does he interrupt you. “Do you think I’m joking?” He sounds perplexed, and his eyes fervently search yours. You scoff, yanking your arm from his grasp as you fold them across your chest. “Why do you think I stayed behind? I mean, come on.” 

You want to tell him that no matter what comes out of his mouth could make you change your mind, much less your opinion on him. You want to tell him that he’s an annoying piece of shit asshole that’s made your life a living hell for the past two years now, and that you don’t understand what in the world your brother sees in him. But you don’t get the chance to get as much as a word out before Taehyun slams his lips on yours. 

It was sudden, and it felt forced, the way his hands grabbed either side of your face as he locked you in place, backing you up against the nearest wall in the process. Your first thought was that he kissed like a teenage boy, over the top and rough, his tongue pushing inside your mouth with little to no control as your teeth clashed together. Your second thought was, what the fuck is happening and why the fuck is he kissing me? 

Your hands jerk up to his chest, your eyes wide as you let out a strangled noise of surprise. Seemingly ignorant of your stunned reaction, he continues his assault to your lips, messily pulling your bottom one between his teeth, effectively drawing a small yelp from you. 

Taehyun was strong, a lot stronger than you, and it took a whole of three attempts to push him off. You’re both left panting for air, but while Taehyun looks to be in a clouded state, your face has contorted into a scowl. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” You spit, wiping your lips with the back of your hand as you eye him with disdain. 

He swallows, opening his mouth to say something but before you can hear it, the front door is unlocked, announcing Beomgyu’s return. Your gaze flits between Taehyun’s almost alarmed expression and to the entryway. Immediately seizing your opportunity, you dart out of the kitchen and down the hallway to greet your brother.  

You get there just in time to see Beomgyu kicking his shoes off, balancing three cardboard boxes in his hands. “Here, I’ll help”, you offer as you grab the pizza from his arms. He mutters out a quiet “thanks” before frowning, “what are you doing out here? I thought you’d locked yourself in your room.” — Rolling your eyes you turn back to walk down the hall again, “went to get some water”, you simply state, not waiting for him to catch up, but he does anyway, trailing behind you as he speaks, “where’s Taehyun?” Internally cringing at the mention of his name you shrug, “beats me.” 

Though Taehyun was exactly where you had left him, except now he was leaning against the wall, his usual and indifferent expression plastered on his face. You head straight past him, slamming the boxes down on the kitchen island as you rummage through the cabinets for a couple of plates. “Hey man, everything okay when I was gone?” Your brother wonders to which he merely receives a small nod from his friend, his friend who had his gaze intently fixed on your figure as you moved about the kitchen. 

“It’s getting kind of late”, you say as you pull a bottle of coke from the fridge, discreetly throwing a glance toward the clock on the oven. You prayed and hoped that at least one of them would catch on. Taehyun looks as if he’s about to say something, his lips slightly parted but your brother beats him to it. “Yeah you’re right, I reckon we’ll be done eating by 9.30.” Beomgyu turns to his friend with a small grin, a grin you knew all too well.

“Why don’t you stay over, Tae?” 

Your mouth falls open at the proposal. The completely uncalled for and unthinkable proposal. “I’m sure Taehyun’s dad will want him home..” — “No it’s fine, he couldn’t care less where I am”, the same lips that had been kissing your own not even ten minutes ago curl into a smirk as Taehyun watches you with gleam in his eyes. “I’d be happy to stay.” 

Swallowing the insults waiting on your tongue, you turn grab some glasses, intent on hiding the scowl on your face. The air was unusually thick, sure your brother was used to you and his best friend getting on each other’s nerves but there was something different lingering by the two of you today. And Beomgyu was not late to pick up on it. — “Did something happen when I was gone?” He wonders as he begins pouring soda for your small party. 

Taehyun remains silent as he rests against the wall, his expression near impossible to read. “No, nothing, why would it?” You snap, going through the boxes to find your pizza. “Alright”, he mutters before pointing to the cardboard box that held your food. — Mumbling out a quiet “thanks” you take it before reaching for one of the glasses. “I’ll be eating in my room.”

As you move around the island and head for the hallway once more, you can feel Taehyun’s eyes on you one final time before he falls back into a relaxed conversation with Beomgyu. — Not until the door to your bedroom is safely shut behind you do you breathe out the tension that had built in your body. Whatever Taehyun was playing at… you wouldn’t allow yourself to get pulled into his schemes. 

⋮

You stay in your room, listening to the sounds of the TV slowly dying out as your brother and his friend got ready for bed. You had made sure to use the bathroom before them, already clad in your pajamas, you sat on your bed as you waited for the apartment to fall silent. — It might have been just past midnight, or maybe it was even nearing 1 am when your head finally hit the pillow. 

But even though the flat was now being basked in an almost eerie silence, you couldn’t quiet the thoughts plaguing your mind as you tossed and turned on the mattress. Images of Taehyun flashed before your eyes, but it wasn’t the usual Taehyun, the pesky one, the snarky and mean one. It was a different Taehyun, a Taehyun you did not recognize. 

You wanted to ask him why he kissed you, you wanted, no needed to hear him say that it was all a joke, a sick prank he was trying to pull. But when your mind so clearly envisions him, part of you thinks it wasn’t. “I think you’re pretty.” What a joke. Two years of pestering you and now he calls you pretty? No that settled it, it had all been a play, just another way for him to tease you. Just like he always did. 

The creak of a floorboard rips you from your overanalysis of the hours prior. Your eyes snap open and you still, holding your breath as you wait for anything to indicate the presence of someone else. “It could’ve been the wind”, you told yourself, or a flicker of your imagination, it was late after all. But the rattle of your door handle is unmistakable. 

You sit up, back pushed against the headboard as you watch the old wood glide open, revealing a shadow on the other side. It’s blurry, shielded by the darkness surrounding it but you can still make out Taehyun’s figure as he slinks inside your room, gently closing the door behind him. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Your voice cuts like knives through the silent air, and Taehyun can thank himself lucky that Beomgyu was a heavy sleeper. 

At first he doesn’t say anything, aimlessly shifting by the corner. It’s impossible to make out his expression in the dimness of the night. When he finally speaks his voice is low, not hushed, but low, lacking all sorts of menace it usually held. “I can’t sleep when he’s snoring.” — A petty excuse, there had to be more to it. 

Shifting on the bed, you pull the blanket higher over your chest, suddenly becoming very aware of the thin nightgown you were wearing. “But that’s not why you’re here.” You state, this time in a less aggravated tone. You can hear him let go of a small breath, taking a step forward which illuminates half of his face as moonlight seeps through the cracks of your curtains. “No”, he breathes. 

“I…” He hesitates, you catch his hands balling up into fists for a moment before relaxing again. Then he suddenly grows bold, bolder than you’d ever seen him as he takes yet another couple of steps forward. He reaches the end of your bed and you tense up, eyes narrowing down on his frame. “What do you want, Taehyun?” The doubt and suspicion in your voice is clear as day and you see his jaw clench at your accusing tone. 

He runs a hand through his hair, restlessly shrugging his whole body. “Fucking hell, come on noona, don’t make me say it.” You freeze at the small formality, it still felt unreal, hearing it pass his lips so easily. Just what was going on? “If this is another one of your stupid pranks then I–” 

“It’s not.” He sounds determined, almost stern. The mattress dips as he sits down, immediately scooting closer and you find yourself backing up as far as the headboard would allow you to. It’s easier to make out his features now, the way his brows drew together, how he bit onto the inside of his cheek as his eyes remained on the pillow next to you, unable to meet your gaze. 

“Why did you kiss me?” You had longed to ask the question, your mind practically reeling as it awaited his response. He blinks, once, twice, three times, then he swallows. “I thought if I…If I didn’t do it then…then I might never get the chance to again.” His brows furrow even further and he sounds as if he was at war with himself. “Why, do you mean you’ve been waiting to do this?” 

His once dazed gaze snaps over to you and he lets out a small scoff. “Of course I fucking have but you– your brother, he’s always around, I mean it’s impossible to get you alone and I..” He trails off, his fingers intertwining in the soft duvet as he pulls the silk into his hands, gripping it tightly. “My brother is your best friend.” You remind him, eyeing him with wary eyes as a confused frown etches its way to your face. 

“I know.” He runs his free hand through his hair, seemingly a nervous habit of his. “That’s what makes it so much worse.” — “Makes what worse?” You’re beyond puzzled, trying desperately to piece together the means of his otherwise scattered words. He huffs out a sharp breath, then he grabs your wrist with the same force he had used just hours earlier when he pinned you against the wall in the kitchen. In one swift motion he moves the palm of your hand to rest flat against his crotch, the prominent bulge makes your eyes widen as you try and pull your hand away. “This”, he practically seethes, his grip unwavering as he yanks you closer. 

“It’s torture, being in this house when I know that you’re just a room away.” His face is mere inches from yours and you find yourself at loss for words as you stare back at him. “I can’t even hang out with my best friend without my mind being clouded by his fucking sister.” He spits, letting your wrist go as he withdraws his hand, as if ashamed of his feelings. 

“Then why do you come here? If it’s such torture”, you wonder, rubbing your sore joint between your thumb and index finger. Taehyun looks almost as if he’s about to burst into laughter as he shakes his head. “Because it’s the only way I can see you, isn’t it?” — “Hell, even now, I’m forced to sneak into your room in the middle of the night to get you alone.” 

He inhales through his nose, his chest rising as he does, “don’t you understand, noona?” Your mouth parts in a thousand unspoken questions, none of which you ask. Slowly, you piece together just why he was here, why he had burst into your bedroom during the darkest hour of night, why he was so desperately sharing things you never thought you would ever hear him utter out loud 

The hesitation only lasts a second, then you find yourself leaning closer, so close that your lips pressed against his. A small peck, that’s all you give him before straightening your back once more. “I think I understand.” Your soft whisper is like a warm caress to his face and without waiting another second, he pulls you back, pressing his mouth against yours with the same urgency he had hours prior. 

You didn’t know what you had expected him to do, but pinning you down against the mattress of your bed was certainly far from it. His large hands cradle your face, his knees sinking into the bed either side of you as he holds you down. — It was wrong, it really was. He was your brother’s best friend, not to mention the fact that he had made your life a living hell these past two years. Were you really going to let one kiss change all of that? Taehyun’s hand caressing the bare skin of your thigh makes you think, yes. You could deal with the consequences tomorrow. 

He was all over you, kissing down your jaw and neck, his hands dipping beneath your nightgown to roam your chest, squeezing your tits before moving down your sides. It was almost as if he didn’t know where to start, too caught up in the fact that the unimaginable was actually happening. — “How long have you liked me?” You’re unable to hide the teasing edge to your voice, but he doesn’t seem to catch on. “F-Fuck since I first saw you”, he groans, yanking down your panties with one harsh tug as his fingers messily circle your clit. 

Letting out a moan of sheer surprise, you arch into his uncoordinated touch. “Then why did you act like such a bitch?” You question, your hands running through his dark hair before giving it a small tug, feeling him shudder against you. “H-ah, didn’t know what else to do..” He grunts, middle finger probing at your throbbing hole before pushing it in, drawing lewd sounds from you as you grip his soft locks tighter. 

“Why, do you get off on making me pissed or something?” Your comment was meant as a mere sarcastic remark, but Taehyun nods against the skin of your neck. “M’jack off to you so much”, he bluntly admits, adding a second finger to your dripping cunt as he does. You scoff, bewildered at just how deep his small crush was rooted, “that’s disgusting.” He only hums against you, thumb pressing down on your clit as he nibbles on your soft flesh. 

“That time in the shower”, he drawls, his lips moving up your throat, reaching your jaw before reconnecting on top of your own. “Can’t get it out of my head”, he groans into your mouth, his hard on pressing against your thigh in an attempt to alleviate some of the pressure he was feeling. “I thought you said you didn't like what you saw.” — He shakes his head, “m’lied”, he mumbles before pushing his tongue inside your mouth. 

“Please, let me have you, I promise I’ll be good from now on, noona.” 

The thought of denying him was sweet, a way to get back for all the shit he’d caused you. But the way your cunt clenched around his fingers made you waver in your decision. Your silence makes him slow down, he pulls back to study you intently, wet lips hovering above yours. — “Fine”, you huff, propping yourself up on your elbows, “do you have a condom?” When he immediately nods as he shuffles through his pockets you wonder just how long he had been thinking about this. 

He reaches for the hem of his pants but you swat his hand away, “give it here.” Gaze flitting from the small package between his fingers and your determined expression, Taehyun complies as he hands you the condom. With practiced habit, you slip a hand down his briefs, fingers wrapping around his leaking cock as you pull it from his sweats. You never thought you’d ever get to see a pretty dick, but it was the only way you could describe it. Flushed and pink, slick with precum as it throbbed in your palm, you clenched at the sight.

He lets out a small noise of pleasure as you give him a few lazy strokes, ripping the plastic packaging open with your teeth in the meantime. “You’ll be good, yeah?” Your question hardly requires an answer but Taehyun eagerly nods, emitting a small yes. The corner of your lip twitches, the sudden change in his demeanor was almost endearing. — He inhales sharply as you slide the condom on, making sure to drag out your movements as you do. 

Upon settling back onto the bed, you shoot his unmoving figure an expectant look. “Well what the fuck are you waiting on?” — Blinking, he immediately springs into action as he moves to hover above you, the tip of his cock pushing against your glistening folds as he lines himself up. “Fuck, you’re so pretty, noona”, he mumbles, gently pushing himself past your tight rim with a small groan. 

“Flattery won’t work on me”, you breathe, fingers reinstalling themselves in his hair as you tug his lips back onto yours. His moans vibrate on your tongue, the tip of his nose nudging your cheek as he presses himself even closer. “I mean it..” — “Shut up.” Your sharp tone makes his cock twitch inside of you and you have to bite back a sly remark. He pulls back, his heavy breath mixing with yours as he picks up a fast and rough pace. The snap of his hips makes the bed squeak beneath you, and you can only hope that Beomgyu was knocked out good in his own room. 

Your hands leave his hair, fingers trailing down his chest before dipping inside the fabric of his shirt. You knew that he was fit, often catching glimpses of his toned arms whenever he’d move about; yet you couldn’t help but marvel at how his broad back felt under the tips of your fingers. — “Noona”, his voice is gruff and his arms either side of you tremble, “m’close.” 

Your nails digging into the skin of his back makes him groan as his pace stutters. “I’m not”, you state, even though you felt your orgasm building in the pits of your stomach, the thought of letting him endure it for just a moment longer was satisfactory in itself. — Your hands move to his shoulders, urging him off as you flip your positions. Hesitantly he complies, leaning back against your soft pillow with a small frown, only for his face to contort into a breathless one as you slid down on his cock once more. 

“Being good from now on doesn’t solve things, does it?” You drawl, moving your hips tantalizingly slow as he writhed beneath you. The new position allowed for him to sink impossibly deeper inside of you, and the stretch of his thick shaft made your jaw slack. “You’ll have to make up for all the past shit you’ve caused me, got it?” He blinks before quickly nodding, large arms finding your waist as he helps you move quicker, rougher, on top of him. 

“I will”, he gasps, hips snapping up to meet yours impatiently. His eyes remained glued on the way your tits bounced with each movement, your perky nipples poking through the thin material of your gown. You felt him grow even harder, the throb of his cock matching that of your cunt, vigorously clenching down on him. He bit his lip, suppressing the sinful sounds on his tongue. “S-Shit noona.” The grip he maintained on your hips was bound to leave marks but you couldn’t find it in you to care. 

One of his hands leaves your waist as he props himself up in an attempt to get closer to you. But he barely makes it halfway before you push him back down. His head hits the mattress with a small thud and he grunts in displeasure as his hand on your hip tugs you closer, making your lips part in a small whine at the wave of pleasure that shot through you. “Fuck, are you tryna wake your brother or something?” He huffs, lips curl into a menacing smirk as his thumb presses against your clit, making you shudder on top of him. 

“Why, I bet you’d love that wouldn’t you?” You scoff, hands moving down his chest as your nails scrape across his skin. He doesn’t answer, his jaw clenching as he jerks up inside of you, the movement followed by a string of hushed profanities. Rolling your eyes, you lean down to press a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth, the action has him stilling completely and he groans as he spills inside the condom, the twitch of his cock making you wince as you urged your own orgasm on. 

Your fingers close around his chin, pulling his lips to yours in a sloppy kiss. “You’ll be good for your noona from now on, right?” He nods, immediately letting you push your tongue inside his hot mouth. “I will, I will”, he breathes, gasping as he feels your cunt clench around his already overstimulated cock; your high searing through you like never before. You never think you’d come this hard in your entire life, and to think that it was all because of your brother’s best friend. — Your thighs ached, arms burned, but your heart was beating uncontrollably fast as you finally pulled away from the kiss, leaning back to admire Taehyun’s fucked out expression. 

Fuck if only your brother knew what his best friend was up to at night. Seemingly reading your mind, Taehyun clears his throat, his now soft cock remaining inside of you as his hands caress your thigh. “You won’t tell Beomgyu about this?” — A small grin pulls at your lips and you shake your head. 

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell him that his best friend prefers his sister.”

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[cntloup]

house-husband!Nanami x fem!reader

fluffy fluff, teeny tiny allusion to sex

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

Kento hates work. "work is shit!" he said. he ran away from his life as a sorcerer to become a salaryman so he could make enough money to retire and live in peace, far away from people.

he only quit working as a salaryman and chose to be a sorcerer again because he deemed it less idiotic, and of course less depressing after experiencing the misery of the mundane day-to-day life. and he'd have less amount of regret about wasting his time and his work not having any significant impact on anyone.

but life as a sorcerer is far from easy. experiencing failure after failure, losing his friends and students, failing to save the common people, it had taken a heavy toll on him and nearly made him an alcoholic which caused a surge of self-hatred and disgust inside him.

he felt undeserving of your love so he tried to distance himself from you and it absolutely broke your heart to see him like that until you swooped in and took his hand to pull him out of the swamp created by the anguish and torment of the life as a sorcerer. so after witnessing how worn out and stressed he had become due to his work, you sat him down to discuss the situation.

he was hesitant at first when you suggested it, not wanting to burden you any further, but you mentioned how much you love your job and you're in for a promotion soon due to being one of the top employees.

you truly wanted to take the heavy burden off his shoulders and offer some solace instead which you did anyway only by existing, but this newly bloomed idea was a step further towards the life he always dreamed of. so eventually after some more coaxing and persuasion, he came around to the idea.

so he went to Yaga and blurted out, "I quit." and exited the room with no further explanation much to the principal's dismay and shouts of disagreement, but he simply didn't care as he left Jujutsu High for good this time with a faint smile on his face.

it really is a dream come true. he's finally free. and of course he picks up baking considering his obsession with bread and if you share this obsession with him or if you have a sweet tooth, you're in for a treat. he tries a new recipe every day. he has a keen eye for different ingredients and he's a natural at it with how meticulous he is.

he always wakes up before you, taking a moment to admire your beauty illuminated by the morning sunlight. your eyes slowly flutter open, "good morning, sweetheart." he greets which is returned by a sweet kiss on his lips.

and of course sometimes this ends up with your bodies tangled together beneath the sheets as you both pant heavily while giggling, not caring if you'll be late for work.

then eventually after some whining and some more kissing, you detangle your bodies and finally leave the bed.

he makes you breakfast and helps you gather your stuff and get ready for work.

he packs your lunch and always leaves a lovely cute note on it.

he goes over the shopping list you had written the day before while you're gone and makes sure you have everything you need, replaces your used up beauty products if you use any.

also makes sure that every appliance in the house is in perfect shape and if anything needs fixing, he's on it before you even notice it. after all, he wouldn't want his lovely, hardworking wife be bothered by such things.

you never come home empty-handed, always bringing back something for him, flowers or a tie, or simply something that reminded you of him. you always make sure to mention how grateful you are to have him in your life and how much you appreciate him.

"these for me?" he asks with a soft smile which is rare and only you get to witness, "for you, my love." you reply placing another kiss on his lips and handing him the flowers.

once you're at the door exhausted out of your mind, he's there to greet you with a sweet kiss, take off your coat and pick you up, carrying you to the bathroom and gently placing your weary body inside the tub which he has prepared for you.

he sits by the tub and feeds you the delicious meal he has made if you're too tired to do it yourself, and then comes the sweet treat he's made that day which always makes you moan at the first bite, "you're so good at this! fuck!" you say, making him chuckle.

he joins you in the tub after your whiny, yet cute voice calls out to him and you rest between his legs, your back pressed against his firm chest as he holds you in his strong arms and places gentle, languid kisses on your neck and shoulders.

the water temperature is perfect, not too hot, not too cold. and the aroma of your favorite oils and bathsalts takes over your senses as you take a deep breath out of finally being able to relax.

his big, slightly rough hands travel across your midsection, dancing on your skin, his loving touch eliciting soft moans out of your parted lips as your body melts further into his embrace.

he's truly meant to be a househusband😩😭

[ervotica]

the ones we love (will destroy us)

pairing; aegon ii targaryen x fem!targaryen!reader

tags; twincest (lol i'm sorry yk what the targaryens are like), aegon is so sad and babygirl and an idiot, hurt/comfort

note; heavily reworked repost of an old fic that i adored writing but needed a lot of editing! (i still lowkey hate it tho)

“Why is Aegon staring at you?” Aemond asks, a cruel smirk cracking his perpetually stoic facade; the's mocking in the way his gaze falls between you and Aegon, not entirely genuine as he takes amusement in his older brother’s miserable pining. Aegon watches your discussion with Aemond, sour faced from across the dining table. You’ve taken it upon yourself to sit as far away from him as you can manage; and where you’re usually attached at the hip - though he knows you’re arguing - he can’t deny the ache in his chest from your lack of acknowledgement. You're cold, unflinching as you stare right through him as though he's irrelevant, as though he's worth nothing to you.

