#again I haven't read it in a LONG time but I'm pretty sure it doesn't have romance...

[aperrywilliams]

Tin Wedding (Spencer Reid x ExWife!Reader)

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Author Masterlist | Event Masterlist

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Pairing: Spencer Reid x ExWife!Reader.

Summary: You've become friends with Penelope Garcia over the past year, and after much insistence from her, you agreed to visit her at her office one day. What you didn't expect was to run into your ex-husband there. And surely you didn't expect that he - Spencer Reid - is Penelope's coworker.

Word Count: 7.2k (please, stop me!)

Warnings: Yes. I set this one as +16. Mention of Reader being drunk. Curses and some strong words. Mention of sex - oral (m&f). Nothing detailed. IDFK anything about the US marriage and divorce system.

A/N: 2nd Fic for the "We are not gonna make it" writing challenge I was hosting during October with my sis @babymetaldoll. I'm so sorry for the delay, but life has crushed me these past weeks.

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The ding of the elevator signals you are already on the sixth floor. The doors open, and the first thing you see are people going and coming. It's the bustling of a lively office at noon. But this is not just any office; this is the FBI headquarters in Quantico. You never thought you would be in a place like this in your life, but here you are after your friend Penelope convinced you to visit her at work after insisting for weeks.

BAU - Behavioural Analysis Unit reads the glass doors in front of you. This is the place. Looking at the scattered desks on the open floor, you look for a clue that leads you to Penelope.

People walk past you without paying much attention. Maybe you should ask for help. But before you can decide to do so, a voice behind your back breaks you out of your thoughts.

"Can I help you?"

You know that voice. You're sure of that. But wait. It can't be—not after years of not hearing it.

You slowly turn around just to confirm that your suspicions are correct. Standing in front of you is a curious Spencer Reid, who pales when he sees your face. He remembers you, too.

"Oh God, Spencer?"

A stupid question with an obvious answer, but that doesn't take away the surprise of coming face to face with someone you never thought you'd see again in your life.

"(Y/N)? Wow..."

Time has passed, you tell yourself. Spencer looks more grown up. His hair is a little shorter, and he doesn't look so skinny anymore; it even seems there's some muscle under the white shirt he sports. Some stubble adorns his face, and dark circles can be seen under his eyes. But his beautiful eyes are the same as you remember them from when you first met in Pasadena.

"What are you doing here?" You ask, still shocked. Spencer's expression seems pretty much the same as yours.

"Uh. Well, I work here," he explains after clearing his throat.

A Caltech's genius working with the FBI? You wouldn't have expected it. But then again, you didn't expect to cross paths with him after all this time. "And what are you doing here?"

Good point. Why did you come? Oh, yes. Penelope Garcia.

"I'm here to see a friend," you mumble. Spencer's confused look changes to what? Disappointment? Of course, you're not there for him. It's stupid ever to think that, considering you haven't talked since the day you said goodbye and parted ways in that tiny apartment you shared in Pasadena.

And then an awkward silence. What are the chances that after so long, you were going to meet Spencer? And if you're wondering how long, we're talking about ten years when you were both pursuing your degrees at Caltech. In your case, it was the first one because Spencer was already in his third PhD when you met.

Before you can say something else, the one and only Penelope Garcia burst into the room, looking for you.

"There you are! Why didn't you call me when you got here?"

Totally unbeknown to the tense silence, she steps in front of you and hugs you. You can feel Spencer's confused look on you. "I'm glad you made it! We have so much to talk about."

"Garcia is your friend?" Spencer asks, gaze on you, and it's when you realize how weird the situation is. Penelope turns to him, an eyebrow furrowed.

"Of course, I'm her friend. And she came to see me," Garcia scoffs until she realizes something. "Wait a minute. For what reason would you ask that?"

Spencer clears his throat. He doesn't know what your opinion is about people knowing that fact.

"We know each other," you explain to her before asking. "How do you know Spencer?"

"No way! What a coincidence!" Garcia chirps. The exclamation raises the interest of the people entering the bullpen. Some of them approach to where you all are. "Reid? We work together!"

What were the chances of something like that happening to you, you wondered, as Spencer continued to stare at you, his eyes never leaving yours.

"What's happening here, baby girl?" A toned man asks Garcia, who can't contain her excitement.

"Oh, you wouldn't believe it," she announces as two women join the conversation.

Garcia briefly explains to the audience who you are and that she just found out that you both know Spencer, too. After the first impression, she proceeds to introduce you to those there: Derek, JJ, and Emily. From the corner of your eye, you can see Spencer downcasting his look at their curious glances at him.

"So you guys know each other?" JJ asks.

You both nod at the same time as Spencer mutters, "Caltech."

"Ah, fellow grads," JJ assumes. And in part, she is right. Indeed, you met while you were starting your master's degree and subsequent doctorate in the same area as Spencer.

"Kind of," you admit, seeing Spencer's cheeks flush and feeling yours burn too. The guy who was presented as Derek Morgan has a smirk plastered on his face.

"College sweethearts?" Morgan asks in a teasing tone. And he is kind of right, too. You lock eyes with Spencer, and you can't tell if he did or wants to say to his colleagues what you really were at that time. But before you both can even think of saying anything, Garcia's eyes widen in recognition.

"No! Wait a minute! Did you go to college together? You said the other day that you-" she starts connecting information, and you start to freak out internally. Before you can stop her, Garcia blurts. "Oh! Spencer is your ex-husband? You have to be kidding me!"

Shit. How did she figure it out so quickly? Sure, it might be your fault for sharing details about your college love life with her on a night filled with alcohol, but how could you have known she was already acquainted with him? You were careful not to mention any names or specifics, yet here you are.

"Wait, what?" Morgan's smirk turns to jaw slack in astonishment. There is no difference between JJ's and Emily's reactions. Spencer's face is flushed, and so is yours.

"Someone is going to say anything?" Emily asks, bouncing her eyes between you and Spencer.

"Uh, well—" you start, giving Spencer an apologetic look, who returns you an awkward tight-lip smile.

"Yeah. We were married," he confirms.

"When we were at college," you add.

You can feel the heaviness in the air and the mid-surprised, mid-incredulous looks from the people around you. Morgan is the first to break the silence.

"Damn it, pretty boy. What a story you had hidden from us," he says, patting Spencer's shoulder. JJ - the quietest one until now - senses how uncomfortable you and Spencer are with all the attention.

"Guys, why don't we give them a minute?"

After a moment of consideration, Emily seconds the motion. "Yeah, Morgan, would you help me with something?"

"Su- sure," Morgan agrees, still confused but following Emily nonetheless.

"But—" Penelope is still trying to understand the whole situation and has many questions she wants to ask.

"Come on, Garcia. I'm sure (Y/N) will find you when she is ready," JJ encourages, looking at you. That's when you get out of your daze and nod.

"Yes. Yeah. I'll text you, Penelope."

And just like that, the same way people surrounded you just seconds ago, now it's just you, Spencer, and an awkward silence.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know you worked here. I didn't know you were Penelope's coworker, and—" you start to apologize.

"No. Don't. It's not your fault," Spencer rushes to speak.

"I shouldn't have told her about - about," you trail off.

"About you having an ex-husband?" Spencer supplies, and you shyly nod.

"Believe me, it's not a thing I tell everyone I meet, but Penelope, well, she-" you try to find the right words. Spencer nods in understanding.

"Yeah, she can be pretty convincing when she wants to know something."

Another halo of silence passes between you until it's Spencer who breaks it this time.

"So, how have you been? I mean, it's been a while." You nod, still uncomfortable with the situation but just as curious as you assume Spencer is.

"Yeah, it's been a while," you confirm. "Good, all good on my end. Working and living. What about you?"

"Me? Good. Working here at the BAU."

"Cool."

Cool? What does that mean?

A sharp 'Reid' is heard from behind you both, making you turn to the source. A well-dressed man with a serious gaze is looking at Spencer from an office threshold. "Can you come, please?" the man adds. Spencer nods quickly. "Sure. I'll be there in a second, Hotch." The answer seems to satisfy the man, so he nods and returns inside.

Spencer turns to you again. "Uh. I - uh-" he stutters, motioning where the man called Hotch was a second ago.

"Yeah. I have to go, too." You have to, actually, but you don't think you can face Penelope or anyone else right now, for that matter. "It was nice to see you." As you are about to run away subtly, Spencer calls your name. Stopping in your tracks, you turn, and your eyes make contact with his again.

"Would you - uh. Would you like to grab a coffee with me sometime?"

It catches you off guard, but you only assume he's being polite. You think you should return the gesture.

"Sure. Why not," you say, giving him a little smile. "Now I have to go. Bye, Spencer."

And with that, you resume your escape to the elevator.

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From the moment he saw you at the BAU, Spencer has never been the same. He never imagined he would see you again, especially under those circumstances. Spencer was so astonished he wasn't even able to start a decent conversation or even ask for your number after inviting you to a coffee.

Also distressed about the interrogation he knew his colleagues would subject to him, Spencer wanders through the BAU halls as if he were not in the present. And, in fact, he is not. After seeing you, he has only been able to think about you and the years you both spent in Pasadena.

A smile tugs the corners of his mouth every time one of those memories comes to him.

"Okay, pretty boy, spill," Derek prompts when he sees Spencer in the kitchen two days after your encounter.

"Uh? What are you talking about?" he turns, confused, to see Derek looking at him with a frown and arms over his chest.

"Come on! You know what I'm talking about. About the pretty lady, Garcia's friend, who happens to be your ex-wife?"

Spencer huffs through his nostrils.

"I already told you. We met in college, and we were together until we graduated," Spencer says nonchalantly as if it's normal. He tries, at least. Morgan scoffs at his attempt.

"Reid. You married her. You just can't tell me you 'were together' as you're talking about any other relationship. She was important; what happened?"

Morgan remembers well a few years ago when Spencer told him about a great love he had while at Caltech and how, from time to time, those memories would come to plague his head. It wasn't hard for Morgan to connect the dots and assume you were the person Spencer was referring to.

Spencer sighs thoughtfully. "We ended it by mutual agreement. We both knew our career paths were going to be incompatible, and we both had so many dreams to fulfill. Our greatest act of love was letting each other go. At least that's how I saw it for a long time."

"But you regretted it at some point," Morgan adds, and Spencer nods. "Why didn't you try to find her then?"

"I didn't want to be selfish. What if she already had her life going perfectly, and I was just going to show like a kicked puppy? It wasn't fair for her."

"Man, I get it, but what about now? You found each other again. Can it be a kind of sign or something." Spencer glances at Derek with an incredulous look.

"Are you listening to yourself? You sound like Garcia," Spencer grumbles, making Derek laugh.

"Yeah. Definitely, it's something my baby girl would say. But, truly speaking, Reid, why not take a chance?"

Spencer huffs in frustration. "I - I don't know anything about her in these years! I didn't even ask for her number that day. I was frozen on the spot!"

"And that will stop you?"

A satisfactory smirk appears on Derek's face when Spencer stays silent, contemplating his options.

---------

Not wanting to talk about the encounter with anyone, you write to Penelope, apologizing for having to leave suddenly that day. She responds everything is fine and doesn't even ask you why, to which you are tremendously grateful.

But as the days pass by, you know you have to talk to her at some point, so you invite her to come over one afternoon.

You have been thinking a lot and rationalizing everything that happened. Of course, there was always a possibility of crossing paths with Spencer someday, but turning it into reality is different. So you conclude all your nerves were out of the shock of something unprovable happening, not because seeing Spencer after ten years made you fall off your balance.

With that in mind, you were ready to talk to Penelope.

Once she gets to your apartment, you first apologize for leaving that day and explain how you got frozen after the unexpected encounter. Garcia tells you not to worry and even says she is sorry for telling everyone about her discovery without any filter.

"It's just- I was so impressed. I couldn't help it!" she explains, and you nod in understanding.

"It's okay. I guess no one expected something like that."

"Right? But I have to ask. How did Spencer Reid become your husband? I mean, you told me about your ex-husband and all, but I'm sorry, I can't picture Spencer even talking to a girl without stuttering, less asking for marriage, and then divorcing? It's beyond me."

It catches your attention how she talks about him. Although you met Spencer when you both were very young, knowing how shy he was, over time, you managed to beat his barrier and meet a wonderful man full of charisma and not so sheepish after all. Has he never shown that side to anyone else in all these years?

"Why so much interest in my marriage? It's been a decade," you ask Penelope, and her scoff sounds a mix of obvious and disbelief.

"Honey, it's unbelievable Doctor Loving Reid has kept THAT information to himself for so long. So now that it is out, it does pick my full interest. Spill. What happened?"

You shrug your shoulder. "It's like I said the first time I told you. We were young, a whole life ahead. Neither he nor I wanted to cut each other's wings."

"But you loved each other!" Penelope complains with an adorable pout. You have known this woman for what? Less than a year? And she seems brokenhearted about something that happened to you and Spencer ten years ago. She's right, though. You and Spencer were mad in love. Unlike what people have believed for years, your marriage was not a result of a wild night of alcohol and passion in Pasadena. You were both quite sober when you went to court that day. Both even had written down the vows you professed in front of the judge- yours on a piece of paper and Spencer in his brain, of course.

"If it's any consolation, the year we were married, we were very happy," you tell her, fondly remembering that time. Garcia rolls her eyes.

"Well, exactly that's what I mean, miss. If you were so happy, why end it like that?"

The only answer you can think of is 'it's complicated,' but that will surely increase her curiosity.

"We wanted the best for each other, even if it meant being apart. As good rational beings, we weighed our options, and the sensible thing to do was to end it."

Putting it in that way, Penelope can believe it. Having known Spencer for years, she knows for a fact his big brain is capable of analyzing every probability of every possible outcome. What seems incredible to her is how feelings - how love - can be rationalized like this.

A ding from your phone pauses your talk with Penelope. You glance at the device and see a text from an unknown caller.

'Hi. I'm Spencer. I stupidly didn't ask you for your number, so after cursing myself for the past few days, I had to find it out. Don't get mad, please. I would really like to grab a coffee with you if you are up to it. If you don't want to, I understand. And if you don't want me to contact you again, just say the words, and I'll stop. But I really hope you say yes. SR.'

Okay. This is unexpected. Indeed, you remember not having exchanged numbers with Spencer, and you didn't give it much thought either, assuming his invitation had been out of pure kindness. But here you are, reading the message and feeling an emotion you can't describe. Nostalgia, maybe?

You narrow your eyes to Garcia, who immediately suspects who sent you a text.

"Before you ask, I didn't give him your number!" she defends as you breathe a deep sigh.

"He's asking me out for coffee," you tell Garcia, and she can't help but squeal.

"Will you say yes?"

"I don't know. Is it a good idea to get back in touch after all these years?" you muse more for yourself than her.

"Honey, only you know what's best for you, but if you ask me, I remember you telling me after you both split up, you were left with a lot of 'what ifs' in your head, and some of them are still floating around. Maybe this could help clear them up once and for all."

Penelope has a point. But now, you have a dilemma in the form of a coffee invitation.

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It's just a coffee. Don't overthink it.

You have been telling yourself that for a while as you walk to the coffee shop where you agreed to meet Spencer today.

He is just being nice.

Sure, after ten years of no contact, this sudden encounter in the FBI - with all his colleagues there - maybe pressured him to invite you to grab a coffee.

Still lost in your thoughts, you don't realize you are already there. After taking a deep breath, you step inside and look around. You spot him in a booth in the corner, back to you. A smile tugs at your lips, remembering all the coffee dates you both had back then. It was your thing. Hours and hours talking about everything and anything until the owner asked you to leave because they needed to close.

"Hey," you greet, making Spencer look up to you.

"Hi," he returns, a smile plastered on his face. "Thanks for accepting my invitation," he gestures for you to sit.

"Sure. Why I wouldn't?" After taking off your coat, you sit in front of him in the booth.

"Yeah. I mean, we haven't talked in ten years. And then we see each other at my work, and- well, it's kind of weird, I guess?"

Weird is an understatement, you think.

"You are right. Kind of it is."

You notice there are two coffee cups on the table. Spencer follows your line of sight.

"Uh- I had ordered already," he points to the coffee in front of you. "I don't know if you have changed your order, though."

"Thanks," you mumble appreciatively. "I haven't changed it, actually."

"Great!"

You try to gauge his expression. Is he nervous? Anxious? Because you are.

"Spencer, if you are uncomfortable, we can just go home. There is no—" You can't finish the sentence before Spencer cuts you off.

"No. No, I'm not. Please, don't think that."

"Okay," you concede. "I won't. But you need to be honest with me, okay?"

"Of course," Spencer agrees.

"You felt obligated to invite me here after what happened?" You bluntly ask, and Spencer's eyes widen.

"What? No, of course not," Spencer immediately denies. "I really wanted to see you. It's just that-" he hesitates. You tilt your head, waiting for him to continue. "I just didn't know if it was right, you know? I mean, we never reach out, and then it happens. We never agreed-" he trails off. And you know exactly what he's talking about.

Back then, when you decided to go separate ways, Spencer asked you what would happen if you met again in the future, and you shook your head, saying it probably wouldn't happen. So yes, you never talked about the possibility, and Spencer understood he should never contact you, and so did you.

"I know. We didn't," you recognize, regret slipping in your voice. "I guess I didn't want to think about the possibility back then."

You two know there are things you left out and left unsaid the last night you were together in Pasadena, but you don't think it's a good idea to say them now—not when this is supposed to be a friendly reunion between exes.

"So, since when have you been working in DC?" Spencer asks after you tell him about your work career on the west side.

"Almost two years," you admit.

Two years living in the same city. Spencer wonders if Garcia hadn't met you, he would have ever seen you again.

Your professional career has certainly been prolific; Spencer can tell after the stories you have been recounting. Years of experience and important jobs, just as you had dreamed when you were in college. These are the same dreams you shared with Spencer during the nights of studying and those where there was everything else but studying.

"I thought you were going to pursue academics. When did the FBI happen?" you ask after saying it's enough of talking about yourself.

"I thought that too. And I did it for a while. Then I met Gideon. He - uh, he showed me what the BAU had been doing, and I knew it was my place to be."

Spencer fondly tells you about his early years working as a profiler and how much he has learned. It seems that, like you, he has found his professional calling.

Two hours and three coffees later, you are both laughing about the weird and funny things you have seen in the past years. It feels good, and much of the initial nervousness has dissipated. But there is one topic you both have actively avoided: romantic relationships.

You are curious about it, and Spencer is, too, but neither of you wants to be the one to mention it first. Spencer is who breaks first.

"Are we going to talk about - about that? I feel we have been dancing about the topic, but I don't know if you want to."

You can't help but snort out of being caught and for the subject itself. You are sure your almost nonexistent love life is enough to make anyone cry or laugh.

"I'm still that obvious?"

"You have your tells," Spencer shrugs. You raise an eyebrow.

"I have my tells? What about you, doctor? You have been bouncing your leg the same way you did the day you defended your engineering PhD dissertation."

Spencer's eyes widen. "You still remember that?"

The insinuation of you forgetting that day makes you scoff.

"Of course I do! I tried everything to try to calm your nerves. Do you remember what I did, and actually, it worked?" Spencer's cheeks redden because he remembers.

You won't tell the details, but you recall, as clear as the day, how you helped him to 'decompress.'

"Okay, okay. Guilty as charged."

"So, what do you want to know?" You ask, still not fully ready but resigned, leaning back in your seat and crossing your arms over your chest.

"Are you with someone?" Spencer asks, and you gasp, feigning surprise.

"No beating around the bushes, uh?"

Spencer's cheeks flush, and he can't help it. "If it's out the line, you don't need to answer."

Seeing him flustered and biting his lower lip makes your heart do flip-flops. It's something you haven't felt in a long time—ten years, to be exact.

"If you had asked me a month ago, I should have said yes."

Indeed, you had a boyfriend until a month ago when his insistence on moving in with you was too much to handle, and his frustrated self decided to say a lot of awful things when you said no to him.

Some people would say you have commitment issues, and maybe you have. But in all honesty, until this day, there is no one you have felt secure enough to take that step.

It's ironic, considering you already have a marriage under your belt.

"I'm sorry," Spencer mumbles.

"No. Don't be. It wasn't meant to be."

'Like I used to think about us,' you want to add, but you refrain. Instead, you explain in not much detail every failed relationship you have had. Spencer listens intently, his heart aching to think of how a part of you might have been broken with each failed relationship. He hasn't done any better, though.

"And that's all. As you can see, there is nothing too exciting to remark," you chuckle to lighten the mood. "Tell me about you. There is a Mrs. Reid waiting at home?"

Spencer snorts, shaking his head. "No. There's no Mrs. Reid. The only one who has held the title has been you," he says with a look that makes your breath hitch in your throat. What is it? Longing?

"Wow. I feel honored," you tease, trying to hide the heat rising to your cheeks.

Spencer tells you about the few relationships he's had over the years. In his own opinion, none of them are very meaningful. When you ask him why, he doesn't hesitate to answer. "This job not only consumes my time, but also a lot of me as a person. Not everyone understands that."

He would like to say no one has ever been so important as to make him doubt continuing to work in what he does. The only person who ever made him doubt was you. But instead of saying it, he prefers to end with a "I guess that's why no one has stayed."

Listening to him talk is like listening to yourself, trying to minimize the fact that professional success is possibly one of the main reasons why other parts of your personal life have never flourished.

It was your choice. You both decided to make it that way. But sometimes you wonder if...

"Do you think we made a mistake?"

Spencer's question gets you out of your thoughts.

You look at him, baffled. "What?"

"Do you think we shouldn't have broken up? That I shouldn't have left?"

You pondered his question for a second. It has to do with how you felt at that time? Or does it have to do with how you felt after or even now?

"Honestly? I don't know, Spencer." A resigned sigh leaves your lips. "I always wanted to think it was the right thing to do."

"You never regretted it?" He asks you, and you shrug, not knowing much to say. Instead, you opt to ask him the question back.

"Did you?"

"Yeah. I did," he admits. "Sometimes I still do."

A heavy silence settles between you. The admission that you both had doubts about the drastic decision you made almost ten years ago is difficult to take. It unfurls a whole new set of questions whose answers you are not sure you are ready to hear or say. But it's only fair he knows your truth as you know his now.

"For what is worth, me too. I regret it. More often than I would like to admit."

Spencer's heart starts to beat faster; breath hitches in his throat for a second.

He tentatively reaches out to rest his hand on yours. You watch the action and think you know what it means. His eyes are hopeful. Something you'd like to mirror in your own, but the uncertainty is there, and you can't help it.

"Spencer, no. Please, don't." You try to articulate but not take your hand away from his. "I wish I could tell you I'm willing to try- to try to make up for lost time, but I can't. Even though it may not seem like it, we're strangers to each other, and I'm not in a place to even think about- you know."

Spencer gives a little squeeze to your hand, nodding.

"I know. And I'm not asking you for us to redo our story and start from where we ended. No. But I would love to get to know you again and be your friend."

"Friends?" You ask, brows furrowed. He smiles.

"Yeah. First and foremost, you were always my best friend. My person. Even if we never get back together as a couple, and we don't have to, I don't want to lose you again."

You take a moment to think about his words. What would be the harm? You're at a stage in your life where you don't want to live thinking about those things you wish you had done and didn't. The things you might have done differently. Why not put reason aside for a moment and just be?

You squeeze his hand back, a sign of yes; you're willing to get to know the Spencer in front of you.

---------

Three months have passed since your conversation with Spencer at the coffee shop. You both agreed to reconnect as friends, which has led to many coffee meetings, lunches, dinners, movie nights, and walks in the park. And to say your heart feels full and happy would be an understatement. You've realized how much of the Spencer you met in Pasadena still exists, and the connection that once brought you together has revitalized and is stronger than ever.

Neither of you has wanted to rush things, and so far, you're both happy to be able to spend time together.

Spencer has also opened the door for you to the BAU team, which has been his family for eight years now. In addition to the bond you already had with Penelope, you now regularly attend the girls' night she hosts with JJ and Emily. You've also gotten to know Derek and Hotch better and understand why Spencer considers them like his older brother and father figure, respectively. You've also become a favorite of David Rossi, who doesn't take no for an answer every time he invites you to one of his dinners.

Like tonight, where you find yourself vividly chatting with the girls in a corner of Rossi's backyard.

"No way I could have passed Dynamics and Mechanics without Spencer," you acknowledge when you're talking about the most challenging subjects you had in college.

"It seems a very interesting topic," Emily jokes, not knowing what the hell you were talking about.

You giggle at the memory, cheeks turning a shade of pink.

"I still remember those afternoons Spencer spent trying to help me memorize the Euler–Lagrange equations and the Hamilton's principle. He made it interesting, if you know what I mean," you wink at them.

"I don't think I want to know," JJ muses. Emily snorts at the suggestion.

"Oh, I definitely want to know what that means," Penelope pipes. You chuckle.

"One night, he made me recite the whole equations with his head buried between my thighs," you confess with a mischievous look.

"Oh my God!" Garcia's jaw goes slack, and Emily's eyes widen in disbelief.

"You fucking kidding me!"

