#and i couldn’t upload as much as i wanted to

[lewmagoo]

we own the sky | rhett abbott

part one: ain’t no love in oklahoma

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

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

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

pairing: rhett abbott x f!reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Rhett–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It felt like the town was stuck in time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Six Years Ago

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

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

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

“As I’ll ever be.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then, just beyond him, you saw it. 

“Holy shit.”

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

“Come on, come on, come on.”

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

Almost there. Almost there. Almost there. 

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

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

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

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

Within seconds, your entire life was turned upside down. 

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

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

Now it was time to run. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It sounded like the world was coming to an end. 

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

And then, all at once, it stopped. 

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

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

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

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

“I’m fine,” he breathed. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Rhett,” came your whisper. 

“I see it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Rhett, the girls! Are they—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“There’s three of ‘em in the truck!” Rhett exclaimed, “they’re all unconscious, from what I could tell!”

“We’ll get them out!” One of them assured you both. 

You watched as they all rushed toward the truck, firefighters and EMTs alike. Helplessly, you remained on the sidelines, clinging to Rhett, fingers clutching the fabric of his t-shirt. 

He wanted to tell you they’d be okay. That everything was going to be fine, that your friends were unharmed. But in his heart, he knew nothing would ever be okay again. 

Perry was pulled from the vehicle first, still unconscious. Together, you watched as he was placed on a gurney, where an EMT hurriedly checked his vitals, searching for life. 

“I’ve got a pulse, but it’s weak!” The young woman shouted. 

He was alive. That was a good sign, right? Maybe it meant the girls were alright as well. You could only hope. 

A saw was taken to the door, and it was removed so that the inside of the truck was more easily accessible. Then they pulled Rebecca out. She was so still, unresponsive as she was hauled down to a second gurney. 

You heard a voice shout that they couldn’t find a pulse. 

You placed your hand over your mouth, a grieved whimper escaping your throat. Rhett’s name slipped past your lips, and you buried your face in his chest, unable to watch. You could hear his sharp intake of breath. 

Then Lydia was pulled from the wreckage. While you kept your face hidden against Rhett, he watched on, and he knew, just from the sight of her, that she was gone.

His grip tightened on you. It felt as if a dagger had been plunged into his chest. He sucked in a sharp, ragged breath, his eyes falling shut for a moment as the weight of what was happening settled upon him. 

You lifted your head at that very moment, and you turned, realizing your best friend had been taken out of the truck. On instinct, you tried to pull away from Rhett. Tried to run toward the scene, to see for yourself if Lydia was alright. 

But Rhett held you back. “No,” he told you. 

“Let me go, I need to see if she’s okay!”

He repeated himself. “No.” He would not release you, no matter how hard you struggled. 

Tears blurred your vision. “Rhett, please! I need to know if she’s alive!” 

He grabbed both of your shoulders and looked right into your eyes. “Darlin’, stop! Just let ‘em do their jobs!” He didn’t want you near it. Didn’t want you to witness death up close and personal like that. It would haunt you forever. 

Your knees buckled, and he caught you as you fell into him, wailing from the weight of your pain. Brokenhearted, Rhett cradled you in his arms, squeezing his eyes shut as his own tears made their way down his cheeks. This wasn’t happening. It wasn’t real. It had to be a dream. A nightmare. 

And then one of the sheriff’s deputies was approaching. Linden Haynes. “You two need an escort to the hospital?” He asked, voice low. Knowing you’d both want to go in support of your friends. 

Rhett nodded, trying to find his voice. “Yeah…yeah. Thanks. I, uh, don’t know where my truck got blown to.”

Linden hummed, his face sympathetic. “No problem. We’ll find your truck somewhere. Once things calm down, I can see if we can get some deputies searchin’ for it.” He moved to walk away, motioning for you both to follow. 

“Linden, are…are they okay?” you heard yourself speak. 

He turned, trying to mask his expression, but you could see it in his eyes. He had witnessed the wreckage firsthand. He’d seen the EMTs and firefighters rescuing your friends. He knew. 

“Let the docs and nurses at the hospital tell you that, they’ll know more than me,” was his response.

Defeated, you followed him to his squad car, your body still leaning into Rhett. You climbed into the backseat together, and as soon as you were settled, you buried your face in your hands, trying desperately to hold yourself together. But you were unraveling, and the dread was threatening to swallow you whole. 

The hospital was in a frenzy when you arrived. So many people hurt in the storm. You heard murmurs of the tornado being an EF5, which made your eyes go wide as you looked at Rhett. It was a wonder you’d even made it to safety. 

Sitting there in that hospital waiting room was the most excruciating moment of your life. Hoping your friends would survive. Knowing that they might not. 

Rhett was on the verge of potentially losing his brother. And while his relationship with Perry had been tumultuous over the years, he cared about him deeply, and couldn’t stomach the thought of losing him. 

You sat side by side on vinyl-covered chairs, holding each other’s hands in a death grip, startling anytime a doctor or nurse walked by, thinking one of them was coming to give you an update. 

Finally, an update did come. 

You had no recollection of ending up on the floor. But there you were, crumbled against the cool tile as Rhett tried to console you, while simultaneously wracked with grief himself. 

They were dead. Lydia and Rebecca. They were dead, and they had been since they were pulled from the wreckage. Perry, however, was alive, but just barely holding onto life. 

The doctor was a family friend. He offered to contact yours and Rhett’s respective families. It was all a bur. And then you found yourself in Perry’s hospital room, which was stone silent, filled with dreadful anticipation. 

Your memory of that day was patchy at best. Your brain had filtered out some of the more traumatic parts, forcing you to forget. The weight of your anguish made it feel as if you were underwater, being pulled down by a cinder block tied to your ankle. No matter how hard you pedaled, you couldn’t come back up to the surface. 

Late into the night, Perry succumbed to his injuries, too. He slipped away, with his family surrounding him. Worst of it all? His four-year-old daughter was left an orphan in the wake of her parents’ deaths. 

You lost a piece of yourself when three of the dearest people in your life were taken from you. It sent both you and Rhett into a spiral. He blamed himself. You blamed yourself. It was something you could not move past. Every time you looked at him, it was a reminder of that fateful day a twister took everything from you. 

You couldn’t bear it any longer. So you ran. You left Rhett. You left all you had ever known. And you told yourself you would never come back. 

Present Day

Until now. 

You were hoping to go undetected. You weren’t sure if you could handle seeing anyone from your past. Least of all Rhett. With the way you left things between you and him, you doubted he wanted to see you anyway. 

But you should have known you couldn’t hide forever. 

You had been planning to stay in your aunt’s house while you were in town, but when you arrived and saw the dire state it was in, you realized sleeping there wasn’t feasible. So you decided to stay at the only motel in town. 

Before checking in, you needed to stop by the store to buy a few necessities that you had forgotten to pack. You wondered if anyone would recognize you. Had you changed much physically over the last six years? You thought you had, but maybe others wouldn’t notice the change. 

You managed to slip into the store without being recognized. You went about your entire shopping trip, remaining anonymous. You paid for your things without a single soul uttering your name. But just when you thought you were home free, you saw someone who made you stop dead in your tracks for the briefest of moments. 

Cecilia Abbott. 

Your heart rate picked up, anxiety sizzling through your veins like a live wire. She hadn’t seen you yet, too busy bagging her groceries to notice. Perhaps, if you were quick enough, you could evade her and make your escape. 

You almost did, too. Until you heard the sound of your name being called. 

You flinched, pausing for a moment, debating whether you should keep going. But then she was descending upon you and you had nowhere else to go. 

“It can’t be! After all these years?!” The woman exclaimed. 

Slowly, you turned around, trying your best to put on a pleasant expression, masking your look of distress. “Cece, hi!” You greeted. You had no idea how this was going to go. Would she be angry at you for walking out on her son? Would she welcome you back to town with open arms?

She stared at you in disbelief, shopping bag balanced in the crook of her elbow. “Goodness, how long’s it been?” But she knew how long it had been. She never lost count of how many years had passed since the death of her child. 

“Six years,” you heard yourself reply. You wanted to crawl out of your skin. 

“Wow. I can’t believe it.” Cecilia shook her head. “It’s almost like seein’ a ghost! Never thought you’d come back.”

“I didn’t either. But I, uh…I’m here cleaning out my aunt’s place.”

Her face softened, and she shifted, leaning toward you. “I’m sorry. She’ll be missed around here, that’s for sure. S’ a good thing you’re takin’ on the responsibility of cleanin’ that house, though. She did let it go in her old age.”

You hummed in agreement. “Yeah, she really wasn’t there mentally the last few years of her life. It’s sad. But, I’m hoping to have the house looking good as new when I’m done with it.”

Cecilia shifted her bag of groceries to her other hand. “Say, you got a place to stay while you’re in town?” 

“I was going to stay at the house, but it’s too much of a disaster. I’m just gonna get a motel room.” 

You should have known what she would say next. Gasping, she reached out and touched your arm. “Nonsense! You should come stay at our house!”

Your eyes widened. She wasn’t serious, was she? After all that had transpired? “Oh, I couldn’t do that, I wouldn’t want to impose.” 

But once Cecilia Abbott’s mind was set on something, she wouldn’t take no for an answer. “No imposition at all! Home cooked meals, and a clean bed that doesn’t have bed bugs like that nasty ole motel does. The Bed Bug Inn, that’s what everyone calls it. Plus, we’re not that far from your aunt’s, just down the road. Closer than the motel is.”

She did have a point. But you couldn’t fathom the thought of stepping back onto the Abbott property again. You couldn’t face the demons you’d left there. “Cece, I appreciate it, but—”

“I insist. You at least need to come for dinner! I’m makin’ roast tonight, y’know, the one Rhett always loved? If you decide you still don’t want to stay after that, that’s fine. But you have to let me feed ya, I’m not gonna let you go hungry, girl.”

At the mention of Rhett’s name, your breath caught in your chest. “Oh, um… Rhett, how is he?” Your voice raised a little in pitch, and you cleared your throat. 

“He’s fine. Still livin’ in the house with us, but he’s gone all the time. Storm chasin’ business keeps him busy.”

He was still chasing? “I can’t believe he’s still going after storms,” you spoke in disbelief. 

Cecilia shrugged. “He never lost his love for it,” she mused. For a moment, there was a faraway look in her eyes, as if she was remembering something. Likely the way she had lost her son to the very thing Rhett loved doing. 

Then she snapped out of it. “Anyway, come over for supper! Five o’clock!” Without giving you a chance to protest, she turned on her heel and bustled out of the store, leaving you with no choice but to take her up on her offer. You didn’t want to offend her by not showing up. 

But could you handle it? Stepping back into the past, into a version of yourself that you had not been in six years. You thought of Amy, Perry and Rebecca’s daughter. She would be nine years old by now. Would she even remember you? Would she blame you for the death of her parents?

Surely not. She had been four when they died. You doubted a four-year-old had the emotional or mental wherewithal to blame you for the loss of her parents.

But it wasn’t Amy you were afraid to be reunited with. Not really. You were utterly terrified at the thought of seeing Rhett again. Would he be happy to see you? Would he be angry? Hurt? Confused? What would he say to you? How would you respond?

All these questions swirled through your mind as you sauntered back to your car. Maybe he wouldn’t even be home. But if you chose to stay at the Abbott’s, you would likely run into him at some point. Besides, you weren’t sure how long you were going to remain in town. You felt like you were taking advantage of Cecilia’s kindness. So, you determined that you would only go over for dinner. You would not stay the night.

With that thought in mind, you climbed into your car and headed back to your aunt’s house. 

A few hours later, you were back in your car all over again, thrumming with anxiety, wondering if you were making the right decision. It would be so easy to turn back around, but you forced yourself to continue on, hands white-knuckling the steering wheel.

When you turned into the Abbott farm, you were hit with a wave of nostalgia so intense you slowed your car to a stop, staring at the house in the distance. It was the same as it had always been. A cozy house boasting of a well-kept garden, a bran off to the left with a nice coat of bright red paint. Chickens milled about the yard. Horses played in the field. Cows lowed in the distance. 

It still felt like home.

With a deep breath, you eased off the brake and urged your car down the long driveway. As you parked near the house, you caught sight of a young girl with honey-colored hair, swinging on the rope swing that was tied to the tree in the front. 

Your heart clenched in your chest. She’d grown so much. It was a reminder that life had continued in your absence. 

Upon seeing you, she hopped down, eyes alight with joy. “Gramma! Gramma!” She called, rushing into the house to alert Cecilia to your arrival.

You took a moment to steel yourself before you climbed out of the car, shoes crunching against dirt and gravel as you approached the porch. As you ascended the steps, you were once again greeted by the little girl. Amy.

“Hi!” She exclaimed. “I’m Amy. Gramma says you can come on in!”

You couldn’t help but smile at her enthusiasm. “Hi, Amy. It’s been a long time. Last time I saw you, you were this big!” You held your hand low, indicating her size.

“I don’t really remember you. But Gramma and Grampa do. They said you and Uncle Rhett used to date.”

You were slightly taken aback, but recovered quickly. “Uh, yeah…yeah, we did. That was a long time ago though.”

Amy shrugged. “I wish he was still dating you. You’re super pretty!” 

“Oh…thank you!” Was all you could say in reply. She certainly was prone to saying whatever came to mind. However, she moved on from it quickly, motioning you inside.

“C’mon!” She said, waving you on, and you moved to follow her, stopping at the door to take your shoes off before you ambled into the kitchen. 

The smell of food cooking made your stomach growl, and you realized only then that you were very hungry. A home-cooked meal would do you some good.

At the sound of your footsteps, Cecilia turned, her face lighting up at the sight of you. “You made it! I’m so glad. Dinner should be ready in about fifteen minutes.”

You smiled softly, nodding your head. “Is there anything I can do to help?” You wanted to make yourself useful, rather than standing awkwardly in the middle of the kitchen. 

“You can help me set the table!” Amy chirped, already walking to the table with her arms full of plates. 

“Silverware’s in the drawer to the right of the sink,” Cecilia reminded you. But you remembered from the countless dinners you had been a part of here.

With a nod, you moved to gather enough cutlery for everyone, and as Amy set each plate down, you folded a napkin and placed the silverware upon it. You fell into a rhythm, stopping only to grab drinking glasses from the cupboard.

You noticed that the number of place settings was five. That had to mean Rhett was also joining the family for dinner, unless it was a place for someone else. You wanted to ask Cecilia if he was coming, but didn’t want to make things awkward, so you left it alone.

You were kept busy as she handed you different serving dishes full of various foods to put on the table. As you placed a basket of dinner rolls amongst the rest of the food, the sound of the back door opening caught your attention.

Your heart leapt in your chest, and you lifted your head, expecting to see Rhett. Instead, you were met with Royal’s look of surprise. Cecilia looked over at him and motioned to the sink. “Wash up, supper’s ready. We’ve got a guest.”

He nodded as he hung his hat on the peg on the wall, pausing to take off his muddy boots. “I’ll be damned,” he remarked, directing it at you. “Didn’t know you were back in town.”

“Saw her at the market today, so I invited her over. Didn’t tell ya because you an’ Rhett have been in that darn pasture with no signal all day.”

Royal hummed gruffly as he walked over to the sink to wash his hands. “Storm wiped that fence clean out. We had to replace every last post,” he sighed, “took us all day.”

“S’why we need to hire some hands, Roy,” Cecilia lowered her voice, but you still heard her.

Clearly this was something they talked about frequently, because he huffed and shook his head. But he didn’t continue the potential argument. Instead, he turned, drying his hands on a towel. His eyes regarded you kindly. “Been a long time,” he murmured. “Good to see you.”

You managed a smile. “Good to see you too.”

“Rhett on his way?” Cecilia questioned as she placed the final platter on the table.

Again, your heart fluttered anxiously at the mention of his name.

Royal nodded, pulling out the chair at the head of the table and taking a seat. “Yeah, he’s right behind me, he was just puttin’ up the horses.”

“Alrighty, we’ll wait to say grace until he comes in then.”

There it was again, that deep feeling of utter nostalgia. Cecilia had always been a religious woman, and not a meal went by where she didn’t pray over the food. That aspect hadn’t changed at all.

“You can sit here!” Amy announced, patting an open chair next to Royal. “Me and Uncle Rhett will sit across from you.”

You’d have to look into his face. You wouldn’t be able to hide your expressions from him. Rhett had always been so perceptive, more so than anyone gave him credit for. He was always considered to be aloof by those who didn’t bother to get to know him, but you knew that was far from the truth. 

There had been a time when you knew him like the back of your hand. You wondered just how much he’d changed, if at all. 

Just as you took your seat at the table, the squeak of the screen door opening filled the room, and the scrape of boots against linoleum followed. Seconds later, there he was. Blue flannel shirt rolled up to his elbows. Same brown hat he’d had since he was a teenager, which he pulled from his head to place on the hat peg. 

“Uncle Rhett! Uncle Rhett! We have a guest!” Amy exclaimed. 

He hadn’t turned yet. Didn’t know you were there. “Who’s that, li’l pea?”

“Your old girlfriend!” She giggled, covering her mouth with her hand.

He saw you then, and his eyes went wide. You swore the clock hanging over the sink stopped, causing time to stand still. Everyone else in the room faded into the background as Rhett became your sole focus.

Suddenly you couldn’t breathe, as if someone had taken their hands and squeezed the air right out of your lungs. In the background, you heard Cecilia talking, likely explaining that she’d seen you at the store and invited you over.

You doubted Rhett heard her, either. He was too busy staring at you.

Seeing him again brought so many overwhelming emotions to the surface. Pain. Sadness. Longing. And suddenly, it felt as if the walls were closing in on you. You needed to bolt. 

Abruptly, you stood up, silently cursing yourself for your dramatics. “I–I’m so sorry, this was a mistake,” you squeaked, the legs of your chair scraping against the floor as you scrambled away from the table. 

And then you were fleeing. Just like you had six years ago. 

But this time, Rhett wasn’t going to let you go that easy. Shaking himself out of his momentary shock, his feet moved beneath him, carrying him after you. “Go ‘head an’ eat! I’m gonna talk to her!” He called over his shoulder to his family.

He threw open the front door, lurching out onto the porch. You were already at your car, wrenching the door open. “Wait!” He called out, dashing down the steps.

Tears were streaming down your cheeks. You didn’t want him to see. 

“Would ya just– just stop!” He reached out, hand against your door, impeding you from opening it. 

“Let go of my door, please.” You were surprised you had it in yourself to speak.

“Not until you look at me.”

You were afraid you’d fall apart if you did. “Rhett, please.”

A beat passed. Then another. You could feel his body heat, he was standing so close. You could smell the sweat and dirt that clung to him after a hard day’s work. But there was something else, too. Something sweeter. Like freshly baled hay. 

Against your better judgment, you found yourself turning, drawn to him like a magnet. Your eyes finally met his, and you gasped softly. They were even bluer than you remembered. So clear and bright. 

But there was so much emotion there, too. It swam within his irises, and you saw the glint of gathering tears. He drank in the sight of you, and his chest heaved as he took in a breath, then another. “I…I never thought I’d see you again,” he whispered, as if speaking louder would cause his voice to fail him.

“Me too,” you agreed, as quiet as he was. There was so much you wanted to say. But most importantly, there were a few words he needed to hear. “I’m so sorry, Rhett.” You succumbed to your tears, as they slid down your cheeks in hot trails. 

His bottom lip quivered slightly, and he shook his head. “No, I…I should apologize. I shoulda been more understandin’. You were grievin’, same as me, and I wasn’t letting you do it in your own way. I made you feel like you had to run away, and I’m sorry.”

“Is that what you think? That it was your fault?” Your voice trembled. 

He shrugged, sniffling softly. “S’what I always assumed. Thought it had to be somethin’ I did.”

The thought of him living with that these last several years made your heart ache. “It was never your fault. It was me. I couldn’t face what happened. I thought…if I left, it would be easier. I could move on faster.”

Being reassured that it wasn’t his fault made him relax slightly, the tenseness leaving his shoulders. But there was still a shadow of sadness on his face. “Was it easier?”

At that, you shook your head, scoffing slightly. “No. Honestly, I think leaving you made it worse. I’m so sorry I did that to you. I’ve never really been able to forgive myself for it.”

“Guess we both have a lotta things we couldn’t forgive ourselves for,” he murmured. Then he bowed his head for a moment, gathering himself before looking at you again. “For what it’s worth, I ain’t holding it against you. Losin’ the three of them was the hardest fuckin’ thing we ever had to go through. I don’t blame you for leavin’ to see if it would make you feel better. You did what you thought you had t’ do.”

A fresh wave of tears welled in your eyes. “Oh, Rhett.” Without a second thought, you found yourself moving forward, wrapping your arms around him. He was caught by surprise for only a moment, and then his own arms, strong and steady, came up to encircle your waist. 

You stood there in the middle of the driveway, holding each other for what felt like hours. When you parted, you were both wiping at tear-streaked cheeks. 

“S’good to see you again, by the way,” Rhett said. “I mean it.”

“It’s good to see you too,” you replied honestly. Now that your initial upset was out of the way, you realized it felt as if a weight had been lifted from your shoulders. 

“What, uh, what are you doin’ back in town?”

“Cleaning out my great-aunt’s place,” came your answer, and he nodded in realization. “I ran into your mom at the store today, she invited me over. I didn’t really want to come, I was scared to face you again.”

He hummed in understanding. “She knew what she was doin’. She wanted us to talk. She’s a meddler like that.” There was a twinkle in his eye as he spoke. 

You couldn’t help but smile despite yourself. “I should’ve known it was a ruse. She’s convincing, that’s for sure. She’s also watching us right now.”

When Rhett turned, he found his whole family watching through the front window. Upon seeing him turn, they all rushed away from the window, dropping the curtain. 

He faced you again, and there was a smile on his face. “I’m glad she convinced ya, then. Can’t tell you how good it feels to clear the air after all this time. Losin’ you was rough on me, but I’m happy you’re back, even if it’s only for a small visit.” 

“I’m happy too. And I’m happy you stopped me from leaving this time.”

His eyes twinkled like stars, and he nodded toward the house. “Wanna head back in for supper?”

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

Together, you walked back into the house. While there was so much you had missed in your time apart, and so much you still needed to reconcile with each other, you were relieved that the air was clear for the time being. You hadn’t expected Rhett to welcome you back with open arms, but you were thankful he had. 

It broke your heart that he had spent so much time believing he was to blame. It was your own inability to face your grief that was the culprit, not this sweet, blue-eyed cowboy. Never him. But maybe there was a new beginning between you. A chance to let the past remain where it belonged. 

When you stepped into the kitchen and took your seat at the table, the trio was pretending they hadn’t just been spying on you and Rhett. However, it was Amy who gave it away, giggling behind her hand. 

“You guys’re menaces,” Rhett grumbled as he placed a serving of potatoes on his plate. 

Cecilia tried to hide her smile, though ultimately failing. She looked at you, and her gaze was kind. “I’m sorry. Maybe I was a little…overzealous about makin’ sure you and Rhett saw each other again. But it worked, didn’t it?”

You couldn’t hold it against her. Without her meddling, you never would have spoken to Rhett. You likely would have done what you came to do and left town without a single glance in his direction. 

Cecilia had known that it was a chance for you to reconcile with Rhett. Holding on to something that happened years ago wasn’t healthy. She saw the opportunity to ease her son’s pain, and yours, and she took it. Thankfully, it had worked out in her favor. 

You couldn’t believe it had been that easy to reconcile with him. Even after you’d stormed off, upset, he’d still been willing to talk to you. It spoke volumes of his growth. Past Rhett wasn’t very good at communicating. But present Rhett seemed to have gotten much better at it. 

Dinner passed without a hitch, although there was still some slight tension. No one spoke of Perry, Rebecca, or Lydia. You got the sense that Royal and Cecilia were avoiding the subject. Likely because Amy was present. You had no idea how much she knew about that day, but you had no desire to bring it up. 

Conversation instead shifted to what you were doing with your life. 

“Where you workin’ now?” Royal asked, leaning back so that Cecilia could take his plate and clear the table in preparation for dessert. She’d denied your offer of help, insisting you sit and talk, because you were a guest. 

“I work for the National Weather Service, up in Silver Spring, Maryland.”

“No kiddin’?” He replied, eyes glimmering with intrigue. “What d’ya do there?”

You took a sip of your water before you answered. “I’m an analyst. I analyze weather data from all over the country. I work with a team and we try to predict, as best we can, what the weather is going to look like.”

“Sounds intense,” Rhett spoke up. You glanced over at him. He was leaning back in his chair, balancing on the back two legs. 

Until his mother slapped her dish towel against his arm. “Stop leanin’ back in that chair. The legs’ll give out.” 

He corrected his chair right away. You couldn’t help but smile at the interaction. “It is kinda intense. But I love it. Keeps me on my toes,” came your reply. 

“Can’t take the storm chaser outta the girl, huh?” He hummed, catching your eye with a knowing look. 

He was right. Although you’d stopped chasing storms, you still did just that, except it was from a much safer distance this time, through a set of screens. There was no chance of those around you dying grisly deaths brought on by a wicked twister. 

“Guess not,” you finally agreed. 

Before the conversation could continue, Amy happily interrupted, flouncing up to the table to set down a handful of dessert plates. “Gramma made your favorite, Uncle Rhett,” she announced, beaming at him. 

He grinned, pulling her into his side as she squealed. “Did she?” He asked, laughter in his tone as he jabbed his fingers into her sides, while she laughed uncontrollably and tried to wriggle away from him. 

You watched the exchange, and your heart went warm in your chest. But you were also hit with a wave of sadness. This sweet little girl was growing up without a mother and father. These three people in this room were all she had in the world. 

“Y’alright?” Rhett’s voice jarred you, bringing you back to reality. You hadn’t realized that tears were making their way down your cheeks. 

“I…I’m fine,” you answered. 

“Alright, here’s some blackberry pie!” Cecilia’s voice rang across the kitchen, interrupting your moment of melancholy. But you were grateful for the distraction.  

The pie was cut, and everyone was given a slice, along with a scoop of vanilla ice cream, and a cup of coffee. Conversation around the table shifted to Amy’s schooling, and she eagerly listed the number of weeks that were left of school. 

But you could feel Rhett’s eyes on you from across the table the entire time. The intensity of his gaze made you feel as if he could see right into your soul. That was how it had always been. Looking at him felt like staring into the sun, at times. So bright and beautiful, but impossible to stare at. 

That hadn’t changed, even years later. Same intense look. 

When dessert was finished, Amy got up to help Cecilia clear the table. Royal headed upstairs to presumably get ready for bed. And Rhett stepped outside onto the front porch. 

“Can I at least help you clean up for the night, Cece?” You asked, hoping to do something, anything to feel useful. 

“Don’t you lift a finger. Amy and I have got it.” 

“You sure?”

“‘Course I’m sure,” the woman insisted. Then, “Have you given any thought as to if you might stay here?”

You hesitated. “Oh, I, uh…I don’t know. I really don’t want to be a bother.”

She huffed, shaking her head. “I already told ya at the store, it’s no bother! ‘Sides, it’s gonna be dark soon, and it gets so pitch black out here, drivin’ into town isn’t safe. And if you stay, you’d be wakin’ up to a home-cooked breakfast in the mornin’.”

With a sigh, you finally relented. Mostly because you were too tired to argue with her. “You drive a hard bargain. Fine, I’ll stay.” It was a good thing you hadn’t taken your luggage out of the car yet. 

Cecilia beamed. “Then it’s settled.”

“I’ll just go get my stuff from the car,” you remarked, already turning to put your shoes back on. 

“Have Rhett help you. I think he just stepped out onto the porch,” she suggested. 

With a nod, you made your way out the door, hinges squeaking as you stepped onto the porch, shoes thudding lightly against weather-worn wood. 

Sure enough, Rhett was there, seated on the bench near the door. His legs were stretched out in front of him, and he was leaning back, eyes fixed on the sky. 

When you came out, his gaze shifted to you, and he smiled softly. “Hey,” he said, sitting up a little straighter. 

“Hey.” An awkward silence soon followed. There was so much hanging in the air between you both. Words left unsaid. “Your momma asked me to stay the night.”

He hummed, nodding as he looked back out across the sprawling land that was the Abbott farm. “Figured she would. Her and that bleedin’ heart of hers.”

“She suckered me into it with the promise of a home cooked breakfast.”

He scoffed playfully. “You get a home cooked breakfast and I get a piece of fuckin’ toast.”

“I’ll share with you.”

His smile turned into a grin. Then he fell serious. “Speakin’ of sharing, you can sleep in my room.”

At that, you shook your head. “Oh no, that’s asking too much. Isn’t there a pull-out bed in the living room couch? I can sleep there instead. It’s where I used to sleep when I’d stay over, remember?”

