#and one of my dreams would be to finally break out of my shell and sing my heart out on a stage

[gweelczz]

“Home”

Sammie ‘Preacher boy’ Moore x Y/N (Sugar)

Genre: Angst, Fluff, smut (Y’all KNOW he a FREAK) MDNI

Warnings: unprotected sex (wrap your Willy!) mentions of child abuse, this fic is LONGGGG I got a bit carried away y’all I’m sorry!!!

Summary: A lover’s quarrel breaks out between the two love birds and it’s up to Sammie to choose what he goin do

The Mississippi sun had dipped low, bleeding red across the fields when the shouting started. Folks in Clarksdale knew better than to pay too much mind to lovers’ quarrels, but when it was Preacher Boy Sammie Moore and his girl Sugar — everybody knew.

“You always talking ’bout dreams, Sammie,” Sugar snapped, arms crossed tight against her chest, her voice trembling more with hurt than anger. “But you too scared to chase ‘em. Scared of your daddy. Scared of what folks gon’ say.”

Sammie’s fists were balled at his sides. Not to strike — Lord, no. Just trying to hold it all in. His pride. His shame. His fear.

“I ain’t scared,” he bit out, jaw tight.

“Then prove it,” she shot back, tears glassing her big brown eyes. Her skin, a rich dark ebony with that gold shimmer whenever the light caught her just right, looked like it belonged to some goddess out the old stories. Her coily hair framed her face, a wild crown she didn’t even know she wore.

He said nothing.

That silence — heavier than any slap — broke her heart clean in two.

Sugar turned on her heel, dust kicking up under her bare feet.

“You ain’t ready,” she said, voice small now. “And I ain’t waitin’ ‘round watchin’ you let yourself rot.”

He watched her walk away. Watched until the blue of her skirt disappeared down the road toward the woods where Annie’s shack sat hidden behind a crooked fence of bones and bottle trees.

——

Annie’s place smelled of sweetgrass and turpentine, smoke curling out the chimney like lazy fingers. Inside, herbs hung in bunches from the rafters. Jars of oil, roots, and stones lined the shelves. Every color and spirit of the Delta lived in that little shack.

Sugar slumped into a chair, head in her hands.

Annie — full-figured, dark-skinned, with a warmth about her like a heavy quilt — sat across from her, shelling peas slow and easy. She was only a few years older than Sugar, but the way she moved, the way she looked at you, made her seem like she’d lived two lifetimes already.

She watched Sugar for a long minute, not rushing her.

“Man’s got chains on his soul,” Annie finally said, voice low and knowing. “Ain’t easy breakin’ ’em. ’Specially when them chains was put there by his own blood.”

“I just…” Sugar started, but her throat caught. She shook her head. “I just want him to see what he could be. Not what folks tell him he gotta be.”

Annie smiled, soft and sure.

“Don’t give up on him, girl. Some seeds take longer to sprout. But when they do, Lord, do they grow strong.”

Outside, the night thickened. Crickets sang. Somewhere, a hound barked long and low.

And then — a knock at the door.

Sugar turned, heart thudding.

There he was. Sammie.

Hat crushed in one hand. A scraggly bunch of wildflowers in the other. Dirt smudged on his knees from where he’d fallen once, maybe twice, on the way over.

He looked at her like a man standing at the edge of a cliff. Like he knew the fall would kill him but he was ready to jump anyway.

“I cain’t do this without you, Sugar,” he said, voice raw. He dropped the flowers, sank to his knees right there on Annie’s worn floorboards.

“You hear me?” he begged, hands trembling. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for bein’ a fool. I’m sorry for not fightin’ harder. I’m gon’ be better. I swear it on my life.”

Sugar’s chest squeezed so tight she thought she might fall over.

Annie sat still, shelling peas, not saying a word. She knew some things had to be worked out without her hand in it.

Sammie looked up at Sugar, eyes wide and wet, heart cracked open for the whole world to see.

“You my home, Sugar,” he whispered. “Ain’t no point in dreamin’ if you ain’t in it.”

The flowers were crushed. His hands were dirty. His voice was breaking.

But it was real.

God help her, it was real.

Sugar knelt too, lifting his face in her hands.

“Don’t you ever make me walk away again,” she said, voice shaking.

“I won’t,” he promised. “I swear it.”

And in that little shack, under the watchful eyes of the ancestors hanging thick in the smoky air, Sugar forgave him.

——

Sammie led her back to his daddy’s house, hand in hand, heads bowed against the heavy southern night. He didn’t care if his father was sitting on the porch with a belt or a bottle.

This time, he wasn’t walking alone.

And this time, he wasn’t running from himself either.

The porch light was nothing but a flickering bulb, casting long, mean shadows across the yard. Sammie slowed his steps when they reached the gate, hand tightening around Sugar’s.

There he was — Preacher Moore — sitting in his rocking chair, a half-drained bottle of corn liquor at his feet, the old hunting belt looped lazy across his lap like a coiled snake. His face, carved rough like old wood, didn’t flinch when he saw them coming.

Sammie’s throat dried up. Every memory of every beating, every harsh word, every dream stomped down under his father’s heavy hand — it all came rushing back like a flood.

Sugar gave his hand a squeeze.

“You got this, baby,” she whispered.

Sammie swallowed hard and stepped forward.

The porch boards groaned under his weight, but he didn’t falter.

Preacher Moore watched him, slow drag on his cigarette, eyes hard as river stones.

“You finally decide to come back with your tail tucked?” he rasped.

Sammie stood straight. For the first time, he didn’t look away.

“I come back a man,” he said, voice steady. “And I ain’t askin’ your permission no more.”

The cigarette paused halfway to Preacher Moore’s mouth. A dangerous flicker lit in his eyes.

“You gettin’ mighty bold for a boy livin’ under my roof,” Preacher Moore growled.

“I ain’t just livin’ under your roof,” Sammie said, taking another step closer. “I’m buildin’ somethin’. And if you can’t see that, then maybe I need to build it somewhere else.”

Sugar stayed right behind him, her presence a warmth at his back, a shield he hadn’t even known he needed.

“I wanna sing,” Sammie said, the words dragging out of him rough and painful like pulling a thorn from flesh. “Not just in church. Not just in secret. I wanna sing the blues. I wanna write my own songs. Play my own music. And I ain’t gonna be ashamed no more.”

The porch went still. The crickets even seemed to hush.

Preacher Moore’s face cracked — not much — but enough for Sammie to see something raw underneath. A flash of fear. A flash of sorrow.

“You think singin’ them devil songs gonna feed you? Gonna save you?” Preacher Moore spat.

Sammie shook his head.

“No, sir,” he said. “I think bein’ me gon’ save me.”

He reached back, took Sugar’s hand in his again.

“I got folks standin’ with me now. Folks who believe I ain’t just some broken piece of you.”

Preacher Moore set the cigarette down. The belt slid off his lap and onto the porch with a soft thud.

For a long time, he said nothing. Just rocked. Just stared.

And then, like a levee finally giving way after too many rains, the fight drained out of him. His shoulders sagged. His chin dipped. His pride — that big, ugly thing that had ruled the Moore house for two generations — cracked and crumbled like old clay.

Preacher Moore dragged a hand down his face, voice rough with something like regret.

“You your own man now,” he muttered. “Ain’t nothin’ I can do to change that.”

Sammie felt the breath he didn’t know he was holding rush out of him.

“You sure that’s what you want, boy?” Preacher Moore asked, almost gentle now.

“I’m sure,” Sammie said. “Been sure.”

Preacher Moore nodded once, stiff and slow.

“Then go on,” he said. “Go sing your songs.”

It wasn’t an apology. It wasn’t forgiveness. But it was enough. Enough for tonight.

Sammie turned to Sugar, who was smiling through tears, her thumb rubbing circles on the back of his hand.

Together, they stepped off that porch — not as preacher boy and dreamer girl — but as something new. Something stronger.

The night wrapped around them as they walked into a future that, for the first time, was theirs to claim.

———

The road to Sugar’s house twisted through cotton fields and thick woods, the night air humming with the slow, secret music of the Delta. Sammie held Sugar’s hand tight as they walked, his heart still hammering from what he’d left behind on that porch.

Preacher Moore’s voice still echoed in his ears, but it was faint now, like a storm rumbling far off. What mattered was the hand in his, the steady light ahead — the little house Sugar’s granddaddy had left her when he passed.

The place wasn’t much to look at to anybody else. A two-room clapboard house, porch sagging a little, white paint peeling like old bark. But to Sammie, it looked like freedom. Looked like home.

Sugar fished the key from her pocket and unlocked the door. She didn’t say much, just pulled him inside by the hand. The house smelled like lavender and fresh bread, warm and good.

Sammie had only been here a handful of times, always with the nervous, guilty feeling of a boy sneaking into someplace he didn’t belong. But tonight was different. Tonight, she opened the door wide and left it open behind him, like she meant for him to stay.

“Granddaddy wanted me to have it,” Sugar said, setting her purse down. “Said a woman needs her own land to stand on.”

Sammie nodded, drinking it all in — the soft quilt folded on the couch, the little wooden cross nailed above the door, the framed picture of Sugar’s granddaddy smiling wide in his Sunday suit.

“You know,” she said, glancing over her shoulder at him, “I got my own shop now too. Folks come from all over for my oils and teas. I do good.”

He smiled, proud in a way he didn’t know how to say out loud.

“I know you do,” he said. “Ain’t nobody like you, Sugar.”

She laughed, light and low.

“One day,” Sammie said, voice almost breaking with the bigness of it, “I wanna be able to take care of you too. Not ’cause you need it. But ’cause you deserve it.”

Sugar crossed the room in two quick steps and pressed her forehead to his.

“You already do,” she whispered.

They stood there a long moment, breathing each other in, letting the world fall away.

Sammie knew he didn’t have much. A voice. A few songs still trapped inside him, scratching to get out. A heart bigger than he knew what to do with.

But somehow, standing there in the warm light of Sugar’s house, it felt like enough.

Tomorrow, there would be work to do. Songs to write. Battles to fight. Maybe even more nights spent arguing with ghosts and memories.

But tonight — tonight he had her.

Tonight they had a roof, four walls, and a world of dreams between them.

And sometimes, Sammie thought, that was more than enough to start a whole life on.

The hum of cicadas mixed with the soft shuffle of feet on the old wooden floors of Sugar’s house, and Sammie, still buzzin’ from the confrontation with his father, felt the weight of it all.

Sugar’s house was quiet now, the air in the room feelin’ as heavy as the memories. The house was sturdy and worn, like time had kissed it just right. A little faded around the edges, but still standin’, just like her. Just like him.

Sammie’s fingers trembled as he rubbed the back of his neck, still feelin’ the heat from his father’s words mixed with the pride he hadn’t known he could hold. But Sugar… she was the one who’d always seen it in him, even when he’d been too blind to see it himself.

She sat beside him, her body close but not touchin’, her presence like a balm for all his frayed nerves. He could feel the heat of her, the warmth of her gaze that was so full of pride, so full of somethin’ deeper that he couldn’t quite put into words.

“You did it, Sammie,” she said, her voice soft but steady like a slow river. “I’m so proud of you, baby. I always knew you had it in you.”

He let out a breath, a small chuckle escaping his lips. “I ain’t never thought I’d be here, Sugar. Never thought I’d be standin’ up to him like that. Didn’t think I had the strength to fight for what I wanted. Hell, didn’t think I deserved it.”

Sugar’s eyes softened, her lips parting like she was about to speak but then she just shook her head. Her hand reached out, like it always did when he needed it most, and she placed it over his.

“You deserve every bit of it, Sammie,” she said, her voice full of that calm confidence that always made him feel like maybe he wasn’t so lost after all. “And you’ve got so much more in you than you even know.”

His chest tightened, and he didn’t know if it was from the weight of her words or the way she made him feel like a man again. A real one, with dreams and a purpose. And as she looked at him, that proud smile on her face, Sammie couldn’t help but feel a pull deep in his gut. She always did that to him — made him feel seen in a way no one else ever had.

“Sugar…” he breathed, his voice a little rough. “You’ve always seen me. Always been the only one who believed in me when I couldn’t even look at myself in the mirror.”

Sugar moved closer, her body just inches from his, and he could feel the heat of her against his arm. Her touch was like a spark, and Sammie swore his heart skipped a beat. She was always so sure, so confident in everything she did. But tonight, he saw something else in her eyes — something softer. Something real.

“I ain’t never stopped believin’ in you, Sammie. You’ve got this, baby. You always had it in you.”

Her words were like a lullaby, and as they lingered in the air between them, Sammie couldn’t help but draw her in closer. He wrapped his arms around her, pullin’ her to him, like it was the most natural thing in the world. He held her tight, his chest full of so many emotions he couldn’t even name.

The softness of her body against his made his breath hitch. Sugar felt like home. Like everything that had ever mattered. Her scent filled his senses, and he buried his face in her hair, inhaling deeply.

“You make me feel like I can take on the world, Sugar,” he murmured, his voice low, rough with the weight of what he was feelin’. “Like I ain’t never been broken, like I’m whole again. I ain’t never been able to thank you for that.”

Sugar’s hand slid up his back, her fingers light against his skin, and she pulled back just enough to look up at him. Her eyes were dark with emotion, and the softness in her gaze made Sammie’s heart ache.

“You don’t have to thank me, Sammie,” she said, her voice a whisper now, like the words were only meant for him. “I’ve always been here for you. Always will be.”

Sammie’s chest tightened again, and this time, he didn’t fight the urge to kiss her. His lips brushed hers, soft at first, like he was askin’ for permission. But when she didn’t pull away, when she leaned into him, it felt like a release. He kissed her deeper, the tension in his chest unwinding as he pulled her closer, feeling her warmth flood him.

He didn’t know how long they’d been sittin’ there, lost in each other, but when he pulled away, breathless, he looked at her with all the words he hadn’t said, all the things he still needed to say.

“Sugar, I ain’t never been more sure of somethin’ in my life. I need you. I’ve needed you since the first day I laid eyes on you. I just didn’t know how to say it.”

Sugar smiled, a slow, knowing smile, and her fingers grazed the side of his face, tender but firm.

“You don’t need to say nothin’, Sammie. I’ve known. I’ve always known.”

And before he could say another word, she leaned in again, kissing him with the kind of tenderness that made him ache deep inside. He held her tighter, his hands roaming to the small of her back as the heat between them built, the air thick with need.

Sammie pulled Sugar into his lap allowing his hands to rest on her waist not going any lower than that, pulling he looked into her eyes silently asking for permission to touch her which she gladly granted. Leaning forward he kissed her once more, the kiss full of want, need and hunger. His hands moved down to grab handfuls of her ass causing them to moan into each other’s mouths, their breaths mingling together.

Sugar’s hips ground themselves against Sammie’s making him bite down onto her lip, she pulls away swirling her tongue around his ear before biting down onto it. She trails her lips lower kissing on his neck tasting the salty sweat with her tongue. Meanwhile he’s lifted up her dress with permission, unbuckling his pants afterwards letting her sink down slowly onto his cock.

They moan into each other’s mouths once again, Sugar wrapping her hand around his throat and his fingers tangled in her hair as she rides him. “Sugar? Lemme try somethin hear?” He speaks through moans and she answers with a breathy “yes”. With permission granted he flips them so she’s now under him, his hips rolling into her while his free hand protects her head from slamming into the arm of the chair.

Pulling down the straps of her dress he exposes her breasts to him, lowering his head he takes a nipple into his mouth. His free hand reaches down between them finding her clit giving it tight fast circles to match the pace of his thrusts. “Sammie… Baby…” Sugar pants out watching him angle his hips to go deeper hitting her spot without knowing.

“Baby right there” he pulls off her nipple long enough to respond in his baritone voice “right there sugar?” To which she nods gripping the back of his head when he dove back in sucking on her nipple. She gasps arching her back slightly moaning loudly into the air not caring about who heard. “Sammie… I’m gonna…” he keeps his tempo the same while rubbing her clit, pulling off to rest his forehead against hers. “C’mon sugar, cum for me, let go”

The coil in her stomach snaps and she swears she sees white as she cums around his cock, Sammie thrusts a few more times before pulling out cumming on her stomach with a low groan. They lay there for a few moments before Sammie gets up picking Sugar up bridal style carrying her down the hall.

“Let me take care of you, Sugar,” he whispered, his voice a low murmur. “I ain’t gonna leave you like this.”

He lifted her into his arms, holding her close, feeling the warmth of her body press against his. Her head rested on his shoulder as he carried her, every step slow and deliberate as if he didn’t want to break the moment. The bed creaked softly as he laid her down, his hand lingering on her side for a moment longer than necessary.

Sugar closed her eyes, her body still humming with the aftereffects of everything they’d shared. But Sammie knew there was more to do. He wasn’t about to leave her just like that.

He stepped away briefly, his movements purposeful as he went to the basin in the corner. He ran his hands under the water filling up a huge pot heating up the water on the stove, the steam rising in the small space. He grabbed a soft cloth and soap, his hands shaking slightly with the anticipation of what was next.

When the water was ready, Sammie dumps it all into the bathtub before he returned to Sugar, who was propped up on the pillows, her eyes fluttering open to meet his gaze. She smiled weakly, her voice soft. “You don’t have to do all this, Sammie. I’m fine.”

He shook his head, his expression serious. “You deserve every bit of care, Sugar. You trusted me, and I’m gonna show you how much you mean to me.”

With a gentle touch, he helped lift her into his arms again, guiding her to the edge of the bed. He carefully wiped her skin with the warm cloth, his touch slow and steady as he cleaned the traces of their love from her body. Each stroke was soft, as if he was worshipping every inch of her, every curve, every part of her that he cherished. He then lifts her into the tub gently washing her body. The cloth moved over her belly, down her legs, until every trace of him was gone, and all that was left was the soft heat of her skin.