“Because he’s a twat,” you answer bluntly. Aemond barks out a short laugh, coarse and harsh, that penetrates the quiet chatter of the room. Heads start to turn towards your avid conversing with your younger brother.

“What are you two bickering about now?”

“If he thinks it’s funny to to speak ill of me to everyone in the seven fucking kingdoms, I don't want anything to do with him.” Your lips purse as you cross your arms; Alicent eyes you, watching the tick of your jaw and flare of your nostrils - you’re upset, even if you’re excellent at masking it. 

Aemond watches on amusedly as your twin grows increasingly agitated the more you pointedly avoid his glances. Your mother frowns.

“Y/n, don’t you feel you’re perhaps being a little hard on Aegon?” 

“No.”

“He's your twin brother!” she sighs, ever frustrated by your stubbornness and your twin’s lack of consideration for anybody’s feelings, even yours at times.

“He’s still a twat.”

Aegon huffs and rolls his eyes. 

You continue to only speak about him indirectly. When you turn to Jace, he grins.

“Jace,” you start, clasping your hands where they lay on the dining table in front of you, “If someone said that you were ‘an ugly whore with no friends’ - as he so eloquently put it - would you be upset?”

“He said that?” Jace's jaw falls slack. “Wait, no. He honestly said that about you?”

The table clatters, cutlery bouncing, and Aegon stands abruptly, face screwed up in that way it does when he’s about to cry.

“It wasn’t like that!”

“How else could you possibly have meant it?” You’re incredulous, covering your misery with spiteful words. You want to make him hurt, make him feel your pain, but run to him for comfort all at once.

“Not-”

“Gods, just be quiet,” you mutter. Your face is hot as you turn away and you feel your eyes prickling with the threat of an onslaught of tears. Aegon cringes, drawn tight and tense as though you share one body, as though he can feel the pain he’s putting you through. Your upset has always caused him real physical distress, from when you were tiny children and still to this day. Your voice lowers to a whisper. “You’re so mean.”

“Y/n-“

You’ve never seen him quite this distressed; his cheeks flush pink and ruddy and his eyes start to water and gloss over, not dissimilar to your own expression - though you’re much better at concealing your emotions. His nostrils flare the way they only do when he cries: the way they did when he sobbed in your arms for hours after your mother rejected his pleas for affection once again, the way he cried when you were ten years old and your father interrupted him every time he tried to speak. Your bottom lip trembles. 

“Please,” he croaks. Your brows knit and crease your forehead as your chest tightens; you bite the inside of your cheek with such force that you draw blood. 

You stand and the solid wooden dining chair thumps against the floor. Aegon mirrors your movements, rushing towards the exit in your wake.

Once you’ve left the presence of your family, the tears come hard and fast and unrelenting. They’re hot against your cheeks, damp as your hands shake to scrub them away, leaving only a tender sting and blooming heat in your touch’s wake.

“Please talk to me.” The door creaks shut and then Aegon’s voice cuts through the sounds of your sniffles; you spin on your heel and he surges towards you in a bout of energy, clasping one of your hands in both of his larger ones. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that about you, it was mean. And you should be angry with me. I miss you and I love you and I'll never, ever speak a cruel word against you again.”

“Did you mean it?” you ask; he lurches to latch himself to your body, anxious as though you’ll push him away at any given moment. His arms are tight and unmoving around your waist.

“No.” He shakes his head vehemently, “I don't know why I said it. I just wanted the others to respect me but shouldn’t have said such awful things. The only person I need is you.”

“What?”

“I don’t care about any of that now. None of it matters to me if you’re not by my side.” 

His body shudders when your arms close and tighten around his body and a sob looses from his throat. Your voice is thick as you murmur in his ear. 

“You hurt my feelings.” 

His head falls to the dip of your shoulder and he clings to you with a strength that you’re not unfamiliar with; it cracks your heart all the same.

“Please forgive me, sweetling. Please.” The velvet of your dress darkens in splotches where his tears fall. “I love you.”

You know he really is remorseful; the guilt eats at him until he can’t feel anything else, not until you’ve reconciled. He's always been the same, ever since you were six and he hit you in the face; you didn’t speak to him for four days and he cried with such vigour that he made himself sick.

“I love you,” you can’t help but whisper back. “But if you ever do something like that again, I won’t be so forgiving.”

He laughs wetly, an odd sound that gets caught in his chest as he presses further into your embrace. 

“Can I have a kiss?”

You hook a finger under his chin and tilt his damp face towards your own. His lips fill with air and push out into a pout. 

His muscles go soft and relax the second your lips mesh with his; your fingers tangle in the short hairs at the nape of his neck. He angles his head and deepens the kiss, licks into your mouth and murmurs something imperceptible. When you pull yourself away, he chases you, desperate to be close. 

“Love you,” he mumbles, plying you with damp, open mouthed kisses across your cheeks and neck. They leave glistening half moons in his wake. “I‘m so sorry.”

“I know,” you say, tucking your head in the hollow of his throat. “I forgive you, alright?”

A laboured breath forces its way out of his lungs when your arm wraps around his neck for a hug.

“I didn't like you sitting next to Aemond,” he sighs. You shush him, rubbing thumbs over his eyebrows and down his cheeks in unbridled affection. “I want you to sit next to me.”

“I always sit next to you,” you murmur. “I was upset, remember?”

“I know,” he whines. “but you’re mine.”

“Don’t be a baby,” you giggle. “I spend all of my time with you.”

He squeezes you tight then and buries his face in your hair. You grunt with the force of his weight.

“I missed you.”

[rafeyswrd]

for your rafe cameron series 🧡!

i hc that rafe hates that his shy gf is a people pleaser so whenever ppl ask reader for/to do things, he tells them no and teaches reader to be selfish sometimes

sweet girl . part one.

part two.

. . . finally done with uni and travel work so!!! i have not written in too long, so hopefully i have done it some justice!! part 1 because i truly think it deserves more :(

warnings. manipulative rafe? oblivious reader. bad friends lowkey.

Rafe Cameron adored you to the ends of the earth, every breath you took called his name. He cannot think of any quality you owned in which he disliked (maybe, slightly, being a pogue). But God he could not stand how nice you were. You knew it was a bad habit, a habit that made you likeable for all the wrong reasons. 

Your heart was racing, and the base of your palms overloaded with sweat. No matter how many times you tried to relieve the stress, your mind would not stop reeling. It took days of convincing on your friends’ end, but it finally came to their luck when you’d hesitantly agreed.

Terrified. Terrified is the word you would use to describe how you felt. You were in shambles just thinking of the ocean, the deep seas scaring you in ways you would rather not imagine. But your friends needed you, after constructing a plan to get another batch of gold – all they needed was you.

“Are you ready?” JJ asked. Your shaking hands were gripping the edge of the boat before you nodded. 

You tried, you really did, only you felt the panic settle in when your legs were the only identifiable object below you that did not jitter you. Your eyes stung painfully, and you were sure they would swell soon enough. After every exhale you did, water filled your lungs and the fish that trickled by your trembling feet, did not help but cause a worrisome tremble of your body. 

It was a long while with overwhelming darkness consuming you, and time didn’t register then, not until Rafe’s angry voice was loading through your ears.

He was beyond furious. He wasn’t supposed to leave you alone today, but how could he say no to you when you were practically begging? (it did not take much — in fact.)

Rafe stood near his bed, watching your breathing steady and lashes gently flutter open. He paced near you with haste speed, before sitting down near your arms. “Do you know how stupid you are?”

“wh-what?” 

“You wanted to keep this relationship a secret,” his breath shook with every word he spat out, yet the touch on his hands were laced with gentleness. “So you better stay outta trouble. I can’t come ‘n get you around your shitty fucking friends.”

You sat up slowly, taking notice of the way your clothes lay folded on his desk chair, his own clothes hanging loosely around your body. You knew Rafe cared about you, he is your boyfriend, but it never crossed your mind that he’d find anger in your misery. 

You gulped, shrugging your shoulders yet your hands still circled by his, “I-I don’t get it, they’re my friends and they asked, it was a risk anyone would tak-”

“No the fuck it’s not, my God Y/N,” he dragged his hands over his face, before leaning close to you. “No friends would ask you to jump into the fuckin’ ocean knowin’ you’re scared shitless.”

His jaw clenched and you squint your eyes at the furrow of his brows, “Rafe…I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.” The frown residing on your face was evident, reaching out with one hand to clasp his rough hands with your own, and another tenderly caressing the creasing of his skin.

You didn’t understand his anger, but it was justified in your head, nonetheless. How could he ever be wrong in your eyes?

Not a second had passed and he was already mimicking the sadness plastered onto you, before using his other hand to caress your cheeks — a touch so soft sighs escaped the pair’s lips.

“Baby,” he cleared his throat, “Im- m’not mad at you. No one loves you like I do. I wouldn’t risk your life; your friends are selfish.”

He cradled your head onto his chest, wiping and pressing on your pouting mouth. “‘s not the first time either, you care too much ‘ts going to hurt you.” you shrug into his chest, heart aching at the sound of his own beating erratically breath your ears.

Rafe sighed, gulping and leaning onto the headboard, “gonna have to have me stuck by you all the time, i’ll be your backbone while you get to be all sweet ‘n shit.”

“you think i’m sweet?” a saccharine giggle escapes you at the roll of his eyes, and Rafe tightens his hold on you, knuckles white as you draw mindless patterns on his chest.

[mediumgayitalian]

prev

———

Hades’ favourite thing to rant about is how much his family forgets about and sidelines him. Nico has literally never once given the lecture his full attention, because why the fresh fuck would he subject himself to that, but he discovers, lying facedown on the floor of Cabin Three, that he must have internalised enough of it to remember some key points.

He is loathe to admit it, but Father is right. How come the Poseidon cabin floors are so nice and comfortable? The floor of Cabin Thirteen sucks. Whenever he has Floor Time in his own cabin, he gets bruised and cold. Injustice.

“Could you suffer quieter? I’m trying to study.”

“Shut up, Percy.”

“I’m not the one groaning in misery.”

“Shut up, Percy.”

Percy sighs heavily. There’s a loud thud as he snaps his textbook shut, and the creak of mattress springs as he shifts.

“You’re so fuckin’ irritating, you know that?”

“Coming from you,” Nico says indignantly, pushing up to glare at him. Percy makes a face back. “I am here, having a crisis, being vulnerable in front of you —”

“Oh my gods.”

“— like you suggested, to rebuild our tenuous relationship —”

“I wish the prophecy had killed me. Either one, I’m not picky.”

“— and you are studying! Nose in a book! You hate reading! You are doing this just to spite me!”

“I am doing this to pass my classes,” Percy snips. “Someone should send you to public school. You need to experience that particular level of hell.”

“Experienced hell already, thanks. Don’t need a redo.”

“Tartarus references don’t shut me up, Zombie Boy. I’ve been there too.”

“Ugh.”

Percy rolls his eyes, turning back to his textbook. Nico contemplates rolling back on the floor to Ruminate and Think (after the second failure in a row he has a much to think about, like what the fuck is he supposed to do, should he even fucking bother, is he doomed to life without love, etc, etc) but finds himself, instead, sitting upright. Watching his — friend. Watching his heavy frown, listening to the bit-back curses and the crinkle of pages when he holds the book too tightly.

He’s moody, today. Sullen. Ate his breakfast in silence and stomped off to the sword fighting arena, raising hurricane downpour around the open theatre to deter anyone from joining him. Coincidentally, Annabeth has not been seen all day.

“Are you okay?” Nico asks quietly.

Percy shrugs, glancing over then glancing quickly away. “Fine.”

“I mean. You flooded half the camp. So.”

“Just drop it, Nico. If you’re going to stay in here, be quiet.”

Nico bites back the automatic, scathing retort. Be quiet, Nicolò! Lalalalala! Don’t tell me what to do! Ugh! I hate having a little brother! Yeah, well, I hate you too!

A quick, cut-off choking sound cuts through his thoughts. He looks up, startled, to find Percy’s face red, to find him swiping angrily at his cheeks.

“Woah,” he murmurs, climbing hastily upright. He ignores the loud chanting in his brain telling him to leave, the discomfort swirling in his stomach at seeing someone cry, seeing another man cry, instead hovering awkwardly. Percy shrugs off the hand he touches hesitantly to his shoulder, and Nico holds it there, suspended, in between and outstretched.

“I’m fine. Leave me alone.”

Nico hesitates. Of all people, he…nobody wants Nico around, when they’re —whatever Percy is. Upset. The only thing he can probably do is make it worse.

But what can he do? Leave him? Get Annabeth? Jason? None of it seems right. Instead he stands, frozen, hand still half-outstretched, eyes wide.

“You can —” He clears his throat. “Um. Did something happen?”

Percy shrugs. His eyes remain glued resolutely to his textbook, although the pages are wet and warped.

“Cause you can tell me, you know. I won’t — tell anyone. Or anything.”

Gods, he is so far out of his depth. Could Kampe come back and attack? That would be easier to deal with. Nico could handle that.

“I don’t —” the pages of the textbook crinkle under Percy’s grip — “it’s fucking stupid, is what it is.”

Hovering is not the right call. He knows that much. He scans the cabin, evaluating his options — sitting back on the floor feels like a bad plan. He doesn’t think any kind of touch would be welcomed, nor is he entirely comfortable in giving it. He doesn’t want to crowd. He doesn’t want to seem too distant.

Slowly, carefully gauging Percy’s reaction, he sits on the bed, across from him. He leaves the textbook between them, letting Percy keep pretending to read it, and tucks his legs up under his knees. He fiddles absentmindedly with his ring, chewing his lip every time Percy sniffles.

“Why’s it stupid?”

Percy shrugs again. Nico resists the urge to shake him. How does anyone deal with this shit? What the hell is he even supposed to do? He’s not Jason. He’s not Annabeth. Hell, he’s not Will, who seems to read emotions intuitively, who seems to know exactly what to do when someone is scared, when someone is upset. Even when someone is angry. He tries to imagine Will, in his position. Sitting across from a crying Percy Jackson, saviour of the world. Yesterday, one of the younger kids had tripped and scraped half the skin off their arm on the basketball court. Will had been there with a soft smile and gentle, glowing hands, speaking quietly and cracking small jokes until the kid was laughing again. Nico tries to imagine that here, soft words and lighthearted jokes. It doesn’t seem right. Would he — touch Percy’s wrist, like he did with Clarisse? Drag the fight right out of him?

Is Percy even angry? Nico has seen him angry before. Murderous. Fuming.

He’s never seen him cry.

Percy’s voice is like palms scraping hard over sharp gravel stones. “I made Annabeth cry this morning.”

The way he says it makes it hard for Nico to actually understand his words. His tone of voice is — volatile, is the best way he can describe it. Loathing. Based on the curling self-hatred dripping from the sentence Nico would assume he’d tried to kill her — he says I made her cry like he doesn’t deserve to live for it. Like he’s hoping to be punished.

“That happens,” Nico says. He swallows. “When you — love people.”

He and Bianca made each other cry a lot. He just never — stopped, never gave her half a second. Sometimes she looked at him and he knew she wanted to hit him. She never did. But he knew and she knew he knew and sometimes it would well up in her eyes, and she would lock herself in the bathroom of their room and turn on the sink and cry and cry and cry. And it ached something nasty in the cavity of his chest.

Percy sneers at his hands, flexing his fingers. “People who love you don’t make you cry. That’s just — hurting. That’s people who hurt everyone around them.”

Nico frowns. “That’s not true.”

“It is,” he says venomously. “I’m supposed to be — I’m supposed to protect her. I’m supposed to keep her safe, keep her from people who cause her pain.”

“People like you?”

Percy nods.

Nico drags his teeth over his bottom lip. He thinks of bleeding fingers clinging to a tiny shaft of rock, thinks of dangerous green eyes, hard voices; thinks of a thick web clinging to a broken ankle and an abyss. Thinks of promises and oaths and choosing. Thinks of falling. Thinks of letting go.

“People who want to harm Annabeth do not jump into the Pit for her.”

The pages of Percy’s textbook have started to dry. The ink has bled, dark splotches in perfect circles. The fountain bubbles gently behind them, mattress creaking under shifting legs.

“You don’t understand what I —” He pauses, swallowing. “Did, down there.”

“D’you hurt her?”

“…I scared her.”

“Oh, well — Christ, Percy! Is that really what this — brooding is about?” He scoffs. “No shit you scared her!”

“…What?”

Percy looks at him, wide-eyed. Nico rolls his eyes.

“Aw, when you were fighting for your life in the place meant to tear your essence into atoms, did you do things that make you question your personhood? Your morals?”

“I —”

“Of course you did, dumbass! Of course you —” he takes a breath, trying to organize the jumble of thoughts in his brain — “of course the physical manifestation of darkness and distortion made you act differently than you would usually, Percy. Of course it — affected you. Gods. Of course you’re struggling.” He flicks Percy’s knee, looking at him with exaggerated exasperation. “Use your brain, why don’t you.”

A small smile quirks the corners of Percy’s mouth, although it fades as quickly as it comes. He wipes his face with his sleeve, breath shuddering.

“She didn’t scare me, though.”

“Not even once?”

“Not in the same way,” Percy admits. “I was scared, once, when I looked at her. In the death mist. But that wasn’t — her, you know? She could never scare me.”

“I mean,” Nico wrinkles his nose, trying to articulate, “I think that’s kind of abnormal?”

Percy tilts his head.

“I just mean that you have a very high threshold, Percy. For…what you’ll tolerate from people you care about.”

“Everyone has that.”

“Not in the same way you do.” He taps his knuckles, considering. “Tell me the truth — if Annabeth stabbed someone to death in front of you, in total cold blood, would you help her hide the body?”

“Yes,” he says immediately. He shrinks, a little. “Oh.”

Nico rushes to assure, placing a fleeting touch on his wrist. “It’s not necessarily a bad thing. I don’t think. It’s just —” He shrugs. “I’m used to scaring people, too. I don’t mean to. I don’t understand it. I don’t understand what I — do, it’s not intentional.”

Percy opens his mouth, but Nico stumbles on.

“But you’re not — a monster, Percy, gods. No one thinks you’re a monster. Especially not Annabeth.”

Percy wiggles his finger under his watch strap, turning it tightly around his wrist, cutting off the circulation. Nico watches but doesn’t say anything.

“You’re not, either.”

Nico blinks. “Huh?”

“A monster,” he explains. “You’re not, either.”

“Oh.” Nico shrugs. “Thanks, I guess.”

“No, I mean it, dude, I — look. Listen.” Percy sighs. “You got baggage. I put some of it on you. I’m sorry.”

Hands around his — throat — angry, angry eyes — harder — bruising — you promised! you promised! you promised!

“It’s fine.” A pause. “I did shit to you, too.”

“It’s not fine. And I know you did. We can still —”

He doesn’t finish his sentence. He sighs again, a long, defeated sound, and curls in on himself.

“One day you’ll forgive yourself,” Nico murmurs. “One day I’ll — me too, I guess. Me and you.”

Percy smiles tiredly. “And we’ll be okay?”

“No. You’ll still be annoying.”

He snorts. “Whatever. Drama queen.”

“Oh, I’m the drama queen, Mr. I Don’t Deserve To Be Loved.”

Percy snorts. He turns back to his textbook, fiddling with the dried page, and snorts again, trying to duck his head. Nico bites the corner of his mouth, hard. Percy glances up again, and Nico meets his eyes, and they —

Gods, they’re bad at this.

But suddenly Percy can’t choke back his laughter, and it’s wheezing and self-deprecating and still kind of teary and Nico is laughing, too, because thank the gods that shit is over. Percy’s red-cheeked and Nico is red-cheeked and neither of them are going to look at each other for a week, Nico’s sure, but for now he can roll his eyes at Percy’s melodrama and dodge his embarrassed shoving, and it’s fine.

“You should talk to Annabeth,” Nico suggests, when the giggling has toned down.

Percy picks at the torn-up skin around his nails. “Probably.”

“Are you going to?”

“Why were you lying on the floor?” Percy asks instead. It is the least subtle subject change of all time, but Nico takes it as the hint it is and drops the subject. It’s not his business, anyway. They’ll talk. He knows Annabeth better than to think she’ll let it fester, at least.

“Oh, you know. Crushing weight of being alive, mortifying ordeal of being known, et cetera, et cetera.”

“Oh my gods. I’m sorry I asked.”

“Well, serves you right then, you selfish bitch.”

Percy snorts. “What, I cry all over you and now it’s your turn to vent?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s exactly how it works. Transactional and eye-for-an-eye. Exactly as friendship should be.”

“You’re not nearly as funny as you think you are,” Percy says, but he can’t tamp down his smile any more than he can stop his eyes from rolling, so there. Nico is exactly as funny as he thinks he is, thank you very much. A regular comedian.