“Boy, do I,” he hummed. When you were teenagers, Cecilia was insistent that you did not share a bed if you stayed the night. You’d sleep on the pull-out bed in the living room, far away from Rhett’s bedroom upstairs. It didn’t stop him from sneaking down to talk to you in the middle of the night, though. 

He continued, “But ya already served your time on that old couch. I’ll sleep there. My bed’s all yours.”

“Rhett—”

“Hey now, don’t argue with me. We both know I always win ‘em anyway.” 

You rolled your eyes, folding your arms over your chest as you shook your head. He was right, after all. He’d always win you over with kisses dispersed all over your face until you relented with laughter. 

“Fine. I’ll take your room then,” you replied. 

He hummed in satisfaction, and silence fell between you again. It felt so strange, being back in his presence. You felt as if you didn’t belong here, on this porch with him in the late spring night. In your anxious imaginations, you had always assumed he’d never reconcile with you, so you never tried to reach out and make things right. 

But all it had taken was one tearful conversation, and a sense of civility had been restored between you. 

“Why did you forgive me so easily?” Came your question, spoken into the quiet air that hummed with the sounds of nocturnal creatures. 

Rhett eyes flickered to you. “Because I spent too long wallowin’ in hurt, and I couldn’t handle carryin’ all of it anymore. I don’t wanna be stuck in the past. I want to move forward. Forgivin’ you is the best way to do that.” Then he added, “plus, I never could stay mad at you. Guess that still holds true to this day.”

Tears welled in your eyes again as you digested his words. You hated that you’d caused him so much pain. If only you’d been able to work through your grief instead of running from it. But that was in the past. There was nothing you could do to change it. However, you could use it to be a better person in the future. 

“I’m sorry I—”

But he held up his hand. “Don’t need to ‘pologize again,” he assured you, gentleness in his tone. 

You closed your mouth and nodded, and then you decided to take a seat next to him. Several minutes of silence passed again. Again, you were the one to break it. 

“I’m glad I decided to come tonight. I almost didn’t take your ma up on it.”

“I’m glad y’ did too.” He turned his body toward you so he could look into your face. “Six years is a long time.”

“It really is. I can’t believe it’s been that long. And Amy…she’s gotten so big.”

“She has. That little girl’s the apple of Mom and Dad’s eye, I’ll tell you what.”

You couldn’t help but smile fondly. “Looks like she’s the apple of yours, too.”

Rhett made a noise of agreement. “I see ‘em in her. Bec and Perry, that is. She’s a bit of a firecracker. Takes after her dad in that way. But she’s smart as a whip, we’re talkin’ wicked smart, like her momma. And some of the things she says, the tone she says them in…god, it sounds just like Bec.”

“It must be so cool to see them live on in her like that,” you whispered. 

“It is. But it’s hard, too. Thinkin’ about the way things would be if they were still here.”

“Does she remember them?”

He shrugged, shifting his gaze to the night sky above you, shimmering with stars. “Bits an’ pieces. She doesn’t remember whole details. Plus she was so small…I don’t rightly know what she pictures in her head when she talks about it.”

Your heart broke for the girl. “Poor thing.”

Rhett nodded his head. “I know. But she’s doin’ alright. Brings a lotta joy into our lives.” Even in the dim light, you could see the way his eyes sparkled with love. Family had always been so important to him. Even more so now that he’d lost part of it. 

You had to swallow the urge to cry. “That’s good.”

A beat passed before Rhett changed the subject, eager to move on to lighter conversation. “So…weather analyst, huh?” He wiggled his eyebrows. 

That drew a shy smile out of you. “It’s no big thing. I have a whole team of people who work with me.”

“It’s a pretty damn big deal to me. You an’ that smart brain of yours. It’s no wonder you want on to work for the fuckin’ National Weather Service.”

At his compliment, you ducked your head, a little embarrassed. “I really like the job. It’s kinda stressful, though. Weather never takes a break like us human beings do.”

“You’re tellin’ me. You shoulda seen the storms that rolled through here last week. One right after another.”

That prompted you to ask the question you’d been dying to know the answer to all night. “Your mom said you’re still chasing.”

Rhett nodded his head as he shifted against the bench, wood creaking beneath his weight. “Yeah. It ain’t just me, either. I’ve got a whole team workin’ with me.”

Your gaze fell to your lap, where your hands were loosely clasped. “Was it…was it hard getting back to it, after they died?” You softly questioned. That was why you’d never gone back to storm chasing. You couldn’t bear the thought of doing so after all you'd lost. 

“Sure was. I didn’t start back up until a year later. That first time I got back out there…man, I almost couldn’t do it. I just kept thinkin’ of them. But then it sorta turned into a way to honor them an’ keep their memory alive. So I’ve been doin’ it ever since.”

“That’s good you were able to get back into it.”

“How ‘bout you? Been out there runnin’ after any storms lately?”

“No,” you answered quickly. The thought made your stomach turn. 

“Y’ should join us next time it storms,” came his suggestion. 

“I’d rather not.” You were hoping he would drop it. 

“C’mon, it’ll be like old times.”

“I don’t want it to be like old times. We lost three of our best friends during old times. I can’t…I can’t face another tornado. I’m scared to death of them now. I’ll never storm chase ever again.” You were on the verge of tears.

He got the message then. “Alright, fair enough. Didn’t mean to upset ya.”

You sighed, shoulders dropping. “You didn’t upset me. It’s just more of a sore subject than I realized,” you said. Then, “and now that I’m back here, I’m so scared more twisters will come through.”

Rhett understood where you were coming from. But he also believed in facing one’s fears. For the most part, at least. There were still some things that filled him with fear that he couldn’t bear to face. 

“More will definitely come. They ain’t been that bad this season so far. Last week was rough though. Had a couple EF3s that hit some neighborin’ towns. We’ve been helpin’ out a lot. The team I’m workin’ with…they’re big into charity. We’ve been able to donate to people who lost their homes. We’re hopin’ to raise enough money to get building supplies that can help rebuild all the damaged homes.”

You raised a brow, surprised. Not over the fact that Rhett wanted to help people in surrounding communities, but over the fact that his team had done so much. That was more than you’d ever been able to do when you were chasing with Perry, Rebecca, and Lydia. 

“That’s really amazing,” you remarked. 

“Yeah. Hate seein’ the damage twisters can do, but I’m glad we can at least do somethin’ to help, even if it’s small.”

You had so many more questions about his storm chasing. But you also wanted to change the subject. Your heart was heavy from the old memories going through your mind. So, you asked about another thing that was part of the past.

“Did you ever go back to bull riding?”

Rhett let out a sharp breath, suddenly finding a small tear in his jeans very interesting, fingers sliding over the work fabric. “Hell no.”

“I always wondered about that. If you’d gone back to it after I left.”

“Nah. Never could stomach the thought of gettin’ back on one of them beasts.”

“Yet you’ll chase twisters with no problem.”

“That’s different.”

“How? Both could kill you.”

Rhett didn’t have an answer for that. But he did know he never wanted to experience what he’d been through in that arena all those years ago. 

It happened before you’d started storm chasing together. He was gunning for a career in pro bull riding, and he was headed toward the top. He had it all. Until it came crashing down one night when he suffered a life-threatening injury when he didn’t get out of the way of an angry bull fast enough. 

You’d never forget that night. And neither would he. You’d been volunteering at the rodeo. You were certified in first aid, and you were able to work alongside the on-site medics tending to riders with injuries, so you had access to the riders-only area. 

But what Rhett suffered was no minor injury. The bull’s horn caught him right beneath the hem of his protective vest, impaling the soft flesh of his lower abdomen. You remembered so vividly the way you’d cried out his name. The way he’d been carried out on a stretcher. 

You remembered tearing his vest off of him and seeing blood. So much blood. You remembered pressing your hands to the wound in an effort to slow the bleeding as he grew pale beneath you. You remembered begging him to hold on, assuring him that help was on the way. 

You almost lost him that night. 

The injury scared the hell out of him. It required surgery to repair the internal damage, and it took him out of riding for months. And by the time the doctor cleared him to ride again, he knew he couldn’t. Not after he’d stared death in the face. 

He had a permanent scar on his abdomen, a reminder of what he had endured. 

Rhett never wanted to experience that again. So he hung up his riding vest for good. But he was still a thrill seeker. And when you expressed an interest in storm chasing, he’d eagerly agreed, because it gave him a chance to feel alive again, just like he always felt when he was sitting on the back of a raging bull. 

Now you had traded places. He was too afraid to mount another bull. You were too afraid to go after another twister. It seemed that you had more in common than you realized.

“Guess we’re both scared of something,” you remarked, wrapping your arms around yourself as the evening chill crept up on you like the chilled fingers of a ghost touching your skin. 

“Guess so,” Rhett agreed.

Your conversation fell stagnant, and you found yourself growing sleepy. You had only just arrived back in Oklahoma that morning, and the night before, you hadn’t slept well. The exhaustion was beginning to catch up with you. 

“I should probably turn in before I fall asleep out here,” you mumbled, followed by a yawn. 

Rhett made a sound deep in his throat before he rolled his neck, joints cracking. “I’ll help ya with your stuff,” he offered as he stood. 

You followed suit, motioning to your car. The two of you headed down the porch steps, where you popped the trunk, revealing your luggage. You watched as Rhett heaved the bags out of the car, his forearms and biceps bulging beneath the rolled sleeves of his shirt. 

You were reminded that he was still just as strong as ever. Lifting your suitcases hardly took that much strength, you knew, but Rhett was a farm boy. He’d been strong his entire life, thanks to lifting bales of hay and performing other tasks of manual labor. When he was riding bulls, his core and leg strength had been excellent. Those strong thighs of his allowed him to hold tightly to those raging animals. 

He’d taken on some size since you’d seen him six years ago. His shoulders were more broad. His arms were bigger. His thighs were meatier. Or maybe his jeans were simply too tight, hugging the curve of his quad muscles.

In the kitchen, you hadn’t fully admired him. But here, beneath the night sky, illuminated by the glow of the porch light, you saw him. His stubbled jaw, his twinkling eyes, his small pink mouth the button nose you’d always loved. 

You remembered teasing him and telling him he had an elfin nose, that he had inherited it from a mystical creature. You had adored the way his ears would turn red whenever you said it.

Oh, how things had changed. There had been a time when you couldn’t picture your life without him. And now, you’d been without him for so long that you’d forgotten what it felt like to love and be loved by him.

“Y’alright?” Rhett’s voice jarred you, and you shook yourself out of your reverie.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, sorry. Just sorta zoned out.”

The knowing look in his eye told you he’d caught on to the fact that you were staring at him.

“C’mon, I’ll take you upstairs.” With that, he slammed your trunk shut and gathered your bags again before he headed toward the house.

You trailed after him, closing and locking the front door behind you, assuming everyone was in for the night. Then you ascended the stairs, allowing Rhett to lead you down the hall, all the way to the end, where his room was.

He nudged the partially open door with his foot, and stepped into the dark confines, depositing your luggage onto the bed before he bent to turn on the bedside lamp. You were met with the sight of a surprisingly neat bedroom.

The times you’d been here in the past, his room had never been terribly messy, but random clutter would accumulate in different corners. He was never really the type to make his bed either, because he always said, “I’m gon’ sleep in it again, so why bother?”

But now, the bed was neatly made, and hardly any clutter hid in the corners. 

“I ain’t been stayin’ here much, so it stays pretty neat,” he explained, as if reading your mind. 

“Too busy storm chasing?” You asked.

“Yeah. Stay in a lotta motels when I’m on the road.”

You sauntered into the room, taking in the coziness of it all. Hardly anything had changed. His plaid bedspread was the same. His curtains still matched the bedding. Art pieces of cowboys riding bulls decorated the walls. A picture of Lane Frost hung just above his desk.

A sense of nostalgia washed over you. Being in this room felt like coming home.

“Welp…guess I’ll, uh, let you get to bed,” Rhett murmured. He paused in the doorway, as if he wanted to say something. “I’m glad you’re back, by the way.”

That brought a smile to your face. “I am, too.”

He rapped his knuckles against the door frame. “Anyway, ‘night.”

“Goodnight.”

He reached out to pull the door shut, leaving you in silence, alone for the first time since you had arrived at the house. You let out a breath, and lowered down to sit on the edge of the bed, allowing yourself to process everything.  

Your arms splayed out on either side of you, palms skimming over the softness of the bed. You closed your eyes, and allowed the memories to wash over you. It was here, in this very bed, that you had lost your virginity to each other. You were young and in love and driven by your passion for one another.

Many times after that, you had made love in this room. And as you closed your eyes, it was as if you were reliving those memories. The feeling of his mouth on yours, and his hands on your heated skin. The way he would moan your name into your mouth when you shifted your hips against his own, searching for delicious friction, so eager to have him inside you.

As your eyes fluttered open, you were struck with a feeling of emptiness. How long had it been since you’d been with anyone in such an intimate way? Your job hardly left you time for romantic relationships. You hadn’t really put yourself out there, because you knew your busy career would likely deter anyone who wanted any sort of future with you.

As you readied yourself for bed, you thought about how alone you had felt these last few years. Alone in your grief. In your pain. At least Rhett had his parents to lean on as they endured the loss. You had no one who truly understood. 

Silver Spring was a perfectly nice community to live in, and you had made some good friends during your time there. But nothing compared to the community you once had here in Wabang. No one compared to Lydia, your dearest friend. Your bond had been a sisterly one. You were kindred spirits. You’d never been able to find that again in any of the friends you made in your current home city.

But now that you were back in Oklahoma, the sense of familiarity was nearly overwhelming. You were home. Even if you didn’t realize it yet.

That night, you got the best sleep you’d gotten in a long time. Rhett’s bed was comfortable, and the house was quiet. All that could be heard outside was the distant howl of a coyote, and the sounds of nightlife creeping about.

When you woke the next morning, it was to the sound of a rooster crowing. You lay there for a while, staring up at the ceiling, relishing in the feeling of being rested. Your body didn’t ache. Your head wasn’t swimming with tiredness. You were at peace, which was something you hadn’t felt in ages.

You could hear the sound of the Abbotts milling about the house. Cecilia was likely in the kitchen starting breakfast. Royal was probably already outside, getting a head start on the day’s chores. Rhett, too, who’d always been responsible for checking on the animals and making sure they were fed.

Not wanting to walk out in your tank top and sleep shorts, you were quick to throw on some clean clothes before you headed across the hall to the bathroom to wash your face and make yourself look somewhat presentable.

When you finally made your way downstairs, you were hit with the smell of food cooking. The coffee pot hissed and sputtered in the corner, nearly finished with its brew cycle. Amy sat at the table, doodling in a notebook. When she saw you, her face lit up.

“Mornin’! I was wondering when you’d come down! You slept for a super long time.”

“Amy,” Cecilia cautioned.

“It’s okay,” you assured her, before turning to Amy, “I needed the rest.”

“Well you came down just in time! Gramma’s making pancakes.”

“Sounds good!” Came your response, as you moved to grab a glass from the cupboard to fill with water. Your mouth felt parched.

“How’d you sleep, hon?” Cecilia asked as she stirred a bowl of pancake batter.

“Like a baby,” you said, bringing your glass to your lips to take a sip. You watched as she poured the batter onto a hot skillet, bubbling with melted butter. “Just so you know, I don’t expect you to make breakfast for me every day. I know you only make big breakfasts on Saturdays and Sundays, I don’t expect pancakes and eggs and bacon every day of the week.”

It was Thursday, so it wasn’t a typical day for her to make breakfast for the family. The weekday mornings were always called “fend for yourself” mornings, where the family was responsible for preparing their own respective breakfasts.

“Nonsense! I’m happy to do it, you need fuel if you’re gonna be cleanin’ that house all day,” she insisted.

You smiled gratefully. “Thank you. Really, it means a lot.”

She ushered you to the table, assuring you breakfast would be ready momentarily. You chatted with Amy once you settled into your seat, and just as breakfast was being put on the table, the screen door squealed open, and in stepped Royal, lifting his hat off his head and placing it on the peg on the wall.

He greeted you, nodding in your direction. “Mornin’,” he said as he took his seat at the head of the table.

Cecilia placed a cup of black coffee beside his plate, and he thanked her with a wordless hum. Typical morning small talk followed as everyone began filling their plates. But the quiet chatter was soon interrupted by the screen door opening again.

Rhett hurried into the kitchen, boots scraping against the floor as he made a beeline for the table. You could see a wildness in his eyes, and it made your heart rate quicken. Your gaze flickered to the kitchen window, where you could see distant gray clouds. 

“Gotta take breakfast to go, storm’s brewin’ over in Cimarron County,” he announced as he reached over Amy’s head to grab a pancake. He shoved a few pieces of bacon inside and folded it up like a taco. “Team’s on the way here to meet me.”

“Please be careful!” Cecilia called after him as he turned on his heel to head back to the door. 

He grabbed a backpack that was sitting on the bench in the entryway, presumably packed with necessities. “Always am, Ma,” he replied. Then he looked at you, his hand hovering over the doorknob. “You wanna come?” Hope was in his tone.

His offer shocked you. You certainly didn’t expect it, not after what you had told him last night. “No, I…I’ll stay here,” you answered.

“Alright, see ya soon!” And with that, he was off, door slamming shut behind him.

You weren’t sure what drove you to do so, but you found yourself surging up from your seat, feet carrying you quickly to the door. You flung it open and rushed out onto the porch. “Rhett!” You called. 

Midway to his truck, he stopped, whirling around. “Yeah?”

“Be safe!” He’d just come back into your life. You couldn’t bear the thought of losing him.

His face softened, and he smiled. “I will be. I promise.” Then he turned and continued on to his truck. Still that old GMC Sierra with the light bar on top. It had been blown off the road during the twister you’d narrowly escaped, but somehow, the truck was perfectly fine, and just needed a few repairs to render it driveable again.

Seeing that it had survived after all this time gave you hope that Rhett would make it back safely home again. 

He was gone for three days. You learned of his well-being through Cecilia. He would always text her after a storm passed to assure her he was okay. He was so good about giving her peace of mind. 

In his absence, you busied yourself with sorting through the overwhelming clutter in your great-aunt’s house. It provided a distraction from your worry. 

Living in Silver Spring, you’d had no cause to worry about Rhett. He crossed your mind often, yes, but you had no idea he was still storm chasing, and therefore remained blissfully ignorant. 

Now that you were back home, all those old memories had resurfaced, and you were forced to face the fact that you still cared deeply for Rhett. The thought of him dying out there made your stomach turn. 

At least when you’d been chasing with him, you were together, and he would die by your side if something did happen. Being apart from him now, you had no idea if he was okay or not, aside from updates from his mother. 

You were forced to come to terms with your feelings. Why did you feel so strongly about this? Yes, you cared about what happened to him, just as anyone else in his life did. But there was something more. 

You realized that perhaps you were still in love with him. 

However, you buried that realization deep. You couldn’t rekindle your romance with him. You had moved on, made a life for yourself, had a career you loved. You needed to leave your relationship with him in the past, and move forward with only a friendship between the two of you. 

Easy as pie, right? 

You hoped so. 

Three days later, just as you were arriving back on the Abbott farm after a long day of cleaning and organizing, Rhett returned. 

Relief washed over you from head to toe when you saw that old Sierra coming down the driveway. But he wasn’t alone. You could make out the silhouette of a woman sitting in the passenger seat. Behind the truck, a Ford F150 followed closely behind, and beyond that, an old RV. 

So this was the team he’d been talking about. 

Your gut fluttered at the sudden anxiety of meeting new people. You knew you looked worse for wear in your cleaning clothes. You’d been sweating all day, and you were planning on heading straight for the shower when you got into the house. 

But it would be rude to just turn and go inside, so you stayed put, waiting until all the vehicles came to a stop. 

Rhett jumped out first, slamming the truck door shut behind him. He was wearing his hat, and he was grinning. “Made it back in one piece,” he assured you. 

You couldn’t help but smile in return. “I can see that,” came your answer. 

Your eyes flickered beyond him as the woman in the passenger seat climbed out. She was beautiful, in the most natural of ways. No makeup adorned her face. Her eyes were large, the deepest shade of brown you’d ever seen. Her hair, a deep chestnut color, was curly and unkempt, pulled back into a ponytail. 

Her deep brown skin glimmered with perspiration. You could hazard a guess that the air conditioning in Rhett’s truck was broken. It always had been finicky. 

“Hi,” she spoke, reaching out her hand to shake yours, “I’m Zara Marshall. Nice to finally meet you! Rhett told me all about you.” Then she added, “good things, of course!”

“Nice to meet you, too. I didn’t realize you all were coming. I would’ve at least tried to look presentable.”

“Oh, you look beautiful, don’t even worry about that.” She blew a stray curl out of her face. 

“Zara here is the genius behind all our chases,” Rhett boasted. 

The woman looked at him and beamed, shaking her head. “Oh, hush. I’m no genius.”

An odd feeling blossomed to life in your chest as you watched their banter. The easy way they interacted. It wasn’t jealousy, was it? It couldn’t be. You had no right to be jealous. Not after you were the one that left him six years ago. 

Your moment of distaste was interrupted by the sound of car doors opening and closing. The rest of the team was getting out of their vehicles, clearly eager to stretch their legs after driving for so long. 

“You have to meet my wife!” Zara exclaimed. 

Oh. 

How silly of you to entertain the thought of jealousy when the woman wasn’t even interested in Rhett. 

Another woman came rushing over to the three of you, tall and lean, shoulder-length brown hair hanging loosely against the middle of her back, Tattoos decorated different parts of her body. Mostly her hands and wrists, and a few on her neck. When she smiled at you, it was warm like sunlight. 

“Hi!” She said, “I’m Jeslyn.”

You shook her hand and told her your name. Then you were quickly introduced to everyone else. 

There was Finn, handsome as could be, with bright green eyes and auburn hair. And then there was Danny, with eyes that were just a little less blue than Rhett’s, and graying curls that fell against his forehead. He couldn’t have been older than his early thirties, but he was already going gray. It suited him.

They were all so personable, and their welcome was warm. It made you feel at ease instantly. You should have known the people who chose to associate with Rhett were good people.

You learned that they were all staying for dinner, per Cecilia’s insistence. It was a flurry of organized chaos as everyone offered to help set up the tables outside, rather than crowding in the small kitchen to eat. 

While they were busy with that, you slipped away to take a quick shower, eager to wash the sweat and grime off of your body. 

You turned the water as hot as you could stand, stepping under the spray and closing your eyes. You hadn’t expected to be so exhausted. Your shoulders and arms ached from scrubbing and heavy lifting. Your legs were sore too. 

The steamy water helped loosen your tight muscles considerably, and once you were finished, you breathed out a sigh of satisfaction. Now you felt a little more prepared to face a dinner table full of people. 

But when you stepped out of the shower, you realized that you had forgotten something very important. A towel. Swearing under your breath, you stood in the middle of the bathroom for a moment, debating what you should do.

The linen closet was right across the hall. If you could sneak out there unseen, you’d be able to grab a towel and slip right back into the bathroom unnoticed. So, you cautiously opened the bathroom door and made sure the coast was clear before you dashed for the closet, yanking the door open and scanning for a towel.

To your horror, the sound of footsteps approaching could be heard, and you gasped, reaching for your towel, but you weren’t fast enough. A split second later, Rhett appeared at the top of the steps.

He froze, eyes widening, as you let out a squeak of surprise. Out of respect for you, he quickly turned away. “Shit, sorry!” He apologized.

Wordlessly, you clutched your towel and scurried away, slamming the bathroom door shut. On the steps, Rhett let out a breath, and he couldn’t help but shake his head. He hadn’t seen you naked in years. Of course the first time would end up being an awkward moment like the one you’d both just been subjected to.

He hadn’t seen much, in his haste to give you privacy. But he’d seen enough to make his brain short-circuit for a moment. Mentally, he scolded himself, but he knew, now that he’d seen you in that way, he wouldn’t be able to get it out of his head. Especially because there had been a time when he knew your body, inside and out. He’d had you in the most intimate of ways. And that was something he would never forget.

“Get it the fuck t’gether,” he grumbled to himself as he turned back around, heading toward his room, where he wanted to grab a clean shirt before you came back. He simply couldn’t entertain thoughts about you naked. It would do him no good. 

He shook the encounter off, and quickly changed his shirt, tossing the old one in the hamper. He stopped to glance in the mirror that hung above his dresser, running his hand haphazardly through his hair, which was slightly tousled from all the activity of the day. 

Then, quick as he came, he strolled out of his room and back down the steps before you ever stepped out of the bathroom again. 

Meanwhile, you were hurriedly going about your post-shower routine, your mind spinning. You knew you were making this into a bigger deal than it needed to be. Perhaps you should be grateful it was only Rhett, who’d seen you naked many times before, rather than his parents or Amy. 

But you still had an odd feeling swirling to life in your gut, a feeling that you didn’t want to face, because if you did, that would mean admitting you’d never gotten over Rhett. 

You pushed it down again. Choosing to deny, deny, deny. It would simply go away if you didn’t acknowledge it. 

With that, you headed out of the bathroom and back into Rhett’s bedroom, where you set your shower items down and made sure to hang your towel on the hook mounted on the back of the door. 

Then, with a deep breath for courage, you made your way downstairs. 

There was a flurry of activity happening. Cecilia was prepping Sunday dinner, while Zara and Jeslyn were gathering plates and silverware to set the table outside. Danny, Finn, and Rhett were carrying chairs outside.

Royal and Amy were in the living room, where she was very intently watching him whittle a figurine out of wood. Cecilia had likely shooed them out of the kitchen because there were enough people in the way as it was. 

For a moment, you stood there, in the middle of the house, taking in the sights and sounds, and it transported you back to the past. Sunday dinners with the Abbotts were always your favorite. Lydia and her family would join, and everyone would eat outside, weather permitting, just like they were going to do today. 

Many a good time was had around the large oak table that Rhett had built with his own hands when he was in high school, in woodworking class. One of the of the few classes he thrived in. The craftsmanship was beautiful, and it was still in good condition to this day. 

“Hey, y’alright?” Rhett’s low cadence filled your ears. You looked up to find him standing near, gaze soft. 

“I…yeah, I’m fine,” you assured him, “just reminiscing.”

He nodded. “Mm. Sure this brings back a lotta memories for you.”

“It does,” you agreed. 

He lingered for a moment. Then, with the lowering of his voice, he said, “I, uh, I’m sorry about earlier. Didn’t mean to walk in on ya like that.”

You cleared your throat, shaking your head. “No, don’t worry about it. It’s no big deal.”

“Good. That’s good.” He let his hands rest upon his hips, grimacing at the awkward silence that followed. 

“Guess I’d better see if your mom needs help,” you finally volunteered. 

“Uh, yeah. Yeah. I’m gon’ make sure the guys set up the table right.” He took a few steps backward before he turned and sauntered out the door. 

You breathed out a sigh, mentally berating yourself for the awkwardness. You hoped it wouldn’t linger for the rest of the day. 

Thankfully, it did not. Once dinner was ready and everyone was gathered around the table, the atmosphere melted into one of warmth and laughter. You didn’t feel like an outsider. The group of friends treated you like one of your own, and it did wonders to put you at ease. 

“I thought you’d like t’ hear this,” Rhett’s voice caught your attention from across the table. “Zara here’s workin’ on a way to stop twisters dead in their tracks.”

That definitely piqued your interest. You looked at her, where she sat between Rhett and Jeslyn. “Really? How do you plan to stop them?” You asked her, leaning forward in your seat. 

Tornadoes were impossible to stop. To your knowledge, no one had succeeded in doing so before. They were so unpredictable, one couldn’t possibly figure out when and where one was going to touch down fast enough to stop it. 

She sprang into her explanation. “I know what you’re thinking. It’s never been done before. But Jes and I have spent years coming up with a solution. There’s a lot of heat and moisture at the center of a twister. My theory is if you can cool down the center to the freezing point, you can stop the twister.”

You stared at her, eyes widening. There was no way it could work. Was there? “How would you cool it down?”

“Essentially, we release liquid nitrogen into the core of the tornado and it brings the temp way down.”

“Have you tested it out yet?” You inquired. You were still skeptical, but fascinated at the same time. 

Beside her, Jeslyn piped up. “We started small scale tests when we were still students at OU. Me, Zara, and some classmates built this machine that uses heat and moisture to simulate a tornado. Our nitrogen tests worked on it, but seeing as that was only a small, contained event…”

“You’d need a lot more nitrogen for the real thing,” you finished for her. 

“Yep.”

Zara continued where Jeslyn left off. “During the run we did this week, we decided to actually test it out and see if we could stop a twister. But…it failed miserably.” She laughed ruefully, and the rest of the team joined her, reliving the memory. 