"Definitely, I didn't want to know that," JJ shakes her head.

"Well, I helped him with Applied Computer Science. He had to produce a code to operate a string of relational databases while I was on my knees su-"

"Okay! I get it!" Garcia cuts you off, with her hands in the air, as Emily laughs and JJ groans.

"You asked," you shrug, a smirk on your lips.

"Okay, okay. But hear me out. Since we are talking about college time, and honestly speaking, we all have had someone in college, more or less important, with whom to study or do other things," Emily prefaces, making you giggle. "But from that, to marry, and one year later to divorce? How do you get over something so intense like that?"

You have questioned yourself the same for years.

Looking past JJ's shoulder, you see Spencer talking with Morgan, beer in hand, and you can't help but feel the smile creeping on your face when he looks back and winks at you.

If anything, the past months have made you realize what you had back then with him was unique. But what you're having now? It is as unique as before and better.

"I don't think you get over it. And it's okay; you learn to appreciate it and value the chances life gives you after."

The girls follow your line of sight and share a knowing look. When they see Spencer approaching the group, they collectively decide to go inside the house for a new drink.

"All yours," Garcia whispers to Spencer before going in a bee-line with Emily and JJ.

"What was that?" Spencer asks you with a quirked eyebrow when the girls are out of sight.

You look at him, pretending not to understand.

"I assume they wanted a refill," you say with a shrug. Spencer nods and smiles at you.

"And you don't? Do you want me to get you something?"

"No. I'm fine," you respond to his offer. "Besides, I think I've got my alcohol ration filled for the night."

"If you're done for the night, I can take you home if you want."

That's the Spencer you know, always concerned about your well-being and comfort. You shake your head.

"Not yet. Walk with me, though?" You ask, extending your hand for him to take. Without questioning reasons, Spencer nods and takes your hand. The two of you begin to walk towards the pool area, where the sound of the music coming from the house is less audible.

It's not unusual for you to hold hands now. You trust each other, and it's been an innocent way of showing affection. And while the tension of something more has been building, neither of you has wanted to take the next step yet.

When you stop in the pool deck, Spencer moves to stand in front of you, his free hand reaching to tilt your chin with his index so he can inspect your face for some kind of clue.

"Are you okay?"

You nod as your fingers, from your joined hands, absently play with his. A thorough smile tugs the corners of your mouth. Your eyes admiring Spencer's honey ones in the moonlight.

"More than okay," you admit. But Spencer knows there is more in your mind you're not saying.

"Yeah?"

"Yep." You're stretching this on purpose. A smirk plays on your face. Spencer knows what you are doing.

"Good." His voice is amused. This game was one you both used to play back then, testing each other's curiosity and seeing how long it took the other to demand an answer about what the other was thinking. Usually, you were the one who won since Spencer couldn't stand not knowing.

"Have you grown patient over the years, Dr. Reid?" You ask, entertained. Spencer's laughter fills you with a feeling you thought was dormant inside you, but he has managed to refloat.

Not wanting to prolong his torture, and because you don't have it in you to hold back any longer, you decide to speak.

"I know you remember, but can you tell me the first thing I said to you the day I met you?"

Spencer's eyes narrow in search of the moment you're referring to.

-

You were in the library, busily searching through the shelves for a book you couldn't find. Spencer could see the stress radiating off of you. After watching you for a few seconds, he decided to walk over to the shelf, and leaning down, he pulled a book from the top shelf before presenting it to you. "Maybe this is the one you're looking for?" And he was right. Your first thought was, 'How did I not see it before?' and then you realized the weirdest thing of all, 'how did he know which was the book you were looking for?' You didn't know the guy, and as far as you knew, he didn't know you either.

Seeing your confusion, he proceeded to explain. "It was an educated guess, seeing as you have Fuller's, Richmond's, and Helbert's there. I assumed you were in Thermodynamics 301 and didn't have Priest's."

-

Spencer laughs before trying to imitate your voice. "Can I buy you a coffee in appreciation and keep you in my purse for future reference?" You nod, smiling.

"Bold of me for asking that to a stranger, uh?"

"Bold of you for thinking I would ever refuse," Spencer says in a mocking tone to match your joke. You both share a fit of laughter. Once it subsides, your eyes fix on him.

"Bold of me to think I wouldn't fall in love with you after all these years." Your words hit Spencer, whose expression changes from light to serious in a second.

"What?"

"It's like they say. At some point, something has to give. And this is my moment." You pause before continuing. "I can't say I'm sure what's coming, because I'm not. I also don't know if what you've seen of me these past few months is worth enough for you to love me again. But there's one thing I do know. I love you. I loved you, I missed you, and now I've loved you again."

Spencer is speechless. His brain tries to piece together each word you say. You take both his hands in yours, and you can feel them tremble.

"If you'll have me, I want to be the one that stays," you add, hoping your words are good enough to convey your emotions.

You don't know when tears start running down your cheeks. It might be when you see Spencer's glassy eyes.

"I do love you. And I want you to be the one who stays," he rasps before releasing your hands to cup your cheeks with his own, leaning down to whisper, "Let me be the person you want to stay for."

"You already are," you whisper back before closing the distance between you, allowing your lips to meet in a tender, sweet kiss. A new promise and a new beginning for two souls that were meant to be. Thanks to fate, or maybe not. That doesn't matter anymore.

-

As you kiss, part, whisper sweet nothings to each other, and kiss again, not so far away, are two people watching the scene with satisfied looks on their faces.

"Do you see that, Hot Stuff?" Garcia asks Morgan. A smirk appears on his face.

"Yeah, mama. I see it, clear as the day."

"We did it!" Penelope cheers, whisper-yelling, making Morgan chuckle.

"I should never have doubted you, baby girl," the man says, kissing her cheek.

"Of course not. But I forgive you only because I'm so happy our plan worked wonderfully."

-----------

SIX MONTHS EARLIER

Penelope Garcia's curiosity always gets the best of her. She has gotten to know you better in the past months since the IA convention where you met. She sees you as a beautiful person and a good friend. So when you told her on a night full of alcohol about your ex-husband and how important your relationship was for you, Penelope couldn't shake the feeling of wanting to know more, so maybe she could do something to help. Do what? She didn't know, but maybe more information about it would give her an idea.

Quickly typing on her keyboard, she finds a Pasadena Marriage License with your name on it. Checking the date, Garcia notes you had married in the summer before your senior year. It was expected. You already told her that.

What was unexpected, though, was finding out who the person you had married was. Garcia had to read the name twice before realizing the huge discovery she had just made: Spencer Walter Reid.

'No way! It has to be a mistake,' she squealed, fast-reading the information on the papers. No, there wasn't any mistake. You married Spencer Reid almost ten years ago. The same Spencer Reid she has known for so long and works with her every day.

But wait. You had said, ex-husband. Where are the divorce papers?

Typing again, she finds a divorce request signed by you and Spencer a year after you married. So that is true, too.

Overwhelmed by everything she has just discovered, Garcia is about to close the web tabs with all this data when something pops up: it's a court resolution dated six months after the divorce request. The resolution reads that the request has been denied because one of the parts couldn't be notified for comparison to the Pasadena tribunal. Garcia narrows her eyes and types again, looking for an updated legal document granting the divorce request. She finds none.

'Double holy fucking shit! They are still married!'

Without knowing what to do with this new information, she starts pacing frantically in the office. Garcia knows that the information she found wasn't for her to know, but at the same time, how does it not you or Spencer know this? She can't tell you, but she should, or maybe not. Grabbing her phone, she dials the only person she knows will help her with the dilemma.

"Derek Morgan. I need your delicious ass in my office right now!"

And just like that, a plan emerged. A plan to give a little push to destiny. A little push to you and Spencer cross paths again. Maybe this time, for good.

-----------

"And when are you going to tell them about their failed divorce?" Morgan asks Garcia, who is still looking at the couple giggling and kissing.

"Oh, shush. Let them enjoy tonight. There will be time for that."

Derek Morgan shakes his head, laughing. "Okay. You're the boss, mama. You're the boss."

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

Spencer Reid's Taglist: @dreatine @nomajdetective @jayyeahthatsme @rosalinasam2 @averyhotchner @lovelyxtom @princessmiaelicia @pastelbabygirl19 @reidsbookclub @alexxavicry @gspenc @spencerreidisbae123 @calmspencer @pauline5525mgg @anamiad00msday @milivanili99 @laylasbunbunny @leahblackk @miaxx03 @missabsey @taintedstranger @khxna @hiireadstuff @pleasantwitchgarden @dysphoricsanity @themoonchildwhofell @silver138 @lovelybaka @shinytinywhispers

[strangersteddierthings]

Sequel to Good People - The fic in wherein Wayne doesn't like Steve and overheard a conversation he shouldn't have. Here's the aftermath of that :3

Part One🦇Part Two🦇Final Part

-

Wayne had stayed in his bedroom long after he heard the boys leave. Eddie had knocked on his door to let him know he'd be staying at Steve's and to not expect him back until late tomorrow, a courtesy he'd never shown until after he'd been the victim of a manhunt back in spring. Wayne never asked him to do that but he thinks Eddie picked up on how worried Wayne would get if he were gone for any amount of time.

Eddie's always been good at reading people when he bothers to pay attention to them. Maybe that should have been enough reason for him to give pause to his dislike of the Harrington boy, instead of needing to overhear the boy crying about how he thinks there's something rotten deep within him that only Wayne can sense.

He'd been so sure he knew what kind of person Steve Harrington was. Eddie had been hung up on boys just like him pert-near his whole life, Wayne thinks, and it's never ended differently.

It's a Tuesday night and his friends usually gather at the bar on Friday nights, but Wayne needs to get out of the trailer to think. A beer might help. So, he grabs his keys and heads out.

He's been a regular at this bar since before he was even old enough to drink. Used to come with his pa, may he rest in peace, just to get out of the house. He's been a patron longer than any of the staff have worked there, he realizes.

"Hello Linda," Wayne greets as he takes a seat at the bar instead of at his usual table. He'd done a cursory glace when he came in and confirmed none of his drinking buddies were in before choosing the bar.

"This isn't your usual day," Linda says, leaning a hip on the counter, "but it's always a pleasure to see you."

"I got some thinkin' to do," Wayne replies and Linda nods and moves away, returning soon with a bottle of his usual beer. She picks up the bottle open and removes the cap before setting the drink down in front of him.

"Need a sounding board, hun?" She asks.

Wayne does a quick survey of the bar again but it's pretty quiet so he returns his gave to Linda and says, "if you wouldn't mind too much hearin' about how an old man might have messed up."

Linda laughs. "You aren't even half a decade older than me, so you best not be sprouting that 'old man' nonsense around me, 'cause I am not some old lady."

"Terribly sorry, Linda. I'm just really feelin' like an old fool."

A small frown comes to Linda's face then. "Now what could you have possibly done?"

"Well, I guess I'm tryin' to figure out if I did mess up. Eddie's got a friend and I don't trust 'im. Thought I had good reason not to, but, well, I overheard somethin' I wasn't supposed ta and now I'm not sure."

Linda hums, "hmm, that doesn't sound like you, judging someone unrightly. You are usually a good read about people."

"I'll admit, I haven't bothered to spend enough time with the boy to, uhh, judge him."

"Wayne Munson," Linda scolds, "you best not be telling me you judged that boy because of other people."

Judging by Linda's raising brow line, he thinks his guilt must be clear on his face. "You know Eddie, and how people have treated him. And with what he just went through- I just want 'im safe. Sure, his new friend graduated last year, but he was on the basketball team his whole career. And I'm jus' supposed ta believe this one boy didn't side with the group who started the manhunt?"

"Unless you've got evidence otherwise, yes," Linda says, brows furrowed.

Wayne sighs. "I ain't got proof. I got a lot of people sayin' he's good, actually. But it's the Harrington boy. The same boy Eddie would come home and complain 'bout. Harrington, Hagan, Hargrove, though I shouldn't speak ill of the dead. All them boys treatin' Eddie like he wasn't worth nothin' until they wanted somethin' form him."

Linda's mouth is almost a perfectly straight line with how much she's pursed her lips the more he talks, but she doesn't interrupt and no customer calls for her, so he continues.

"And you know what Richard Harrington was like. I know y'all only shared one school year together, but Janice wasn't any better, and she was your year, wasn't she?" Linda gives him one nod in response. "That boy's a product of them. I- You can't fault me for thinkin' differently."

"So, when do you expect Eddie to end up in prison?"

The question throws Wayne and fills him with anger at the same time. "Now, Linda, I ain't likin' what you are implyin'."

"I ain't implyin' nothing," she says, using the same tone with him that he did with her. "I'm applying your logic. Eddie's a product of his parents, ain't he? Al's in prison, and his mama's long gone, bless her soul. And since Eddie ain't sick, last I heard, he must be following after his daddy."

The anger leaves him then, and all he's left with is shame. "Point made. And if I'm bein' fully honest with ya, I don't even need ya to defend that boy. That thing I overheard. That what's eatin' at me. He called me good people."

Linda softens, shoulders dropping, "you are good people, hun."

"That boy told my Eddie that I'm 'good people', and that his parents are bad ones, and I. I don't know what to do about that."

"He thinks his own parents are bad?"

Wayne nods, "is what he said. Thinks I can somehow sense he's also rotten just by association."

"There's nothing to it, then," Linda says, like they've already talked out the tangled mess that is Wayne's thoughts on Steve Harrington and have reached a conclusion. Well, perhaps Linda already has. She's always been bright, and she's usually right. "You, Wayne Robert Munson, need to apologize to that boy. The guilt and shame's gonna put you into your cups otherwise."

Wayne nods slowly, though he isn't even sure if he agrees or is just acknowledging what she said before he takes a long pull from his bottle before lowering both his arms to rest on the counter as he replies, "You're right as usual, Linda my dear. I just gotta let go of the fact he's Richard Harrington's son and try and see just Steve."

"Damn right. Eddie might be Al's by birth, but you raised him and he turned out alright. Maybe Steve got the same treatment. Had his own Wayne around to raise him right."

There might be a bit of truth to that. He's heard enough talk about Steve Harrington over the years to think that. One of his drinking buddies used to be Jim Hopper. He's heard about the amount of parties he'd had to go shut down at the Harrington's house, with no parents to be seen. (Always Jim's biggest gripe back then. "Where's this kids goddamn parents!?) Wayne always assumed their kid just took advantage every time his parents were gone, but maybe it's the opposite. Maybe they were always gone, and Steve had parties to not be alone in his house.

Linda's right. There is nothing to it. He needs to talk to Steve, properly apologize, and go from there.

"It ain't an easy thing, admittin' you might be wrong," Wayne sighs.

Linda reaches across the counter and places a hand on Wayne's arm just below his wrist. Wayne looks up from where he'd ended up staring at his bottle, making eye contact with her. "If your boy is friends with this boy, it's for a reason. Just give him a chance. You are one of the good ones, but even we can have a lapse in judgment now and then. Doesn't make you bad, makes you human."

"Ain't no one perfect but the good Lord," Wayne says and Linda nods in agreement.

"Alright. I'll leave you to your beer and your thoughts for now, but you best keep me updated on your situation. I wanna know how it goes," Linda retracts her hand and heads down the counter to check on the few other people sitting about nursing drinks.

Wayne sits in his thoughts more than he drinks, so by the time he's done with the beer it's warm but that's fine. He will talk to the Harrington kid, but he wants to talk to Eddie first. He owes his nephew that much, and he does recall Eddie saying something to the effect of 'he'll come around' to Steve, and Wayne wants to tell Eddie he'll try.

Also he doesn't want to just corner the boy after he's been somewhat intimidating intentionally. He's going to get Eddie to ask if Steve'll talk to him.

True to his word, Eddie returns home late the next day. The clock says it's almost 6 when Eddie finally comes through the front door. If he's surprised to see Wayne awake, he doesn't show it. He does work the graveyard shift, and he's got a shift at 10 tonight, usually wakes up two hours before his shift. He'd wanted to make sure he caught Eddie, though, so he's been up since three.

"Eddie, you got a minute?" Wayne says.

"Sure. What's up?" Eddie says as he pulls off his jacket, depositing it on the nearest surface before plopping sideways on the couch so he's facing Wayne.

"I gotta come clean. I overheard some of what you and Steve were talkin' about," Wayne says, because he's a man of his word and he's always been good at doing the hard thing if it also turns out to be the right thing. He's got to be honest with Eddie, so he can be honest with himself. "Heard Harr- Steve talkin' 'bout how he thinks I'm a good person, and his parents aren't."

Eddie's quiet for a moment, blinking owlishly back at him while he thinks. "Oh. Umm. Sorry. I just- I think this is the first time I've heard you say Steve's name."

"Not the part I thought you'd focus on," Wayne huffs a laugh, "but I owe your boy an apology and I was hopin' you could help me make it happen."

"My boy- what is happening," Eddie drops his voice to whisper the question to himself.

"What's happening is I'm doin' the thing I always told you ta do. Taking accountability and fixin' my mistake."

"Oh. Oh!" Eddie narrows his eyes at Wayne, "you've made an ass out of me. All those times I assured Steve you were just being standoffish and you were- what were you doing?"

"Intentionally keepin' the boy at a distance 'cause I thought he was gonna hurt you. I sure as hell ain't been friendly. I been judging him because I knew his parents, thinkin' about how an apple don't fall far from the tree," Wayne stops, giving pause to see if Eddie will speak but he isn't. He's just staring at Wayne like he's a puzzle. "It was brought to my attention that it's mighty unfair to judge someone 'cause of how their parents act."

Eddie's brow furrows and his lips purse. It makes him think of Linda. She'd made the exact same face. "I- Jesus fuck this is weird, but I. I think I'm mad at you. Disappointed."

Eddie doesn't say it with an angry tone, and his face still looks more puzzled than mad, but the sentence feels like a kick to the chest anyway. Eddie and he have never been mad at each other, not in the eight years Eddie's lived here with him. They've been worried and scared for each other that, or mad at someone or something else that they take out on each other, but never mad at each other.

"You've every right to be."

Eddie stands from the couch, paces down the hallway, and Wayne thinks this might be the end of any conversation tonight, but instead Eddie comes storming back up the hall. "So, what, did you take me in expecting me to be my dad!?"

"No. He mighta contributed to your birth, but we both know that man ain't nurtured you a day in his life."

"Yeah, well, Steve's parents didn't raise him either, so all this has been bullshit! You made Steve think he's, he's broken and a bad person! And," Eddie's eyes are wet and he's angry but also about to cry. Wayne hasn't seen him like this in a long time. Not since the day they learned Al was in prison, fifteen years with a chance for parole if he's on his best behavior. Eddie had been so angry, and sad, and hurt by the news. Eddie's like that now, worked up so much he's repeating himself as he hiccups his words out around the lump in this throat, "And, and you made me help him feel that way! Because I didn't take him serious when he said, said you didn't like him! I thought you were being, being a dad, all fake gruff to intimidate the guy I like but it's- you were- FUCK!"

Wayne lets him yell. He deserves it, and Eddie needs it. Eddie's not saying anything untrue. He takes in what Eddie is yelling at him; Steve's parents didn't raise him, and how Wayne's cold shoulder must have added to whatever else Steve has going on in his life.

"I, I h-held him while he b-bawled into my shirt last night! He, he thinks- and you, you didn't even trust me! T-trust my own j-judgment of, of Steve! I, I need- I can't-" Eddie doesn't finish the sentence. He turns on his heel and storms back down the hall, the slamming of his door finalizing this conversation.

To say that Wayne feels terrible is inadequate. He's hurt his boy, and he's hurt his boy's boy, and he's got no one to blame but himself.

Now he's got two apologies to make.

I tried to tag as many people as I could remember that expressed interest in a follow up fic. I am SO sorry if I missed you. Please let me know if you want to be tagged in the final part. I will only be tagging people who ask to be tagged going forward 'cause it's a lot of people to remember and my memory is garbage.

@i-less-than-three-you @nburkhardt @afewproblems @skepsiss @unclewaynemunson @itsthestrangestthings @emofratboy @devondespresso @finntheehumaneater @loopholesinmydreams @yourmom-isgay @wrenisflying @emsgoodthinkin @messrs-weasley @madigoround @jackiemonroe5512 @gutterflower77 @zerokrox-blog @eriquin @samyuck @lunarmaruna @mugloversonly @kaij-basil-lionelli88

[catsushizz]

Let Time Pass - S.R

Spencer Reid x Fem!reader

Summary: you reminisce about the time when you met Spencer Reid at college and had a night of adventure that you'll never forget, but after that, you never spoke, until Penelope Garcia found your unsent letters and decided to play the savior of your undying love.

Genre: mutual pining, angst if you squint, but mostly fluff

WC: 3.2k

Warning: kissing, cursing, invading private property

A/N: I had a lot of fun writing this, actually, guess the rom-com that inspired me to write this. I'll give you a hint, the first movie has "sunrise" in the title and the second movie includes unsent letters with addresses hehe.

---

Summer rain has always been your favorite accompanied by the sound of the patter of the raindrops. You looked outside your window with a faraway look, your glasses now above your hair as you took a break from reading the unsent letters.

Unsent letters you wrote when you were in college, being in love with someone for so long who you're not sure still remembers you can be draining, you've loved him since the first time he acknowledged your presence during class and when he took you out of campus when it was just the two of you.

Love comes in forms and somehow Spencer's was when he first spewed those few words to you when you were talking to your friends but they weren't paying attention so you stopped and just sat there embarrassed.

"Wasn't Centralia a town that is still burning to this day?" He had asked and your eyes held the universe at his question. You got his name, Spencer Reid and that name hasn't left your mind ever since then.

Love comes in forms and yours are letters.

After that night, you never spoke again, he got his Ph.Ds and life got in the way. You're pretty sure he doesn't remember you, and you're sure he's got his way with life now, maybe he settled down and you're still pining for a man who you're not sure still remembers you.

You remembered how the night went with him, you actually talked until sunrise. At first, you walked around campus and then explored the city together. He told you about his mom, his goals, everything he hasn't said to anyone, and you told him about everything, your secrets that you haven't said to your best friend yet.

You sighed as you shook yourself out of your reverie, you looked down at your letter and traced the dust off from your neatly written letter.

the letter was a year old, you used to write letters every day when you first met him but when you graduated you never stopped but it became less frequent as time passed. Now you write one letter every year and put it inside a box but this time you decide to stop, finally stop chasing your fantasies and let life slap you in the face.

You laughed at your ridiculousness then you heard the door creek and your gaze landed on your best friend. "Hi Pen" you smiled at her.

Penelope's gaze landed on the box in your hand "What's that?" She asked.

You rolled your eyes and stood up from your couch engulfing her in a tight hug "Stop being nosy and when did you arrive?"

She groaned at the contact "50 minutes ago" you laughed and let go of her.

"were you stuck in a conversation with Mom?" She nodded and let her gaze drift off to the box again.

"Seriously, is that your box from college? You never let me touch it and can you please let me see it, I'm older than you, in case you forgot" she insisted as she made the gesture of getting it out of your grasp.

You smacked her in her arms and hissed "No, and you'll never touch this, I don't care how old you are" You glared at her but it held no threat.

"Fine, dinner is ready your Mom asked me to get you" she grumbled and you let out a huff of amusement.

Penelope was never nosy when it came to you but it's been years since you've ever been with someone and she had a hunch that the box had something to do with it.

"Go on ahead I'm going to change in the bathroom," Penelope said straight up lying in front of your face. You didn't question it as it seems believable, perks of working with profilers.

You only hummed and you made a mistake by putting the box inside your closet without locking it. As soon as you left Penelope got out of the bathroom and searched for your box which wasn't hard to find.

She made sure you were completely out of sight before opening it, she didn't know what she expected but surely it wasn't this. Her jaw went slack as she read through your letters from when you were in college until last year, some were long and some were short, with dates in the corner of each letter.

Spencer Reid, her Mighty professor, Her boy genius.

You stopped, why did you stop? She thought while she read through the recent content. She had to do something about it, she had to help you.

Penelope breathed in, fixed her hair in the mirror, and got out of the room, pretending as if she hadn't shoved a box inside her bag and invaded her best friend's privacy, she's doing it for you so it can't be that bad right?

You were laughing at something your dad said but stopped when you saw how unsettled Penelope was "Pen what's wrong?" You asked, your voice laced with concern.

Now she felt guilty, she felt like throwing up but this was for you. "Nothing, I- I just uh, need to go I feel like I forgot something at home" she stammered as she made her way to the door.

"What? Let me drive you home" You stood up from your seat, your mom and dad looking between you two with suspicion in their eyes.

"No!" Penelope abruptly exclaimed, her hand flailing around for you to stop, making you and your parents flinch at the volume of her voice.

She cleared her throat and pushed her bag away from sight which didn't go unnoticed by you "I can drive myself and besides I got something to drop off at a friend's house" she chuckled awkwardly.

You hesitantly sat back down and nodded "Okay... Call me when you get home" You smiled at her and she nodded. She didn't change her clothes but you thought none of it, maybe that was the thing that she forgot.

---

Spencer was lounging on his couch when he heard the loudest knock he had ever heard in his entire life. His brows knitted together as he peeped at the peephole of his door before opening it.