Percy snaps textbook closed and sets it on the bedside table. “So.”

“So.”

Nico squirms. Suddenly he’s not sure why the hell he came in here in the first place. Are the floors in Cabin Thirteen really that bad? Surely not. Surely Floor Time didn’t have to be in Percy’s cabin.

(He blames Father for this. He’s horribly nosy. No doubt he’s passed his nosiness onto Nico, irregardless of his lack of DNA, and made Nico the way that he is. He can’t think of a single other reason he ducked into the cabin after lunch, when Percy still hadn’t shown his face.)

“Dude, come on. You came in here and whined and huffed and made a nuisance of yourself for literally forty minutes, and now that I’m giving you the attention you begged for you don’t want it? Nuh-uh. Spill.”

“There’s nothing to spill about,” Nico protests, “gods, can’t a man just complain in peace —”

“Ha! Not sure you can call yourself a ‘man’ if you’re voice is still cracking, squirt.”

“I literally hate you. Not joking.”

“Uh-huh. Okay.” Percy raises an eyebrow. “Well, since my guts are already spilled out and flopping all over the floor —”

“Disgusting.”

“—so it’s your turn, now.” He pokes Nico’s bicep. Nico bats him away, rolling off the bed and hitting the floor, scooting over to put more space between them. Thankfully, Percy doesn’t follow, and he exhales, settling his back against the bed frame. The mattress springs creak again as he readjusts. “You can tell me, you know.” Nico can hear the smile in his voice at the cheeky repitition. “I won’t — tell anyone. Or anything. Ahem.”

“You’re so annoying.” Nico picks at a loose thread in the knees of his pants, looping it around his finger.

Will thinks ripped jeans are stupid. He hadn’t said so outright, when Nico came back from his Aphrodite-Cabin-enforced shopping trip, but Nico had noticed his pursed lips and deliberately schooled face. When he’d pressed about it, pestering him until he’d given up with the very southern passive aggressive if you like, Nico, I love, don’t you worry about it answer, he’d gotten a forty minute rant about jeans that “sold less jean for more fuckin’ money” that made him laugh until he cried.

He yanks the thread and pulls. The hole widens.

“Oh my gods, you’re actually whipped. Is that what this is?”

Nico flushes. “Shut up.”

“It is!” Percy grins widely, wicked delight in his eyes. “You are literally thinking about him right now! You might as well be kicking your feet! You —”

“Shut up, Percy, gods.”

“I’ve never seen you so red,” he says instead, because he is incapable of following instructions. His smile fades, face softening into something more pensive. “You must really like him.”

Nico shrugs. Is that what he feels for Will? Gorgeous. I’ve been crushing on you forever. He likes a lot of people. You always know just what I need. A lot of people aren’t Will.

“He’s not scared of me.” No matter how much he fiddles with it, the metal of his ring is always cold. Cold hands, he supposes. He never heats up much. “Or. intimated. Creeped out. He thinks I’m —”

He clamps his mouth shut. A bubble of something expands in his chest, growing out of his lungs, past his shoulders, pushing his throat closed. He swallows, hard, trying to shove it back, but — Nico! Hey! You think I couldn’t stand to see a friendly face? No way, Death Boy, no more Underworld-y magic for you! I can literally feel you fading! My hands are still shaking — here, feel.

“Gorgeous?” The smile on Percy’s face is teasing, but much softer than before. “I heard he — said.”

Maybe it’s the redness of Percy’s nose that hasn’t quite faded, or his still-puffy eyes, but finally the bubble pops, and Nico sighs, tipping his head back until it rests on the edge of the bed. He closes his eyes. After a beat of hesitation, callused fingers brush through his hair, ruffling it, lingering awkwardly before pulling away. He smiles.

“Yes.”

“…Really? He just up and told you, that he had a —”

Percy stumbles on the words. Nico peeks one eye open and grinning wryly. “Yeah. He’s a hell of a lot braver than I am. Or maybe he’s just shameless.”

“He was always really intense about being your friend.” Percy screws up his face, tilting his head as if envisioning it. “I didn’t understand what that meant, at first. I didn’t get…the reason? Behind it? If that makes sense.”

“You forgot about gay people,” Nico says drily. “I know.”

“This is true,” Percy admits. He grins, sheepish. “That’s an L on my part. Every time me and Annabeth went looking for you he’d somehow know about it and ask us a bajillion questions when we got back. I just thought he was really into necromancy, or something, but now it’s like…damn.”

Nico covers his eyes with his hand, fighting back an embarrassed smile. He thinks your eyes are a tie between moonstone and agate, in case you were wondering. There is literally not a single soul in this camp unaware about how much he likes you.

“You’d think it would be easier to get him to go out with me, then.”

“It hasn’t been?”

Nico throws his hands up. “No! He doesn’t — I got him flowers, Percy, and he ground them up to make a poultice. He thought the rock I got him was a bribe. I open every door for him and I always pull out a chair for him at counsellor meetings. I make sure to stand up first when we’re sitting together and offer him a hand. I don’t know what else I can — do, gods.” He makes a noise of frustration, glaring at the ceiling. “I’m being as obvious as I can be. What am I gonna have to do to get him to realise? Fuckin’ — tattoo his name on my forehead?”

Percy slides his hand into his pocket, pulling out his pen. He twists it around his fingers, fiddling with the cap, picking at the plastic casing. He uses the end of it to trace mindless swirls on his thigh, which Nico can’t help but feel is dangerous. One wrong move and he better hope Nico can drag him to the fountain fast enough to stabilize him. But his eyes are far away, teeth gnawing on the inside of his cheek.

“There is a chance,” he says slowly, “that he…knows.”

Nico frowns, turning to face him properly. He looks resolutely at his lap. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I — well.” He does finally uncap his blade, staring at the soft glow of the bronze, rubbing his thumbnail over the leather handle. “I. Knew,” he says haltingly. “That Annabeth liked me. I —”

Nico watches him carefully. This is…news, to him. He didn’t keep up much on camp drama about the two of them — for obvious reasons — but he hardly had to. Even during his brief, one or two day stops at Camp, Percy and Annabeth gossip was impossible to avoid. People talked about them constantly, about how much they obviously cared for each other, how oblivious, especially, Percy was. It used to give him a twisted sort of hope.

“You…knew? And you didn’t do anything?”

Percy winces. “She got frustrated with hiding it. She kissed me, once, before I blew up St. Helens. And I just —” He shrugs. “I couldn’t believe that someone like her would want anything to do with someone like me.”

It’s impossible to miss his meaning, to miss the self-directed bitterness at the end of his words. Nico recognises it because he practically invented it. Someone like me. Someone disgusting, ugly, unworthy. Someone bitter and twisted and wrong. Someone so undeserving.

“I think Will is like me,” Percy continues softly. “That — insecurity.” He says the word quickly, like he might be able to hide it in the rest of the sentence. “I think he thinks very highly of you. And I think it’s hard for him to believe that you want to — to lower yourself, to be with him.”

“That’s inane,” Nico argues. “He’s — bright and kind and smart and — he’s fucking everything, what is he —!”

“He grew up a healer in a camp full of warriors. Full of talented people,” Percy murmurs. “When you’re surrounded by people who know what they’re doing, it’s easy to feel like a loser.”

Nico opens his mouth, closing it again. On principle he doesn’t agree with Percy. It doesn’t make sense. Every single person at this camp has relied on Will in more than one way for as long as he’s been here — as long as he’s been healing them. How could he not know what his purpose is? How could he not realise his talents?

Ace bandage, sound and unwound. Hard blue eyes, self-directed sneer. I’m just a healer.

“He’s not a loser,” Nico says eventually. “I don’t think he’s a — loser.”

Nico thinks he’s quite a bit more than that, actually. In fact if all words in the any language he knows, ‘loser’ is probably the least apt to describe him.

“How do I make him realise? Make him —”

Percy shrugs. “Took Annabeth several years and I still think I’m — well. I still struggle. You’ll have to be patient.” He glances over, and that mischevious smile is back on his face, the one that promises trouble and guarantees Nico an excuse to kick him. “Or, you know, you could just tell him that you think he’s bright, and kind, and smart, and beautiful, and —”

Nico does indeed kick him. He falls back against his pillow, laughing, curled against his side.

“I did not — I did not say beautiful,” Nico says hotly, “that was not on the list, you total jackass —”

Percy only laughs harder, no matter how many times Nico kicks him.

———

next

[erenjaegerwifee]

Brat Tamer

Survive the Night: Day 4

Paring: Neteyam x Fem!Omatikaya!Reader

Warnings: MINOR DNI 18+ hate fucking, mentions of alcohol, jealousy, degradation, rough sex, explicit language, fingering, p in v, overstimulation, bondage, slightly jealous Neteyam, begging, slapping, spitting, blowjob, marking, mentions of blood, facial, this is consensual sex! It’s just very rough

Word Count: 5.4k

Disclaimer: all my characters are aged-up! If for whatever reason this makes you uncomfortable, please do not read my work. Any negative feedback will be blocked from my page. thank you!

Event Masterlist

“Oh, please Neteyam spear me” you roll your eyes at your future mate. For some reason Eywa thought it would be a good idea to make Tsahik conjure up a vision of you and Neteyam being a mated couple a ruling the clan together, with all your non-existent babies, apparently the number is yet to be determined.

“Can you just back off and let me hunt princess? I’m more than capable of feeding a psycho shrew such as yourself” he said condescendingly. “You are so fucking full of yourself; we could have been eating an hour ago if you didn't scare away my prey with your fucking wheezing”  

“You whacked me in the stomach with your bow what the fuck were you expecting me to do” his comment makes you laugh at the memory, “it’s not my fault you're a bitch, take that shit up with your daddy” you smile at him wickedly when Lo’ak spoke up, “damn just fuck already, end your misery” he said to both of us. 

“Shut up Lo’ak go home, you aren’t even helping” Neteyam said to his brother while you were making fake gagging sounds at his comment, “yuck- I don’t want this man anywhere near me, let alone fucking me” you gag again making Lo’ak laugh. “You know, you talk a big game for someone who has never seen a dick” Neteyam looks directly at you. 

You turn around looking for whoever he’s talking to with such audacity, settling with the fact he must be talking to himself, “are you calling me a virgin? Cause I can assure you I’ve had hotter sex than you that’s for sure” you cross your arms over your chest looking at him smugly.  

“How do you know I don’t have hot sex princess?” Neteyam copies your action crossing his own arms over his chest. “Uhm well let’s see, firstly I don’t think it's possible to have good sex when you have a stick that big up your ass and also, you’ve never fucked me” you flip your hair over your shoulder sassily.  

“Whatever you pompous bitch” Neteyam walks off bow in hand with every intention of catching your dinner. “You are such a fucking goblin” you tail behind him leaving Lo’ak laughing on the floor.  

Lo’ak isn’t the only person who catches kicks off your misery. The entire Sully family laugh at you from time to time. They have a front seat row to the drama that is you and Neteyam. When your mate ship was announced both your families joint together to build you a hut, the first hut you will be living in together. Since it is a known fact you are always at each other’s throats, they built it right next to the Sully family hut. But it was only in case they had to break up one of your numerous fights. The sully family tends to hear everything that goes on in your hut, every small argument you have, every altercation that turns into a screaming match between you too. 

You and Neteyam sleeping on same sleeping mat but he made sure it was big enough so you won’t have to touch each other, even going as far as to build a pillow wall. Even while your families both know you don’t get along, the rest of the clan, besides close friends, do not know. They are well under the impression you and Neteyam are very much in love, we couldn’t have the clan losing trust in the leadership, it would just be another problem. It’s one of the only things you both agree on.  

Clan members have been congratulating you both since the announcement, they bring loads of gifts like things for your hut, some of the older women have taught you to make things for our future husband, teaching you how to repair his arm guards and cummerbund, making loincloths, which sometimes you do occasionally have to do. They even go as far to bring you both food. 

Neteyam is set to take up the mantle of Olo’eyktan in 3 months which is when you will also ascend to Tsahik alongside him. You are meant to be mated before that happens which is why you’ve already moved in together; you are meant to get used to living with each other to avoid slip ups.  

For something that was sprung on both families, they have done extensive planning to make sure you become accustom with each other, almost as if they expected it. Never the less, you both have now settled into a routine of sorts. You both wake up around the same time and you make breakfast or one tired morning, go to the sully hut and you eat there. Then You get ready for you clan duties all done while bickering with each other about small things like usually. After that you both go out into the clan playing happy couple. 

At dinner time you usually are the one to cook whatever he brings home from his hunt during the day. If neteyam wasn’t so infuriating you would have thought about how domestic it was, how much you would have loved a life like this. A loving husband, a few kids. 

“You what, if you would just sit still for a few minutes, I could catch us some fucking dinner” neteyam says in an irritated tone. “Don’t curse on my dinner I have to eat it” You counter, “No sweetheart the real curse is eating your cooking” you gasp dramatically at him comment, your hands come over your heart, “you love my cooking you blue ape, don’t fucking lie.” you point at him. 

“Can you just sit here and shut the fuck up so we can go home, I’m about to leave your annoying ass out here and spend the night at my parents” he rolls his eyes at you, ignoring your cooking comment because he knows you’re right. “UGHH FINE” you dramatically drop down on the rock that was conveniently situated behind you.  

“Ugh fine” he mocks you sassily his voice is pitched and his hands sway in the air as he turns around making you roll your eyes. You wouldn’t tell him this, but neteyam is a good hunter, it shouldn’t take him that long to catch dinner. In the mean time you sit quietly on the rock making flower crowns from the nearby flower tree.  

When he comes back you both go home and you make dinner, “It’s kind of early can’t we just eat after the party?” you ask him after you are done cooking. “No, the food will get cold” you sigh not feeling to flight with him about it and you bicker about what you should wear for Lo’ak’s birthday party.  

At the party you and Neteyam split up to mingle with your respective friends and not have to deal with each other all night long, you dance and laugh while slipping from your cup of very strong alcohol. When you start to feel high you get a tap on your shoulder making you turn around.  

“Hey y/n where is your husband?” you make eye contact with one of Neteyam’s hunting buddies, At’ok. “Hey um I don’t know he was around here somewhere” you shrug thinking he was just looking for Neteyam. Your future mate has grown to dislike the man quite a bit with the way he constantly stares at you, under no condition is he admitting to liking you but at the end of the day, you will be his wife and its naturally disrespectful for him to try getting with another man’s girl. 

“Oh, good cool- you wanna dance?” you know he likes you; you also know Neteyam doesn't like him, it’s a win-win situation. What is neteyam gonna do? Divorce you? You aren’t mated yet and he’ll have to take that up with Eywa first which is essentially impossible. “Sure” you smile brightly at him. 

You grab ahold of his hand and move towards the other dancing na’vi, you sway your hips against him and his arms wraps around you swaying in sync. He turns you around and you throw your hands over his shoulders and that’s when you feel the burning stare. You know it all too well, you have experienced this too much times to not know. You pay no mind to him though as you listen to at’ok whisper how beautiful you look in your ear making you giggle and smile at him.  

If Neteyam treated you half as good as this, it wouldn’t be so difficult to live with him, you could make a lot of things in his life easier if he’d just be a little nicer to you, but apparently you are so hard to get along with, the woman who makes sure he has clean clothes and his warrior gear is intact, who cooks for him and cleans his living space. You are so fucking hard to live with.  

His hand moved down while he leaned back a bit closer to your lips and tilted his head as if he was gonna come in closer, his hand slid down your back and rested lowly on your hips. You wanted to kiss him honestly, but you got interrupted by a harsh tug on you bicep, pulling you away from At’ok’s warmth.  

“You don’t have any fucking shame, do you? The next time I see your hands on my wife- the next time you even look in her direction I'll fucking kill you” Neteyam’s voice was deadly calm, it made shivers run down your spine at how scary he sounded, but you would show no weakness. As soon as he was dragging you in the direction of your shared hut you started throwing a hissy fit, “What the fuck Neteyam we were dancing-”  

“Dancing?! You were dancing with someone who isn’t your fucking husband like that? Of please y/n” you rip your arm from his grasp, “what the fuck is your problem-” he didn’t wait for you to finish he just interrupted you again. “You, you are my fucking problem, I thought we agreed, the best interest for the clan is you stay in your fucking lane as my wife and I stay in mine as your husband”  

“You are not my husband yet and-”  

“Three weeks, just three more weeks you couldn’t keep your legs closed three more weeks? Then after that I knock you up and you could fuck whoever you want. We only need one” His voice sounds stranded, Neteyam has been pissed off before but even you have never managed to make him this mad.  

“Jeez everything is not about you and what you want! Maybe I miss having sex! Maybe I’m horny and I wanna have some relief! Did you ever even considered the possibility that I don’t want to have to wait anymore? It's been months since the last time I felt a man and it’s all your fault!” you shout at him.  

“You are such a slut you couldn’t wait a couple fucking weeks? You don’t think I feel the same way? Have some fucking self-control! Why should you get to fuck anything that walks while I have to stay loyal and be content with nothing?!” he shouted back to you in the same tone, truthfully it made you kind of turned on the way he spoke to you but your irritation outweighs that right now. 

“I have been loyal you asshole, I haven’t let anyone near me in months! Besides I've been so fucking tired making you sure have properly cooked food and that YOUR hut is cleaned and that YOU LOOK PRESENTABLE WHEN YOU GO OUT IN PUBLIC! And this- THIS is what I get for it? I’m a slut?” your tail thrashes around as you scream at him, your hands push his body backwards and you yank on the braid that falls over his ear in front his face. 

What you don’t expect after your outburst is Neteyam’s smug laughter filling your ears. You look up at his face seeing his head thrown back and his shoulders shaking. He suddenly bends his body forwards resting his hands on his knees holding himself up as he laughs. 

“What’s so fucking funny?” you tail twitches angrily your arms crossed over your chest pushing up your tits slightly. His laughter dies down and his head raises to look at you, a smug smirk sits on his face. 

“Nothing, it’s just- you are so fucking difficult to please. Eywa could have given me anyone, ANYONE in this ENTIRE clan. But she chooses you? The cock hungry slut that can’t even be bothered to say thank you after all the effort I put in to make this mate ship work. All you want is to fuck! You know if you wanted cock so bad, you should have just fucking asked for it” his voices drop a couple octaves when says his last sentence.  

You were about to protest but get cut off by him grabbing your bicep harshly once more, pulling you towards your hut, “Ah ah- shut the fuck up I don’t need to hear more” he continues to cut you off until you are at your door step where he opens up the flap widely and shoves you in, you stumble but catch yourself before you fall.  

“Neteyam what the hell-” his large hand met the back of your neck easily, putting pressure on your kuru while pulling you straight up to stabilize you. “You know, you look real pretty tonight, this the one I made you” he toyed with the flowers hanging from the rope of your top. Frankly, you feel a bit nervous of what he might do right now, opting to not sass him, he’s never been this rough with you, or at all so you simply nod your head.  

“You have been such a pain in my ass since I could remember and now, you’re gonna be my wife. Looks like I’ll have to teach you some manners,” Neteyam lets go of your neck and closing the flap behind him and taking off his cummerbund and arm guards. “Take it off.” His voice is deep, makes you shiver.  

You stand still not sure if you should listen to him or not, you really did it today huh? “Don’t make me come over there” he says glancing at you as he puts away his stuff neatly. He stretches his muscular arms and broad shoulder while he watches you still not move at all.  

“Y/n why don’t you ever just listen, I'm giving you what you want and you listen won’t listen to me!” His voice sounds stranded once more as he tries to get through to you. He sighs before walking up to you a ripping the top off your body. It was one of your prettier tops so it made you upset when he ruined it, you watch the pretty petals fall to the floor exposing you. 

You gasp and brought your hands up to cover your chest, you tail twitches as you look towards him angrily, “Neteyam what the hell I actually liked that top, probably the only thing you ever did that I-” his large palm slaps over your mouth, “shut up” his voice is so calm as if he’s used to doing things this. 

Honestly, this approach he is taking with you is turning you on so much, you didn’t think he had it in him. You bite his hand and he rips it away from your mouth, “what do you even think you are about to give me here? Have you ever even made a woman cum? Do you know what to you? I was under the impression you liked men considering the stick up your ass in snug in there.”  

“You are about to regret your words you slutty bitch” he mumbles to you when he rips your loincloths off your body forcefully making you stumble forward. Eywa don’t let this man see how mess in between your legs look it’ll be over for you. “Neteya-”  

“No.” he pushes your body down on the sleeping mat that is adorn with comfortable blankets and pillows you both made. “You need to learn to shut the fuck up and listen sometimes, I’m sick of your shit. You want to get dicked down fine” he doesn’t give you a minute to protest when he's immediately on top of you tying your hands to the bedhead, he made to go behind your sleeping mat using soft pieces of cloth, it was such a pretty pattern to you know he spent a lot of him on yet, you never imagined he’d use it like this.  

“Neteyam-” he cuts you off again, “there you go saying my name again, don’t worry you won't remember anything else when I’m done with you.” he smiles down at you obnoxiously. He doesn’t even wait a second before he grabs your thighs spreading them wide and pinning them to your chest. “Oh Eywa, sweetheart, look how wet.” he smiles wickedly at you, “Did I do this or that little hunter boy you were dancing with huh?” his smile never falters as he takes in your blushing expression.  