You were struck with an odd feeling. Fear of missing out, maybe. Which shocked you, because you’d refused to go on the chase in the first place, because you couldn’t face your fears. Now you felt left out? It didn’t quite make sense to you. 

Maybe you did miss storm chasing, after all. 

“It’s hard to gauge how much nitrogen we need, especially because every tornado is different. We’ve been working on collecting as many tanks of nitrogen as we possibly can, but we also didn’t want to use up our whole reserve. We used half of it on what turned out to be an F3. Didn’t do shit,” Zara continued to explain, motioning animatedly with her hands as she spoke. Her face was incredibly expressive. 

You decided you really liked her. You could understand why Rhett enjoyed chasing with her. 

“So, how does that work? Like, do you set tanks of nitrogen on the ground and then open them and hope for the best, or?” You had so many questions, and you simply couldn’t hide your fascination. 

“We use that,” Rhett said, pointing over at his truck parked in the driveway. Hitched to the back was an open trailer, with several tanks of liquid nitrogen situated inside, metal gleaming in the light of the setting sun. 

“But how do you open them? Does someone have to open each one before the twister hits?” You suddenly became very aware of everyone’s eyes on you, and you shrank slightly. “Sorry, I know I’m asking a lot of questions.”

“No, you’re good!” Zara insisted, “it’s just, we’re all used to people telling us we’re crazy instead of actually showing interest.”

“I told ya she’d think it was cool,” Rhett said to her with a smile. He caught your eye. He still knew you well, even though time had driven you apart. 

“Basically, opening the tanks is up to us,” Finn piped up from beside you, motioning to Danny, who sat on the other side of him. He took a swig of his water before he continued. “We made these special remote control valves. As long as we’re within range, we can open the valves with the touch of a button and release the nitrogen into the air.”

“Honestly, it sounds crazy. But also brilliant,” you said, completely in awe. “You gotta show me all the equipment after dinner. I’ve never heard of anyone doing this kinda thing before.”

Part of you still doubted what they were trying to do would ever work. It went against all odds. Even if they did succeed in stopping a tornado, the method wasn’t necessarily feasible for stopping others in the future. It would require countless tanks of nitrogen and a lot of manpower. 

But just to be able to say one had stopped a tornado was a feat in and of itself. You couldn’t hold it against Zara for trying. It was clear she was passionate about her work and believed there was a possibility that it could be successful. 

The conversation around the dinner table soon shifted to other things. You noticed that none of them asked you about your storm chasing past. You wondered how much Rhett had told them, and if he’d instructed them not to ask about the details, at risk of upsetting you. 

It was very considerate of him, if he had. 

After dinner, everyone helped clean up while Cecilia ushered Amy upstairs, against the girl’s protests. “You’ve got school in the mornin’, early bedtime isn’t optional!” Her grandmother insisted. 

But Amy had to make sure she said goodnight to everyone first before she made the reluctant trudge up the stairs. Oh, to have the innocence of a child again, unwilling to go to bed because all the adults were still awake.

The evening carried on, and once the dishes were washed and the table was cleared, you were led outside to see all the equipment Zara had told you about. And what a setup it was.

The trailer attached to the back of Rhett’s truck was full of nitrogen tanks, sealed with remote controlled valves. The trailer itself was also remote controlled, according to Rhett. 

“Come see,” he motioned for you to follow as he opened the driver’s side door. He pointed at the center console, where there was a board of switches, framed by labels indicating what each switch was for. “Danny and Finn helped get this up an’ running. If we need t’ let the trailer go, all I gotta do is press a button and it’ll release. S’how we get the tanks in the path of the twister.”

You stared in amazement at the device. “How? Like, how do you figure out when to release the trailer? And how does it not just get blown away?”

A grin tugged at his mouth. “Figured that one out too.”

He led you to the side of the trailer, where he pointed at a compartment positioned directly between the wheels. “Soon as I get the trailer in place, I flip a switch and stakes lower outta this compartment here and into the ground. Usually we’re cuttin’ it close, but I can get the truck positioned in the path of the twister. Then I get the trailer settled and get the hell outta Dodge.”

“Then I hit the remote control for the tanks and release the nitrogen into the air,” Finn piped up eagerly.

“Meanwhile, Zara and I are tracking the storm pattern and trying to figure out exactly when to release the trailer,” came Jeslyn’s explanation.

You stared at all the equipment in total wonder. These people had thought of everything. More than you or Rhett ever had when you were chasing. Your operation then had been very bare bones, and really, you were just following storms for the fun of it. 

But this? This was an entire science experiment, and it was fascinating. Despite your refusal to chase again, you were very curious about what all of this would look like in action. If Zara ever succeeded in stopping a twister, she would make history. 

That was something you almost wanted to be a part of. Almost. 

Later that night, you found yourself curled up in an Adirondack chair, a blanket wrapped around your shoulders as everyone sat around the fire that Rhett had built in the old fire pit. The place held so many memories. Namely, the night Rhett had asked you to be his girlfriend. It was right here. 

He remembered that night, too. You could tell he was thinking about it when he caught your eye from across the fire. 

Around you, the group settled into comfortable conversation. The kind that happened when old friends got together. Anything and everything was discussed as the night gave way to inky darkness, the stars twinkling above, like glitter spilled across a black velvet canvas. 

Before she’d retired for the night, Cecilia had warmed some apple cider on the stove, and a mug of it was currently situated in your hands, its taste spicy and comforting. You enjoyed listening to Rhett’s friends tell stories of different storms they’d chased, reliving all the exciting times they’d had together.

You wondered if you would be running with them, too, had you stayed here instead of moving to Silver Springs and taking your weather analyst job. Would it just be you and Rhett, or would fate have still decided to bring these people into your life?

Their passion was admirable. Zara was a very driven individual, hellbent on making a difference. “If I could at least slow down a twister, even if it doesn’t fully stop it, think of all the lives we could save. That’s why I do all of this. I wanna protect people.”

That was just it, wasn’t it? Saving lives. You thought back to the fateful day you had lost Perry, Rebecca, and Lydia. If you’d had a way of slowing down that twister, or even stopping it altogether, perhaps they would still be here.

But you couldn’t think that way, because it was already done. There was no way to go back in time and save them. 

The thought made your chest ache, and you had to swallow the wave of grief that rose in your throat. Rhett caught your eye over the flames, and shot you a reassuring look, almost as if he knew what you were thinking.

To your relief, the subject soon changed from storm chasing, and moved on to lighter things. 

“Hey, rodeo’s on Saturday. We were all thinking of going together. You should totally join us!” Jeslyn suggested, nodding in your direction. 

“Yeah, you should!” Finn agreed.

That piqued your interest. “Sure, I’ll still be in town, so why not?” You hadn’t been to a rodeo in so long. Not since Rhett’s last ride, which had ended in disaster.

Jeslyn grinned over her mug of cider. “Great! We’re gonna have so much fun. We’ll take care of your ticket, so you don’t have to worry about it.” 

You raised a brow in surprise. “Really? You don’t have to do that.”

Everyone protested at once, insisting that they wanted the rodeo ticket to be their treat. You were touched at their generosity, and accepted the offer gratefully. Might as well make the most of your time in Wabang.

Soon, it was time for the group to disperse and head in their own respective ways. Rhett threw some sand over the dying embers, while everyone else folded up their chairs to store back in the barn. As you walked the group back to their cars, Zara turned to you, her face kind.

“I know you’ve got your reasons for choosing not to chase, I want you to know the invitation for you to join us is open, in case you ever change your mind,” she told you. 

You weren’t entirely sure what came over you then. Maybe it was your desire to make a difference. Maybe you were just foolish. But for whatever reason, you were emboldened enough to say, “y’know what? I’ve got a proposition.” You stole a glance at Rhett to make sure he was listening. “I’ll go on a chase with you guys if Rhett agrees to ride at next weekend’s rodeo.”

You knew Rhett. He had a competitive nature. He was going to say yes. Everyone’s eyes landed on him, awaiting his answer.

“Shoo-ee, you gonna accept that challenge, Rhett?” Danny asked with a grin, fully invested.

Beside you, Rhett grimaced. “Ain’t no way they’ll let me in the ring,” he protested.

“Does Beau still oversee the bull riding contestants?” You inquired.

You and Rhett both knew that Beau would agree to letting him ride, because only Beau Wilson was crazy enough to allow such a thing. 

“Yeah,” Rhett answered your question. He was well aware of the direction this was going.

“Then I’ll go talk to him. He’ll get you a spot in the ring. If you can handle it, that is.” You gave him a pointed look. 

“I can handle it, darlin’.” Despite the determination in his tone, the nickname settled over you like a warm embrace. He hadn’t called you that in so long. “So if I do this, you swear you’ll go on a run with us?”

“Pinky swear.” You held your hand out, pinky up.

Rhett eyed your hand for a moment before he linked his pinky finger with yours. “Fine. You got yourself a deal.”

Finn and Danny whooped in excitement, while Zara and Jeslyn looked between you and Rhett, bewildered. “Who would’ve thought you’d be the one to get him back on a bull? We always say he should try riding again, but he always says no,” Zara explained. 

You looked at Rhett, and he ducked his head, hand lifting to scratch the back of his neck. You swore you saw his ears turn red. “Guess he just needed some friendly competition,” you replied.

Not long after, goodbyes were said, and the group parted ways, climbing into their vehicles and driving off, leaving you and Rhett standing there in the driveway. Immediately, you realized that your proposition was a bit preposterous. 

“Oh my god, if you don’t want to ride, you don’t have to. I don’t know why I said that, I just…”

But he waved his hand, shaking his head. “Nah, I’ll do it. It’ll do me some good to get back on a bull. Just like it’ll do you some good to face another twister. Might help us both process some shit,” he reasoned.

You let out a breath. “Maybe so.”

You both turned to walk toward the house, and he asked you a question as you went. “What made you change your mind?”

You paused, glancing down at your feet before you looked at him. “I dunno, all of Zara’s talk about saving lives…it got me thinking. It would be so cool if it could work. Imagine all the people she could save! She’s making a difference, and I want to be a part of that.” And then, “maybe if…if we had something like that six years ago, Perry, Rebecca, and Lydia would still be alive.”

Rhett’s boots crunched against dirt as he absently kicked a few pebbles out of the way. “Don’t go spiralin’ into the ‘what ifs’. Universe saw fit to take ‘em, so it did. No machine could’ve stopped it. Not that kinda twister.”

You studied his expression. “Do you believe in Zara’s project?”

He shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I do, but there ain’t no way it would stop an EF5 tornado. We’d be fucked if it hit us.”

“It’s still worth a try, though, isn’t it? If it works, and if she can get it going on a larger scale…she could save entire towns from being destroyed! Think of the history she’s going to make!”

Rhett’s mouth curled into a slight smile. “There she is.”

“What?”

“My storm chasin’ gal. You’re back.”

You shrugged. “I guess so. But just know this isn’t a permanent thing, ‘kay? I’m only going out there with you guys to see how Zara’s invention works. After that, I’m going back to Silver Springs. To my job, where I don’t have to live off of McDonald’s and Whataburger every day and stay in shitty motels while I wait for a twister to just fall out of the sky.”

He bit back his ever-widening grin, shaking his head. “Sure thing. I’m just glad you decided to face your fear, s’all.”

Facing your fear. That was what this was, wasn’t it? You knew that  if you could do this, it would show you that you were capable of moving past your grief that still felt crippling at times. But you couldn’t help but wonder; when staring into the face of a tornado, would you be able to stand your ground, or would you let your fear send you running like a frightened child?

You would soon find out. But you didn’t realize just how soon. 

-

taglist: tagging those who expressed interest or asked to be tagged (lmk if you wanna be added or removed)

@withahappyrefrain @rhettabbotts @ryebecca @peachystenbrough @attapullman

@sebsxphia @delopsia @damrlova @fragilefearnie @floydsmuse

@fairyheart @hangmanapologist @lovinglyeternal @likearolloftape @bobfloydsbabe

@nobody7102 @mearslot @torturedpoetspsychward @floydsglasses @hearteyesforlewis

@shamelessghostwagonwobbler @cloudofbutterflies92 @keep-on-burnin @ravenmoore14 @queenbbarnes

@phoenixhalliwell @lyn-js @sunsetsimpsblog @ixxvixcviii @shinycupcakebaker

@frequentnosebleeder @atoncments @eolsens @casuallyclassless @desert-fern

@perfectprettypisces @parcetamoldaisy @zirrocom @rhettsgirll @just-in-case-iloveyou

@ada--44 @sydney-malcontent @9ullmans @bradshawsbitch

@callsignmedusa @antiquitea @ohmyeyesmyeyes @spidervman @oddlymighty-witch @dreams-in-anthracis

[enanansbbg]

Anhane’s relationship, and it’s complexity:

this was originally uploaded onto twt, but I wanted to reupload it here because I was very proud of this analysis, so please enjoy and feel free to add anything I may have missed or skipped over!

With that being said, here we go! ٩(๑❛ᴗ❛๑)۶

Let’s start with the basics. The pure power of their aibouness, and its connections to vivid street.

To begin, you must understand what a partner is in VBS terms. In this case, it’s ‘a person who brings out parts of you never knew existed’.

In relations to Anhane, this is based off pure raw emotions. This is shown through An’s abandonment issues and Kohane’s want to make her heart pound.

Kohane wants to recreate that feeling she felt when she first heard An singing inside of An, to ‘make her heart pound’, while An’s abandonment issues cause her to fear Kohane’s rapid growth may lead to Kohane abandoning her.

This also plays into a certain factor about Kohane and the idea of her and angst, I believe.

Many people want Kohane to have some kind of angst event, especially related to her backstory, but that would go against all her motives.

See, Kohane’s pure movies for pursuing music—for working to surpass Rad Weekend all tie back to An. It was hearing An singing at WG that made her heart pound and An asking her to be her singing partner that caused her to even consider music as an option.

From here, their relationship develops into a lot more, and it’s when the idea of partners ‘bringing out an ugly side of you’ comes to play.

You can see even in the maim story An not seeing Kohane as an equal. It only gets called out and resolved in Singing in Sync.

Singing In Sync, ep. 1 and 3

🎧: “In the unlikely event that something does go wrong, I’ll cover for you and get you back on track, okay?”

…

🎧: “I failed as her partner…I couldn’t protect her…

…

🎧: “I mean, she’s my partner…And I wanted to guide her so that she could sing without worrying…”

…

🥞: “You don’t think of Kohane as one of the team.”

An telling Kohane “I’ll protect you if you mess up” subconsciously puts the idea into Kohane’s head “I’m not good enough, so I’ll probably mess up” This is what caused the entire issue in SIS to begin with.

But it’s once An tells her “you can protect me too” that Kohane is able to subconsciously think “I have the power to make her heart pound too”

Singing in Sync, ep. 8

🎧: “If I miss a cue at the next event…”

🎧: “Could you cover for me?”

🐹: “An… Sure, I can do that!”

After this we get Awakening Beat. Kohane is able to come out of her shell and fully adapts the idea “I can make her heart pound too” and has a large boost in confidence because of it. An both brought her confidence down and back up in the spam of one rotation.

Awakening Beat, ep. 8

🎧: (“It’s like she’s not even the Kohane I know. Could this be because she’s completely resolved herself?”

🎧: (“But even with just that, she can really change this much…?��)

However….In the same event, An’s insecurities begin to bloom and in Bout for Beside You, An has to face them for the first time.

Awakening Beat, ep. 8, BFBY, ep. 4

🎧: (“I was just gonna tell her she did amazing… That I never knew she could sing that amazingly, but…”

🎧: (“What’s going on? I just can’t get the words out—”)

…

🎧: “Kohane is…going to leave me behind?”

Here, An realizes her and Kohane ‘perfect’ relationship is more complicated now. While Kohane’s adapted the idea of “I want to make her heart pound”, An opens to idea of “I wont he able to make her heart pound anymore” (they doki doki more than ddlc i swear)

At the end of the event, An ask Kohane the golden question. “If I were to leave somewhere far away, would we still sing together?”

BFBY, ep. 8

🎧: “But what would you do if I said that I’d be going somewhere far far away someday?”

🎧: “And I wanted to reach greater heights just like what Uncle Taiga did exploring the world. If I were to go to someplace even greater and far far away from here—”

Of course, Kohane affirms this. Naturally, Kohane takes a lot of pride in being An’s partner, being the only partner for her. (as said in ORS) She wants to keep singing with An forever.

BFBY, ep. 8

🐹: “Even so, I would want to keep singing with An-chan!”

🐹: “No matter where you go or what you become, I’d still want to be with you!”

🐹: “I want to properly stand beside you and sing with you!”

We’re gonna skip ahead a bit and jump up to KIUAN, where we get our lovely “She looks like Nagi-san” line, the line that killed every Anhane shipper in the tristate area.

But what makes this line so special? Well, for that let’s discuss what made Nagi’s death (and the lie surrounding it) so impactful.

Nagi was someone An looked up to highly. So, when she was suddenly told that Nagi moved, not even saying goodbye, to pursue her music career, it left a mark on An. Added to the fact that Nagi wasn’t returning An’s messages or calls, just completely disappeared.

Now, looking to Bout for Beside you and KIUAN, you can see the importance of these lines. An fears that Kohane will improve so much that she leaves without a word, never talks go her again and just moves on. It’s why she looks so distressed.

VOT ep. 8, BFBY, ep. 8, KIUAN ep. 7

🎧: “…Aww. I wonder what Nagi-san is doing over in America? I wish she’d give us a call at least.”

🎧: “Ah! Maybe I’ll send her a text then! I wonder if she’ll be surprised~?”

…

🎧: “But what would you do if I said that I’d be going somewhere far far away someday?”

…

🎧: “…She looks just like Nagi-san…”

And, it’s why she can’t even believe Kohane when she says just how important An is to her, how much she loves her and wants to sing with her because Nagi said the same thing and now Nagi is gone.

This manages to reach a resolve in WTWG, where An ‘fights’ Kohane, takes all those raw emotions out in a healthy way, through her song.

An’s card in WTWG is more than just ‘An takes her anger out on Kohane’, because in truth that’s not entirely what she’s doing. Instead, it’s An’s raw emotions taking form.

An wants Kohane to grow, she wants Kohane to thrive fully, but that fear of abandonment—Fear that Kohane will leave and never speak to her again makes her want to hold her close and never let her go anywhere.

So what about Kohane?

Well, starting with thr WTWG card/story, Kohane wants to be An’s best partner. As she states, ‘to make An’s heart pound’.

So, to be vulnerable here is to accept all of An’s raw emotions. Let her lean on her and feel everything because to Kohane, that makes her a worthy partner.

She says over and over throughout the fight that An is amazing, that she wants to be like her, how much it makes her heart pound. Really, it reminds me of Kohane’s colorfes story.

WTWG, ep. 7

🐹: (“An-chan…really is amazing.”)

🐹: (“…Whenever I hear An-chan sing, it really makes my heart pound like nothing else. It makes me wish I could sing like her.”)

In it, Kohane goes to Vivid Street, but everyone thinks she’s An. This happens after she thinks about what it would be like to be An, but only going through this dream does she realize that she doesn’t want to be An, she wants to be her. She wants to be An’s partner.

Colorfes Kohane ep. 1 and 2

Record Store Onee-san: “You caught me off guard, using polite like that, An-chan!”

🐹: (“Did she just say An-chan…?”)

…

🐹: (“—An-chan’s so cool and strong…and there’s times I wish I could be like her…”)

🐹: (“I have to be me! Because—”)

🎧: “—Y’know, I was thinking, your singing is always so amazing, Kohane.”

🎧: “Whenever I hear your singing, it makes my heart race. The tension rises, and it makes me feel like I have to start singing right now!”

🐹: (“Because I’m An-chan’s partner—!”)

And to be An’s partner, is to drag all those raw, vertical emotions out of An, just like she does in WTWG.

In conclusion, Anhane explosion their relationship is so complex and strong and I love it

[hanahaki-disease]

Beyond the Farthest Reaches

Hell or High Water - Percy Jackson/DC crossover

“The Line that Separates Us”

Summary:

Even gods are bound by law.

Set After “Driven by a Holy Force” (a future upload that can be enjoyed without spoilers)

*******************************

“Hello Bruce,” Diana smiled and gave him a hug upon their greeting. He wasn’t much of a tactile person, reserving his physical affection for his children or his lovers, but Diana was a warrior goddess and Bruce was a mortal. He simply let her do as she pleases. “It has been a while since I’ve visited the children, how are they?”

“They are well,” He led her through the manor to one of the many sitting rooms, this one was tucked away in one of the far corners of the manor. Some of the furniture still has dust covers over them and the air in the room was stale from no circulation. And he would chose a more used place to converse, those were more susceptible to listening ears.

“Hopefully I will able to see them after our conversation,” Diana sunk into one of the old couches. “I can tell that this isn’t just a social conversation, is it?” He shook his head. “I thought so, go ahead, speak.”

Bruce paused for a moment, shuffling through the questions in his head to determine which one should be first. “Did you know my sons were demigods?”

She nodded and took a sip of tea. “I knew your sons were children of the gods the moment I met them, I could feel their power challenging mine in a way I had not felt since I lived on Themyscira. Who their parents were, I do not know, but regardless,—” she set her cup down. “Had I told you who there were all those years ago, they would have been in danger that could have been easily avoided.”

“Explain.”

“Demigods live normal mortal lives until the age of twelve or thirteen, that’s when the powers their godly parent passed on to them begins to develop more rapidly causing a shift in their scent. It varies on the god mostly, but the stronger the god, the stronger the scent, even before the reach that age.” She said. “Once a demigod realizes their heritage, their scent grown stronger. It attracts monsters, and without the proper training, they could be killed.” Bruce opened his mouth. “And before you ask: no, mortal weapons cannot harm or kill the monsters. They are deemed unworthy and lesser than them, only celestial bronze can hurt them.”

Bruce absorbed the information for a second. Percy had told him this the other night, though not as detailed as he would have liked. He had sat them all down and told him what had been happening to him the past three four years and what was going to happen next summer.

“If you were aware of his status as a demigod, why could you not have helped him on his ‘quests?’ Couldn’t you have gone with him to ensure his safety?” Bruce questioned.

“If I was allowed to help him, Bruce, do you think he would have that many scars on him? If I was allowed, do you think he would have lost his brother? His friends? Do you think I would have let him or his friend hold the weight of the sky as they fought a titan?” Diana snapped at him.

“By the gods, I wish I could aid him, wish I could enter the camp they stay at to help them train for the fight against Kronos, but I cannot!” Tears began to well up in her eyes and Bruce dropped his head in his hand. She was just as helpless as he was, wanting to go and protect them all, protect Percy, but they couldn’t. He was in a world they just could not enter. “And I love them Bruce, they are more than simple nephews to me, and it pains me as much as it does you that I am useless in helping Perseus, in helping Jason.”

“But I don’t understand why you could not tell me who they were. I’m their father, my job is to protect them!”

“You cannot protect them Bruce! This life, the life of gods and monsters and all the things I face, what Perseus faces, you cannot help.” Diana moved to sit beside him. “I know they are your children. I know you will stop at nothing to keep them as safe as they can be, but Apollo strike me should I lie when I say that you and I simply cannot aid him in the way we want.

“The life of a demigod is difficult, it is dangerous, and most often they die far too soon.” Diana cried. “We can help as much as we can when he returns from his quests, train him as best as we can, teach him as much as we can, but in the end we are meant to stand behind him as he rises to his glory.”

“What about Jason? He’s a demigod too, isn’t he? Why hasn’t he been attacked by monsters or sent to that camp Percy goes to?” Bruce stands form his seat, pacing in the light of the window. “What makes one child different than the other?”

“The difference is the prophecy and who the fates deemed worthy to take on that burden.” She answered. “It is also because of the oath the sons of Kronos had taken.”

“Percy told me about that before, but I don’t understand it. It is just a simple oath.”

She shook her head. “To swear on the Styx is to swear on your very existence, and to break that oath, the consequences are dire and extreme.”

Bruce stopped his pacing. “If Jason is believed to be a son of Poseidon as well, then his death is most likely influenced by the Styx. The same of Perseus becoming the prophecy child and the death of their mother.”

“A god cannot be punished so it falls onto the others.” Diana wiped her tears on one of the napkins. “It falls on the mother for temping the god twice. Punishes the sons for the sins of the father.”

“So the death of my son and the sanity of the other are sacrificed because the god that fathered them cannot be punished?” she nodded and Bruce felt like punching the wall.

He could feel his anger rising within him. A fire that burned in the pit of his stomach and channeled through his veins till in reached his hands. He knows his anger isn’t with Diana for she was held back like him, helpless against the cosmic forces that kept Percy and Jason an arm’s length away. His anger, his rage, the wrath he hasn’t felt since the death of his parents, was all for the sea god who forced his sons to live a life of pain and anguish.

Bruce has fought gods. Bruce has battled against beings as old as time and stronger than any earthly deity. He wonders if Diana could arrange a meeting between him and their father.

“So what can I do? How can I help Percy with all of this?” Bruce asked.

“You provide him with a home, remind him of his humanity,” Diana answered and gathered her things, making her way to the door. “You show him he is loved.”

*******************************

TLDR; Diana, as a minor maiden goddess of war, cannot interfere with quests/prophecies since it’s against divine law. The olympians were being very generous by letting her interact with Percy becuase a) if you hurt Percy, you anger Poseidon, and no one wants that, and b) she’s Zeus’s kid. Special privileges and all that.

So yeah…basically

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

[florwal]

do you have a date for portsim 1.2? also love love love your work

thank u! to be real with u idk 😩 i’m trying to set everything up to get a new lp going on my channel rn so i’ve been taking a save file break

this is literally SO dramatic don’t get me wrong i love building and working on my save files and i’m the one choosing to do it but ever since i started sharing my sims things publicly i never let myself chill and just… play the game cuz i always feel like i have to constantly create things for OTHER people to enjoy then i end up stressing myself out when i feel like i’m not doing it fast enough so i’m trying to stop myself from being like that cuz it hurts my brain and it’s not that serious cuz nobody is putting pressure on me and y’all are all super cool and sweet

[dovesick]

red eyed reindeer

[lemonthepotato]

>finding out Gawr Gura was Senzawa

>oh okay. that’s kinda cool I guess.

>finding out Senzawa was BrownBeeTV, a channel I watched when I was young.

>real shit.

Y’all don’t get it. LPStube was what I grew up on and Senzawa shitposts were my teen years. Not really an active Gawr Gura viewer, guess that kinda breaks the theme I was building, but you get the point.

[diegeses]

5/30: un-languishing @ spot dessert bar in flushing, ny

[saduko]

HARD TO MISS

Lando Norris x Driver!Reader 7.9K words

Summary: You had driven sick many times before, but never sick enough to retire from a race. Now Lando was worried about you and how the media was going to react. But maybe this was just about the best thing that could of happened to him. Or in which, reader gets sick during the Spanish GP race and has to face the looming media presence after retiring early with a newfound anger she's never experienced. She was a mess of emotions, acting so different, or maybe it wasn't just her being strange.

Teammates, established relationship, an unexpected surprise?? Note: this unfortunately is a re-upload because my dumbass literally deleted the post the first time I posted it despite it being up for days. Yes I'm mad, and no this isn't edited because of it.

The heat of the Spanish sun beat down on the track, the asphalt shimmering with a relentless intensity that seemed to seep through the cockpit. You gripped the steering wheel tighter, your knuckles whitening as you fought to keep your focus on the race ahead, hot, fast breaths heaving through your helmet like a symphony. The familiar roar of the engine, usually a comforting sound, felt more like a distant hum as yet another wave of nausea rolled through you.

This wasn’t the first time you’d raced under less-than-ideal conditions, but today felt different. The adrenaline that usually sharpened your senses now seemed to amplify the queasiness in your stomach, every bump and turn on the track making it harder to push the discomfort aside. You swallowed hard, trying to suppress the rising bile as you powered through another corner, the car responding to your every command despite the growing turmoil within.

The twisting and turning of the track seemed endless, each lap blurring into the next as your vision narrowed, tunnel-like, around the path ahead. You knew you needed to speak up, to let your team know something was wrong, but the words felt heavy on your tongue, weighted down by the fear of admitting weakness. Finally, you couldn’t hold it in any longer.

"I'm not feeling very well."

The twisting and turning of the track was making it hard for you to settle your stomach enough to find your voice, but when you had, there was a long silence on the other end. Ears alert with anticipation as nothing came through, before the thick accent of your engineer, Marlow finally sounded in with a panicked voice, "Are you feeling faint?"