"Garcia?" He mumbled while looking at the frantic girl in front of him, if he didn't know any better she would've murdered someone but that was just a silly thought.

Penelope pushed Spencer inside urgently and pushed a box against his chest, he had to balance himself at the force.

"What's this?" He asked, confusion evident on his face. Penelope sighed and she sat down on the couch with her hand on her face.

"Do you remember a girl in college?" She muttered, her voice barely visible but he heard her.

"You need to be more specific than that, Penelope" Spencer said and pursed his lips as he put the box on the table and sat down beside her.

Penelope frowned as she looked at Spencer "A girl who you spoke to once and never heard from ever again" she said, her body fully facing him.

She noticed his expression doesn't change and she groaned "For a person who has an eidetic memory, you're shit at remembering" she grumbled.

Spencer looked offended "What?! You're the one talking about a girl without context, do you know how many people I spoke to at college? 80% of those people-" Penelope clicked her tongue and signaled for him to stop.

She took the box from the table and pushed it back to his chest which made him glare at her, she ignored him.

"Open it" she demanded. Spencer studied her tense figure and the way she was trying to hug herself to make herself feel better.

"I feel like you stole something that isn't yours-" he said but found himself being cut off by Penelope's hissed.

"Stop profiling me and open the damn box" she whined as she stood up from the couch and paced around his apartment.

Spencer shook his head as he finally opened the box. He looked at Penelope in confusion and when he saw it was a bunch of old letters.

"Whose this for?" He questioned.

"For you, obviously! I wouldn't have brought it to you if it weren't addressed to you" she exclaimed.

"But there isn't any address on these" he shuffled through the letters, they were still in the envelopes.

"Just read it!"

"Garcia, you do know you just invaded someone's privacy right?"

"I know, just read it. Please?"

Spencer sighed and nodded his head. He started on the first letter that was technically open and he let his gaze back to Garcia who was now sweating in guilt.

When he opened it, he felt his heart beginning to thump. Garcia watched him carefully as she noticed his expression gradually changed.

Dear, Spencer Reid

Do you remember when you first talked to me? I remember thinking that you're the kind of man I'm willing to put my life at risk for. I'm sure you endured me rambling about the burning town (that is still burning to this day apparently and it's been 7 years since we last spoke)

But what I'm trying to say is, I'm still in love with you, pathetic I know. But I just can't seem to let you go, you're like impossible not to remember and each day I try to forget about you and move past my ability to love so deeply but I can't.

Do you remember when you talked to me about your mom? I was so proud of you for coming up that far for your mom, and when we sneaked in on a bar and actually stole a bottle of wine? I couldn't stop laughing that time. God, I keep recalling that memory.

I shared all of my thoughts with you, spilled all my secrets to you, and at some point we held hands and I was so shocked because you told me you had a thing with germs. Honestly, it made me feel special.

I'm scared that if I see you again you'll think I'm weird and obsessive, which I'm not! I can stomach a rejection and I'll completely leave you alone if you ask me to. I'm just really bad at letting people go you know?

But I won't drag this on for long, you're not gonna see this anyway, and one last thing, I hope you have the best life the universe has to offer. I'll talk to them face to face if they are mean to you.

This will be my last letter, I'm letting you go now. I've been so in love with you that I feel like I'll be stuck in a loophole where life is trying to berate me every time for not saying anything to you, for not congratulating you when you graduated because I was feeling too shy to approach you that day. I wish I had, then maybe we could've talked more and had the time of our lives and maybe a repeat of what we did when we first met.

I'm just hoping life is a little bit gentler with you this time.

Yours truly

The girl who you talked to until sunrise

When he finished reading the letter he was silent for a good 3 minutes, and then he started shuffling through the letters and read them all like a madman. Penelope had to stop herself from stopping him.

God did he remember you, fucking hell he remembers you. You've been on his mind for 8 years. He even found himself in tears, he didn't expect someone to love him this much. Yearn for him like he yearns for you.

Spencer wasn't the type of guy who got over things easily and he had come to accept it as a part of him, the pair of you spoke once yet he can't deny the spark he felt while talking to you. If it were anybody else he would've found a way to get out of the conversation but your voice was addicting and so was your ramble about the old town.

He even went as far as to pretend not to know about the things that happened within that town just so he could hear your voice a little while longer. Your conversation shifted as time passed and Spencer found himself talking about anything really, he even made jokes that you found funny and he couldn't ignore the flutter in his stomach when he saw you smile.

When he saw you under the first light of the day, he felt himself fall in love, even if the time was fleeting his love wasn't, it never was.

Every time he was on death's door, you were always the subject of his memories. He keeps recalling the night when he felt like the universe was in his favor only for it to laugh at his face when he didn't see you again.

"I can help you, she's at the bar right now, she texted me," Penelope said, snapping him back down on earth.

He wiped a stray tear and sniffled "No, it's too late, she stopped writing like a year ago" he muttered and Penelope noticed the pain in his voice.

"Don't be ridiculous, I know her, she could be writing a letter right now as we speak" Penelope laughed.

"At a bar?"

"It was a joke, Spencer. Now let's go get your girl, Prince Charming!" She grinned as she dug through her bag for her keys.

"I don't know... I feel like I'm just digging my own grave, Garcia. I can't bear to hear her say that she doesn't feel the same way anymore" He whispered, his voice small as he avoided Penelope's disapproving look.

"That girl watches rom-coms, Spence. Do you think she'll brush off her feelings that easily? Try watching Serendipity and come back to me and try again but right now we need to hurry" She grabbed his arms and dragged him out of his apartment.

She stopped when they got into her car "Promise me you won't tell her I gave you the letter" she said sternly.

"But how am I supposed to explain why I'm there?" He asked confused.

"You're a genius, figure it out," she said as she buckled her seatbelt.

---

You were sitting in a booth with your friends. After having dinner with your parents, your friends invited you to a bar where you felt inclined to come, but you didn't know how to decline.

The air was suffocating so you excused yourself and got out of the bar. You sigh as your gaze shifts to the sky, Spencer would've pointed you to the constellation that was present right now.

"The one you're looking at right now is Aquila" You whipped your head to the familiar voice and you heard yourself gasp.

Spencer smiled when your eyes met "The brightest star in the constellation is Altair" he said as he began walking towards you.

"There is a story of an old Chinese legend about two stars, Altair and Vega, In the story two people met and fell in love but were separated by the stars" he was now in front of you, his hands in his pajama pocket, he turned red as he realized what he was wearing.

"What are you doing here?" You said, at a loss for words. He looked different but not in a bad way. He looked good. Hot even.

Spencer chuckled awkwardly, he always knew you were beautiful but God, you are gorgeous now.

You averted your gaze when you noticed a figure in the distance then your blood ran cold when you saw Penelope, Spencer noticed.

"Don't be mad at her, she helped me find you" he defended urgently as he grabbed your arms. You knitted your brows together.

"How d- did you two meet?" You stammered.

"We worked together" he rubbed his nape, a nervous tick that you notice.

Spencer was so sure he knew what to say to you but now that you're actually in front of him, he was left speechless.

"I never told her about you- did you read the letters?!" You exclaimed, your hand flying to your mouth in shock.

Spencer looked guilty as he averted his gaze to the ground "Yes..." He trailed off.

"God, you must think I'm crazy" you grumbled as you kept fiddling with the hem of your t-shirt.

"Hey, I don't think you're crazy" he whispered as he cupped your face with his hand "I actually find it endearing that you still think of me to this day, and just so you know you haven't left my mind either" he softly said, his face was so close you could feel his breath hitting your cheeks.

He tucks a stray hair out of your face, his eyes holding adoration as he meets your eyes again "Really?" You whispered.

His eyes darted to your lips and he felt himself subconsciously lick his lips "Yeah" he muttered.

He brushed his lips against yours as if testing the waters and when you fluttered your eyes shut, he kissed you as if he was going to devour you.

He breathed in as he kissed you, a certain longing lingered in the air. He pulled away to take a breath but then you surged forward and connected your lips against him for the second time, his hand on your waist as he pushed you closer against him, your hand snaking its way to the hair on his nape as you tugged him closer making him groaned in the kiss.

He tugged on your bottom lip asking for permission which you granted and he slid his tongue in, you tasted so sweet he found himself starting to get addicted. You were a panting mess when both of you separated, his forehead resting against yours, your eyes still closed as you took deep breaths.

Spencer rubbed his nose against yours affectionately and you giggled "You know you'll be stuck with me for a long time right?" You muttered.

"Make it forever" he grins, he connects his lips back to you but this time it is softer than the first, you kiss him back as you both fall in a rhythm.

When you pulled back he chased your lips and that made you chuckle "I'm still mad at her for stealing my letters" you muttered.

"Don't be, please. She's the reason I get to see you again" he said as he pulled you in a hug, your head resting against his chest as he pressed a kiss on the crown of your head.

"And I can't believe you were about to give up on me" Spencer joked lightly and you poked him on his hip making him jolt in surprise.

"Hey! Not fair, what was I supposed to do?" You whined and he laughed.

"to make it seem fair" he looks down on you as you meet his gaze, still in his warm embrace "I wrote about you in my journal, all my journals are full of you" he smiled.

You gasp "what? Let me read it please? you've read my letters" you pleaded.

He hummed "Nope, come on Penelope's waiting in the car" he said as he leads you to Penelope's car with his hand on your back.

"That's totally unfair, but I will snoop around"

"No, you won't"

"You snooped on my letters without my permission, so it's right that I should too," you said smugly.

"Shouldn't you be doing that to Penelope?"

"Oh yeah, let's do it"

-----

Please interact and reblog my post if you like it, it makes me happy hehe :D

The divider is from @cafekitsune :)

[heich0e]

just saw talk of boxer au!gojo on twitter and i fear now i'm thinking about satoru—undefeated in his weight class, a sensation in the sport—gearing up for a fight against a fighter from the underground scene, ryomen sukuna, who's known to have seedy connections and to not fight fair. his opponents often end up hospitalized, or mysteriously retiring after his matches—and there are rumours that some meet even more sinister fates.

and you show up at gojo's training gym one night, long after the rest of his team has gone home and find him in the practice ring just laying on his back, his mitts tucked under his head like a pillow, asleep and totally at peace. you hesitate, not sure if you should disturb him, but eventually climb up onto the elevated platform of the ring. you slip through the ropes like you have a hundred—maybe a thousand—times before, and approach him quietly as not to wake him.

he strikes when you're within arm's reach, moving faster than you could ever hope to dodge even if you did anticipate it, and before you know it you're toppling down on top of him as he uses his body to break your fall—two strong arms cradling you to his bare chest.

"you weren't sleeping," you grumble into his neck sullenly, and you feel his chest lift with a laugh. "you tricked me."

"had to, otherwise you might've tried to run away." his hands pat down along your spine, then up over your shoulder blades, holding you tight. "couldn't risk that when you haven't been answering any of my calls."

he lets you pull away but only barely—just enough room to use his chest to push yourself up and look at him, but his hands on your hips keep you pinned in place where you straddle him. when you look down at him, at his pretty face and his bright eyes and the soft smile he always shows you, you feel like you might start crying again—just like the last time you were in this very gym a week prior. the gym whose route you could walk in your sleep, whose walls you have memorized with his name and trophies displayed proudly everywhere you look. Gojo. Gojo. Gojo. the same way the crowds at his fights chant for him and his triumph.

gojo—a name as familiar to you as it is foreign. it's his, but it's not. because the boy below you, staring up at you with that same lovesick expression you've never seen waver, will never be anything to you but satoru. means everything to you as satoru.

"it's not too late," you whisper, reaching up with a shaking hand and running your fingertips along the blush that sits high on his cheeks. "you can still call off the fight, there's still time."

satoru's expression shifts for a moment, so brief you may have missed it if you didn't know him so well. there's a flash of something behind his eyes that reads unmistakably like guilt. he dons a facade of petulance to mask it, his lip pursing in an exaggerated pout.

"i can't believe my own good luck charm doesn't think i can win against some loser," he whines, turning his face and nosing against the palm that was cupping his cheek.

it's not true. you believe in satoru unwaveringly, you know his skill and his abilities. your faith in him is, and always has been, implicit. it's his opponent you don't trust.

it's what the fight might cost him, regardless of the outcome, that terrifies you.

"hey."

your eyes focus again, and you meet satoru's gaze below you. he lifts his hand, cupping yours—so much smaller in comparison—underneath as he holds your touch against his face, pressing a kiss to your palm.

it's so impossibly still in the gym with everyone else gone, but everything about it is known to you. is wholly familiar. the dim fluorescents, the smell that lingers in the air, the hum of the fans, the sound of satoru's breath.

"stop worrying, okay?" he whispers against your skin, kissing your palm again to punctuate the request. "there's no way i'm gonna lose. i'm the strongest, after all."

and there's familiarity in those words too, since he's said them to you more times than you could ever hope to keep track of.

but this time they just don't seem to reassure you the same way.

[alucarddear]

Position anon again, would you please write a NSFW alphabet for Alucard? Pretty please? 🥺

Alucard N S F W Alphabet*

I'm personally offended that I haven't done this for Lulu before. Anyway, rather than just spelling out his name, I'll give you the entire alphabet. Heh. This is LONG! Your thoughts and keyboard smashes are welcome. 🤭

P.S. I go explicit and specific; read at your own risk. I also tried my best to keep it as gender-neutral as possible, so this is [Alucard x You]. However, I did have a little self-indulgent fun with W: wild card, the only section with an obvious she/her indication. Just so you know!

A: Aftercare (what they're like after sex)

Aftercare is not optional to this dhampir. It's a must. It doesn't matter if you had a quick romp or a long night, he'd still take the time to treat you right, especially if he'd been rather rough with you.

Forehead kisses, soft caresses, helping clean you up—you name it and he's got it covered. It's all about making sure you feel loved, appreciated, and cared for.

Alucard is not one to just up and leave or make you feel used. In fact, it's noticeable how much more he dotes on you after actually using you up good and fucking you raw into next week. 😏

B: Body part (their favourite body part of theirs and their partner’s)

Your neck. Let's not even pretend that Alucard doesn't gravitate towards it. As you ride him, he buries his face in the crook of your neck and nips and pecks at your throat. There's a part of him that wants to sink his fangs into you then and there and another that wants nothing more than to whisper sweet nothings against your skin as you throw your head back in bliss.

Alucard likes his hands—the way they're so large against yours; how perfectly your hands feel in his own. He likes his hands gripping your thighs or hips, his hand coming down to slap your ass, his hands caressing every inch of you. The way his hand closes around your wrist, encircling it completely as if it was made to do nothing but. The way he pushes you down with his hand on the small of your back as he prepares to take you from behind. Most of all, all of the things his hands can do to make you cum.

C: Cum (anything to do with cum)

Alucard's desire to spill his seed inside you is next to nothing sometimes. If you'd let him, he'd bury himself balls-deep and cum inside you each and every time.

He loves to make you cum, loves the way you sound—the hitching of your breath, your begging, the way you can barely keep yourself from shaking as he coaxes yet another orgasm out of you. He loves to praise you for it. "God, you're fucking beautiful," is something you hear often. It just never gets old.

D: Dirty secret (a dirty secret of theirs)

Alucard loves when you allow him to bend you over whichever way he pleases. Loves how tiny and pliable you look underneath him, adjusting and propping your arms and legs as he sees fit. Just the sight of you like that, it's enough to push him over the edge.

So, you know he draws you—you are his muse after all. You've seen his sketches. But not the ones of your beautiful, naked body. Not even the tasteful pieces he draws as you sleep. Not the ones where, try as he might, he just can't replicate how utterly divine you look when he fucks you. He's a talented artist, but nothing tops the real thing.

E: Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Is he very experienced? No. Does he know what he's doing? Hell yes. His mother was a doctor and his father is a man of science. He lives in a castle full of resources. He has deep knowledge of biology—he's got the theory down pat. Sure, he fumbled a little the first few times, but he quickly learnt how you like to be pleased.

Besides, being a dhampir, Alucard is in tune with your body's responses to his ministrations. When you're intimate, he can practically feel your heart racing, dear. He knows when you're close, can tell when he's hitting it good, need I say more?

F: Favourite position (this goes without saying)

Mastery. He sits on the edge of the bed, feet flat on the floor to support you sitting on top of him with your legs bent on either side of him, your feet flat on the bed. This position allows you to wrap your arms around his neck and kiss. It lets you start off slow, very intimate—with you grinding against and riding him. Once you're a little tired (or he starts growing impatient), he simply grips your hips and pounds up into you until you're a screaming wreck. His grip on your hips and his feet securely planted on the floor allows him to rut into you fast. And the view? Fucking fantastic. He loves watching you come undone like this, seeing you throw your head back and expose your throat to him. Yes.

For a quick romp, you can't go wrong with doggy style. When you're in his study and you both get a little too distracted? He’ll bend you over his desk and have his way with you.

G: Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Oh, he's very serious about giving both of you a good time, alright. He might do something that makes you giggle, sure, but for the most part it's probably accidental and not his intention. Sex with Alucard can be intimate and sweet or downright animals humping in the undergrowth (👀), no in between. He's not here for the shits and giggles, darling.

H: Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

It does match. Maybe not all the time completely bare, but he keeps himself neat and tidy. Do you see his luxurious hair? He takes care of himself down there too.

I: Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Alucard loves to see you and hear you. He's considerate and goes out of his way to find what works for you. So much so he probably has ruined you for anyone else. You'll never find a more receptive lover; it’s time to accept that.

When you make sweet love, he whispers sweet nothings against your skin. He peppers kisses all over you and makes you feel like the most gorgeous being on the planet. He's not afraid to voice his thoughts out loud too, praising you and urging you on.

J: Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

You remember those naughty sketches of you? Yep. He has used them a couple times while you were away. You're in his thoughts whenever he touches himself.

K: Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Edging. He not-so-secretly loves it when you beg. How are you to know how much more you can take? He'll just have to show you.

When you moan his name as you grip the sheets and quake beneath him? Yeah. He loves it, especially when you can barely even make out the words for “Adrian, please, please, please.”

When you take control and ride him like your life depends on it, it does something to his brain. You on top, taking control and looking absolutely beautiful as you do so... he could cum just from the thought of it.

There is a part of him that likes the thought of cumming deep inside you and breeding you. Maybe it's that loneliness that sometimes nags at him, maybe he yearns for a family, but he can't lie this feels utterly divine.

L: Location (favourite places to do the do)

The bed is cliche, but it works and is comfortable. Your kitchen counter, desk, against the wall or a tree, table, or out at some secluded clearing by the lake... Alucard is truly not that picky, as long as you're not out in the public for other eyes to see and you’re both comfortable.

M: Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Your reactions and enthusiasm. Knowing you're into it just as much as he is.

When you sashay towards him, crooking your finger at him to beckon him closer? He's right there with you in a heartbeat.

When you wear his shirt and it swallows your smaller frame? It turns him on more than he lets on.

When you moan his name and gasp and writhe in pleasure. When you beg for him to take you harder, faster, and deeper. It just about short-circuits his brain.

N: No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Any form of bondage or restrictions to his movement. It brings up unnecessary trauma and makes him feel that he's not in control or safe. He is mostly a switch, sure, letting you take control and dominate too, but tying him up is just a no-go for him.

He won't transform into a wolf. It's practically bestiality, which he's not down for.

Somnophilia or any other act where consent can be dubious. He's just big on consent and trust, for obvious reasons.

O: Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He loves having absolute control over your pleasure, knowing it's him coaxing the sighs and moans and screams out of you. He enjoys how easily he can make you cum and drive you mad.

That said, he also loves watching you pleasure him, taking as much of his hard length as you can, especially whenever you greedily swallow his load.

P: Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

It really depends. Sex can be whatever it needs to be in the moment. While he loves nothing more than to take his time and make sweet love to you, he also loves ravaging you and leaving you utterly spent. It's satisfying either way.

The usual case is he begins slowly and sensually, but by the end of it (and sometimes without warning), he's rutting into you like his life depends on it.

Q: Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He isn't above having a quickie if that is all time permits, but he would really much rather have his way with you properly!

R: Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Given that he's a dhampir, he knows exactly how to go unseen or unnoticed. It's likely his risk assessment is much more honed. You might think you're being risky, but he is well aware of the chances of you getting caught in the act.

As for experimenting—other than his hard reservations (the ones listed in N), he is game to experiment and try different things you may be curious about as long as you both feel safe and comfortable about them.

S: Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He's a dhampir... need I say more? The chances of you exhausting him first is little. Sorry to burst your bubble. 😆 He's got stamina for days, honey.

T: Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Alucard is not above using toys to pleasure you. But what can a toy do that he can't do better? Hah. Chances are he will attempt to learn how it pleases you and try to replicate that with his own cock, mouth, and hands.

U: Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He can be such a little tease. You know the way he banters. That snark and sass can sometimes make their way inside the bedroom too.

"What was that, darling?" he'd ask, as if his amazing sense of hearing wasn't enough to register your begging as he edges you for the nth time. "Tsk. Patience, my love..." he would even dare chide you!

Alucard also loves to glide his fangs over your skin, just enough to leave a faint mark but not enough to draw blood.

V: Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He’s not shy to let you know he’s having a good time, but he’s also not overly loud. He gasps, moans, and curses, a tight-lipped “Fuck!” slipping out once in a while.

W: Wild card (a random headcanon)

He loves to praise you. His way of talking dirty is to let you know how good you feel around him. How ethereal you are, how perfect for him, how you taste so sweet.

He encourages you as he pushes you over the limit. “Yes, yes, darling, you can take it. Cum for me,” he would say. He’d place a kiss on your open mouth as you convulse around him as he rips yet another orgasm out of you. “My sweet darling,” he would groan, wiping the sweat off your brow. “How perfect you are. Good girl.” And just like that, he’s about to do it all over again. RIP. 😫

X: X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

He’s active and it shows. He’s well built without being overly bulky. It suits him—muscular/toned yet elegant and lean.

He’s packing a just-about-above average penis, but nothing you cannot handle. The man’s over six foot, it just fits.

Y: Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Alucard is the type to yearn and pine, so set the volume level up cause he cannot get enough of you. Enough said.

Z: Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Sometimes you drift off to sleep together, but you usually fall asleep first.

He’s a night owl. He’d take you in his arms and stroke your hair as you sleep, admiring the way you glow under the moonlight, and wonder how he got so lucky to have found you. 🤍🌙

[thecapricunt1616]

capriiiiiii can i pretty please request something with carmy and a gf who is dealing with being stiff / sore and tired. i acc just need him to take care of me. maybe cook me a meal. :(( ily

My loveeeee Hello I'm sorry this has been rotting away I've been dealing with such writers block I hope this doesn't suck aaa! I'm sorry I haven't been writing as much / around tumblr this week i've been busy with other things but I hope to write more soon <3 I finally got my new laptop so i'm going to try and cook some stuff up really soon! Warnings for btc: None really, pure fluff & happy carmy!not edited sorryyyy WC: 1638

You had helped Sugar set up her nursery last night. All the moving of large boxes, and helping build the crib, changing table, and dresser, you were wiped out to say the least. You got home around 4 am, and  When Carmy had left for the restaurant that morning, you were still crumpled on the couch where he’d left you, snuggled in a blanket and softly snoring. When he came home that night and nudged you, you jumped like a sleeping cat 

“I’m awake!” You said quickly with an unintentional snore, rubbing your eyes tiredly. 

“Brought you a sandwich and some fries. Back still hurts?” He asked softly. 

You whimper gently as you stretch out your sore muscles, sitting up once again in the dark living room. “How’s work?” You mumbled with a yawn, taking the takeout container as he plopped next to you and planted a kiss on your head. 

“Doesn’t matter, m’here for you baby, why don’t I get you a bath set up mm?” He flicks on a lamp and you blink a few times as your eyes get adjusted to the light.  

“You’re too good to me, you know that right?” You gave him a peck on the lips. He smiled a bit and rubbed your side 

“I can’t even count the amount of back massages you’ve given me after a long week. I’m just repaying the favor.” He watched as you took a bite and sighed in relief, your stomach growling- likely in thanks as you hadn’t moved from your spot all day long in your blanket nest. 

“This is really good, Bear” you mumble as you chew. He hums happily at your approval, giving you one more kiss to the temple before getting up. 

“Good, I put a piece of princess cake in the fridge for you for after your bath if you want” he said on his way to the bathroom, and you could cry at the bliss that was being taken care of. 

He makes sure to clean out the tub with bathroom spray and rinse it fully, before starting the water at the very hot temperature he knew you liked after plugging the tub. He got one of the little herb sachets with different flowers and herbs and hung it over the faucet so it infused into the water, causing it to be a pretty light pink color.

From the bathroom closet he grabbed your little bath tray and set it up for you, as well as the little bath head pillow that suctioned to the tub for you to rest back on, and got those set up before taking out the waterproof electric candles and setting a few out for you for a comforting ambiance. After he put a good amount of the muscle relaxing herbal epsom salts in the bath for you, as well as plenty of bubbles the way you liked and agitated the water for you, he popped your favorite fluffy towel in the warmer. 