“Well, it doesn’t really matter does it? I get to play with it.” You wank on the restraints keeping you still but it only tightens the knot, you can practically feel the marks it will leave on your wrist. When he removes one hand from your thighs you instinctively shut them closed trapping his hands inside, you should have known that wouldn’t work, Neteyam physically much stronger than you are. 

His hands push your thighs apart harshly and he slaps his heavy hand on your thigh cruelly making you wail out at the sting, “Don’t fucking close it” his voice was steady even with your whimpering. You don’t make the mistake of closing them again when he removes his hand once more, dragging one of his long fingers slowly up your folds to your clit. The feeling makes you mellow softly, you lips parted and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were even holding. 

Neteyam brought his finger up to his mouth watching it drop slick on the bedding and put it in his mouth humming at the taste, “I have to say sweetheart I wasn’t expecting you to taste so sweet, I thought you’d be sourer you know... cause you’re a sour bitch, but my, y/n you taste like utumauti (banana fruit).” Your eyes roll at his comment but you can’t find yourself uttering words when he continues his action. 

Without warning he inserts a finger into you, his face is so close to your intimate area you can feel his breath on your clit as he watches your cunt suck in his finger when he’s pulling it back out. He repeats the cycle going faster before adding another finger, your eyes are shut now as he fingers you at a moderate pace, but it still feels amazing. “I can feel you sucking me in, gonna cum on my fingers evenge (girl)?” he speaks out glancing at your flash face. Your lip is trapped between your teeth as you watch his arm flex when he thrust in and out of you. When he curls his finger hitting your sweet spot you mewl loudly and throw your head back, resting it on his fluffy pillow.  

His scent invades your nose as you start to lose your senses coming on his fingers. You try to muffle your noises not wanting to give him any kind of complex. “Awe, look at you trying to be quiet. You don’t want me to hear those noises huh? I guess I’ll have to coax them out.” he fakes disappointment pouting his bottom lip out for you as he curls his fingers again pressing down on your sweet spot and he does this over and over and over again. 

You can no longer hold in your moans at his movements and he speeds up making you tense your legs up. You release on his hand with a loud whimper you try to shut your legs to make him stop his movements, Neteyam doesn’t falter he open pries your legs back open and delivers another harsh slap to your other thigh, “You just don’t listen huh” he delivers another, then another one slapping both your inner thighs.  

“Neteyam please stopp” water wields up in your eyes as you take his rough, heavy slaps to your skin. “You know, you came without permission, what should we do about it slut?” he slaps you again completely ignoring you pleads. Your thighs are turning red from the abuse but he doesn’t care. His fingers speed up their pace inside you and you feel like you are seeing stars, “Neteyam-” you whimper as you try to squirm away from his hands. 

“Yea sweetheart? I thought you said I couldn’t make you come?” his tone is condescending when he speaks to you. The overstimulation makes you roll your eyes back, your face flushes deep purple and you bite your lip. “I take it back-” you whimper to him. “Aw, I’m afraid it’s a bit too late for that now you wanted this didn’t you? You wanted a man to touch you like this. You got it.”  

You glimpse at his figure in front of you. He’s having so much fun teasing and touching you, you can see the way he enjoys watching you come undone for him, “All this just for me huh? Just imagine you wanted At’ok to be the one touching you, instead of me? Your husband. You think he could make you feel half as good as this? The answer is no.” Neteyam uses his other hand to push his body up and over yours, his hand moves to graze your nipples that harden a while ago being left untouched. 

“Such a little slut. Fuck” neteyam pinches your nipples roughly, feeling your cunt pulse around his fingers he knows you want to cum again but he’s not giving in so easily this time. “You’re gonna cum” he says, he’s not even questioning you, like he’s done this a million times, he just knows. You don’t deny it nodding your head vigorously, “wanna cum yea” you whimper 

“Beg.” his voice is stern, he slows his movements a bit, “No fuck you” you bite back. “Oh, then I guess you won’t be cumming tonight” Neteyam voice sounds innocent but his face tells you an entirely different story, he wants you to give him, he’s just waiting for you to roll over and beg for him. His fingers slowly retract from your pussy and the emptiness drives you crazy, “wait!” you shout accidently pulling on the restraints.  

“Please?” you mumble so softly he almost didn’t catch it, “What was that sweetheart?” his head leans in tilting his ear towards your mouth, his fingers still inside you half way in, half way out. “Please neteyam..”  

He chuckles at you, “feeling shy? Speak up please what?” he eggs on, “Please let me cum” he tries to hold in the satisfied smile making its way to his face, “one more time let me hear it, please what?” he urges you to speak louder, “PLEASE NETEYAM! LET ME CUM!” your eyes are glassy when you scream. You want it so bad you can barely think.  

“There it is, that wasn’t so fucking hard was it, all you had to do was ask nicely whore” his smile is wicked when he calls you that, he watches your face bubble up in anger before he continues his ferocious pace. You feel like you melt down into a puddle when you cum on his fingers with a loud scream of his name. You didn’t mean for it to happen but it certainly did, you are sure if someone was around your hut they would have heard you screaming out for you mate. 

Neteyam laughs wickedly when he pulls away from your body. The hand that was previously inside you comes up to your face and he smears your wetness onto your skin as he cups for face. “You gonna fucking listen now if I untie you?” 

“I always listen Net-” he cuts you off with a harsh slap using the same hand, right across your face whipping your head to the side. His grip comes back, “I didn’t ask for back talk you dirty whore, I asked if you were gonna listen” you mumble something under your breath that he couldn’t quite catch making him smack you across the face again. For what felt like the thousandth time, he made your eyes tear up. You decided against answering and just nodded your head, big mistake. His heavy hand comes down once more on your face and before he can utter any words you scream out to make him stop, “yes- fuck yes, I’ll listen”  

Neteyam smiles victoriously at you, and reaches his free hand up to rip the restraints off you. You could try to fight him, but you have no energy to even move properly. You were under the impression he got his point across, and that he was done, but you were in for a rude awakening. He moves off of you grabbing the hair on the top of your head roughly and pulling you onto your stomach, you whimper at the pain.  

When he lets you go his roughly pulls you up on all fours, and you raise your head to see his positioned you in front of the mirror he got for your hut. “Oh no” the thought ran through your head, you take in your form; half of your face is red from his slaps, you can see your red thighs. Your bottom lip swollen from biting down on it.  

“Oh, but yes, were not done” you must have said it out loud and not even realized, when your eyes shift to his form looming over you, his head is right next to yours, his loincloth has been discarded and he was stroking himself behind you. You couldn’t see his cock from this angle so you drop your head down to the mat, your chin touched the floor and you looked in through the mirror directly as his dick, you watch him stroke his incredibly long and thick length, your eyes widen as you wonder how the fuck that was about to fit inside you, you have never taken anything so big before, how does he even hide that thing? 

Neteyam notes your expression easily and raises up highly to give you a better view. When his tip presses at your overstimulated clit you raise your head up and shook a ‘no’ quickly pulling your body away from him. “Don’t run, you were cursing breeze about an hour ago about how horny you were, and how much you wanted another man to touch you” he pulls you back roughly, dragging your bent over form closer to him and you felt his tip pushing against you once more. 

“I’m going to have to teach you who this pussy belongs too” he pushes in this time without warning and you feel his length stretch you out, your mouth makes an o shape but not sound comes out as you take him in. You didn’t even know it was possible that to fit in you, but then again you never thought you would be fucking this man so things change. 

“Eywa you are such a slutty doll, watch yourself fall apart on my cock, and I just stuck it in.” he doesn’t give you any time to adjust, he just starts pounding into you. You cream on his cock while he’s thrusting, he fucks you so good, it’s like Eywa made his cock especially for your cunt. When you are almost coming for the third time, he pulls out of you leaving you untouched. 

Your eyes shoot up to look at him threw the mirror and you find him already staring at you, “Who’s making you cum sweetheart?” he asks you in a sickeningly sweet voice, “No one, I’m not coming you pulled out. What, can’t keep up with me?” you feel upset at his action making you manifest an attitude. His hand comes down smacking your ass, your tail whips when your feel the fat ripple, “What?” when you done answer he smacks the other cheek of your ass making you whimper, “nothing...” you said softly, but loud enough for him to hear.  

“Sweetheart you always make things hard for yourself” smack. “Why can’t you just be a good little wife” smack. “You didn’t answer my question yet” smack. “Who’s making you come slut?” smack. Smack. Smack.  

Neteyam thoroughly enjoys spanking you like you were a naughty child. He didn’t stop until he heard you small words, “You, you’re making me come please?” you push your ass back into his dick feeling the tip slip down and slap your slit making you jump. He catches you off guard when he pushes back in fucking you with the same vigor ask before, making you drop your face down to the mat  

“Now tell me who’s making you come?” his right hand comes around to your neck and pulls you up choking you. Your lips part as you exhale with every thrust he delivers, “Y-you” you stutter out, “Say my name whore come on” his face comes down next to yours and his hand moves from your neck to your face, squishing your cheeks between his fingers, his head comes down to the junction of your neck and face and sucks harshly on the skin. 

Neteyam leave dark purple marks all over your neck then he feels your cunt clenching down on his cock, “Gonna cum?” he whispers to you. You can barely form coherent words but you do manage to hm out a “mhmmmm.” his hand that is holding your face smacks it lightly a couple times, “Is that how you ask?” he questions, his pace never faltering, “Pul-lease Net-teyam!” your teeth are clenched as you whimper and moan at the amazing feeling of his cock dragging along your walls.  

“Such a quick learner come on slut, come on my cock” his words send you over the edge coming on command, your orgasm is intensified by the feeling of his teeth digging into your neck, he’s biting you, marking you, Neteyam creates a pretty wound when he draws blood out of you making you scream loudly. 

You pant your mouth feels dry and your throat hurts, you want to fall down but his grip is strong, he doesn’t let that happen. Neteyam pulls out of you quickly and moves his hand from your face to the top of your head pulling you to sit on your knees in front of him. He strokes his cock before tapping it on your lips a couple times, “come on, open up taste your juices slut.” His cock presses against you lips when he lets it go and slaps you across the face again, “Are you slow bitch, open up” he smacks you around whipping your head from side to side before you answer him, “My mouth is dry-” he can hear it in your voice, he knows it’s true.  

“Open.” he says sternly, his hands now occupied holding your head, “Stick your tongue out.” he continues in the same tone, when you do it, he lets a glob of spit fall from his mouth into yours and you instinctively swallow it, he shoves his cock into your mouth right after, “Now suck” he demanded thrusting his cock in and out of your mouth. 

He observes the way your cheeks puff out when he fills you up and the bulge in your throat when he thrust harshly into your mouth. The view is perfect for once you can’t complain or bitch about anything you do, your mouth is stuffs, you are quiet. Neteyam enjoys the silence aside from the occasionally gagging, your tears fall down your cheeks creating such a perfect picture for him. 

When neteyam come he pulls out of your mouth, stroking himself coming all over your face and chest with a sexy moan, “fuckkk yea take it bitch.” He takes a deep breath and looks down at you seeing you stick your tongue out tasting the cum that sits on your lips. Neteyam thinks it’s so hot, next time he’ll be sure to come in your mouth but for now, “gonna stop being a little bitch now and behave yourself?” he brings his hand back squishing your face, ignoring the feeling of his come on it. You nod quickly before opening you mouth and responding, “I’ll behave.”  

You both know it’s not true but at least you said it.  

✨ I’m not sure how much I like this but I hope you do when you read it! Repost, likes and comments are always appreciated, I love the positive feedback!

✨if anyone wants to be added to my Taglist please let me know in the comments!

Taglist:

@strongheartneteyam @rivatar @delusionalwh6re @nilahsstuff @xylianasblog @xrollingmyeyesx @quicktosimp

[mollywog]

Thinking about Katniss’s friendship with Madge (and also Gale)

I think Madge is important for several reasons, but one being: She shows us that Katniss doesn't 100% 'buy' the whole merchant vs seam thing.

The mayor’s daughter, Madge, opens the door. She’s in my year at school. Being the mayor’s daughter, you’d expect her to be a snob, but she’s all right. She just keeps to herself. Like me. Since neither of us really has a group of friends, we seem to end up together a lot at school. Eating lunch, sitting next to each other at assemblies, partnering for sports activities. We rarely talk, which suits us both just fine.

Katniss (and Gale) are actually progress thinkers in this way. They hold biases/resentment about the merchants, but also can recognize it as a Capital driven division.

Even though Gale snaps at Madge at the start of the book, Katniss credits him with knowing ‘his anger at Madge is misdirected.’ In fact he is the one verbalizing the idea to her.

You can see why someone like Madge, who has never been at risk of needing a tessera, can set him off. The chance of her name being drawn is very slim compared to those of us who live in the Seam. Not impossible, but slim. And even though the rules were set up by the Capitol, not the districts, certainly not Madge's family, it's hard not to resent those who don't have to sign up for tesserae.

Gale knows his anger at Madge is misdirected. On other days, deep in the woods, I've listened to him rant about how the tesserae are just another tool to cause misery in our district. A way to plant hatred between the starving workers of the Seam and those who can generally count on supper and thereby ensure we will never trust one another. "It's to the Capitol's advantage to have us divided among ourselves," he might say if there were no ears to hear but mine. If it wasn't reaping day. If a girl with a gold pin and no tesserae had not made what I'm sure she thought was a harmless comment.

Madge and Gale inspire Katniss’s rebellious actions just as much Peeta

Madge’s pin is what makes Rue trust Katniss.

I unclasp the pin and hold it out to her. “Here, you take it. It has more meaning for you than me.”

“Oh, no,” says Rue, closing my fingers back over the pin. “I like to see it on you. That’s how I decided I could trust you. Besides, I have this.” She pulls a necklace woven out of some kind of grass from her shirt. On it, hangs a roughly carved wooden star. Or maybe it’s a flower. “It’s a good luck charm.”

And Katniss is reminded of both Gale’s rants and Peeta’s piece in their games speech in the aftermath of Rue’s death

Gale’s voice is in my head. His ravings against the Capitol no longer pointless, no longer to be ignored. Rue’s death has forced me to confront my own fury against the cruelty, the injustice they inflict upon us. But here, even more strongly than at home, I feel my impotence. There’s no way to take revenge on the Capitol. Is there?

Then I remember Peeta’s words on the roof. “Only I keep wishing I could think of a way to . . . to show the Capitol they don’t own me. That I’m more than just a piece in their Games.” And for the first time, I understand what he means.

Please also check out this beautiful analysis of Madge by @wistfulweaverwoman!

[haechoxo]

[9:58 pm]

haechan was a mess, the last encounter with you haunting his mind. no one had seen him in weeks, his self isolation driven by the humiliation and regret.

how’d he let it get this bad?

he’d ruined the one good thing he had going for him, the one thing that could've ever gone right in his life, gone.

he caused you so much pain, so much anguish, you were sick of him, quite literally. all for what? because he couldn’t admit he wanted to be yours?

it was his turn to make himself sick. walking down to the 7-Eleven for the fourth time this week to stock up on booze, he glanced out the storefront window as he waited for his transaction to complete, and spotted you, hand in hand with choi yeonjun, as you exited the bistro across the street.

it felt like a punch to the gut, a harsh reminder of what he lost. you deserved happiness, he knew that. but the thought of you finding it with someone else, while he suffered in his own misery, was almost too much to bear, he deserved this.

all haechan could do was sigh, grabbing his items and heading back to his apartment, a sort of walk of shame, as he dialed up minjeong.

“...hello? haechan? it’s almost 10 pm.” her deadpanned tone rang through the receiver.

“y-yeah… sorry,” he croaked. she was the first person to hear from him in a while, not that she of all people was worried. “just wondering if you were maybe free tomorrow, just to hang out… i guess.”

minjeong only sighed. “listen, haechan, i don’t think we should see each other anymore.”

“o-oh, yeah, i guess… i guess you're right.”

“it’s not you! well– no, yeah, it is you,” ouch, “but we both know it just wouldn’t have worked out, right? you’re too focused on y/n, and we were both clearly just using each other as a distraction.” he could only listen as she went on, too afraid to say anything, to face the truth.

“the same reason you and i would never work out is the same reason mark and y/n won’t work out. we don’t have feelings for each other, haechan. it was never there.” he sucked in a breath.

“you gotta figure yourself out. we both know you can do better.” the line went dead.

haechan slumped against his front door, the weight of minjeong's words crashing down on him. the silence of his empty apartment echoed his loneliness, the low light from the streetlamp outside mocking him as he sat there. every sip of alcohol burned down his throat, but it didn’t numb the ache in his chest. the empty bottles around him were a testament to his attempts to drown out the guilt, but no amount could wash away the regret. he needed to change, to make things right, but where could he even start? he replayed your last conversation in his mind, your tear-streaked face, the hurt in your eyes. how had he been so blind?

unlocking his phone to scroll through his unopened messages, stumbling on his chats, or lack thereof, with you. they’d been dry, barren of any feelings for weeks. and it was his doing.

the unopened voicemails, mostly from jaemin about missing cafe dates and more of johnny’s parties, but there was a new one he hadn’t noticed before.

from mark.

hesitantly he pressed play, mentally bracing for the new lecture he was about to endure.

”hey man, uh— i’m not calling to apologize or anything, just so you know, i don’t feel bad for the things i said, neither does jun. i’m still really mad at you, we both are, but you're still our friend just as much as y/n is, even she’s a little worried, renjun told her not to be and i probably shouldn't have told you but whatever. the guys have been asking about you and no one really has an answer. uhm,” mark clears his throat, “jeno said he saw you outside 7-Eleven a couple nights this week already, smoking a new pack of cigarettes each time…” he sighs, pausing for a moment. haechan can feel the lump forming in his throat from the embarrassment.

“dude just because we ‘sided’ with y/n, doesn’t mean we don’t care about you and your well being anymore. obviously you feel stupid finally, and you clearly know you were wrong, but you’re going about things the wrong way, again. you can’t keep living like this, hurting the people you care about, hurting yourself, in the process.” he pauses for a bit, and haechan thinks maybe the message had ended like that, “whatever, uh, i don’t know what else i’m supposed to say bro, just let us know you’re okay, i guess, bye.” the beep signaling the end of the voicemail rings loudly against his ear, sighing shakily as he shut his phone off.

previous - next

a/n ; this one took waaaay longer than anticipated,, i just wasnt sure how well id be able to convey his feelings as well as mark’s lovely words since I HATE HIS STUPID ASS RN 💔

[edenesth]

The Way to His Heart [8]

Pairing: general!Seonghwa x wife!reader

AU: arranged marriage au (Joseon era)

Word Count: 3.6k

Summary: Life has been hell ever since your mother's passing many years ago. Despite being from a prominent family, you've never received the privileges associated with it. It only got worse with the arrival of your stepmother and her daughters. When the intimidating General Park was in search of a wife, your father seized the opportunity to dispose of you, simultaneously securing a connection with the powerful general—killing two birds with one stone.

Part 7 | Fic Masterlist | Part 9

"Sir, the dressmaker has arrived with the mistress' first batch of clothes. Should I send him directly to the House of Lotus?" Jongho asked tentatively from the entrance of his master's study.

Removing his hands from his head, Seonghwa looked up and shook his head miserably, "Lord, no. Send him to me first," The assistant bowed and went to do as he was told, "Right away, sir."

Hongjoong entered the study without bothering to knock, hands propped on his hip as he stared at your husband, unamused, "Would you mind explaining why I'm here instead of presenting the new clothes to your wife, Park Seonghwa?"

"I need advice, Hongjoong." The general croaked, feeling quite lost for once. He had rarely ever been in such a situation; who knew all it took was one woman to put him in such misery. Not even the most vicious enemies he had fought in war could have ever fazed him this much.

He returned from work the day before, enthusiastically sharing his plans for the grand wedding he wanted to give you. However, things went south when he dropped the bomb about the visit to your old home, foolishly believing you would express joy at the prospect of flaunting your newfound happiness to your wicked family. Instead, you were gripped with fear at the idea. You ended up retiring to your quarters early and refused to come out ever since.

Goddamnit, I'm the biggest moron ever.

The dressmaker raised an amused brow, having never seen Seonghwa like this before. He went over to sit down across from his friend, "Hmm, I didn't think you'd be having trouble in paradise this soon. Let's hear it; we'll see if there's anything I can do for you and that lovely wife of yours."

Taking a deep breath, your husband started from the beginning, recounting every single thing that happened from the start of your arranged marriage until the present.

"Wait, you're taking her back to that wretched place? No wonder she's upset, you idiot! You said it yourself; she suffered so badly being caged in there all her life. I mean, sure, your cause is very noble—wanting to make her family pay for what they've done with this plan of yours. But you'd been so focused on that, you forgot how traumatising it could be for her, huh? You really didn't think that one through, my friend."

Letting out a groan, the general pulled at his hair, "Yes, thank you for repeating it all to me like I didn't already know what I did wrong. Now, tell me what exactly it is that I can do to make it all better."

"You're welcome. Oh, I'll tell you what to do, all right. You best keep your dumbass seated here while I talk to her," instructed Hongjoong, watching expectantly as your husband frowned, "What? Why should you talk to her? It's my mess; I should be the one to clean it up."

Sighing, the dressmaker explained, "Look, we all know the only way for you to make things better is to not take her back to the damn house at all. But you do have a point, okay? You've come this far with your plan, and as much as it sucks, she must go there with you in order for this to work out. So, you stay put, and let me convince her to go willingly with you, got it?"