"Not really.” You huffed. “I feel quite nauseous though. My stomach is not cooperating."

There was a short silence through your head piece before a shuffle was heard on the other side, followed by a concerned, "Should we retire the car?"

The suggestion shakes you and a quick puff of air leaves your mouth in order to hopefully settle the turning in your stomach, though you think it might have translated more as annoyance to your team despite the intention. You couldn't help but hope it hadn't come off too harshly, however the forceful tone of your next words certainly didn’t do much to calm the idea. "No! I'm not retiring the car... No, I'm okay."

"Please love, If you can't finish there's no shame in retiring. You're not letting anyone down, we understand-!" He knew how stubborn you were and he really didn't want the question to feel like the hit to the ego he knew you would take it as, but it was hard when everyone knew this race was what was separating you from top 3 and the rest in the championship. They knew it wouldn't be that easy, quickly corroborated by the frustrated grunt you let sound through the line.

Your foot braces against the accelerator, bearing down full force as you take the straight right after corner 4 at full speed, you weren't retiring. Subjective to your own harsh perception of yourself, retiring - no matter the circumstance - was one of the most culpable failures you could commit. It was never a rewarding feeling, and whether or not to retire from a race like this was an indisputable no. Six years into the sport and you had never retired from a race on your own accord. Today would not be the first.

"I'm okay for now."

There was no arguing with a driver going over 300 kilometers an hour, and so the team let your decision chart as they sat back and kept on with their roles, no different than before. Except for one thing, noting the conversation, they all made undisclosed motions to keep an extra close eye on the driver cam.

And so the race continued as 10 laps went by, 10 very shaky laps with countless immoderate wobbles, a few oversteers around a couple corners and a very close call with Carlos who made quick work of letting the communal radio know how exactly he felt about that, words that were quickly relayed to you. Though his accent was warm, his words were anything but kind and usually you would have taken it on the chin, laughed at his profanities and apologized with a quick witty comment to follow, but your team watched as you only let out a harrowing breath and shook your head. You obviously were not on your A-game and your entire team could see that.

So with all this, it came as no surprise when the silence in their headphones was abruptly interrupted with the blaring sound of your wheels against the track, followed by your voice, quick yet strained, echoing through the radio.

"I think I'm gonna be sick, guys."

With not a moment to spare, Marlows eyebrows furrowed down at your words, worry clear in his voice as he pressed down on the radio button. And though his words were mostly phrased as a question emphasizing the choice as your own, it was still hard to miss the pleading tone in his voice as he spoke loudly into the headpiece, "Are we retiring? It’s your call, love."

Your end of the radio was silent as the words rang through your headset, though not for lack of connection as the sound of your wheels barrelling against the tar never ceased. They knew you were still there, just not vocalizing your thoughts. They had no doubt this was a tough decision. A huge part of this sport was pride; pride in your team, pride in your car, pride in your abilities. And being the only woman on the grid meant your pride was strong and the backlash was inevitably more harsh when things went wrong. 

It was already hard enough for a driver to admit they needed to back out of a race, let alone for a driver who had something to prove and everything to lose. It was a decision they knew you were avoiding complying with. You had been complaining about feeling ill for days leading up to the race and yet insisted on racing regardless. They knew this was important to you, and to back out now, after making it so far already? Your heart was strong, and your head stronger. But for this one time, it seems your stomach was the strongest, and your nausea was taking the reins of this particular race. And so you bit your lip, hoping to keep the bile from rising for just a little while longer. “I need to stop. I’m retiring the car. I can't help it.”

As disappointing as ending a race early was, your team couldn’t deny the shred of relief that washed over them as you, for once, chose your health first. As fun as racing was, and as rewarding as a race in points felt, none of it was ever worth the increased risk to your safety. They would much rather you all woozy up in the medic bay with a DNF, than halfway to unconsciousness with a p8 finish. This certainly wasn’t your best race anyways, probably one the lowest you’d been in points this season. 

As you began your way around your last lap towards the pit lane, your mind raced with all the dreadful thoughts a DNF brought, the pit in your stomach rearing into a sizeable hole which would of left you feeling melancholy if the twisting and turning hadn’t trumped the discontent. 

As each second passed, you could feel whatever it was you had eaten for lunch earlier with Lando rising higher and higher. High enough in fact, that you found it necessary to press the radio button once more with a request. “Have a bag ready for me when I pull up, please.”

To which a compliant, “Copy.” sounded suit.

It wasn’t too much longer until your orange car could be seen sweeping down the pit lane, no hesitation in your steering as you made a harsh turn into your spot by the garage door. The pit team were prepared to make haste in their actions, ready to prop your car onto the jack in order to wheel it into the garage only to be stopped when two quick hands extended up as you braced yourself up against the halo and pulled yourself out of the seat.

At this point, you were hyper aware of the all the people surrounding you, as well as the multitude of cameras pointing directly at you, recording your every move for all the judgeful eyes to see, and yet you found not a single cell in yourself which cared as you leaned over the car and called out for your assistant, who quickly met you with a large black bin in tow. 

You quickly grabbed for it, pulling your front over the side of the car as far as you could in order to hide yourself from the view of the cameras. And out it came, a slurry of lunch which you had been so looking forward to at the time, and quickly regretting now as it all escaped your stomach.

What in the world had you feeling so ill in the first place? It felt like it had been lightyears since you had felt sick enough to actually puke, and god did you not miss this feeling. Had you eaten something bad earlier in the day? Maybe. But everything you ate Lando had eaten too, so wouldn’t he be sick as well? Well, it’s not really like you could ask him, you thought as you looked up just in time to see him overtake George on the big screen. He looks a little busy. And you should be busy too.

The thought seared through your mind as you spat into the bin, you should be racing too, but at least you feel a little better now that it’s come out; though not completely. Your stomach still churned a little and now your throat burned but you guessed it was better than crashing. You had already nearly done that just by being on the track a little too long and now you were definitely going to receive an earful from Sainz when he finally crossed the checkered flag and found you inevitably moping. 

However, you quickly realized that Carlos was actually the least of your worries and the only person you really had to fear was Lando, for when he heard about the outcome of your race, you were sure to face the lecture of your life. He had been warning you for days leading up to it not to participate. You were obviously unwell and he was aware of the dangers an unwell driver faced under the taxing conditions of a race but you were stubborn, insisting you would be fine. Look at you now. Head in a bin with cameras all around and a bruised ego. 

There was only a little time now until the race ended to recover before everyone came pummeling at you with questions. 

The wheel was starting to feel heavy in his hands and the rubbing of the HANS device against his neck was really starting to hurt. They were approaching the end stretch of the race and as the last 15 laps commenced, Lando couldn’t help but feel a little relieved knowing this would be over soon. This was undoubtedly a tough race. 

From lights out till now, he’d managed to pull from P5 to P4 and had every intention of passing Lewis for a podium position, soon enough he’d be in DRS range but for the time being, he was focused on catching up. The world around him had become mute, he hadn’t even looked up at the grand screen once, all he knew was the car.

So he had almost jumped in his seat when the chime sounded. Just as he began slowing around the final corner leading up to the line for his next lap, the sound of an incoming radio signal had his ears perking in anticipation. Were they planning on pitting him again? Sure he was definitely pushing a little too hard against his tires- not really doing his best at conserving them but he was so close to a podium position and he just needed a little bit more force-

“Lando mate,” Will’s voice sounded through his ears, his tone a little hesitant which left Lando biting his lip with anticipation. Please don't box. “I’ve just been informed by Marlow that y/n has retired.”

Lando's heart nearly fell into his stomach as the words registered in his brain. You retired?! Now thinking about it, you did start only a single position behind him and he hadn’t really seen all that much of you during the race. What happened? “Did she crash?!”

“No Lando, she's okay, it was voluntary. She wasn’t feeling well, I don’t think.” 

“You don’t think?”

“She’s okay Lando, just under the weather.”

Not feeling well? Under the weather? You’d raced a multitude of times before whilst under the weather. Each time he’d advise you not to race, and each time you’d ignore him, swearing up and down you’d be fine- and to Lando’s consolation each time you were fine. You’d come out the other side with a smile, no qualms or grievances and you would save your complaints for him afterwards, when no one else was around to judge. As you had done before, he expected the same this time. You’d never let a little ailment set you back, especially not let it affect you enough to retire. Not unless it really was bad.

Lando’s thoughts were soon interrupted by Will’s voice once more, his tone dismissive, implying the conversation had reached its end and no more discussion would be had about it. “We will contact you again if anything happens.”

And despite Lando’s dismay, he complies. There were still a good 15 laps left of the race ahead and he had a lot of catching up to do, a lot of competitive driving to be had. His focus couldn’t be elsewhere, but what was he supposed to do knowing his sick fiancé has just pulled herself out of a race? What was he supposed to do when he knew you well enough to understand how prideful you could be, and how poor you had to feel to choose to retire?  

He really tries to not let it bother him. During the next lap, he tries to not let it bother him as he forces himself to look anywhere else but the jumbo screen in hopes of a possible update on your condition. He tries to not let it bother him in the lap after that as the team radios in to discuss possible strategies regarding the oncoming overtake he will perform, and he tries to not let it bother him during the lap after that one when he finally passes Lewis. Now 3 laps have passed but he just can't get the questions about you off his mind. It is bothering him. He shouldn’t be distracted, especially while he’s in a podium position but he can’t help it. 

So as he crosses onto the next straight, he finds himself radioing in with the question that had been eating away at him since the news broke. “Uh.. Any updates on y/n? Is she alright?”

There's a considerable moment of silence on Mclaren’s end of the line, the team were honestly tied on what to tell the man and what not to. You weren’t exactly in optimal condition, and word around was slightly worrisome regarding your state. You were okay, but definitely not well, they knew because they had caught the treacherous sounds of your gags a few more times since the first echoing through the mclaren garage. 

As your fiance, he deserved to know these details, but as a driver, they knew it wasn’t smart to worry him. What were they to say as to not stress him out in an already extremely stressful situation? They could tell him a few of your team members were discussing taking you to the hospital. Or they could keep him from driving the car through the wall in order to meet you there. The decision was clear, they needed him to focus on driving. “She’s okay, she's currently being looked at by the medical team.”

“She has the medical team on her?!” Will’s eyes shut hard as Lando’s reply came through. Definitely not the right choice of words.

“Just a precaution Lando, she isn’t well at the moment.”

Lando’s bottom lip catches between his teeth as he ponders his engineer's words. He finds himself over analyzing every syllable, every infliction with intentions of unpacking whatever truth was seeping between the lines, and he notices that he’s biting his cheek as he rounds the 8th corner with a little less precision than usual. “Is she bad?”

Landos team take quick note of this change in pace, latching onto the clear oversteer he performs around the corner. They quickly find themselves trying to pull away from the topic in order to keep him both figuratively and literally on track and so Will concludes the conversation with a stern tone. “Please Lando, you can see her when you're done racing. We need you to focus on the race.”

He almost wanted to curse the man out purely due to frustration despite knowing deep down that he was right. But what else was he supposed to do when he knows his fiancé is sitting in the medic bay and all he can do to support her is… well, nothing. He just has to finish this race.

Despite your protests, your team was adamant on a visit to the med bay in order to possibly come up with a reason for your sudden onset of race ending symptoms, and after a quick trip down the hall that took a little longer than usual due to your need to stop once more, you were simply told there wasn’t much they could do long term to crack the bilous case. Shocker. They did however hand you something to ease the nausea which you were beyond thankful for.

You had spent so long counting down the seconds until the anti-nausea medication kicked in that you hadn't even noticed that the race had ended, nor did you notice the approaching sound of hasteful footsteps until the door to your driver's room came barrelling open with a thud.

“I told you not to race.” Lando’s voice was so stern it had you stiff. There was a slight indication of anger lingering behind his words but ultimately his face was a dead giveaway to the worried intention etched behind his tone. 

“I thought I’d be okay.”

“You threw up?” His eyebrows came down as he said it, and you noticed it was less of a question and more as if he was trying to confirm a suspicion. Someone from your team must have snitched on you already. No damn loyalties.

“Only a little.” Your words were sheepish.

“You stink.” He deadpanned and you found yourself scoffing, slightly exasperated at the bluntness of his words. The statement had you petty with offense. 

“You don’t smell very good either-”

“-I don’t smell like vomit.”

Finally you let out a sigh, already tired of the back and forth over something so menial, and unworthy of an argument. You were sick. Shit happens. “Lando, I wasn’t feeling well and I’d been feeling it all week with no real problem so I didn’t think there would be a reason to sit this race out. I didn’t think I would actually need to pull over. It’s done now.”

There was a loud silence between the two of you as he onced over your body with intentful eyes. You seemed okay enough and he guessed this really wasn’t the time or place to start an argument, especially over something as stupid as him being worried about you, you were on the same damn side. So instead he just sighed, bit his lip and nodded at you. “Alright.”

“Guys.” Charlotte suddenly peaked her head through the cracked door to glance at you both. “Come on, we need you at Media now.”

This wasn’t going to be easy, that you knew. The media had given you a hard time for things way less than this so you could only imagine what they had in store for you after throwing up on live TV for half the world to see moments after a voluntary DNF. It just about felt like you were being led to your execution with the way you knew they were about to tear into you. But there was no avoiding this, and the grimaced look etched into your features left Lando very aware of this fact.

“I know you don’t wanna do this but you have to go out there, you’ve got no choice. Not unless you’re willing to cop a fat fine.”

You stuck an eyebrow up at Landos voice, the sides of your lips extending out as you conceptualized his words but your expression quickly had him shaking his head alongside a hearty laugh. “No, no. Don’t even look like you’re considering it.”

Your laugh to match his own soon sounded throughout the room, and his hand swiftly found its place at the nape of your neck, to which he gave a quick squeeze and began leading you out the door into the McLaren garage hallway. “We have a wedding to plan and that means a lot of money to spend. You will not be wasting money trying to get out of media duties.” You couldn’t help but chuckle at how exasperated and sarcastic he sounded.

You both found yourselves trailing along Charlotte's path until the hallway quickly opened up into a large room where a few other drivers had already begun their own separate interviews towards the camera crews which littered every corner. The media pen; may as well be your death site.

Whilst waiting for the race to end; and for the nausea to subside, Charlotte had given you a rundown - more like a lecture; regarding what to expect and how to approach the inevitably condescending questions that would soon be thrown your way. 

This was going to be brutal, you knew that. You had finally made a mistake that the male media could exploit to reinforce their stereotypes about damned women in motorsports. Just another day facing the misogyny of the position, except this time, it was your own carelessness that put you in this position. The only damned thing you’d be was a damned liar if you said the upcoming articles tearing into you weren’t already gnawing at your mind. You could just picture it;

‘’Mclaren Princess’ Just Might Throw Her Way Up and Out of Competitive Driving,’

‘Speed Queen’s Weak Stomach Shows Why She’s Better Suited for Other Races,’

‘Too Glamorous For The F1 Track? or Maybe Not Glamorous Enough; - maybe we should leave the fast cars to the men that made them.’ 

This might just be worse than the ‘Revving Engines, not Emotions,’ article from last year when you teared up in Australia after what was the most frustrating race of your career. This was going to be horrible. 

Your actions were always hyper-criticized, but maybe just once you were being too imaginative for your own good. You needed to calm down because words tended to stick with you. A fact that Charlotte knew all too well, because she was sure to speak words she knew would ring through your ears during those interviews; Take it on the chin, stay composed and certainly don't be snappy. One of those was doable.

The moment you passed the threshold beyond the doorway, officially crossing into the media pen, it's as if every set of eyes and every lens of a camera had turned to watch you move. The room hadn’t by any means gone quiet, but there was definitely a shift in volume as the noise settled from a near unbearable buzz to a tolerable chatter, just enough to notice the change. The influx of attention almost had you doubling over once again, especially when you felt the nausea begin to slowly creep up for the second time that day. But you made notable efforts to keep your head high, hoping that a strong demeanor would at least soften the blow which would soon be dealt.

Lando’s arm had split from your neck not long after entering the room. You guys were always light on your PDA, trying to keep as much of your personal relationship as private as possible; as private as an already public relationship could possibly be. But he still managed to give you a small, reassuring squeeze on the hip before you both set off, being led in opposite directions.

A flurry of reporter eyes seemed to trail your path as your personal PR manager led you to a spot right in between Carlos and Charles, and as you started setting yourself up, you unavoidably overheard their journalists trying to wrap up their interviews, which you could only imagine would be to get a shot at you faster. 

However unluckily for those journalists, it seems your first adversary had already taken the stand just directly across from you with a large, heavy mic and aged, gleaming eyes; eyes that had your own widening in alarm. You were quite familiar with this journalist, very familiar with him actually as he had always been quick to criticize you and your skills on many occasions in the past. He was quite ill-mannered towards you, definitely holding a target out with a gun aimed directly for your career, making it clear he was disapproving of your presence as a woman on this grid. You just knew he had been waiting for you. This was going to be hell.

The journalist quickly began setting himself up, the cameraman behind him pointing the lens directly at your sour face, which you admittedly were not doing a great job at masking. Though, if your interviewer had noticed, he thankfully hadn’t commented on it. However that didn’t stop him from wasting any time beginning to comment on the other mistakes you had made today.

“Always a pleasure to speak with you, Speed Queen.” His gravelly voice spat. “Though I think ‘Pit Princess’ may be a little more fitting after today's race.” A sly smirk quickly spread across his mouth, an act that had your hands bracing against the railing separating the two of you from one another. Charles had quickly taken notice of this from his position just beside you. He admittedly felt he was doing quite well at remaining professional and ignoring the exchange between you and the infamous journalist, but now he was on high alert, ears perked in your direction with the intention of intervening at any given moment.

Despite your peeved sentiment, you did well at keeping your face straight and head high at the insult, feeling it necessary to not crack in front of the person trying to get a reaction out of you. Don’t prove his point. 

“I appreciate the creativity, but I think I would prefer to focus on the race itself rather than nicknames. I’m quite happy with the one I have.” There was a moment in which he tried to intervene, however you were determined to move past the subject. “-And, you know, today’s challenges were significant, but that’s a part of the sport, I guess.” Despite the lingering nausea, you still managed to force a professional smile.

“Is it?” He curled an eyebrow condescendingly, a look which nearly had a scowl slipping past your placid facade. But instead you held strong, that sickeningly sweet smile dripping like honey with disdain. “Part of the sport is the unpredictability of it. So I’d say so.”

The man's eyes gleamed on, a small hum escaping his lips as he nodded absently. “It’s just that no other driver seems to have this issue. Do you think maybe your choice to retire has to do with particular limitations a female might have that the men in this sport don’t?”

And as expected, the indirectness wasn’t so indirect anymore, the true misogynistic intentions of his words slowly crept out with ferocity. 

“No.” Your tone was final, like it hadn’t ever crossed your mind, because it really hadn’t. “No I really don’t. Many men before me have gotten sick during races, I guess I just preferred to voluntarily take myself out of the race than spend the rest of it wiping pesto off my visor.” You snarled. 

A small tap against your arm quickly alerted you to the contention of your PR manager, a disapproving gesture silently advising you to reel it in. But god was it hard when his face was so smug. She should understand that being passive aggressive was much more admissible than being violent, so she may as well let you get your anger out in the socially acceptable way, though you admit it was strange of you to feel so angry. You were usually better at keeping your emotions in check. Hm. But alas, you complied, correcting your face and letting him speak; even if you wanted so badly to interrupt him with your thoughts of how horrible a journalist he was. 

“Well, I think a lot of people agree when I say that this sport tends to reward determination and resilience, not quitting.”

Were you hearing this correctly? Was he really implying that you should have thrown up right into your helmet and just continued through the race like nothing? It was getting really hard to remain socially acceptable. What was this new found anger? “Racing may sometimes reward resilience, however, being sharp minded is more important sometimes. I noticed I was unwell enough for it to affect my performance, so I decided it was smarter to take myself out of the race. Especially after nearly taking Carlos out of the race too.” 

Just as you finished answering the (absurd) question, a suave laugh sounded to your left as Carlos suddenly stepped up beside you, sliding his arm across your shoulder. “I did have some choice words prepared for you earlier Mija, but then I learnt what happened and now I forgive you.” His eyes suddenly turned to the journalist, a glint of exaggerated pity in relation to the topic seeping into his expression, almost as if he was speaking with experience to someone who wouldn’t understand; because he was. “Driving whilst sick is not for the weak.”

The journalist's cold eyes squinted slightly as Carlos’ condescending tone registered in his head, yet he kept his expression neutral and mic high as he nodded. “I’m sure it isn’t.” And nothing was said after that. No rebuttal, no argumentative comment, just a plea of agreement. God, how you wished interviews were that easy for you.

A few voices echoing out from somewhere behind had caught the attention of the trio, and it didn’t take long for you to realize it was Carlos’ team instructing him to move onwards to his next position. So with a reassuring smile towards you and a quick quirk of a brow towards the reporter, he was off to his next interview without another word, taking your fleeting moment of security along with him as he left.

Now it was just you and the reporter once more, and you could tell he wasn’t feeling as cordial with you as he was with Carlos, evident by the slight snarl that had crept onto his face by the interruption in your defense. “Friendly words from Sainz there, as always.” he began, his tone dripping with insincerity, “Do you find it degrading that other drivers always have to come to your defense in order to keep your positive reputation, because there are a lot of people that believe you perhaps, ride off the success of others.” 

Your stomach twisted, and if it was from the nausea growing once again or from the sheer audacity of his words, you couldn’t tell. He was essentially implying that the only reason people liked you was because other likable people vouched for you, and not because of your own hard work and valiant achievements. It seems he wanted defense, you were about to show him just how defensive you could be. 

“With all due respect,” you began, voice calm but carrying an unmistakable edge, “I don’t defend myself because I don’t have to, because the genuinity of my character extends far past my words.” you paused, thinking about your next words carefully. “My peers defend me because I’ve proven my capabilities time and time again, and they know that one incident doesn’t define my career. However, I don’t think you share the same sentiment, hm?” 

The taunting in your voice was quickly caught on by your PR manager who swiftly grabbed your arm in yet another warning, except this time you couldn’t find it in yourself to care as much. The journalist's eyes narrowed at your words, clearly not expecting such a discourteous response and the tugging of your PR manager's grip against your arm was an obvious nonverbal message to wrap it up but you weren't finished, oh no. That new found anger that had been gnawing at you all race was just beginning to trickle out.

“‘Riding off the success of others.’” Your quoted, voice riddled with humor, “And yet you somehow manage to find me every post race interview. Do you write these question’s down in your little notebook while you watch my multi-race winning car fly past you? Or do you wipe the dust from the camera lens instead?”

He quickly opened his mouth to retort, but before he could, your PR manager intervened, her grip on your arm tightening slightly as she stepped forward. “This interview is over,” she announced firmly, her voice leaving no room for argument. “McLaren will be utalizing the next few days to help Y/n recover for next week's race. If you have any further questions, you can direct them to our media office.”

Your eyes widened in shock at the intervention. You had overstepped your media training a few times before and yet none had ever led to the end of the interview. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little surprised at your PR manager's swift movements as she tugged you back and away from the journalist. “Let’s move on.” Her voice was disapproving but she was obviously trying to remain calm and professional, understanding there was a job to be done. But your anger wasn’t discriminatory, everyone was a potential outlet, and you weren’t having this. “No, I’m finished.” You didn’t even want to participate in media in the first place, this was obligatory. You had done your part and now you were taking charge of the rest of your night. And so you pulled your arm back and made quick haste towards the exit, leading back to your driver room. 

You were only a few meters from the door now, acutely aware of all the eyes watching you retire early from yet another obligation today, when a hand grazing the small of your back pulled you away from the tormenting feeling of the bile rising once again. This time, it was Charles, his sweet face beaming a reassuring smile at you as he began walking in stride towards the exit alongside you. “Mon cheri, that was something else.” 

You couldn’t help but scoff at his words, nausea bubbling once again, expecting yet another lecture from someone else. “If by ‘something else’ you mean a complete disaster, then yeah, I guess.”

Charles kept his tone steady, a touch of amusement in his voice as you both walked in stride. “No, I mean you handled it with a lot of, uhh.. What is the English? Poise.” 

You gave him a skeptical look. “Thanks, but it didn’t feel like handling things with poise, It felt like I was about to lose it.” 

His smile slipped into a small laugh before it fell,  and his bright eyes quickly turned into one’s of worry as he began a once over of your body. “Are you feeling okay?” he began the inevitable conversation. “I’m okay, it’ll pass I'm sure.”

Charles’ brows furrowed down, thick accent sounding with worry as he spoke. “You shouldn’t count on it passing, you should take care of yourself. You’re only gonna have more shit thrown at you if you don’t-”

As sweet as his concern was, you were tired of this conversation today, it was becoming tedious to hear and you really just needed to lie down or something. “-Charles, I really appreciate it and I'll be sure to visit the doctor tomorrow, but I think I’m gonna be sick again, so how about you cover me up to the hallway before I end up in another fight with a reporter, or my head in another bin on TV.”

Your words had Charles’s eyes widening, quickly glancing around from side to side in search of his target who was finishing up from an interview of his own, when your hand came up to press against your mouth, skin turning a tinge green. “Lando!”

The video shook a little as the person on the other end fidgeted with the camera, a slight blur shifting the image and the audio cracking with the movement before the frame finally straightened up. The person took a step back. It was you, which wasn’t all that surprising considering the video had been uploaded onto your own instagram, but it was the first anyone had really heard of you in weeks. 

Ever since your race ending ailment back in Spain, you had essentially gone radio silent. Not posting, not participating in interviews; you had missed 2 more races since then. It was worrisome, especially considering you had assured everyone the day after Spain that you were working on getting better for next week's race, which you never showed up to. 

The races went on and the fans asked about you, the interviewers asked about you too, but it seemed everyone involved in the FIA had no comment on your whereabouts nor your condition. The drivers dodged post interview questions, excelling on to new subjects and only had quick fleeting comments in response to concerned fans around the paddock who were only trying to make sense of it all.

Lando copped the brunt end of it though, scoring a P2 podium in Canada that everyone could more obviously care less about in his post-race interviews. The only topic mentioned was you, your absence from the race and why everyone was so hush-hush about it in the first place. The interviews were so off topic that this time it was Lando who had to leave the media pen early to avoid the questions, though opposingly, McLaren had been the ones to encourage his swift exit.

It was starting to become an issue. People were fretful. Were you still sick? Was it something more serious than you had anticipated and now you couldn’t race anymore?

The view they were looking at suggested that perhaps they were about to find out. 

You retreated away from the camera propped up against what people could only speculate had to be your dressing table, as you found your spot upon the large, luxurious bed the camera was pointing towards. Now cross legged upon it, your body clad in a 2 piece short silky pajama set, finally you began to speak. 

“Hello everyone.” You didn’t sound unwell, not stressed or upset. In fact, there was an edge to your voice that almost seemed cheerful; excited. And yet for now you remained composed, nothing but a small, media trained smile dawning your otherwise expressionless face.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” The sentence was humorous, calling attention to the silence you had afflicted, and the lack of news upon your whereabouts. “Lando and I are finally home in Monaco for summer break, though I have to admit that I’ve actually been in Monaco for a few weeks now. I think some of you might feel that was a bit obvious given my absence.”

There was a high pitched chuckle off screen, it obviously being Lando out of frame as your eyes flickered over to the side with a playful yet mischievous smile, encouraging his reaction with your expression. It was a fleeting moment as your smile once again fell into something a little more vacant before straightening up and continuing. “I know a lot of people have questions, and I do want to apologize for the lack of communication on my end, I’ll explain, I promise but first I also want to say please don’t be mad at any of the other drivers for not speaking out, they were all just respecting my wishes in not saying anything until I was ready.”

There was a small pause as you took a breath, no sound emitting except for the slight breeze wafting through the room, further exemplified by the sway of the sheer curtains. This was so nerve racking, were you about to announce your departure from motorsport? Were you about to reveal a sickness you weren't aware of until now? The silence, though short lived, was deafening. 

“I-” Finally you spoke, but quickly caught it with a bite to your lower lip. It really seemed like you were processing your words, debating how to present your next statement carefully enough. “How do I-?”

Once again your gaze drifted off to the side of the screen, confused and cautious eyes quickly averting into a bright smile before a laugh escaped your mouth. “Don’t look so excited!” 

Lando, obviously beaming, clear by the tone of his voice, cheerfully yelled back, “Do you want me to say it?!”

“No!” you rebutted quickly with a laugh, “I told you I wanted to be the one to announce it, stop trying to take my shine!”

“Then go on with it!” He was so obviously really excited, impatient to finally announce whatever it was that had him so elevated.