He cut off the water and went into the bedroom, grabbing your fluffy bathrobe and a comfortable pair of panties for you as well as the book you were currently reading from your nightstand and got them all set up on the bathroom counter for you, as well as your hair brush. He opened the bottom drawer where you kept all your sheet face masks, and picked out a bedtime one and set it on the bath tray for you next to your book. 

By the time he came back out to let you know your bath was ready you had already finished eating and were once again slumped on the couch, you figured you had pulled or overworked something in your back because even holding yourself up was proving to be exhausting very fast. “Did you want some wine my love” he crouched down next to where you were snuggled on the couch, brushing your hair from your eyes gently. 

“Yes please” you said softly. He planted a gentle, lingering kiss on your forehead before going to the kitchen. He got your favorite wine out of the fridge, popping open the bottle and pouring you a glass. He brought it to the bathroom and put it in the little slot on the tray made for wine glasses, before coming back to collect you. 

“Alright, up” he held his hand out to you and wiggled his fingers for you to take it. You sighed softly knowing moving meant pain, but when you grabbed his hand he lifted you to your feet with little effort, being sure to steady you with his other hand on your hip since you weren’t expecting it. 

“Woah” you giggled, the action having woken you from your tired state and following him to the bathroom. When you saw the state of it, you pulled him into a tight hug, kissing his neck gently. You didn’t want him to see the fact there was tears pooling at your eyes, since he hated when you cried. But the fact that he had a nearly 14 hour day, and came home to you- and still went out of his way, above and beyond to take care of you. To make you feel loved, cared for. You’d never had another partner who was so attentive and went out of their way for you how he did.

“Love you…” you muttered before pulling away with a sniffle. He cupped your cheeks, giving you a gentle kiss 

“Your towel is In the warmer waiting for you baby, I’ll get your pajamas set out for you” he gently tucked your hair behind your ear and rubbed his knuckle over your cheekbone before heading back to your bedroom, leaving the door cracked behind him. You noticed after he left that your skincare was all set up for you as well as your favorite body lotion and its matching body mist which just made you smile even more. 

After undressing you sit in the warm bath, sighing in relief as the hot water did wonders for your sore muscles, resting your head back on the comfortable pillow as you sip your wine and hum contently to yourself. For a while you just sat, reading your book and sipping your wine and after about 30 minutes when the water had gone lukewarm, and your glass of wine had been finished - you decided to drain the tub. 

Carmy heard you getting out of the bath, so he went and got your pajamas that he’d been warming in the dryer for you and got your side of the bed all made up after filling your reusable water bottle with iced lemon water.  By the time you had gotten your lotion on and did your skincare as well as brushed your teeth, the house had already been shut down for the evening. He had made sure to clean up the kitchen and living room, as well as shut all of the shades and get your coffee pot set up for the next morning like usual. 

“Hey pretty girl” he takes your hand, kissing it gently “got some warm pajamas for you, house is taken care of you just have to get in bed” he motioned to the bed where your pajamas were nicely folded for you. 

“And you say you aren’t romantic” you mused, causing him to chuckle a bit as he wrapped his arms around you, kissing the top of your head 

“What can I say, I guess you bring it out of me. Get your pajamas on I’ll rub your feet for you” he said and you hum happily, closing your eyes and planting a kiss on his neck

“Can I be babied like this all the time?” You joked, he huffed a laugh, handing you your pajamas. 

“The days that I’m not too wiped out from work, I can try” he plopped down on his side of the bed with a soft grunt of relief after being on his feet all day. You slipped out of your robe, and his eyes rake over your frame as you unfolded your soft, fluffy nightgown and slipped it over your head. “Mm mm mm” he said jokingly. You giggled as you crawl on the bed, resting your legs over his lap and wiggling your manicured toes teasingly. 

“Get to massaging this isn’t a free peep show” you said and he took your ankle, bringing it to his lips and giving it a chaste kiss

“What- so you can put me to work, and I can’t even eye the goods?” he joked as he put your leg gently back in his lap and grabbing the massage oil that he’d put on the nightstand and warming some in his hands before starting to massage your foot. You hum happily, lips curling into a small smile and your eyes fluttering shut in bliss. 

“Mmmm, keep doin’ that and I’ll let you see whateeever you want” you said happily, your voice nearly a purr from how expertly he was massaging your calves and feet. “Can I turn on Big Brother?” you asked and giggle at the way his face lit up

“You really waited?! Fuck yeah I wanna see whats up put it on” he said and you smiled, shaking your head jokingly as you turned on the TV. He had whined before about not wanting to watch ‘trash reality tv’ all the time, but over the course of the many nights he came home and you were watching it - he had eventually starting asking you to wait for him to watch ‘your show’ together, and you would tease him and tell him how you thought he said it was boring and gossipy, just to get his cheeks to go that cute shade of pink.“Of course I waited, it’s our show now”

[hwaslayer]

vivrant thing (jwy) | five.

—SPOTIFY PLAYLIST / SERIES MASTERLIST

—SUMMARY: after getting into a little accident, wooyoung decides to do his sister a favor by pretending to be your date at the company summer party. as soon as the night ends, wooyoung would go back to his usual routine of hanging out with his boys, keeping his distance from committed relationships and being a typical brother to jiwoo. except, the favor comes with more than what wooyoung expects and he finds you occupying his mind more than usual. 

—PAIRING: jung wooyoung x f. reader

—GENRE: (18+ - minors dni) bestfriend’s brother au | fluff, angst, smut

—WORD COUNT: 9k

—CHAPTER CONTENT / WARNINGS: cussing, mature language/sexually implied content, crying, chapter is pretty heavily papa-focused, mentions of illness, the talk happens!!, crying, bbygirl is sad and exhausted but wooyoung tries his best, yes im sorry i had to reference the howl/wooyoung thing, small sweet kisses and affectionate acts, very brief mentions of alcohol consumption / intoxication / hangovers, also very brief mentions of wooyoung's past again, more jiwoo vs. wooyoung (bickering not actual arguments lol), lots of apologies from jiwoo lol sorry if i missed anything!

Something's wrong, and Wooyoung can't figure it out. It's bothering him. As much as he's trying to respect your space, he can't help but worry about you. Especially when you haven't returned any of his texts or calls. He was expecting something, anything by now, so he can't help himself when he sends another text—

wooyoung: are you at work?

you: i'm about to head home.

You only respond because even though you aren't quite ready to face him regarding all of this yet, you don't wanna worry him unnecessarily. But, it still does anyway. Why aren't you at work?

And maybe, he should've asked if it was okay to see you first. It's the anxiety, the panic, within him that isn't letting him rest. He just needed to see you and make sure you were okay after everything that went down. His sister could be a piece of work, and you didn't necessarily have Yeosang to lean onto. Truthfully, you wouldn't be mad if he actually showed up at your door step. He is the comfort you need as much as you'd hate to admit it right now. At the same time, it'd make you a little more sad though, more confused. 

Lo and behold, when you get home from the long night in the hospital, Wooyoung is leaning against the rail; waiting right by your doorstep. You don't question why he's not at work either, but you feel a sense of relief come over you seeing him there. A sense of relief mixed with nervousness. He doesn't say a word, simply cause he's trying to read you. He's trying to figure out if he's the reason why you look so low and tired. If it's his sister, Yeosang. All of the above.

"I don't really have time to talk about this, Wooyoung—" Is all you mutter as you unlock your door and step in.

"Then, we don't have to talk about it right now. I just wanted to make sure you were okay." He slips in and slowly kicks off his shoes, watching the way you drag yourself towards your closet. You're not sure why that's enough to trigger you, but you find yourself starting to tear up. Exhaustion hitting you tough, sadness stemming deep from your gut. Wooyoung can tell, and even if you're trying to be incredibly sneaky about it, he can still hear you quietly sniffing away. "Y/N." He says, forcing you to pause your movements as you continue to cry. "What is it? Whatever it is, let me help."

"Wooyoung, please just go. I need to go back."

"Go back where?" 

"The hospital." You mutter softly.

"The hospital?" He furrows his brows. "Wait, what's going on? Why are you shutting me out?"

"That's a bold question to ask after that everything that's happened." Fuck, Wooyoung thinks. Don't be fucking stupid, Wooyoung.

"You're right, I'm sorry. I'm just—" He pauses, watching as you pack things in your bag before setting it aside and grabbing a new change of clothes. "I'm worried about you."

"Don't be."

"Y/N." He calls you again, and you take this moment to look him in the eye. Everything within you wants to cave when you see him looking down at you the way he is, hand gently tugging at your wrist. He's basically pleading through his eyes, and the only reason why you continue with your next response is because he actually looks like he means it.

"Papa's in the hospital." You softly say.

"W-what?" He stutters. "What happened? He got worse?"

"Kidney infection." Wooyoung sighs. "He's been hiding it, but he's been feeling more than just being tired. The pain got really bad. Super sudden and sharp. He almost went into sepsis cause of the fever he had."

"Shit. Is he okay now?"

"He's stable." You try to brush past him to quickly wash up and change, but he blocks your path.

"Let me take you." You try to move past, yet you're still unsuccessful.

"Wooyoung." 

"I'll take you back—"

"Stop it. I don't need you to. I don't need you to do anything for me. I can handle it." Your response almost makes him flinch. Truthfully, he knows he deserves it. He knows it shouldn't have taken him this long to talk to you, to reach out to you. So, he knows. He's fully aware. It doesn't make it sting less, though.

"I fucked up. I acknowledge that and I'm sorry. There's so many things I can tell you when the time is right. But, for now, please don't shut me out and do this alone. I wanna be here for you." He pauses, every inch of his heart slowly shattering the more he sees the tears constantly staining your cheeks. "Please let me be here for you." You nibble on your bottom lip, shifting your attention away from Wooyoung as you wipe at your tears and try to suck it all up, try to regain composure. Before Wooyoung can even reach out to wipe the stragglers away, you step around him and lock yourself in the bathroom, leaving Wooyoung in the middle of your living room area. You give yourself a good 15 minutes to freshen up and change before meeting him outside again. He sits on the arm of your couch, patiently waiting.

"I just need to grab a few more things."

"Do you need me to help pack some stuff up?"

"It's okay." You pack some clothes and the rest of your necessities in case you'll be able to stay the night again, though you know it's probably a long shot. You hate having to be away from Papa, and now [even more than ever], you feel the need to keep him close. You feel the need to make up for not being there when he needed you the most; the guilt eating you alive.

Once you've finished, you grab yourself a bottle of water and turn to Wooyoung who is now waiting for you near the door. He gives you a small, toothless smile, gently grabbing your bag from you before leading the way out of your studio and to the car.

The drive is so, so incredibly quiet, but Wooyoung understands you need this more than anything right now. The only time he spoke a word was when he asked you which hospital you needed to go to. Otherwise, he let you sit in your peace. He'd look over from time to time, itching to hold your hand, kiss your hand or gently massage your head as a way to affectionately reassure you that things would be okay. Instead, he looks back out to the road and adjusts the heat a bit to make sure you're warm enough— hoping it's enough to provide comfort from a distance.

"You sure you don't wanna stop by for food or coffee? Anything? You should eat."

"I can just eat at the hospital."

"Mmkay." Wooyoung says, pulling into the hospital and straight towards the parking garage. When he pulls into a spot on the second floor and shuts off the car, he immediately steps out to grab your things from the trunk. You walk alongside of him towards the main entrance, checking in with the front desk before slapping on your visitor stickers and heading down the hall. It's quite the journey of twists and turns before you get to Papa's room, and a sense of relief washes over you when you finally arrive. He's sleeping in his bed, TV on to one of his favorite cooking shows.

"Papa." You gently rub at his arm to wake him. He looks up at you with sleepy eyes, mustering all his energy to smile back at you and Wooyoung.

"Y/N, Wooyoung."

"How're you feeling?" Wooyoung asks.

"Better. Not the best yet, but better." Wooyoung nods before turning his attention to you. "Why don't you go eat? I'll stay with Papa." Wooyoung looks at you sympathetically. You simply nod in response, tugging Papa's blanket up before you let him know you'll be stepping out for a few minutes.

"Papa, do you need anything right now?" He shakes his head. "I'll be back then, okay? I'm going to get food." Papa nods sleepily. "Wooyoung is here." You turn back to Wooyoung, who is now sitting in the chair next to his bed. "Want anything?"

"I'm good." He gives you a pursed smile, watching you walk out of the room and down to the cafeteria on the other end of the first floor. After grabbing some toast, a bit of egg and bacon, you order a latte to go with your food. You sit at a table near the window and slowly eat away, scrolling through social media and stumbling upon Jiwoo and Hongjoong's pictures. You like all of them, though the two of you hadn't really talked much since the fight, since she left. Despite all of the commotion, you still sent her a text wishing her a safe trip, in which she replied with a heart reaction. 

You left it at that.

It was hurtful, and you were sad you and Jiwoo were like this. But, you were still optimistic that the two of you would return to your usual ways soon. Besides, you still needed to figure out what was going on between you and Wooyoung.

All of this was a mess.

You feel your bottom lip tremble and you press the back of your finger flat beneath your nose to try and prevent yourself from crying in the cafeteria. When you feel the wave pass, you let out a shaky breath before focusing on finishing your food. Meanwhile, Wooyoung continues to watch the TV while Papa lays next to him, in and out of sleep. At least, that's what he thought until Papa breaks the comfortable silence that had fallen between them.

"Wooyoungie." Papa is barely able to make out, his voice hoarse and tired. Wooyoung is surprised to see him awake right now, only being able to imagine how tired he is.

"Mhm?" Wooyoung tugs his blanket up a little more on the side, returning his attention back up to Papa's face afterwards.

"Take care of my Y/N, hm?" He smiles softly. "My body isn't what it used to be. I'm afraid it'll only get weaker, and at some point, my time will come." Wooyoung's heart drops hearing the statement fall from Papa's lips, though, when he faces the reality, it's only the truth. "Take care of her. Please don't leave her alone."

"I will. I promise I won't leave her side, okay?" Papa lets out a content breath, resting his head back against the pillow. "Although, I think I might've messed up with her."

"You didn't." He pulls another tired smile.

"Pretty sure I did." Wooyoung licks his lips. "I was being stupid."

"You needed time, I assume. It happens to the best of us." 

"Did she.. tell you everything?" Wooyoung asks, afraid of the details Papa might know. And he knows, to some extent. You did tell him that dinner with Yeosang was terrible. You did tell him that you drank a little too much after, that you accidentally texted Wooyoung instead of Jiwoo. You did tell him things 'kinda' escalated. 

And then you apologized profusely while you cried at his bedside for not being there because you got into a fight with Jiwoo over the whole thing with Wooyoung. You cried your sorries nonstop; Papa didn't even know what was more painful to endure: you breaking down and sobbing, or his kidneys going outta wack.

—FLASHBACK

"Papa?" You step inside his apartment and slip out of your shoes, a small smile on your face when you see him watering his plants out on his balcony.

"Hey, there she is." He laughs a bit, putting down his watering pot before placing an arm on his lower back. "Was just watering my plants." He winces a bit as he steps inside and plops onto the couch.

"You okay?"

"Ah, my lower back's been bothering me, but it's not too big of a deal. Probably just need to exercise and stretch more."

"You sure? We can go to the hospital just to get it checked out."

"No, no. No need." He sits back and smiles up at you. "I am sure."

"Okay. I'll brew us some tea? I got us a few pastries from your favorite café." You sit the box down on his coffee table and pop it open, revealing a matcha cream pastry and a fruit danish with seasonal berries [which is Papa's favorite].

"Sounds good. Thank you." You smile at him and start heating up some water before seeping bags of green tea. Papa lets out a content sigh as he flips through his TV and starts watching the news while you prep. "So, wanna tell me how dinner with Yeosang went?" You briefly pause, hearing the electric kettle click and automatically shut off. You take two mugs out from his cabinet and pour the tea into each before dipping the green tea bags. You set them aside for another 3 minutes, grabbing two small plates and utensils for the pastries.

"Well, to be straightforward, it was awkward and terrible."

"Awkward and terrible. That bad?"

"I don't even know if we'll even go back to being the same, Papa."

"I'm sure you will. Just give it some time. It's all fresh so it'll feel weird for a little bit." He looks at you and observes the way you avoid eye contact with him, even while you cut the pastries in half. 

"Mhm." You hum.

"Something else happen?"

"Why do you say that?" You pass him his plate and utensils, still avoiding eye contact.

"You're avoiding your old man." He chuckles and you briefly look at him before shaking your head and returning your attention to the matcha cream pastry on your plate. "You were never a liar, so it's easy to tell when you're not exactly telling the truth and covering up."

"I don't know."

"You can tell me when you're ready."

"I am ready. I just don't know how to say it."

"You know I'd never judge you."

"I know, I know." You sit back on your knees before looking up at him. "Hm. After the dinner, I went to the convenience store near my house and drank some soju to get my mind off of dinner with Yeosang. Plus, I dunno, I didn't feel as satisfied so I grabbed some snacks. I got a pretty tipsy again and ended up accidentally texting Wooyoung instead of Jiwoo. He came to my rescue. We hung out at my apartment and um." Your bottom lip pokes out. "Things kinda just.. happened." Papa nods slowly.

"Ahhh." The response is somewhat elongated.

"I know, it's awful."

"No, it's not. But, why do you seem sad or upset about it?"

"Because I dunno where this leads us. We haven't talked. I haven't even told Jiwoo yet either and I know she won't take it well. That'll probably ruin our friendship, too." You sigh. "I'm just losing my friends one by one."

"Don't say that. They love you and care for you as much as you do. Fights will happen but it won't compare to the strong foundations you've built." He pauses. "Where do you want the whole thing with Wooyoung to lead you?" You shrug.

"Is it dumb to say that I like Wooyoung? It all started from the party and—" You let out a frustrated sigh. "I know he probably doesn't feel the same." And that's the issue for you.

"You don't know that. Maybe he needed time to form his thoughts, Y/N." You look at Papa blankly. "People who have feelings will often need time to form their words. It's too deep for them to understand quickly so they dissect carefully. Especially if they don't wanna mess things up. Give him some time before you overthink and start jumping to conclusions. Can you do that for me? Wooyoung wouldn't just leave you without answers like that."

"I guess, ya." Is all you say, shaking it off before you start crying in front of him. "Anyway, tea is ready. I'll go grab it and we can watch your favorite movies?"

"Sounds good to me." He chuckles a bit, though deep down he is a little worried about you. Himself. He's been feeling off lately, and after this, the last thing he wants to do is worry you more. 

He just hopes whatever he's been feeling will pass so it'll be one less thing on your plate.

—END

"She didn't have to tell me specifics." Wooyoung nods. "Do you find yourself feeling any different about her now that time has passed? You can tell me and it'll be safe between us."

"I like her. A lot." He does a slight head tilt. "Wouldn't blame her if she didn't feel the same, though. I handled it poorly."

"My girl's got a big heart." Papa chuckles a bit. "I know she feels the same about you, or else she wouldn't have been sulking over it." He lightly teases, making the heat rise to Wooyoung's cheeks. "Just promise me you'll take care of it. You'll take care of her?"

"I'm sorry. It was my fault in the first place. But, you have my word. I will. I'm gonna make things right after this."

"I trust you." Papa holds out his hand for Wooyoung to take, and he does. He holds it tightly, giving it a squeeze.

"For now, she still needs you, too. Promise me you'll take care of yourself?"

"I know, I should, huh? Might need you to be my personal trainer." Wooyoung laughs a bit.

"I think you're stronger and way more knowledgeable than me."

"Should we arm wrestle when I get a little better?"

"Sure, I'll let you hurt my feelings just once. I deserve it." Papa laughs just before shutting his eyes to rest again. The nurse comes in to give Papa his breakfast and meds, greeting Wooyoung as she sets it up on the table. As soon as she instructs Papa to eat his porridge and take his medicine right after, you walk in and greet her with a small smile on your face. You speak to her to check on any new updates regarding Papa and she reassures you that everything seems to be fine. If he continues to improve and remain stable within the next day or two, she thinks he can go home sooner than later.

"Do you think I can stay here again with him tonight?" You're holding a pastry in a bag and a cold, bottled americano for Wooyoung in your hands. "I-I just don't know if I can leave him alone here." The nurse looks at you sympathetically and shakes her head, her hand on your wrist.

"I'm so sorry, Y/N. I wish I could bend the rules even more for you, but we can't allow visitors to stay for another night. I promise he's in good hands, okay? And as soon as the morning comes, you're more than welcome to come back." You sigh and nod, trying to be understanding of the rules. You knew this would be the outcome, but mentally preparing ahead of time doesn't make you any less sad. Nervous. Anxious.

"No, it's okay. I understand. Thank you." She gives you another sympathetic smile.

"Call me if you need anything, okay? I'm here until visiting hours end tonight." You nod, watching as she walks out, leaving the three of you in the room. You hand Wooyoung his food and drink, pulling the table with Papa's food and medicine over.

"You didn't have to."

"You should eat, too." You look at him before looking at the food and unwrapping it. "Papa, you ready to eat? You gotta take your medicine soon so you can sleep a little more."

"I could eat." You chuckle a bit while Wooyoung helps him sit up properly. 

After Papa eats and drinks his medicine, he continues to fall in and out of sleep due to the exhaustion from everything that happened over the past day and overnight. The pain seems to be managed well, and the treatment plan that the doctor has him on seems to be working. It was caught at a time before things could get too deep and severely irreversible, so you're grateful for that despite the pain Papa had gone through. In between his naps, you and Wooyoung would talk about the show on TV or go on quick walks around the hospital before coming back to the room. The only time Wooyoung leaves your side is to briefly buy some food at the convenience store across the street, grabbing you an egg salad sandwich and some iced tea per your request, and grabbing himself a few other snacks in case you wanted some, too.

Which, as he expected, you ended up stealing his chips and mochi. You only left him with a bite of his favorite strawberry mochi, but he couldn't even be mad when you looked at him with wide-eyes, powder around your lips after taking the majority of the damn thing into your mouth. All he could do was sigh, suppressing the want to tease you and tickle you until you surrender [or kick him in the balls accidentally, whichever comes first].

When evening hits, you make sure Papa gets a good amount of his dinner in before taking his medication and drinking lots of water. It hurts you to leave him alone for the night, but you know he'll be coming home soon and you'll be able to spend as much time as possible with him then. You squeeze his hand and hold back your tears, reassuring him you'll be back in the morning before dragging yourself out of his room when visiting hours ends. Wooyoung trails behind, hand rubbing at your back gently as he guides you back to the car.

The ride back home is equally as silent as the drive over to the hospital, and Wooyoung is having trouble figuring out when he can talk to you about everything going on between you and him. No time ever feels like the right time, but Wooyoung knows he has to do this instead of pushing it off even more. 

"Wooyoung?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you for driving me and for staying with me today." 

"It's nothing."

"It's a lot, and I really appreciate it." He looks over with a tiny smile before pulling up to your street. It's obvious Wooyoung wants to say more and you know what it is, but the assumption doesn't get solidified until he breaks the silence again; you're not entirely sure how to feel with where this is going.

Anxious? Afraid of what he might actually say to you about everything?

"Y/N." Wooyoung calls for you just as he parks his car and shuts it off. "Can we talk now please? It probably won't feel like the right time, but I'd really like to before the night ends. I don't want another day to pass like this." You look at him, hand tugging on the sleeve of your sweater as you nod.

"Okay." Wooyoung looks at you and gives you a small smile.

"Let me start off by saying I'm sorry about the way things happened. I was fucking stupid and I shouldn't have left you that morning. Truthfully, I just didn't know how to put my feelings into words because it's never been this way for me. I know it sounds cliché, but I really don't know how else to explain it. I just.. I like you. A lot. I have a lot of feelings for you and it was scary for me because it happened quick, and I wasn't sure if you felt the same. I know I should've just said it to avoid all of this in the first place, but clearly I'm bad at it." He chuckles nervously before shaking his head. "Um, anyway—I'm rambling. I'm sorry." He repeats, soft dark brown eyes on you. "Point is, I like you and there's nothing else I've been more sure of. I hope I didn't mess this up already, but I'd understand if you wanted nothing to do with me. I didn't treat you the way you should have been treated that morning, and I'm sorry for making you feel that way in the first place." His voice falls lowly, Wooyoung trying to stomach his nervousness for your response. He watches as you fiddle with your fingers before you look up at him.

"I appreciate the apology. I'm not gonna lie, it was hurtful Wooyoung. And it didn't make it any better that your sister was in my face with the 'i told you so.'" You sigh.

"I'm sorry, I know. That was never my intention, Y/N. And if you wanna do this with me, we can take this slow so that I can show you. Because I never wanna make you feel that way again."

"I feel the same way and I do want this with you, Wooyoung. I'm just scared."

"I know, and that's completely valid. But, I promise you that you can trust me to take care of you from here on out, okay? We don't have to rush into anything and just take it as it comes. But, I'm here with you no matter what. Nothing will change that." You slowly nod, the feelings slightly becoming overwhelming. 