Seonghwa nodded reluctantly, realising his friend was right. As much as he hated how charming Hongjoong was and how persuasive he could be, he would have to rely on those skills to help you see things in the bigger picture. Sure, you were not privy to any details about the revenge, but hopefully, he will be able to make you at least want to stand up to your family for once.

"Lady Park, it's Hongjoong. I've brought your first batch of clothing. May I have permission to enter?" Blinking in surprise, you straightened up, not expecting to hear the dressmaker's voice, "O-okay, please come in."

Despite the anxious state you'd been in since the revelation your husband had dropped upon you the night before, you couldn't help but smile at the unusually colourful outfit of your visitor. Eunsook followed behind him with a group of servants filing in to deliver the precious cargo into your quarters.

The head maid felt relieved to see you smiling again, even if it was only a little. She had been concerned about you after witnessing your retreat into your old shell the previous night, as the fear you demonstrated reminded everyone of your initial arrival.

In an effort to distract you from your upsetting thoughts, the dressmaker quickly pulled out a few designs he thought you'd love, "Come, take a look at this! I made it the way you preferred and added a little touch of my magic. What do you think?"

Fortunately, his strategy worked like a charm, and you immediately moved over to him with sparkly eyes, marvelling at some of the most beautiful hanboks you'd ever seen, even prettier than the ones he had displayed in his shop.

As you admired the clothes in front of you, Hongjoong exchanged a knowing look with the elderly woman. Nodding, she quietly exited your room along with the rest of the servants, leaving you alone with your husband's old friend.

But you weren't entirely alone, of course.

Unbeknownst to you, Seonghwa was right outside, listening intently. He didn't spare any of his servants a glance as they all passed by him with a deep bow, waving his hand carelessly in a gesture to ask them to leave quickly.

"Hey, you haven't answered me. Do you like them, Lady Park?" The dressmaker asked, a teasing smile on his face as he found your endearing shyness adorable.

You nodded quickly, "Yes, I do. I love them. They're all perfect. I just... don't know if I deserve to wear any of these." The general felt his heart clench at your response, realising you were still far from being able to love yourself.

With a scoff, Hongjoong moved to stand beside you, "I'll have you know I only make dresses for people I deem worthy of them. Not just anyone can wear my designs, you know. And you, by far, are probably my favourite client. So that says a lot."

Your husband silently agreed with those words, resisting the urge to rush in there and hold you tight, to tell you that you deserved only the best, that you deserved everything good in the world.

Lowering your head, you fiddled with your fingers before replying in a small voice, "You're only saying that because I'm the general's wife..."

Sighing lightly, the dressmaker turned to face you, "You're not wrong... but that's exactly because not just anyone can be Lady Park. Many women before you tried to be in your position. Regardless of their efforts, he never would have given them the time of day. Yet, he wholeheartedly accepted you."

Recognising the doubt in your eyes, he further explained, "I understand if you think these are just words. But that's probably because you don't know the general like I do. We've known each other since joining the military in our teens. Back then, the Seonghwa I knew would never bat an eyelash at any woman."

As you slowly looked up to meet his kind eyes, intrigued to learn more about your husband's past, he continued, "Those rumours about him being the cold-blooded general were not lies. He really was as merciless as they say. He still is, just not to you. When I saw him again for the first time after years that day, I couldn't believe the man in front of me was the same friend I once knew. He's different around you; he's different because of you."

"It's evident that you're special to him, that you mean something to him. He cares so much about you; do you realise that?"

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you hurriedly blinked them back. The thought of someone genuinely caring for you still seemed surreal despite the amount of care that had been shown to you since living here. However, you were starting to understand that he was right.

Hongjoong grinned, seeing the effectiveness of his words, "You're the first and only woman who can tame Park Seonghwa, so you are beyond worthy of my dresses."

Before you could even attempt to protest, he held up a hand, "And don't bother telling me I'm wrong because I'm never wrong."

You couldn't help but giggle at his sassy words, and he smiled sincerely at you, saying, "So don't you dare question whether you deserve these clothes. You're the only one who deserves them because these are made only for you, do you understand?"

This time, you nodded with a wide smile.

"I want you to wear my dresses proudly and show the world who you are: the great Lady Park, the only woman General Park wants as his wife. No one will dare disrespect or look down on you again."

Feeling as if he knew exactly what had been worrying you, you felt touched. He was right; you were not who you used to be. You had no reason to cower from your family, recalling their belittling assumptions about your survival in this marriage. Now was your chance to prove them wrong.

With newfound determination, you nodded firmly, "You're right, I will. Thank you, Hongjoong. You're a good friend; Seonghwa is lucky to have you."

He crossed his arms over his chest cheekily, "I sure am. That fool hasn't a clue how fortunate he is."

Mission accomplished.

Pumping his fists in victory, your husband silently cheered outside, brushing off the playful taunts from his friend. Just this once, he would forgive Kim Hongjoong.

"Are you ready, my dear?"

The general turned to you as your carriage came to a stop, marking your arrival at what you assumed to be the Jang estate, your former prison. With a resolute nod, you smiled up at him, "I am."

As you moved to exit the vehicle, your husband halted you. Cupping your face in his hands, he gazed reassuringly into your eyes, "Remember, whatever happens, I'm here with you. You're not alone from now on; I'll always be here to protect you."

"I know, Seonghwa. I believe in you."

His heart melted at those words, and he couldn't resist pressing a lingering kiss onto your forehead. You fluttered your eyes closed, holding onto his wrists, cherishing the warmth he was providing.

"Alright, let's go." Leaving one final peck on your cheek, he got out of the carriage and swiftly helped you down, his strong arm securely wrapped around your waist. Eunsook stood there, mouth agape, that was initially meant to be her responsibility but she realised her assistance was no longer needed at the moment.

Jongho grinned, nudging the elderly woman on the shoulder as they followed their master and mistress into the minister's estate, "Come on, we've got work to do."

Taking a deep breath, you surveyed the familiar surroundings that once made you feel small. Feeling a reassuring squeeze on your hand, you found comfort in your husband's presence.

Yes, he's here with you now.

Nothing bad will happen.

His grip on your hand tightened, and his warm smile, reserved only for you, vanished when a few of your father's servants nervously stumbled out, bowing deeply before both of you, "Good morning, General Park. Welcome to the Jang estate."

The brave front you had put on seemed to falter slightly as you realised the servants here remained the same, showing no acknowledgement despite you no longer being their prisoner. Seonghwa, glaring at the maids in front of him, growled in a low voice, "You've left out Lady Park. Will you not greet my wife?"

Gulping on behalf of the servants, you witnessed the return of the general's intimidating demeanour. Hongjoong was right; he was still terrifying, just not to you.

The maids bowed deeper, "B-but sir—"

"What is going on here?" That voice resonated across the courtyard, causing your heart to plummet to the lowest pit of your stomach. Perhaps you weren't ready to face them at all. Your father emerged from the main hall, wearing an expression that was far from pleased.

You pressed closer to your husband, and instinctively, he wrapped an arm around your back, pulling you close. The minister's eyebrow raised in surprise at your refined appearance; he nearly did not recognise you. You were even more stunning than on the day you left this place, seemingly given a complete makeover.

Aside from that, he realised the general had meant his words when he had spoken so highly of you during assembly. Witnessing the intimacy between the two of you, there was undeniable evidence of shared affection. Your father began to question whether marrying you to his enemy was a mistake in the first place.

Seonghwa smirked, "Ahh, Minister Jang, it seems your servants do not know proper manners. They did not greet my wife, and that, to me, is punishable."

The old man felt his eye twitch at the general's satisfied grin before responding, "Well, I'm their master, so I decide what is punishable, General Park."

"Right, well, I'm just looking out for you. Wouldn't want people to find out what rotten-mannered staff my father-in-law has in his estate, not knowing how to show respect to even the general's wife."

"You do realise that before she became your wife, she's my daughter first." Your father sneered, and you felt sick at that, to be called his daughter when you've never once been treated as such.

Remaining unfazed, your husband retorted, "All the more reasons for them to show respect to their eldest miss then, no?"

Jongho and Eunsook bowed their heads in an effort to hide their snickers at the minister's red face flushing in embarrassment. He should have known better than to think he could win the general in an argument, "R-right. What are you fools standing around for? Show Lady Park some bloody respect!"

The line of servants bowed all the way down pathetically, "Yes, master! Good morning, General Park and Lady Park! Welcome to the Jang estate!" They chanted loudly, enough to bring about the rest of your family, coming out to witness what all the fuss was about.

"Very well, let us head in then." With a bored expression, Seonghwa walked into the hall with you, moving right past your stepmother and stepsisters intentionally, paying them no mind as he helped you into a seat before settling down beside you.

All four of the women standing in the main hall were rooted to their spots, eyes bulging as they took in the sight of you and your husband. First of all, you were nearly unrecognisable. If they thought you looked pretty on the day you got married, you were now almost a hundred times more beautiful, though they would rather die than ever admit it out loud.

Beyond your enhanced appearance, they were more taken aback by the general's beauty. He was nothing like they had imagined; he must have been one of the most attractive men ever, or at least the most handsome one they had seen so far.

Suddenly, your stepsisters were even angrier than they were upon learning about your stupid grand wedding. They were now furious with their father for never having told them about how good-looking General Park truly was. If only they knew, they would have volunteered to marry him themselves.

But what if there was still hope for them?

What if they had a chance?

After all, you hadn't officially wed Seonghwa yet and were merely here to discuss plans for the upcoming ceremony. Perhaps, with enough effort, they could still win him over. If a peasant like you could seduce the general, why couldn't any of them? With this determination in mind, the three stepsisters promptly began adjusting their appearances as you all gathered around the main hall.

You didn't appreciate the way your stepsisters were eyeing your husband, although you understood their motives. Sensing your discomfort, Seonghwa moved closer to you in his seat, whispering in your ear, "Are you feeling alright, my dear?"

Nodding lightly, you looked up with a small smile, "I am, as long as you're with me," He couldn't resist smiling at your words as he gave you a gentle peck on the head, "Good."

That should be me!

The three stepsisters clenched their fists, their fury intensifying as they witnessed the handsome general being affectionate with you. It should have been them; the title of the general's wife was more befitting a noblewoman like them, not a rat like you. How dare you sit there in their place as if you deserved it?

In an attempt to break the silence, Jinah cleared her throat and made her move, "Have you been well, unnie? I missed you so much! Did you know how worried I was about you? You must have had such a hard time, especially after you adamantly refused to marry General Park."

Seonghwa raised a brow in amusement, while you remained quiet, unsure how to respond to such a blatant lie. Jinjoo scoffed at your lack of response, "Unnie! Will you really not answer Jinah at all? You've always been like that, so ungrateful when we care so much about you!"

"Really? My wife being ungrateful? That's wild. I cannot imagine her like that at all." Your husband chuckled, holding you close when he felt you begin to tremble.

Jinhee's fists shook with envy as she nodded pitifully, "Yes, that's because you haven't known her well enough, my lord. She can be so scary when she's mad, you know how the eldest usually are."

Minister Jang rubbed a tired hand over his head when he realised what his stepdaughters were trying to do. Of course, these foolish girls would easily be blinded by the general's appearance. Even his own wife, seated beside him, found it difficult to take her eyes off the gorgeous young man.

Jongho and Eunsook, positioned behind you and their master, were making every effort to contain the irritation they felt. The audacity of these women to feign innocence after what they've put you through all these years. They were once again thankful not to have any of these conniving foxes as their mistress.

Rubbing his thumbs over your hands, Seonghwa laughed sarcastically in disbelief, "I'm sorry, I just find that so hard to believe. Are you sure you're not all talking about yourselves?" In an instant, his smile dropped, and he sent your stepsisters a death stare as if daring them to continue spouting more ridiculous lies about you.

Left in stunned silence, they blinked nervously and avoided his eyes, unprepared for his questioning. It was clear that they hadn't planned their silly little act thoroughly.

Damn it, how did that worthless thing manage to gain his favour?

"That's enough." The minister declared firmly, not wanting his stepdaughters to continue embarrassing themselves. All he wanted was to get the general out of his house as soon as possible. Every moment that Seonghwa remained felt like a threat; your father was walking on eggshells around him.

Pushing himself off his seat, the old man addressed your husband, "You mentioned wanting to see the environment your wife grew up in, right? Let's proceed with that before we delve into discussions about your wedding arrangements. I don't have all day."

"Sure, can't wait." Seonghwa responded smugly, standing up with your hand securely in his. A sense of unease washed over you as you wondered what kind of deception your father would employ. Surely, they wouldn't be stupid enough to reveal your actual room to the general. Dread filled you, and you longed to return home.

Your real home, not this nightmare.

« Preview of Part 9 »

As you all followed the minister around the estate while he showed the general what was supposed to be your old room, Jongho exchanged a glance with the private investigator who was still posing as a staff member in the estate.

"This is unnie's room; she has the biggest and nicest one out of all of us. She's so lucky and doesn't even know it. I'm the youngest and I have the smallest room; I'd honestly be happy to have anything at all." Jinjoo said innocently, playing with a strand of hair as she batted her eyelashes at Seonghwa.

You stared blankly at the room supposedly designated as yours. It was merely a guest room rearranged with some of your stepsisters' belongings to create the illusion of long-term habitation. Sensing Jinah and Jinhee's intense gazes on you, you turned to find them glaring daggers at you as if daring you to speak up and disclose the truth to your husband.

If you voiced your denial, who would believe you? It was your entire family against you alone. Would there even be a point in trying?

Just as doubt started to creep in, Seonghwa wrapped an arm around you, reminding you of his support, "Is that true, my dear? Is this your room? It doesn't really seem to be your style at all."

Everyone held their breath, awaiting your response, but you remained silent, fixing your gaze on the familiar space where you spent your entire life, now masquerading as a storeroom.

"What is it that you're staring at so intently, hm? Let's go take a look."

Oh, crap.

Shit will go down in the next part, I assure you. Patience, my dearest readers, patience HAHA this part was focused more on setting the stage for the main event.😈

Also, I've created a mood board for this fic. If you haven't already checked it out, go take a look! I might consider making another one that depicts Seonghwa's estate if I'm able to find the right images.

As always, thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts! <3

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All Rights Reserved © edenesth // DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, PLAGIARISE OR REPURPOSE.

[ponderingmoonlight]

Megumi losing his will to carry on until (y/n) shows up

Pairing: Megumi x reader

Word Count: 1,5k

Synopsis: Megumi can't take it anymore. All the death, the grief, the misery he caused. He'll never forgive himself for losing you...But are you really dead?

Warnings: THIS CONTAINS SPOILERS! but more in a really decent way, like I actually think if you have no idea of the manga you don't get that these are spoilers lol, HEAVY angst but also comfort, poor Megumi is at his lowest so TW if that offends you

I know I promised you a Sukuna fic it technically is and I will serve, but this basically wrote itself so I hope you like this as well hehe

Take a deep breath in and out, calm your tingling nerves, allow your feet to walk at normal pace. You waited so long for this moment, recovered from your endless injuries Sukuna conflicted on your body and soul. It took Shoko forever to stitch you up again, to make you look like a human being again. But there you go, walking on your very own legs, to finally see the true love of your life again.

When was the last time you spoke to him? Oh, you remember it exactly.

“I’m scared. Scared of what will happen, scared about the things we’ll lost…”

“Hey, you’ll never lose me, okay? I will always stay by your side.”

Little did both of you know he’ll break that promise a few weeks later and that he won’t return to your side for over a year. How hard you fought, how desperately you tried to stand a chance against Sukuna – only to get thrown out of life yourself.

“Are you sure you can handle this, that you are fit enough?”, Yuji questioned with his hand resting on your shoulder.

“You know you don’t have to-“

“This might be the only chance to get him back, right?”

Yuji smiled at you with that pained expression on his face you saw countless times these last months.

“Yuta and I think it might work. After all, everyone knows how much you mean to him.”

You clench your hands into fists. There is no doubt in the fact that Megumi Fushiguro is still in there, that he is still the boy you know and adore with all your heart. Even if it means you’ll get attacked again, even if it might end your life, you’ll have to try.

-Megumi-

Megumi’s body doesn’t move an inch, lifeless eyes staring into nothing but darkness. What time is it? He couldn’t care less. No, time doesn’t make any sense right now. Not when he lost everyone he loved. His family, his friends, his self-control. You.

His heart stings immediately. Oh, your gorgeous face hunts him down like nothing else. The way you talked, the way you laughed. The way you looked at him with widened eyes when your lifeless body fell to the ground, the way your blood pooled around his brown shoes.

Why? Why didn’t you listen to him when he told you earlier to stay away from Sukuna? Why did you decide to show up anyway, without Yuji or Yuta by your side? There was absolutely nothing he could do to save you.

Just like his sister.

Just like Gojo-sensei.

Just like everyone else.

It seems unreal to him. Unreal that he’s the one still alive, that all these people lost their lives through his very own hands. Oh, he’ll never forget the way you cared for his sister, your dumb inside jokes with Gojo. He’ll never forget the way you held his hand that one night, how your soft smile outshone the heavy moonlight.

“Don’t worry Megumi, everything will turn out alright eventually!”

Oh, how wrong you were. How awful these words make his guts turn, how desperately he wants to close his eyes forever.

No, you didn’t deserve your fate. Everyone didn’t deserve their fates. But he? He deserves nothing but death.

Nothing but emptiness.

Nothing but darkness.

“Megumi.”

Is he hallucinating again? Is your voice hunting him down like it always does? It sounds so clear, near to reach. As if he could open his eyes, stretch out his hands and-

“Megumi.”

Again.

His skin suddenly starts to feel warm, as if someone touches his arm. Impossible, no one should be here, it’s just him in this prison that never ends-

“Hey, I’m here. It’s me, (y/n).”

“(y/n)?”

That name. That gorgeous name he adores to the moon and back, that last name that saved him from giving up until you died in front of his eyes.

“Hey, it’s been a while.”

“You’re dead.”

That voice sounds so unknown, so far away that you flinch for a second. Is this really Megumi and not just a cheap copy of him? You swallow hard, desperately try to contain your emotions. Oh, how much you longed for this moment, to finally hold the love of your life again. But on the other hand, you can’t take the sight in front of you. Him laying curled up on the cold floor, face showing absolutely no emotion.

You shake your head. No, you have to be strong right now. If not for yourself, then for him.

“Open your eyes, silly. I’m right here”, you reply.

Gently, you cup his cheek with your hand the way he always secretly adored. This just has to work, you need to get him back.

He hesitates for a moment, breath stuck in his throat. Is this really you or just his own sorrow reminding him of the things he’s done? But what…

He opens his eyes.

His gaze finds yours.

Time stands still.

“I missed you, cutie patootie.”

Reality hits him with full force. This might be a cruel trick, a hallucination. But that nickname was always a little secret between both of you, how you called him in private. No one except you knows about it. No one except you looks at him with so much love gleaming in their eyes. No one except…

“(y/n)”, he breathes out.

“I know you think I’m dead but…I made it, Megumi. I never gave up hope to see you again.”

You can’t hold back the waterfall of tears that now streams down your cheeks, eyes holding onto his gorgeous face for dear life, afraid to lose him all over again.

“(y/n).”

And for the first time since you know him, his eyes get watery to the point where they overflow with tears, the salty stream getting caught in your hands.

“(y/n)”, he whimpers again.

“Don’t feel sorry for what happened. It wasn’t you but him. I don’t blame you”, you blurt out immediately.

“(y/n)!”

Faster than you’re able to comprehend what’s happening, he wraps his longing arms around you, presses you so close that your lungs refuse their service for a second.

“I thought you’re dead. I thought…I killed you.”

The sheer agony in his voice forms a painful lump in your throat. Oh poor Megumi…He doesn’t deserve to feel this way, doesn’t deserve to hold all these horrible memories. How much you’d wish you could simply take his pain away, could make him forget what happened.

But all you’re able to do is holding him tightly.

“You would never harm a single hair on my body-“

“But I did!”, he screams.

“I hurt you! I almost killed you! Just like Gojo-sensei, just like Tsumiki!”

His voice breaks, a dry whimper escapes his lips.

“I…I can’t do this anymore. I can’t hurt another soul. I don’t wanna li-“

“Stop right there.”

Desperately, you force him to look into your reddened eyes.

“This wasn’t you, Megumi. Did you hear me? No one ever thought it was you. We loved you, we missed you, we want you back. When Shoko stitched me up, all I was able to think about was you. Fuck that shitty jujutsu world we’re living in, fuck all the curses and monsters and humans. Think about us, Megumi. Think about what you told me back then, that you’ll always stay by my side. Because that’s were I need you, this is why I love you more than anything else. In my eyes, you’ll never be anything apart from Megumi Fushiguro!”

Without thinking twice, you press your despairing lips against his, taste the salty tears of him and you that mixed on each other’s faces. His arms wrap themselves around your back and waist, hold you into place while you get lost against the lips you know so well but yet not at all. Megumi just needs to come back to you, needs to find his willpower again.

“I need you”, you mutter against his mouth.

“I love you.”

The agony radiating from his voice becomes almost unbearable, lets you hold onto his neck even tighter. No, Megumi didn’t deserve what happened to him. He didn’t deserve to see his loved ones die right before his eyes. He didn’t deserve all the things he’s been through. But this right here, this is just right.