Sugar looked up at him, her eyes full of vulnerability and trust. “You make me feel safe, Sammie. Like I’m the only one that matters.”

Sammie’s heart ached. He placed the cloth back in the bowl, then turned his attention to the small copper pot of warm water he’d heated. He poured it gently into a shallow basin, setting it between them.

“I’m gonna wash your hair now, Sugar,” he said, his voice low. “Let me take care of you, just like you took care of me.”

She nodded, a soft, grateful smile tugging at the corner of her lips. He was so gentle with her, so focused, his every movement thoughtful and deliberate. He poured the warm water over her hair slowly, his hands cradling the back of her neck as he worked the lather into her thick curls. His fingers massaged her scalp, and she let out a soft, contented sigh.

“Mm, that feels good, Sammie,” she murmured, her eyes closing as she relaxed into his touch.

Sammie continued to work, washing her hair with tender care, making sure every strand was clean, every inch of her body pampered. He rinsed her hair, his hands careful and slow as he ran them through the curls, feeling the smoothness of her wet locks slip between his fingers. There was something so intimate about it — the way he was taking care of her, the way she let him in.

When he was finished, he dried her off gently, wrapping a soft towel around her shoulders, letting the warmth of it sink into her skin.

“You’re perfect, Sugar,” he whispered, his eyes full of adoration. “I just want you to know that. You’re perfect.”

Sugar looked at him, her eyes full of gratitude, and Sammie swore his heart skipped a beat. She reached up and cupped his face, her thumb tracing the edge of his jawline.

“You don’t have to do all this for me, Sammie,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “But I’m glad you do.”

Sammie smiled, his hand brushing through her damp curls, his heart full. “I’ll always do this for you, Sugar. I’ll always take care of you.”

He laid beside her then, pulling the covers over them both, his arm around her waist. Sugar nestled into his chest, her breathing slow and steady as she drifted into a peaceful sleep, the weight of the day finally settling in. Sammie held her close, his heart full of love and pride, knowing that, for once, everything was exactly as it should be.

[billiegabbysyd]

Angsty Billie request: reader is a flight attendant, and on her last rotation for the month, the plane she’s working on crashes into the ocean. Reader survives, but she’s left with lingering injuries, trauma and ptsd from her experience.

𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥 (𝐛𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐞𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

cw: men and minors dni, 18+, angst, dealing trauma while also maintaining a relationship, very sad, no y/n usage

a/n: more requests coming soon!

wc: 2.9k

the ocean had never felt so heavy. it clung to you skin like a memory, and the dead silence of a hundred cries never heard again.

you don’t remember the impact. one second, there were clouds, clipped seatbelt clicks. the next, screams…the thing you couldn’t forget and then the sound of water swallowing everything. you remember being yanked into blackness, lungs burning. and then: nothingness.

when you woke up on the shore, everything is pain.

your body was riddled with bruises and burns. your arm is sliced open where a tray table had hit you, and you think your shoulder was dislocated..or broken? maybe. but you were alive. you were alive, and no one around you is moving.

it took three days. for help to arrive.

three days of drinking rainwater and digging through wreckage. three days of seeing faces that you wish you hadn’t. your co-workers. passengers you gave extra peanuts to. children. those faces burned in brain forever.

you were pulled from the beach on a stretcher. barely conscious, whispering billie’s name to a medic who asks, “is that your sister?”

you shake your head. “she’s…my-.”

the hospital was chaotic and a blur. sterile. reporters tried sneaking into your room. you say nothing. you didn’t want to talk about surviving. the word “miracle” makes you sick.

billie arrives on the fourth day. she bursts into the room relieved. she hadn’t slept, hair was mess, and she couldn’t take her eyes off you. raw, red eyes, and a tightness in her jaw like she hasn’t unclenched it since she got the call.

“hey,” she says softly.

you try to speak, but your throat cracks. the breathing tube was gone, but you just can’t…you reach a shaky hand out instead.

she doesn’t hesitate. she walked straight to the bed and folds her arms around you tightly. never wanting to let you go.

“i thought i lost you,” billie whispered into your neck, voice breaking.

you gripped her shirt in your fingers, clinging to her.

you didn’t go home for another two weeks.

when you did, the world changed. everything feels louder and less real. your shared apartment is too quiet. billie was supposed to be on tour, but she couldn’t. she just didn’t want to leave you. you didn’t complain.

she sets up the bed just how you liked it before. you couldn’t sleep without her. if she got up to do something during the night, you would wake up screaming and she’d rushed to your side. after that, she sleeps doesn’t get up without letting you know. just her presence keeps the water away, keeps your dreams from drowning you.

your body was healing. your mind wasn’t.

it felt like you were going crazy.

you flinched at loud noises. you couldn’t even look at your reflection without feeling like you’re back on the island. you haven’t opened the bedroom window since you got home. sometimes, you stare at the tv, but the sound was always off. silence was safer.

“i’m worried about you ,” billie says one night, sitting across from you on the floor, fingers playing with the hem of her shorts.

you look away.

“there’s nothing to be worried about.i am fine”

she nods quietly as tears fall. “you’re not. i miss you…as selfish as that sounds.”

you finally meet her gaze. “i miss me, too.”

weeks blur, losing all meaning. you just go through the motions day to day. a shell of your former self.

billie becomes your life. she makes sure you eat, reminds you to take your pain meds, she holds you through your panic attacks.

there are days when you snap, when you cry without spontaneously, when you tell her to leave, because you hate how you are now, and you hate that she has to see

she never does.

“you’re not broken,” she tells you one night when you’re curled up in the corner of the bathroom, shaking and cold even though the shower’s steaming. “you’re surviving.”

“it doesn’t feel like it,” you whisper, voice cracking. “i hate this. i hate me.”

billie kneels in front of you. Her hands are gentle as she brushes wet hair from your face. “don’t say that. you’re still you.

“i don’t know how to be me anymore, b.”

“that’s ok, babe. it takes time.”

eventually, your wounds scar over. You stop waking up every night.

you start therapy. taking about the to a stranger with a kind face who doesn’t flinch when you say, “ my friend’s body floated by me.”

billie waits for you every session. sometimes, you cry in her arms after, other times you don’t say a word.

she always waits. she always there.

the first time you go near the ocean again, it’s your idea.

she doesn’t push. just drives. you both end up at the coast around sunset. the beach is empty. you stand at the edge of the parking lot for ten minutes, shaking.

“i can’t,” you say.

“that’s ok baby, at least you came,” Billie tells you.

but then you feel her hand in yours. warm. safe. secure.

when you’re close enough to hear the tide, you start crying. mourning and healing all at once.

billie stands by you, arms wrapped around you, forehead against your temple.

“i’m alive, b,” you whisper. it’s just hitting you for the first time.

“you are” she says. “and i’m so fucking glad.”

after that.

some nights still bring nightmares.

but billie is there through it all. you start to smile again. laugh again. making coffee in the mornings while you and billie chat about little things. she brings you to her studio and plays you half-finished songs, letting you pick your favorites.

billie stayed.

through the worst of it.

through the healing.

she’s there. and slowly, you realize—

so are you.

-thank you for the request 🫶🏾

[rosicheeks]

https://open.spotify.com/track/2uiTLfRQ89zAEsR3rx2V8l?si=fyhFGuiMTMK62dh7B3jw3A

[islandheartprincess]

into the new years ✧ r.c oneshot

summary: rafe is yours, he just doesn't know it. ˖⁠♡*⁠.⁠✧

pairing: rafe cameron x obsessed and HOT reader

c!w: swearing, no smut, only kissing rlly, reader leaves rafe wanting more, rafe is mesmerized

a/n: happy new years! here's a one shot to open into 2025 ♡

with new years coming up, there was only one person you could dream of entering the new year with. rafe cameron, kook prince.

everyone would be attending the annual new year's party at your college, including your special someone. it was a good opportunity to get out the house, get drunk with your friends, have fun. you even dressed up for rafe, for gods sake.

putting on a tight top and the shortest skirt you could find, just hoping he would even glance at you once. you should've felt a little shame, at least, but you really had forgotten all of your dignity when it came to rafe Cameron.

you had kept your eye on rafe the whole night, feeling your heart break a little everytime you saw him conversing with a girl, already imagining the flirty remarks he gave them. you had to remind yourself that he barely knew you, and he's basically been with every girl on the island.

you could've cared less though, he was yours, despite him not knowing it. the other girls you saw, putting their hands on his biceps, giggling at his slightest comments, they didn't like him how you did.

sliding away from your friends, you watched rafe through the crowd, music blasting loud into your ears. he found himself at the makeshift bar, getting another drink. that was your signal. you pushed your way through the crowd and made your way to get a drink. whilst pouring your drink, someone bumped you, causing you to spill your drink on the floor and thankfully not on yourself.

when you turned your head, you felt your stomach flip when your eyes landed on him. rafe. "shiittt, my bad," he drunkenly said, before looking at you. letting out a whistle, he signaled for someone to clean up the mess before returning his attention back to you. he eyed you up and down, letting his gaze linger on your chest for a little while longer.

"that's okay" you smiled at him, fluttering your lashes and placing your hand onto his arm. "have I met you before?" he said to you, inching closer.

"i don't think so?" you responded, letting your lips pout a little while your eyes had a look of innocence, yet still remaining seductive.

"mmmm, would've remembered a gorgeous face like yours." you knew he was drunk, but his flirtatious comments still made your heart beat. "well, now you wont forget it, im y/n"

he licked his lips, you were perfect. "names rafe. really wanna get to know you better, princess." that was all it took before you grabbed his wrist, pulling him into an empty hallway.

you pushed his back against the wall, his hands not knowing where to even start. he gripped your waist, as you began kissing his jaw. his lips ghosted the shell of your ear, "fuck you're hot" you felt his hot breath against your neck, trailing up and kissing him harshly on the mouth.

you kissed with passion, not knowing how long you'd been waiting for this. it was sloppy, given how drunk he'd been and how desperate you were. his tongue slipped into your mouth needily licking at you.

rafe's hands dropped down to your ass, squeezing you as you continued making out with him. finally, you pulled away, letting out a heavy breath. looking up, you saw rafe looking at you with desperation in his eyes, he needed you, more.

it was cute, really, how pathetic he looked. i mean, you couldn't just leave him like that, right? so, you planted a kiss on his cheek, leaving him with nothing but a wink. swaying your hips, as the crowd next to you cheered, counting down into the new year.

he watched you walk away, but instead of feeling angry, he was just hypnotized. who were you and why did he need you so bad?leaving him in his drunk, and needy state only made his want for you worse.

you were his mystery girl, and he definitely wasn't forgetting you after that.

[cometjuice]

A Collection of Will Solace Headcanons

Because Will is my favorite character, I have decided to compile a bunch of headcanons I have for him (and Nico but mostly him)

Will is an introvert forcibly turned extrovert. He still prefers to be by himself a lot of the time. When he was younger he used to be a very shy kid, not talking much and sticking to Lee's side like a leech. After his and Michael's deaths, he was forced out of his shell.

Will has been a year round camper for nearly ten years. His mom is a traveling musician and couldn't protect him properly while on the road. She sends him postcards every week.

Will is deaf/hard of hearing. He didn't learn how to speak english until he was about nine years old, being dropped off at camp at seven and a half with a sign with his name on it and his age. He was always quiet, but the Hephaestus cabin made him a pair of hearing aids. They still help him out when they break.

Will and Annabeth have known each other for a long, LONG time. They weren't really friends, but Annabeth was always nice to him. She did think he was kind of odd.

He has a morbid obsession with body parts and taxidermy. He used to ask his brothers to get him a pig heart in a jar for him to look at. Kinda freaked them out for a while...

Despite Will's usually very chill demeanor, he's INCREDIBLY neurotic when it comes to certain things. Like when he eats breakfast, how long he showers, his morning and evening routines.

Nico and Will first bond over their interests in human anatomy. The first time Nico raised a skeleton to try and scare Will off when he was being annoying, Will thought it was extremely cool and asked Nico if he could keep it in his room. Obviously he couldn't, but he did give Will a jar of wrist bones so Will could practice assembling and naming them.

Will HATES needles. He has no problem working with them and using them as tools, but if he gets stuck with one? He faints.

Will has set up a "crash pad" in the infirmary; aka, a pile of pillows on the floor under his desk where he passes out for an hour during long stints at the infirmary. No one except Kayla and Austin (and now Nico) know about it.

Will made his siblings promise that if he ever got hurt in battle and was out of commission, they would hide him in a far cot away from everyone else. He says it's so no one freaks out at him being hurt.

Will's dream is to own a vintage Chevy pick up truck. A true Texan at heart.

Will was effectively mute before he came to CHB. His mom couldn't afford to buy him hearing aids, so she only spoke in sign language to him growing up. It wasn't until he was taught by Chiron that he learned how to speak English, along with Greek.

Will prefers cats over dogs. He likes their independence (maybe also that he can lean on them emotionally a little). He wishes he could have one.

Will can hide his expressions like a PRO. He has an iron clad grip on his emotions, and only started to break down and learn to accept how to be angry and sad when he and Nico got into a fight and Nico forced him to face how dishonest he's been with himself. Since then, Will has become more open towards him. He still needs to work on becoming more open in general.

Will has plague powers (as explored in TSATS) and Nico helps him harness them. Once, he gave Nico chicken pox by accident and refused to come out of a self-imposed isolation for two weeks. It took Percy breaking down the office door to finally drag him out. That's all for now! I will have more!

[thehauntedetheral]

Request-

Sea Sorcerer x Mermaid Reader x Human Prince

Basically like the little mermaid fairy tale, but instead the sea sorcerer loves mermaid reader. I hope this still gives you enough room to be creative

Sea Sorcerer x Mermaid Reader x Human Prince

Requests are open!

You were a beautiful mermaid and on top of that a lovely princess. Many mermen tried to get your attention but you weren't interested in any.

But one day your father, the king of your sea kingdom sets your marriage with a human prince whose kingdom lies on the outskirts of ocean. Your kingdom and his has been having a lot of trouble due to sea creatures and humans which eventually always leads to small arguments and fights. So to put all that behind your father and his set off your marriage with prince.

You have always dreamed of having a husband, kids to love, a happy family with a beautiful home. Since you got the news of your arranged marriage. You and the prince would meet everyday at the shore to discuss everything about your future life as per the parents instructions. You liked prince he was tall, handsome, gentleman, a true prince charming.

You would bring him pretty shells, stones, pearl or a sea dish you made for which he would thank you but he always kept his distance from you. And made you think that he was doing a formality and truly didn't like you. You feel like if you get to know more about human traditions and start to act like humans he might like you more. You wanted him to like you, love you because you already feel this towards him. But even after lots of trying you just feel it's not enough.

So one day you go to sea Sorcerer who lives in your kingdom and is infamous for his spells. You asked the sea sorcerer to make you a human but you didn't knew that the sea Sorcerer was madly in love with you, with your smile, your gorgeous siren eyes. How could you do this to him ?He was furious that you were getting married to that vile Human and on top of that you wanted to be a human for that prince??

He puts a spell on you making you fall in love with him madly. The sea Sorcerer kept you hidden in his huge sea hole.

Many days passed by and you didn't even come to the shore one single time making prince worried. He loves you. He didn't show it because he was trying to overcome the fact that he was going to marry a mermaid princess. How could he not fall for you? With you bringing him shells, pearls. Your gorgeous smile, your cute confused look when he explains about some human things to you, your cute starfish hairclip which you love a lot,he even bought a shell necklace for you because he heard you love shells. he loves you a lot.

With you being missing the whole water kingdom searches for you but you are no where to be found. When this news is told to prince he thinks now he has to take the matter in his own hands. He summons his kingdom 's personal sorcerer and ask him to put a spell on him to become a merman. The Sorcerer makes his highness a merman and the prince dives into sea. He would do anything to find you even become a merman.

He searches for you everywhere in sea when he stumbles upon the sea Sorcerer's hole. He gets a instinct that the sea sorcerer might help him to locate you. He peeks inside the hole to see you snuggled against the Sorcerer.

The prince gets into the fight with sorcerer upon seeing this and finally gets you. But you under the spell of sea sorcerer constantly tell him that you love sea sorcerer and not him. Sensing the sea sorcerer might have put you under his spell. He takes you against your will upward to the shore. Where after touching the land he comes back to his human form and calls his kingdom 's personal sorcerer who breaks the spell upon you.

Prince finally let's out a sigh of relief and kiss your lips or more like devoure it.

"I like you more under my spell as much as I am under yours my queen" prince says while not letting go of your lips and lifting you in his arms in bridal style not wanting to ever let go of you again making you smile like a idiot. Well it Seems like you already had prince under your spell long ago without the help of sea sorcerer.

Requests are open!

For more yandere reading

[catboyieejeno]

nct dream reaction ¡! ❞

"i can't focus with your hand down my—oh, fuck."

content: smut, cursing, mature, pet names (baby, babe, doll, etc.)

18+ ! minors do not interact

masterlist

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ mark lee

mark had spent the last few hours hunched over the soundboard, paper and pen clutched in hand as he racked his brain for something, anything that would make the verse he was writing not entirely dull. but it was so hard to think, to conjure a single logical or productive thought, when you were sat right beside him, doing what you were.

your fingertips are scratching at his scalp, right above the nape of his neck. meanwhile, your other hand busies itself on his thigh, nails tracing random shapes over the material his sweats. frustrated, tired, and in a haze of unorganized thoughts and ideas, mark rolls his head back into the palm of your hand with a low hiss.

“something about this verse doesn't sound right,"

"i think you've just been looking at it too long," you press your lips softly into his cheek and he sighs at the feeling.