"Okay." Is all you respond with. You're feeling happy, relieved, but also scared, anxious. It might just be everything that's been happening with Papa, but it feels good to know you aren't entirely alone. Because even if you didn't wanna admit it before, you were afraid of being alone. Despite your friends being with you over the years, there was always a sense of loneliness that was hidden in the corner of your mind. Loneliness without your parents. Loneliness without a person, your person. You tried not to look at it this way because you weren't really lacking anywhere and still had love coming from different avenues. But, you also can't lie and say you didn't think about it and how it'd feel to have your parents, or someone to call yours genuinely and wholly.

"And Jiwoo.." Wooyoung does a slight head tilt. "I won't apologize on her behalf, but whatever she said about me, I can't lie and say it isn't true. You know I haven't been the best in the past, but you mean more to me than that and I'm trying to do better this time around. It's not gonna be perfect but know that I'm trying." He lets out a breath. "She'll come around soon, too. I know you're worried about her. You know how Jiwoo is."

"I hope so."

"I'll try and talk to her."

"It's okay. I think I just need to sit her down and open up to her about all of this." He nods.

"We're okay then?"

"Yeah." You manage to push the rest of your feelings back momentarily when Wooyoung leans over to place a chaste kiss on your forehead. For a second, things do feel okay.

"Come on, let's get you upstairs. Been a long day for you." You nod. Wooyoung grabs your bag from the trunk, following closely behind you as you walk up to your studio. You still seem rather quiet and although he's happy the talk is done with and you two are okay, he can tell something else is bothering you. It isn't long before he finds out because as soon as you enter your studio, you let out a heavy sigh and drop your purse to the floor. You stand in the center, suddenly breaking down into your hands when the feeling gets immensely overwhelming, almost unbearable.

"Y/N." Wooyoung says, close to a whisper. He comes from behind and gently wraps his arms around you before turning you to face him. He pries your hands away from your face, thumbs softly coming to wipe your tears away. "Baby, hey. It's gonna be okay." He shushes you as you rest against his chest, crying and wetting his shirt. "Baby." He repeats at a whisper, shushing and cooing you in his arms. "What is it? What's bothering you?" He tenderly kisses your tears away, thumb caressing your cheeks while he looks at you with a small frown on his face.

"What if they didn't get there in time, Woo? What if he had been one minute late—" Wooyoung tuts and rests against the back of the couch, pulling you in between his legs. He continues to wipe your tears away, shaking his head.

"But, none of that happened, okay? None of that happened. You don't need to worry about that because he's still here. He's recovering and you've been there with him every step of the way. That's all that matters. He's gonna get better, he already is. He'll be better tomorrow and the next day, and so on." You sigh, looking at him before nodding. 

"I can't lose him right away."

"You won't. I promise. He's still strong and he'll get through this." He brushes the hair away from your face. "It's gonna be okay." He repeats.

"Sorry."

"Don't be, love. Why don't you get comfortable, hm? We can hang out here and watch another Studio Ghibli movie."

"Will you stay?" You ask him softly, watching as he presses a kiss to the surface of your hand.

"Of course I will, Y/N. I'm just gonna grab some stuff from my place, but I'll make it quick and come back."

"Okay." You answer, voice dipping close to a whisper. Wooyoung pulls you closer, pressing a light kiss to your lips before standing. As you grab your pajamas, Wooyoung gets a hot shower started for you, tossing a bit of your lavender epsom salt onto the shower floor to help relax you. He reassures you again that he'll be quick before shutting the bathroom door and heading out. You give yourself time to just be under the hot water, letting it ease and relax your body while you cry out all your worries and concerns— letting them all go so that you can find some peace for the time being.

Maybe the universe will take the rest into its own hands.

After taking your time in the shower, you step out and do your nightly routine— carefully lathering the lotion across your body before working on your skincare. You throw on your red flannel pajama shorts and step into a vintage Disneyland crewneck before walking out to light up some candles and search for a good movie. It's not until about 15 mins later that Wooyoung comes through the door, holding a brown bag in hand; duffle bag slung on his shoulder while he's also [apparently] sporting red flannel pajamas and a black Stussy hoodie.

"Copycat." Wooyoung points to your red flannel pajamas as you watch him show you his own hiding underneath his sweats.

"Excuse, I threw these on first."

"What if I got to my apartment before you stepped out?" Wooyoung cocks a brow up, making you roll your eyes in return. He snorts and rushes to hold you from behind, kissing you on the cheek. "It does look better on you, though."

"I thought so." He chuckles a bit before pointing at the bag. "So, I might've made a pitstop to the McDonald's drive-thru because I was craving a shrimp burger and some fries. I got you the chicken sandwich. With a side order for their special sauce?" He says in a questioning tone. "And fries!"

"How'd you remember?"

"Please, I've only had to do the order for you and Jiwoo a million times over the years." You giggle.

"Thank you, Woo." He sets his bag down and slips out of his sweats to walk around in his flannel pajamas before coming over to you in the living room.

"No problem." He points at your hair. "You can get sick." He crinkles his forehead at you before walking into your bathroom and grabbing your hair dryer hanging off of the organizer you have. He takes one of your wide-toothed combs and plops back onto the couch.

"Wooyoung." You look at him as you take the food out of the bag and set it on the coffee table. "You don't have to dry my hair."

"Well, I know you won't and I don't want you to get sick. I don't mind. Come." He pats the area in between his legs. Once you've set the empty bag aside, he sits you in between his legs before plugging the dryer into your extension cord. He switches it to the low heat setting, taking the blow dryer to your hair as he gently combs through. You set the TV onto Howl's Moving Castle, picking at your fries as Wooyoung continues to patiently dry your hair. "You can eat." He says over the noise. You hold up a fry for him to take in his mouth, continuing his motions until your hair is mostly dry, a few strands still damp but not too wet. "There." He says, shutting it off and gently combing through your hair.

"Thank you." He chuckles before neatly tying the cord the way you had it done earlier and slipping out from behind you to put it back in the bathroom. You've moved back onto the couch with your burger box in hand, pressing play to the movie as Wooyoung sits down.

"Yoooo." He smiles. "This is one of my favorites!" You look at him with your eyes squinted. "What?"

"You know, since you started growing out your hair, I knew you looked like someone but I could never put my finger on who exactly. And now it makes sense."

"What?" He repeats.

"You look like Howl." He blushes and does his high-pitched giggle, making you snort in response.

"You mean that?"

"Shut up. You just wanna hear it."

"I do." He pouts.

"I'll change it."

"I mean go for it, you can always look at him here on your couch." He wiggles his eyebrows.

"Wooyoung." You whine, flipping to Grave of the Fireflies.

"Baby." It's his turn to whine. He'd probably kick his feet and cry about it if he truly wanted to. "Why'd you turn it?! I heard this is hella sad!"

"Then, we'll cry together this time! A core bonding moment." You press play.

"Sassy." He looks at you. "I just wanna remind you that you ate my favorite mochi earlier." Wooyoung reminds you and you sigh.

"I already said sorry!" He laughs.

"I'm just teasing."

"Do you really not wanna watch this?"

"No, I do! I don't mind. I just thought the reminder would help since hours passed." You roll your eyes.

"I'm just gonna buy you another one tomorrow." 

"I'm kidding. Honestly." Wooyoung laughs. "You know what I could take instead?" You cock a brow up.

"Dare I even answer?"

"Too late, I'll take that as an answer." He puckers his lips. "I'll never bring it up again." He says in between. You giggle and succumb to his wants, quickly pecking him on the lips that leaves him smiling in a daze. "I'll never get tired of that." You shake your head and press play, the both of you finally eating away at your food as the movie gets on to a start without interruptions. 

You finish your food within the first 15 minutes, not realizing how hungry you were for good, sloppy comfort food. Wooyoung surprisingly remains quiet for a majority, only making noises and reacting to specific scenes. Eventually, the food coma hits you and you find yourself switching positions until you're snuggled up to Wooyoung. He takes the outer end of the couch while you lay on his chest from the inside. The blanket you leave hanging on the arm of the couch is now draped over you two, Wooyoung's arm around you to keep you close. When the movie hits the last 20 minute mark, Wooyoung starts spilling out his thoughts, but finds that your responses get more and more delayed as time goes on.

"Mhm." You answer late, causing Wooyoung to look down at you. You're damn near falling asleep on him, and it doesn't help that Wooyoung feels incredibly warm. Comfortable. He laughs a bit to himself before gently shaking your shoulder and pressing another kiss to your forehead.

"Falling asleep there?"

"Just wanna rest my eyes for like.. 5 minutes." You mumble, with Wooyoung carrying on to finish the rest of the movie by himself. Suddenly, his phone starts vibrating on the coffee table, making him swoop it up in a haste to avoid waking you up from your so-called 5-min nap.

"Ay!" Wooyoung rests the phone on his ear, regretting it as soon as San's loud ass voice comes through on the other end.

"The fuck are you so loud for?" Wooyoung says lowly, hoping this doesn't wake you.

"Kinda drunk. Wanna head out? We're gonna head to the bars!"

"Uh, nah." Wooyoung looks down while you shift in your position, snugging closer to him. "I'm good."

"What?" San laughs. "You're turning down bar hopping? For what?"

"Just cause. Plus, it's the weekday. You're gonna be so fucked tomorrow."

"Wow, that's new." San snorts. "Are you with Y/N or something?"

"Yeah. She's asleep."

"So, you won't even head out for a bit while she's asleep?"

"No, dude. I'm not gonna leave her." There's a silence that falls between them before San is clearing his throat.

"I get it. Okay then! Well, we'll be at our usuals if you change your mind."

"Probably not. But, have fun and be safe." 

"Thanks!" He says before he mumbles something to the rest of the group and hangs up the call. Wooyoung wraps up the movie and switches it to a college basketball documentary that's playing on the TV, only making it about 15 minutes more before he finds himself getting sleepy.

"Y/N." Wooyoung calls for you before he can fall asleep completely. "Let's get ready for bed so we can sleep." You let out a small whine before rubbing at your face, sitting up as Wooyoung follows suit. You sleepily waddle over to the bathroom to brush and floss your teeth with one eye barely open. You quickly check the clock outside, seeing that it's only about 11pm but it feels late. You feel exhausted. Wooyoung is tossing the trash away before wiping down your coffee table, shutting off the TV before grabbing his things from his bag. You quickly pee and wash your hands before walking over to the bed and letting Wooyoung take over the bathroom. 

The entire studio is dark at this point besides the bathroom light seeping from under the door in the corner, and for once, the dark doesn't seem so frightening, so lonely. 

So cold.

For once, the dark is soothing, is peaceful. For once, the dark is warmth because Wooyoung will be there no matter which direction you turn. You crawl under your covers, scooting towards the inside of your bed to make room for Wooyoung. He takes about 10 minutes before he shuts off the light and heads over to join you. He sheds off his hoodie and tosses it aside, slipping under the covers in his pajama pants and white tee. You continue to face him as he settles, his hand coming to your side to pull you a little closer.

"Wooyoung."

"Yeah, babygirl?"

"You know you don't have to stay at the hospital tomorrow, right? I'd be okay if you just dropped me off." He shakes his head.

"No, I don't mind. I'll stay."

"You sure?" You yawn.

"Mhm. I want to."

"You're gonna be so fired." He laughs.

"I've got hours, don't worry."

"Thank you."

"Stop thanking me, love. I'm only trying to take care of you properly." You sleepily smile at him while he kisses the tip of your nose. "We should probably sleep since we need to be up early tomorrow." You nod, his hand giving your side a squeeze. You initiate the kiss this time, feeling comfortable yet bold enough to give him a goodnight kiss. He holds it for a second longer before parting, chasing after your lips quickly after. You giggle when he starts to repeatedly kiss you and smiling into the kiss, almost having trouble prying himself off of you. "Okay, okay." He laughs. "Goodnight, pretty girl."

"Goodnight, Woo." You welcome yourself into his arms and almost fall asleep immediately, his arms feeling like home to you.

The next morning comes, and you and Wooyoung are off to the hospital about 30-mins after visiting hours begin. You found it hard to sleep fully throughout the night, anxious and scared a call from the hospital would come through about changes in Papa's status. But, thankfully, none of the sort happened, and Wooyoung did his best to keep you comfortable throughout the night by whispering his reassurances against your head.

Through sweet, gentle touches and squeezes. 

To your relief, Papa looks brighter and more alert when you walk in. He's already slowly going through his oatmeal, the morning news on the TV screen. He smiles when he sees the both of you walk in, loosely hand-in-hand. You happily walk over to Papa and hug him, sitting on the edge of his bed while you place a hand on his forehead.

"How'd you sleep?" You ask, his temp feeling way better than the past days.

"Good! I was in a deep sleep." You laugh.

"No pain or anything?" He shakes his head. "Good. Everything seems to be working. You might be outta here tomorrow!"

"I just might." He chuckles. "The nurse said she was gonna come back and wash me up. Was hoping to get me up and walking around to get some movement in, too."

"That's a good idea. Let's go on a walk later." Wooyoung says as he sits on the chair by his bed. You nod in agreement, watching as Papa continues to eat away at his oatmeal and fruits. 

"Do you need to go home?"

"Mm." Wooyoung looks at his phone. "I was going to just to make some food for us."

"You should go. We'll be fine."

"You sure?"

"Yes." You give him a look, and he can't help but return the look in a playful manner.

"I'll go in a bit, but I'll be quick when I do." He tugs on your hand. "Come sit and relax." You sit in the empty chair next to Wooyoung. You continue to ask Papa about his night and if the doctor visited this morning. He says yes, sharing the optimism from the doctor despite the fact that he'll have to make a few lifestyle changes moving forward. You share in the excitement, agreeing that Papa looks way better and seems to be progressing back to his old self. You and Wooyoung let him know that you'll be there every step of the way, making sure those changes are implemented smoothly. Papa starts to tell you about his dream, and how he was hiking up a tall mountain without any issue. At the end of the trail was a beautiful view of a city, but he couldn't pinpoint where exactly. He describes all the pretty flowers blossoming on his way to the top, the sky clear and blue. He jokes about how he hopes he can make it come true soon, even if its a local hike. You chuckle, telling him he needs to take it easy for awhile until he fully regains strength and he remains stable for a good period. Wooyoung chimes in, volunteering to join him when that time comes.

When the conversation settles, Wooyoung takes this as an opportunity to head out so he can come back right away. He heads back to his apartment to whip up a good lunch and dinner [along with whatever snacks are lying around] to pack up for the two of you to grub on. While he occupies himself with food prep, he calls San to check on him and to ask him how the night went. As expected, his bestfriend is hung over as shit at work, groaning and complaining about how he drank too much and should've paced himself knowing he had work. Wooyoung laughs at him over the phone, giving him his own version of an 'i told you so' before San lowly cusses him out. He asks about you and Papa and if everything seems to be better. Wooyoung lets him know that Papa's improved, and that he was able to talk everything out with you. There's another silence that falls between them and it's because San simply isn't used to this Wooyoung. He's used to the Wooyoung that was a 'lil shit, playing his game and being up and about no matter what the time or day was. He's used to the Wooyoung that wasn't messing with serious relationships and the Wooyoung that had to give the 'i think you should go' talk after every fuck. Or the 'it was never supposed to get this serious' talk when the girls would find themselves talking to him about feelings.

It's just been a long, long time since San has seen this Wooyoung, and quite frankly, he wasn't sure if he would ever see it again. But, don't get him wrong. He is happy for you two, and it's almost like fresh air hearing Wooyoung talk about you the way he does. He's gonna have to get used to seeing less and less of him, and that's fine— as long as Wooyoung was genuinely happy.

RIP to those days, though. It was fun while it lasted!

Once Wooyoung finally finishes whipping up some food and packing it away, he grabs a few other necessities; fully expecting to be with you tonight so that he can help you with Papa's potential release tomorrow. He's glad he told work he'd be out for the week. Even though it was a bit last minute, he does have a shit ton of PTO and sick hours accumulated that he doesn't mind using if it meant he'd be with you.

God, he really fucking likes you. 

So much that Wooyoung finds a 'lil pep in his step walking back to his car, plopping the bag of food right onto his passenger's seat— buckling it up to keep it safe and steady. He blasts his music out of the parking lot, Mr. Donnell Jones coming through on his speakers with U Know What's Up. He sings along until he's rudely interrupted by a call coming through from his sister.

"Damn, Jiwoo. You couldn't call any other time?" Wooyoung clicks his teeth. "What is it?"

"I just got back to my apartment from the airport, jeez. Can I swing by?"

"No. I just left."

"Then do you think you can stop by really quickly? I got you a few things from Japan." Which, as we've learned, is Jiwoo's way of apologizing without having to flat out apologize to her brother. Wooyoung rolls his eyes and lets out a sigh, shaking his head as if she can see him.

"Can't either."

"Why not?"

"Because. I'm on the way to the hospital."

"Uh. For what?"

"Well, while you were too busy being all upsetti-spaghetti, Papa's been in the hospital."

"What? Why didn't Y/N tell me anything?! Oh my god—"

"Jiwoo, if I were her, I would not be thinking about you first either." Wooyoung furrows his brows as he continues to drive off. "Besides, you being the good ol' bestfriend you are, kicked her outta your place, remember? I don't think she necessarily feels like she can come to you right now."

"Fuck." Jiwoo whines, feeling guilty about everything. She knows she was a tad too harsh, and she knows she should've come to you first. But, she was waiting until she could see you in person to apologize for the way she acted. "Which hospital?"

"SNU."

"I'll be there soon with Joong." 

"Don't come if you plan on yelling some more."

"I'm not! I need to see my bestfriend, Wooyoung. You can't have her to yourself."

"Can't hear you—" With that, Wooyoung abruptly ends the call. He drives into the garage and finds a spot on the third level, carrying the bag of food he made in his hand before making the trek over to Papa's room. 

"You're back." Your eyes twinkle when you see him walk in and he can't help but smile.

"That, I am." He presses a kiss to your temple. "I made some food for lunch and dinner. Or else my groceries were gonna go bad."

"Wow, okay chef." You laugh. "Thank you, Woo." 

"Mhm." He responds in a sing-song tone before turning to Papa, who is now coming out of the bathroom with his nurse. "He's up."

"He is!" She answers.

"Am I allowed to take him on a walk and get some steps in?"

"No, please. Go for it. Thank you." The nurse steps aside to let Wooyoung guide Papa and the IV pole out into the hallway. The nurse watches them until they head out, returning her attention back to you once they leave.

"Is that your boyfriend?"

"Mm. A friend that's a boy?" You tease with a small laugh. She gets it though, and she knows. You didn't even have to say it because she can clearly see it through Wooyoung's actions alone.

"Well, he seems to care a lot about you and your grandfather. It's very sweet."

"He is." You give her a toothless smile. "Thank you for taking care of him. I really appreciate it."

"No problem. He's been good, so I'm more than sure he'll be out of here tomorrow." You nod, watching as she walks out of the room. You sit back and look through the bag Wooyoung brought, giggling to yourself when there's a whole bag of sour punch straws and other random snacks surrounding the tupperwares. You pick at the tiny bag of biscoff cookies, nibbling onto one as you sit back and catch up on one of the podcasts you actively follow. 

Just as Wooyoung and Papa come back into the room about 30 minutes later, you scurry off to the bathroom down the hall. At this point, Jiwoo and Hongjoong barely miss you as they turn the corner and approach the room. Wooyoung is helping Papa get situated properly back in the bed post-walk, the two talking about the episode from his cooking show that's currently playing on TV. When he turns towards the door and catches Jiwoo'a figure, he gives her a small nod of acknowledgement.

"Joong, I think an intruder snuck in with you." Jiwoo rolls her eyes while Hongjoong laughs it off, the two of them formally greeting Papa and checking in with him. Jiwoo looks around the room, making sure she hasn't missed you before turning to her brother.

"Where'd she go?"

"Bathroom." Wooyoung gives his sister a particular look. 

"Don't give me that look." She pouts a bit and he shrugs.

"What else am I supposed to do?" Is all he says before you appear in the doorway, pausing in your steps when you noticed the additional visitors in the room.

"Oh. Hi—" Jiwoo comes rushing over, pulling you into the biggest bear hug known to man. At first, you're caught off guard even though this has happened during silly little one-off fights with Jiwoo in the past. But, once you've gotten over the initial feeling, you slowly wrap your arms around her and rest in her hold.

"I'm so sorry, Y/N. I really am so sorry. I shouldn't have done all of that, I shouldn't have yelled and kicked you out— I'm so sorry." She mumbles against you. "You must've felt so alone. I'm sorry. I wanted to wait until I saw you in person again but Wooyoung told me Papa was here so I had to come. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have gotten so angry and said those things—" She continues to repeat until she's basically sobbing in your arms, the three men in the back minding their own business and giving you two space.

"It's fine, Jiwoo. Stop apologizing."

"No, it's not." She pulls back and looks at you with a pout, brushing your hair back. "I treated you so poorly and unfairly and I'm so sorry."

"It's okay. I probably would've reacted the same way if I was in your shoes. It's fine. We're okay."

"Are you sure we are? I promise I'll make it up to you."

"Stop that. You don't need to, okay? I promise we're fine." She lets out a sigh and examines your features, somewhat relieved you don't seem too exhausted or stressed from everything going on.

"Are you and my brother good? Did you talk it out?"

"We did."

"So, is this a thing now?" She points between you and him, and you nod timidly.

"Y-yeah. It is. I hope you're not mad."

"I'm not. I'm only slightly grossed out just cause it's Wooyoung, but I'm not mad. You just let me know if he messes up ever again, okay? I'm sorry, Y/N. And wait, don't think about replacing me with him either." You snort, shaking your head at her. She hugs you tightly again before holding your hand and bringing you to the gift bags she set aside at the corner of the room. She hands you and Papa a gift bag, while shoving Wooyoung's his way. Her and Hongjoong tell you a little bit about the trip, but they don't go into too much detail before they start asking about Papa and how he had been feeling. As the conversation continues, Jiwoo notices the way Wooyoung completely changes around you [in a good way]. He's got you on his lap, hand gently caressing your arm. It looks so natural and so.. meant to be [and so not out of place] that Jiwoo can't even be mad or find a reason to justify her past actions. He cares about you, and you with him.

All she's ever wanted was for you to be happy, for Wooyoung to be genuinely happy. She's not gonna lie— it does melt her heart a bit to see it live.

They hang around for a good hour or so before Jiwoo and Hongjoong give Papa some time to rest; Wooyoung offering to walk them back to the car while you stay behind and sit with him as he falls into an afternoon nap. Hongjoong quickly runs over to the bathroom, leaving Jiwoo and her brother alone momentarily.

"You really care about her." Jiwoo says softly.

"Yeah, I do." He stuffs his hands in his pockets and kicks at the imaginary rocks below his feet.

"Don't fuck this up, okay?" She looks at him. "Seriously, I'll beat your ass if you hurt her."

"I won't, Jiwoo." He says, slightly annoyed. But, he knows she means well and is just being your bestfriend. "Could help if you had a little more hope in me, you know?"

"Okay. I'm sorry." She sighs. "So, what are your plans with her? You haven't asked her out officially, right?"

"Well, that's why I'm gonna take her out on a date once Papa's out and better."

"To where?"

"To mind your own business, that's where." He looks at her with a brow cocked up and she rolls her eyes.

"Idiot." He snorts.

"Actually.. I have a few ideas but there's this one I really like. Think she might have fun and enjoy it with me."

—TAGLIST: @asjkdk @interweab @woojirang @svintsandghosts @cheolliehugs @persphonesorchid @mxnsxngie @jycas @cowboydk @heyitsmetonid @ldysmfrst @intaksfav @wooyoungsbrat @hyukssunflower @yunhoswrldddd @gotthicbish @thespiffynerd @jaytheatiny @yoonrixx @aurorajoye @i-love-ateez @starrywoo @bitejoongie @thedistractedwriter @dalsuwaha @huachengsbestie01

[fire-lizard-ro]

Woo~ Hope you're ready to read Mr. Sunday taking you…

Up the ass- Psych, mfs-

Bet you didn't expect that one from me, huh? I know I normally don't write bottom character, but... I felt like it? I want to see this man wrecked.

I'm writing for both bottom Sunday and top Sunday on this glorious- checks time moonlit (I haven't checked outside and idk what day it is today) night. A little birdy told me she wanted to see bottom Sunday first. Call yourself out if you wanna. 😂

CW: COCK JUMPSCARE- (jk), anal (I mean- come on you knew this), choking (+a little breath play y'all please be sure to make this distinction when talking about it ijsige-), edging, overstimulation, discussion of safe-wording, dom/sub stuff, mention of subspace, spanking, toys (there's an anal plug and cock ring), degradation (+praise), nipple play, harness???, bondage, collaring, slight public play, some subbing from Sunday and some power bottoming (but we'll be focusing on him subbing- it's only really mentioned), prone bone+cat position(that's what it's called, right???)+mating press, some namecalling (ex: praising - good boy, degrading - slut, etc., etc.), crying during sex (the good kind), marking, begging, dumbification, mention of being ashamed but liking it, belly bulge, slight cumflation/excessive cum, excessive lube, objectification(I think???), talk of his cock being useless (it's sex talk I swear reader doesn't mean it-), ever so slight gaping, cumming dry

Reader gender: Gender neutral, but you can envision what you want. Reader has a dick/strap and the cum can be uhhh- Lube? Is that what people put in squirting straps-

If I forgot to add anything to the CW or made any typos- Whoops. You can let me know if you wanna~

Personally, I think Sunday would be a switch. How he leans is up to you. But when he's topping, I see him being more prone to domming. Opposite can be said of when he's bottoming. More likely to sub, but does have his moments when he wants to take control again.