This is a reason to hold on, right?

“Promise me you won’t give up”, you urge.

“Promise me you’ll give yourself the chance to heal, that you’ll stand with me and Yuji and the others. Just promise that you’ll come back.”

“I swore to myself not to be a burden to this world anymore, that I’m done with my pathetic life, that I deserve to die. But you’re alive, you’re lying in my arms…And now I’m too selfish to do that.”

Again, he caresses your lips with his in the gentlest way while his arms hold you in place.

“If I’m not able to look at myself in the mirror, I’m able to look at you.”

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[shesjustanothergeek]

The Gods We Can Touch Chapter Three: The Long Night

|Aemond Targaryen x Strong!Reader|

Masterlist of Series

Summary: The older twin of Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, you were a picture of the maiden, untouched and untainted by man's sins. At least, that was what Alicent Hightower believed when she held you in her arms moments after her old friend's labors. You were her shining light, her dream. Though you were never hers, she believed you were meant to be.

What will become of you as time passes and the Queen's shining light grows within the blackened darkness? Will her eldest son's morbid fascination with the light burn the realm? Or will her second son's obsession with the only daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen change the course of the Seven Kingdoms as we know it?

Author's note: Thank you for the warm reception to the first two chapters! We're about to go 0-100 real quick, so hold onto your butts. This is also the longest chapter of the story, hence the title of "The Long Night". It's around 10k words. ୧⁠(⁠＾⁠ ⁠〰⁠ ⁠＾⁠)⁠୨ A few lines stuck with me while writing this chapter from the song Gibson Girl by Ethel Cain:

“And if you hate me. Please don’t tell me. Just let the lights bleed all over me.” - Ethel Cain, Gibson Girl.

Chapter Warnings: Aegon window scene, emotional abuse of a child, if the reader has zero lovers haters Aemond is dead, COCSA.

The afternoon air was refreshing to the eldest son of the king, the sun warming the ruddy skin of his cock as he stroked it to total hardness. As Aegon grew older, the more the days seemed to drag on in an endless loop of mind-numbing misery. Duties, lessons, and more raging from his mother on the importance of said responsibilities until the time all muddled into one continuous circle. Wine, cuffing Aemond, and fucking his prick raw seemed to be the only things that could bring him out of this dull, never-ending cycle. 

Each day, Aegon discovered a new object that made his member pulse with a flush of blood. It was part of what made it so distracting. One day, a young serving girl with exceptionally long legs caught the prince’s eye. Her quickly shifted gaze did not deter him in the slightest. The next was the thrill of danger, each time seeking completion at new depths of peril. Once atop his mighty dragon Sunfyre, his pink membrane wings sparkling against the white clouds as he rutted against his saddle, and another, at where he found it the easiest, perched atop his window ledge, stark naked as the day he was born. The threat of being discovered always sent a thrill down his spine and straight to his stones. 

Most recently, much to his chagrin, Aegon had discovered you, his sweet, albeit annoying niece, was the object of his desires as you ate an overly ripe strawberry. The pink juice dribbled down your fingers and chin, staining your lips red. He felt disgusted with himself at the time. You were his niece! This bothersome little urchin who followed his heels like a duckling, yet he attended luncheons with you, Jace, and that other one.

At first, he thought that maybe it was not you that caused his body to have that primal response but the object itself. It couldn’t possibly be you. However, after much trial and error, at one point attempting to have an intimate time with a fruit, he found the reason. Aegon soon discovered that after spending several meals with you, intently observing how you sucked the leftover yellow-orange meat from a peach pit, it was you he was aroused by, the way your tongue moved to lick the sticky saccharine liquid from your digits and thus became his ritual.

He would attend lunch with you and your brothers as that was the only meal you ate alone, observing how you consumed creamy puddings that he snuck from the kitchens, supplying fruits that would squirt their nectar onto your skin when you bit into them. It would send a thrumming inside his bones as he watched you chew, a simple act that no other maiden could seem to replicate. Aegon would wipe away the stickiness from your flesh with the swipe of his moistened thumb, feeling his stomach tense at the contact and dipping back into his mouth to gather more as you innocently giggled and swatted his hands away.

Then, when the meal would end, the prince would find himself in his room as he was now, clothes thrown about the area as he stroked his cock within the ledge of the windowsill, the images of you devouring the foods he gave you playing in his mind’s eye. And the best part, the detail that sent Aegon frequently rutting into his fist at all moments of the day, was that you didn’t know any better. You perceived it as your Uncle being kind, and you were eager to receive praise or attention from the person you admire.

What you didn’t understand wouldn’t hurt you, he reasoned.

Aegon was almost there. He could feel it, sense the impending release he had stored since lunch as he spat on his cock, pinching the ruddy head to stave it off just a moment more. It wouldn’t be long now. He could hear the bells that signaled the new hour in the distance. His stomach tensed, digits curling into a stone pillar for purchase as he released a gasp of your name through gritted teeth. 

“Whose idea was it?” Alicent’s voice rang out to the sound of the bell tower, throwing him from his fantasy as he stumbled off the ledge and onto his mattress, knocking his cup of Arbor Red out of the window. She repeated her question once more, disregarding the state of undress in which she had discovered her child. 

Aegon was embarrassed and disheveled, minding reeling as he struggled to catch his breath and understand her question. It annoyed him that he was cut off abruptly as if his mother had no regard for her eldest son’s privacy. 

“Whose idea was it? The pig. Was it your plot?” Alicent interrogated, ringed fingers clasped over her abdomen as her dark brows drew together in a scowl. 

It took a moment for Aegon to come to his senses as he brushed unruly strands of his curly blonde hair from his face, covering his exposed parts with his bedsheets. “No. It was Jace and uh… ” he stammered, picturing the other curly-mop-headed boy he could never remember the name of. 

What was it? Lorgan? Leander?  

It didn’t matter. Aegon couldn’t keep up with the children his half-sister popped out. Every day, a new babe seemed to cry in the Red Keep. “The-the other one, not the girl. I can’t be sure,” he eventually answered, squinting his eyes as he stared towards his mother.

“Aemond is your brother,” she sharply reasoned, disappointedly shaking her head and taking steps toward her slouched son. 

“Well, he’s a twat ,” Aegon childishly countered as frustration welled up at having his release stolen from him. He couldn’t believe she showed such nonchalance seeing his boyish body, let alone him being bare as the day he was born as he stroked himself to completion. 

“We are family,” Alicent lectured, brown eyes flicking across her son’s pale face. “You may cuff him about as you wish at home, but in the world we defend our own.” 

“It was funny,” the prince sighed with a shrug and realized his defense was weak. It was only a joke. It wasn’t Aegon’s fault that Aemond was such an odd, fragile little boy who couldn’t take his teasing. This would make him less of a bore to be around.

“Do you think Rhaenyra’s sons will be your playthings forever? As things stand…,” she continued with her velvet voice, her grave tone rumbling in her chest. “Rhaenyra will ascend the iron throne and either her daughter, or Jacaerys will be her heir.”

Aegon shrugged his sinewy shoulders, an expression of indifference on his pale face. He knew this already. He knew this when he couldn’t think and did not understand the importance of the sudden lesson in inheritance. “So?”

The Queen groaned, nearly at her wit’s end, as she looked at the Seven above for guidance in dealing with her incompetent son, fists clenching. 

“You are nearly a man grown. How is it that you can be so shortsighted?” Alicent finally became level with her son, kneeling on the filthy mattress and rumpled sheets. She needed him to listen and hear the seriousness of the future for him, his siblings, and his potential children’s lives would be threatened should his half-sister become Queen. “If Rhaenyra comes into power, your very life could be forfeited. Aemond’s as well. She could move to cut off any challenge to her succession.” 

Aegon’s jaw trembled, lips twitching into a pout as his nose burned. His mother was so frightening when she was mad that he couldn’t help but feel like a child again. “Then I won’t challenge-” 

Faster than the prince could blink, Alicent’s digits pinched his pale cheeks together, startling him into submission as his brows scrunched in pain.

“You are the challenge, Aegon! Simply by living and breathing!” she shouted, words rattling in her throat. 

Silence hung thick between mother and son, a sense of catastrophe burrowing itself into Aegon’s heart as tears threatened to spill. He would not cry . He refused to cry in front of his mother as she screamed into his very soul that his half-sister would murder him and his brother when she became queen. The prince still did not believe it. She wouldn’t do it if he did not stand in Rhaenyra’s way. Kinslaying was the greatest crime one could commit in the eyes of the law and the divine. She would never. 

“You are the king’s firstborn son,” Alicent continued, squeezing Aegon tighter as she moved to smack his chest with her words, “and what they know and everyone in the realm knows in their blood and in their bones, is that one day you will be our king.” 

The Queen stared into his frightened eyes, which flicked over her like a rabbit cornered by a fox. Realizing the severity of her outburst as guilt washed over her, Alicent stroked her son’s untamed hair, a brief halfhearted smile on her plump lips, as she spoke to him with a sudden reserved tranquility that chilled Aegon. 

“I aim to propose a match between you and her eldest as an attempt at peace in the following days. She already offered Jacaerys to Helaena, but if Rhaenyra sees reason as you think her to have, she will have no option but to accept.” The Queen leaned onto her haunches as she swallowed, her mouth feeling of cotton as she looked anywhere but at her fearful son. “Seeing as you are smitten with the only good thing that has yet to emerge from Rhaenyra’s continued indecency, you will have no objections. Get dressed .” 

The eldest Prince struggled to steady his breathing as his mother left, heart beating as if he was plummeting from his window. Aegon didn’t know what to think or feel as his mother sighed profoundly and left without another word. 

He would wed his niece? Aegon thought that someone as pious as his mother would never allow a match between kin, let alone ones so close. It made no sense. She would reject one proposal only to give another of the same caliber. You and Aegon were the two eldest children and subsequent heirs, the most obvious match, yet Rhaenyra did not offer it. There must have been a reason that his mother refused to acknowledge.

It was all too much. It felt as if Aegon was lost out at sea and attempting to keep afloat, seeing landfall just out of reach as wave after wave of saltwater stung his eyes and filled his lungs until he sank into the cold and murky waters below. Aegon needed a drink to quiet his nerves and a good release, for that matter, as his eyes traveled to the colorful array of exotic fruits resting in a bowl on his nightstand. 

The evening was upon King’s Landing as you and your brothers readied for bed. A maid ran a silver ivory tooth comb through your brown hair, detangling the knots and frizz accumulated during the day. Jace and Luke prepared with their man servants in the adjoining room, the younger running across the stone floor and into your room, declaring he was not tired. You couldn’t help but giggle at Luke’s childish actions as the servant chased him onto his neatly made bed, sliding across the sheets and causing them to wrinkle.

Moments later, your mother and father entered to say their goodnights, their presence whipping your brother back into good behavior as the manservant put him into his night clothes. Your mother always came to tuck the three of you into bed, even when there was a new addition to the family. Frequently, Ser Harwin followed behind her with a regaling of stories when your father wasn’t able to do the same, but this time, he was here, and the three of you crowded into Jace’s bed as you awaited your father to tell you of his journeys this past moon. 

He retold tales of sailing throughout the Narrow Sea with his father Corlys and the squire Ser Qarl. Your father sang bits of the same shanties his crew mates did before your mother stopped him as the three of you giggled. He spoke of battling pirates with silver and gold teeth and missing limbs who tried to board his ship on a misty morning. He could barely see three paces before him due to the fog on the calm waters as enemies boarded your grandfather’s boat. He proclaimed how Ser Qarl saved his life when one of the dreadful pirates knocked your father’s torch out of his hand. 

“The world around me transformed instantly, shrouded in a gray hue. The menacing figure of the one-eyed pirate, with his glinting gold tooth, vanished from view. Anticipating the bitter bite of a blade tearing through my flesh, I braced myself for the inevitable. Amidst the deafening percussion of my adversary’s approach, I stood steadfast, poised for the final confrontation. Bereft of vision, I awaited the fatal blow, resigned to my fate. Yet, like the Warrior himself, emerging from the mist, Ser Qarl materialized and drove his sword deep into the pirate’s heart, sparing me from inevitable demise”.

As your father recounted the tale, his hands danced through the air, adding flair to every word and making you and your siblings feel like you were with him. Jace and Luke were captivated, hanging on to every detail as your father wove the story with the skill of a master storyteller. As he spoke, it felt more like a fantastical legend than a real-life experience. The mere thought of your father not returning from his daring escapades sent shivers down your spine, prompting you to intertwine your arms and absentmindedly play with the delicate strands of hair between your fingertips.

With a watchful eye, your mother sensed your anxiety and gently reassured you with a kiss on your head and comforting words. “Don’t worry, my dear. Your father won’t be embarking on another adventure for a long while. He knows that his rightful place is with his family,” your mother consoled, lightly caressing each of your dark locks while sharing a meaningful glance with your father. “Enough storytelling. It’s time for you to go to bed. There’s much to learn in tomorrow’s lessons, and none of you will skip them.”

She looked at you with raised brows, her violet eyes wide enough that you could see the pink veins decorating the white. You tightened your mouth in shame and looked away from your mother’s piercing gaze as you, Jace, and Luke muttered in unison.

“Yes, mother.” 

A deep sense of relaxation washed over you as you slid beneath the cool, smooth silk sapphire bedsheets. It had been an eventful day, and now, finally lying in bed, you released a breath. Your mother first kissed your brothers goodnight as your father did the same for you, switching between the three in your separate rooms.

“Father,” you called out softly as he walked to Jace and Luke’s room. He turned towards you, his eyes holding a mixture of weariness and unspoken understanding as you buried your flushed cheeks beneath the calm, comforting embrace of the blankets. “I cannot stand the thought of you continuing to brave the seas alongside Ser Qarl and Lord Corlys. The danger is too great.”

You couldn’t bear the thought of losing him. The idea of your father setting sail on your grandfather’s proud ship and never returning filled you with an indescribable dread. You couldn’t fathom a world where no one would swing you around, regaling you with vivid tales of swashbuckling adventures and stirring escapades on the high seas.

As Laenor listened to your confession, a faint but genuine smile graced his features. His eyes softened as he glanced at your tiny, fidgeting feet, a clear sign of nervousness. At that moment, he felt an overwhelming sense of protectiveness toward you. Despite what others may say to him, you were his little girl. He knew that you often cared too deeply and worried too much about others, which weighed heavily on his mind. Seeing the effects of overwhelming anxiety on your petite frame heightened his concern for your well-being.

As he looked at you, he silently promised himself that he didn’t want to be the cause of your distress. With a wistful smile, he nodded and excused himself, reaching his sons. Deep down, he knew that a part of his soul belonged to the sea, but he couldn’t bring himself to share this with you.

He hoped his inner turmoil was not visible as he exited, but he knew you were astute enough to have noticed. Despite your tender age, you possessed a perceptiveness that belied your years, and Laenor couldn’t help but worry more about deceiving you than he did about his wife or mother. As he departed, he steeled himself for the impending storm of reproach from Rhaenyra upon receiving the maids’ reports about the tangled knots you had wrestled out of your hair while asleep.

Your mother’s warm and affectionate smile appeared shortly after your father’s as she settled onto the edge of the luxuriously soft feather mattress. She gently kissed your warm cheek and enveloped your small frame in a tight embrace as you responded in kind, nuzzling into her lavender-scented neck. She beamed with delight as you squeezed her tighter, pressing an extended, heartfelt kiss onto her cheek. In response, she let out a tender laugh, which quickly spread to you, causing both of you to erupt into a chorus of infectious, toothy giggles.

As you prepare to drift off into sleep, you feel the loving warmth of your mother’s heartfelt whisper. “Sleep tight, my heart. I love you.” She gently brushed her fingers down from the crown of your head, through the fabric of your soft cotton nightgown sleeve, and finally to your hand, where she gently massaged the tender skin of your palm, creating a sense of comfort and security.

As you settled into your feather pillows, your mother’s words filled your chest. “I love you too, Mama,” you replied, feeling a surge of emotion.

You could sense her watching as you nestled into your soft sheets, envisioning her gentle smile as she observed you finding comfort in your bed. Her soft sigh seemed to carry a hint of amusement as she watched you, her only daughter, wrapped in the embrace of the fabric, and it was almost as if her exhale itself held a trace of laughter.

What an endearing girl. My beautiful girl, Rhaenyra, mused as she rose to her feet. She took her time extinguishing the flickering candles one by one until only a single flame remained on the nightstand. The soft glow of the candle illuminated the room, providing a presence of solace for you, who had always been afraid of the darkness that the Red Keep brought. Though she would never admit it aloud, the princess regretted allowing Alicent to name you. She felt like an imbecile for the days after her first labor. 

Rhaenyra had a name for a girl. She had one since her mother was pregnant with her last child. You were a Targaryen, a descendant of the Conquers, and deserved to have a name like one. Alas, in a desperate attempt to create everlasting peace between the Princess and the Queen, she allowed her forgotten friend to name her daughter. An act that proved fruitless.

It was a mistake Rhaenyra would never make again as she opened the stalwart oak doors of your chambers, leaving one last expression filled with unyielding love.

You could still feel the whisper of your mother’s goodnight kisses on your face, releasing a deep sigh of relaxation as you turned beneath the elegant blankets and burrowed deeper into your soft pillows, arm tucked under your head. It took you a moment to comprehend the foreign object hidden underneath the satin-covered feathers as you grasped it with small fingers. 

You revealed a piece of parchment folded into fours underneath the candlelight and unraveled it curiously, wiping at your sleepy eyes with the back of your hand. 

It was a note from… Aegon , bewildering you beyond measure as to why he would do such a thing and how he got it in here without notifying your guard. The contents were of messy handwriting as if a chicken had written it, squinting in an attempt to decipher what almost looked like a foreign language. 

“I have a secret to tell you, niece, but you must promise that you shall tell no one, not even Jace. Follow the map I have drawn and meet me. I’ll be waiting. - Aegon”

Excitement rushed through your veins as you quickly went to your wardrobe and pulled on a midnight blue cloak. Slowly, as noiseless as possible, you crept over to the door separating you, Jace, and Luke’s room, carefully pulling it shut. You held the note in your hand as you followed your Uncle’s instructions, sliding your vanity mirror out of the blocked path he wrote out and stopping momentarily as the wooden leg scratched across the floor, ensuring your brothers did not hear. Your fingers felt along the stone wall, pushing with all your might against the innocuous slab until it gave way and a torch-lit passage emerged. 

You knew you shouldn’t be venturing out of your chambers at such a late hour, but the thrill of adventure was too enticing. Pulling the hood of your cloak over your loose hair, you couldn’t resist the opportunity. Aegon had never done something like this. He never sought you out to spend time together, let alone at such a late and secretive hour. It provided a good distraction from the worry that clung to your eyelids as you slipped down the dust-covered redstone stairs.

You heard rumors about hidden tunnels throughout Maegor’s Holdfast that he employed skilled architects and builders to construct them, and when they finished, he led them into the passages and killed every single one. When questioned about it, Maegor claimed he didn’t want rats to scuttle inside his walls . The thought sent shivers down your spine at the notion that within these very halls and alcoves could be the bones of a dozen or so men murdered in cold bold by your ancestor. 

The scuffle of shoes stole you from your mind, causing a gasp of fear to shake you as Aegon clamped his palms on your shoulders. Your Uncle cackled at having caught you unaware, sounding like a hag and flipping his unruly blonde hair back. 

“You got my note?” he asked as you nodded eagerly, showing him the parchment. “Does Jace know?”

You took a step back, brows scrunching together in offended confusion as you shook your head. Why would it matter if your brother knew? He wouldn’t tell anyone if you asked him not to. You were two halves of the same soul, bound together no matter the circumstances. 

“No, Uncle. You told me not to.” Despite wishing to do so. 

Aegon grinned, pleased with your obedience. Your submission to him was what allowed him to tolerate you. Your Uncle knew how close you and Jace were, practically joined at the hip, and even if he wanted to do something alone with one or the other, the other would always show. He was sure you would tell Jace when you felt the note underneath your pillow but was relieved nonetheless. 

As his eyes observed your attire, violet orbs flicked to your loose hair, white nightgown, and finely tailored cloak with a grimace. Aegon should have told you to dress down, seeing as he wore a tan undershirt and black trousers, but it was too late now. He would have to be extra careful. She looks common enough, he thought. 

“I was worried you wouldn’t come,” the prince confessed, placing his hand on your back to guide you. “I know your mother is strict with your bedtime.” 

You frowned as Aegon escorted you to Seven knows where. His insinuation of such a juvenile schedule deeply wounded you. As you understood, he didn’t adhere to a bedtime enforced by Queen Alicent, which only furthered your insecurities about your place compared to your aunt and uncles.

The narrow passage was filled with the high-pitched squeaks of mice and rats, making you startle and stand on your toes with each scurry past. Despite your protest, Aegon found amusement in your discomfort and callously kicked the next rodent that darted in your path. You supposed it was his way of protecting you, but the sight of the injured creature and its harrowing screech left you with a deep sense of disgust and sadness in the pit of your stomach. 

It brought to mind a painful memory of your Uncle crushing a butterfly that you and Helaena discovered in the garden, another instance of Aegon’s unjustified cruelty that you struggled to comprehend.