“Okay well-” You stuttered for a moment, quickly catching yourself before continuing. “As many of you saw in Spain, I wasn’t feeling too well,-”

“-Hard to miss-.” Landos voice mumbled, a comment in which you swiftly ignored.  

“-And I hadn’t been for a few days leading up to it but I just took it as a stomach bug and planned to go on with it like usual. What I didn’t plan for however, was the doctor's visit I was forced to go to the day after.”

Your eyes glared off to the side once again, feigning annoyance but evidently not actually upset before looking back at the camera with a smile. “The good news is that we are very much aware of what was making me sick.” Your voice was reassuring, eyes slowly beginning to light up as you continued on. “The bad news is that I unfortunately will not be participating in the rest of the 2024 season, or the 2025 one for that matter.”

It was like you could feel the impending shock of everyone watching radiating through the screen despite it being pre recorded because your pause was almost comically dramatic. And yet it was so wholly conflicting, because regardless of the awful news, you didn’t really seem all that upset despite being such a passionate racer, it felt so out of character. This confusion was only exemplified further when your eyes once again drifted to the left, a large smile engulfing your features as you took notice of what had to be Lando's excited expression once more. “Oh don’t look so happy, you’re the one who still gets to race!”

“I’m sorry!” He laughed that high pitched laugh he does when he just can’t hold it back.

Your eyes flickered back to the camera, sitting straight on with a patient yet humorous smile, a single eyebrow cocked as you waited for Landos laughter to simmer. It took a moment, a moment you thought ended a time or two before he began again, but eventually the room became still again as your face grew just a little more in adoration towards the man everyone could see you loved dearly. It was like the energy had shifted just a little, from what felt so playful before, to something a little more familial and warm. 

“I think some of you may have put the pieces together, but for those who haven’t. Well… I’m pregnant!” Your smile was so big and sheepish, so conscious and just a little shy, it almost felt as if you were announcing it to a friend of many years and it was all just so heartwarming. You were okay! More than that, you were happy, and soon everyone else who would watch this video would be too. Lando's happy laugh from beyond the camera at the announcement finally being made was more than enough to express just how joyous the news was for the two of you.

“As heartbreaking as it will be to not be able to competitively race in the upcoming seasons, I’m not actually that sad about having to step down for a little.” You laughed heartily. “I proudly announce that in my place, the very talented Australian driver Oscar Piastri will be filling my position until I'm off from… maternity leave? I guess. That's a first for this sport.”  You laughed.  “But of course they just had to find the best to replace the best.” You quickly glanced over towards Lando out of frame, clearly expecting an agreement that never came. They could only imagine the disapproving look Lando was sending you.

Your expression never changed, but your tone dropped as you spoke darkly. “I’m carrying your child.” You spat, to which a loud “But of course!” sounded in response, followed by a laugh from the both of you.

“Don’t worry, you’ll still be seeing me around the track a lot considering this muppet,” you pointed to your left, “still gets to race.”

“Don’t be jealous,” the soft voice came from off screen. 

“No, I’ll confidently admit it, I’m so jealous.” You pouted, but the warmth in your eyes belied the playful tone in your voice.

Lando’s hand appeared in the frame for a brief moment, gently squeezing your shoulder before disappearing off-camera again. “We’ll be back out there together soon enough.”

You nodded, your smile returning as you glanced back at the camera, feeling a surge of excitement for what was to come. “In the meantime, I’m looking forward to supporting the team from a different angle. It’s going to be a new experience, but I’m excited to do this as…”

“-As a mother?” Lando finished with a knowing smirk.

“As a mother.” You laughed, a loud one from Lando soon sounded to match your own, one so joyous it left you beaming. Suddenly, Lando jolted in frame, clearly excited as he leaned over the bed to tackle you from your sitting position down into a hug, leaving you both falling back onto the sheets. “Oh my god Lando!” You shout, a hand quickly moving to shield your lower stomach. “God! Nevermind guys, I think Lando just tackled the baby out of me, guess I’ll be seeing you all from my McLaren in Austria.”

“Oh!” Lando gasped. “Not funny!” 

[mattybsgroupie]

call | matt sturniolo

contents: cursing; established relationship; phone sex; guided masturbation; use of “y/n”; soft dom!matt

- ♡ -

notes: i just realized that i haven’t sexted in months?! (anyone willing to change that?!) so here’s some phone sex with horny matt ♡ thank you SO much for over 900 followers this is insane, i appreciate every like comment reblog and follow so very much! y’all know the deal: not proofread, but have fun with this one! love you guys

- ♡ -

after spending the whole day with my best friends doing a shopping spree, the only thing i wanted after getting home and taking a shower was talking to matt. i displayed all of my new belongings across my bed, carefully taking pictures of each item and sending to him.

after uploading the last one, matt didn’t text. instead, he immediately facetimed me.

“put it on” he said as soon as i picked up, not letting me talk. “i’m serious y/n, put it on”

“it’s for a special occasion” i said, chuckling when he got closer to the screen.

“i gotta see it!” he complained and i turned the camera, showing the stuff i had gotten. i knew he only had eyes for the new lingerie set i bought, a red lace bra and matching panties.

“there, you saw it” i joked, sitting on the bed with my back against the headboard. i positioned my cellphone by the pillow so he could see me as i grabbed the bra, playfully letting it rest on my chest over my sweaters.

“that looks really good” matt said, sighing deeply as he lifted one of his arms to rest behind his head. “but y/n, i think i might die. like, at any second” he spoke and i furrowed my eyebrows.

“what are you talking about, matt?” i giggled as i folded the lace, ready to toss it back on the bag.

“lack of titties” i couldn’t believe he had said that with a straight face. i bursted out laughing and had a peek of his growing smile on the screen, proud to have made a good joke.

“don’t laugh!” he continued with a fake angry tone on his voice. “it’s a serious condition and only you can cure it, but it has to be right now”. i brought my palm up to my face, hiding my eyes as i denied with my head, trying not to laugh again.

“so you want me to put it on? right now?” i asked, showing him the piece again. matt nodded vigorously, pouting his lips.

i rolled my eyes and touched the hem of my sweater, narrowing my eyes as i tried to hide a smile, pretending to tease him. i removed the fabric and threw it over the bed, exposing my bare chest underneath it. matt gasped, left hand now running through his hair as he adjusted himself to sit properly.

i kept on looking at him, widening my eyes as if i said “well, there it is”. matt licked his lips before talking again, “you’re so fucking pretty”

i tilted my head to the side and pulled the scrunchie that held my hair up, letting it fall over my shoulders. just when i was about to grab the bra, matt interrupted me.

“i wanna go there. fuck y/n, can i come over?” he asked, now scratching his beard, ready to get up at any second.

“are you insane?” i hissed through my teeth, grabbing my phone and bringing it closer to my face. “my parents are here!”

“and you’re doing me a strip tease?” he widened his eyes, acting like he was surprised. “such a naughty girl, getting naked with me over the phone when the house is full”

“shut up” i rolled my eyes, praying he’d actually continue. matt’s grin grew wide when he noticed i had bitten my lips and my breath suddenly had gotten faster.

“should i?” he said, lowering his hand to somewhere the camera couldn’t capture. “i bet you like this, hm? showing yourself off like a slut for me”

i adjusted myself in the bed once more, now lying and getting comfortable. matt noticed i had changed positions, “show them to me baby”.

with a heavy sigh in anticipation, i lowered my phone, showing him my breasts. i couldn't help but let out an amused chuckle when he said “fuck”, as if he'd never seen my boobs before.

my nipples were hard, all of matt's teasing about me being naughty for doing this at my parents' house only made me more aroused - and my plan wasn't, in fact, to wear the lingerie tonight. matt's birthday was approaching and wanted to make him a surprise, but he clearly couldn’t wait.

“we don't wanna make a fuss, do we?” he asked me from the opposite side of the screen, his voice snapping me back to reality. i nodded in agreement. “think you can do something for me, babe? open your mouth, yeah?” he commanded.

“such a good girl,” matt said after watching me. “now put your tongue out. i want you to stick two fingers in there”.

i already knew what he was going to ask next, so i sealed my lips around my own fingers and started to suck on them the same way i would if it were his instead of mine. i squeezed my eyes shut and leaned my head back against the pillow, relaxing my body as my tongue rolled between my fingers.

“take them to your nipples”, matt's voice was now deeper, more intense, and i could hear the sounds of the sheets moving along the bed - matt, surely, was hard already. i shifted the camera once again, now revealing my hardened tit and massaging it fully with my palm, my thumb circling my swollen nipple.

i let out a groan as i placed my index against the previous finger, almost as if i was pinching my own tit. my hands were not as agile as matt's, but his gentle incentives and his steady breaths made it easier for me to picture him there, playing with my flesh, squeezing, kissing and biting my bare skin.

then, suddenly, he flipped his screen to the back camera, showing the bulge that his sweats could barely hide. matt groped himself, mimicking thrusts with his palm over the thick cloth. he wrapped his knuckles around his length, tugging at his pants to show how his cock poked through the fabric. i noticed my lower lip sore as i bit it a little too hard to cover the sound of my whimpering and opened my mouth, sighing loudly and feeling my pussy clench.

“matty,” i called, receiving a reassuring tone. “take it off” i asked and he quickly did so, revealing his hardened cock.

his tip looked swollen and red, as if he'd been waiting for this forever. i could see the pre-cum leaking out of his slit, almost dripping down his shaft. my palm went towards my cunt, closing my thighs to feel the friction of the cloth of my shorts against my soaked folds.

“are you touching yourself babe?”

“n-not yet” i whispered. “fuck matt, please- can i?” matt hadn't started touching himself either, only dragging his hand lazily over his drooling cock.

“spread your legs and touch your clit for me, tell me how it is” he spoke and i quickly took my shorts off, completely naked, and opened my legs. my fingers wandered above my clit before i started to apply some pressure, goosebumps rising on my skin from the sudden contact.

“it's- swollen… hurts, matty” i whined, still gripping on the phone with my other hand.

“yeah? your tight pussy is aching already?” matt asked as i squeezed my eyes, traveling my digits down my wet folds, feeling how my pussy throbbed. “keep rubbing yourself real good sweetie, think of my fingers hm?"

“f-fuck, wish you were here” i really did. matt's fingers were much longer and worked faster than mine, being able to get me off in a few minutes.

“me too babe, look how worked up you got me” he talked about his cock, beggining to stroke his shaft in front of the camera. matt's breathing got heavier as his movements turned to a quicker pace, the wet sound taking over my speakers. “makin' me feel so good even when you're not here”

i could feel my pussy clenching, my need to be filled getting more intense as i circled my clit. i decided to take my cellphone to the nightstand next to me, fixing the screen so i could display my entire body as i touched myself to matt's words. “fuck, so pretty” he whispered as he kept on watching me carressing my curves.

“yeah babe, just like that. can you do something else f'me?” i nodded, not being able to form any coherent words, only muffled moans coming out of my mouth. “try sliding in a finger, hm? want you do it real slow, feel your walls closing around it”

i moved my middle finger down to my entrance, teasing it before going in. i remembered the way matt would do it, playing with his digits through my folds before pushing inside of me. he had turned the camera back to his view, showing his tired blue eyes and flushed red cheeks, lips open apart, a string of saliva connecting both parts. i groaned at the scene, finally starting to curl my knuckles.

“now put your hand on your neck. want you holding it tight while you finger yourself” i rolled my eyes as i wrapped my palm around my neck, increasing my grip’s pressure. i could feel blood suddenly rushing on my veins, my heart beating faster as i kept on that delightful torture of thrusting and choking myself.

“yeah, getting out of breath? 's okay, just as much as you can, know you love feeling dizzy right?” matt teased and the knot on my lower belly became harder to hold. “i need your f-fingers, fuck!” mine couldn’t reach my spot as good as his did.

“not good enough without me princess? don't stop rubbing your clit, do it with your thumb, you'll feel good” he adviced me, noticing my frustration. i did as told, moving faster as my legs twitched, spasms taking over my body as i got closer to my climax.

“babe, look at me” he called at my desperation. “bring the camera close, wanna see your face when you come”

“m-matt! please, gonna cum!” i cried once again, grabbing the phone quickly.

“yeah? gonna be my good little slut and cum for me over the phone?” i interrupted him with a chocked moan. “you can come babe, make a mess all over your fingers” matt said and i finally gave in, letting my orgasm break down on me. i tossed my phone on the bed as matt talked me through it, gripping on the sheets along with his praises.

“gonna lick you clean later” he continued, “love when my tongue drags through your sensitive pussy don't you? f-fuck y/n so fucking pretty i-” matt was cut off, groaning deeply.

“you came?” i spoke in a shaky voice, still out of breath. matt turned the camera once again, showing his now half hard cock coated in his white spurt, cum covering his fingers and part of his belly. i smiled, finally coming back to my senses.

“listen” he started. “that red bra? best purchase ever” i chuckled, not having energy to talk. “but like, i might still die from the lack of titties disease”

“you are seeing them matt. right now, my tits are here” i rolled my eyes. “and i told you, this set is for a special occasion!”

“special occasion tomorrow at my house, deal?” he joked and i denied with my head, covering an yawn with my hand. “you must be tired baby, lets go” he said as he adjusted himself in bed, turning to the side. i just pulled the sheet over me in order to cover my body, not wanting to get up.

“hey” i called, catching his blue eyes staring at me. “i love you”

“love you more. i’ll pick you after lunch, alright?” i nodded before i kissed the screen, receiving another kiss from matt. he disconnected the call and i finally closed my eyes, knowing i’d have to bring my new purchase to his house on the next day.

- ♡ -

taglist (drop a 🌸!): @thepubeburgler @submattenthusiast @pearlzier @mattsfavbitchhh @her-favorite @bugeyedgrl @mattswhore-44 @sturncakez @riowritesitall @joemamaaa42069 @mattsturnswife @sturnsmia @sturnthepot @mattscoquette @sturniolofandomthings @conspiracy-ash @ilovemattsturn

[swordgrace]

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐑 𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒 — 𝐈𝐕.

⠀ཾ༵ 𑁍┆ jacaerys velaryon x fem!reader.

SYNOPSIS: you and jacaerys go to claw isle, the ancestral seat of house celtigar, to treat with your brother. needless to say, tensions are high.

part of a series, read part three here.

{ FORMAT: one-shot, part of a series.

{ WORD COUNT: 11.7K (another long one).

{ WARNINGS: SMUT (mdni), creative liberties taken with claw isle & house celtigar, reader has a poor relationship with her brother, canon-typical misogyny, little bit of plot, lots of smut, overprotective jacaerys, p in v sex, unprotected sex, missionary position, mild breeding kink, first time oral sex (m!receiving), handjobs, cunnilingus, oral sex (fem!rec), body worship (f&m receiving), hair pulling kink, multiple orgasms, making out, lots of love declarations, jace only makes love, everything is extremely gentle, very soft aftercare

{ AUTHOR’S NOTE: Finally, it’s here! I’m really trying to get this series squared away before the season ends, but that’s definitely not going to happen. 😭 Nonetheless, I’m going to keep pushing for weekly to bi-weekly uploads with this and work on requests! As always, thank you all so much for your continued love and support! It means the world to me! I hope you all enjoy! ❤️

𝐀 𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭 𝐫𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐍𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰 𝐒𝐞𝐚, 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐦, 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲 𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐩𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐭.

Something about it seemed ominous and dark, as if there was an unseen presence lingering in the fog. The thick scent of saltwater stung your nostrils as you flew above the dark waters. It was not ideal weather for travel, especially upon the back of a dragon.

Vermax maintained a steady pace as you and Jacaerys flew to Claw Isle. The journey was lengthy, but the both of you were filled with an inner fire and determination to subdue your brother and bring the Celtigar fleet into the fold. It had been a handful of hours since your departure, growing closer and closer to your home.

If it weren’t for the constant feeling of peril and dread, you would’ve fallen asleep on the saddle, slumped against Jacaerys as he steered the dragon over a vast plane of coastal cliffs. He seemed quiet, contemplative — you assumed he thought of his mother.

Her disappearance to King’s Landing for reasons unknown had put a stressor on the War Council, all in complete disarray. Rhaenys was at the helm in an attempt to steer what was now a rudderless group, and Jacaerys could think of no better person suited to bring a gaggle of old men to heel.

It was important for you to maintain your resolve, support Jacaerys in whatever he needed. He was going to help fight your battles, but you wanted to help him, too. You couldn’t imagine the inner turmoil he was experiencing, calm on the outside. He was so selfless, rarely placing his own needs before your own, and if he did, it wasn’t done willingly.

The view of the ocean from the back of a dragon was enchanting — dark waters stretching as far as the eye could see, a thick haze hovering above, salty droplets of mist peppering across your cheeks as you flew. You neglected to inform Clement of your presence, preferring the element of surprise.

A serpentine cry escaped Vermax as he swooped over a line of trees atop a peninsula, prompting you to gasp and hold on tightly to the saddle. This was only your second time on dragonback, and thankfully, it wasn’t as frightening as the first — even then, they were unpredictable creatures.

“Are you alright?” Jacaerys asked, chest snug against your back, face nearly brushing your shoulder as he guided Vermax away from any cliffsides — for your sake, mostly. Despite the dire situation of the Council, he was more determined than ever to placate your brother. They needed the Celtigar fleet if they were to win the war.

You nodded, grip beginning to slack upon the saddle as the fog of misty clouds began to break, revealing an island in the distance. “We’re nearly there.” You replied, brows furrowing together as you came upon the island. It was strange to be home under such circumstances — you wish it were different.

Claw Isle was somewhat larger than Dragonstone, and Celtigar Keep rose high above the clouds, appearing in all of its glory. It was carved of white stone, turned gray and dark in coloration from many decades of weathering at seaside. It was pointed and arching with high, spindling towers, much of the castle was built in and around the rocky mass it sat atop.

The coastlines were clear, grayish shores that seemed to match the pallor of the Celtigar stronghold. Crackclaw Point, the peninsula, was more inhabited with towns and fishing villages, able to be spotted from where you flew. A lone fisherman on the beach stared overhead at the sight of a dragon making its descent somewhere far from the citadel walls.

A massive bridge connected Claw Isle to Crackclaw Point, an impressive contraption of thick stone that ferried denizens above the violet swell of the ocean’s tides. The banners of crimson crabs against a field of white fluttered in the distance, and you had to steel yourself from becoming trapped within the past.

The memories you held of home were not all bright and mirthful — some were horrible, others good, others muddled somewhere in between. You wondered how Clement would feel about your intrusion, answering his stubbornness and pride with that of a dragon, and then you realized that he would have no choice in the matter.

“Land far along the beach,” You instructed, feeling the steady beat of Vermax’s wings crawl to a halt as he descended. Jacaerys guided him to the shore, and the landing was hard, causing you to lurch forward within the saddle. “We will walk the rest of the way.”

Jacaerys dismounted first, sliding along the olive-and-sienna wing of his dragon, extending his arms out to you. As you moved down, albeit sluggishly, his hands circled your hips, grabbing you and placing you down onto solid ground.

A crack of thunder resonated overhead, accompanied with the swirling, ominous skies of an encroaching storm. Jacaerys held you still, pressing a kiss against your forehead. “If anything happens, you stay by my side.” He murmured, somewhat afraid that it would come to a fight. As long as he could reach Vermax, the odds were exponentially in his favor.

“Of course,” You reassured him, giving his forearms a gentle squeeze on either side of you. “If Clement is willing, we should have our fleet and be off by tomorrow. Though, I fear it might not be such an easy feat.” With a soft sigh, you stretched up upon your toes, kissing Jace with a brief flutter of passion.

It was soothing, being in the presence of one another. Jacaerys found it easier to simply exist with you without worrying about wandering eyes and being caught. You were somewhere unfamiliar, but he did not let his guard down. He reciprocated your kiss, keeping it chaste before the both of you began to walk down the strand.

Vermax paced along the coastline, flying from the wet sand toward the driftwood-strewn inclines and hills, blending in against the backdrop of tall pine trees. The dragon stayed close to Jacaerys’s side, but away from the wandering eyes of any potential hostilities.

Jacaerys felt your hand slip into his as the two of you made your trek to Celtigar Keep. You regailed him with tales of your home, from the massive stone stronghold to the vast amount of treasures that resided within. The dour curtain of veiled clouds hung low upon the strand, covering some of the Keep’s spires in a hazy fog.

It was not unlike Dragonstone in terms of intimidation — any fortress of such a grim caliber was sure to strike fear into those who saw it. Jacaerys found it to be beautiful, but not when an idiotic ruler sat inside of it. He didn’t want to cast judgment upon your brother so quickly, but he was doing very little to garner any sympathy.

“What is your brother like?” Jacaerys questioned, idly tracing his thumb over your knuckles. He wanted to prepare himself for whatever happened — and he had a hunch that he and Clement would butt heads like two rearing elk. “You rarely speak of him.”

There was a good reason for it, given your strained relationship. You hesitated, casting your forlorn gaze towards the beach instead, deciding on how to proceed. “Clement and I have not always had a good relationship,” You confessed, brows furrowing together. “He is stubborn and arrogant, but my father’s enablement of him simply worsened any negative qualities.”

Jacaerys listened closely, recognizing the frustration etched into your features. Whenever you spoke about Clement, it was never anything good. Your voice was often laced with irritation or a subtle pain. “Do you think he will listen to you?” His voice softened at his inquiry.

“I am unsure,” Admitting the bitter truth of the challenge that this mission presented was a hard pill to swallow. “I don’t think he will, but I must persuade him to listen and do what is right. It will be comforting to have you here with me.” You replied, offering Jace a threadbare smile.

“I wouldn’t have let you go alone,” Jace murmured, a tender smile tugging at either corner of his mouth. He feared becoming tempestuous in your brother’s presence — if hostilities or insults were hurled, there was no telling what he would do. “Is this the Keep where you grew up in?” He asked, motioning to the castle ahead.

The ocean lived within your blood just as much as that of Old Valyria — saltwater and the tides, intermingled with that of ancient ancestry. “Yes,” You replied, gaze drifting toward the scaling fortress of naval power, its walls and towers decorated with some oceanic motif. “It looked much brighter when I was younger.”

Jacaerys could envision you, a wide-eyed child, with a love of the sea, playing somewhere along the coast with the overbearing ire of your father. It was much like Driftmark, only Celtigar Keep was thrice the size and more like some dour mausoleum than a true castle.

“Should I worry about any hostilities from your brother?” Jace questioned, keeping one palm atop the pommel of his blade. The sword had been a gift from Daemon — despite the rift, it was an item of sentimental significance.

“My brother is half the fighter that you are, so I suspect not. His tongue is sharper than his blade — he wields insults instead of a sword.” You explained, and as you walked along the strand, the Keep became close and closer, coming into your focus. “Do not give him any satisfaction, or he will use it against you.”

It was good information to have, and Jace nodded, resolute and stalwart as his gaze turned from Celtigar Keep to you. There was a softness that found his features whenever he glanced at you, and he wanted nothing more than to steal you away and shower you with his affections.

Perhaps, if you were to stay at Celtigar Keep, he would be presented with ample opportunities.

It was foolish to think that way given the dire nature of your mission, providing his mother with an army and a fleet. The excitable, amorous nature of youth prevailed, but Jacaerys had other motives that offered some context to his desire. He’d been mulling it over for some time now, and the way forward had never been clearer.

As the both of you made it to the bridge, you crossed until you were faced with the bolted Gate of the Crab, a massive stone-wrought wall armed with crossbows and footsoldiers bearing the Celtigar tabard. They blocked your path, looking between you and Jacaerys with an air of concern and bewilderment.

“Who goes there?” A guard questioned, extending a polearm to bar your path.

“Lady Celtigar, daughter of Lord Bartimos, and Prince Jacaerys Velaryon of Dragonstone, son of Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen and heir to the Iron Throne.” You announced, happening to earn a brief smile from Jace’s end. He thoroughly enjoyed the way you introduced him, regal and with a lengthy list of titles and accolades to reinforce his position, and yours.

Both of the guards appeared shocked, glancing between one another before looking at you and Jace. He stood with his hands interlocked atop the pommel of his sword, crimson cape billowing in the wind. It bore the black-and-red Targaryen sigil, doublet stitched with silver dragons and intricate patterns.

“What business does the Prince have with Lord Celtigar?” A guard piped up, demanding a suitable answer before allowing either of you inside. He addressed Jacaerys with a certain level of sternness, as if it would intimidate him — it didn’t in the slightest.

“It does not matter whether or not I have business with your lord. What matters is that Lady Celtigar is here to treat with her brother — why deny her that satisfaction?” Jacaerys quipped, brows furrowing together. His abilities in diplomacy and action had improved greatly since his time with Lord Cregan Stark in the North.

A wariness grew between the guards, who looked to the crossbowmen supplanted along the walls, and the back to the both of you. Still, they hesitated on letting either of you inside — until Vermax appeared. The dragon let out a screech, flying right over the bridge you stood upon before circling around into the thicket of pines.

Jacaerys smiled triumphantly, head canting to one side. “Surely, you will not deny us now.” He quipped, hovering protectively at your flank, curls billowing with the saltwater breeze. The guards swallowed whatever fear had risen into their throats, and promptly stepped aside, opening up the gates.

You fought to withhold the look of amusement upon your face, passing through the Crabgate with Jacaerys. Having Vermax at your side was an excellent idea, and you had to credit Jace for his ingenious use of dragons. Diplomacy wasn’t something either of you were used to, but it was a role worth growing into.

The grounds of Celtigar Keep were vast, an oceanic aesthetic interwoven into the architecture. The sigil of the red crab was everywhere you looked, repeated again and again. Jacaerys appeared perplexed, brows furrowing together as he observed his surroundings. It reminded him much of Driftmark.

The castle now seemed aware of your presence, the Lady Celtigar and the Heir to the Iron Throne, walking in-tandem toward the Great Hall. The guards allowed you passage through the courtyard and the grounds of the Keep, the hall looming in the distance, wreathed in a shroud of gray mist.

Jacaerys steeled himself for what was to come, meeting your brother head-on in his own home. From what little of him you’d described, he was his own age, nine-and-ten, bullheaded with little knowledge of how to truly rule. A challenge that he welcomed, truthfully — if he was to one day ascend the throne, he would need to know how to deal with unruly subjects.

A set of stairs ascended towards the Great Hall, marked by braziers, crabs holding large bowls with still-smoldering embers inside. The hour was beginning to grow late, sometime in the evening, and you and Jacaerys were both weathered from the journey.

As the guards opened the doors to the Great Hall, it was nothing more than a large room, dome-shaped with windows above, allowing for natural light to trickle through. Each column that held the hall aloft were wreathed in stone motifs of crabs and seaweed, winding down toward the floor.

In the primary seat of House Celtigar, a throne fashioned from the very rock that the Keep stood upon, sat your brother, Clement. He seemed less than enthused with your presence, but perplexed nonetheless, gaze drifting between both yourself and Jacaerys.

“You could’ve sent a raven, sister. I had no idea of your coming to Claw Isle,” Clement sat slumped within his supposed throne, one hand tucked into a fist beneath his chin, the other tapping against the stone arm. “It seems you’ve brought a guest.”

“In your colorful missive to me, you implored me to not send any more ravens,” You retorted, folding your hands together. “I did what anyone would do — came to see you in-person.” It had been two years, and Clement seemed older in the face, but his demeanor hadn’t changed in the slightest.

Clement scoffed, brows furrowing together at your snide comment. You were determined and ambitious, he would give you that, but he was prepared to turn you down immediately. “You’ve come here to do what, exactly? Demand half of my fleet? Admonish me for sending our father away? What outcome did you expect from this?”

Jacaerys answered instead, his tone steely and measured, the kingly voice of a man striving to fight for his mother’s claim and his own. “We expect half of your forces, as promised. Your house swore an oath to Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen — do not make your family look foolish.” He retorted, visage one of stalwart composure, a glare thrown in Clement’s direction.

“Remind me — who are you?” Clement questioned, his tone tinged with an edge of mockery as he looked upon Jacaerys with disdain. Two young men of different morals and caliber preparing to butt heads — you couldn’t imagine that this would go well.

“Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, son of Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone and heir to the Iron Throne,” He declared, hands interlocked atop the pommel of his sword. “Ensuring that you hold your oath fulfilled.” Jacaerys did not like your brother — there was an arrogance there that irritated him.

Clement scoffed, turning his attention to you again, hands folding together within his lap. “Brought your Prince with you, did you, sister?” He sneered, his expression sour before he shook his head. “Where is that dragon of yours? Shall you burn me where I stand if I do not do as the Queen demands?”

“My Lord, your house is pledged to Queen Rhaenyra, surely you will not —” One of Clement’s advisers, Lord Mydas Smythe, an older man with a rather bushy set of brows, implored your brother to listen to reason.