While I do love a good "turnabout is fair play", I think that considering Sunday's need to be in control (…the leaks told me so-), he needs a clean cut decision on what you'd be doing that night. If you've decided together that he'd be topping and domming, don't try to take over please- It'd probably fray his nerves and make him upset. This is because for him, I imagine that he'd need to mentally prepare himself and get in the mindset to sub. He loves giving up the control he holds onto so tightly, but he needs to remind himself that it's okay. That he can trust you and that you'll make him feel so, so good for his concession.

But by god is he a vision when he does slip into that submissive mindset.

It'd start with you two showering together after a long day of Sunday upholding the harmony of Penacony and dealing with any issues that arose to threaten that peace. It's both a way to wind down and to ease him into letting you take care of him and allowing him to slowly loosen his grasp on his control.

Soft touches and soothing words whispered in his ears between the sounds of water with gentle hands petting his wings has him melting into you. The stiff set of his shoulders, imperceptible to all but you, relaxes and the tension drains from his body along with the water as it swirls down the drain.

It is also now that you take out the plug he'd been wearing today while he was away from home. The night before, he'd just finished with you when you two took to the shower and you helped him clean up before stretching his pretty hole with lubed, insistent but gentle fingers. The plug went in nicely after that, the little jeweled heart of the plug's flared base in your color marking him as yours.

He hides behind his wings as you pull at the plug, the toy tugging at his rim that you trace with a playful finger. But of course you nose at them until he lets you in to kiss him soothingly, his wings then pressed to your cheeks to hide you both from the spray of the shower head and the rest of the world. It's just you two here and now. He would gasp a little as the plug slid out to the widest part of the toy. Thin and perfectly groomed eyebrows would furrow while you play with him a little. Push it back in carefully before slowly pulling it back to the wide part again a few times before finally bringing it out fully, rewarding him with "good boy" and "thank you for indulging me" and more kisses.

Once you both are finally in bed, that's when the fun begins.

You both go over the rules again. What to do if he ever wants to stop, reminding him that ultimately he is still in control because he controls if they stop or not. He's the efficient and straightforward type. Traffic light system along with three firm taps if he couldn't talk was enough for him. (Let it be known that when you started dating him, he was not at all aware of these things. I think he'd have been inexperienced to sex beyond vanilla beforehand.)

Tonight, you two were going to use a lot of implements (?). You laid them out, making sure that they were the same as the ones you discussed using prior (yes I think Sunday needs for you two to explicitly discuss beforehand and honestly I agree with him unless you like spontaneity) and going over what you'd do with them to recheck with him that he was okay with it. Consent is sexy, folks.

You then kiss him while fixing the collar on him, checking that it wasn't too tight. He liked using a collar when subbing because it helped him reach subspace and was something the two of you trained him to relax more with when subbing. Helps calm his constantly racing thoughts. The next step is the harness. It's a pretty pale blue-grey that matches his soft hair and is worn with his legs through it and over his hips. They're there for easier handling on your part. The fact that they accentuate his soft, shapely ass and strong thighs is a very welcome bonus. When you put it on for him, please make sure to kiss up his legs all the way to his hipbones while you pull up the harness you helped him step into. Nibble on said hipbones a bit and kiss his navel, near dangerously close to his neglected cock that twitched cutely at your proximity to it. Once that's done you can lube up his hard-on with one cursory tug in order to slip on the cock ring. He won't be getting any more than that for most of the night.

You then have him on him hands and knees so you can get him in position and bind him. Tonight would be a simple set of padded cuffs. You would push between his shoulder blades to guide him to press his chest to the bed, leaning down to kiss down his spine while pulling his hands gently pull his hands behind his back to put the cuffs on. Be sure to praise him for being a good boy, for doing so well for you as you prepared him for the night.

Once that's done, press one more kiss to his body. This time on the top curve of his soft ass before lubing him up some more. It's never bad to be safe about things and there's more than enough chance that he needs more as it dried throughout the day.

Tease him by purposefully tapping on his prostate softly while making sure he's stretched enough and wet with lube coating his inner walls that clenched around your skilled fingers.

Keep going until he finally asks you in a small voice to get on with it. "Hm? What was that?" "You heard me-" "Only good boys get what they want and good boys ask for what they want." You aren't going to make him beg for it (yet), but you'll still make him ask for it like the good, polite boy you know he is.

(Okay we're switching styles here, folks.)

"F-fine… Please fuck me," Sunday said, words trailing of into a mumble. You knew what he was saying, but you didn't really hear it. "What was that? Couldn't hear you, baby." "I-" he angled his head to glare back at you with traces of a pout tugging at his lips. He then turned again to avoid your eyes that took in his face, pressed to the bed and needy. "…please fuck me." "Was that so hard, pretty boy? Since you asked…" You slipped your fingers out slow, letting him feel the drag of them against his sensitive walls as he gave a shuddering sigh. Sunday had attempted to keep it under wraps, but it still slipped out.

Your chuckle caused him to flush more, a wing attempting to hide his face despite you being unable to see it from this spot behind him.

As you slicked up your cock, you watched his hole twitch and cock sway as he unconsciously sunk his hips back more as if to ask you for your thick length in his hungry, empty hole. "Aeons you have the prettiest ass, you know that?" You then finally line yourself up, the head of your dick pressing to the still tight but prepped hole's rim as you slide your hands down the man's sides to grasp his hips before sliding fingers into the straps of the harness that cradled his slim hips.

The angelic man beneath you held his breath in anticipation for a moment. "Breathe, baby." And then you were pushing in, slowly spearing open that wet warmth. He gasped and jolted, but your hand was quick to hold him down by the back of his neck while the other kept an iron grip on the harness to keep his hips steady. A whine escaped Sunday as he attempted to close his legs at the delicious sensation of your cock sliding deep into him- Up to the hilt. Once you bottomed out, he was already panting like he was in heat and his wings that had flared and flexed while you had been pushing inside drooped to rest on the bed.

Your cock was so big- So deep in him he swore he could feel it in the back of his throat, his own cock drooling messily onto previously clean sheets where it hung between his legs. It throbbed as he finally had a clear enough mind to remember the cock ring you'd fastened onto his needy dick. "Such a good slut for me, taking everything." He felt a bold of shame, yet it made his cheeks redden with more than shame. Arousal. As he felt mixed feelings of pleasure and shame swirling in his gut, he also then felt something else in there- Your cock grinding heavily, steadily into him with hips rubbing against his plush ass.

Sunday allowed himself to lean into the pleasure you provided, hips moving back into your slow but strong humps forward. Your cock was sliding over his prostate so nicely and it had him closing his eyes to focus in on it. The arch of his back deepened, emphasizing the lean musculature of his back and bringing out the little dimples above his ass as you leaned forward to put more your weight into your grinding. The pressure inside him and on his neck had his eyes fluttering along with his wings. A moan startled out of him when you proceeded to nibble on said wings, teeth gently nibbling along the fragile bone in the first bend of the feathery appendage. Your hand moved from its spot holding the back of Sunday's neck to press him face first into the bedding moved to instead wrap around his throat, turning him towards you so you could steal a sloppy kiss from him. It was filthy and wet, the sounds of it joining the wet squelch and the slight sound of skin on skin as you began to thrust. His whine was swallowed up by your mouth and when you pulled back he looked a bit dazed, uncomprehending eyes looking at the string of saliva between your lips and his that was promptly licked away by your sinful tongue.

"So good- Such a good boy, yeah? You're all mine aren't you?" He was deep enough in that he just nodded at he tried to rearrange his thoughts. That idea was de-railed when you thrust hard and spanked his ass with the hand not holding his throat, grip tightening enough to make him a bit lightheaded. "Words, harlot. Tell me how you're mine- How good I make you feel." The name made him feel deliciously ashamed of how he was really letting someone push him down and fuck him like a whore. But aeons did he love it. He managed to get out in between panting breaths a, "So good so good please- 'M all yours-" "That's a good cockslut. But just for me right?" "Just for you-"

You rewarded him by speeding up your thrusts, slowly ramping up how hard you fucked into his clenching heat that pushed out lube with every push in- You had made sure to use a lot so he would have to hear the obscene sound of your fucking him and dominating him. His moans became louder along with it, a whimper escaping him when your thrusts forced his hips to the bed. His once neglected cock now lay trapped between him and then bed as yours wrecked him and claimed him. He began babbling about how it felt, how it was like you were in his belly how it was too much not enough please please- Sunday was begging, now, with his drooling mouth, hole, and cock.

"I didn't know toys were supposed to speak- Especially when not spoken to." Your hand tightened around his neck again, this time pressing so it made it a bit harder for him to breathe. "Shhhh- Just be quiet and take it, pretty baby. I'll make you feel good. Make you forget all those troublesome thoughts. Don't you wanna be my dumb little slut? Only focus on taking my cock?" Yeah… he did. He wanted to let go of all the thoughts making his head hurt and give in, even if just for a little while. You'd taken care of him before. Now wasn't any different.

Even through the grip on his throat, he still let out little "ah- ah- ah-" sounds to the rhythm of your hips slapping into his ass, pushing your cock into his deepest parts. Yet you made it feel so good- It didn't hurt at all. All he could think about was how filthy he was and how pleasurable it was. Sunday must have tried to wheeze something out despite everything because you said, "Yeah? You like being dirty for me? A filthy slut for be behind closed doors while in public you act like such a proper leader? What would your dear people think of you if they knew you got fucked like a used prostitute- a mere toy?" You then let go of his throat to let him speak, the air rushing into his lungs making his head spin. "I- I love it! Love it so much please please lemme cum lemme cum on your cock-!"

Another spank to his ass had his hole tightening around you, a cry being startled out of him and tears beading at his lash line. "Good boy-" You then slowed a bit, causing him to whine despite how he had been held on edge for a while, now. Still wanting the bright hot pleasure despite the agony of being denied his release. "Color, baby?" "Mmmf- Green-" "Good boy-" A kiss was pressed to a wing before you harshly thrusted in and went back to pounding him within an inch of his life. Every thrust forced his body up and down the bed, cock an angry red and leaking profusely. Sunday buried his face into the pillow, tears staining them as they came faster. "Please- Let me cum, please! I'll do anything!" "Anything?"

Maybe that was a mistake.

One that had you yanking your dick out of his hole, the greedy thing clenching around nothing as if missing your cock in it. He whined pitifully, tears staining his face as he sobbed into the bedding. Fuck did he sound good. You uncuffed him to flip him over, tossing the things somewhere to the side of the bed. He was unable to keep up with the sudden changes and before he knew it, you were pressing his thighs to his chest in a mating press, cock sliding up and down his own teasingly. "Such a big cock and yet you don't even know how to use it. It's just a big, dumb, useless thing hanging between your legs. All you need is this slutty hole of yours, right?" Your thumb came down to rub at the slightly gaped hole, smearing the lube even more over his sloppy pucker that twitched at your touch.

He hid his face with his wings, flushed and crying as you belittled his cock. He was only good as an anal slut for you. But his wings flared open as he felt a sharp pain in his shoulder. You had sunk your teeth into the spot in reprimand and to mark your toy as yours. "What did I say about that? No hiding." He whimpered and nodded- A spank. "Words." "I won't hide anymore!" "Good toy."

Once you slid in, his mind went blank again. Though somewhere deep in the back of his mind, he noted- Oh. You were in his belly. There on the otherwise flat surface that scrunched up from his position, was the slight bulge of your cock in his guts. "Look at you- So pretty." You pressed on it, making him toss his head back with a pitchy moan, hips jerking under you and insides clenching wetly at the dick they were sucking on while his hands flew up to claw at your back desperately. As you leaned over him to lick into his mouth, you then reached one hand between you to slip off the cockring. "You wanted to cum- So cum." You immediately began a brutal pace that had him screaming as he finally was able to find his release, hurtling off that cliff and vision going white as he emptied his cum onto his stomach and yours, the pressure of having held it in so long and the angle of your mating press- The jerking of his hips from you shoving your deliciously big dick into his hungry little hole forcing his cum to splatter over his chest and on his neck and even wings. It was like a sinful angel was laying beneath you.

You slowed, then, and he let his breathing begin to even out. But it was an act of deception because you transferred his legs from your hold to over your shoulders and grabbed hold of his softened cock that laid on his cum covered belly to begin fucking him hard. He screamed and whimpered at the onslaught of now almost painful pleasure. "Wait no no no- Can't- Too much! Stop please I can't cum again-" "I know you can. You've done it before. Come on- Give me another one. Haven't even filled you up, yet."

He began crying even harder, tears blurring his vision as he panted and whimpered while his thoughts slipped away. Even as his mind went blank, his body still responded with his hips jerkily trying to meet your thrusts even as the twitched in overstimulation. Later he would glare at you with tears in his eyes and a pout while declaring that he would be in charge the next time he bottomed and would hold you down, instead, to take what he wanted. But for now, he could only let his hole be used as a warm, wet little cock sleeve. He choked on his drool as you bent him further so you could lean down to tongue his sensitive nipples, sucking bruises and hickeys into his chest and even right around his nipples- Going as far as to nibble on them.

It felt like hours of cumming and cumming and cumming and losing his mind as you fucked him and wrung out every drop of his spend and pleasure as you could along with the tears that still poured from his puffy eyes. It didn't help that he could feel the way you were filling him up with your own cum, having only orgasmed the second time he did. He was cumming dry when you finally slowed, kissing him gently and rubbing at his slightly distended belly that was full of your cum sloshing inside.

"Did so good for me, baby. I love you so much- Such a good boy for me." You helped him slowly come back down, helping to ground him as the high faded. You had slowly lowered his legs from your shoulders. This was why you always ended facing each other. So he could have that intimacy towards the end of seeing you and being able to kiss you. And so you could help him return to earth Penacony after you were done milking the cum and pleasure and pesky thoughts out of him.

Once he was back with you, you made sure to praise him more and kiss him all over his face before finally coming back to his lips to kiss him slow and deep. "Come on. Gotta drink water, birdie." You always made sure to help him up, let him lean against you as you began aftercare. "I love you," you would remind him at the end of it all. "I love you, too darling," he would always reply back, sealing it with a kiss.

Ah yes. Another round of: Roro writes entirely to much and with far too much detail. I made this one even longer and more detailed as well as included a bunch of writing in more story format rather than headcanon-ish form like I normally do. Because I'm back in business!!! (To write smut about hot characters I like-)

Hope you enjoyed~

-Roro, your friendly neighborhood degenerate

[byechristopher]

⠀

I hate you, too.

– CHRIS STURNIOLO SMUT.

Author's note: okay so, I was listening to Les – Childish Gambino, and this idea came to mind because uhm, I love Chris, I love parties, I love angry, messy, toxic sex. So, sue me. I got carried away so, super long. Do not copy/steal my work. :)

Warnings: this, once again, is pure filth. Super long, didn't proof-read so fml, angry & rough sex, toxic sex, slapping, choking, semi-public. Just a mess. Minors dni!

The lights are so damn bright in here, I can see blue, red, purple, all kinds of colors, everywhere. Not that I'm really complaining, this place is so dark that I can barely see anything – only when the lights flash. I can see people everywhere, their silhouettes, dancing, kissing, drinking.

I quickly pour myself a drink, making sure I'm keeping it safe in my hand; I haven't been in a house party in ages. But I remember how messy they get, I know everyone will pass out at some point. I'm trying to search my friend group with my eyes but it is almost impossible – how big is this goddamn house?

"Hi! You made it!" a friend screams when she sees me and I smile. I try to greet everyone but my eyes meet someone's face that I really didn't want to see here. My ex.

"What is he doing here?" I groan, turning to glare at my friend.

"I'm sorry, babes, he literally just came. I texted you. He's friends with the host, Jake, I didn't know." she has an apologetic face and I check my phone to realise she did text me about it. Fucking hell.

I can feel his blue eyes on my body, burning it like daggers on fire. I try to avoid him as much as possible and the fact that he looks this good, doesn't make it very easy. His hands are shoved into the pockets of his jeans and I can't help but steal a few glances. He's already looking at me. He's smirking.

Fucking asshole.

"Hi, pretty." he is next to me now, dangerously close to me, as I take a sip of my drink.

"What do you want, Chris?" I roll my eyes.

"That's not how you treat your ex." he scoffs, looking around playfully before looking at me again. I turn my head to look at him, too.

"Let's not open that topic here." I try to push him away, his body doesn't really move.

"I agree. Let's talk about the car sex we had a few days ago." he smiles and you would think he's talking about the most innocent thing. His hands still in his pockets, he looks cool and unfazed by my angry glare.

"Shut the fuck up, Chris. Don't you have anywhere else to go, anything else to do?" I yell. Now I'm facing him, my body turned towards him.

"I'd like to do you." he comes closer to my ear and I sigh, downing my drink before turning my back on him. I am afraid I won't be able to hold myself back this time either.

"Well, I don't."

"Yeah?" his chin is touching my shoulder and I can feel his jeans pressed against my butt, "so if I touched you now, you wouldn't be wet?" he hums.

I am not wet. I am dripping. But that doesn't mean anything, right.

"You're not allowed to touch me anyway." I dodge his fucking question.

"Well, you weren't saying that when you were pressed against the car door." he chuckles, "you're wet, then." he whispers but it's enough for me to hear.

"Not for you. Maybe for your friend, Jake." I smirk, knowing this will stop his attack. He's always been extremely jealous. So have I.

"Fuck you." he almost growls in my ear, but the smirk still stays on. He turns me around and as soon as he says that, one of our favourite songs starts to play. Les by Childish Gambino, "fuck you.. can I have this dance?"

I can't help but chuckle a little, which I try to hide immediately. The timing, the line he used from the song, this songs specifically, him. Fucking Chris.

I quickly grab him and drag him in the center of the room that we're in, he holds onto my hand tightly and brings me closer, pressing my back against his chest. We dance to the music, he's not moving much but I can tell he's enjoying the little show I put on for him. My butt is pressed against him then whole time and I can feel the bulge in his jeans. Good.

I turn around and continue to dance with him, my hands traveling to his back to grip his shirt and pull him as close as possible. The part in the song that we love the most comes on and he cups my cheeks, pressing his forehead against mine as he looks into my eyes. We're both singing the lyrics.

"Oh, girl, I wanna know, are you ready to cry? 'Cause I'm no good, no good.." his playful smile never leaves his face.

"Oh, girl, I wanna try, I'm an awful guy and I'm always away.." my lips curl up into a playful smirk as well, my hands sneak under his shirt and I dig my nails into his lower back.

"And I'm tryin' to say, I'm a piece of shit.." he stops singing and the next second, he's kissing me. I fucking hate myself for kissing him back as hungrily as I did.

He grabs my hand and makes me follow him – nothing else matters, as the song says. Only us. We practically run up the stairs and I see a wooden door, he seems like he knows this place. My friend did tell me he's friends with the host.

He opens the door and then locks it once we're inside the room. It's a bathroom, not very big and the light is so dim, I'm not sure if it is there to match the party's vibe or if this dude just doesn't like actual lighting in the house. We don't waste anytime – Chris picks me up and sets me down on the counter next to the sink, my dress rides up just enough for him to move closer, pushing my legs apart with his body. We can still hear the music from here.

I take his shirt off immediately, throwing it somewhere behind him before wrapping a finger around his chain, pulling him closer for yet another hungry kiss. He grabs the hem of the dress to push it up, my skin meeting the cold counter but it is soon replaced by Chris' large hands. He squeezes my butt, pushing me forward so that his bulge rubs against me. He sneaks a hand in between us, his fingers rubbing my soaked panties.

"Is this for Jake, hm?" he grabs my bottom lip in between his teeth, biting it roughly.

"Maybe." I moan, leaning forward to take his nipple in my mouth, flicking it with my tongue.

He moans, "why are you here then?" he puts pressure on my clothed pussy and let go of his nipple, throwing my head back.

"Fuck off." I groan, moving my hips so that I'm rubbing myself on his fingers.

"You're dying to have my dick inside of you." he whispers, chuckling.

"And you're dying to have me in any way you can." I push him away, jumping off the counter and quickly pulling his jeans down together with his Calvin Klein boxers, "isn't that why you keep following me around, hm?" spitting on my own hand, I grab his dick, rubbing up and down while staring into his eyes the whole time. They're filled with lust, anger, passion. He moans.

"Fuck off." he groans this time, his head falls on my shoulder as I jerk him off, both of his hands grab the counter on each side of me. He thrusts into my hand.

All of a sudden, he slaps my hand away and turns me around, making me press both of my hands on the mirror in front of us, pushing my lower back down so that I arch my back and spread my legs. His hands are on my breasts now, pushing my dress now so that they're free for him to see and touch. With one hand he pushes the dress up to reveal my ass as well, the dress now only covering my stomach and a small part of my back. I don't dare to move, I only watch him as he pulls my panties down – he spreads my ass and spits, not that he needed that, I'm already dripping.

"What the fuck are you waiting for?" I groan, pushing my back against him.

"Beg for it." he slaps my ass a few times as he smirks.

"Chris, fucking hell. Fuck me already." I say but he's not pleased. He slaps my skin again and I groan, gently hitting the mirror out of frustration. His cock rubs against my clit and I lose it, "fucking.. Chris! Please, fuck me. I want you inside me." I whine. He smiles. Thank fuck.

He finally pushes inside of me and my eyes roll to the back of my head as I look at him in the reflection of the mirror. He pushes his cock all the way inside me and grabs my hair in a ponytail, wrapping it around his hand to push me back every time he thrusts in.

"Fuck.. fuck.." I moan, licking my fingers before dragging them down my body to rub my clit, always looking at him, as he fucks me roughly. My fingers touch his dick every now and then, it makes him moan a little louder. He leans forward to sink his teeth into the skin of my shoulder as he watches me cry out in both pain and pleasure – with his free hand, he grabs my hand that was rubbing my clit, bringing to his mouth to lick the juices off my fingers. I almost cum.

My breasts bounce with every movement, he thrusts into me and I push back against him. He pulls out of me and I curse under my breath. He turns me around and places me on the countertop again, wrapping an arm around my waist as he guides his dick so that he can start fucking me hard again. I grab a fistful of his hair, tugging it harshly when he pushes into me; it makes him lightly slap my cheek before wrapping his fingers around my neck, choking me. I gasp and slap him back, grabbing his throat with my hand, too.

"I fucking hate you." I moan, his eyes staring into mine.

"Yeah.. turns me on.. love it." he moans and smirks, and that's all it takes for me to come closer to my high.

"Chris.. Chris.. I'm gonna.." I whine and he lets go of my neck, hugging me close and pressing his forehead against mine as I let go of his neck as well.

"That's it, baby.. fuck.. will you cum for me? Hm?" he says and that's closest thing to affection that we showed tonight. I nod and moan loudly, holding onto him as tight as I can. I cum, trembling, and he does the exact same thing, moaning my name over and over again.

We stay like this for God knows how long – he's still inside of me and I almost pass out in his arms, his hand rubs my back soothingly.

"You okay?" he whispers, as if it was a crime to be affectionate with each other again. We used to be together after all.

"Yes.. you?" I whisper back, the feeling of not wanting to let go of him just yet comes back and I try to push it away as fast as I can.

"I am okay, yes." he mumbles and after letting me know, he slowly pulls out of me, earning a wince from me, "sorry." he mutters.

"Do you want me to take you home?" he says and I sigh. This is wrong.

"It's best if you don't." I whisper, looking at him and I can see the vulnerability in his eyes too.

"That's true." he nods and fixes my dress, pushing his boxers and pants up right after.

"I still hate you." I mutter. I don't want him to leave.

"Yeah." he wears his shirt, he grabs my chin and leaves a sweet kiss on my lips, "me too."

And with that, he leaves.

⠀

[sparklemaia]

Heyyy!!

So I've recently read a lot of your comics about top surgery, and I really resonate with your experience (I haven't had it myself but I'd like to). I've recently been exploring my own gender and realising I might be non binary, but I guess I feel sort of an imposter in that I want to keep my name and pronouns (afab), despite feeling like I never got the memo about what a "woman" is, which I know is fine, but I guess I was wondering how the shift from your agab into realising you were nb felt?

Like, you seem to describe your gender as sort of unknowable and indefinable, and I guess that's sort of how I feel? I just want to be... More me. I guess what I'm really asking is, how would you define/feel about that shift into realising you were nonbinary, do you still feel connected to your agab, how do you reconcile the two?

Sorry for the long ask!