Water droplets echoed in the vast expanse of the underground tunnels as you and your Uncle ventured deeper into them. You glanced at Aegon, seeking guidance, and were met with a wide grin that stretched across his face. In the dim torchlight, the sparkle of his white teeth was visible, and the sudden image of your mother flashed into your mind. You found a strange comfort in your Uncle’s resemblance to her, starkly contrasting the unease you felt around the Queen’s children.

Despite being your mother’s siblings, Aegon, Helaena, and Aemond seemed distant to her, lacking the typical bond between brother and sister. Usually, aunts and uncles were much older than their nieces and nephews, taking on a more parental role than a playmate. This dynamic blurred the line between family and friendship, making it difficult to feel at peace with them. You found yourself grappling with the contradicting ideas of respecting and listening to them as you would your mother or father while treating them as one of your companions. You did not enjoy the disturbance this caused in your heart, burying those thoughts and feelings deep down, refusing to confront or acknowledge their existence. If you did not speak it, it was not real. 

You could no longer deny your curiosity about Aegon’s plans as you trailed behind, though the uncertainty stirred excitement within you. “Where are we going, Uncle? What secret did you want to tell me?” 

Aegon didn’t hide the way he rolled his eyes in annoyance at your insistent questioning, commanding you to be patient. He gripped your hand without much choice on your part as he led you down one of the dark tunnels with jagged rocks until you came upon a corridor with winding stairs. You peered curiously as he abruptly dragged you up the stone, your shorter legs struggling to keep in time with him. 

Soon, you found yourself underneath the starless night sky, walking a few paces before Aegon in the courtyard until he abruptly yanked you back into the shadows, a guard marching across your path. You were stunned momentarily at your Uncle’s foresight, staring into his concentrated gaze in shocked admiration, confident that he had done something like this before. Holding your breath until you could no longer hear the rhythmic clank of his armor, a burst of excitement filled your veins as you released a hushed giggle, Aegon following suit. 

You arrived in the wine cellars after a few more thrilling close calls. Bottles, barrels, and casks lined the dim room from floor to ceiling as a chilly draft swiftly passed through the area. Peering questioningly at Aegon, he studied the wooden crisscross rack of the different beverages until he decided on one and pulled it out of its cubby. 

“What is that one?” you interrogated, peeking over his shoulder. He shamelessly turned to you along with the glass bottle, carelessly flipping it in his grasp. 

“Arbor Red. I thought we might have a drink to accompany us. ’Tis a favorite of mine,” Aegon replied as he picked the wax off the cork and neck. 

You observed him with interest, hesitancy beginning to creep into your mind as you pinched at the fine hairs on your forearm. “I’ve never had that before. Mama only allows me to have ciders or a sip of white wine if I cannot sleep.” 

“She isn’t here now, is she?” he jeered, removing the wax with great effort to pop the cork. “Here.” Aegon offered without choice, holding the dark purple bottle out with one hand, tipping it in your direction when you stalled. 

You nervously accepted the wine with tight lips, tentatively taking a sip as you felt the saccharine liquid burn your tongue and ears, scarlet heating your cheeks. It was treacly sweet for your liking, causing a gag of disgust to erupt from your throat as you shoved the Arbor Red back into Aegon’s grip. He laughed at your disgust and took a swig of it without a care, expelling a sigh of relief as the cool, red liquid slid down his throat. 

“That’s positively rancid!” you giggled, wiping away the remnants from your chin. “How do you drink that?”  

Aegon held the neck of the bottle in his grasp, stealing another from the rack he thought you would like as he took a long gulp. “Like that.” 

You laughed in surrender, accepting the lighter wine that he picked and stealing a small taste as it turned your blood to fire. 

Your Uncle’s next destination was the kitchens as he led you up another set of worn stairs, following his heels like an eager pup to its owner, wagging your tail. There were only a few servants in crimson robes and dresses, their smocks an off-yellow color from years of usage as they tended to their late-night duties. Aegon kept you out of sight in the darkness as he took swigs of the Arbor Red, hiding patiently like a stalking cat waiting for the perfect moment to pounce on an unsuspecting mouse. 

When it happened, he took your wrist, expertly leading you through the multiple counters and tables, snatching a tray full of almond cakes and drying fruits as suddenly a kitchen maid appeared. The tray of prunes and oranges nearly slipped from your grasp as you jumped, swiftly recovering as Aegon grabbed your cloak and pulled you back from crashing into the servant, running at impossible speeds. The woman shouted and scolded both of you as you nearly tripped over your nightgown, bounding down the steps three at a time, laughter echoing in the halls. 

Once Aegon felt that no one was on your trail, he stopped on one of the unguarded battlements of the Holdfast, both of you laughing breathlessly as the adrenaline left your body. Placing the tray of fruits onto the ledge, you uncorked the bottle of wine Aegon chose, spilling some of the bubbly liquid. You took small sips, finally appreciating the refreshing white grape flavor as you and your Uncle snacked on the stolen goods underneath the silent moonless sky.

“My mother plans to betroth us,” Aegon declared through the quiet, making your eyes grow wide in response as you shoved a piece of powder-covered almond cake into your mouth. “She worries that when Rhaenyra comes to power, she’ll try to hurt Aemond and me because we’re boys.” 

You turned to face Aegon, licking the white dust from your lips as you stared at him in confusion. “Why would mother try to hurt you because you and Aemond are boys? You’re family.” They were your mother’s brothers and much younger at that. She would never try to hurt them for any reason at all. 

“Because the people of the realm believe only men can rule and they will do anything to ensure that I do,” he replied, bitterness laced in his tone. 

Sadness overtook your limbs as you slumped onto the ground, your woolen cloak catching on the stone. You could feel Aegon’s hopelessness as if it were your own and leaned your head onto his standing legs.

“They may believe that, but they are wrong. My mother will ascend the throne and I will after her. She will create a new order throughout Westeros and people who think that we cannot rule simply because we are girls won’t exist,” you announced with great conviction, stealing a glance as your Uncle looked over at the thousand twinkling village lights.

“You believe that you will rule after her?” Aegon questioned dispassionately, his lithe digits flicking in disregard. 

“Yes,” you replied without a thought. Your mother had not officially declared you her heir. That would only happen once your grandfather passed, a notion which brought you grief, but you knew she would choose you. After all, you were the eldest. You sighed, touching Aegon’s knee to get his attention. “Besides, you won’t challenge her. If you’re married to me, you’ll still become king.” 

“My mother wants us to marry to make you a prisoner bound in chains of false love and children– to prevent my half-sister from taking the throne when they put me on it. How can you not see that?” He turned to you swiftly, staring down at you with an intense look that struck you to your core. “My existence is opposition enough to Rhaenyra’s claim, and it seems my mother and grandfather will stop at nothing to groom me into the next heir even if it is something I do not want. Rhaenyra will stop at nothing to get you back when they do so.” 

“Queen Alicent will use me as leverage to stop my mother from taking her rightful place…” you whispered aloud as tears brimmed at your lashes. “You’ll still be king even if my mother is Queen. You’ll be married to me! Isn’t that enough?” 

Suddenly, Aegon kneeled before you, taking your shoulders harshly in his grip as his fingers burrowed into your flesh. You winced and tried to lean away, but he stopped you, his face so close you could see the fair, wispy hairs of a growing mustache above his lip. “What don’t you understand about this?” he yelled, his pale cheeks growing blushing with ire. “My mother and grandfather will put me on the throne over Rhaenyra no matter who I am married to, especially a bastard. Mother only wants for us to wed so that yours will not have the option forcefully to take her rightful place with her daughter in the way.”

“I am not a bastard!” you screamed into your Uncle’s face, tears falling freely down your cheeks as you shoved him onto the ground, nor were you your mother’s favorite. “My father is Laenor Velaryon, and my mother Rhaenyra Targaryen. I will rule the Seven Kingdoms and wear the crown of Jaehaerys like grandfather does and how my mother will!”  

Aegon groaned, head tilting to the sky in exasperation as he laid his limp hands between his legs in surrender. There was no point. You wouldn’t see reason. “Of course you are,” he sighed, sitting on his haunches. “Twas foolish of me to say otherwise. Come here and not let these treats go to waste.” 

Aemond sought solace in the library’s serene, dimly lit atmosphere during challenging moments. While he cherished his family, particularly his sister and mother, he couldn’t shake the feeling that his oldest brother exploited his loyal affection. Despite societal expectations dictating that he turn to his elder siblings for advice, Aemond often found himself shouldering Aegon’s responsibilities.

He observed how Luke frequently sought guidance and support from you and Jace when making decisions and taking action. While Luke turned to his siblings for solace following a frightening dream or when Aegon was particularly unkind, Aemond lacked this support. Instead, he assumed the role of mentor, offering guidance to his older brother and comforting his older sister during challenging times. Unintentionally, his family burdened Aemond with the responsibilities of a caregiver, parent, and older brother despite his status as the second son, with seemingly no prospects besides living in the shadow of the firstborn.

In times of turmoil and uncertainty, Aemond sought refuge in the timeless embrace of books. Their weight in his hands provided a reassuring sense of substance, their unchanging inked pages promising stability in a world of instability. The authors had already mapped out the characters’ journeys within those hallowed pages, complete with predetermined destinies and unyielding conclusions.

Immersing himself in these literary sanctuaries, Aemond would momentarily escape into realms where he could envision himself as a formidable dragonlord of Old Valyria, astride a majestic and fearsome beast, commanding the submission of his adversaries. While it was the only place where a fleeting sense of happiness fluttered within him, he hesitated to label it as true to the elusive emotion.

As the moon hung high in the sky, Aemond found himself immersed in his usual pursuit of a tome that delved into the intricacies of war strategy. Unlike his niece, he had always eschewed fanciful tales and romantic novels, who took great pleasure in playfully mocking him as “a bore.” Although he never revealed it, her words stung, and he often retorted with a feigned air of anger.

He harbored a deep-seated jealousy towards his niece and nephews, which he vehemently denied. Underneath that denial, there simmered a potent brew of hatred. Aemond’s royal lineage, as the son of a king, set him apart from them, but that fact seemed inconsequential. They were the offspring of his father’s beloved, his sole child, and the source of his utmost joy. Viserys’ grandchildren held an irreplaceable position in his world.

Training sessions were held in the courtyard, and the king’s attendance was for something other than his and Aegon’s. He was there for Luke and Jace, the sons of Rhaenyra. Whenever there was a showcase of skills to display the dancing prowess Helaena and his niece had acquired, the king’s praises were reserved solely for Rhaenyra’s daughter.

Aemond was fiercely determined to outshine his sister’s children and earn his father’s approval. He longed for acknowledgment and validation, believing he possessed talents superior to those of his nephews and niece. Jace struggled with memorizing High Valyrian glyphs, and while Aemond could speak basic sentences, Luke feared his dragon. At the same time, Aemond charged head-first into mounts that did not belong to him, and his niece’s enigmatic challenges bolstered Aemond’s confidence in his abilities.

He struggled to find any significant flaws in her that would be readily apparent to an adult. Aemond observed that her persistent need for validation, love, and recognition, coupled with a hint of arrogance, could be irritating. However, he realized that the impact of these traits as either faults or strengths depended on the recipient of her unwavering loyalty.

His niece would go to lengths for those she sought admiration from, even losing her strong sense of justice when it came to it. Aemond could recall times when she protected Helaena from Aegon’s taunts and torture, nearly breaking his nose in recompense. She was carefree and joyful, unburdened with the weight of duty and pressure he faced, but when it came to the things that mattered, she showed restraint, unlike Aegon. He felt that one day, her fierceness and unapologetic service to the ones she cared for would be her ruination, which Aemond could not wait for.

Though he loathed to admit it, a part of him yearned to inspire that same devotion in someone. Aemond would never want it from his niece. She was not her father’s child. He did not need her love, but he still craved it. Whether it be from someone he despised or not, he would take it.

Aemond’s eyes wandered across the stacked books until he stumbled upon one that piqued his interest. He carefully reached for it, feeling the rough texture of the old parchment underneath his fingertips. As he flipped through the worn pages, he caught a whiff of the distinct fragrance that only old books carried, which spoke of centuries past. Taking a moment to appreciate the weight of history in his hands, he tucked the stiff leather-bound tome under his arm. He exited the library with his index finger delicately hooked in the ring of his lit candle holder, casting flickering shadows around him. The night air enveloped him as he embarked on the journey back to his quarters, the faint aroma of the ancient book lingering in the air around him.

Though he hid it underneath an annoyed facade, Aegon was terrified. He did not want to be king, nor did he want to marry you. He did not want to marry anyone, for that matter. Yes, you were a rather attractive creature, only when you ate , and frequently, he felt less than in your presence, but you were still a silly little girl who saw things for their surface beauty and not in their entirety. You could not comprehend why his mother and grandfather would still force Aegon onto the throne even if he would wed you. 

Despite what the entire lot of you claimed, you and your brothers were bastards. You had no Velaryon features. There was no hint of your father’s dark skin or white hair. Saying that all four of Rhaenyra’s children took Rhaenys’s attributes was stretched too far for any competent person to believe. But it didn’t matter. No amount of reason from Aegon, the Queen, or the court would convince King Viserys or the rest of you where your true parentage lied, not that it mattered to him. 

Hastily, you wiped away the tears and snot of frustration, nodding timidly to Aegon’s silent apology as you shoved a dried orange into your mouth. The pair of you sat in a noiseless trance filled with the sounds of crickets and intermediate chewing, taking sips of your wine. You refused to be the one to break the quiet, seeing as you weren’t the one who caused it. You allowed Aegon to stew with the lie of calling you a bastard as the bubbly liquid dribbled past your lips. 

Your Uncle’s fingers soon wiped away the drops before they could become sticky against your skin. He tended to do it whenever you made a mess of yourself, often when you ate or drank in his presence. You giggled demurely and smiled as you watched him lick the wine from his fingers. Aegon was always so silly like that. It was rare for him to be seen without a lopsided grin on his sharp face. 

The same hand he used to remove the liquid on your chin found itself on your thigh, gradually working his thumb in circles. It startled you. Aegon never touched you without the intent to hurt or shove you somewhere as your muscles clenched, but when no blow or ridicule followed, you relaxed, resting your head on his pointy shoulder as you often did with your brother. 

You enjoyed the happiness touch could bring and often initiated it with whomever would allow you to. You wanted those you met to feel the same comfort you did and to know that you cared for them so much that actions were the only way for you to explain.

“Can I do something, niece? But it must remain our secret,” Aegon whispered into the darkness. The torches whooshing filled the air as the wind swept through the cold night air, casting eerie shadows on the ancient stone walls. The flames danced and swayed, casting a warm, golden glow illuminating your secretive conversation.

Under the obsidian moonless sky, you uttered, “I didn’t tell anyone where I was going tonight. Don’t you trust me?” Hoping to convey sincerity through your expression, you kept your plans a secret from your mother and brother. To them, you were just in bed, peacefully dreaming of riding Gaelithox across the vast lands of Westeros.

Aegon smiled and released a puff of air out of his nose, which you assumed was a laugh, as he began to bunch the skirt of your nightgown in his fist. You hadn’t a clue as to what he was doing, observing him with a curious but unworried expression as his fingers pulled back the small piece of cloth between your legs. Turning your gaze from your Uncle’s hand to his face, you peered at him peculiarly, your head tilted as you observed his concentrated expression, his breathing becoming faster. Aegon’s cheeks and ears were bright pink, beaming like a beacon in the night as you smiled. Even though his face held an intensely focused expression, you could sense satisfaction radiating from him that flowed into you. 

Aegon’s fingers didn’t feel like much as he spread the skin of your privy parts, dragging his digits up and down like he was stroking a swatch of fabric. The sensation was more foreign than anything, like learning to write for the first time. You could feel every ridge and swirl of his fingerprints against your dry skin as he suddenly dipped down into the hole between your legs. It startled you, his single digit causing a slight burn of pain as you jumped in response. 

Your Uncle’s gaze faced you, his once violet eyes now eclipsed with a black that threatened to swallow you whole. He assured you that you were fine, and you felt him move beside you, helping you stand upright, leaning your back against the battlement wall, and rucking your skirt up again. You watched as he fiddled with his breeches, an inquisitive expression pulling your brows taught as he revealed his private  part. 

It wasn’t as if you hadn’t seen one before. You, Jace, and Luke often bathed together with the help of your maids and Mother, but Aegon’s, his, looked different. It was a lot longer than your brother’s, a bright, rosy color standing straight out from his body, unlike the downturn of your siblings. You looked to him for an answer he refused to give, rubbing his member against yours, creating an uncomfortable, raw sensation. 

You didn’t know that those two things could touch each other. It wasn’t a thought in your mind that you could use it like your hand to grasp another, but as long as Aegon was happy, you were happy, so you allowed him to continue doing what he wanted in silence as he spat on your area. You shouted in protest at such a disgusting action, attempting to push him away, but Aegon held onto your waist tightly, forcing you to glide over his manhood. 

“Aegon, that was gross! Why did you spit on me?” you interrogated, attempting to push him away, but Aegon paid you no mind, continuing to rub himself against you in faster motions and quicker breaths. The more he moved, the more your privy area started to hurt, a burning sensation that reminded you of when you slid your knee across a floor rug after falling. It didn’t feel like nothing anymore, and soon you wanted to stop, pushing your Uncle away, but he held. 

“Aegon, you’re hurting me. Please, stop,” you commanded him. But he ignored your plea, his hand positioning his member at an angle as he pushed forward.

You screamed . 

You screamed and screamed and screamed as you shouted for Aegon to stop, a feeling as if a piece of molten metal had stabbed through you, radiating up your entire body and searing your insides. Your Uncle groaned, releasing a sigh of relief as his hands searched for something beside you. He took a fistful of plum and orange slices and shoved them into your mouth to get you to silence. He covered your lips with his palm, forcing you to chew the fruit if you wished not to choke. 

Aegon waited too long for his release, which Alicent had interrupted hours prior. He was not eager to seek out his niece unless with the purpose of gratification. You were so desperate to please him with whatever he asked of you, even if it would harm another, that Aegon found it endearing. He began to imagine a life with someone as devoted as you by his. Would he finally get the validation he desired from his mother and father? Would you allow him to pursue his lust as he wished and welcome him with dutiful arms each time? Your well-being was no longer a thought in his mind. The idea that he could finally have someone who gave him anything he desired and would never be able to leave was far too intoxicating. 

Aemond strolled beneath the crimson stone arches of the Keep, looking forward to slipping into his warm bed and immersing himself in the world of literature that awaited him. The night was serene, devoid of the moon’s glow, causing Blackwater Bay’s tides to remain calm and the air to hang motionless. It seemed like the ideal moment for reading, and he felt a revitalized spring in his stride.

As Aemond strolled past one of the stone parapets of Maegor’s Holdfast, the sounds of a soft, high-pitched voice caught his attention. It piqued his curiosity, making him ponder whether to ignore the sound or investigate. Suddenly, another voice, more urgent and resonant, joined the first. Aemond immediately recognized it as his older brother, Aegon. It seemed that he was attempting, and likely failing, to charm another maid again. Aemond sighed profoundly and glanced toward his chambers, wondering if he should intervene or retire for the evening. 

It was merely a brief stroll. Aemond could have retired to bed without concern for his older brother’s mischief. Nevertheless, he couldn’t bear the thought of disregarding the plight of the unfortunate servant girl and failing to intervene. Aemond Targaryen prided himself on his sense of honor. With each step, he could feel the weight of exhaustion and the burden of his conscience as he ascended the ancient stairs to the battlement. 

He stopped as he reached the top, finding his niece and brother in a state that would cause even the most experienced man to gasp in horror. Aemond observed how Aegon forced himself onto his younger niece, tears clumping her thick lashes and streaming down her cheeks. Shock gave way to anger as he recalled that same bleary face once jeering at his misfortune of not having a dragon, the girl who laughed at Aemond as his eldest brother gave him a pig to ride instead. 

Exhale. Inhale.

The prince remained motionless, a strange sense of eerie tranquility enveloping him. He felt nothing as he slowly retreated, the sound of the scuffle causing you to turn your head abruptly. Amidst the storm’s chaos, with no respite from Aegon’s relentless, tormenting attacks, your gaze locked with Aemond’s, the taste of your tears and ill-gotten gains mingling in the air.

Exhale. Inhale. 

You finally comprehended the significance of Septa Marlow’s teachings on ‘virtue.’ It was more than just a concept, but a tangible essence that one could embody and manifest in their actions. It represented the honor and reverence for one’s existence, acknowledging the inherent value of being alive and holding steadfast to one’s moral principles. Aegon’s actions cruelly deprived you of this intrinsic moral fiber, callously usurping the very essence of your being for his selfish gain.

Exhale. Inhale.

Aegon’s hand pressed firmly over your mouth, cutting off any pleadings as you desperately looked to Aemond for help. Aegon’s knowledge that it was wrong was evident in how he silenced you, his own set of virtues twisted and contorted into something unrecognizable by an external force.

Exhale. Inhale .

Aemond stood frozen on the staircase, one foot on the lower step and the other on the top. His bright purple eyes darted back and forth between you and Aegon. Inside his head, he couldn’t help but feel that you deserved this. He seethed with anger at all the wrongs you and your brothers had done to him. The injustices he felt burned within him—from the mistreatment of the pig to your unworthy existence, to the love and affection you received from his father, which he believed should have been his, and to your manipulation of his mother’s affections, deceiving her into seeing you as anything other than a sinful bastard.