“The fleet is needed here, in the defense of Claw Isle and Crackclaw Point. Ser Criston Cole is parading through the Riverlands, unchecked and unchallenged. Soon, he will turn his sights to us. Though, I will show you kindness and give you two ships — for your troubles.” Clement snapped, waving a hand dismissively at Lord Smythe.

“You seem very worried for a man cowering behind his castle walls,” Jacaerys relented, shoulders squaring up against Clement, dark brows furrowed together in a look of complete and utter spite. “Since you have your armies and acclaimed fleet, why not ride out and meet Cole yourself?”

Clement’s mouth twitched, throat growing thick with rage as he was put in his place before his Court, by a boy with little experience of anything. “I cannot say I’ve heard much of your valor either, Prince of Dragonstone. Instead, you’ve come to play politics with my airheaded sister.”

“Mind your tongue before Lady Celtigar.” Jacaerys’s voice was sharp and smoldering with rage when Clement so blatantly insulted you, and he nearly retorted again if it weren’t for you. He bristled, jaw unnaturally tense as he prepared to fight for your honor.

Your hand slyly tugged upon the sleeve of his doublet, urging him not to act just yet. He remained quiet, adhering to your advice as he silently fumed, glaring at Clement with all of the tempestuous ferocity of a young dragon. If a look could burn one where they stood, your brother would’ve been ash and bone.

“I would ask you to reconsider,” Your voice subtly quivered, anxiousness beginning to get the better of you. “Please, Clement. This is the cause our father pledged to — and it is a worthy one. We cannot have our house branded as oath breakers. Do not throw everything away for the sake of your pride.”

Your brother’s nostrils flared, fingers clenching together into a tight fist as he fought to maintain his composure before his small court. “My pride?” He quipped, tone harsh and unyielding before he exhaled, turning away for a brief moment. “I will have my answer for you on the morrow. For now, you are guests in my Keep — do not take advantage of my hospitality.”

Perhaps, you had gotten to Clement, even if it was for the briefest of moments. Your father had always favored your brother, but pushed him too far — excelling in everything, shoved to the very edge of greatness at the cost of his own sanity.

Lord Smythe seemed rather disappointed in Clement’s lack of action and propriety. The older man looked to you with a withering expression, visibly apologetic before he bowed and took his leave. You offered him a thin smile, one of subtle reassurance.

The halls remained eerily quiet, thick with a strained tension that threatened to erupt between Clement and Jacaerys, in particular. You wanted to avoid a physical confrontation — and you knew that Jace wouldn’t shy away, being twice the fighter that your brother was.

Despite Jace’s desire to continue pressing him, he yielded, hands gripping the pommel so tightly that it threatened to snap into two. He hated the way Clement treated you, as if you were insignificant and unimportant, more of a nuisance than true family.

One of the guards stepped in as Clement stood from the Celtigar seat, giving you a disparaging stare before he disappeared, slipping through one of the crab-adorned doors. Knights in his service followed dutifully, leaving you and Jacaerys in the Great Hall, save for the presence of guardsmen and a handful of advisors.

The halls of Celtigar Keep were incredibly familiar to you, and the guard inevitably escorted you and Jacaerys to your chambers, your quarters down the corridor from his own. Yours happened to be the very same you stayed in for most of your life, until you were made to become Rhaenyra’s lady-in-waiting.

Your chambers were far more lavish than your humble accommodations on Dragonstone, but you much preferred it to Celtigar Keep. Here, everything seemed hollow, and memories stirred with you — most of them evoked a sense of melancholy. You hoped that your time here was short and fleeting, if it all went in your favor.

𝐂𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐯𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐞𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐦, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐝, 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐪𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬.

You had barely touched your food, pacing your newfound surroundings, studying the old decorations you had scattered about your chambers.

Many fixings had belonged to you since childhood — relics of your youth scattered atop the mantle above the hearth, gowns tucked away that you hadn’t worn since your teenage years. It evoked a strong sense of nostalgia, perhaps a yearning for the past.

Jacaerys did not want to stay put in his assigned chambers for long. With haste, he stealthily moved through the door and made for your room, unseen and filled with a sense of excitement.

Before you could leave to sneak away to Jacaerys’s room, he was already at your door, quietly slipping inside with his belongings, silvery platter of seafood included. “Are you going somewhere?” You questioned, watching as he hastily stepped across the room to set his meal beside yours.

“No,” Jacaerys replied, facing you with a soft expression. “Just here,” He hesitated, searching your face for any sign of discomfort or protest at his subtle request. He cared very little for the repercussions or consequences — you were no longer on Dragonstone, and the scrutiny of your relationship wasn’t something that worried him. “If you are agreeable to it.”

A smile spread across your features, vibrant and uplifting despite the charged, dour situation earlier that evening. “There is nowhere else that I’d want you to be,” You replied, heart stirring within your chest as your stomach filled with the excitable churning of butterflies. “If you didn’t come, I would’ve found my way to you eventually.”

Content and warmed by your words, Jacaerys found it difficult to suppress a grin of his own, mirth twinkling within his eyes. “There aren’t as many wandering eyes here,” He mused, placing his knapsack on top of your footlocker. “I thought perhaps, I could stay this time — until the dawn.”

A semblance of delight rippled through you, accompanied with your still-flourishing love for him. Jacaerys being here meant a great deal to you, more than he would ever realize. To have him insist that he share your bed until morning made you most elated. “Please stay.” You insisted.

He made himself comfortable, careful gaze absorbing each and every detail of your chambers. The relics and trinkets organized on shelves intrigued him, some of them being handmade dragons and knights. Jace picked up one of them, crafted from stone, turning it over within the light.

“I am sorry for my brother,” You sighed, shrugging your overcoat aside, draping it over the foot of your bed. The gowns you wore beneath were tattered and muddied at the ends, used for traveling and practical purposes. “I did not want you to be the subject of his ire.”

Jacaerys’s jaw tensed slightly at mention of your brother, whose tongue would be cut away if he made another insult against you. “He sullies your good name,” He murmured, brows furrowing together as he studied the intricacies of your chambers. “I apologize if I lost my temper. I loathed the way he spoke to you.”

Admittedly, you felt quite the opposite — his protectiveness over you was incredibly attractive and gallant, qualities that you adored about him. “I do believe that he needs to be humbled, and you do it so brilliantly.” You replied, fidgeting with the ends of your sleeves. It was an old dress made for travel. “Thank you for defending me.”

His brown hues softened once more, dancing with an immeasurable amount of affection for you, a bright ardor that refused to be snuffed out. “You needn’t thank me,” Jacaerys stepped closer, lips briefly pressing against your forehead. “I will always protect you, until my last breath.” His words were a solemn vow, not easily broken.

With a soft exhale, you squeezed his hand, careening into his warm embrace. “Are you hungry? We could eat, if you’d like. I suspect that nothing will come of this evening until we treat with my brother tomorrow.” You sighed, knowing that waiting would make everything worse.

“Plenty of time on our hands,” Jacaerys chimed, yet his honeyed words seemed thick with implications of how to fill your unoccupied time. It was on your mind just as heavily, yet you pretended to be clueless, canting your head to one side. “Let’s eat.”

It would give the both of you ample time to figure out some play or strategy when it came to Clement. You knew that with enough pressure and whittling, he would finally obey your demands. Nevertheless, you didn’t want to plague your mind with doubt — not now, anyway.

Lukewarm seafood sat piled upon porcelain plates, accompanied by generous helpings of roasted vegetables and hunks of half-stale bread. It was better than scraps or rations, and you led Jacaerys toward the small, ornate table situated within your quarters.

It felt so blissful like this — alone with him, basking in the moment, enjoying a meal together without fear of interruptions or speculation. You sat diagonally from one another, candlelight dancing atop the driftwood table as you cut into your filet of fish.

“If we cannot convince your brother to deliver on his oath, what then?” Jacaerys asked, jaw tensing. He didn’t want to fight your brother, but if that’s what was needed of him, he would do it without question. “We cannot return home empty-handed.”

Your shoulders sank in a brief sigh. “Clement is foolish, arrogant, and stubborn — but he knows when to give it up. This is all some display and spectacle meant to goad me, but I won’t give him the satisfaction.” Glancing at Jace, you seemed more determined than ever. “And neither should you.”

That would be a difficult feat, biting his tongue while your brother assailed you with bitter, venomous words. Jacaerys would sooner cut his tongue for it than sit idly by while you suffered. “I won’t let him tarnish your honor, and I will not sit by while he insults you. I cannot do it.” He replied, shaking his head.

“Sometimes, that is what you have to do, Jacaerys. I promise that I can handle it. I just — I don’t want you to fall prey to his viciousness, that’s all.” You loved all of Jacaerys — everything about him was good, even his sharp tongue and quick temper.

Jace stared at you, love burning within his eyes, coupled with that of an unwavering devotion. “I wouldn’t stoop to that level,” He reached for your hand, digits tracing across the ridges of your knuckles. “Not with you.” Solemn and stalwart, he squeezed your fingers, and you returned the gesture.

“You’re a good man, Jacaerys.” You crooned, steadfast in your belief in him, in your own devotion. Part of you always feared that the fantasy would fade and duty would pledge him to another, but so far, it hadn’t happened yet. You hoped that it stayed that way. “I am fortunate to keep your company.”

He brought your hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss atop your knuckles before he released you, returning to his food with disinterest. “My heart is yours,” It was the same, saccharine assurance he’d stated time and time again. “Until the end of my days.”

Jacaerys wanted this for the rest of his life — and he could have it. He was going to ask you. Perhaps not now, but the moment felt right, and it could be upon him instantaneously if he wasn’t prepared. The idea of you being his wife, enjoying meals like this in the sanctuary of your chambers together, unperturbed by prying eyes — he wanted this, and he wanted you.

Through deliberate bites of sautéed seafood, Jacaerys gazed at you with a doe-like expression, studying your beautiful features, the way you treated him to a smile when you caught him staring. He was the fortunate one, the luckiest man alive in the realm to have fallen in love with you, and with every breath he drew, he only loved you more.

When you caught his smoldering gaze, you felt a familiar warmth dance along the length of your spine. Smitten, you absentmindedly dabbed at the corner of your mouth with your cloth. “Do I have something on my face?” You questioned, feeling gluttonous for consuming your food so quickly.

Seafood was a commonality on Claw Isle, but it tasted wonderful each time — perhaps it was the familiarity of it and the warmth of home that made you feel this way. Nonetheless, you sat back within your seat, feeling undeniably hot beneath Jacaerys’s tender stare.

“You’re incredibly beautiful, that's all.” He hummed, heart swelling tenfold when you began to giggle. Jace wondered if it seemed too silly, doting on you during dinner, but you didn’t protest whatsoever. “You have nothing on your face, if it makes you feel better.”

His sweetly-spoken compliments made your insides melt, turning to a pool of heat as you played with your fork. You smiled at Jacaerys as if he were the sun itself, warm and vibrant, keeping you in his orbit. “I love you.” You hummed, and as you finished your meal, you gently stood up, pressing a kiss against the top of his head in-passing.

Jacaerys felt his features turn warm with a rosy coloration, though he wondered what you were doing, watching as you paced across your chambers. You knelt beside the hearth, adding more kindling and wood onto the fire before you dusted your hands off on your skirts.

“These chambers were my home for the longest time,” You sighed, peering over the gray walls, decorated in plenty of your own furnishings and personal touches. “It is strange to be back here, but having you with me makes it all much more bearable.”

Removing himself from the table, he joined you in touring your quarters, following you past the small set of doors into the sanctity of your bedroom. It hadn’t been used in years, everything perfectly in-place, the same as you left it. You opened up your wardrobe with a huff of laughter.

“What is it?” Jacaerys asked, head canting to one side as you removed one gown in particular. It was resplendent and beautifully-made, handcrafted with silver embroidery against fields of cream and crimson — the colors of House Celtigar.

“My father had this made for me when he attempted to find me suitable marriage prospects,” You explained, chewing at the inside of your cheek. Thankfully, you were sent away before you could be married to some middle-aged man from the Stormlands. “I never did get to wear it.” You mused.

He envisioned you in it so very clearly — perfection incarnate, in his eyes. Jacaerys’s gaze softened at the sight of you, exuberant and smiling at him with affection interwoven into your features. “You would look beautiful in it,” He murmured, lips twitching into a soft smile. “Though, you look enchanting in anything and everything.”

You loved him so deeply, letting it seep into your bones, filling you with an insurmountable feeling of ardor. Being alone with him without fear of intrusion was a wonderful feeling, something that you wished you could have more of — on Dragonstone and everywhere else.

With a soft exhale, you stowed the dress aside, gently shutting the massive, gilded doors to your wardrobe before peering to the window. It was nearly sundown, the sunset hidden behind darker sheets of gray, thick clouds, but nighttime was close on its heels.

“Did your father ever succeed in finding you a suitable betrothal?” Jacaerys inquired, picturing you in that gown, standing by his side when he asked your father for your hand. The question was innately harmless, perhaps his own curiosity getting the best of him, but he needed to know.

The question blindsided you, filling you with a sense of mild bewilderment as you cleared your throat. “No,” It was better that way — if you had been betrothed, you might’ve never formed the bond with Jacaerys that you had. You wouldn’t trade it for anything. “He did not, and I am thankful for it — I met you.”

Jacaerys gazed at you with true love, brown hues swirling with tenderness and an adoration that drowned out everything else. He could no longer imagine his existence without you in it, and he loathed to think what could’ve happened had you already been promised to another.

Now, that possibility to become a union seemed very real, a reality that was just within his grasp, so visceral and raw that even he could see it in his mind’s eye. Jacaerys smiled at that, briefly pressing a kiss against your temples before he settled down. “I am thankful for it, too.” He confessed, voice soft and assured.

“I’m going to change out of this dreadful thing,” You mumbled, pinching the muddied fabric between your fingertips as you cleared your throat. “Are you tired?” Admittedly, exhaustion hadn’t gripped you yet — you were somewhat awkward, having Jacaerys here in your chambers.

There was no need to hurry, no suspicions, nothing to rush — it was just the both of you until tomorrow. Of course, there were always certain proclivities on your mind, but you held your tongue, for now.

“Not entirely,” Jacaerys replied, removing his leather belt and scabbard, placing both beside the foot of your bed. It was beautiful, with four towering posts draped in a curtain of cerulean silk. Even he felt the unusual tension, attempting to alleviate it with a smile. “I suppose I’ll join you.”

Something gnawed at him — the very same question he’d been mulling over within his mind for a week now, perhaps even before then. Jacaerys observed in rapturous silence as you removed an embroidered evening slip from your wardrobe, the silk nearly translucent, the color of sage.

He swallowed the growing lump within his throat, attempting to quell his nerves, but to no avail. Jacaerys had never known fear quite like this before — there were different shades of terror. The fear of death and loss, a fear of war, perhaps — but none so great as a fear of rejection.

You sluggishly peeled away your coarse dress, tugging at the leather ties as it loosened, slack upon your body. It was tattered and trimmed with mud at the edges, prompting you to toss it somewhere onto the floor. The smallclothes you wore were much of the same, common garments crafted for travel.

A semblance of sweet warmth and ardor seemed to make a permanent residence upon Jace’s features as he watched you disrobe. Those brown hues of his traced over your delicate curves, every facet of your physique committed to memory.

Your beauty was one only described in fairytales and the ballads written by wayward poets — a beauty that Jacaerys often found himself in awe of. As you carefully pried away your smallclothes to put on the silken slip in its place, his breath caught within his throat.

This could be his life — he could not picture it without you anymore. It all seemed so gray and lonely without you by his side, without your steadfast support and belief in him, without your love. If the future was as bright as he imagined it to be, he could see you as his Queen, his wife, his equal in all things.

Perhaps it was his duty to make his intentions known — to have his mother’s blessing before swearing an oath, to have the favor of your father, but it all seemed inconsequential. He no longer feared consequences, no longer feared the brashness of such a decision.

War would continue to ravage the Seven Kingdoms, consuming all with it, perhaps his own life, should it go in such a route. If he perished, what then? The love he had for you would endure, the mark he left upon your life would endure, but what of your bond? What of marriage, of your union?

Jacaerys could not continue on without asking you the most important question he would ever ask.

“Be my wife.”

Time stood still, and you swore that your heart exploded within your chest. You couldn’t believe it, unsure if you had heard Jacaerys right or if it was all a very wonderful fantasy. Turning upon your heel, you faced Jacaerys with a bewildered, shocked expression.

“What?” With your voice barely above a whisper, you felt your stomach swirling with butterflies, an incendiary heat licking across your spine with a fervor. Your hands wrung together, folded across your midsection.

Jacaerys’s lips parted as he stood taller, shoulders squaring as he approached you, hands seizing yours as he reaffirmed his love for you. “I am so desperately in love with you,” He whispered, attempting to catch his breath, thumbs tracing across your knuckles. “I cannot imagine a life without you, and I cannot imagine continuing to go on knowing that I am not your husband.”

“Jacaerys.” You gasped, unable to withhold the swell of emotions that stirred within you. Tears pricked at your eyes, a byproduct of the onslaught of sentiment you felt, all hitting you at once. It was an amalgamation of adoration, devotion, love, passion — it all seemed to wash over you immediately.

“I would ask you to be the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms — together, with me. I would ask that you marry me upon the shores of Dragonstone, amongst fire and brimstone, salt and sea,” Jace murmured, gently pressing his forehead against yours for a brief moment. “I would ask that you allow me to hold your heart forever.”

Disbelief rippled through you, the initial shock dissipating into the unbelievable love you had for him — an ardor that transcended any bonds of propriety. You loved him fiercely yet gently, loved him for everything he was and everything he would be. You lifted your joined hands to your chest.

“There is no one else for me in this world, Jacaerys Velaryon,” You crooned, pressing your lips against his palm. “I am yours, until my last day — and I will love you forever.” You felt his breath hitch slightly as you drew closer, snug against his chest as you gave him a rather exuberant smile, eyes sparkling with tears. “Nothing would please me more than marrying you.”

Relief flooded through him, and the weight of fear lifted from his shoulders. It was enough to make him audibly sigh with joy as he reached to cup your face, swiping away at the singular tear falling across your cheek. He was smiling so much that it almost made his chest burst with happiness.

“We are betrothed,” The overwhelming excitement that crept into your tone was difficult to miss, and you wanted to kiss him a thousand times over. “I cannot wait to refer to you as my husband.” An ebullient giggle escaped you when Jacaerys picked you up, spinning you in a circle as he caged you in against his chest.

His mouth sought yours, the kiss charged with an excitable passion as he held you close, hands kneading at your curves through the thin silk. “My wife, the most perfect woman in all of the realm,” He mused, thumbs drawing slow circles into your hips. “You are mine, and I am yours.” Jace whispered.

Again, you clamored for a kiss, turning the joy of your shared moment into passion, manifesting into the first inklings of desire. He was quick to reciprocate, continuing to gently feel along your body, your perfect curves hidden beneath such sheer fabrics.

You kissed him hard, hands dragging towards his tunic, tugging at the collar of it as your kiss melted from sweet and innocuous to passionate. The feeling of not having to limit yourself or fear intrusion was exhilarating — and you hoped that it meant there would be plenty of time for exploration.

It was only when he pulled away just slightly to gaze at you did you realize how much this meant to you, how much you loved him. You wanted all of him — his heart and his intellect, protective nature, his body and soul. Your hands continued to trace across his clothed chest, lips parted slightly.

“I want to take my time with you,” Jacaerys murmured, fingers gently sweeping across the now-faded cut upon your brow, tucking hair behind your ear. “If you’ll allow me the pleasure.” He never proceeded without your consent, gazing at you as if you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

The familiar sting of arousal pooled between your legs, accompanied by a wave of heat. He spoke so tenderly, digits continuing to caress along your brow, swiping down towards your cheek. “Of course.” You whispered, hands skimming beneath his tunic. “As long as you’ll allow me to return the favor.”

A pang of exhilaration rippled through him as he nodded, lips twitching into a smile. He didn’t know what you meant by returning the favor, but it intrigued him. There was nothing that could stop either of you — and he intended on savoring every moment with you.

You gently coaxed him toward the plush armchair near your vanity, easing him down against the cushions. Jacaerys sat upright, hands moving toward your hips again, kneading into your pliant flesh. It allowed you to stoop down, lips molding against his as your fingers found the hem of his tunic again.

Clothing shuffled against eager hands as you removed Jacaerys’s tunic, graced with lean, pale muscle and a canvas of freckles beneath your palms. You planted your hands against his chest, fingertips dancing over every freckle, every line of taut muscle.

Jace shuddered at your exploratory embrace, savoring the feeling of your fingers tracing every inch of him, committing his musculature to memory. “I wanted to try something, if you’ll let me.” You murmured, lowering yourself to your knees before him.

There was an instantaneous notion of shock, Jacaerys’s eyes widened in surprise as he swallowed the growing lump within his throat. “What — What are you doing?” He asked, throat hoarse with desire. “You do not have to, never feel obligated to do such things, I —”

“Jacaerys,” You interjected, ensuring that your voice was barely above a whisper. Your palms soothingly caressed along his thighs, and his cock immediately roused, stirring within his breeches. “I want to please you. I would like to try, that’s all.” He still seemed apprehensive, but obliged nonetheless.

He preferred to serve you, face between your legs, tongue savoring your sweetness. He imagined that it was something he could do after this, but for now, he simply tried to relax and let you try something new. Goosebumps coalesced along his spine as your digits reached for the ties of his trousers, loosening them up.

A sliver of him couldn’t deny the thrill and exhilaration that coursed through him, the excitement. You were breathtakingly beautiful, ethereal and everything he had ever wanted, there in the flesh. “You are beautiful.” He whispered, staring at you with doe-like eyes.

Warming beneath his softly-spoken compliment, you preened, lips twitching into a comely smile. “As are you.” You assured, feeling his lips find yours for a brief moment as you freed his cock, taking his hardened length into your silky palm.

Jacaerys sat back as best as he could, lips parted, visibly flustered as you began to stroke from base to tip, thumb tracing over the flushed head. He groaned, hands gripping the back of the settee with all of his strength. It felt incredible — you only enhanced everything.

Your palm spread out against his thigh, giving you a perch, something to brace yourself against as you wrapped your mouth around the head of his cock. A sharp exhale escaped Jacaerys, whose body trembled from the foreign sensation, hand suddenly reaching down to find yours.

It was intimate, a sweet gesture despite the lewd act, digits twining together atop his thigh. Your mouth was soft and incredibly gentle, exploratory at your core as you bobbed your head in sluggish, rhythmic motions. Jace felt hot, unable to focus, but he did not force you to do anything more.

“Gods, you are incredible.” He breathed, stomach churning with a fiery heat, a sensation that mirrored your own. Molten liquid pooled within the pit of your belly, coalescing between your thighs at the sound of Jace’s pleasure. Instead of tugging on your hair, he simply caressed your cheek, watching for any sign of discomfort on your end.

With Jace’s fingertips carefully tracing across your face, you continued to tease his cock, hand stroking in sure movements as your mouth did the rest. It was brief, fleeting laps of your tongue across the head of his cock or suckling upon it altogether.

It felt strange and slightly sloppy, as if you weren’t doing something correctly, but instinct guided you. Jacaerys seemed to enjoy it regardless, hips occasionally jolting forward, followed by a soft, mumbled apology. He held himself in-check, squeezing your hand when you kissed along his length.

There was a vast amount of tenderness between the both of you, allowing for everything to be handled with gentleness and care. He didn’t push you or coax you further, simply relaxed and allowed you to do however much or little you wanted.

Between the shy laps of your tongue intermingled with the ministrations of your hand, Jacaerys worried about how long he would last in this state. Your mouth was divine, bringing him closer to a blissful beyond, abdomen tightening with a flurry of arousal.

The bitter slick of precum oozed along his length, but you paid little attention to it, continuing to pump your hand along his cock. Instead, you peppered sweet kisses against his thigh and hips, causing him to seize up and groan.

His countenance was one of beauty, contorted into a look of sheer bliss, eyes closed, mouth agape as his head rolled back against the lounge. Your fingers remained interlocked, his thumb occasionally grazing your knuckles as you kissed towards his abdomen.

Your hand remained steadfast, caressing his cock, allowing your fingers to stroke from base to tip. Jace let out a husky moan, hand involuntarily reaching for your hair. His grip was delicate, digits gingerly kneading at your scalp. The sensation was incredible, and even you felt some satisfaction from it.

The suddenness of his release seemed to catch him off-guard, muscles tense and seizing, pleasure unfurling within his stomach like a wildfire. Jacaerys moaned your name, a sound so divine coming from his mouth. He trembled in the aftermath, visage flushed with embarrassment.

He felt pitiful for this, but he couldn’t help himself, shaking from the intensity of it all. “I did not mean to …” Before Jacaerys could speak another word, you pressed your hand against his mouth.

“It was perfect.” You corrected, palm slick with his seed as you stood to clean yourself, finding a towel sitting along the edge of your vanity. You returned to do the same for him, dutifully cleaning the sticky spend from his stomach.

Visibly flustered, Jace cleared his throat, sitting up a little straighter as he attempted to compose himself again. He wanted to give you more — everything, if he could. “I do not want to stop.” He whispered, gazing at you with a look of desire, hand reaching to cup your face.

That alone was enough to make your insides melt, lips parting as you nodded several times over. “Neither do I.” You breathed, and with that, your mouths collided in a fury, ardor and want bleeding through, consuming the both of you in a tidal wave.

His cock twitched again, lust renewed, yet his love for you seemed to outweigh everything else. He made sure to loosely tie his breeches up again — not that they would be on for much longer, at this pace. Jacaerys kissed you again and stood, offering you his hand.

You took it, as a lady would a prince, and he immediately pulled you into his arms, sweeping you right up off of the ground. He carried you gallantly, cradling you to his chest as you smiled, coaxing him in for a sweet kiss. Jace carried you to your bed, placing you down against the silken sheets and feathered duvet.

“I love you,” He murmured, finding his footing between your legs, the silken slip coming to gather around your hips. Despite the sensuality of it all, the lust and carnal appetites you held for one another, love conquered it all, and tenderness prevailed. “Ñuha hūra embar.”

My moonlit sea — the love of his life.

A gentle fluttering stirred within your chest, the sound of your heart calling his name — you would never love another. It was Jacaerys’s name upon your mind, emblazoned into your very bones. You kissed him, the fire stoked, even if it wasn’t a raging one.

As he neared you, your fingers found their purchase within his mane of thick curls, tugging on them incessantly, mouth tangling with his. A breath apart, you held him close, feeling the chill of saltwater air brush along your legs.

“I love you, Jacaerys.” You whispered, allowing it to slip from your lips a few times more, and he was lost in you. Jacaerys’s hands moved to the hem of your nightgown, aiming to rid you of the thin fabric, exposing yourself to him completely.

Each time he saw you bare, it was like the first time all over again — in-awe of your beauty, completely and utterly unparalleled. His mouth found the delicate curve of your jaw, kissing you in a slow, steady trail down your neck, and then to the hollow of your throat.

Every kiss was warm and lingering — he took his time with you, finding no reason to rush. His lips felt like hot brands, emblazoning themselves upon your flesh. Jace kissed across your collarbone, and you began to shift with anticipation. You wanted his face between your thighs, his hands interlaced with yours.

Jacaerys found the plush swell of your breasts, mouth kissing along each one, over your nipples, and through your sternum. He was careful, intentionally savoring each and every kiss, drinking in your presence as if it were his lifeblood.

He delved lower, shuddering when he felt your fingers find his crown of tousled curls, mouth embracing your stomach until he found your hips. The moment was incredibly intimate, with Jace kissing wherever his mouth could reach, ensuring that you received every last drop of his affections.

You were a goddess — perfection incarnate, breathtakingly beautiful beneath him. Jacaerys’s mouth graced your thighs, shoulders spreading them apart as he kissed his way down to your slick core. Heat washed over him in the wake of discovering how aroused you already were.

This was something he’d sorely missed, the taste of your cunt — his patience certainly paid off. You watched with wide, doe-like eyes as Jacaerys’s head buried itself between your thighs, the rest of him flattened against the feather-bed. His hands carefully traced along your thighs before they held your hips in-place.

“Jace,” You moaned, craving the sensation of his mouth against your core. His tongue raked hot embers over your cunt, deliciously slow, ensuring that he took his time with tasting you. Your hand flew to his curls, eliciting a soft groan from him, too. “Gods, don’t stop — please!”

He was insatiable, hunger swelling within him as he took to lapping at your cunt, tongue splitting past your folds. Your thighs twitched and trembled even now, digits coaxing him in for more, to which he gleefully obliged.