Hi, this is such a good question! I actually DO still feel pretty connected to my agab. I feel like I am a girl but also more than a girl but also not enough of a girl, simultaneously. (Weirdly, I never ever feel like a woman, and definitely not a man, but I do feel like an adult at least some of the time.) Top surgery was 100% the right decision for me; my body feels so much more correct and I am grateful every single day this procedure was accessible to me. (I was on a low dose of T for a year and a half too, and I basically just got biceps and a sliiiightly lower voice out of it. We stan.) I simply don't have strong feelings about how these things do or do not map onto gender identity or other people's perceptions of my gender. I am generally perceived as female, and that's fine! Like, close enough! I often feel somewhere BETWEEN cis and trans, or even between cis and nonbinary, and sometimes I joke that I'm just "nonbinary for insurance purposes." I mostly use she/her pronouns, although won't object to they/them. I like my "feminine" name -- I chose it myself years ago for reasons unrelated to gender and I have no plans to change it again. In terms of gender presentation I'm usually somewhere in the "tomboy femme" zone. Basically, I've been through a medical transition but not a social transition. Which is not very common, or at least I haven't seen much representation of it! (Be the bad trans representation you want to see in the world, i guess??)

Even though the words are often used interchangeably, I feel more alliance to genderqueer as a label than nonbinary, because nonbinary feels too clinical and "third checkbox"y to me, whereas genderqueer feels more expansive and undefinable and dynamic, with space for the ways in which I both am and am not performing girlhood correctly. When pressed to pick a gender word for myself, that one feels the closest. But if I'm filling out a government form or whatever? Yeah sure F is fine.

A lot of where I land with this stuff, though, is just kind of relaxing my grip on language. Top surgery was a relief, it helped me feel present in and connected to my body. Ultimately it doesn't matter much to me how much of that was *gender* dysphoria and how much of it was just... something I wanted, a way to make my body feel more like mine, to align my mental image of myself with the thing I had to stuff into clothes and walk around the city every day. I believe very strongly in bodily autonomy, and in making our lives as easy and comfortable and joyful as we can for ourselves, without needing to have a clean and tidy explanation for our choices. It is very possible to know with reasonable certainty that you want something, that it will be a net positive for your life, without being able to articulate, even to yourself, WHY you want it. It doesn't need to have a bigger meaning than ahh yes, this feels right. At this point in my life, I'm more invested in marveling at the sheer improbability of my own existence than in wedging myself into the taxonomy of known and acceptable gender narratives. I'm just a person, here for the merest twinkle of a moment in cosmic history, making soup and knitting baby hats and admiring bugs and singing off-key and cutting my own hair and doing my gosh darn best to light my tiny patch of night sky with stories so that you (and you, and you) feel less alone on your own journey through the unfurling dark. Gender is just such an inconsequential detail in the narrative of my life, and pretty open to reader interpretation anyway.

Not having to wear bras is pretty great though ngl

[aphrogeneias]

I would love to read more Rockstar!eddie and Assitant!reader.

How about before everyone finds out they're together, someone walks in on them either making out or whatever. OR eddie shows up with the same shade of lipstick as readers lips all over his mouth and neck. 😏 try to make an excuse for that eddie, lol.

“Look at you.”

The whispered adoration in your voice is apparent, but for his ears only.

It only makes it worse, when you swipe your thumb over his plump bottom lip, swollen from your kisses. Eddie’s mouth stretches in a lopsided smile, eyes staring at your lips as you try to fix the mess you made.

“Look at me? Look at you, baby.” He kisses you again, then, pulling your hand away. His eager hands squeeze your waist, your hips, anywhere they can grab a hold of — like they need to be everywhere at once. “Made a mess out of you, and I haven't even touched you.”

“You're touching me right now, silly.”

He rolls his big, beautiful eyes. “Not where it matters.”

The chill of the night can't find you here, squeezed between the metal trailer that served as a dressing room, and Eddie's body, shielding you from it. It's dark here, perfect for hiding, though you don't know from who — everyone's already gone at this point, looking to burn the extra energy of the concert somewhere else.

The two of you stayed behind to look for some time alone. Always seeking each other, never having enough.

Still trying to make your boyfriend somehow presentable, you wipe at the red lipstick stains on his face, fading to a light pink. He watches you through hooded eyes. “Do I, at least, look pretty?”

Despite yourself, you giggle. “The prettiest.”

You don't hear the steps coming from your peripheral until it's too late. Someone calls out, “Eddie, man! Where are you?”

There's nowhere to run to, but Eddie still pushes you behind him, and you freeze. When you turn to look, Grant is right there, face contorted in confusion, but strangely not shock, crossing his arms as he stands before you, too unphased for your liking.

“What the fuck, dude?” Eddie calls out.

“I don't wanna know what's going on here, don't tell me.” The bassist is already turning the other way around, waving his hands in the air. “I’m waiting for you in the car, the guys are already at the bar.”

He's already gone by the time your legs find it in themselves to move again.

“Hey,” Eddie starts, “you okay? I can talk to him if you want…”

“It's fine, Ed. I don't mind.” You do mind, actually. Your heart might explode at any minute, but you need to keep your composure. Reaching for his hand, you smile. “Let me see if I can find some makeup wipes in there, we can't keep them waiting too long.”

“Are you sure?” He doesn't move, pulling you to fully look at him.

Grant’s reaction told you what you already know, deep down. They know more than you give them credit for, they're smart guys. Good guys, you tell yourself, people you trust.

It isn't the first time you'd have a close call like this, but you have a feeling it will be one of the last — and, strangely, for the first time the thought of it doesn't scare you.

“I'm sure.” You nod.

[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. 

[tkwrites]

Okay I'm done now and heading to bed, one last question.

Can you name a favourite fic for each of the boys?

Hi my Lovely,

There are quite a few of your asks I haven't answered, but please know I'm not ignoring them. They'll just take a little more time to respond to.

I can tell you my favorite fics, though:

Matthew Tkachuk - Back To You because it's such a complete story. I love the way he and Jessie meet, lose each other, and then are thrown together by fate again. I also feel like I really captured that sassy side of Matthew's personality in this fic, which I was really worried about at the time I was writing it. This is also the story that I think would be easiest to flesh out into a full length novel.

Nico Hischier - I love all the parts of his story for different reasons, but I think It Doesn't Matter Part II is my favorite. I had actually written the whole sequence of nude sketches for another character, but ended up scrapping the whole story because I couldn't find any real conflict for them to resolve. When I realized I could use it for Nico and Lena if she was an artist, I was thrilled and got to work rewriting it for them. In the end, the only things that stayed the same were 5 of the 6 poses. Getting into and out of them changed, as did the characters relating to each other during them. I love all the longing and awkward tension between them in this piece, as well as how they finally end up confessing their love for each other. Finally, the culmination of all of their longing into the final sex scene? Chefs kiss.

Quinn Hughes - This one is so hard. I've written so much about Quinn and Sarah and I love all of the pieces for one reason or another. If I had to pick three favorites, they would be:

1). Five Days of Joy because I'm so proud of this fic. It took SO long to write, but I love the way it turned out. I love that we go through so many consecutive days and such a gamut of emotions with Sarah and Quinn.

2). The Second Time is Better because I love the portrayal of a more real first time. One of the things that drives me batty about romance novels is how the characters get together and always seem to have this instantly amazing sexual connection. No room for human failing or first time jitters. In reality, it takes time to build sexual chemistry and connection, and I went into this piece wanting to show at least some of that.

and 3). Second Nature because I think it has the prettiest prose. I still think this passage is some of the best writing I've ever done:

This was ultimate flirting in Quinn’s book. Something he knew he could do. When someone wanted to talk about music, or art or classic cars, he was a fish out of water. But talking hockey? He could do that all day long. Convincing someone to like the sport he loved so much? There wasn't a more ideal situation. 

“Oh, good,” she said, leaning forward to kiss him. 

This was a perfect evening. Casual and comfortable. Cooking for someone he - liked, and kissing her whenever he wanted, taking no worry of who might be watching. 

Letting himself get swept up in the kiss, he slid his hands over her hips and tried to commit her scent to memory. No matter what happened - though he was pretty sure nothing bad was ever going to happen with Sarah - he wanted to remember this. She smelled like a dream he’d had as a boy. Like vanilla and warm skin and fireside, summer nights. It was an outlandish notion, but he couldn’t shake it. 

All her life, Sarah had read stories about star-crossed, fated lovers thrown together by chance and circumstance and serendipity. But those were all just stories. Even when her grandpa talked about meeting her grandma - like they were always meant to be together, and just had to find each other to make it happen - it seemed like folklore. A tall tale he spun to make their love story seem more epic. 

After writing all this out, I realized perhaps you meant favorite writing from other authors. Let me know if that's something you'd like me to answer.

[nastybuckybarnes]

Teddy Bear Picnic - Three

Pairing: Dark!Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: If you go down in the woods today you’re sure of a big surprise. - The one where you give in.

Warnings: Dark fic, dark themes, dub con, language, violence, kidnapping, injuries, eventual smut, 

Word Count: 1.2K

A/n: Short lil chapter, we'll be getting into more real stuff soon. I hope y'all enjoy!

!!This is a Dark Fic with Triggering and Sexual Content. Read at Own Risk!!

~*~

He doesn't come back with food that night.

In fact, you don't see him for over a week.

For the first several days you stay exactly where he left you, but eventually you need to use the bathroom.

It proves to be a challenge to do much of anything with your arms bound behind you the way you are, but you manage to turn the water on and stick your head under the faucet, drinking small sips of the leaky tap water in a pathetic attempt at stopping your stomach from digesting itself.

When he finally does come down the stairs, he does so with a bowl of soup in his hand.

You're slumped against the cool concrete floor, cheek pressed to the damp ground as your body threatens to shut down.

You peel an eye open and watch as he stands in front of you for a long while before crouching down.

"Will you be good?"

You only close your eye and pray that death takes you in the next few seconds.

"Oh, look at you, poor thing. Now, whose fault is this?" He asks softly.

Slowly, you pry open your eyes and look up at him, licking your cracked dry lips.

"I'll be good," you croak, voice weak and hoarse.

He nods, his eyes softening the tiniest bit.

"Yeah, I bet you will. Sit up."

It takes you a while to feel your body again, but eventually you manage to push yourself into a seated position, head tilted back against the wall.

"Open up."

You obey, opening your mouth as he brings a spoonful of soup up to your lips.

An audible moan leaves you when it hits your tongue, and you eagerly swallow it down and open your mouth for more.

You're not sure if it's simply because you haven't eaten in days, but this is the most delicious meal you've ever had and you're greedy for more.

He gives you another spoonful, pulling back when you immediately open your mouth for more.

"Slow down. I don't want you to make yourself sick."

You shake your head desperately and lean forward, only for him to pull it further from you.

"Please, more. I'm so hungry, please," you beg, tears filling your eyes at the thought of him depriving you of this delicious soup.

"Shhh, none of that now, honey. I won't take it away as long as you're good for me, okay?"

You nod desperately, opening your mouth when he lifts the spoon once again.

Silent tears trek down your cheeks as he continues spoon-feeding you until the bowl is empty.

Your stomach feels better, and now all you want is a glass of water, a hot shower, and to sleep for the rest of your life.

It's quiet for a while, and his heavy gaze eventually gets too uncomfortable for you to sit under.

"Thank you for the soup," you finally whisper.

Having spent so many days alone, you crave human interaction. And right now, you don't really care who that human is.

"What's in it?"

Your question surprises your captor and he looks at you with bewildered eyes before clearing his throat and glancing at the empty bowl.

"Chicken and vegetables. The veggies are from my garden and I know a butcher a few towns over - he always gives me fresh meat."

You nod slowly, his words processing in your head.

"You have a garden," you whisper. The idea of him gardening, doing something so normal, is unnerving. It makes him seem more human.

"That... that's nice. I used to garden," you confess, eyes on your fingers as you begin to ramble. "Mostly flowers, but I planted some tomatoes last year that did pretty well. I've always wanted to really get into gardening but... I guess I never really had the time between school and work and... life." All things you no longer need to worry about. But you don't say that last part lest you anger him.

His face softens and he leans forward, eager to learn more about you and happy that you finally have something in common. Something to bond over.

"What do you grow?" You ask, lifting your gaze to his. You're surprised by the softness in his eyes. Gone is that horrible anger, the monstrous rage that was there the last time you saw him. It's like he's a completely different person.

He seems to relax even further as you continue speaking, asking him things. Trying to get to know him.

"Lots and lots of herbs. I like to make my own tea. I also grow lettuce... carrots, beets, and onions. I've got a strawberry patch and some rhubarb as well, but I have a hard time finding good recipes with rhubarb that I like."

"I've heard it's good in pies with berries," you whisper, dropping your gaze as your bottom lip starts to wobble.

Your grandmother used to make a delicious strawberry rhubarb pie.

"Maybe one day you can take over the garden for me."

Your eyes snap back up to his, tears drying at his words.

His eyes are guarded, but still kind.

"You... you'd let me?" You ask softly, waiting for him to laugh and tell you it was a joke. To beat you and hurt you and make you cry again.

He chuckles, reaching forward to push some of your hair behind your ear, frowning when you flinch away instinctively.

He lowers his hand with a sigh and shakes his head, looking down at his hands.

"I don't want to keep you in the basement forever, honey. I want you to be happy here. I want to trust you enough to give you free rein of the house but... I can't do that yet."

You nod your understanding.

As fucked up as the situation is, it makes sense. How could he trust you when you tried to run? You wouldn't trust you either.

"Is this... is this my home now?"

He nods, a sort of bittersweet smile on his face.

"It is, sweetheart. And I'll show you around one day... when I can trust you. But until then, you need to stay down here."

You sniffle but nod again, dropping your eyes to the ground.

"Can you... can you untie me, at least? Please. It's just... it's hard to go to the bathroom like this and it-it hurts."

He watches you closely, brows drawing together as he weighs the pros and cons.

Last time he trusted you, you proved you were undeserving. But you seem like you've genuinely learned from that.

"Turn around."

You obey as quickly as you can, wanting to prove to him that you'll listen. You'll be good.

He unties your hands gently, and you shiver when his fingers dust over the back of your neck. You allow him to move you, groaning at the ache in your muscles as he slowly releases your arms.

"You'll want to stretch," he says quietly, taking a step back and watching as you turn back around.

You slowly stretch your arms out, wincing at the pinching pain, needles poking at your fingertips as you regain feeling in them.

You stay seated on the ground, moving very slowly when you need to, showing him that you're going to listen, to obey.

He seems pleased with this, scooping the bowl up off of the floor and walking toward the stairs.

"I'll be back later with dinner." He pauses and shoots a small glance over his shoulder, "I promise."

[factual-fantasy]

23 asks! Thank you!! :}} 🐶

Guys, please read the FAQ in my pinned posed before sending asks, like the ask button says. You don't have to read them all- just a quick check to see if i have answered your question already and especially to see my stance on requests.

I'm not taking drawing requests at the moment. If I hit an art block and start taking requests, I'll make a post about it and update my pinned post.

Again, please just take a quick glance at the FAQ before sending in your asks. It saves both of us a lot of time. Thank you! <:)

Currently there isn't actually a plot line I'm following- its more of a "day in the life of the neighborhood" kind'a thing.

The main points of interest though is Wally's home being alive and it watches him sleep at night.. this causes Wally to have terrible sleeping problems and anxiety. But no one knows Home is the culprit..

Another point of interest is Julie secretly actually being a huge beast that is simply disguising herself as this pretty little harmless neighbor.. she truly is a nice person and loves her friends, but she has disguised herself to look this way so that people wouldn't be afraid of her. Only Frank knows what she really looks like..

And lastly, Eddie is a real human from our/another world. He was somehow brought here to the neighborhood.. he has no memory of his original life..

Oh wow!! :000 That blue one is so pretty.... 🥺💞💞

@imdonewiththisblogsblog

A BUTTERFLY WITH CLEAR WINGS?? THAT SOO PRETYYYY💞💞💞

@littlelightfish

AAA THANYIOU!! :DDDD

Octo is intended to kind'a have normal old man problems- he's kind'a far sighted, has a cranky back, gets tired easy, gets winded faster than he used to.. other than that and the natural aches and sores that came after his major injury- (that comic you're referencing) he's relatively ok! :00 (Those dizzy spells that I talked about come from when he overworks himself.. normal old man things! <:D)

Seafoam is intended to be the youngest of his siblings, and his eldest sister was a rotten egg that had kids way too young.. and her kids were ALSO rotten eggs that had THEIR kids way too young. One of those kids being Red. So because of the age gap between him and his sister, and both generations having kids at like 20 years old... Seafoam is 55-65 and Red, his great nephew, is like 4-6...

Spider crab tends to not interact a whole lot with Pinwheel and Tuna, since they are a little too high energy and loud for him. 😅 But Coco and Red are nice company. :)

Spider does worry about the crewmembers that are missing limbs or eyes.. he does his best to offer help without overstepping. Sometimes those things are sensitive to talk about.. Also Spider sure looks old, but I pictured him being somewhere in his late 30s. Stress will add a lot of age to your face... 😅

I can see Spider crab, Louis and Tuna spending the most time in the kitchen just to be around Ellie. Although if one of them comes for a visit and one of the other 2 is already there, they probably wont stick around long. <XD Spider doesn't like Louis or Tuna's noise and Tuna like's to be alone with Ellie to talk peacefully.. As to who cooks when she cant... I can see the crew eating things that don't need to be cooked until she gets better. Pre-baked bread, easy sandwiches, etc- in an emergency though I can see the crew catching fish and Louis cooking them for the crew :))

Red might have nightmares yeah.. although his family were pretty rotten so this new crew is actually rather nice.. also Coco is his favorite playmate :))

AAA THANKYIUU!! :DDD IM SO GLAD YOU LIKE URCHINS DESIGN!! :)))) Unfortunately though, I haven't thought out her backstory too much..

I'm thinking she met Cuttlefish the same time the rest of the crew did. As for what made them friends, I kind'a like the idea that Urchin can see right through Cuttle's facade. She's not used to having someone see through all her lies, see the REAL her.. and still want to be her friend. Its nice.. 🥺

and finally WAARRHGHH THANKD FOR THIS ASK! :DDD MY HEART IS FULL OF JOY READING YOUR INTEREST IN KY OCS!!! :))))

Honestly? I have absolutely no idea XD 💀💀 All I know is Poppy is the oldest and Sally is the youngest. Sally is probably around 18-20--

@spirited-splashes

WWAHGGG THABK YOU SO MUCH!! :DD ITS MY FAVORITE THING TO DRAW!! :}}}}}

@legitanawkwardmess

ALKDKJENFKJEN THATS HILARIOUS XDDDD

I haven't decided what the neighbors reactions would be since I have no plans for Julie to reveal herself.. though even if she did, I have a feeling she would want to maintain her smaller form. Even if it takes more energy..

To Julie, this body represents who she really is. Who she really wants to be. This is how she want's the world to see her. Even if the truth got out and everyone accepted her. She'd stay in her smaller form anyways..

@i-only-created-this-to-read

So far I don't have intentions for there to have been any tenants before Wally.. or at least no one will ever find out who they were or what happened to them.

As for how old Home is, I haven't decided this and its also a complete mystery to the neighbors. Poppy has lived there ever since she was a child and Home was already there when she moved in..

Now Home could get creative and find different ways to harm or even kill those it doesn't like.. but thankfully Home doesn't have any intentions to hurt anyone, especially not Wally. Home wouldn't even try to significantly hurt Barnaby, despite him getting in the way of Homes plans.. although Home cant resist the occasional stubbed toe or splinter out of frustration...

As for adding stuff to Home's body.. if Wally purposefully slapped a strip of duct tape on the wall, that wouldn't really become a part of Homes body. Things only really attach to Home if they are significant.

Examples being a new shelf. An added wall to split a room, cutting a hole in the wall and installing a window, ripping up carpet and installing hardwood floors, etc. The nail holding up a picture frame or that nail gun plugged into the wall are not apart of Home..

Though that's not to say Home cant control the outlets, it can! But that would only give Home the power to turn the nail gun on and off. Home cant make the gun fire..

As for plants, even if they engulf Home and grow in-between the floorboards, Home cannot control plants.. or if there was moss or some kind of fungus growing on the walls? If it ate away at the wood that plank would just die off and Home couldn't feel/control it anymore..

Lastly, Home being able to move things quickly is kind'a what you would imagine. Home moves them as fast as that object can reasonably move. How fast do you think you could slam a door? How fast do you think the window would slam down shut if you gave it all your might?

I hope I cleared up these questions! :00 And sorry if I accidentally missed one or two! <:D

OUUGHH I LOVE THIS!! ITS MAKING ME WANT TO DRAW THE COMIC AGAIN XDDDD

No worries! :DD

@soulful-rodent

On desktop the limit appears to be 100, I'll see what I can do! 😅Also thank you! :))

AW! :DDD I'm glad they like it! But yeah absolutely keep it to the light stuff-- my Octonauts art has a surprising amount of blood in it for a kids show 💀

(Referencing this post)

I might just be! XD🪄✨✨✨Also thank you!! :)))

@captain-skyler1987

Oof... welcome back? <:D ... sorry-

Awe! I'm glad to hear you liked my Gravity Falls stuff!! :DDD Thank you so much!! :))

@jayemover-16

Oh no no! :0 reblogging is a feature of Tumblr and is not reposting! :))

My idea is that Wally only really has sleepovers with Barnaby. He would have sleep overs with Howdy too, but that Pillar's on a pretty tight sleeping schedule/routine <XD

Now Barnaby has noticed that Wally sleeps better when he crashes at his place. Because of this he has started offering his house as a getaway for Wally when ever he notices he seems a little extra tired..

Something to note; neither Barnaby nor Wally think something is wrong with Wally's house because of this- they're just starting to think that Wally's anxiety is worse when he's alone..

Also thank you so much!! :DDDD

@wolfie-777

I don't think much would change to be honest.. they'd still be the same old Wally and Barnaby even after a species swap!

This was sent right after I commented that I'm still open to Welcome Home suggestions. Are these Welcome Home AUs..? <:0 I am unfamiliar with them..

Oof, went back and fixed it. I tend to type too fast and get slime and smile mixed up. 😅

It can be a little embarrassing when people point out my typos, mostly because every single typo I make is pointed out every single time without fail.😅💀 But no worries, I know you meant no harm-

[pennyblossom-meta]

Gale/Karlach banter

Similar to my previous post: Gale/Wyll banter.

Warning: VERY long post.

Because the dialogue lines are so many, I won't add screenshots in some sections.

I'll add more items from Gale's side either here on a separate post.

Update: added some more dialogue lines

Act 01

Gale intervenes on Karlach's behalf (currently impossible to trigger)

Gale: Easy, Wyll. She's no devil. There's no fight to be had here.

Recruiting Gale

Karlach: Well done getting the wizard on board. He can zap from afar while I smack up close. But if he tries to get me to read any tomes, I will scream. devnote: Context, Karlach does not like to read

Recruiting Karlach

Gale: An ally fresh from the Hells themselves. Our company grows stranger by the minute - and all the better for it.

If Wyll is the avatar

Gale: Hunting one devil, allying yourself with another. Our journey gets more curious by the second.

First night at camp

Karlach: Gale's pretty lost in his thoughts, isn't he. Poor guy. Roughing it like this can't be his style. devnote: Genuine empathy

—

Taking a walk through the forest

Gale: Nothing like a brisk stroll through the forest to invigorate the spirit. devnote: Brisk, invigorated Karlach: I was just thinking the same thing, but less poetically. devnote: dreamily Gale: And without so much as a stirring from our tadpoles. Karlach: A girl could get used to this. devnote: relieved and happy

—

Blighted Village

Karlach: Looks like this town was ransacked - by soldiers, if my eyes don't deceive me. Gale: Quite cruelly, too. Karlach: Must've been an awful day for the people who lived here. Gale: If nothing else, I hope it was a mercifully short one.

—

At the Grymforge

Gale: The architects who built this must have been remarkable. A pity their vision didn't stand the test of time. devnote: Observing, not sure what to make of it Karlach: All's not lost. I mean, just look at this place. devnote: Impressed with what she sees Gale: You've quite the knack for finding the bright side of things, haven't you? Karlach: Hope keeps you going.

—

Underdark

Karlach: Just when I was getting used to the sky again... Gale: Fear not, Karlach. Sun, moon and stars will still be there waiting for us. devnote: Reassuring Karlach: Meanwhile, this place is pretty spectacular, isn't it? Gale: No book or painting could ever do its strange beauty justice. But perhaps our stories might, when we return to the surface. devnote: Agreeing with Karlach, enjoying the sense of wonder as you explore

—

Act 02

Plains, near the Temple of Lathlander (or is this in Act 01?)