"maybe," hums mark, "i just want to finish already,"

"what if,” you whisper, “you take a break for a few minutes, that way you can look at it with new eyes, find out what’s wrong with it.”

the feeling of your breath on the shell of his ear makes his hair stand on end. the bare minimum— that’s all you have to do and you have mark’s head spinning, analyzing whether or not your alleged ‘break’ really implied something else. immediately, he feels the blood rush to his-

what is he doing? he needs to keep working on the song.

he shakes his head. mark readjusts his pants, but the gesture doesn't go unnoticed by you. you're quick to catch the way he fixes himself and wipes the sweat off his palms. “babe,” he tries.

“yes?” your voice is sweet and airy, resembling a pant, with fingers lightly trailing his waistline.

“baby.” there’s an underlying warning to his tone this time; nevertheless, you can sense the bit of desperation he fails to hide.

with your thumb, you lift the waistband and slip your hand inside in one smooth motion. at the same time, your lips attach to his neck.

"i need to finish the song," his head tilts to make space for you, contradicting his words, and you smirk against his skin as you feel him gulp.

"you need a break, baby,"

"mmph," why did you have him so hooked, "no, i need to work-"

"then work," you place your hand on him over his underwear, "no one's stopping you,"

you're giving his bulge a squeeze, teeth grazing his neck, when mark mentally thanks the heavens that he's sitting. otherwise, he's sure his knees would've given out.

"yeah, but," he gasps, "i can't focus with your hand down my—oh, fuck."

ੈ♡˳

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ huang renjun

"jun,"

renjun hums in response, not looking up from the book on his chest. he's lying down, eyes scanning the text on the pages while his other hand rests on his stomach, fingers bouncing mindlessly.

with a pout settled on your bottom lip, you sit beside him on your knees, practically begging for any bit of his attention.

all of your attempts to divert his focus away from that damned book have been overlooked. you tried changing your shirt, toying with your bra, and nothing. he didn't even bother to try and sneak a glance when you pulled up your skirt, flashing your pink panties at him.

it was all getting rather annoying.

daringly, your place your hand over his, maneuvering it slowly down until you stop right over his crotch.

"tsk tsk," he moves his hand back up, "what are you doing?"

"junnie," you mewl, fingers tracing the outline of him.

he remains unmoving until you decide you've had enough. when your hand goes into his pants, his lips part slightly, sharply drawing in a breath, and his eyes finally break away from the page to look at you. they're wide open in shock.

"i've been trying to get your attention for the last 20 minutes,"

"well, you should've just asked." he laughs, sounding a little cocky. your eyes narrow at him when he speaks again, "i'll make it up to you, baby," when he goes to close the book, you stop the motion of your wrist, a devilish idea coming to mind.

"no,"

"what?"

"i want you to keep reading," you say matter-of-factly. he's taken aback when your strokes get bolder and you feel him getting harder in your hand, "since you didn't want to pay any attention to me, you can keep reading."

"but i wanna make you feel good-"

"keep reading or i'll stop."

renjun picks up his book hurriedly and flips it open to where he left off. this time, when you pull your shirt off, his eyes are roaming your skin rather than the words of his novel, shallow breaths leaving his parted lips.

he's fully hard now, a flustered mess, uttering whispered pleas of your name.

"baby, that feels so-" he whines quietly.

"focus on your book."

"i can't focus with your hand down my—oh, fuck." his hips buck up into your hand, book falling to the side as he comes into your fist.

ੈ♡˳

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ lee jeno

about five minutes ago, you were cursing the day you ever let your boyfriend talk you into working out with him.

jeno is normally sweet, shy, affectionate, considerate, but for some reason, when he steps through the doors of the gym, he discovers each and every new way to push all of your buttons.

he’d try to… encourage you throughout your routine, which resulted in you guys bickering the whole way home because he “just couldn’t let you do it at your own pace.” that, or he’d all-together forget about you until he was done with his own work out, headphones plugged in and blasting for 2, sometimes even 3 hours.

tonight, he had dragged you to a small gym that he claimed had less people, for your comfort and his privacy as an idol, and while that was true, you couldn’t help but think to yourself, of course there’s going to be less people— no one is at the gym at two in the fucking morning.

now, however, you’re leaning against the wall, fully over even attempting to finish your work out, watching as jeno does his usual bicep curls in nothing but his tiny black shorts and a matching tank that is skin-tight.

his jaw is locked and tense, face twisting as he strains while pulling up the weights during the rep. sweat makes the ends of his hair stick to his forehead, and when he’s done, he huffs, chest heaving. even the way he grabs his water to gulp it down is messing with your head.

yeah… maybe you didn’t hate the gym that much.

you don’t know what’s different about today, but you’ve been rubbing your thighs together for the last 30 minutes, hoping he’d announce soon that he’s close to done. when that moment never comes, you take matters into your own hands.

“hi, jen,” you stride over to him, a sly smile playing at your lips.

“hey, pretty baby. i’m almost finished, i just have to do-“

blatantly disregarding what he was talking about, you lean in until your lips are kissing the corner of his, “i can’t watch you work out anymore,” you whine, “it’s driving me crazy,”

confused and oblivious as ever, jeno pulls his eyebrows together, “well, i’m sorry, i thought you liked coming here with me-“

“not that kind of crazy, love,” your hand grabs his, guiding it between your legs, “the kind where i want you to bend me over any piece of equipment in here.”

“w-wha-well, i uhm-“

he swallows thickly when you bring your other hand into his shorts, grabbing his dick and pumping it a few times. his hand stays between your legs, though he doesn’t move.

“baby, i promise,” he pants, “this is my last set and then i’m taking you home and we can-“

“why can’t we do it here?”

“are you insane? what if somebody comes in? i have-shit- i have one more set and- ohh, aah-“

“jeno?”

"i can't focus with your hand down my—oh, fuck."

jeno’s arm flies back to lean his weight against whatever machine is behind him, trying to stay upright. his fingers finally start moving, rubbing some much needed friction to the spot between your legs. his brain has become mush in less than 2 minutes, lost in the pleasure that you’re giving him. his work out is long forgotten as he groans out your name.

ੈ♡˳

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ lee donghyuck

"you can't sleep with your makeup on, doll," hyuck grumbles, "stop fighting me on this,"

he straddles your lap to keep you from wiggling around, hovering over you with a make-up removing wipe wrapped between his long fingers.

his cheeks are a delicious shade of red, shiny from the sheer layer of sweat that covers his pretty features. he looks boyish and unruly, hair falling messily over his glossed-over eyes as they stare into your own.

your face is surely mirroring his, flushed from all of the drinks in your system. what started as a date night with your boyfriend ended with you having close to a bottle and half of wine each, not that you’re complaining. his body is warm above yours, clouding your judgement more than the alcohol ever could. greedily, your hands wander up his thighs.

hyuck is rambling and slurring distractedly, using the scented wipe to gently swipe away the remnants of product from under your eyes, "it's not good for your skin if you leave your makeup on, you know that-" you can't even focus on what he's lecturing you on because his lips are stained red from the wine, and he seems to have been licking them, given how wet they are.

"hyuck, baby."

"-yes?"

you pucker up your lips, "give me a kiss."

he complies with a cheeky smile, mouth molding obediently against yours. he lets out a throaty moan at your affection.

your fingers fly to the button on his jeans, undoing them. hyuck quickly pulls back, “baby, let me take off your makeup first,”

���but i wanna feel you,” you mumble innocently, hands reaching for the hem of his underwear.

“oh, believe me,” as maliciously as ever, he tongues his cheek, eyebrows wiggling, “you will.”

working as fast and gently as possible, he continues to wipe your face, jaw tightening as you grope him, “hmm, y/n.”

“what’s wrong, baby?”

"i can't focus with your hand down my—oh, fuck." his head falls into the crook of your shoulder and he shudders at the feeling of your cool hands wrapping around his base. under your palm, you feel him twitch, but hyuck is determined to remain unfazed and not engage in your little game until he’s done.

he composes himself and sighs. another wipe is taken from the pack, softly cleaning your forehead and cheeks.

“shit–alright,” he seethes as you squeeze his tip. hyuck tosses the wipe aside, grunting. your boyfriend roughly grabs your face with one hand, making you stop your teasing, “all done.”

instantly, he leans in, letting his lips meet yours again. this kiss is more lustful than the last; it’s sloppy and needy, and when he pulls away for air, he stays so close that he practically breathes his next words into your mouth, “i should’ve left your makeup on so you could watch me ruin it.”

ੈ♡˳

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ na jaemin

it's unfortunate that you're a light sleeper, seeing as it makes it quite difficult for your boyfriend to do something nice for you.

this morning, jaemin had woken up an hour before you usually do with the intention to surprise you by making breakfast and delivering it to you in bed.

he had everything worked out: he set his alarm on his phone and kept it tucked under his pillow so he could rush to silence it once he woke up, hoping that you'd continue to sleep undisturbed. from there, he rolled out of bed as quietly as possible, tip-toeing out of your bedroom and into the kitchen to make you the best breakfast-in-bed ever.

everything was going according to plan, until now. he had just scooped the first bit of pancake batter into the pan when the padding of your feet alerts him of your presence. your arms wrap around his waist, nose nuzzling into his back.

like a child who didn’t get his way, jaemin whines out and stomps his feet a bit, "babe, you weren't supposed to be up yet.”

"i felt you get up, jaem," you laugh, "let me help you-"

"nope! you're not allowed to do anything. this was supposed to be a surprise,"

"alright, fine."

when you try to pull away to get ahead on the dishes, jaemin's hand drags you back in, right to where you were on his waist.

well, if he won't let you let you help in the kitchen, maybe you can help a different way.

mischievously, your teeth graze his back and shoulders, hands sliding under his shirt to feel the muscles on his stomach, which immediately tense at the contact of your cold fingers. when your actions elicit a reaction from him, a small knowing scoff that told you that he knew exactly what you were up to, you continue your efforts, trailing down to loosen the drawstrings of his joggers.

"oh, yeah," he hums when you touch him. no more than a second later, the free hand that isn’t busy flipping pancakes comes down to wrap over yours, guiding it up and down on his length, “you’re so naughty.”

"i just wanna repay you for getting up early to make me breakfast,"

"if you keep going," he whimpers, "i might end up wanting something else for breakfast," jaemin's chest is heaving at this point.

"the food's gonna burn," you half-heartedly warn, mercilessly continuing your pace.

"well, it just might 'cause i can't focus with your hand down my—oh, fuck."

there's a clattering noise when the pan is pushed back and off the heat, the spatula dropping onto the counter as jaemin pulls your hand and his from his pants.

he quickly flips off the stove and turns to you, hands wrapping around your thighs to pick you up, situating you on the empty kitchen island.

“breakfast can wait.” he mumbles, then captures your mouth in a kiss.

ੈ♡˳

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ zhong chenle

“chenle.”

“the game’s almost over,”

“chenle!”

“there’s 10 minutes left!”

“you’re watching highlights! you can literally watch those whenever!”

“now is also whenever!” he cleverly retorts.

okay, think. that’s the third video he’s watched in a row, the third time he’s fed you the same explanation and promised that this highlight video would be the last.

so, think: how can you get him off his stupid phone?

“you wanna watch your highlights? okay,” you shrug, sitting beside him on the couch.

“okay?” he asks, as if your previous statement is entirely foreign to him, and truthfully, it is. you had never given up so easily before. in fact, chenle had grown to love the banter. half of the time, the only reason he really insists on watching his highlight clips for so long is because he loves to watch you yearn for his attention.

“yep.”

“i’ll be done after this one,” he reminds you, watching closely for your reaction.

you nod nonchalantly, “right.” and give him a forced smile.

you give him a few seconds to get back into the video before you bring your hand over to his thigh. as expected, he doesn’t say anything, continuing his act in hopes that you’ll go back to urging him to shut the video off.

but this time, unlike the others, you remain just as stoic, sneakily inching closer and closer. it’s only a matter of time before he catches on, so you reach over in one motion and undo the button of his pants, putting your hand inside.

oh. so that’s your play?

you catch onto the way his eyes widen for a fleeting moment, but he’s quick to cover it up.

gently, you rub him, leaning in to leave kisses on his cheek, the kind that are so light and soft that they invite goosebumps to spread through his neck and arms.

he resists all urges to shudder or succumb to your touch; instead, he opts for taking his bottom lip between his teeth, a last measure to remain sane as you pleasure him. he can’t care less about the highlights anymore, but he’s stubborn and refuses to lose, so his eyes stay locked on the screen although his thoughts are entirely elsewhere.

you’re supposed to beg for him, not the other way around.

but that’s easier said than done, especially when you’re palming him, pre-cum leaking from his tip as his mind wanders off the game, clinging to everything that is you.

chenle squeezes his eyes shut for a second.

“what’s the matter?”

“nothing.” he says through gritted teeth.

you keep toying with him, bringing your other hand to the button of your own shorts. at this, chenle’s eyes snap over and he mentally curses, blowing air through his nostrils harshly.

his fingers are turning white from the way he’s gripping his phone with so much force. every stroke of your hand is wearing him down, bringing him closer to his climax, but he doesn’t want to finish yet, not before he’s been inside of you.

“chenle, baby, you’re not even watching-“

“yeah, i know, that’s because i can't focus with your hand down my—oh, fuck."

ੈ♡˳

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ park jisung

“and then, if you press these buttons, your attack upgrades and deals more damage…”

if you’re being honest, everything jisung has said about his new switch game, which he’s explaining to you with so much interest and passion, is going in one ear and out the other.

it’s not that you don’t care, you do! you’re more than happy to sit and listen to him go on about something he’s excited about, but you simply don’t know what’s gotten into you today.

all you can seem to focus on is him.

his lips are plump, looking softer and more kissable than ever, and you think you may pass out when his tongue darts out to wet them. now, they’re glossed over, just like his pretty brown eyes that reflect the video game screen from the console resting on his chest.

your leg lies across his body, unable to keep still with the ache starting to flourish at your core. you’re practically grinding on his thigh and he’s oblivious as ever.

the fingers that hug his waist have now developed a mind of their own: they dance over his stomach and travel south until they make their way under jisung’s waistband.

“what-“ he clears his throat to cover the way his voice cracks, “what are you doing?”

“what are you talking about?”

all of his muscles tense up, “with your, uhm, hand?”

“oh,” you feign surprise, batting your eyes with innocence as if there could be no another reason your hand was holding his crotch, “it’s warm, my fingers were getting cold,”

he nods rather awkwardly, mumbling something that implies he understands and tries to continue with his explanation.

key word: tries.

his speech is a mess and a nervous sweat has broken out on his forehead. he’s even begun to explain things about the game wrong, spewing out nervous laughs in between weak apologies.

as hard as he’s trying to keep his act together, there’s one thing that blatantly gives him away. under your hand, you can feel him getting hard, and he knew it, too.

the entire time he’s talking, he’s growing harder and harder in your palm and you just cant resist moving a bit.

“aah, that feels-“

“so, what does that character do, again?”

jisung blinks at you with wide eyes, an look of disbelief on his face. after a pause, he answers you quietly.

“they—mmh, they shoot these uhm-“

you nod teasingly, “uh-huh?”

“these fireballs that-“ defeated, he groans out, “baby…”

“woah, fireballs?!”

“baby, i’ll tell you about the game later. right now, i-“ he sets the switch aside and you pout in false disappointment.

“what? why?”

"because—i can't focus with your hand down my—oh, fuck."

ੈ♡˳

[riizegasm]

Blossom || M. JH

❀ pairing: crown prince!myung jaehyun x princess!reader, implied fem!reader

❀ genre: royalty!au, arranged marriage!au, fluff, minor angst

❀ word count: ~4.6k

❀ warnings: very minor royalty-typical misogyny (not from jaehyun)

❀ summary: A loveless marriage isn't high on anyone's list of desires, especially yours. However, all it takes is a certain crown prince to show you that duty and desire don't always have to conflict. With a little nurturing, love, too, can blossom.

❀ a/n: The writer’s block was so real for this fic!! Despite that, I do think it turned out pretty well. I hope you guys think so too. As always, likes, replies, and reblogs are encouraged. Happy reading!

masterlist

Dreams of your wedding day always consisted of one thing: love. Ever since you were little, you imagined being married to none other than the love of your life. It didn’t matter what dress you were wearing, be it the custom garments of your kingdom or the ornate ceremonial dresses of another, because you would be marrying someone you loved. The cake could be flavorless and bland, and the crown that you wore could be heavy or feather light. None of that mattered. Because you would be in love. 

You were not in love with Crown Prince Myung Jaehyun. And yet, you were set to wed him anyway. 

Your stomach churns as the traditional shell calls of your kingdom go off, their airy whistle signifying the entrance of your guests. As the gilded doors to the throne room open, your breath remains caught in your throat as you lay eyes on the procession of people that enter. First, an older man, dressed in bright gem tones that match the ones in his crown. Then there’s a woman, her yellow and green satin dress flapping behind her in the wind. And finally, a young man. 

You don’t know what you expected the Crown Prince to look like, only having heard stories about how charming and personable he is. But when he enters the room, you are stunned by his appearance. He is breathtaking. 

His charisma bleeds off him in waves, emphasized by the kind smile he wears. It pulls his rounded cheeks upwards, boyish dimples indenting the golden surface. His gaze betrays some of his confidence, however, pupils shaking as they take in the room around him. It is only when he finally arrives at the center of the room, standing proudly next to his parents, that his eyes land on you.  

As a child, some of the aids in the palace used to tell you fantasy stories about what it felt like to be in love. They spoke of fluttering tummies and reddening cheeks, of a smile you’re unable to fight off and a lighter feeling when you’re around them. Looking at Crown Prince Myung Jaehyun gives you one of those four sensations, but by the glimmer in his eye, you’re sure it won’t be long before you check all of them off the list. 

“Welcome to Vyrona,” your father greets. “It is a pleasure to see you again, King Jaeseong, Queen Jirae.”