His eagerness was palpable through each flick of his tongue, lost within the oasis between your legs. A myriad of soft whimpers and whines escaped you, hand gingerly tugging on Jace’s hair as he showered your cunt in an alternation of steady licks to lingering ones.

Bathed in pools of silvery moonlight that trickled in from the windows, Jace appeared more ethereal than ever, the muscles flexing within his back. If it were up to him, he would’ve been content to stay here forever, pleasure you over and over again until you shook.

The short, dizzying gasp that tore past your mouth spurred him on, as he pressed another string of kisses against your slit. The continued sensation of your digits carding through his curls made him sigh with elation.

He brought you closer, heart leaping into his throat when you began to writhe beneath him, hips tilting forward into each stroke of his mouth. “You are perfect.” He assured, his resonance little more than a needy whisper, a groan stifled within his throat.

Blossoming beneath his sweet compliments, your fingers curled against his scalp, unable to lay still as Jace resumed his previous ministrations. The warmth of his tongue left you with a blistering want, stomach churning with a wave of arousal.

At last, his tongue found your neglected pearl, tracing around your clit with a gentleness. Jacaerys’s tender expression also bore a great deal of concentration, dark eyes flickering toward you. “There?” He uttered, hoping that you would guide him to where he needed to be.

Your head fervently bobbed up and down, wanting him to stay rooted there. “Yes,” You whimpered, nearly shaking when his lips gingerly pursed around your clit, suckling upon the clutch of nerves until your body became tense. “R—Right there, Jacaerys, please!”

Everything felt feverishly hot, as if you would be turned to ash where you laid, bones trembling with desire. His hands kneaded into the swell of your hips, digits drawing soft patterns into your flesh, drawing you closer into his smoldering embrace.

Jacaerys was attentive and loving, following your breathy plea as he pursed his lips around the pearl of your cunt again, alternating between that and greedy, excitable laps of his tongue. Even he allowed himself to be lost within bliss and pleasure, arousal mounting from pleasuring you.

He shivered at the noises you made, sounds that took residence within the recesses of his mind, made for sweet torment. You weren’t shy about your own delight, moaning again, interwoven with breathy sighs and chants of his name until it was the only word you knew.

You reached for his hand, fingers interlocking atop the swell of your hip as he continued to lap at your aching core. He squeezed your hand as a sign of reassurance, buried deep within your sweet cunt, something that he hungered for.

Your back arched off of the blankets, hand pushing through Jacaerys’s disheveled curls, finding their anchor against his scalp. He groaned whenever you tugged upon his tresses, only serving to coax him further into your cunt.

Arousal rushed through you, molten heat oozing from between your thighs, a nectar as sweet as honey. “I—I’m close,” You whined, beginning to lose yourself to the throes of pleasure. “Jacaerys, please!” A throaty moan tore past your mouth, hips jolting forward.

Gods, he ruined you — made a mess of you in the best way possible, tearing down all bonds of propriety. Knowing that he was to be your husband, that you and him were twined together as one — it only sweetened your mounting release.

Writhing beneath him, you squeezed his hand, stomach sloshing with liquid heat, a heat that continued to devour you, making you feel unbelievably hot. You melted within Jace’s hands, reduced to nothing more than a moaning, whimpering mess.

With another barrage of his tongue assaulting your cunt, you whimpered, turning malleable, body trembling with your encroaching release. He knew that you were on the verge, and so he pursed his lips around your clit once more, and that was more than enough.

His name emerged from your lips like a reverent prayer, the only name that you knew in that moment. Your release was hot, like a rush of fire that refused to simmer, unable to be quelled. The residual sensation lingered, and Jace helped you through it.

Your thighs twitched, absentmindedly attempting to clench together, but Jace held you apart, soothing you with kisses along your thighs. The blissful, contented expression that soon followed was a beautiful one — Jace was shocked to know that he could do that to you, bring you to ruin.

It was a white-hot release, one that set your body ablaze, made the tight coil within your stomach unfurl. Your breathing was labored, still wrought with excitement as you steadily climbed down from your pinnacle, grip beginning to loosen upon Jacaerys’s tresses.

“I will never tire of that,” Jace confessed, his voice sweet against the inside of your thigh. Your slick glistened upon his chin, yet any remnants that remained, he quickly lapped up. He needed a moment to recuperate, crawling forward to rest his head against your chest. “The Gods have made you incomparable.”

Preening beneath his delicate praise and soft spoken compliments, you brought your fingers to his hair, gently raking through, correcting the dishevel you’d caused. You kissed his forehead, palm stroking along his broad, freckled shoulder.

Your lips twitched into an amiable smile, and he happened to crane his neck, peering at you with those warm, earthen-colored hues. “My heart calls your name,” You whispered, noticing the way his lips parted, a subtle exhale escaping him. His hands held you close, bodies flush against one another. “I am yours.”

Jacaerys could not wait for each day to be like this — no longer separated by duty or strife. You would be his wife, and he would be your husband, no room to be left to your own devices. The gods fashioned you both for love — and it would be as beautiful as it would be perilous.

“Calling you my wife certainly has an appeal,” Jace mused, crawling forward again until he was fully on top of you, propped up by his elbows, both of which had sunk into the pillow beside your head. “My heart belongs to you, now and forever.” He murmured.

It was difficult not to smile, bright and pearlescent, thighs still shaking in the aftermath of your release. He had made everything so perfect — steadfast by your side, supporting you in all endeavors, just as you would with him. He was your Prince, the future King of the Seven Kingdoms. You would follow him anywhere.

Part of him had always struggled with identity — who he was, who he was supposed to be. It was still a point of contention and deeply-rooted insecurities, but they all seemed to diminish in your presence.

You loved Jacaerys for his heart — blood never mattered.

He moved to kiss you, soft and lingering, allowing you to taste yourself upon his tongue. Jacaerys found his sanctuary between your legs, one hand moving to tug at the leather ties of his breeches. He had no desire to move quickly, delighted to be as slow as he could.

There would be time for haste, but this wasn’t one of those times. Instead, he cupped your face, kissing you again and again, seeking to feel your mouth and commit it to memory, memorizing every delicate feature you possessed.

“I want to be your wife,” Now, if you could. Part of you wanted to drag yourself from your bed and dress, Jacaerys in-tow, and find a septon — be wed and declare yourselves for all to see. “I would wish it into existence this very second, if I could.”

Jacaerys pressed a kiss against your brow, his countenance one of tenderness as he shook his head. “You already are,” He insisted, gazing down at you with such mesmerizing ardor, stars within his eyes. “A septon does not have to say the words for it to be true.”

You couldn’t have loved him more if you tried.

A soft giggle escaped you as you sought his lips for another kiss, even if it happened to be brief, shorter than the last. “Gods, I love you.” You beamed, and Jacaerys smiled too, pressing his forehead against yours. You had taken enough time to recuperate, and he was far from finished.

Desire took hold, and before you could manage to speak, your lips were on his. Jacaerys groaned — a low, pretty sound that made your stomach swirl with heat. You watched in silent rapture as he removed the last of his garments, breeches and smallclothes gone until he was all that remained.

Through the moonlit haze of your chambers, you fell in love with him again — each glance felt like the very first, heart stirring with a raging ardor. There was no one else like him, and there was no one else for you.

Your hands reached for him, loosely looping around the back of his neck, fingertips dancing across the valley between his shoulders. Jacaerys pressed closer, gaze half-lidded and heavy with desire and love, above all. His lips graced your forehead, breathing becoming a touch heavier.

The swell of his cock nestled against your stomach, hardened again, growing with mounting arousal as he kissed you again. You were swift to reciprocate, mouth desperately seeking him as he repositioned himself, hips adjusting to align himself with your entrance.

“Are you comfortable?” Jacaerys inquired, voice a gentle hum through the onslaught of kisses. He watched as you nodded, signaling for him to continue — he did without hesitation, cock pushing past your folds as gently inched forward.

It was a mutual blossoming of elation, with your breath hitching within your throat, a moan escaping from your lips as it tangled with Jace’s breathy groan. Your digits grasped at the nape of his neck, back arching slightly as he pushed into you, inch by agonizing inch.

It was perfection, the way the both of you melded together, two pieces of a puzzle, connected and joined. His cock filled you with such gentleness — Jacaerys never dared touch you with a rough hand. Instead, he found himself slipping into a familiar rhythm, that of lovemaking, hand finding the swell of your haunch.

He gripped you there, other palm splayed out beside your head, lips parted and visage flushed with ecstasy as he sluggishly rocked in and out of you. His countenance flourished with delight, curls framing his cheekbones, brown eyes finding yours.

The tension of his gaze bored right into you, and you happened to lock eyes, a gasp stirring within your throat when he bottomed out inside of you. “Jace,” A needy whimper escaped you as he began to find his pace, adopting a passionate constancy. “Don’t stop.” You sighed, and it only served to spur him on.

The sensation of your cunt clenching around his cock made him groan, belly filled with a fire that demanded to be extinguished. It was divine, something that he savored — and time moved slowly in your presence. He wouldn’t have it any other way.

Despite the tame nature of his pace, it was wrought with passion, ensuring that he hit that spot inside of you, over and over again. His wanton groans seemed to caress along the shell of your ear, filling you with a desire that swallowed you whole.

He was lost within you, drowning himself in your beauty, in your radiance — everything he had, he would give to you. Jacaerys surrendered it all — his heart, body, soul, anything you wanted, he belonged to you.

His mouth moved to pepper kisses all along your face, moving towards your neck. It was growing hot, unbearably so, reaching a fever pitch as he deepened each thrust of his hips, cock throbbing inside of you. Jace was becoming desperate, movements somewhat erratic as he fisted the sheets.

Some sliver of him desired to see you with his heir — a child of Old Valyria, a babe to sit the Throne after he passed, and you with him. It wasn’t something he was accustomed to, feeling this way, yet it fueled him with such desire, like the swell of a tidal wave coming to crash against him.

Jacaerys groaned into the hollow of your throat, savoring the sensation of your fingers digging into the curls at the nape of his neck. Your back arched slightly, legs shifting further apart to give way to his thrusts, lulled into submission by the steady repetition of his cock sliding in and out of you.

You rolled forward, creating a delicious friction that brought the both of you to heel, causing Jace to grit his teeth together. He showered your body with kisses, wherever he could reach, continuing to rock into you with a smoldering passion.

The volume of your lovemaking only intensified, between the breathy groans and blissful whines, the squelching of your cunt, the gentle glide of flesh against flesh. It was a cacophony of desire that only made you shiver, hand reaching for his shoulder, fingers brushing across the smattering of freckles there.

It was breathtaking to see you this way, countenance contorted into a look of sheer ecstasy, eyes closed, mouth slack — you were exemplary. Jacaerys could find no flaws with you, awestruck by your beauty in the moment, and he pushed forward once more.

He was disarmingly gentle with each and every thrust of his cock, burying himself within your cunt with such tenderness. Even if he wanted to be rough, the mere idea of it was too off-putting and strange, as if it disgusted him to no end. He enjoyed this, the revelation within each snap of hips, the enthralling charm of your physique.

“Jacaerys,” You panted, leg lifting into his hand as you moaned, face nearly nestled against his own. “Jace, I — Gods, I’m close!” Reduced to a whimpering mess within the hands of your capable husband, you felt him groan with you, cock throbbing violently inside of you.

A sharp exhale left him as he continued his steady pace, never allowing himself to grow erratic or sluggish. He stayed the course, pressing a kiss along the delicate curve of your jaw, hand kneading into your thigh. It was perfect — you were perfect.

That tight coil within his stomach began to wither, unfurling with ecstasy as he joined you in your peak, shuddering when he felt himself release. It was sudden again, seed filling your womb as he neglected to remove himself, chest heaving with breathy pants.

You followed suit, tugging at his curls, hand clamping into his shoulder as you reached your peak. It was all white-hot and blistering, like the lick of an open flame dragging all along your body.

It was akin to soaring high above the clouds, even if the moment was fleeting and brief. You composed yourself through the heaving of your chest, cunt slick and oozing with your arousal as Jacaerys remained still. He pressed his forehead to yours, mouth slowly curling into a warm smile.

Pressing a kiss against your temples, Jacaerys shifted, hips recoiling as he pulled himself from you. A sticky mess of his seed and your slick coated your cunt, causing you to press your thighs together. “Are you alright?” He murmured, swift to ensure your wellbeing.

“Wonderful,” You hummed, dimples forming at either corner of your mouth as you smiled. “I am perfect.” There was a feeling of complete and utter bliss in the aftermath, knowing that you would be wed, that he was by your side for all eternity.

“Good,” Jacaerys hummed, kissing your brow as he moved to lay beside you, pulling you into his arms. “I could draw us a bath.” He proposed, catching your attention as you nodded.

“That would be suitable, I think. I am something of a mess.” You confessed, warmth crawling along your spine as Jace held your hip, digits dancing all along your plush physique. He enjoyed everything about you, every detail, every curve and blemish — it all belonged to him.

“That would make two of us,” Jace mused, sluggishly moving from your warmth to make for the washroom. Handmaidens had filled the basin with water before you arrived, the water lukewarm, having lost its steam and heat. “Seems there isn’t a need for it.” He remarked.

You joined him, fingers reaching for your robe as you draped it over the plush chair sitting beside your vanity. Dipping two fingers into the water, you seemed unimpressed with the temperature, but it was better to be clean instead. “I suppose we do not have a choice.”

As you stepped inside, you shivered, disgruntled by the water, now somewhat cold and devoid of warmth. You sank down into the basin, with Jacaerys following suit as he sat behind you, chest pressed snugly against your back, arms looping around you.

“I’ll keep you warm, my Lady.” He hummed, eliciting a giggle from you as you happened to recline against him, head craning to press a kiss against his jaw. Jacaerys could not imagine a moment sweeter than this, basking in your presence in a blissful aftermath, holding you close against him.

With an amiable smile, you moved into his embrace, hands stroking along his taut forearm, cheek buried against his shoulder as he held you. You felt his lips grace the hollow between your neck and shoulder, mouth blazing as hot as dragon’s fire, a token of his ardor for you — his love was unwavering.

And you were warm.

copyright @ swordgrace ; please do not steal or claim my work as your own. please do not copy or translate my work onto other platforms.

[glitchfiles]

only 'til dawn. [ljn]

pairing ⋆ badboy!jeno x inexperienced/goodgirl!reader

wordcount ⋆ 2.7k+

warnings ⋆ SMUT MINORS DNI!!!, softdom!jeno, smoking, shotgunning, car sex, big dick jeno, corruption, praise, light degradation, oral (m receiving), cowgirl, spanking (once), light choking, creampie...

note ⋆ i had to leave this one in my drafts for some time first because i didn't want to upload two car sex fics in a row then i wanted to rewrite it then i couldn't be asked to do that fully... so yeah, enjoy :D

"fuck," jeno drawls out as his head lolls to the side, "you're shit at this." he chuckles at your feeble attempt to give him a blowjob.

you look up at him, he seems totally unphased by your attempts to get him off, even going as far as to fish a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of the inner pocket of his leather jacket. the scowl that forms on your brow shows how much it dents your pride; he smirks down at you tauntingly.

"open your mouth a little more." he places a cigarette between his lips and lights the end. "you don't mind if i smoke, right?" you roll your eyes, he could have asked before. at least he had the courtesy to wind the window down.

there was no reason for you to debase yourself like this, the whole situation is beyond demeaning. you’re on your knees in the back of jeno’s car, struggling to please him and now he’s having a smoke mid-head?!

it felt as if your jaw was about to unhinge at any moment, you didn’t know it could stretch this far. the girls in the videos made it look so easy, compared to them, the way you were slobbering all over his girth was far from sexy. not to mention how you were clumsily pumping the rest of his length. not to toot your own horn, but you picked things up easily, this was a whole different ballpark to academic work. 

"you're too big," you whine. your lack of experience definitely didn't have anything to do with the shoddy head you were giving. how he was still hard was a wonder, you’re sure he’s seconds away from going flaccid.

normally, he would have put an end to the whole thing. it's not like he wasn't one text away from a few girls that could suck the soul out of him. however, considering how unsavoury his reputation was, the fact that you, the university’s golden girl, and much-revered student union president, were so eager to please him behind closed doors inflated his ego more than anything else could.

he couldn’t help but find humour in how ardently you refused to acknowledge him in public at times like this; if you spotted him on campus you looked the other way. but the moment he shot you a text, you were swooning and giggling, begging to meet up. so, here you were, in the dead of night, at the back of an empty parking lot a couple of miles away from campus.

“you’re lucky you have a patient teacher, i’m going to turn you into an expert!” jeno directs you between drags of his cigarette, blowing the smoke out of the windows as he laughs at you being unable to get the hang of it. saying you feel frustrated would be an understatement.

"i don't want to do this anymore," you sit up, finally admitting defeat and letting his heavy cock flop down against his abdomen. if jeno were a better person, he would have stopped you a few minutes ago, but you were so eager to please him and he loved the adorable pout on your lips and how your brows furrowed whenever you were exasperated.

"then what do you want to do?" you can think of a few things, but they would be super embarrassing to say. so, you refused to answer. he sighs before slotting his cigarette between his lips, leaving his hands free to pull you onto his lap.

"wanna try?" you don't know what possesses you, but you nod. 

how bad can it be? 

he taps the burnt end off, letting the ashes fall out the window before setting the cigarette between your lips. it feels childish to admit, but the fact that you had shared an indirect kiss makes you smile. this doesn't last long, though; after a short pull, you end up choking.

"god, that's awful!" you squeak as he belly laughs, only stopping when you hit his chest. all he's done tonight is tease you.

"i thought so too when i first tried." he soothes you, so as to not incur any more of your light-handed wrath. "why don't we start with some baby steps?" 

you're unsure what he means until his large, rough hand is placed gently under your jaw and his thumb brushes over your lower lip, "open up for me, angel."

he takes a long drag before tilting his head to the side and filling your mouth with a thick cloud of smoke. you're not sure what this is, but it feels intimate. it feels as if he’s breathing life into you. your whole body warms and tingles, your head spins, and a fire lights in your core.

once his lungs are empty, he seals it with a kiss. it's slow and passionate. his hand slides round to the back of your neck, pulling you closer. maybe it’s the nicotine running through your veins, you feel lightheaded. you let him slip his tongue past your lips to dance around your own.

the sweet flavour of your strawberry lip balm he was used to intermingled with the bitterness of his cigarette. he can't help but groan at the fact you taste a lot more like him now. 

the cigarette he's momentarily forgotten in his hand gets flicked away to burn to a butt somewhere on the tarmac outside. his now free hand comes to rest on your hip. it guides your body forwards, bringing your clothed centre flush against his bare cock.

you mewl into his mouth, he swallows down the sound. he’s greedy for more and starts rocking against you. grinding out then gulping down your noises, they go straight down to his cock. it’s throbbing, you can feel how painfully hard he is underneath you. only when he’s met with an uncomfortable stickiness due to his precum seeping through his shirt does he put an end to his gluttony.

a begrudging whine fills the car as he pulls your lips away from him. the look in his eyes alone was almost enough to make you cream, it was different to the cocky, yet lewd, eye fucking that seemed to be his default. those dark eyes of his turned into endless pits of boundless desire.

warm hands glide under your sweater, tugging it over your head, off your body to let it land somewhere in the front of his car. he does the same with his own shirt, sitting back to let you admire the rippling muscles on his torso. you delicately placed a hand on his chest, sliding it down to his abdomen; it seems he doesn’t have to have his dick in your mouth to have you drooling over him.

“like what you see, baby?” the smug look on his face makes your stomach twist.

“shut up,” you smash your lips against his again before he can speak again. 

jeno rushes to unclasp your bra, pushing the fabric out of his way so he can knead at your breasts; not before long, his mouth leaves you to pepper kisses down your neck then it encloses around one of your pert nipples. 

“mmm, jeno!” you mewl as his tongue laps at the bud, causing your back to arch in search of more stimulation. a hand weaves itself into his inky, thick locks, pushing him to give attention to the other side. “jeno, more!”

“i love hearing you say my name,” he growls against your chest, “wanted to hear you say it all week, but you don’t even spare me a glance unless i have my cock out.” 

you ignore the slight bitterness in his tone focusing on how he nips at your skin, leaving dark marks he hopes will last until he next sees you. marks that he hopes others will see and know you belong to someone; you’ll probably chastise him later over text but he doesn’t care, anything to keep him on your mind like you're always on his. 

reluctantly, he detaches himself from your chest and sits back, eyeing the drying traces of saliva he left with a dazed smile. 

“what next? tell me.” his hands delicately caress your hips, your cheeks begin to heat up and you avoid his eye contact. “don’t act all coy now, where’s the girl that begged me to drive her out here and fuck her dumb?” 

you were still clinging onto the last dregs of your virtuous good girl persona - the last white spots on a canvas he had first found unsullied. your first sin had been naivety, too easily seduced by a good-looking face and the sweet nothings he whispered in your ears but he had been more than happy to lengthen the list.

you wondered if this was how you had always been - or was he corrupting you. he broke down every conception you had of yourself and no one outside of the car you both sat in would believe this was you - you barely did yourself. some would say he was ruining you, but he’d never make you do something you didn’t want to, this was all you.

“please…” you let your head fall onto the crook of his neck, voice barely above a whisper. “want you inside.”

“a smart girl like you can be more descriptive than that.” he strokes a finger down your back, leaving a trail of heat on your spine, in hopes of prompting lewder vocabulary. you take a moment to chew your bottom lip and swallow down the last bit of dignity you had.

“please, fuck me.” you weep against the shell of his ear, “fill my pussy up, i need you so bad, jeno.” 

“sound so pretty when you tell me what you want.” his low-toned praise makes you shiver as he flips your skirt up and raises your hips. he pushes your panties to the side to position his cock at your dripping entrance. taking a second to tease your slit, making sure to brush over your swollen clit, only to hold you still when your hips jerk forward.

“look at me, angel.” you perk up for him, “so beautiful,” he tucks a stray lock of hair behind your ear. his gaze holds yours firmly as he brings you down on his bulbous tip, stretching you out slowly.

you struggle to keep your eyes from shutting. your mouth hangs open letting out hushed gasps as you sink down an inch at a time. he thinks you’re the prettiest creature he’s ever laid eyes on. 

“keep going... yeah, just like that... so good...” his soft gaze, light touch and encouraging words make things easier. he can feel your walls begin to relax and hungrily accept his girth. 

“‘s so fucking big,” you wail out, not even having taken him fully. you couldn’t quite yet without his help, though you’ll get there eventually - he’d make sure of that. 

“i know, baby, but you take me so well. can you move for me?” you nod shyly, lifting yourself and dropping back down as far as you can with a long whine. up and down, you split yourself open over and over. 

jeno’s hands press into your flesh, silently encouraging you to take more of him. you work your hips faster, earning a deep groan from him as his head falls back. instinctively, your mouth attaches itself to his neck, mimicking the way he had kissed and sucked at your own earlier.

“for such a sweet, innocent girl, you sure do ride like a slut.” he breathily laughs as his hand comes down on your ass with a sounding slap. “like the way my cock stretches this tight cunt out.” there’s no hiding the way your walls clench at the sharp sting. you try to find refuge from your embarrassment by hiding your face in his shoulder, but he quickly takes ahold of your throat, forcing you to sit up straight.

“don’t hide from me,” he tells you warningly and squeezes your neck lightly. once again your eyes lock, his stare as intense as ever. your teeth sink into your bottom lip and you rest your hands on his strong chest, adopting a faster pace. 

he lets out moans which you naturally reciprocate, however, you embellish yours with his name; you feel his cock twitch at the sound of it. the look in his eyes turns wild as his fingers dig deeper into the meat of your ass, forming a nearly bruising grip; with the other hand, he’s careful not to cut off airflow but forms a hold that leaves you feeling dizzy. 

“you know exactly what you do to me.” he chuckles, “you were fucking made for me, made for taking my cock, weren’t you? yeah, so perfect, angel.”

your legs begin to shake, his words and his cock are quickly pushing you towards the pinnacle. you try your very best to work through the overwhelming pleasure and the ache in your thighs, wanting to get him off since you failed at sucking his dick. but you can't seem to power through it, tears well in your eyes as everything becomes too overwhelming, it's far too much.

“need help, baby?” his soft spot for you wins, “did such a good job for me. i’ll take care of you, make you cum all over my cock. want that?”

“please, need to cum so bad.” his hand leaves your neck and places itself and your other asscheek. he plants his feet firmly and then rams up into you.

your brain goes blank in an instant. 

he’s deep. so deep. too deep!

you cry out, nails digging into his broad, muscular shoulders to anchor yourself. the tears that had threatened to leave your eyes before stream down your face, staining your cheeks. your whole body quivers as his cock lays kisses on your cervix with each thrust. 

“jeno, oh my god, right there!” you practically scream. his face screws at the feeling of your walls constricting, getting tighter by the second and making it harder to move; he powers through by jackhammering into you with more force. 

it feels like you could break at any moment, he's bouncing you on his cock like you're a ragdoll and you're too weak to do anything but take and enjoy it. all it takes is a few more thrusts before you’re creaming all over him. your body seizes as your eyes roll back, and his name tumbles from your lips incessantly in pleasured sobs. 

it’s hard to keep you in one place as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm, but he handles your squirming body with ease using his strength. the most ungodly wet squelches fill the car as he races towards his own release, your sticky mess clings to both of your thighs. 

“shit… pussy’s sucking me in so deep, gonna cum.” his chest rises and falls dramatically, he can barely breathe. his thrusts get choppier as he loses himself to the feral urge to paint your insides pearly white.

a heavy groan rips through him as his balls tighten, he nestles his cock nice and deep as he pours hot spurts of cum into you. he fills you with warmth; you feel complete for a moment. unfortunately, all good things must come to an end eventually. 

you could almost start crying again when he pulls you off of him. his praise on how well you took his cum as it dribbles out of your cunt makes up for it, though. his tongue swipes across his lips as he watches it drip all over his cock, unbothered by the fact half of it is soiling his leather car seats too. 

the sound of your wild breathing is all that fills the car for a moment until his lips find yours one last time. breathlessly kissing you, there is less vigour than before but just as much passion. your heart warms for a moment at the almost bashful smile on his face as he rests his forehead against yours and wipes the tears that still cling to your soft skin.

this feels right, perfect even, but it only takes a few words for him to fuck it all up.

“wanna come over to mine?” jeno regrets his words immediately, the expression on your face sour at the thought of someone spotting you walking into his dorm or one of his loud-mouthed roommates blabbering about you spending the night together.

give jeno a hand and he’ll end up taking the whole arm.

you pull away from him suddenly remembering who you are.

“don’t be ridiculous, you know i can’t even be caught dead with you.” you grimace at the mess between your legs as you reposition your panties; then, you search for the clothing he had strewn around the car.

you don’t even look at him when you demand him to. “just drop me off where you usually do.”

jeno grins even at your cold-hearted rejection. not just anyone could say they had a place between your legs; he’s sure he’ll have a place in your heart too soon enough…

★ thanks for reading! my inbox is open for feedback and requests! :3

© glitchfiles

[tasteracha]

kinktober - day thirteen

kink: camcorder with minho ft. chan

warnings: smut - MINORS DNI. threesome (kind of), chan is a perv, afab!reader, teensy bit of manipulation

chan didn’t think this would happen when he asked minho to borrow his camcorder a couple days ago - all he wanted was to record some practice videos to upload to youtube. he didn’t think before he took it, didn’t think before he looked through minho’s old footage of his dancing that he keeps for memories, didn’t think before watching what he watched. 

it was a video of you. and minho. 

in his defense, the storage on the memory card was almost full and chan was just looking for something that could be deleted to free up space - and wouldn’t minho check the storage to see if there was anything he didn’t want chan seeing first? if anything, this is minho’s fault. 

sure, it’s minho’s fault that chan is one second away from jerking off to the sight of you getting fucked into oblivion by his best friend, the grainy pixels leaving little to nothing to his imagination. your moans sound tinny from the low quality speakers, minho’s grunts accenting the sounds coming from your mouth as he fucks you up against the studio mirrors. your breath is fogging up from where your face is pressed against the glass, sweaty handprints from the both of you staining the surface. minho better have cleaned those mirrors after that, chan’s delirious mind supplies as he continues watching the footage he should have turned off minutes ago. 

the video is from the same angle as their dance practices, the same walls on display and oh fuck chan doesn’t think he’s been this hard in his entire life. that’s the room that he dances in, he’s leaned up against that exact mirror, panting and overexerted, he’s been yelled at by minho for messing up the choreography in that exact place. 

he tries. he tries so hard to forget what he saw, to get the image of you shaking apart when you came out of his head. to stop thinking about the way your skin went white from where minho was gripping it. to restrain from gripping his cock in his hand under his blanket with his eyes screwed shut and the symphony of your combined noises playing in his head like a song he couldn’t get off of repeat. 

but how could he when he had to go back into that rehearsal room just a few days later to practice? what excuse could he possibly give his members about why he wanted to switch rooms from this one? the room that’s full of their most precious memories, full of laughter and tears and piles of sweaty cuddles on the floor? no, he couldn’t. what he could do was avoid that spot like it was poisonous, standing on the farthest edge of the room after practice was over, chugging water and thinking about how you both have probably fucked on the floor there, or those couches, or by the closet door. 

he doesn’t notice you at first, sliding into the room to hand minho a cold water bottle and press a kiss to his cheek. the other members were slowly trickling out, passing tired greetings to you as they shuffled past, eager to go home and shower. when only minho and him were left, you went to approach him only to find his eyes already on you, glazed over at you but not really seeing. 

he looks at you and all he can see is the way you were pressed up against the glass, your tits squished but somehow still bouncing, the screwed up features of your face when you were overwhelmed in pleasure. all he can hear are those metallic sounding moans, all he can feel is the urge to fall at your feet-

“bang chan,” minho snaps, jerking chan out of his fantasy. “where is my camera? you’ve had it for a while, i wanted to record the new choreography.”