Exhale. Inhale.

Your eyes, the teary pools of dark essence that threatened to pull him beneath it to feel your desperation and helplessness, tore into his soul and exposed his core for only you to see. Aemond was just a child, as were you, thrust into an ill-fated life before he had a name. No longer did you see your Uncle as someone who desired to hurt you but as someone who had hurt , both of you perpetuating the cycle that existed before your conception. You and Aemond were doomed to suffer unless one rose above and changed the narrative. 

Exhale. Inhale. 

“Aegon. What are you doing?” Aemond’s firm voice sounded, rising to the top step. 

His brother jumped in response, abruptly pulling away from you as you collapsed to the ground with a yelp. Aegon attempted to stuff himself back into his breeches as if that could hide what he had done. The blood on his brother’s pale skin made him unable to conceal it. 

“We… We were just having a bit of fun. Weren’t we, niece? We’re to be betrothed after all,” Aegon expressed as he steadied his breathing. “We’re simply celebrating preemptively.” 

As your eldest Uncle reached out his hand, a pleading look in his eyes conveyed a sense of desperation that might have influenced you in the past. However, this time, you met his imploring gaze with steely determination. Your breath caught in your throat as you resolutely pushed his reaching hand away, refusing to succumb to the unspoken agreement it symbolized.

Aegon turned to look at you; his expression was devastated, as if you had deeply wounded him. His cheeks were flushed, and his lips swollen from biting them, a silent attempt to contain his earlier excitement. It was the first time you had rejected his warmth in years, and it felt like you had torn his heart out. Turning his gaze to Aemond, fury replaced the emptiness in his chest as he realized that neither of you moved from your positions, causing his chin to quiver.

You were Aegon’s friend first. He could not change your mind, regardless of how desperately he wished to, and Aegon refused to subject himself to any more rejection as he pushed past Aemond and hurriedly descended the stairs, taking them three at a time, tail tucked between his legs.

You and Aemond remained in your positions for a moment after Aegon departed. As you stood there, your blue cloak draped over your shoulders and white nightgown concealing your slouched figure, tears streaming down your cheeks uncontrollably. Aemond, unsure of how to offer comfort, hesitated awkwardly. He struggled with his emotions as he silently observed you, feeling conflicted and unsettled by the situation’s intensity. He was at war with himself. 

A part of him found satisfaction in seeing you cry, a small measure of justice after enduring Aegon’s taunts for so long, but the other understood the great injustice and consequences you had endured, even if it seemed you did not. All he could do was noiselessly watch as you cried into the emptiness of the night, words of solace stuck in his throat. 

Your body hurt, sore, and trembling in places you had never felt pain before. You were so tired, so drained of life and energy that you felt as if you could sleep right here within the battlements of the Red Keep, but you knew that you would get into trouble if caught. Sneaking out and stealing wine and food from the kitchens would surely get you a reprimand from your mother, which was something you did not want. You were already in serious trouble for disobeying the Dragonkeepers and did not want to further your punishment.

With a great breath from your lungs, you wiped your tears, putting your legs underneath you and pushing yourself up. Severe pain shot through your body as you fell back to the ground with a shriek, skinning your knee. A fresh wave of sobs erupted from your chest, but you held them in and pulled your quivering limbs to stand against the wall. It felt as if you had been horseback riding for hours, your privy place sore and raw. 

Wincing as you made another step, you looked to where Aemond was, expecting him to be gone, but he was still there, gazing at you intently with a serious look on his freckled face. “I need to go to bed before someone discovers I’m gone,” you declared, wordlessly asking your Uncle to help you with your struggle. 

“You need the Maester,” Aemond countered, unmoving, eyes fixed to your feet. “You’re bleeding.” 

Quickly, you looked down to where he stared and saw your pristine white cotton nightgown stained in places with the crimson liquid of your blood. Your knees busted whenever you landed on the stone, red soaking through for all to see. 

“No,” you refused, tousled hair swaying in the wind as you shook it. “I can take care of it myself. Please, just-” Your lungs hiccuped as they tried to return to their regular pattern.  “Help me, Aemond. Please.” 

Your Uncle did not move. His expression curled into a slight grimace as you managed to stand beside him, placing a hand on his bicep. Some of you expected Aemond to walk away when you touched him, but he did not. Instead, he bristled under your damp palm and sucked in a noiseless gasp of air. 

The prince had not felt the act of a tender touch initiated without something negative associated with it since before he could remember. His mother always consoled him after being teased or Aegon guiding him to his misfortune, never just the simple act of human contact.

“What do you want me to do?” Aemond questioned, turning his stiff posture to you. 

“Don’t let me fall,” you softly commanded, a waiver to your voice. You worried Aemond would leave you if you said or did something wrong. You understood him to be very erratic around you in most situations, but you didn’t blame him for it. You were not always kind. 

Like a vision of divine benevolence, your Uncle wrapped an arm around your torso and hooked it around yours in support as he led you down to the torchlight aisles of the palace, using the shadows as cover. Worried that you could not find your way back the way you came, fresh tears sprung free. There would be no hope of hiding your disobedience from your mother if you returned to your chambers from the typical entrance, and the fear caused you to stop your shaky stride. Aemond turned his annoyed face to your frightened one, eyes wide like a fawn caught within the jaws of a wolf as you threw yourself into his embrace. You just needed someone to hold you, to cradle you like your mother did whenever you hurt yourself playing with your brothers. 

Your Uncle stiffened like the cold stone statues in Sept, under unusual affection and uncertain how to proceed. The last time you shared touch like this was in response to ridicule, and immediately, Aemond grabbed your biceps on instinct and attempted to push you away, but the broken cry you released at his rough handling caused him to pause. It was a noise that cut straight through the years of armoring his soul to the torment he suffered, making his nose burn. You were such a happy child, to the point where it irked Aemond, and to see you reduced to such a state even weaker than his after Aegon’s jests broke his hatred-covered heart. 

Perhaps it was because he now had someone else who shared his silent agony, a bond formed with tears and blood. Or because you finally understood how your actions affected those around you. A dark, twisted part of Aemond relished in your pain and hoped you were the victim of more if it meant you would come to him like this, weak and clinging to him as if he was the very air you needed to survive. 

“My mother… I-” you heaved, salty snot dribbling down into your mouth as you attempted to speak. “I can’t go back to my rooms the way I left. She’ll-she will know that I was out this late, and she’ll be upset with me!”

Aemond gazed down at you incredulously, and his upper lip curled in disbelief at how immature you were. No wonder you and Aegon got along. “Your mother will not be cross with you once you tell her what my brother did. Be reasonable,” he commanded as your cheeks glistened in the yellow glow. 

“No, no,” you shook your head vehemently, causing your dark locs to caress your Uncle’s digits and the smell of your citrus oils to waft into the thick air. It was a smell so uniquely yours, and despite Aemond aversion to such scents, he thought they weren’t as horrendous as he initially believed. “She is all ready upset with me for skipping lessons and disobeying the dragonkeepers. She’ll be furious if she finds I snuck out of my room!”

Your thoughts were like a fortress, impenetrable and infused with a heady titian aroma. You had ventured too far beyond the realms of reason, your breath quickening, leaving you feeling weightless and unsteady on your feet. Emotions surged uncontrollably within you, bubbling over like an overfilled pot of boiling water. You clawed at your neck, your face, and your scalp, leaving painful welts in your wake. The intensity was unbearable. The sight churned your Uncle’s stomach, but he couldn’t look away. You yearned to escape from this overwhelming torrent of emotions, to shed them like a second skin.

Aemond watched in paralyzed horror as you clawed at your flesh like a mange-ridden animal, with dark eyes staring a league away from reality. He had never seen something like this before, and it scared him to the bone. A rush of fear gripped him as he thought that you might dig your fingers into your skull and harm yourself. He grabbed your wrists to stop you, but your fingers yanked the roots of your hair, ripping out chunks of tangled brown. 

Aemond gasped in shock as your chest began to take gradually deep breaths, and a sudden serenity came over you, like a warm blanket in winter. An intense expression painted his shadowy countenance as he wrapped his slightly larger hands around yours, taking the clumps and tossing them aside.

“We shall go to my rooms, and we’ll tend to your scrapes,” Aemond stated in finality as you nodded swiftly, swallowing your briny spit. “We’ll need to get rid of your nightdress too. It is…”

Your Uncle could not finish his sentence, his violet eyes trailing to your slippered feet. You knew what he meant. It was covered in blood , and noiselessly, you agreed to his plan without objection as he led you by a single wrist into the barren Keep. 

This was a pact of secrecy sealed with neither words nor a handshake. It was a silent understanding born of shared anguish that you were now forever bound by eternal suffering at the hands of Aegon. Your existences doomed you and Aemond; with that, you would suffer together for eternity. 

Masterlist of Series

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How is everyone after that? Are we okay?

Rape and SA is typically not done with just the intent of sexual gratification, but to have power over someone. It's for the assailant to feel in control over someone who physically or mentally could not counter them. Whether it's because they've been SAed in the past or they feel like they have no control in their lives could be a reason.

When I heard that fact it hit me close to my heart as I was molested when I was a child. I've thought for my entire life that he did it only because he was curious because he was only about 8-9 years older than me, but I realized he most likely did it to me because I was powerless against him and he knew I wanted to be "cool" like him. I was around 6-7 years old.

My personal experience with sexual assault heavily inspired the dialogue and dynamics in this chapter. (Nobody can tell me it wasn't realistic!) Unlike the reader there was no one to help stop it and help me through it. I was so young I didn't even know it was wrong at the time, and even though he went to trial and was a registered sex offender, his record was cleared when he became an adult. In fantasy and real life, crimes like this still go unpunished.

If you, or anyone you know has been a victim of sexual assault, no matter how long ago it was, please talk to someone professionally or go to the authorities if possible. You truly don't realize how it skews your view of sex, love, relationships, and trust until the damage is done and is extremely difficult to work through. I do want to mention quickly as the story progresses you will see how a single act that one perceives as minor can cause you to do things without realizing that's the real reason why.

Thank you again for reading and all the kind words. I hope I can continue to live up to your expectations. (⁠.⁠ ⁠❛⁠ ⁠ᴗ⁠ ⁠❛⁠.⁠)

Tagged Peeps: @millies0bsimp , @britt-mf , @marvelescvpe , @haikyuusboringassmanager , @discofairysworld , @livcookesgf , @nessjo

[ilove-sexydilfsnmilfs]

-Star Crossed- chapter 1

Pairing- Oc!reader(afab) x Logan Howlett

Words- 1.9k (not proofread plz excuse any errors)

Summary- it’s been nearly 2 years since Cora(reader) and Logan both lost eachother in their own universe, both broken, angry and hated amongst their people, They would do anything to see one another again, little did they know that day would come sooner than expected, and shatter their hearts into pieces and drive their long hidden desires to the surface ….will they be able to forgive themselves for their past and finally be together? Or will the universe just tear them apart once again?

Warnings- mentions of death, blood, 18+ (smut) in some later scenes/chapters… tension!!!! ./trauma/ no use of y/n I will be using a name but I won’t be describing any appearances! / Logan is aged down to be atleast in his early /mid 30s in this story / will add more warnings when needed.

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You’ve been rotting in your bed for months now, you can’t bring yourself to do much…not anymore.. you feel so lost, so hopeless..all because he’s gone, and you blame yourself for everything that had happened , you blame yourself for losing Logan.

You stare up at the white ceiling, Logans dog tags rest around your neck, his old grey zip up wrapped in your arms, his scent slowly fading with each day that passes. You feel nothing but sadness, you’ve cried so much you genuinely don’t think you can bare to cry anymore you just want out. Out of this fucking world, out of your misery. But what can you do? Just leave? No…what would leaving do? You’d still carry the pain you’ve felt since the day Logan Howlett died in your arms. Sometimes you swear you can still feel the warmth from his blood pooling under you, his heavy body laying stiff in your arms…the feeling of absolute dread when he stopped responding to your pleas to stay with you a little longer, when his hand fell from your face, body going limp…thinking about it makes you want to end your own life sometimes but you know that’s not what he would have wanted for you…he would want you to live on, but how could you live when the only man you’d ever loved was gone …forever?

You rolled over on your side, your face sinking into your pillow while you held his jacket close to your body, your other hand clenching his bloodstained necklace it’s all you had left of him since you left the x mansion, you couldn’t be there anymore, not with all the memories and not with knowing none of your friends were there anymore either.. they were all gone, dead… you were the last one left, and you couldn't bear to be reminded of all the happy memories...not when survivors guilt was riddled in your body. when everyone had died, you felt like you at least had a reason to live giving you still had logan by your side, but then he got sick, adamantium poisoning....you don't know how it happened, but the adamantium inside of him started to break down, entering his blood stream, it weakened him, slowed down his healing factor...you hated seeing him in pain, it wasn't like him to show it so much, it broke your heart almost every day and that's when you decided to find a way to help him before it got too bad...but little did you know... that would be the very cause of his death.

You blame yourself every single fucking day for his death, sometimes you wonder if you even deserve to wear those dog tags he ripped from his neck and placed in your blood-soaked hands...."I'm so sorry Logan..." you whisper into the jacket, muffled cries echoed through the quiet dark room, cries that soon turned into loud gut wrenching sobs.. you stayed like that for hours, crying yourself to sleep, the way you did almost every night.

you were jolted awake the next morning by the sound of hard loud knocks on your apartment door. You look around frantically, knowing who it was already...it was them.. humans. Humans who hated you more than anything, more than any other mutant...why? because they blame you for the deaths of the other x-men, and they most definitely blame you for the death of Wolverine. "fuck...that fast??" you mutter stuffing your things into a bookbag that lay on the floor next to your bed, they had defintely found you faster than last time....fuck.

you tried to sneak out the window in your bedroom when the door was kicked open by a few bigger men, they ran inside trashing the place, calling out your name in a way that made your skin crawl "COME OUT YOU BITCH" one yelled like a raging brute "come out come out wherever you are Cora, we just wanna make you feel the pain we felt when you killed the x-men" another cooed, his voice was one you'd hear when taunting someone, it was fucking creepy.

"Fuck me!" you spit in a whisper, they seemed even more upset than before...to this day you don't understand why the humans decided to turn against you, I guess they just needed someone to blame for the deaths...and you were right there and unscathed. As you were trying to make your way out the small window, the door to your bedroom flung open and 3 men entered, a mob of people behind them, they grabbed you almost immediately, grabbing your hands and putting them behind your back, and covering your eyes knowing full well of all your abilities. "We got you; you bitch, you're not going anywhere" . Now this whole ordeal would be a lot easier if you could just use your powers against them, but you took an oath when Logan died to never use your powers to harm a soul ever again...and yea these people were horrible trying to kill you but they genuinely think it's your fault your friends are dead...and you know you'd feel the same way if you were in their shoes, so yea...you took an oath to never use your powers to harm these people...but no one ever said anything about using your combat skills...like cmon you were a fucking x-men...these people are really stupid.

you kicked your leg up into the air, uppercutting one person causing them to fall onto the ground with a loud thump. you then brought your head back to headbutt the man holding your arms behind your back and when you felt they were free you ripped the blindfold off and quickly grabbed a lamp that sat on your bedside table, bashing it against another's head. A few people came charging at you at once, but you dodged them with minimal effort, grabbing their heads and bashing them together causing their bodies to go limp and fall to the ground. your right elbow landed directly into someone's stomach making them gasp for air then you brought your knee up to bash it clear into their face, as someone tried to climb onto your back you stumbled from the sudden attack and fell back into a wall causing them to bring a knife right down into your upper abdomen "GET OFF OF ME" you screamed in pain , pushing yourself back into the wall again and again but the person still had a grip on you, that's when another person tried coming at you full speed to tackle you to the ground...you were getting exhausted, you hadn't properly worked out in months and this sudden fight was one you weren't expecting... you were annoyed, trying to fight all these people, finally getting the person on your back off you head someone yell "YOU MURDERER, YOURE KILLING US BUT WHERE WERE YOU WHEN THEY NEEDED YOU"

"ITS ALL YOUR FAULT WOLVERINE IS DEAD" those words, those seven words snapped something inside of you...and well that oath you took...it meant nothing to you now. you brought your hands up into the air, your eyes glowing a bright white, the humans looked at you with nothhing but fear in their eyes. they all stumbled over eachother in the small apartment, but none of them were fast enough, you brought your hands down with a swift motion and everyone in the room flung back, some hit walls, some crashed into furniture and others flew out of windows, an instant death giving you were on the 7th floor. "I DID NOT KILL LOGAN" you screamed, people tried getting up but you didnt let that slide, "I TREID TO SAVE HIM, I LOVED HIM” you swished your hand to cause the ones trying to escape to fling back to the ground. You saw the man that uttered those words that made you snap almost instantly, you had heard them so many times before but for some reason today was the last straw, you tilted your head to the side walking towards him slowly as you brought your hand up you balled it into a fist and watched as he was lifted off the ground, grasping hopelessly at his neck, he couldn't breathe and you only squeezed your fist tighter and tighter as you watched his face turn blue, you glared at him, your eyes narrowing until

'POP'

His head was gone within an instant, blood painted your clothes and face. You were in uncontrollable rage, and couldn't stop, matter of fact you didn't want to stop. you wanted them to feel the pain they have been putting you through when you were already going through enough.

The others screamed, but you quickly shut them up, you twisted your head to the side, and without really thinking about it you opened a portal...it was another one of your abilities you rarely used, but as you were throwing people through it, the screaming stopped....they were all dead and you began to come down from your high while the portal was kept open...you fell to your knees and watched as the golden sparks from the portal started to dim....but before the portal closed completely you saw it...him...a face you hadn't seen in almost 2 years....Logan Howlett.

you felt your heart skip a beat when you both locked eyes, his expression showing just as much shock and heartache as yours, ignoring the bodies you absent mindlessly had thrown before him, in his hand held a bottle of whiskey but it soon hit the cold ground, shattering into pieces. you absent mindlessly grabbed the dog tags that hung around your neck, shooting up to your feet before calling out, "LO-" you were cut off mid-sentence as the portal closed as quickly as it was made and once again you were left alone in silence. You fell to your knees, shaking, your mind raced thinking if what you saw was just your imagination paying tricks on you...logan was dead...there was no way ....you saw him die , you saw-..."no....that's not possible" you mutter to yourself, you stared blankly at the blood riddled floor....that's when your mind began to drift to something Strange said long ago to you...how your ability was one of a kind, how with your own mind you could create portals to other worlds without a type of device...at the time you thought he was just wrong...every time you used your ability you only opened portals to other places in your world...not any others, only he had the ability to do that and even so it was with an object... or...at least you thought. "How...I don't even know wh- I don't even remember what i did .... how?" you were at a loss for words. Did you actually do it... did you open a poral to another earth, one where...Logan was still alive? you felt tears swell in the rim of your eyes, soon falling down your cheeks and onto the floor...you felt sick, crazed and as you looked around...horrible...if what you saw was real, then Logan, The man you've craved to see , the man you once loved and still do love, the man you tried saving and the man that died in your arms...is out there and just in your reach.

(I HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE THIS, THE NEXT CHAPTER WILL HAVE MORE INTERACTIONS BETWEEN BOTH CORA (THE READER) AND LOGAN. IT WILL ALSO BE FROM LOGANS POV FOR A LITTLE WHILE let me know if you guys liked it!! 🫶🏼)

[lovelettersforthedamned]

Hey bestie!!!

Saw your ask box was open 👀 👀

Anyways, could you please write something about friends to lovers with tasm!peter? Been craving it lately seriously....

Thank you so much!

Have a great day/night/whatever time it is for you when you read this!

xoxo, anon🩷

something short and silly!! i'll write a deliciously long friends to lovers fic soon, but here's this for now!!!

“There’s no reason for it to be this fucking hot right now,” Peter’s voice is grumbled as he lays shirtless and on his back on your floor. 

You chuckle but roll your eyes at his ‘misery’. “Maybe if you came up here and helped me with the air conditioner instead of complaining, you’d feel much better soon,” you yell behind you. Beads of sweat are falling from your forehead as each little screw on this machine brings you closer to the edge.

Peter peels himself from the floor and slumps his way towards your struggling frame. “You know,” he starts, “you could’ve just asked.” A hint of a smirk laced within the tone of his voice. 

The weight of the air conditioning box significantly lightens as Peter lifts the other side while you carefully work at the edges. You don’t choose to respond, because honestly, you’re hot and irritated and have close to zero patience for your friend's foolishness at the moment. 

Your lack of response causes Peter to silence himself and his small laughs. He peers over and sees how focused you are on bringing cool air into your small apartment. The only words he receives from you are ‘okay, push’. As he slides the box into the small opening of your living room window, you sigh a breath of relief. 

“Here goes nothing,” you sigh, switch the button on, and crank it to its highest setting. And just like that, you two have struck gold when ice-cold air smacks you in the face. You swear a pornographic moan leaves your lips, but you don’t care. Closing your eyes, you bask in the cold. 

As you open your eyes and turn towards Peter, you expect him to be in a similar position, but you’re met with his own eyes. He’s completely entranced, and it seems like he won’t stop. 

Your eyebrows scrunch in confusion, “What’s wrong with you?” 

“You’re so pretty,” he confesses, his eyes still scanning over your face. 

Your eyes widen, “What?”

“What?”