King Jaeseong grins, bowing his head in greeting. “It’s an honor, Your Majesty. I am delighted to introduce you to my son, Myung Jaehyun, the Crown Prince of Nexdor.”

The man in question bows at the waist, his crown not moving from its perfect position atop his light brown curls. “It’s an honor, Your Majesty.”

When Jaehyun returns to his upright position, his eyes find yours once again, not even bothering to continue to address the man in power. You can’t help but cock an eyebrow at the bold gesture, confused on why the man would choose to focus all of his attention on you instead of the conversation around him. At your silent question, Jaehyun just shoots you a small smirk, still refusing to break eye contact. 

“Well,” your father says, clapping his hands together once. “I am truly excited for the merging of our kingdoms. My daughter, Princess Y/N, is just as excited about the marriage as we are. I hope she is to your satisfaction, Prince Jaehyun.”

“She is breathtaking, Your Majesty. I would be honored to have her as my bride.”

Jaehyun speaks with conviction, words tinged with a hint of awe. It’s as if he genuinely believes what he’s saying, as if he is truly honored to be married to a woman he doesn’t even know. You can’t say that you necessarily agree. 

“Then it is settled,” your father declares. “Y/N will move to Nexdor in one month’s time, and the two of you will be wed in three.”

“That sounds lovely, Your Majesty,” Jaehyun beams. “I am looking forward to having such a gem come join us in Nexdor. I promise I will be nothing short of an amazing husband to your daughter.”

Your father chuckles, “I can tell.”

.         .         .

Lush grasses and sprawling gardens are all you can see as you peer out from your balcony. Nexdor has always been known as the “Green Kingdom”, but you were never able to experience it for yourself until this very moment. It makes sense that Nexdorians always have a lovely tan complexion and full, rounded faces. The sun is strong and the soil is rich, leading to plentiful harvests that never seem to wane. 

The pale color of the sky is dull in comparison to the rich ocean blue that you are used to in Vyrona, making you miss your sandy shores and the permanent sound of crashing waves. The wind doesn’t have a salty smell, but instead carries the mild scent of fresh flowers. Instead of crashing waves and gulls cawing, there are the faint squeals of livestock and the occasional bark of a dog. 

Nexdor seems to be teeming with life in the opposite way that you were used to in your kingdom. But you suppose the two simply exist as opposites, land and sea, sun and moon, meat and fish. You wonder if you and Jaehyun will exist as opposites as well, or if you can find some way to overcome your innate differences for the sake of the marriage. 

“Your highness?” A voice calls, punctuated by a firm rap of knuckles against the wooden doorframe. 

A glance over your shoulder reveals Jaehyun standing there, dressed much more casually than you had priorly seen him. It’s a good look on him, looser, relaxed garments and unkempt curls. He looks youthful and relaxed, undeniably attractive in the confident set of his shoulders and the soft smile he wears. It makes you wonder why rumors always raved about his personality rather than his looks. You guess he just must be that charming. 

“Come in,” you call from the balcony, not bothering to continue to look as the man approaches. 

In your periphery, you can make out the man leaning his forearms on the wooden railing of the balcony. He seems to be taking in the scenery, much like you are, eyes fluttering shut as a warm breeze begins to blow. 

“How are you settling in, Your Highness?”

You scoff. “We are set to be wed in a few months. I don’t think we quite need to refer to each other by title, don’t you agree?”

Jaehyun chuckles, ducking his head so it hangs between his shoulders. When he straightens up, he props his head in his hand, twisting his upper body to face you. You try your best not to stare at the slope of his nose or the plush of his lips, fighting the heat that is rising to your cheeks. 

“I guess you’re right. How are you settling in, Y/N?”

The flutter through your core has you taking a deep breath to steel your nerves. “It has been fine, I suppose. It has only been about an hour, so I can’t say that I have seen much. But it’s beautiful. Your kingdom is beautiful.”

Jaehyun’s smile widens, gaze never once leaving your own. “It surely is.”

There’s a moment of silence as you turn back to take in the scenery, letting the warmth of the sun caress your face. The Crown Prince simply continues to regard you, shameless in the way he scans your face. The undivided attention has anxiety bubbling in your abdomen. Never before had you been on the receiving end of such a stare, not during the numerous balls you had attended or during any royal appearances outside of the palace. 

“Is everything okay?” You ask softly, voice shaking with uncertainty. 

“Do you like flowers?”

The question takes you aback. “I suppose I do.”

“Which is your favorite?”

“I have always been quite fond of azaleas, specifically the bright pink ones. They tend to grow on bushes not too far from the shores of Vyrona.”

Jaehyun just smiles, nodding softly. “That suits you.”

When he finally turns to look out at the landscape, your shoulders sag in relief, no longer the sole object of the prince’s attention. You wonder if he is often like this, wide eyes sparkling as they take in every detail. Do his cheeks always dimple, or is it only when he smiles on certain occasions? Does his mouth always look so plush as it parts to form slow syllables?

“How are you feeling about the marriage?” His voice is softer as he speaks this time. “I mean how do you really feel, not the answer they make you rehearse in etiquette class.”

His request for candor makes you smile. “I don’t quite know, yet. You know, as a young girl, they tell you stories about the glamor of finding a husband and getting married. But I’m not quite sure what to expect anymore.”

“Are you saying I’m not glamorous enough for you, princess?”

You can’t help but giggle as the man places his cheeks in his palms, fluttering his eyelashes repeatedly. There’s something in the tilt of his head and the fanning of his eyelashes that truly is glamorous, but you fear the result of telling him so. Instead, you just roll your eyes playfully. 

“You know what I mean.”

Jaehyun smiles, finally dropping his pose in favor of leaning back against the railing. “I do. But in all fairness, we have only known each other for mere hours. If you give me the chance, I promise I will try to make this life glamorous for you.”

You return his smile, trying not to stare too hard at the way the sun highlights his Cupid’s bow. “I’d expect nothing less.”

.          .          .

Wedding preparations are more strenuous than you could have ever imagined. Dress fittings and pastry tastings prove to be tiresome, while ballroom dance lessons leave your feet sore and aching. You spend hours per day learning about Nexdorian customs and ceremonial practices, all with the expectation of having them memorized in less than two months. 

As exhausting as it is, having Jaehyun by your side makes everything a little easier. 

You grow accustomed to the way he whispers jokes under his breath when the history teacher drones on and on about traditional wedding practices. He busts silly dance moves and makes funny faces during ballroom class, stopping at nothing to simply make you laugh. Everything he does in your presence proves to be for the sake of making you comfortable. 

You hate to admit that it works like a charm, making you smile even when you’re feeling extra homesick. Just thinking about his soft jokes and melodious laugh is enough to bring heat to your cheeks. It’s odd to acknowledge that Jaehyun is simply perfect, and he’s about to be yours. He works hard to prove himself to you everyday, as if his devotion to making you comfortable can be substituted for the lack of love. 

Maybe you can mistake it as such.

When Jaehyun knocks on your door with a picnic basket and a blanket in hand, it’s easy to mistake it as love. When he leads you out to a meadow dotted with purple and yellow flowers with a hand on your waist, it’s easy to mistake it as love. When he tucks a vibrant purple blossom behind your ear, it’s easy to mistake it as love. 

Even now, as soft winds ruffle Jaehyun’s curls as he tilts his head back, facing the sun, you wonder if this could be love. He looks extremely serene with his eyes closed and dimpled cheeks, a soft smile permanently gracing his face. You don’t think you’ve seen him frown once since you have moved into the palace, the man always wide eyed and positive down to his core. 

“You know,” Jaehyun starts, eyes still closed. “You do a lot of staring at me.”

Instantly, you avert your eyes, fighting the heat rising to your cheeks. “Consider it payback for how much you stare at me.”

Jaehyun opens his eyes, shooting you a small smirk. “Well, can you blame me? You’re gorgeous.”

“And you’re quite the flatterer.”

“I hardly think it’s a crime to compliment my fiancé.”

For some reason, the word makes you cringe, harshly gripping the picnic blanket underneath your fingers. It’s hardly the first time you’ve heard him refer to you as such, but it always leaves a stale taste in your mouth. 

“Does it not bother you?” You question. “The fact that we are set to be wed and we have only known each other for mere months?”

Jaehyun sighs. “I think the strength of a connection cannot be determined by the time spent together, don’t you?”

The implication has your heart pounding in your chest. “Are you saying that we have a strong connection?”

For a moment, there is mere silence, only interrupted by the soft rustle of leaves in the wind. Jaehyun seems calm as he begins to lean forward, only stopping mere inches from your face. The close proximity has your breath stuttering in your chest, still not used to Jaehyun’s confidence in displays of affection. 

“I feel it,” Jaehyun murmurs softly, eyes momentarily flicking down to your lips. They return to your eyes just as quickly. “Don’t you?”

A flutter runs through your core as Jaehyun’s tongue darts out to run across his bottom lip. 

“I-I do,” you whisper, breath stuck in your throat. 

With a bright smile, Jaehyun pulls away, forcing you to come back to your senses. 

“Good,” he beams. “Now let’s eat.”

It’s almost as if the man can sense his effect on you, constantly meeting you with fleeting touches and secretive grins in the coming days. After the picnic, he makes a point to surprise you with a random wildflower each day, always tucking it behind your ear as if leaving a garnish on an exquisite dish. His fingers will lightly trace your jaw as they retreat, leaving a path of flames in his wake. 

His touch emboldens you, allowing you to reciprocate his affections bit by bit. As the days pass, you begin to lean into the hands that guide you by the waist. You joke alongside him, feeling free to put on your silliest face and tell your cringiest jokes. 

It begins to feel like a relationship, one that goes beyond the simple pressures of royal duty. Smiles begin to turn purposeful instead of secretive. Knowing glances are exchanged as you both seek each other out in a crowded room. Pulses go from racing at the first glimpse of each other to mellowing out when the other finally makes an appearance. 

In a month’s time, you will be married to Crown Prince Myung Jaehyun. And for the first time in a long time, you start to believe that maybe love will make an appearance at your wedding after all. 

.         .         .

The days when Jaehyun leaves you by your lonesome prove to be the hardest. You understand, of course. He is the Crown Prince with a plethora of obligations to his Kingdom, unable to solely sit back and prepare for the wedding like you do. Ruling comes first, always, even before being a fiancé. 

It’s a particularly gloomy day when an aid informs you that Jaehyun will be in political meetings all day to address a recent conflict at the northern border. With soft rain pelting the windows, you have no other option than to explore the palace. 

Polished wood squeaks under the weight of your slippers as you roam the seemingly endless halls. Every room that you pass seems to serve a different purpose, some being bedrooms while others are studies. You even find yourself in a room lined with portraits of past rulers and their families, each one telling a little bit of the history of Nexdor. Adjacent to the portrait of King Jaeseong and his family lies an empty space, just waiting for the portrait of Jaehyun and his family to fill it. You cringe at the thought of your face permanently plastered here for any wandering eye to see. 

Further down the hall from the portrait room seems to be a series of meeting rooms, each one with a different set up. As you venture down the hall, a half opened door piques your interest. But just as you move to push the door open, a frustrated groan stops you in your tracks. 

“I promise you, Father. I’m not losing focus.” There’s a frustrated edge to Jaehyun’s voice that you have never experienced before. “I know what I need to do to rule my country.”

“Clearly, you don’t!” King Jaeseong booms. “Instead of attending to your duties at Crown Prince, you are too worried about caring for the princess. You cannot let petty feelings get in the way of you ruling this kingdom to the best of your ability.”

“Feelings?” Jaehyun scoffs. “This marriage is purely political, you know that just as well as I do. I don’t even care for her. She is simply set to be my wife for our kingdom’s gain, and that is it.”

Despite King Jaeseong’s reply, the words seem to echo throughout the empty hallway, setting off a ringing in your ears. 

You release a shaky sigh, feeling your heart plummet to the pit of your core. The corners of your eyes begin to sting with the force of incoming tears, forcing you to blink rapidly to keep them at bay. It’s impossible to tune into the rest of the conversation, your mind having shut down after hearing Jaehyun’s comment. With no other choice, you flee back down the hallway, seeking nothing more than the solace of your room. 

What feels like hours pass as you simply stare up at your ceiling, letting your emotions ebb and flow like waves against the shore. As devastated as you are, you can’t help but be upset with yourself more than anything. Jaehyun was right, after all. The marriage is simply political. There is no place for feelings in ruling a kingdom, the fairy tales you were told as a kid being nothing more than just that, tales. 

Yet another part of you aches at the thought of Jaehyun viewing you as a political move. All the jokes and smiles were nothing more than what would be displayed at a public hearing. The fleeting touches and the brushes of fingers against bare skin existed simply to placate a political tide. What has begun to feel like more has been reduced to a political pawn game. 

Your chances at being in love had been squashed. 

So, you began to reciprocate. Gone were the giggles when Jaehyun cracked a joke in history class. Attempts at getting sidetracked during ballroom dance lessons were met with a blank stare. Picnic requests were denied and touches dodged. After all, there are no feelings involved in politics. 

It seems like the change takes a while for Jaehyun to register, meeting your blank stares with concerned gazes and questioning looks. His fingers halt in midair when you flinch away from his touch, clearly still hoping to grasp onto you. Dimpled smiles turn into exaggerated pouts when you deny him time and time again. You would find his reactions cute, if not for the reason this is all happening. 

It’s all political, you remind yourself. 

It isn’t until a few days before the wedding that Jaehyun seems to have had enough. He corners you after a particularly grueling ballroom practice, grabbing you by the hand. His grip is tight enough that you aren’t able to pull away, helplessly following along as he drags you through the palace corridors. 

The two of you end up in the portrait room, with the eyes of all of the past rulers staring down at you. It’s only when you come to a stop that Jaehyun releases his grip from your hand. The man is clearly irritated, cheeks ruddy and eyes glassy. If you didn’t know any better, you would think he had been crying. 

“What is going on?” 

You fight the urge to roll your eyes. “I have no idea what you mean.”

“Our wedding is in a few days and you have been ignoring me!” Jaehyun sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I just want to know what happened. I thought…I thought—,”

“You thought what?”

“I thought that you were learning to love me! I thought that you were beginning to feel the same way.”

Jaehyun’s exasperation rings loud in the otherwise silent room. His chest heaves with the force of his words, fingers twitching as they seek something to grasp. You can’t help but scoff at his demeanor. 

“Feel the same way? You were the one who said that I’m only going to be your wife for the kingdom’s political gain!” A hot feeling begins to bloom in your chest as you remember the encounter. “I believe your exact words were, ��I don’t even care for her.’”

Jaehyun’s face falls, eyes glossy. “You heard that?”

“Of course I did,” you mumble, crossing your arms over your chest. “I was walking around the palace and I heard you meeting with your father.”

“You don’t—I meant—just…I promise it’s not what you think!”

“I heard you loud and clear, Jaehyun. You can’t take back your words now.”

“I know, but I promise I didn’t mean that.” Jaehyun sighs. “Can you follow me for a second? Please, I just need to show you something.”

Jaehyun’s hand is shaking as he offers it to you, reaching out with his last shred of hope. His eyes bore holes into you, as if looking at you can keep his tears at bay. It takes a few moments of staring at the hand, taking in its subtle tremor, before you finally exhale, letting your palm meet his. The smile that he shoots you is blinding, forcing you to look away from its power. 

You struggle to keep up as Jaehyun practically runs down the hallways, hair flapping in the wind. It reminds you of a puppy, how overeager he is, and you imagine that if he had a tail, it would be fiercely wagging. Every so often, he looks back, shooting you a smile that has a stampede running through your abdomen. 

With the speed that you two are moving at, you seem to arrive at your destination in no time. Jaehyun’s panting as he leads you to a final door, sunlight flooding your vision as he pushes it open. Trekking down a pair of outdoor steps leaves you along the eastern palace wall, the once empty space now a sight that makes your jaw drop. 

Numerous flower beds and bushes form a maze along the rich soil, some of them still only budding. Even though many of the flowers are not yet in full bloom, it’s easy to tell what they will be. A specific set of hot pink buds on a nearby bush steals your breath away. 

You release Jaehyun’s hand as you walk deeper into the garden, squatting in front of the bush to see if your eyes are deceiving you. It’s hard to be sure as you squint, but when a breeze blows, flooding your senses with an all too familiar fragrance, there’s no mistaking it for anything else. 

“Azaleas?” You breathe. “But how? They don’t grow here. The closest azaleas are in—,”

“Vyrona,” Jaehyun interrupts. “The closest azaleas are a few hundred miles away, but I had some staff travel to uproot some to bring here.”

You’re frozen in place as Jaehyun approaches, utterly breathless. “But why?”

“Because you said they were your favorite.”

As Jaehyun closes the gap between you two, you find yourself blinking back tears. This time, when he attempts to gather your hands in his, you let him, not daring to put up a fight. Slowly, he brings your left hand to his lips, placing a soft kiss on your knuckles before repeating the move with your right hand. 

“Y/N, I wasn’t lying when I said I felt a connection between us. From the day I first saw you, I knew I would do anything for you, and I still will.” Jaehyun lets out a wet chuckle. “You know, if we weren’t already set to be wed I would have proposed to you again, right here in this spot. That’s how much I want to be with you.”

You shake your head, fighting a grimace. “But, your father…”

“I only said what I had to in order to appease him. He is nervous that I’m losing focus of my duties and losing sight of what I need to do for the kingdom. And honestly, he’s right. Because these days, all I can think about is you.”

The feeling is undoubtedly reciprocated, but the words to tell him such remain caught in your throat. All you are able to muster is a questioning hum. 

“You’re constantly on my mind to the point where I feel like a fool. I can’t seem to stop talking about you to anyone who might listen, my father included. Honestly, I have never experienced love before, princess. But to the extent I do, I want to experience it with you.”