Gale: I don't suppose you've any clue where we are in relation to Waterdeep? Karlach: From this distance between Elturel and Baldur's Gate, I'd say... a long way away. devnote: dreamily Gale: Ah. That will make getting word to my mother rather tricky. Gale: No matter - what she doesn't know can't hurt her. Not at this distance, anyway. devnote: Black humour/finding the bright side

—

Mountain Pass

Karlach: Man, adventuring is thirsty work. Gale: There used to be a monastery in this region known for producing a wonderful ale. Karlach: That sounds like heaven! Wait. Used to? Gale: Oh, yes - long ruined, I'm afraid. No chance of a frothing pitcher awaiting us there, but still - at least your thirst for knowledge is quenched. Karlach: Ugh. devnote: Groaning at Gale's cringe joke

—

On the road to the Shadow Cursed lands

Gale: Do you feel that? A darkness, pulling at the strands of the Weave. devnote: Alert, sensing something Karlach: You'll still be able to do your wizard thing, though, right? Gale: Of course, but that doesn't make the shadows less dangerous. devnote: Reassuring Karlach, whiloe remaning concerned about the wider dangers Karlach: Joy. devnote: sarcasm

—

Shadow Cursed lands

Karlach: Doing all right, Gale? Gale: Oh, you know... Still alive and kicking, despite being surrounded on all sides by an endless manifestation of darkness and decay... devnote: Almost with a sigh - that's just how things are. Grim humour to it Karlach: I feel it too. Here if you need a pick-me-up.

—

Last Light Inn, Shrine to Selûne

Gale: A hidden shrine, dedicated to the Moon Maiden herself. Even amidst this darkness, Selunites are stubborn enough to cling on. Karlach: Pretty beautiful, isn't it?

—

Tollhouse

Karlach: Whoa! Almost slipped there. Gale: You wouldn't be the first, I'd wager. It's been some time since these walkways felt the carpenter's hammer. Karlach: You gonna catch me if I eat a brick? Gale: With my reflexes? I'd catch you before you so much as stubbed a toe. devnote: Confident

—

Brewery

Karlach: Huh. A brewery. Why does Reithwin Ale ring a bell? Gale: It was known to be quite the tipple - a cask or two still exists, if you know the right alekeep... devnote: Enjoying being the expert on this. He definitely knows 'the right alekeep' Karlach: You must have good taste. Not me. Can't afford it. Gale: A common misconception. Even the simplest of flavours are elevated by the choice to appreciate them. Don't deny yourself such pleasures. devnote: Kind/encouraging

—

Moonrise approach

Karlach: Ready to enter the belly of the beast? Gale: It's the stairs I'm dreading. I shall close my eyes, and pretend I'm climbing my own, far superior tower in Waterdeep. devnote: Facing an obstancle with cheery determination Karlach: In that case, welcome home.

—

Moonrise Docks

Karlach: We're not taking a boat to Baldur's Gate, right? Gale: And give the Absolute free reign to use us as target practice from the banks? I think not. devnote: Yeahhh… no. Karlach: Phew. My mum always said the Chionthar was unlucky.

—

At the mind flayer colony, under Moonrise Towers

Gale: It strikes me that, for a mind flayer colony, there are remarkably few mind flayers about the place... devnote: Observing, not sure what to make of it Karlach: Squiddies have gone to war, is my guess. Gale: On the Absolute's behalf? Now there's an alliance I'd have been quite happy without.

Act 03

Blushing Mermaid

Karlach: Man, it's good to be home. First round on who? Gale: She who thirsts buys drinks the first. devnote: Like it's a well-known saying (first half) Karlach: You won't pin me down with a rhyme, wizard! devnote: Jockeying with Gale Gale: She who declines gets the worst of the wines. devnote: Like it's a well-known saying (second half)

—

Counting House

Gale: They say wealth offers a form of magic. Alas, it's one I've rarely dabbled in. Karlach: Nor I. Never had more than a few coppers in the city, and any soul coins in Avernus went straight to Zariel. Gale: Make no mistake. Souls are sold for coins up here as well. All too cheaply, in most cases.

—

Sorcerous Sundries

Gale: Look around you. Indulge your curiosity. Sorcerous Sundries is the finest purveyor of magical miscellany for miles around. devnote: Showing his friends around, trying to sound impressive Karlach: Where's the axes? devnote: looking for battle-axes to the dismay of bookworm Gale Gale: What they sell is far more precious than mere sword or shield. They sell knowledge, ingenuity, the wisdom of mages past. devnote: Showing his friends around, trying to sound impressive Karlach: Sounds like more your thing than mine.

Romance

Breakups and relationship status

Karlach's side

Player breaks up with Karlach over Gale

Karlach: Fuck off if you're here to talk about Gale. I already know. devnote: Wounded/ sadPlayer was partnered with Karlach, but ended up choosing Gale. Karlach found out on her own and is now reacting. This shouldn't be a mega aggro 'fuck off,' more like a 'go away'. Karlach: Couldn't tell me to my face, huh? Had to wait 'til I just... just figured it out. devnote: sad/bitter

Karlach: Whoa. What? You... want to be with Gale...? devnote: Copping on that the player is here to breakup with her Karlach: Since when?! devnote: angry and hurt

Karlach: I should've known Gale would weave his spell on you. Who could resist? devnote: Bittersweet. Player is dumping her for Gale. She's sad but still on good terms and trying to keep things light. Karlach: I know I had... well. You know I liked you. Like you. But I want you to be with someone who can make you happy. If that's Gale, that's Gale. devnote: Heartbroken but mature. (...) Karlach: Hope you don't regret throwing over all this fire for all that hot air. One'll get you through winter, the other'll recite you a lot of codices. But hey. To each their own. devnote: Heavy on the subtext. She's putting a lighthearted/ sarcastic spin on the fact that the player just friendzoned her for gale.

Karlach: When Gale's on page one hundred thirty six of a supremely boring recitation, and you look over and there I am throwing a lasso around a giant centipede and riding it to Chult, I'll have my comeuppance. devnote: Still keeping it a bit light/teasing

Karlach: Gale climbed out of the Weave long enough to waggle his eyebrow in your direction, huh? devnote: Still a little light. She does like Gale, despite his high-falutin-ness, so she doesn't mean this to hurt him.

Player chooses Karlach over Gale

Karlach: I thought you and Gale were... I don't know. Karlach: Gale will be all right, right? Of course he will. He's Gale. If he can take a hit from Mystra, he can take it from you.

Gale is the player and is in a relationship with Karlach

Player: My future's no more certain than your own. But when I dare to imagine having one, it's always you I see beside me. Karlach: I'm seeing you at a desk. Pile of books up to the ceiling. And me barging in with a brace of rabbits for supper. Karlach: You start chopping carrots. I stoke the fire. And every night is the best night we've ever had.

Date with Karlach, Gale is the player character

Karlach: You know, it does. There's always a bit of a veil about you - I guess it's the magic, but there's something else, too. Something I want to discover first-hand.

Q: Tell me a secret

Player: I once claimed to have read all six volumes of 'Lichen and Its Curative Properties' to impress a comely botanist. Alas, a falsehood. Karlach: You mean you haven't read all six volumes?! Gale Dekarios, I'll never look at you the same. devnote: Teasing

Player: I'm afraid I'm doomed to repeat past mistakes, no matter how I try to avoid them. Karlach: I know what you mean. Changing is hard. Every time I think I've figured it out, boom, there I am again, behaving like some version of me that never learned a damn thing.

—

Gale's side

Gale: And what of Karlach? Her heart can surely break, though it burns.

Breaking up with Gale for Karlach

Gale: Karlach, yes? You burn for each other in more ways than one. Gale: I... I thought you would show me the respect of telling me first, but no matter. You can tell me now - who is it to be? Me, or her? Player: I'm sorry, Gale. I want to be with Karlach. Gale: Don't be - she has a good heart. Poor phrasing - she has a terrible heart. But she's surprisingly caring, considering it.

At the tiefling party

Gale: You might be in for an adventure with Karlach. More than you bargained for - with a bit of luck. Gale: Or perhaps more than you bargained for - full stop.

Talking about Tara

Gale: You remind me of her somewhat. You share her fierceness, and her passion.

Be my God, boat scene

Gale: I'll always have you, Karlach.

Act 01

Gale had first stage of romance/attraction with player - not yet anything official. Gale: Karlach... a hypothetical question for you: devnote: Attempting nonchalance Gale: If someone - not me, of course - detected a hint of romantic interest in them from another, unnamed individual, what might that someone do about it? devnote: Attempting nonchalance Karlach: Whoever it is, just talk to them, Gale. And leave out the hypotheticals. Gale: Talking. Right. I'm good at that.

Gale: You know, Karlach, there are other ways to express love beyond run-of-the-mill physicality... devnote: Hint of flirtation, mostly just trying to be helpful Karlach: Ugh. Are you going to try and teach me about exceptional uses for a mage hand or what? Gale: Actually, I was thinking of poetry. Karlach: Oops, sorry. But... now that I think of it... is mage hand especially hard to learn?

—

Act 02

Gale: I've always felt flames to be a rather perfect expression of love, Karlach. devnote: Romantic, indulging in the poetry of the image Gale: Passionate, primal, capable of bestowing the most life-affirming comfort, or inflicting the profoundest damage. devnote: Listing the qualities of fire. Romantic, indulging in the poetry of the image Karlach: That's... pretty nice. Never thought about it like that. But now I will.

Karlach: So, Gale - got any book recommendations for me? devnote: With concern Gale: You can read?! devnote: Taking the piss - knows full well Karlach can read, and that she's always claimed not to enjoy it Karlach: Very funny. Yes - I can read. School put me off big boring tomes. Sometimes I wonder what I'm missing. devnote: Friendly rather than flirtatious Gale: Say no more - I'll find the perfect book for you. I might even lend it to you from my library in Waterdeep. devnote: Jumping on the opportunity to give a book recommendation (a favourite hobby) Karlach: Ooh! Something with magic, please. And no devils. devnote: i.e. 'anyone who would reject you, Wyll, just can't appreciate you.'

—

Act 03

Gale: Am I to understand that you are in love now, Karlach? Karlach: I sure am. If there's hope for me there's hope for anyone.

Karlach: How's the orb treating you, Gale? devnote: With concern Gale: Oh, quite well as a matter of fact. Since it was stabilised, it's been humming along nicely. devnote: Upbeat, things are looking up Gale: I have noticed one adverse side-effect. I seem to be losing hair in some, er, unexpected places. devnote: Upbeat mood wavering - this is a bit embarassing Karlach: I can only imagine. devnote: i.e. 'anyone who would reject you, Wyll, just can't appreciate you.'

—

Karlach dies at the end of the game, Gale is the player character

Player: Karlach, please... I'm not ready to go on without you. devnote: Distraught, lover is dying.

variant 01: Karlach is dying, Gale is a friend

Gale: No, Karlach. Stay with me, please. We've shared too much to part like this.

—

Game finale (not epilogue)

Karlach is the player character

Gale gave the Crown to Mystra

Gale is in a romance with Karlach

Option 01

Gale: It's curious. After all the wonders and monstrosities we've witnessed, waking beside you seems more unreal than any of it. devnote: Wistful/peaceful - spent a romantic night with the person he loves Gale: I'd forgotten what it felt like, to greet a sunrise without fear of it being my last. devnote: Wistful/peaceful Gale: Oh, hells. I'm sorry. Barely awake a moment and I've already put my foot in it. devnote: Kicking himself, he's accidentally rubbed salt in his partner's very sore wound Player: Don't be. At least one of us will get the cure we were hoping for.

Option 02

Player: Don't be. It's not your fault. Gale: Come now - resignation doesn't suit you half as well as optimism. We'll find some other means of fixing up that infernal engine of yours. devnote: Caring/Encouraging

Option 03

Player: Knowing you, I'd expect nothing less. Gale: You always find a smile where others would soak in their sorrows. And I promise - you'll have reason to smile soon enough. Gale: When we get to Waterdeep, we'll search in my library. It's bound to contain the odd scroll on hellish thermodynamics. Or a spell that might diffuse the heat in such a way that - Gale: Ah. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Do you... that is, would you consider returning to Waterdeep with me? devnote: A bit nervous to ask - this is Karlach, after all Player: I can't. My only hope of survival is to return to Avernus - and I'm not going back. Gale: What, then? You intend to die here? Now? devnote: Refuses to believe it - essentially been told his partner is submitting to her illness

Option 04

Player: I'd love to, Gale, but I can't. My engine is done. Fully cooked. Gale: I - I don't believe it. I won't believe it. Gale: If you go were to return to the hells - temporarily - it would buy us some time. I could put something together, a means of keeping you stable at least. Please, let me try. devnote: Trying to convince her, scared by what she's saying (that she's ready to die) Player: And hand myself to Zariel on a platter? No thanks.

Option 05

Player: Say nothing. Concentrate. You feel like you might explode any second. Gale: I know that look. It's your heart isn't it? Not to worry - you have one of the finest wizards in the Realms at your fingertips.

Gale suggests going to Avernus with Karlach

Player: I'm not going back, Gale. I can't. Gale: What if... what if I went with you? devnote: Scared by his own suggestion

Option 01

Player: I couldn't let you do that. You deserve better. Gale: I deserve the chance to live my life with the raging inferno I love. If that means relocating to the hells, so be it. I've heard Avernus is quite lovely this time of year. Gale: Besides, it would be quite something to study infernal magic in its natural environs. I say 'natural' in the loosest sense, of course.

Option 02

Player: If you were with me, I might be able to handle it. Gale: There's nothing we can't handle - I promise you that. devnote: Essentially his partner just refused treatment for a terminal illness. He's putting a brave face on it so they can enjoy the time they have left. Gale: It's taken me long enough to find you. I'll be damned if I'm letting you go.

Option 03

Player: No, Gale. Neither of us is going to that pit. It all ends here. Now. I just want to see the sky one last time. Gale: If this is the end, then we face it together. That, at least, I can promise you. devnote: Heartbroken - his lover is dying next to him, thanking her for loving him

—

Gale is the player character

Karlach is a mind flayer

Gale goes back to Waterdeep

Player: I think this is where we part ways, Karlach. Karlach: I accept your assessment. You would have been an excellent helpmate in my exploration of what it is to live. But perhaps we are both of us too... changed. Karlach: Where will you go now? Player: Back to Waterdeep. I've a warm fire and a long-neglected reading list to get through.

—

Epilogue

Karlach is dead, was partnered with Gale. Karlach: I can see Gale? Withers: Indeed. His story has marched on since thy great victory - as inevitable as time itself. Let us observe.

Note: will do the rest in a separate post.

Misc banter

Gale: I think your new form rather suits you. It has a certain... cephalopodic charm to it. A tentacular tingle. devnote: Karlach will live! Yay! But she is a mind flayer

Gale: I can imagine no finer ceremorph for the job.

Gale is the player character, hasn't shared his backstory Player: I've a... condition I need to manage. I'd still be looking for a cure. Karlach: We have more in common than I knew. I won't pry for details. Right now, at least. devnote: Karlach wants the goss but won't pry

Gale is the player character, shared backstory Player: Wandering the wilds of Faerûn searching for a cure to the orb. If I lived that long... Karlach: Living a normal lifespan is so yesterday. Believe me.

—

Gale: Revenge is a dish best served hot, it seems. At least when you're in charge of the menu. devnote: Dark humour - your friend achieved her goal, but you know she'll not live long enough to celebrate

—

Gale: Ceremorphosis is Karlach's only chance of survival. It must be her. devnote: Impressed, finding this all very interesting

Gale: No sense dawdling. Karlach has precious little time left to her - we'd do better than to waste

Gale: I've not seen infernal flames like that in quite some time. Why go to Avernus, when you can bring Avernus to us? devnote: Curious/pondering - a rhetorical question, no response from player

—

Gale: I know well the pain of seeing your life's hourglass running empty, grasping at any means of slowing the grains as they slip inexorably through your fingers. devnote: Sincere, a note of pity - Gale once thought he was fated to die because of the orb, so her truly understands what she's going through Gale: Your fate may be ordained, but your actions are not. Make each breath count, and what time you have with us will never be wasted.

Gale: Karlach's fate may be ordained, but her actions are not. She will make each breath count - we can be sure of that devnote: Finding solace in the thought

—

Ilithid transformation

Player: It's okay, Gale. Karlach wants to transform. She'll do it, for herself and for us. Gale: Then I will hold my peace. But if the time comes when even her sacrifice is not enough, call on me, and I will be ready.

Gale thinks that becoming a mind flayer is his best chance at getting the Crown

Gale: I know Karlach has the best intentions, but her kind heart is not going to help me get that crown. Let me do this.

About Gale, Mystra, Elminster, etc

The dialogue lines for this section can be found in the file /Dialogs 2/Companions/Karlach_InParty_Nested_TopicalGreetings.html

—

Karlach: I couldn't help overhearing what Elminster said to Gale. Not every day a god asks for a chat. Karlach: Hey! Maybe I'm invited too. I can be the muscle.

(variation)

Karlach: I couldn't help overhearing. So Mystra wants to talk, does she? Not every day a god asks for a chat. Karlach: ...can I come?

—

Karlach learns about Mystra's message

Karlach: Fuck me. There's devotion, and then there's stupidity. If the god of magic can't handle this without sacrificing Gale, she's no god at all.

Player: I don't think he'd do that to himself, even if Mystra commanded it. Karlach: Good. I'm one hundred percent sure there's another way to bring down this cult. No true god would ask such a thing from her faithful. That's for certain. Karlach: Poor Gale. He must be in bits after hearing that. I'll distract him. Tell him I haven't read a book since secondary school, watch his face melt off. devnote: Being cheeky

Player: I'm not sure. I think he's of several minds. Karlach: Well, tell him to pick the right one. Better yet, I'll do it. Fucking wizards, man! They always need help picking the simple, obvious option. Karlach: If Mystra can't think of another way to stop the Absolute than sacrificing Gale, she's no god worth worshipping. I'll say that to Gale - in, you know, gentle terms.

—

Meeting Elminster Karlach: Aw, was that Gale's granddad?

(variation, if the player is Gale)

Karlach: Aw, was that your granddad?

—

Gale is the Player, talks about Elminster's message from Mystra

Karlach: Aw, was that your granddad? Player: That was Elminster Aumar - the most famous wizard in the realms. Player: Yes it was. Good old Grandfather Dekarios, come to check in on his doting grandson. Karlach: Lovely! You should've introduced him around. Elders love me, and I love them. Player: I'm joking, Karlach. That was Elminster Aumar, the Sage of Shadowdale, one of the greatest wizards to ever live? Karlach: Huh. Doesn't ring a bell. But all right! Must've had something important to say, if he came all this way. Good news, I hope. Player: It relates to a 'condition' I have. I carry an orb of corrupted Weave within my chest. It seems Mystra wants me to detonate that orb and destroy the 'Heart of the Absolute.'

Player: He brought instructions from Mystra. I'm to find the Heart of the Absolute, and destroy it by detonating the orb in my chest. Karlach: The orb in your chest? Shit - I knew something was going on with you, but I didn't know the particulars. Karlach: Well. Turns out we have more in common than I knew. Except I'm trying not to blow up, and you've been instructed to do just that.

Karlach: Wow. That's... that's big, Gale. This is Mystra we're talking about. Goddess of magic - and she's asking you to sacrifice yourself. Karlach: What are you thinking? devnote: As in, 'What are your thoughts about this serious revelation?' Player: This could be my chance at redemption. I have to at least consider dong what she asked. Karlach: Only you can decide if that's really true. If you owe her your life. As for me, I'm positive we can stop the Absolute without losing you, Gale. Karlach: Keep that in mind, all right?

Player: I'm not quite sure yet. It's a big decision. Karlach: No kidding. What could be bigger? Look, I know what it's like to house something dangerous inside you. But I don't know what it's like for someone else - someone I trust - to ask me to use it against myself. Karlach: If you need a friend, you know where to find me. Right here. Right now.

Player: Now that I'm over the shock, I'll probably ignore her request entirely. Karlach: I'm glad to hear you say that. It is shocking. Imagine asking someone to - to end themselves like that. Karlach: Nothing's ever simple anymore, is it? Whatever you decide, I've got your back. But I think we can defeat the Absolute without losing you, Gale.

Player: That remains to be seen. Karlach: Oh? What did he say? Player: I'd rather not talk about it right now. It's a lot to process. Karlach: All right, soldier. But look, if you're in a fix that can be solved by fire or fists, just point me in the right direction. I mean it.

Player: Elminster's no ordinary elder. He's the most renowned wizard in the realms. Karlach: Your grandfather is the most famous wizard in the realms? Karlach: I should've guessed. I mean, you're pretty powerful. Makes sense that it's in your blood. Player: No, Karlach - I was joking before. Elminster isn't my grandfather. But he did tell me something quite serious. Karlach: I'm listening. What did he say?

Karlach: Wonder if he's (Elminster) a wizard too. He's certainly got the beardliness for it

Karlach: Karlach doesn't worry, she acts. So if Gale needs me, now's the time to tell me.

—

Karlach: Wow. 'Chosen of Mystra.' I guess I should congratulate Gale. Right? devnote: Karlach is happy for Gale. Suspicious of Mystra but trying to be supportive. Karlach: I trust him to know what he's doing. To know how far to go for Mystra. I just hope he knows he doesn't need her favour to be fucking fantastic.

(variation, if partnered with Karlach)

Karlach: Wow, Gale. 'Chosen of Mystra.' Congratulations, I think? Karlach: I trust you to know what you're doing. To know how far to go for Mystra. Just know that even without her - even without any of the gods - you're still pretty fantastic. Karlach: 'Chosen of Karlach' has a ring to it, right?

—

Karlach: Whoa. I've seen a lot, but never been threatened by a god. Karlach: It sounded like Gale really meant it. He really wants to take control of the Karsite Weave. Karlach: He really wants to be a god. devnote: She's not bought in. She's assessing Gale here. Measuring him.

(variation)

Karlach: Interesting. devnote: Suspicious

If Gale is the player character

Karlach: Interesting. I'll keep that in mind. devnote: She's starting to lack trust in Gale here

—

Gale is noncommital about returning the crown

Karlach: Wow, Gale. So you spoke to Mystra, right? Karlach: Pretty spectacular stuff. But I think you were right not to do her bidding, no questions asked. Karlach: I respect the gods, but they don't always understand what they're asking of us. Maybe immortality makes it hard to know what it's like to be one of us piggies. Karlach: Proud of you, though. It takes some man to hold his own in front of the divine.

Karlach: Wow. So Gale really talked to Mystra, huh? Karlach: Pretty spectacular stuff. But he's right not to do her bidding, no questions asked. Karlach: I respect the gods, but they don't always understand what they're asking of us. Maybe immortality makes it hard to know what it's like to be one of us piggies.

—

Gale is blessed by Mystra Karlach: You're glowing, Gale. Mystra must be very pleased with you indeed. Don't forget us little people when you're the Chosen of the God of Magic, hm?

Karlach: Gale looks chuffed as cheese. Mystra must be very pleased with him. Let's hope she's got his best interests in mind.

—

Gale agrees to return the Crown to Mystra

Karlach: Wow. Gale is the 'Chosen of Mystra'. Congrats to him, I think? Karlach: Hope he knows what he's doing. We haven't fared very well with other Chosens so far.

—

Gale uses Shadow Weave

Karlach: Hope you know what you're doing, Gale. I'm no paladin for Mystra, but she probably has good reasons for forbidding Shadow Weave.

Karlach: Gale's walking a thin line. Let's hope he doesn't fall headfirst over it - again.

—

Orin kidnaps Gale Karlach: That bloody freak won't get away with this. That's my wizard she took. And we're going to get him back. devnote: Seething

—

Gale is resurrected Karlach: This fella Gale has as many lives as a cat. Handy guy to have around, huh?

—

Karlach: You all right, Gale? Looking a little shadowy about the gills.

(variation)

Karlach: Is Gale all right? He's looking a little shadowy about the gills.

—

Items and Netherese orb comments

Karlach: Wide berth, buddy. I have some good equipment I don't want you swallowing.

Karlach: The people you meet, I swear... devnote: A little bemused

Karlach: Much as I commiserate with your, you know, thingie. devnote: 'tough ticks' is a karlachism

Karlach: I like Gale, but I'm keeping all my good gear well out of sight. Karlach: Everything fancy he touches meets a grisly end. Karlach: I commiserate with his situation, though. It's tough ticks housing something you can't control.

Gale is the player character

Karlach: Hey now, what happened to that fancy bit of gear? Player: It's a long story involving the Weave, an ancient tome, and a failed attempt to please Mystra, goddess of magic. Karlach: Hm. And now you have to consume gear Karlach really wants because... Player: Because I have an orb of corrupted Weave within my chest. If I don't keep feeding it with magic, I'll explode with enough force to destroy a city. Karlach: Well, shit. And I thought I had it bad. Karlach: That's a tough hand, Gale. But I'm glad you told me. A chest-bomb shared is a chest-bomb halved, or whatever. Karlach: If I spot anything that'll help, I'll hand it right over, pal. We're in this together.

Player: Because if I didn't, I'd be dangerous to all of us. Karlach: Are we talking some kind of were-wizard situation here, or...? Player: I have an orb of corrupted Weave within my chest. If I don't keep feeding it with magic, I'll explode with enough force to destroy a city.

Player: Just because. Karlach: Wizards and their secrets. Buddy, I could ruin that mind of yours with the stories I could tell. Nothing you say could scare me. When you're ready to talk, I'm ready to listen.

Player: I had to consume it. Sorry if that scuppered any plans you had for it. Karlach: I'd mind less if I knew the full story. Never seen a fellow suck the magic-marrow out of an item before.