“oh!” chan is starting to panic, he didn’t think that minho would ask after the camcorder so soon. he didn’t have time to prepare, didn’t have the energy to create an excuse. “there was too much storage on it, so i didn’t get to record what i wanted and i forgot to ask you about it.”

he’s biting his tongue now, cursing himself for saying too much. couldn’t he just have said he would give it back tomorrow?

“i didn’t think about the storage,” minho starts, not sounding like he had anything to hide. did he truly not know about what he had left on that camera for chan to find? “did you see anything interesting?”

he knows. he knows. chan is beginning to sweat, he can feel it in his hair and under his arms and he wants to bury a hole by his feet so he can jump into it and never climb out. 

“haha, no,” he says, packing up the rest of his bag so that he didn’t have to look at minho. or you, who’s been silent since you walked in, watching him carefully. for all he wasn’t scared of minho and his adorably empty threats, he was terrified of you. “i didn’t even look. just saw that the storage was full, you know?”

he sounds awkward. he is awkward, right now. 

“chan,” you trail a finger down his arm, speaking for the first time since you arrived and he’s gone, your touch leaving raised hairs in your wake. you should be angry, you should be livid, why are you touching him like that- “come over tonight to mine would you? we wanted to have you over for a while, minho wanted to cook for you. and you can give him the camera back then.”

“oh,” chan is sure that his face is flushed completely red by now, but he nods anyways. “sure! i’m free tonight. i’ll be there at seven? or whenever is good for you, i’m free. wait, i said that already-”

“perfect,” minho purrs, taking one of your hands in his and laying the other on chan’s shoulder. “seven is perfect. see you then, chan.”

--

he gets to your place early and sits in his car for 30 minutes, chewing at his fingernails and tapping his leg at an alarming pace. the more he thinks about it the more he overthinks - did they just want to yell at you in private instead of at the company building? did they really not know? what if he confessed and they didn’t know? what if they never speak to you again?

he has to take several deep breaths before leaving his car, and again before he knocks on your door. he’s ushered in by you, bright smiles on yours and minho’s faces as you take the camera out of his hands, and by the time he has a glass of wine in his hand and he’s sitting on the couch while minho puts the finishing touches on dinner he’s almost fully relaxed. he’s been here so many times, your apartment being a refuge to all the boys when they wanted to get away from the dorms for a bit. this is normal. 

“let me put something on for us to watch,” you say at the same time minho asks chan if he wanted more wine, and you sneak the camcorder towards the tv while chan was distracted, sniping at minho that no he doesn’t want a second glass he’s not even halfway through the first one. you plug it in, smiling when it connected to the right input immediately. you scroll through the files, fingers calm on the remote even though you were shaking in anticipation inside. when you get to the right file you click on it, turning up the volume. 

the image of you and minho takes over the tv, sounds coming out of the tv in a much better quality than what chan had been used to. his head whips towards the tv, wine forgotten and eyes wide as he takes in the video that you put on.

“what?” he asks, almost in a gasp as his eyes flicker back and forth between the tv, you, and minho, who had finally exited the kitchen and joined you in the living room.

“we thought since you loved it so much, we would watch it together,” minho explains, much more casually than one should be when playing a video of them fucking their girlfriend in front of their best friend. “why, is something wrong?” 

“i-”, chan cuts himself off, panic choking his voice. “i’m so sorry-”

“hey,” you move towards him, sitting against his side and taking one of his hands in both of yours. “that isn’t what this is about. we don’t mind, okay?” 

“we couldn’t let him sputter on for a bit more?” minho pouts, crossing his arms at you. “it was funny.”

“min, be nice,” you scold, smiling at chan. 

“channie, i would have beat you up when i found out if i wanted to,” minho relents, siting on chan’s other side, sandwiching him between you both. “she likes that you watched it. i like it. okay? just relax and be good for us.”

minho’s words wash over chan, leaving him in a sort of daze. be good for us, minho had said. he could do that, chan was so good at being good. he melts against the couch, the heat from both of your bodies enveloping him as he takes in the video he’s seen over and over already. 

“you planned this?” he asks, breathless and mesmerized. 

“of course i did,” minho scoffs, squeezing one of chan’s thighs in his warm hand. “you think i would just let you watch that without planning it? i’m not that stupid.”

you’re not, but maybe i am, chan thinks, and he only realizes that he said it out loud when you start giggling and lean your head into his shoulder to hide your laughter. 

he wants to retort, to somehow defend himself, but then video-minho changes his angle and starts fucking video-you even harder than before and whatever words were in his throat stayed behind the lump there.

“do you want to do that to her?” minho asks, hand trailing up chan’s thigh, leaving behind phantom pinpricks of sensation. he lets his blunt nails rake over chan’s leg, the delicate material of his workout pants providing no protection. 

“can i?” chan breathes out, looking at you like he’s never seen anything more beautiful. 

“please,” you wiggle your legs open a bit, a clear invitation. his hand comes to rest on your thigh and it’s so big, so much bigger than minho’s. he slides it up, to the hem of your oversized shorts, dipping his fingers closer to your panties and -

he stops. 

“but, i also want…” he ducks his head down, trying to hide his flush before glancing at minho through his lashes. minho’s brow furrows, confusion clear on his face before he puts it together. 

“oh, my channie,” he coos, running a hand through chan’s hair. “we can do that too, i promise. but my girl has been waiting so long for you, you don’t want to make her wait even longer, do you?”

chan shakes his head, entire body swaying with the force of it, reenergized by minho’s promise of more. he turns towards you and you feel your breath leave your body as you turn weighless for a moment, landing back on earth to find yourself straddling chan’s lap. 

“you’re strong,” you praise, feeling up his biceps as you get comfy in his lap, ignoring minho’s indignant yelp next to you. chan beams up at you, both of his hands cupping your ass and using it as leverage to pull you closer into him. his dick is hard in his pants, poking against your crotch, and you both let out lewd moans when you grind into him a bit. he glances at minho, a little insecure and still kind of uncomfortable, but minho just pulls him in and kisses him deeply. it’s a sight to see, like a movie playing out right in front of your eyes, the love of your life and his best friend making out right in front of you. chan tenses a bit but melts into the couch even faster, letting minho lead him into blissful submission as he cups his face and moves it right how he wants it. 

when they part, chan’s lips are cherry red and so wet, glistening in the light from the lamps decorating the room. you can’t help but kiss him too, licking minho’s essence off of him and reveling in the way he bucks up into you like he can’t help it. 

chan slides his lips to the right, peppering kisses to the corner of your lips, across your jaw and down your neck. he sucks at the spot right under your ear that makes you see stars, heat bursting in your lower belly. he was utterly intoxicated by your scent, your clean, floral body wash taking over his senses until he was all but panting into your neck. 

it almost hurts to pull back from him, it’s like a stab right to your heart when he makes a wounded noise at the loss of contact, but you need more from him. any thoughts that you might have had of seducing him, of wining and dining him and showing him how much you really wanted him, died out once you felt his hands on you. you’ve been crushing on this man for almost as long as you’ve been crushing on minho, and you weren’t going to give this opportunity any time to ruin itself; you knew chan, knew how his self-consciousness and second-guessing worked, and if you wanted him you needed to take him now before he changed his mind. 

you reach for the drawstring on his pants, pulling it open and sticking your hand in, rubbing him through his boxers. next time you’d have more decorum, you’d suck him off until he was right on the edge and make him sob when you refuse to let him come, you’d let him fuck you into the mattress and let him pin you down, but not right now. 

“on the couch?” chan asks, eyes wide as they flicker back and forth between you and minho. 

“you know we’ve done it in worse places,” minho says, humor lining his words as the lust takes over his eyes at the thought of what was about to happen. a burst of affection takes over you as you look at him, your perfect soulmate who understood you and your desires and shared them with you like you shared everything else. 

“never knew you were such an exhibitionist,” chan snipes back at him, gasping when you tug him out of his pants and boxers, the stretch of his waistband making it easy. you only have to stroke him a few times until he’s fully hard, his cock red and leaking where it curves into his lower belly. 

“minho, help me,” you ask, blinking at minho through your eyelashes, and he knows what you want immediately; he hooks his fingers through your shorts and panties at once, pulling them down to your knees, just far down enough for you to be able to rub your bare pussy against chan’s cock.

“god, you’re so wet,” he curses, throwing his head back and sighing in time with the movement of your hips.

“for you, channie,” your voice cracks when his cock catches on your clit, and both of them are smart enough not to say anything about it. minho moves though, ever impatient, and lines chan’s cock up against your hole with practiced ease. 

“thought about this a lot, did you?” you tease, knowing very well that both of you thought about this a little too much, sharing fantasies in hushes whispers when you were supposed to be asleep. . 

minho clicks his tongue and presses himself up behind you, still fully clothed even though his dick was rock hard in his jeans. he places his hands on your hips and pushes you into chan, driving his cock deep into you. you collapse against chan’s chest, a surprised yelp leaving you at the unexpected fullness. chan echoes you, burying his face into your neck with a shudder. 

“tease me again and see what i’ll do,” he says darkly, hands still in a death grip on your waist. you take his threat for what it is, knowing that he would follow through with his words, and you start grinding into chan in slow circles. his hands circle your waist, fingers tangled with minho as they let you set the pace. 

“please,” chan whimpers, his breath tickling your neck. you want to tease him so badly, but how could you when he asked so politely? you shift your knees further onto the couch, gaining leverage so you could lift your hips higher up. you drop back down onto him and you both moan in unison. 

you lift back up and drop down, again and again and again, finding a rhythm that fits both of you perfectly. it’s like a dance, moves that feel practiced and eased, spurred on by minho’s soft whispered praises towards the both of you. the video playing on the tv had reached its end, and every sound coming from you was heightened. 

“what a pretty show, all for me,” minho moves away and finally takes his cock out of his jeans, fisting it and immediately starting to stroke himself off at a fast pace. you can’t see him, you miss the warmth of him against your back, but chan can’t take his eyes off of him, transfixed by the sight of his best friend jerking himself off to him and you as you’re bouncing on top of him. 

you’re shaking apart on top of chan before you realize it, orgasm taking over you as you continue to ride him. you clench around him hard, and he’s spilling into you a second later, jerky little thrusts shaking your body on top of his. minho curses as he comes a moment later, too keyed up to extend his pleasure for long. this wasn’t about him anyways; at least, not this time. 

you lift off of chan with a hiss, sending him a look of sympathy when he shivers in overstimulation. you don’t make it far, pulling him down to lay against you, your back pressed up against his front. both of your pants are still halfway off, but you can’t be bothered to care right now - you’re utterly exhausted, even from just one orgasm. 

the both of you barely register minho draping a blanket over you before settling on the floor in front of you, leaning his head on the couch right by where chan’s hands were around your stomach. it’s so domestic, the three of you drifting towards one another so naturally that it just feels right. later, you’d get up and eat the now-cold dinner minho had painstakingly prepared, but for now you were content to lay in comfortable quiet.

“wait,” chan breaks the silence, and you have to resist the urge to groan at him. “how did you know that i watched it? what if the storage really was just full?”

“please, you’re too obvious,” minho teases, voice soft and drowsy, and you can hear the smile in it. “plus, you were watching it in the dorms, idiot. you’re lucky it wasn’t jeongin that caught you.”

--

kinktober masterlist

[dovesick]

that’s a wrap on artfight! thank you so much to everyone who attacked me, i had a blast :D hope you guys all had fun too

[sugurizz]

(SMUT/NSFW +18 Minors DNI!)

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐 𝐭𝐨 𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐛𝐨𝐲! 𝐘𝐮𝐮𝐭𝐚

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ── Sooo I originally uploaded this on my BBY boy’s birthday to celebrate it because he means the WORLD to me bro frrr. But it accidentally got deleted and I only found out about it after a month or sth sooo yeah…poop happens. Anyways enjoy my naugthy boii smut tysm ✨

Lover boy Yuuta who couldn’t forget you after your little escapade together. You were both on vacation and only had a few days left before you had to say your goodbyes and go back to your respective cities.

He gave you the warmest hug the day you two parted ways. His cute straw hat and the fluttering pink on his cheeks had you missing him already.

‘See you soon,’ His much bigger hand held yours. long fingers locking with your smaller ones. ‘Talk to me when you get home.’

You felt frustrated. Having to leave Yuu just a few days after meeting him…

He had the biggest warmest heart and the thickest cock to match, ate your ass like a god till you almost ripped his bedsheets and muttered the sweetest words when he cuddled you on the late summer nights..

‘come visit me soon. I’ll be missing you too…’ You planted a peck on the tip of his nose and smiled, eyes still lustfully glued to his dark ones.

Lover boy Yuuta who kept in close touch with you ever since then. He got more lovesick by the day and hornier by the night. Calling you more often and loosening you up mid convo. Asking you what you’re wearing, the fabric and color of your underwear. Teasing you about the nights he made you cum in tears, reminiding you of how much you whined and moaned, clawed at his back muscles and squirted on his stomach. The sound of his voice talking you into touching yourself, making you crave him more as he does the same. Your whines of dissatisfaction at his absence merge with his deep groans and hearty giggles.

‘Come on sweets…nghh don’t leave me hanging here…cum with me, sweetheart’ He strokes himself faster, making your shaky hands rub your heat.

‘Yuuta…need you so much, my pussy wants you so bad’

‘We’ll be together soon, promise you babe’

He cums and groans low, cursing at how bad he wishes it was your pussy lips squeezing him instead of his own hand.

Lover boy Yuuta who got so embarassed about the idea of sending you nude pictures of him. Not only is he self conscious about how big his cock is but he still wants his girlfriend to see him all soft and vulnerable for her.

You received a pic from him late at night. White towel wrapped around his waist, barely covering past his V-line. He took the pic with a cheeky smirk, big doe eyes shiny and his hair a slightly moist from the shower he just took.

Lover boy Yuuta who’s finally arrived at your homecity, waiting impatiently . You noticed him in his grey sweatpants, waving at you and holding his arms wide open for you to finally fall into. He pulled you in the tightest hug and squeezed your body closer to his, gently stroking your hair.

Lover boy Yuuta who’s been horny for days. His balls all tight and heavy, waiting to be milked dry inside your pretty pussy. He tried to be a sweetheart and give it some time before fucks you dumb, but you couldn’t help waiting and pulled him into your room, dropping to your knees in front of him and pulling his sweatpants lower.

Lover boy Yuuta who’s fuzzy and flustered, he makes sure that he’s not pressuring you into anything like the sweetheart he is, but your eyes bubbling with hearts and your glossy lips planting the wettest kisses on his cock soon shut him up.

‘Oh babe, you feel so good..’

He ruffles your hair and buries your face into his crotch. ‘Do something to me, my balls are so heavy for you, princess.’

Your nose digs into his trimmed pubes. He smells so good and feels so big in your little mouth. Your throat struggles to make space for him but you still take him in. Your teary eyes glance up at him, giving him a lovedrunk stare, fondling his balls softly in your palms.

You suck him off for hours, laying your head on his thigh and licking the sticky precum off his tip, eyes locked with his and nails gently teasing his gorgeous balls.

‘How you doing luv? feels good?’

He shivers and squeezes his thighs around your head, his length twitching and mouth half open in feverish desire.

‘D-Don’t wanna cum yet…wanna do it in your tight pussy’

‘She missed you too..come fuck her like you hate her’

He kisses you senseless, groping your ass and rubbing it back and forth on his hard-on. His moans vibrate against your lips, getting deeper and louder as does his frustration.

Lover boy Yuuta who’s fucking you stupid. His balls are bouncing up and down, bumping on your tiny asshole and making you cry in pleasure.

He keeps you still with one arm and pulls your hair back with the other, having your tits rub against his face.

He smacks your ass on repeat, his large hands leaving their imprint on your skin as you mewl for him to let you cum.

‘Mmmh gosh…fuck my brains out Yuuta!, Make me pregnant’ He holds your face and sticking his forehead to yours, staring into your eyes and lustfully hammering into your tummy.

‘F-fuck..your pussy drives me crazy…Don’t ever leave me..luv you so much, agh’

He holds your hands and props you on his lap, sloppily making out with you and pawing all over your skin. He suckles you tongue and licks your lips till they’re all puffy and soft. The blush on his cheeks never tones down, and his glistening eyes turned teary from so much arousal. His hips rutted faster, raspy moans almost supressing yours.

Lover boy Yuuta who’s covered you all over with his sticky cum; inside your pussy, your butt, your tummy, your face, spurting on your breasts and sucking your nipples till they turned sore and raw.

You skins felt so warm and sticky, gross fluids and sweat covering you both and room getting all hot and foggy from your gasps and moans. He tired you up so much you cried on his dick, begging him to give you some rest as your knees shaked senseless.

‘It’s okay sweetie, bear with me a little more…nghh missed you so much, my big cock still wants more, yeah?’

‘Mmmh Yuuta, hic…p-please wait a sec…it hurtss’

‘Shh, you’re my big girl…You’re strong enough to take me, nice and good’

He cums inside you once more, plugging your cunt with his middle finger and planting a playful kiss on your cheek.

‘Thank you, Yuuta..’ You smile at him softly. You stare at him, all amourous and melty. Tummy so full with your boyfriend’s cum and arms wrapped around him in a warm embrace.

He holds you tight and rests his head on yours.

‘You’ll thank me more tomorrow, sweet cheeks.’

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

It's a Match! || 141 x reader

[ Chapter 7 ] || [ Chapter 9 ]

Pairing: Ghost x gn!Reader || 141 x gn!Reader Words: 1.1K~ Summary: While overcoming recent heartbreak, you decide to join Tinder in search of a rebound. Your friends advise to just Swipe Right indiscriminately... What happens when 4 soldiers from the same squad match with you? a/n: ghost is making a move.

Chapter 8: Awooga?

Surprisingly, your one-night stand with John last night did wonders for you. You felt energized all day and made it a point to clean everything instead of moping about like you have tended to do since your break-up with Ethan.

There were days when you considered texting him, neck deep in feelings you couldn’t quite move past, trying your best to stay afloat. Four years by his side couldn’t be forgotten in the blink of an eye, even if neither of you wanted anything to do with the other and had each other blocked on every platform imaginable.

It’s 4 P.M. on Saturday and you’re laying about in your living room wearing lounge clothes, your legs spread over your coffee table, eyes lazily locked on the TV as you fiddle with your phone, twirling it in your hand.

Eventually, you find yourself getting bored… So you decide to open Tinder one last time. You got what you wanted out of it. John scratched that itch… There’s no need to keep it. But it’s still funny enough to judge the men on that app even if you’re no longer doing anything with them.

You start Left Swiping on every profile that comes onto your screen, silently judging each one and murmuring to yourself. You get about 15 profiles in before you find yourself bored of even that.

Sighing and getting peckish, you decide to order yourself something good for dinner from a delivery app. Then, while waiting for the notification that your driver is on his way, you return to Tinder.

You open the DM tab, finding dozens of new DMs from guys and skim through them, none of them catching your eye. If you were in the mood, you’d maybe engage in convo with one of them, maybe annoy them a little… But they all seem so… bland.

Then you find Simon’s chat lost in the influx. You click on it for a moment, smiling a bit as you spot his politeness and excess professionalism for someone that’s on a dating app looking to get laid.

Biting your lip, your fingers glide across the keyboard as you shoot him a quick message.

you: so… are you thinking of ever uploading a new pic of yourself?

The Read indicator popped up under your DM almos instantly, and the bubbles indicating Simon was typing soon followed.

Simon: Look who it is. Simon: Hello to you too. Simon: No, I don’t intend to do that. you: hi, sorry. x you: why not? Simon: I don’t take this app seriously enough to want to show off what I look like. you: was that a dig at me for having a whole gallery? Simon: No. Simon: Unless you want it to be. 😉 you: 😱😱 you: SIMON DID YOU JUST USE AN EMOJI? Simon: I regret doing it now. you: NOOOO pls don’t! you: it was fun!!!! Simon: Alright then. Simon: How are you feeling today?

You’re genuinely shocked by his question and you find yourself smiling a bit.

you: i’m okay hru? Simon: Just okay? I’m fine thanks. you: yeah! feeling lazy. Simon: You had me worried you weren’t feeling well after last night.

Your cheeks warm up so quickly that you even sputter and sit up on the couch with a start.

you: you know?? Simon: Of course I know. Simon: John’s my captain.  you: he told you??????? Simon: No. John’s old school. No kiss and tell. Simon: But we were all expecting he’d go home with you. Simon: Kind of an open secret. you: oh Simon: Does that bother you? you: i don’t think so? you: i guess i should’ve expected you would realize it Simon: I’m sorry. Simon: To be fair, I can tell you that you did a great job, he’s in a much better mood. you: that is not the praise you think it is 😭 Simon: I’m not used to giving praise, cut me some slack alright? you: right. i can see that. you: the whole - my team would say i push them - thing Simon: I stand by that. Simon: I’m not very good at talking. Simon: But I’m not a liar. you: i’ve noticed you: you tend to hate being called that. Simon: Lie enough on the job. Simon: When I’m talking to people outside of that, I like being as honest as I can be. you: i see you: sooo does that mean i can ask you things and you’ll be honest in the answers? Simon: About? you: you Simon: Within reason. you: what do you look like Simon: 6ft4, blonde, brown eyes. you: that’s it? Simon: I said ‘Within reason’. That means I won’t give you more than I think I should. you: infuriating 😤 Simon: That’s life.

Just as you’re about to answer, your doorbell rings. You were so absorbed in Simon’s chat that you didn’t notice your delivery driver arrived.

You slip on some shoes quickly and dash downstairs to the front door of the building to receive your food.

Once upstairs, you set your food on the table and unwrap everything, beginning to eat your Nando’s chicken as you try to resume texting Simon one-handed.

That’s when you spot the message he sent you while you were busy.

Simon: Added some new pics. Simon: Don’t say I never did anything for you. Simon: But I’ll take them down in 2 minutes so you better hurry up.

Eyebrows raised, you quickly click on his profile and rush to tap through to the new pictures.

The first one makes you chuckle. Of course, it’s him wearing a hoodie and a stupid mask… But the second one? Your jaw drops open and you find yourself swallowing dryly.

“Awooga…” You quip to yourself and giggle, amused at your own silliness as your eyes trail over every inch of exposed skin in Simon’s chest. Even if that’s not him, even if that’s just some… bloke he found online, it’s still a bloody fine picture.

Returning to the chat, you type a quick reply.

you: not bad Simon: Answered your questions? you: raised a couple more. Simon: Good. Simon: You keep them in your mind for later. you: why does it feel like you’re leaving?? Simon: Because I am. Duty calls. Simon: I’ll tell John you said 'Hi'. you: okay... you: be careful!

As soon as you sent that message you found yourself facepalming. Why do you sound like a concerned partner? You don’t even know this man. Any of them really. Even if you had one of them inside of you less than 24 hours ago.

You don't dwell too much on it because soon there's a message from Simon on the screen.

Simon: Always am. Don’t miss us too much.

Shaking your head, you set down your phone, locking the screen, and turning back to your peri-peri chicken and chips, eyebrows furrowed in contemplation.

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IF THE GIF DOESN'T WORK: CLICK HERE

taglist: @daisychainsinknots , @bunnysdaydreams , @iite-cool , @lahniu , @pagesfalling , @tapioca-milktea1978 , @live-love-be-unique , @thelaisydazy , @littleghosthunter , @bossva , @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago , @chamomiletealeaf , @ghosts-hoe , @kariiiel , @ltbarnes , @irregulardongyoung , @spacelia , @hayleybarnesx , @infpt-zylith , @xxshadowbabexx , @frescoisnotinthemilitary , @leeeenistop , @lucienbarkbark , @zombie-freak , @wittleespur , @agoodmoviekiss , @l0lziez , @whos-fran , @greatstormcat , @openup-yourmind , @neoarchipelago , @sodavrr , @cutiecusp , @lilliumrorum , @c-nstantine , @kneelforloki , @comeonatmebruh , @codsunshine , @waiting-so-long , @captainquake42 , @gazspookiebear

[tojisun]

!! minors dni; simon x cam girl f!reader; kinda sexting; UNEDITED and RAMBLING // divider by @/plutism <3

yall know those ‘ask me’ thingies in instagram and how theyre not anonymous? mmmprmn thinkin about simon finally giving in and sends cam girl! reader replies (he’s not tech savvy, forgive him 😔)

the questions are always fashioned the same way, he’s noticed. you only ever post those, anyway, when you’re in the middle of editing a new video but it’s taking too long so to keep your loyal viewers interested, you entertain them with little questions.

“which toy next?” you posted, showcasing four different sex toys splayed on your bed—a purple sucking vibrator, that bullet vibrator you’ve made multiple videos on, a rainbow-coloured dildo, and another one that squirts which is simon’s favourite if he’s being honest.

you always did cum the hardest when you’re being pumped full. simon wonders how much more intense would it be if you were properly fucked and filled; stuffed continuously, repeatedly, until your pussy’s all wet and sensitive. until it takes—

overtaken by his desire, he gives in and he types out his answer, “a real prick would look better in you.”

he didn’t expect you to see it, let alone for you to reply, but you did and simon reads it with a huff.

> ok troll

i’d volunteer myself, really. <

> yeah right. like i can trust you

what? you want proof that i can make you feel good? <

your reply doesn’t come in and he knows that you must want the whole interaction to end there, but simon won’t let you—doll, he’s finally managed to talk to the girl he’s been fantasizing about, did you really think he’d let the opportunity pass? you don’t even know how many times he’s fucked his fist to the videos of you bullying a dildo in your sopping cunt or the ones of you squirting while you ride that saddled vibrator that punches out guttural moans from the base of your throat.

jesus, just thinking about you mewling and creaming, your skin shimmering with your sweat, has simon chubbing up in his sweats.

so he gets bolder, changing his accounts—both this and the one he’s used to subscribe to your site—so that you know it’s him. he uploads pictures, exposing enough of himself that it feels real and authentic, and begins to tack on messages to every tips he gives.

it takes about two months until you finally caved.

> so… youre not a troll :(

why the sad face? did you want me to be? <

> course not!

> hby? what do YOU want

simon licks at his chapped lips, his legs unconsciously spreading already.

how about pics? show you what i was volunteering? <

> uh

> you wanna send a dick pic?

yeah. evens out the relationship, don’t it? after all, i just about know how your pussy looks and how it squirts. <

> youre soooo weird LOL

> but sure yea why not ig

simon snorts because try as you may, you don’t sound unbothered at all. after all, he knows you’ve been looking back at him—you followed him back in his socials, you even respond to all his tips and messages, and one time you even moaned his alias out loud during your stream. really, you’re not subtle with your own interest at all.

he pulls his sweats down and takes a pic of his half-chub. it’s a little blurry, and the angle captures more of the tuft of hair than the way his cock’s all flushed and filling-out, but simon knows what a decent dick picture looks like—they’ve all received numerous from mactavish—and this one looks good enough so he sends it to you and watches as his message goes from delivered to seen.

you don’t reply right away, nor after three minutes—he knows because the commercials ended and his game’s back on—and simon wonders if you’re back to ignoring him when—

> oh

> thats a good dick

he laughs, booming.

oh so you want it now? <

a speech bubble appears, then it disappears, then it appears again. this happens for a while and it’s somewhat entertaining to simon, mirth filling him up. then, you finally send your reply and this time simon couldn’t stop the barked out laughter that rumbles from his throat because you sent him your address.

simon’s out the door in minutes, his bike keys clutched in his fist.