You swallow the lump in your throat, trying your best not to get lost in the reflection of you in Jaehyun’s eyes. “I want to experience it with you, too.”

Dimples indent Jaehyun’s cheeks as a relieved smile crosses his face. He uses his grip on your hands to pull you even closer, causing you to stumble into his chest. Both of your hands fall to his chest to stabilize yourself, while his own fall to your waist. This close, you can see the soft shadows that his eyelashes cast on his cheeks and the sharp swell of his Cupid’s bow.

You find yourself thinking the same thing that you thought when you first saw the Prince. He is breathtaking. 

“Jaehyun…” you trail off, watching the way his tongue darts out to trace his bottom lip. 

“Will you let me love you, princess?”

A small nod is all you’re able to get out before a soft pair of lips meet yours. 

Jaehyun kisses the way you would imagine a young prince would, unrestrained and confident. He takes the lead in letting his lips blanket yours, grip tightening around your waist as he draws you in for more. It’s addicting, the way he strikes a balance between giving and taking that leaves you panting when you both pull away. 

“Let’s get married,” Jaehyun breathes out, letting his forehead rest on yours. 

You can’t fight the giggle that bubbles up in your chest. “We already are next week.”

“Oh, right.”

At his sheepish tone, you can’t help but laugh fully, throwing your head back in an unrestrained fit of giggles. The sight proves contagious, as Jaehyun’s laughs begin to harmonize with yours. It’s an addicting sensation, to hear the laughs of your fiancé while the fragrance of your favorite flower fills your nose. 

“Jaehyun,” you whisper after you are able to tame your fit of giggles. “Thanks for making this all feel a little more glamorous.”

Jaehyun just smiles, giving your waist a light squeeze. “You don’t have to thank me. I promise that I’ll do whatever I can to make each day feel more glamorous than the last.”

You nod, feeling the sun warm your lips as you smile softly. 

“I’d expect nothing less.”

.FIN.

[munsonsmixtapes]

5 + 🚒

This was one of my favorites and I was secretly hoping that someone would choose that one so thank you!

You’re so deep in sleep that you don’t even hear the door to your apartment slam. Ever since your breakup with Jason, you’ve only left your apartment except to go to work. It’s not so much that you’re depressed because you miss him-because you don’t. You just feel so lonely. You honestly just miss having someone to hold you at night.

It’s your only day off and you plan on staying right here, sleeping the day away. It’s the only way you’ve been able to cope with the real reason why you’re so upset. Because now that you’re single, all you can see to think about is how madly in love you are with your best friend.

The covers are ripped off of you just as you’re about to kiss him in your dream and when you turn over, there he is at the side of your bed, your blanket in hand.

You groan and turn over, trying to go back to sleep but Buck pulls your pillow out from under your head so you can’t do that.

“So are you planning on rotting in bed all day or are you finally going to rejoin society?” He asks, quirking an eyebrow and you just glare at him.

“Rot,” you reply before turning over once again but Buck isn’t having it. He grabs hold of your arms and pulls you from the bed, not even seeming to be bothered by the fact that you’re not putting in any effort. That’s never stopped him.

“It’s time to shower and put on that pretty dress you just bought.” He’s being gentle now, his tone encouraging. He hates seeing you like this. You just look so pathetic, almost like a wounded animal, and he just wants to do whatever he can to make your feel like yourself again.

“I have plans.” You reach over and grab your remote to turn on the TV that’s across from you.

“Sorry, but watching Legally Blonde for the thousandth time this week is not plans.”

“Says you.”

“This is not an option. You’re going to get up and get into the shower.” He grabs the remote from you and turns the TV. He leans down, his hands on either side of you and his face is so close that you can see every detail of it. “You seem to forget that I can pick you up like you weigh nothing. So no matter how much you try to fight me, I will always win.”

“Not today, you don’t,” you reply, snatching the remote from him but he’s quick to take it back and throw it onto the bed. And then, in a flash, he’s quick to throw you over his shoulder just like he promised before taking you down the hall.

Buck is so focused on his task and he barely even feels you hitting his back. In fact, he laughs as you do so because you both know damn well that it’s going to take more than that to get him to let you go.

He hates seeing you like this, just a shell of yourself, letting your pain eat at you. He just wants to miraculously take the pain away but he knows he can’t. So he just resorts to holding you and letting you cry in his arms, his heart breaking piece by piece.

Buck has been in love with you his entire life. He has watched you date loser after loser and he wonders who you never seem to realize are as much until it’s too late. They’re always the one to leave you and he never understands why. You’re the perfect woman in his eyes.

Buck gets you to the bathroom and sets you back on your feet before turning on the faucet for you. Once it’s hot enough, he presses a kiss to your forehead before fleeing the bathroom to let you shower.

-

The sun is shining brightly as Buck lays out the blanket on the grass. You stand to the side because he won’t let you help, holding the small cooler he’s brought filled with all of your favorite things. He’s really done his hardest to make this day perfect for you. He even went as far as making your favorite cookies.

Once the blanket is flat, he helps you sit down before taking the cooler from you. He opens it and pulls out all of the food items, handing a sandwich to you along with a juice box.

He scoots closer to you as the two of you eat your lunch. He wonders if he’s ever going to get the guts to tell you how he feels but he doesn’t think he will. You’ve been best friends your whole lives and he’s just so nervous about fucking it all up.

Buck can’t recall a single memory that doesn’t have you in it. As far back as his memory will go, you were there. It was his third birthday party and he let you blow out his candles as well as letting you help him open his presents. He even went as far as trying to give one of his gifts away but none of your parents seemed to want to let that happen.

He wants to tell you, he really does. The only thing that’s stopping him is whether or not it would make you uncomfortable. He just loves you so much and it’s killing him watching you date these losers when he’s right there. He knows he has no right to feel that way but he can’t help it. Pretty much all of the love he has in his heart is for you and it's hurting him so badly that he’s unable to express it in the way that he wants to.

You sneak a glance at him when he turns away from where the sun is beating down. He has been so sweet to you all day and it’s taking everything in you not to plant one on him right there. Especially when he licks his lips to get rid of some of the crumbs that have nestled themselves there.

It’s so unfair that he can just sit there and look so pretty. You have no idea how no one has snatched him up yet. He makes everyone baked goods all the time and he’s still single? It makes no fucking sense to you. Especially since he’s a firefighter. And a damn good one at that.

You quickly turn away when he feels your gaze, suddenly feeling your cheeks flush at being caught. You’ve stared at him more times than you can count so you don’t know why this is any different.

Maybe it’s because this feels like a date. He had you dress up and took you on a picnic. That sounds very much like a date in your mind. But maybe that’s just because you wish it was one. You’ve been wanting to go on a date with him for as long as you can remember.

“Y/n,” he says, waving his hand in front of your face and you’re suddenly snapped out of your daydream.

“Sorry, what?” You ask, shaking your head.

“I asked if you wanted a cookie,” he asks, holding the bag out to you. He’s got on that adorable smile and it takes everything in you not to reach over and pinch his pink cheeks.

“Is that even a question?” You roll your eyes and take one from the bag. He leans in closer, waiting to see your reaction even though he knows you’ll love it. You always do. “Amazing as always. You really didn’t have to do all this,” you tell him as you wipe your hands on one of the napkins.

“I did, though. You’re my best friend and I hate seeing you like that. I also just l-” he cuts himself off, his cheeks burning, turning bright pink as he tries to play it off.

“You what?” You ask, your eyebrows furrowing in confusion as Buck clears his throat.

“You’re my best friend and I love you,” he says, this time with confidence. But only Buck knows the real meaning behind the words. Maybe one day he’ll actually get the guts to tell you romantically.

“I love you too,” you reply, leaning forward. Your hand reaches out as you get closer and Buck finds his eyes fluttering shut. This is it, it’s finally going to happen. After years of wondering what your lips feel like-but just when he thinks you're about to kiss him, he feels you push one of his curls out of his face.

His eyes fly open and you’re just staring at him, very obviously confused. He wants the ground to swallow him whole right there. He feels like such a fucking idiot. The lines between his fantasy and reality are blurring and he really needs to get a grip.

“What are you doing?” You ask and by the way you’re rolling your lips into your mouth, he can just tell that you’re trying not to laugh.

“The sun is really bright.” He knows you don’t believe him but he’s terrible at coming up with a lie on the spot.

“Did you think I was going to kiss you, Buckley?” You ask and he swears he’s going to throw up. You’re teasing him and he fucking hates it.

“Yes,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. You let out a laugh and he’s so close to searching for his fork to stab himself with. Well, if these are his last moments, at least he gets to hear your pretty laugh.

“Well, if you wanted me to kiss you,” you scoot closer, so much so that you’re practically in his lap. “You should have just asked.” Your face is only inches from his and he almost wants to pinch himself to make sure that he’s not dreaming.

“Kiss me,” you whisper, your hand resting on his thigh and feeling the heat from your skin tells him that this actually is real. He grins, reaching up and resting a hand on your cheek before leaning forward, slotting his lips between yours.

Your other hand rests right on his heart and he’s praying that you can’t feel it pounding in his chest. You’re both smiling, making the whole thing difficult. It’s clanking teeth and nothing but giggles. You’re both just so happy.

When the laughs finally fizzle out, you give it one more try, your lips finding each other again as his hand moves into your hair. The whole thing is filled with want and need and all of the love that you have for each other.

When you finally pull away, all he wants to do is go back for more. How could he possibly kiss anyone else when you just gave him the best one he’s ever had?

“God, I love you,” he says, his voice in a dreamlike state. And this time, he’s going to just let it sit there. Let you decide what you want to take from it.

“I love you too,” you reply, giving him another kiss. “Do you want to go get some ice cream? It could be our first official date.”

“I would love to get some ice cream.” He steals one more kiss and helps you up from the blanket and after everything is cleaned up, he takes your hand and doesn’t drop it for the rest of the day, smiling to himself because after years of praying, wishing to have you, you’re finally his.

[theonottsbxtch]

🐴 hi again! I loved the oscar series. So I have an idea but this time for Max again! (I’m a max girlie through and through 🙂‍↕️)

Okay so! Could you possibly do a cowgirl!reader x cowboy!Max? Maybe a barrel racer!reader and bull rider!Max (he seems like a bull rider ngl). Its maybe second chance for Max? He started to be there for her, showing up for her when she needs it. Something happened to the reader (up to you) and he showed up for her once again which causes the reader to reevaluate him. And the rest? Up to you! :)

Psps i love giving you my ideas and seeing them come to life! Goodbye for now, 🐴

WHAT'S LEFT BEHIND PT.1 | MV1

an: as an honorary texan (i've been friends with one for seven years) this was so fun to write ehehhehheh ANYWAY ENJOY THIS SECOND CHANCE ROMANCE!!

summary: when max verstappen left his childhood girlfriend behind to face her career ending injury alone to chase his dreams of being the best bull rider the country has ever seen, he thought it would be easy. except it wasn't, he was back in town and they hated him, for one reason. they hurt their star barrel racer.

wc: 4.2k

8 years ago

The crowd roared, but she barely heard it. The adrenaline coursing through her veins drowned out everything but the rhythmic pounding of Luna’s hooves beneath her, the barrels blurring in her vision as she pushed harder, faster, urging her horse around the final turn. They were almost there.

Almost.

The split-second misstep was enough. One wrong move, and Luna’s front hoof caught the edge of the last barrel. The world tilted, her balance slipping. And then she was falling—weightless for just a breath before the ground came up to meet her, hard and unforgiving. Pain exploded in her leg, white-hot and blinding, shooting through her entire body like wildfire.

She barely registered the panicked shout from the stands. The sound of boots hitting the dirt. Then hands—his hands—on her.

"Don’t move! I’m here, I’m here!" Max’s voice was frantic, the fear clear in his eyes as he knelt beside her. She could see the tremble in his hands, but his grip was steady, reassuring as he cradled her head and kept her still. "Help is coming, sweetheart don’t move.”

She tried to breathe through the pain, tried to focus on his face, but the edges of her vision blurred. All she could think about was how everything had changed in a heartbeat. She’d trained for this her whole life. Barrel racing was all she had, all she’d ever wanted. And now it was slipping through her fingers.

She reached out, her hand finding his. “Max…”

“I’m right here,” he whispered, squeezing her fingers. His voice was hoarse, as if he couldn’t quite believe what was happening either. "You’re gonna be okay, I promise."

But she could see the fear in his eyes. Fear that mirrored her own.

That was all she remembered when she passed out.

And when she woke up, she was in the hospital.

The antiseptic smell of the hospital was a far cry from the dust and heat of the rodeo arena. She lay in the sterile bed, her leg encased in a cast, throbbing with a dull ache that barely scratched the surface of the pain inside her.

The doctors said the break was bad. Real bad. Recovery would be slow. And even then… they weren’t sure she’d ever race again.

She hadn’t cried when they told her. She just stared at the ceiling, feeling like a hollow shell of herself, like her whole world had caved in on her. The only thing keeping her tethered to the present was the thought of Max. He hadn’t left her side at the arena, had promised her she’d be okay. He’d said he was there for her.

So where was he now?

The door creaked open, and she looked up, expecting him, hoping for him. But it was her mother who stepped inside, her face drawn tight with an expression that immediately set alarm bells ringing in her head.

“Mom?” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Is it time for my meds?”

Her mother hesitated, wringing her hands together. “Honey… I have something to tell you.”

The calm that had settled in her chest evaporated. “What is it?” she asked, anxiety prickling at the back of her mind. “Is it about my leg?”

Her mother stepped closer, the shadows under her eyes deepening. “No, it’s… it’s about Max.”

“Max?” The name felt heavy on her tongue, like a weight pulling her down. “What about him?”

Her mother sighed, her expression torn between sympathy and something else—anger? Disappointment? “He’s gone.”

The words hung in the air, thick and suffocating, and for a moment, she couldn’t process what she’d just heard. “Gone? What do you mean, gone?”

“He left,” her mother said gently, her voice shaking. “After the rodeo, there was a scout. He got an offer… a chance to go pro. He packed up and went. He didn’t want to tell you while you were still in the hospital.”

A cold wave of disbelief washed over her. This can’t be happening. “No,” she said, shaking her head slowly, as if denying it could change the reality. “He wouldn’t do that. Not to me. Not after everything.”

Her mother reached out, a comforting hand on her shoulder, but it only made her feel more trapped. “I know it’s hard to understand, sweetheart. He was excited about it. He thought… he thought it would be better for both of you.”

“But I needed him!” The words burst out, sharp and raw, like the pain throbbing in her leg. “I was hurt! I thought we were a team!” She could feel her heart racing, each beat echoing the disbelief and betrayal that coursed through her veins.

“I know,” her mother said softly, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “But he didn’t see it that way. He thought it was his chance to make something of himself. He didn’t think you’d want him to stay behind.”

The room felt as if it were closing in on her, the walls pressing down like the weight of a thousand expectations. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. All those memories of the two of them, the laughter, the promises—they felt like cruel jokes now. The pain in her leg was nothing compared to the ache in her chest.

“What did he say?” she demanded, desperation lacing her words. “Did he even look back? Did he say goodbye?”

Her mother looked away, a pained expression crossing her face. “He… he didn’t want to see you like this. He thought it would hurt more.”

A bitter laugh escaped her lips, surprising even herself. “So he just left? Just like that?” The anger bubbled up, a volcano ready to erupt. “He’s chasing some stupid dream while I’m stuck here?”

“He’s just a kid, too,” her mother said gently, but the words felt like a weak balm on a festering wound. “He didn’t know what to do. He thought it was best to leave you with the hope of recovery, not the reality of…”

“Not the reality of him abandoning me!” she snapped, rage surging through her. “I don’t care about his dreams! He was supposed to be here!”

The tears finally spilled over, streaking down her cheeks as she let the full weight of her heartbreak crash over her. Each sob felt like a release, but it didn’t take away the gnawing emptiness inside. Her mother’s arms enveloped her, but she felt distant, lost in a sea of despair.

“It’s not fair,” she cried, her voice muffled against her mother’s shoulder. “It’s not fair that I’m the one who’s hurt, and he just gets to run away.”

“I know, honey. I know,” her mother murmured, holding her tight as if to shield her from the pain. “But you’re stronger than this. You’ll get through it.”

But in that moment, as she clung to her mother, she felt anything but strong. The world outside the hospital window continued, people going about their lives as if nothing had changed. But for her, everything had shifted, and she didn’t know how to find her way back.

PRESENT TIME

The barn smelled like hay, leather, and the faintest trace of saddle soap—familiar, comforting scents that grounded her. She moved with practised ease, brushing down Luna, her mind quiet for the first time in days. Her mare’s grey coat shimmered under her hands, and the steady rhythm of the brush helped drown out the restless thoughts that always lingered too close.

Out here, surrounded by the soft sounds of the horses shifting in their stalls, she could almost forget. Forget the past, forget the pain, forget the way her life had derailed eight years ago and the way it had never really gotten back on track.

The barn door creaked open, and she glanced up to see her childhood best friend, Heidi, walking in with a stack of freshly folded saddle pads. She and Heidi had worked this barn together for years now, caring for the horses, prepping for the local shows. It was their world, their escape from everything else. Although, as her and her boyfriend Daniel were getting serious, she was working less hours.

Heidi set the pads down on a tack trunk and stretched her back, groaning as if she’d been doing manual labour for hours. "Why do we do this again?" she teased, eyeing Luna. "Surely there’s an easier way to make a living."

"Could always take up bull riding," she shot back dryly, not looking up from her work. "I hear there’s good money in it."

Heidi snorted, leaning against the stall door. "Yeah, well, we both know what that road leads to."

Silence fell between them for a second, thick and familiar, before Heidi cleared her throat. “So… guess who’s back in town?”

She didn’t even pause her brushing, keeping her movements smooth, controlled. “No idea,” she muttered, eyes fixed on Luna’s glossy coat. “Who?”

“Max.”

The name hung in the air like dust motes caught in a sunbeam—small but impossible to ignore.

Her hand stilled for just a moment, her grip tightening on the brush. She forced herself to keep going, resuming the strokes over Luna’s back like nothing had changed. “Huh,” she said after a beat, voice carefully neutral. “Didn’t think he’d come back.”

Heidi folded her arms, watching her closely. “Yeah, well, he’s here. Saw him at the feed store this morning. Said he’s back for good.”

“Good for him.” She switched sides, moving to Luna’s other flank. “Guess the big, glamorous rodeo life didn’t turn out the way he wanted.”

Heidi’s eyes narrowed, her lips twitching into the slightest smirk. “You don’t care?”

“Why would I care?” She shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “It’s been eight years. I’m 25 now, have my life and I’ve moved on.”

“Have you?” Heidi’s voice was soft but knowing. She didn’t move from her spot at the stall door, and for the first time, her friend’s presence felt a little too close.

She gritted her teeth, focusing on the repetitive motion of the brush. It was easier that way, focusing on something else. Something solid. “I don’t see what it has to do with me,” she said after a moment. “He left, I stayed. End of story.”

Heidi raised an eyebrow. “Right. Except it’s not the end, is it?”

She didn’t respond, didn’t trust herself to say anything without the flood of emotions she’d worked so hard to bury spilling out. She hadn’t even thought about Max, not really. He was just a part of the past, a chapter she’d closed long ago. Or so she told herself.

But the truth was, she had thought about him. In the quiet moments, when the ache in her leg flared up and the memories of that day—the day everything fell apart—came rushing back. She hated herself for it, but sometimes she wondered what it would have been like if he had stayed, if they’d faced it together instead of him running off to chase his dreams.

“You know…” Heidi’s voice softened, her teasing edge fading. “It’s okay if it still bothers you.”

She scoffed, shaking her head. “It doesn’t. He’s nothing to me anymore. That part of my life is over.”

Heidi didn’t buy it. She never did. They’d been friends too long for that. “You’re a terrible liar, you know.”

Her chest tightened, the brush stalling in her hand again as the words scraped against the raw parts of her heart. She hated how Heidi could see through her so easily, could read the cracks in the armour she’d built so carefully. “Heidi, I’m fine. Really.”

But Heidi wasn’t letting it go. “Come on. You can act like you don’t care, but I saw the way you froze when I said his name. You think I don’t know? It’s okay if this shakes you up. You don’t have to pretend.”

“I’m not pretending.” The words came out a little too fast, too sharp, and she winced at the way they echoed in the barn. She set the brush down, her hands suddenly trembling, and wiped them on her jeans, trying to shake off the feeling that had wrapped itself around her chest like a vice. “I’m not.”

Heidi didn’t say anything, just stood there with that same patient, knowing look. She had the decency not to push further, but she didn’t need to. The damage was already done, the emotions bubbling just beneath the surface now.

She let out a long breath, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Look, I’m just focused on work right now, okay? Max can do whatever he wants. He’s got nothing to do with me anymore.”

But even as she said it, she knew she was lying. Knew Heidi could see the truth. And somewhere deep down, she was afraid—afraid that no matter how much time had passed, no matter how hard she tried to pretend otherwise, Max Verstappen still had the power to turn her world upside down.

Heidi gave her a long, searching look, then finally nodded. “Okay,” she said quietly. “But just know, if you ever need to talk, I’m here. I know it’s not as simple as you want it to be.”

She swallowed hard, her throat tight. “Thanks.”

As Heidi turned to leave the barn, the silence rushed back in, pressing heavy on her shoulders. She picked up the brush again, returning to Luna ’s side, but her movements were slower now, distracted. The rhythm was gone, replaced by a tangled mess of thoughts she couldn’t quite push away.

He was back.

And as much as she wanted to pretend it didn’t matter, she knew it did. More than she’d ever admit.

And after that news, there was only one person she wanted to see.

The familiar creak of her mother’s screen door was like stepping into another life, one she wasn’t sure how to fit into anymore. The house hadn’t changed—same wooden porch swing, same flower pots overflowing with wild daisies. It was the kind of place that felt frozen in time, which used to be comforting. Now it just felt suffocating.

She knocked once before pushing the door open, stepping into the cosy warmth of the kitchen. Her mother stood by the stove, stirring something that smelled like cinnamon and butter, her apron tied loosely around her waist.

“Hey, honey,” her mother said without turning around, as if she’d known she was coming before the door even opened. “Didn’t think I’d see you today.”

She shrugged, kicking off her boots at the door like she always had. “Just thought I’d stop by.”

Her mother glanced over her shoulder, her brow creasing slightly as she took in her daughter’s tight expression. “Everything okay?”

She didn’t answer right away, instead walking over to the kitchen table and pulling out a chair. The wood scraped against the floor, breaking the silence between them. “He’s back.”

Her mother stilled, the spoon pausing mid-stir. For a moment, there was nothing but the ticking of the old clock on the wall and the faint sound of the wind rattling the windows.

“Max?” her mother finally asked, her voice cautious.

She nodded, running her hand over the worn edge of the table. “Yeah. Heidi saw him earlier and said he’s back for good.”

Her mother sighed, setting the spoon down on the counter before wiping her hands on a dish towel. “And how do you feel about that?”

“I don’t.” She leaned back in the chair, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. “It doesn’t matter to me. He can come and go as he pleases.”

Her mother gave her a long, patient look—the kind only a mother can give, the one that sees right through every defence. “You sure about that?”

She scoffed, glancing away. “What do you want me to say? That I’m still angry? That I haven’t forgiven him? Because I haven’t.”

Her mother pulled out the chair across from her and sat down, folding her hands on the table. “I’m not saying you need to forgive him right away. But holding onto all that hurt… it’s not good for you. Carrying that grudge for so long—it eats away at you, whether you realise it or not.”

She rolled her eyes. “Mum, please. Don’t give me that wisdom-of-the-ages crap. He left me when I needed him. That’s not something I can just… let go.”

“I’m not saying you should forget what happened,” her mother said softly. “But holding onto the anger? That’s like drinking poison and hoping the other person gets sick.”

“Bullshit,” she snapped, standing up so quickly the chair legs scraped against the floor. “I’m not drinking anything. I’m just—” She broke off, her voice cracking. “I’m just fine. I don’t need to forgive him, and I don’t need your advice on how to deal with it. It’s done. It’s been done for years.”

Her mother didn’t flinch at the outburst, only watched her with that same calm, understanding expression. “I’m not trying to tell you how to feel, honey. But you’re not the same girl you were eight years ago. Neither is he. People change.”

“Maybe,” she muttered, grabbing her keys from the table. “But I haven’t changed that much.”

Without waiting for her mother to respond, she turned on her heel and headed for the door, her boots thudding against the wooden floor. She didn’t even bother to say goodbye before she stepped back outside into the cool evening air, the sting of her mother’s words still fresh.

She yanked open the door of her truck, sliding behind the wheel with more force than necessary. The engine rumbled to life, and she gripped the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles turned white.

Grudges aren’t healthy? How could her mother even say that? Of course she was still mad. He’d left her when she was broken—physically and emotionally. Just up and left without a word. She’d been nothing to him, just a stepping stone on his way to glory. And now that glory had turned sour, he wanted to come crawling back?

She slammed her foot on the gas, sending the truck down the dirt road leading away from her mother’s house. The sky above had turned a deep, bruised purple as the sun set behind the hills, casting long shadows across the fields. She didn’t care where she was going; she just needed to get away from the conversation, from the memories that her mother had stirred up.

But the universe, it seemed, had other plans.

Not five minutes down the road, the truck sputtered, jerked violently, and then… silence.

“No, no, no, no…” she muttered, hitting the steering wheel in frustration as the truck coasted to a stop. “Not now.”

She turned the key again, but all she got was the tired groan of an engine that had given up on her just like everything else. Perfect.

She rested her head against the steering wheel, closing her eyes. It was almost laughable, really—how her life always seemed to fall apart at the worst possible times. Here she was, trying to outrun her past, and now she was stuck on the side of some desolate back road with nothing but her thoughts for company.

The irony wasn’t lost on her.

After a few minutes, she pushed open the door and stepped out into the fading light. The road stretched out before her, empty and quiet, with no sign of anyone else for miles. She kicked at the dirt in frustration, her boots scuffing the ground. There was nothing to do but wait.

She leaned back against the hood of her truck, arms crossed, staring at the horizon. She hadn’t wanted to think about him, hadn’t wanted to feel anything about him. But now that he was back, it was like every carefully built wall she’d put up was crumbling all over again.

And maybe—just maybe—her mother had a point, as much as she hated to admit it.

But there was no way she was ready to deal with that. Not yet.

She kicked the dirt under her boots and stared down the empty road, arms crossed, the fading twilight casting a purplish hue over the fields. Her truck sat stubbornly in the middle of the gravel, as immobile and obstinate as her memories. She’d called a repair service, but out here, that could mean waiting an hour or two—or more.

As she leaned against the hood, the air cool against her skin, she heard the low rumble of an engine in the distance. A truck approached, its headlights cutting through the dusky shadows. She straightened up, squinting as it drew closer, a vague sense of unease settling in her chest.

The truck slowed, and as it pulled up beside hers, she recognised it immediately. Of course.

Max.

He leaned out the open window, his expression a mixture of concern and hesitation, like he knew he had no right to stop but couldn’t help himself. “You alright?”

She stared at him, arms still crossed, a muscle ticking in her jaw. “I’m fine.”

He glanced from her to the truck, then back at her. “Looks like you’re stranded.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Sharp as ever, I see.”

He ignored the jab, shifting the truck into park as if he were getting out. “I’ve got some tools in the back. Let me take a look.”

“No.”

He paused, hand on the door handle, confusion flickering across his face. “No?”

“You heard me.” She pushed herself off the hood and walked a few steps toward him, her eyes hard, voice cutting like glass. “I don’t need your help. Didn’t need it eight years ago to get better, and I sure as hell don’t need it now.”

His brow furrowed, his jaw tightening slightly as he held her gaze. She saw the flash of guilt there—the same guilt she’d been holding onto for so long—but it didn’t make her feel better. Not like it should’ve.

“I’m just trying to—” he started, but she cut him off.

“I know what you’re trying to do, Max.” Her voice was sharp, cold. “You feel bad, right? You think you can fix everything with a wrench and a couple of well-placed apologies? But this isn’t something you can fix. You can’t just pop the hood on the past and make it all run smoothly again.”

He stepped out of the truck, shutting the door behind him with a quiet thud, but stayed at a distance, not getting too close. “It’s not like that. I just saw you were stuck. Thought you might need a hand.”

She barked out a laugh, humourless and bitter. “I’m not some damsel in distress. I don’t need you riding in to save me, Max. I can handle my own problems.”

His eyes softened, his voice low as he spoke. “I know you can handle yourself. You always could. But it doesn’t mean you have to do it alone.”

She glared at him, fists clenched at her sides. He didn’t get it. He couldn’t get it. “I’ve been doing it alone since the moment you left. I didn’t have a choice.”

The words hung heavy between them, the weight of years of anger and hurt settling like dust around them. He took a breath, about to say something, but her eyes flicked to the back of his truck.

The bed of his truck was cluttered with various tools, and there, half-buried under a coil of rope, was a large, well-worn toolbox.

“Give me your tools,” she said suddenly, her voice hard. “That’s all I need from you. Hand them over and go.”

He blinked, caught off guard. “You want to—”

“I said, give me the tools,” she repeated, the steel in her voice leaving no room for argument. “I’ll fix the damn thing myself. I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty like those podium princesses you’ve been hanging around.”

The barb hit its mark, his expression tightening just enough for her to notice. But instead of snapping back, he walked to the back of the truck, pulling the toolbox out and handing it to her without a word.

She snatched it from him, the weight of it familiar and grounding. “Thanks. Now go.”

For a moment, he didn’t move. He just stood there, looking at her like he wanted to say something more, something important. But she wasn’t in the mood for whatever half-baked apology or explanation he thought would make up for everything.

She glared at him, daring him to argue, to push her any further.

Finally, with a slow nod, he turned and walked back to his truck. She watched as he climbed in, the door shutting with a soft click. He didn’t look back at her as he drove away, the sound of his engine fading into the distance.

She stood there for a long moment, the toolbox in her hands, her chest tight with the familiar swirl of emotions she couldn’t seem to shake.

This was better. She’d handle this alone, just like she always had. She wasn’t that broken girl anymore, waiting for someone to come along and pick up the pieces. She didn’t need anyone—especially not Max Verstappen.

She set the toolbox down and crouched beside the truck, wrench in hand, ready to prove to herself, once again, that she could do it. That she didn’t need anyone else to fix what was broken.

part two

[scarlettoceaneyes]

could we get come paul angst?

where he loses his temper about something small like dropping something and reader comforts him and is all “it’s okay, it was just an accident” and mans is a messss because he grew up around short tempered people and doesn’t want to be like them.

Ouuu but such a sweetheart under it all! Who doesn’t love Paul!

Valuable

You heard it and cringed. The small break of a glass that was not important, but Paul made it that way. He was trying everything to make you happy after getting married, but he often got confused that happiness doesn’t come with perfection alone. You explained often that a glass can be replaced, much like other material things that doesnt master. He often worried he would make you leave if he did the wrong thing. 

Sure, he has temper and anger issues. You knew that going in. It was really the way he was raised where his dad would lose his temper over something small the same way. Egg shells were constantly being crushed under Paul's feet in his childhood home. You tried to make him see life isn’t like that, or it doesn’t have to be. You did understand how he felt, like he would push you too far by accident just like his dad. You promised yourself to try and never prove that you felt like that to Paul- this relationship didn’t center around fear but love. 

The string of strong language came next. You felt the personal disappointment he felt through the bond. It didn’t matter how many times it happened and you comforted him, he couldn’t fight off the demons in his mind for long. Part of the reason you still helped was to teach him he doesn’t have to wait for the honeymoon period to be over for reality to set in, but that if you love each other then it should be a realistic ideal to always have good times. You both fight at times and bicker, but you make it a point to talk with him instead of letting things fester. So you did.

“Paul baby it's okay! It was an accident. It's a cheap glass out of a set I got years ago. All materials things can be replaced ok? Don’t be so hard on yourself.” Paul let you wrap your arms around him while he cleaned the glass out of the sink. 

“I should be more careful. I know to be.” Your frown was felt through his back, only making his self esteem take another blow. 

“These things would break if it was the pack, me, you, our kids one day, or I lost grip and dropped it. We could even have teenagers years to come who can break every piece of wedding china and it wouldn’t matter because it would be an accident. Just like this was. You are not your father Paul and he should’ve never treated your family like that. You are already a better man than he could dream to be because you never are rough with me. I love you and I can feel how you feel. Your brain isn’t telling you the truth. You are my angel on earth who is selling himself too short.” Paul finally shows a flicker of hearing you as you call him your favorite saying. He knew you thought of him as your angel, even if he disagreed it still healed him a little bit at a time. 

About this time the tears came for Paul, followed by yours. You didn’t mind because he was healing. His outburst were getting easier to get through and they no longer kept him up at night. One night he shared his dream was to be able to be a healthy father one day. Your unshed tears pooled behind your smiling eyes. You felt his commitment through the bond. He owed it to you just as much as himself when he was able to heal. 

“You’re right it’s not important.” Paul seemed to snap out of it and pull you around to face him. Hugging you and kissing your tears away, he gave you the ending line that always concluded these moments. You were happy to see it come within five minutes this time. You were so proud of how much he is healing for you both and your future family. “Thank you babe, I love you so much. The best wife a man could have.”

[miifu666]

Finally Doodled the Black Myth Oc, ive been hyperfixating on ARGHHH. I usually work on my other ocs but this is the first Oc i make thats probably more fluff and angst than angst no comfort... Letsss get to her/their Bio shall wee!!!

Suklha

A Centipede Deity, a replica of her former reincarnation, Kafkaesque. (She/Them)

They appear Feminine, so usual pronouns could be between they/her. They dont mind it as long as you're respectful.

They actually dont have a real name, the moment they woke up in a disheveled shrine, they found some scrolls and the only word they can read is "Suklha" which somehow has the meaning "Bearer of all forms, Goddess of Forms" so they took that as their own name.

Suklha also doesn't know how they came to be, one day covered in warmth they descended into the world. To be nothing but a seed created by Buddha, to discover, relive and replicate what their past self are like. To continue the samsara made specifically for her, a destiny for an otherworldly being.

Despite being born in an abandoned Shrine, they dont particularly feel at home. So they travel a lot, understanding nature and its functionality. Suklha use their own experience as knowledge, they noticed the more gentle you give to the world, the more answer it will give you.

They're a centipede deity, yet they don't know how the supreme strength and impregnable defense came from. Just because they've been hit by a large boulder plenty of times doesn't mean they can always dismiss it as a leaf. Thats how strong her fortification is, she can crawl out of being poured lava and a whole mountain unscathed.

They can easily blow a pebble that'll circle around the earth. The extraordinary strength and ability is such a feat. Even Yuan Fen had to take a few moments for himself. It's not Everyday you hear someone stronger than wukong himself.

Despite their counterpart being a calculative and cunning Deity, Suklha has the opposite personality (as my theory) they're shy, airheaded and aloof. They show how caring they are through acts of service and words, gentle hands giving you a homemade tea. While its warm, Suklha would tell you how proud she is for you to get through the journey this far.

If given the chance, i dont think Suklha would be that surprise meeting their more jesterly persona Counterpart. I think they'd be more amused, how such a difference in soul could be connected through fates.

They're a replica, of course, not the real deal. But its enough for Yuan fen and Wukong. Its enough for the broken shell of the monkey king to falter a bit and widen its eyes. Giving Yuan fen a chance to strike and ending the duel prematurely.

Even at the end, as the two destined relics combined. Suklha still feels a little loss, theres a harrowing feeling. They havent found "home", as their tears fall from the observation. Suklha saw the conjoined relic of Yuan fen and the broken shell handing out a fragment of some gemstone. They stared at it, confused.

Yuan fen gently pecked their lips with the fragment. As if telling them to swallow it, noticing this. Suklha slowly took the pieces and swallowed with a nervous hiccup.

The the power flooded in, small shreds of what used to be Suklha's ability came crashing into her mind.

Heaven hated them. Heaven HATED them working together, they planned a fake betrayal of the other so they could start a conflict within. Breaking their dreams of living a peaceful life together.

Is that why the monkey king left his shell? His unorganized despair at what's left.

Could they have their happy ending now? In this new forsaken life? While the previous one ended in heartbreak and dreams?

Artwork ©️ Miifu666

Writings ©️ Miifu666

Last prompt idea ©️ mehiwilldoitlater

[mothandpidgeon]

Embers Undying (Pero Tovar x wife!reader)

Moth's Masterlist // follow @mothandpidgeon-updates and turn on notifications to stay updated with my fics!

pairing: Pero Tovar x wife!reader

rating: T

summary: Pero returns from the Great Wall with a dazzling gift for you.

contents: fluff, soft!Pero, yearning, kissing, allusions to masturbation and sex moth never uses y/n.

wc: 1.5k

a/n: In my Pero Tovar brain rot era. I wish I'd thought of this idea before the fourth of July. I did about 5 minutes of research into early Chinese fireworks so if you see any historical inaccuracies, no you didn't. Thank you to @lowlights and @ezrasbirdie for beta.

Someone’s coming. Hooves fall hard and fast in the night, their sound growing closer. Your heart stutters in your chest. You’re alone and your little cottage is quite out of the way. If this is trouble, no one will hear you scream. 

You reach for the scabbard that rests beside the front door. You’re not confident with a weapon but your husband refused to leave you by yourself for so many months without protection. The presence of a sword alone may be enough to deter an unsavory character. 

A shadowy figure on horseback nears and you unsheath the blade. 

“Who is there?” you ask into the darkness. 

He slows, the weak candle light from the cottage catching his silhouette and you nearly fall to your knees. You’d recognize those features anywhere though it’s been countless months since you saw them last. 

“Such a warm welcome, mi esposa,” Pero says with a grin. 

The sword slips from your grip, clattering on the ground, but you’re already racing towards him. He jumps out of the saddle just in time to catch you in a tight embrace. Big arms lock around you, squeezing you to his chest.  His heartbeat pounds so furiously you can practically feel it through his leather armor. His scent surrounds you and you breathe it in deeply. Beneath the smell of horse and sweat is a familiar musk that immediately makes you feel at home though you never left. It hasn’t been home without him. 

You pull back to look at him, your eyes brimming with joyful tears. He is unchanged— still rugged and beautiful, still scarred and square— and he looks at you with the same eager delight. His dark eyes flit between your own, a rough thumb brushing over your cheek. You stare at each other, as if making up for all of the hours you wished you could see one another during his absence. 

Finally, you can’t hold back any longer. You kiss him and kiss him, your lips eager to be reunited with his. He’s been gone such a long time, you’re afraid this might be a dream, but the bite of his stubble against your face and the grip of his fingers on your upper arms tells you that this is no phantom. 

His kiss is always commanding, insistent. He cradles your face in his hands, tongue pressing into your mouth. You tangle your fingers into his hair and it grounds you. He’s here again. Finally. 

When you come up for air, your lips swollen from his mustache and the rake of his teeth, you’re staring at him again. You break away just far enough that you can admire him, his features nearly out of focus as you hold him close. 

“I didn’t know when you would return,” you say, breathless. 

His eyes don’t match his gruff exterior. They’re warm and twinkling like melting stars as he watches his thumb trace your bottom lip. He smiles lazily, enjoying the details of you. 

“It would’ve been sooner but I stopped at an inn last night to clean myself up. I wanted to be presentable to you,” he admits. 

“You know I wouldn’t care”, you say. 

“You would not have recognized me. I might’ve met the sharp side of that sword,” he chuckles. 

You playfully swat his chest and he’s kissing you again, the tremble of his laughter on his lips. He guides your hands up to his neck again. His mouth travels to your ear, tracing the shell and nipping at your lobe. Shivers of pleasure burn across your skin, a familiar throbbing between your legs doubling in his presence. 

You moan. You’ve lost track of how long you’ve ached for him, imagining his tongue stroking you instead of your fingers. Dreaming about those nights when you were both so young— sneaking away to meet him, your back pressed against a barn, skirts hoisted around your waist. 

He pulls your hips into him and desire overwhelms you. You feel his muscular thigh through the thin fabric of your night dress and a  whimper escapes you. 

“I missed that sound, querida,” he growls, his mouth on your neck. 

“Take me to bed and I’ll make it again,” you pant. 

He hums hungrily but says, “Soon, hermosa. You must wait.”

“I cannot. Wait. Even a second. Longer,” you say between kisses. 

He smiles against your lips. 

“I have a gift for you,” he says. 

“It can wait until morning,” you say but he’s already stepping away.

At least, he tries to. You refuse to let go of his hand as he retrieves something from behind his saddle. There’s nothing in the world you could want more than him right now. Especially not a cylinder made of paper, marked with symbols you don’t understand.

“Mi amor,” you complain. 

“Needy,” he teases with another kiss. “You missed me, eh?”

You huff. 

“Wait right here,” he says and he goes deep into the garden, taking your strange gift with him. 

Usually when he returns from his travels, Pero is the one tearing at your clothing. He’ll delay a meal to slake his lust. He’s been on the other side of the world and now just a few yards between you feels unbearable. 

He kneels in the field, setting the thing upright. 

“This is a gift from the Chinos,” he explains as he unspools a long string across the distance between you and the tube. “For our heroism. We saw some action.”

You gasp. 

“You worried about me, querida?” he asks. 

“Of course.”

The amusement playing on his features quickly melts into affection. All these years and he’s still touched when he’s reminded you love him. 

He quickly recovers himself. 

“Fetch me a candle,” he urges. 

“Pero,” you groan. 

“Rápida, hermosa.” He taps at your behind. 

You’ve missed your husband but not his stubborn nature. Once you’ve done as you’re told, cupping your hand around the flickering flame, Pero crouches down. 

“Ready?” he asks. 

Before you can answer, he’s touching the fire to the cord and it lights with a hiss. You yelp with delight as a small flame begins to travel down the length of the fuse. Pero laughs and pulls you into him, this time his big palms cover your ears. 

“What are you doing?” you ask. 

“Watch,” he says, his eyes glimmering with the reflection of fire. 

The noise it makes might be the loudest you’ve ever heard, a boom like the thunder of a hundred storm clouds. You scream and bury your face into Pero’s front, heart pounding like a frightened rabbit. 

“No. Look,” he urges, turning you back around. “You’ll miss it.” His voice is all exhilaration. 

You peek up to see something unlike anything before it. 

It’s dazzling, exploding in the sky above you like the sparks off a blacksmith’s anvil. They glow against the darkness and then shimmer towards the earth. Falling, almost floating like snowflakes made of fire. Each ember twinkles out somewhere over your head. 

Your breath catches. What you’re witnessing is nothing short of magic. It’s beautiful, like bottled stars raining above you. What other fantastical things Pero saw in that far away place, you can’t begin to imagine, but you doubt anything could be as astounding as this. 

You turn to Pero and find that he’s not looking at this miracle. His gaze is fixed on you, enjoying the wonder on your face. The warm glow illuminates his features, the strong line of his nose and the tanned cords of his neck. This handsome man, obstinate yet attentive, protective, all yours. 

You’re overcome with a sense of gratitude— thankful that he’s returned home time and again. There were so many nights when you had no idea whether he was alive or dead and how would you even hear if the worst had happened? How would you go on without him? But he’s here and he’s safe. 

And this time he’s brought you a true rarity, something, perhaps no one in the world you know has ever seen. He could have sold it to a king for a wagon full of gold but, instead, it’s just for you to share.  

You want to thank him but you can’t find the words to say it all. The warm look on his face tells you there's no need, that he’s just as grateful you waited. You’re both so lucky to be in this moment. Reunited. He slips his hands around your waist, drawing you close. 

“Now, hermosa, let me show you how I’ve missed you,” he purrs. 

--

thanks for reading! comments and reblogs always appreciated!

[vesearlee]

──── 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑻𝒊𝒅𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒂 𝑺𝒆𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒕

Like the flow of ink across skin, his artistry carried stories to the surface: delicate linework, shaded secrets, painted dreams. Not only did artwork hold the stories he created, but his own decorated arms told tales of their own, and you would be hard pressed to keep anything a secret among the soothing hum of his tattoo machine and voice while you lay in the sanctuary of his workspace, drawn taut by the tension of his proximity that you craved more of. 

But with the fierce tide of secrets, also came burning revelations. 

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 ── Tattoo Artist!Rafayel x F!Reader 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 ── 6.5k 𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 ── T 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 ── Tooth Rotting Fluff, best friends to lovers, mutual pining, teasing and flirting, slight angst (anxiety and insecurity), first kiss, first tattoo 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ── HERE 𝐀𝐎𝟑 ── HERE 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 ── This whole fic was inspired by the utterly phenomenally talented @obligatedart and her Tattoo Artist!Rafayel artwork ― I was captivated and on the first day of working on this, I wrote 2k words in the span of 2 hours, never have I been so inspired. ── Thank you so, so much for allowing me to work with you on this, love. I had the time of my life! please be sure to check her out her blog or visit her linktree! ── Event runners, please mind the tags and specifics written at the end of this fic, well beyond the read more cut... this fic has 32 fills in total.

⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐚 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

─── 𝑳𝑨𝑫𝑺 𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ───

“Sooo,” Rafayel teased, the vowel long on his tongue. “I’ve got no clients this afternoon. What does a fishie like me gotta do to get your cute butt into my studio, kitty?” 

You sighed into the phone, picturing the way he would be sitting on the high stool at the counter of his shop, swinging his legs while he held the phone between his shoulder and neck to talk to you. There were no doubts to what his hands were occupied by — through the speaker in your ear, you could hear the quiet hash of a lead pencil brushing over paper. 

“You’re only asking because you want to be the one to finally break me into the world of tattoos, or whatever.” 

It was true, the tattoo artist you called your best friend and whom you adored beyond what was platonic, had used every single trick in the book of bribery and persuasion to get you through the door and onto his chair as his client. 

An honour that many artistically inclined people waited years for — to have the opportunity to display even a stroke of the prodigy’s work.

But what Rafayel didn’t know, however, was that the decision was already made weeks ago — the very concept of your tattoo design he himself sketched with your studious input would stretch from your collarbone and down towards your shoulder. Swirls of colour with strong lines would map the delicate skin.

A coy laugh filled your ear. The butterflies in your stomach roared to life at the sound. “Okay, you caught me, I’m busted.” There was a short pause where you could hear the muffled sound of shuffling, and his next words sounded somehow closer — as though they were spoken against the shell of your ear, his hot breath caressing the skin softly. “What’d’ya say, cutie?”

You stopped and thought. While your attraction was no doubt a hesitant topic for you to broach to anyone but your journal — the butterflies in your stomach swirled in agreement to that thought — holding out the game of cat and mouse no longer appealed to you. Each glance, word, or touch from Rafayel never failed to spark that heat, and you knew, deep down, that maybe getting this tattoo was only an excuse to be close to him; to feel the touch you craved with no ulterior motive. 

Ulterior motive, my ass, you scolded internally. 

But if it were true, and he had no clients for the afternoon — no matter how suspicious that may be — the two of you would be free to see one another with no outside expectation of attention being diverted elsewhere.

“Hmm,” you hummed, unsure if the teasing lilt of your tone was nullified. “I don’t know, Raffie. I mean, maybe? I’m just not sure.”

The sound of Rafayel’s sharp inhale made you worry your bottom lip with your teeth. “What do you mean ‘I don’t know’? You’ve been thinking of this design for ages!” The expression of indignation in his tone and undoubtedly on his pretty features made your stomach tie in knots — the furrow of his pierced brows and pout of his full lips, while he tilted his head to the side to better analyse your words. 

“It’s–” you tried, but he cut you off.

“What’s stopping you, huh? D’you want more colour, maybe?” A sudden gasp from the speaker made you jump slightly. “Have you found another artist?”

“No! No, you dummy,” you rushed, horrified at the idea of any other person making their mark on you. 

Only, Rafayel laughed, the sound of it was real and deep in his chest. “I’m only teasin’ you.”

“Oh, you– No, what’s stopping me is that once I get one, I might not be able to stop. You might just have a new regular, Raf,” you replied petulantly, crossing an arm over your chest in protest. 

He scoffed, and you could feel the eyeroll he sent your way in your very soul. “You say that like it’s a problem—you don’t think I wanna see my favourite girl more often? Especially so I can tattoo her?” It truly was there now, the petulant scowl on his downturned lips was crystal clear in your mind. “C’mon, I thought you were a clever kitty.”

“Do you realise just how annoying you are?” you asked seriously. Despite your words, you started to get ready to leave all the same. 

“Yup.” 

A small silence grew, though it wasn’t uncomfortable, rather he seemed to be waiting for a confirmation. And there was no way you would give him the satisfaction. 

“Well,” he sighed, “if you don’t want it, it’s fine. But I’m lonely.” That pout on his lips made his tone of petulance far more exaggerated. “Come and keep me company.”

“Fine,” you huffed, a ghost of a smile on your lips. “I’m headed over, do you want anything while I’m on my way?”

“Yes!” His shout made you wince and hastily pull the phone from your ear. Even then you could hear his exclamations of joy at being brought snacks. You finally put the speaker back to your ear as he finished with: “Gods, yes. Uh– I wouldn’t mind–”

“Your usual?”

“I was gonna say–” He groaned. “Ugh, you know me too well.” The sound of him moving over the line made you raise a brow in silent question while you slipped your shoes on. “Yes, my usual, please.” 

“Unfortunately for me, I do.” 

And you ended the call before you could hear his retort. 

The drive to his tattoo shop was pleasant and short — the sight of the ocean’s swell so close to his haven always gave you pause at the sheer beauty.

You turned your car into a free parking space, right out the front of the elaborately decorated studio — seashells and fire lilies decorated the gold, bordered windows, and with the reflection of the water a few meters away, you could almost swear the petals danced with the movement of the waves. 

The aroma of sea salt filled your senses as you stepped out of your car and into the sea breeze. It made a warmth fill you from the tip of your toes to the tips of your fingers, much like the wave of contentment you felt when you saw Rafayel yourself. 

His tattoo studio truly was your haven, too — hours upon hours had been spent behind those walls, helping the artist work through portfolio to portfolio, all while he groused at the uptick of unpleasant encounters with arrogant clients. 

It wasn’t all an unfortunate time of complaints, however. 

Your memories of his wide smile while he hung frames of his own works on the walls still engrained in your mind. How, on the frequent occasion of him being so focused on his work, you would have the exceedingly rare instance of hearing him sing quietly; the melodic tune only just loud enough to hear, but you treasured it all the same. 

All of the instances warmed your heart, and suddenly, you found yourself smiling widely as you approached the door. It was the right decision to make today the day. 

Before you could reach the singular step at the entryway, the door was swung open with a cry of happiness. 

Rafayel burst through the doorway, his smile blinding with his glee at seeing you. While he approached, you took notice of how he looked — the glint of his eyes was shimmering with the rays of the sun, making the blue and pink hues breathtakingly beautiful.

The black shirt he wore was loose on his lithe frame, and the sleeves were folded at his elbows to better display the stunning array of ink on both of his forearms that extended down to his hands. A few rings adorned his fingers — each as pretty and elaborate as the last.

Black ink filled the black spaces between an array of marine designs on one arm, while his other was decorated with elaborate scales, separated by the use of negative space. Layered over the top of the rows and rows of scales, was a luminous, finned entity, the colours blending seamlessly together to match the shades of his eyes. 

A singular fire lily on his forearm stood out the most to you, however, and your heart swooped at the sight of it. 

“There’s my girl!” Rafayel called, jogging towards you. His hair was loose around his face, the purple strands swaying with his gait. “Hey, you.”

His arms wrapped around your middle as soon as he collided with you, and you let out a gasp of surprise as he swayed you side to side. “Hey, my favourite fishie.” You kissed his cheek and pulled back, smiling just as widely as he was. 

The sun shone down, and the rays of light reflected off of the silver piercings on the bridge of his nose to his dimple piercings. They were a simple titanium silver, but they gleamed brighter than diamonds as you mapped his face. 

From the round collar of his shirt, the theme of his tattoos continued all the way up to his sharp jawline — the use of scales and negative space repeated, but instead of solid, dark shading on his arm, the scales were engraved with the gentle touch of flower petals to fill each one. 

There was no splash of colour to compliment, rather the monochrome palette of black and grey applied to a standard of perfection only an artist could attain. Strands of his purple hair fell over the lines of his tattoos as he stood there, staring at you like you were the blessing he needed for that day. 

Which, you supposed you were. 

“You brought me a snack?” Rafayel asked, his eyes widening slightly while his lower lip pouted. 

In reply, you shook the brown paper bag in your hand — the momentary stop at the convenience store worth it for the utter adoration in his expression. “I swear the way to your heart is through your bottomless tummy,” you teased, poking his stomach.

“Hey! Hands off, you’re touching the goods!” He snatched the bag and danced just out of reach of your fingers to peer inside. 

You snorted a laugh and shook your head. “What goods?”

Rafayel’s eyes snapped up to glare at you. “Puh-lease, I have abs, okay?” 

The butterflies pivoted their movements in your stomach, and you cleared your throat to fight the bubble of emotion in your throat, but he didn’t notice your sudden, flustered actions on account of his face being buried in your peace offering. 

His mussed hair suddenly moved and revealed his gleeful expression. “Seaweed chips?”

“Only the best for my man.” 

“Ugh, I could kiss you. C’mon, come inside.” Rafayel grabbed your hand and led you back towards his studio, his grip sure and true — unwilling to let go. And you couldn’t help but feel dizzy over how you wanted him to make good on his threat, or the fact that your hand fit so perfectly in his. 

The interior of his studio was aglow, to say the least. The walls facing the sea were floor to ceiling windows with pillars between each stretch of glass — every single one decorated with the theme of water in mind. Your favourite one depicted a pod of dolphins, their fins seeming to move and chase the momentum to propel them forward and catch the pearlescent spheres of bubbles. 

A few of the windows were wide open to the view — curtains swayed with the sea breeze, and with it they carried the sound of cawing seagulls. 

“They’re loud today,” Rafayel commented, nodding his head towards a heaped pile of sand a few paces from the window, where a small gathering of gulls called to one another endlessly while you watched. “I could’a sworn they’d been possessed by you at one point, they were so obnoxious.”

You shot a glare at the artist, though he only smirked. “What are they going on about, then?” The bag of treats in Rafayel’s grasp made a dull thump as it settled on the till counter. “Surely they aren’t shouting prophecies and telling you that I was going to come today.”

“And what would you say if I said yes, cutie?” Rafayel laughed heartily at your exaggerated eyeroll, and he then gestured towards a large fishbowl. “Someone else also missed you.”

“It’s only been like, two days,” you sighed, but you still looked towards the fishbowl and found a small, red fish pacing the glass — back and forth, back and forth. If he were a dog, you would have guessed his tail would be wildly wagging with excitement. “Hey, Reddie, baby.”

The fish did a fast loop and faced you, his fanned tail swishing from side to side so fast that small bubbles floated to the surface of his water. You walked over, smiling wildly as you felt Rafayel’s dumbfounded gaze watching your every move. 

The tip of your finger touched the cool, smooth surface of the glass. 

“I would have thought that you missed Reddie more than me. What the hell?” Rafayel grumbled, and just as you looked over at him, you found his arms crossed over his toned chest, the fabric of his shirt rumpled and pulled tight over the muscles of his biceps. “Why don’t you greet me like that, huh?”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” you cooed, and you stepped back from Reddie’s tank. “Would you like a re-do?”

“Well duh.”

You smiled gently and walked towards him. “Hey, Raffie, baby,” you repeated, and you lifted your finger to boop the tip of his sharp nose. 

In response, his nose scrunched, and he shook his head, the sway of his hair mesmerising. With such a small distance between you both, you took him in, committing the way his eyes sparkled with mirth and the quirk of his lips, the metal of his snake bite piercing reflecting the afternoon sun’s light. 

“That it, kitty?” he teased, the tip of his tongue running over his lips. 

“That’s it,” you affirmed, nodding assuredly — albeit ignoring the swoop of your stomach as you watched the movement on his tongue. Get it together, you reminded inwardly. “So, what’s on the agenda today, my second favourite fishie?”

“Second favourite?” Rafayel scoffed. “You’re a brat, y’know that, right?” 

“Yup.”

Before long, you were lounging on the seashell-shaped couch in the reception area, while Rafayel kept fiddling around behind the counter, the scratch of lead over paper louder this time compared to earlier. “What are you up to?”

He looked up, his wide-eyed gaze meeting yours briefly before he glanced back downward. “Nothin’.”

“Nothing? That’s a lie if ever I heard one,” you teased, sitting up straight. Rafayel didn’t look up at you again, until: “I guess we’re both hiding secrets today then.”

Fiery eyes met yours faster than you could blink, and he narrowed his gaze. “And what do you mean by that absolutely ridiculous accusation, Miss Fishie?”

You were in trouble now — that title had only been bestowed upon you when Rafayel suspected something, whether it be a prank, secret, or whatever else he could sense with his otherworldly observational skills. “Miss Fishie? I haven’t done anything–!”

“You’re not doing yourself any favours by getting so defensive, cutie,” he laughed, sitting up straighter on his stool and crossing his leg over his knee. His shirt creased as he moved, and he placed his elbow on the countertop, his chin now resting in his hand. “Go on, shoot—what’s got my girl’s tongue all tied and twisted?”

You blinked, taken aback by his curiosity — there was no doubt you expected as much, but to be such a genuine interest without the undercurrent of his usual teasing manner was unusual. “Uh– Well…”

Rafayel arched a brow, urging you to continue with his free hand before he draped it over his thigh and spun his pencil absentmindedly over his knuckles. 

“Well I decided something…” 

“And that something is?”

A deep, steadying breath did nothing to calm the racing beat of your heart. The sudden nerves of admitting your desire to have the tattoo snuck up on you far faster than you hoped they would. In one exhale, you said: “I want you to tattoo me with that design you came up with.”

It was Rafayel’s turn to sit speechless. 

The pencil that was flipping effortlessly over and through his nimble fingers fell to the floor with a deafening clatter in the silence that filled the space between you — though it was only a few paces, it suddenly felt like a cavernous trek. 

He cleared his throat, and you looked at your lap, hastily placing your hands there to fidget and have an excuse not to meet his eyes. 

“You want me to what? Did I just hear you right?” His voice was strained with an indiscernible emotion, though you noticed the rasp of his tenor was far from unpleasant. 

“You heard me right,” you mumbled, picking at the skin by your fingernails. Footsteps sounded over the floor of his studio, and they grew louder until you could see the source toe to toe with you from under your lashes. 

The warmth of Rafayel’s fingers brushed against your chin, and he cradled your jaw to move your head upwards, forcing you to meet his gaze. A smile, one of genuine warmth and happiness, pulled at the corners of his lips, and it somehow made the gleam of his eyes even more dazzling. 

“You want me to tattoo you?” His voice was soft, and as he spoke, you felt his thumb brush gently over your skin. “How long have you been planning this, kitty?”

“I decided ages ago, but I only worked up enough courage this morning.” 

Rafayel beamed — the piercings on his lips, nose, and brows outshone by the brightness of his smile. “Okay then. Let’s get you ready, yeah?” He offered his hand, and you took it, letting him help you up from the couch. “Can’t have my favourite client disappointed, so I’ll pull out all the stops.”

You let out a nervous chuckle, squeezing his hand. “I couldn’t ever be disappointed by you, Raf.”

“Nice to know you have so much faith in me,” he said, smiling over his shoulder at you. 

A closed door came into view, and the thud of your heart against your ribs grew painful — it was his space, where he worked day in and day out, where he tattooed true masterpieces on his clients and where he was in his element. 

Your breath hitched, and he noticed. 

“Hang on,” Rafayel whispered, and you were suddenly crushed to his chest, the warmth of his body seeping into yours and grounding you in the present. “What’s goin’ on in that head’a yours? Talk to me.”

The rumble of his voice in your ears soothed the rush of blood that thrummed in your ears, and you took another deep breath. “Just nervous, I think?”

Rafayel squeezed you tight, and stepped back to lean in close, his nose almost touching yours. “That’s alright, cutie. It’s me, and you’re safe.” His hot breath fanned over your lips, and the butterflies rampaged through your stomach at his proximity — it would be so easy to close the distance, to claim his lips and take what you’ve craved for so long. 

The train of thought must have shown on your expression because he winked, the tip of his tongue toying with the shining piercing. You watched the action, only to realise he was doing it on purpose. “Up here, pretty girl.”

You blinked, your focus moving from his lips to his eyes. “I’ve got you and I’ll be sure to make this first tattoo a beautiful one; hard to surpass the canvas herself, but an artist’s gotta try, yeah?”

A small smile tugged at your lips, and Rafayel grinned back at you before he kissed your forehead. 

One step after the other, you followed behind him, your hand still held tightly by his as he guided you into his booth.

The walls were painted in a pastel blue — a colour that soothed something deep in your soul, while splashes of fiery red and soft pinks decorated the space in all manners of fauna and flora, from whales to coral. 

“There it is,” you breathed through a wide smile, a small giggle of laughter making your voice shake. The culprit for such awe was framed on a wall — the same, impassioned shades of red, orange, and yellow of the petals were identical to the ones that adorned Rafayel’s arm. A fire lily, symbolising such fierce passion, couldn’t be imagined to be placed anywhere else beside the artist’s space.

“There it is,” said artist assured. 

The piece was simple but symbolic; one afternoon of you both glued to the hip of the other, brushes in hand while you playfully splattered paint over the canvas in a bid to sabotage his attempts to challenge you. What resulted was an outlined flower with flames of pink that licked the leaves, never charring the beauty of your joined creation. 

“Never have and never will move this one,” he continued, walking backwards. “Thomas was insistent the other day on moving it to the gallery.”

“He what?” you gasped, astonished. While Rafayel was a renowned tattoo artist, his venture into traditional styles resulted in his need for a manager to juggle the endless pieces and enquiries of purchases. “But didn’t you tell–?”

“Oh, I did.” The stool next to the padded chair squeaked as Rafayel sat down, and the wheels spun as he pushed himself to the corner, where all of his supplies were messily placed. “Haven’t seen him run so fast from a lit match before.”

The implication of a lit match being waved around the precious creation made your heart leap with fear, and you started forwards, a finger pointed at his chest. “Raffie!”

“Hey, hey, it’s not harmed, is it? Kitty–! Stop–” His protests were cut short by his laugh, the jabs of your fingers hitting each ticklish spot on his side with precision. “Enough, enough—I yield!” 

The wheels of his stool squealed with how fast he pushed away from your looming figure, and he held his hands up in surrender — deep, navy blue and black lines that curved around his thumb, index, and ring finger was the only art visible in his act of contrition. The rings gleamed like his piercings under the studio lights overhead.

“Good,” you goaded, lifting your chin. “Don’t you dare do that again.” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said aloud, but as he turned away to focus on his supplies again, you could have sworn you heard a mumbled continuation of: “Maybe I would if you react like that. Adorable.”

As he fiddled with his tools, you walked around the space. Frames were hung high on walls with awards he won over the years, as well as a few choices of his most prideful works — one of which was a stunning, surrealist, fantastical interpretation of Reddie and a Merman, the red scales of Reddie’s body contrasting against the crystal blue of the Merman’s fins. 

“Okay, cutie,” Rafayel sang from behind you, the excitement in his voice far from hidden. You turned around and found him staring up at you, his eyes gleaming with a kind of tender adoration. 

His palm slapped the leather of the reclined chair. “I’ll get you to take just your shirt off so I can get to your shoulder,” he said quietly, gesturing to the stencil he had made. “Then you can get your cute butt up here, and let’s get started, yeah?”

“My shirt off…?” you whispered, eyes widening slightly. Of all the possibilities and outcomes of you getting this tattoo, somehow, this was the one thing you had not considered — naturally, being close with Rafayel meant that accidents did happen and so many hasty apologies had been said through laughter, but as for a purposeful act of this nature made your stomach tie in anxious knots again. 

It didn’t help that the swirling feeling of restless butterflies grew worse the longer he stared up at you from his perch on his stool. 

“Yeah, Miss Fishie,” he teased, tapping the shining leather of the seat. “Won’t be an accident this time—I can turn around if it’ll help.” You narrowed your eyes at him. “What? It’s fine, kitty. I think you’re cute, y’know, so I don’t mind.”

Oh.

Oh.

“What?”

Rafayel chuckled and shook his head. “C’mon, times tickin’ away. I wanna get started.”

“You are such a smug asshole,” you groused, trying utterly hard to ignore the heat crawling up from the collar of your shirt. “Seriously, you really are.”

“Yeah, and yet, here you are, my feisty kitty.” He made a show of smirking cheekily while he turned around, and he reached for the box of gloves on his trolley to pull free a pair. 

The thunderous beat of your heart made you swallow thickly, and you cleared your throat to try and force it to settle in place, though it was in vain. Your hands gripped the hem of your shirt, and slowly, ever so carefully, the fabric revealed the skin of your stomach, your chest and neck, until it passed over your head to be held in your trembling hand. A shaky exhale made your sides flutter.

The stool Rafayel sat on made a small clinking noise as he moved to sit comfortably. “You ready now, hmm?”

“Yeah,” you whispered, looking at the floor hastily when he made a move to turn around. 

The silence swelled uncomfortably, and it passed for a beat until you heard him ask: “What’s up, kitty? You wanna get on the chair for me…?”

“Oh, uh– Sorry, Raf–”

“If you apologise again, I will take this–” Rafayel picked up the tattoo machine on the table beside him, and effortlessly twirled it in his hand, “And I will tattoo a post it note on your forehead saying idiot.”

His sudden and ridiculous threat made a small laugh burst out of your constricting chest, and you stepped slowly towards the aforementioned chair. “You wouldn’t do that–?”

“Bet. Try me.” He scooted the stool closer to the chair and offered his hand to help you up onto the comfortable padding. “Apologise again and you’ll see.”

A small, nervous sigh escaped your lips, and with the guidance of Rafayel’s cool, smooth hands on your back and shoulder, you laid back against the chair, somewhat uncomfortable with the position — especially since he was so damned close to your side that you could feel every single one of his exhales against the skin of your shoulder or chest, dependent on where he positioned himself to place the stencil. 

He hummed quietly as he worked, tilting his head side to side while you laid stiffly underneath his scrutinising gaze. “If you sit like this for the whole session,” he started, licking his lips absentmindedly, and he leaned in so close while looking at your shoulder that his loose hair tickled the tip of your nose. “I’m not taking the blame for how sore you’re gonna feel after—though it gives me an excuse to give you a world-famous-Rafayel-massage.”

“World famous, huh? Who else has had one?”

The colours in his irises burned at your question, and he stared at you from the corner of his eyes. “Only one person—she may be a brat, but she’s my world and I wouldn’t have it any other way. So don’t you worry, cutie.”

“Raffie,” you whined, looking away from his intense gaze as though it seared through you, the burn of it terrifying and oh, so addictive. “Don’t do that to me, please.” 

“Hmm,” he hummed again, arching a brow before he focused back on his task. The click of his tongue sounded while he smoothed over the paper and gently pulled it away from your skin to reveal blue and purple lines from the stencil. “Sorry, kitty, ‘fraid I can’t listen, ‘specially not when there’s truth to it.”

You groaned low in your throat and threw your arm over your eyes to shield yourself from the embarrassment of meeting his stare. 

“‘Kay, we’re good to get started. You feelin’ ready?” he asked suddenly, his voice now coming from beside you as opposed to above you. 

You moved your arm and blinked against the sudden, bright light, and you glanced to the side. 

Rafayel was sitting patiently, his hands in his lap while a small smile curled his lips upwards — the light in his eyes didn’t reflect just the bulb above you, but his joy for the moment. “Hmm?” he prompted, tilting his head to the side. 

Slowly, you turned your head forward, inhaled deeply, and let it out with a huff as you stared up at the ceiling. “Better now than never.”

“That’s the spirit,” he teased. 

Movement from the very corner of your peripherals made you snap your attention towards Rafayel once more, only, you froze in place at the sight. A hair band was around his wrist while both his hands raked through his hair — streaks of purple caught the light as he moved uncooperative strands into a messy up-do that left the longer parts of his hair remaining loose down the back of his neck.  

With the hair gone from his forehead, his eyes became far more piercing — colours that would normally be intense in their own right, bore into your very being as you met his gaze. 

The gloves he grabbed from a small cardboard box fit snug over his hands, and the plastic snapped against his wrist while he adjusted them to be more comfortable. “Alright then, kitty.” He winked and leaned forward, one gloved hand resting on the skin below your collar bone, while the other securely held the machine. “Here we go.”

The initial prick of the inked needles on your skin made you hiss with the sudden pain, and your head jerked upwards from the headrest to stare into his face. “Shit!”

“You’re okay,” Rafayel soothed. “It’s always gonna hurt more during the first few—wanna relax and let me work?”

You grimaced and rested your head back down onto the headpiece of the chair. “Not like I got a choice, right?”

“Nup.” 

Time passed slowly while the ink coloured your skin, each stroke of the needles stung a little less than the last and the discomfort plateaued enough for you to lay more comfortably in the seat. “You’re doin’ well, kitty,” Rafayel praised softly, the hum of the machine momentarily silenced as he wiped the tender flesh of your shoulder, cleaning it of built-up ink. “Not much longer to go, ‘kay?”

“Okay.” 

A small silence stretched, only occupied by the droning hum of the needles effortlessly working, and the slight hitch of your breath as he moved the machine.

The light over your shoulder lit up his sharp features, and you smiled at him through the sting of pain. With the adrenaline of sitting still while he worked, a sudden rush of bravery overtook you — starting at the tips of your fingers and your toes, much like the wave of warmth earlier, and it settled in the depths of your stomach like a molten weight. “Raf…”

“Mm? Yeah, cutie?” he asked, his eyes not leaving the fast-disappearing blue, stencilled lines on your shoulder. “What’s up, you alright?”

Fire coursed through your stomach, swirling upwards into your chest and around your heart. The feeling was intoxicating, freeing with its very presence. “Have I ever told you…” You licked your bottom lip, the sudden dryness of your mouth forcing you to clear your throat. 

Your best friend, the light of your life, and the recipient of your deepest affection, stopped the machine in his hand and glanced upwards, arching a brow in question. “Told me what?”

You blinked and dragged a deep lungful of air to quell the rioting butterflies in your stomach. In one breath, you exhaled and spoke quickly. “That I think you’re really pretty.”

A beat passed, another, and another. 

Rafayel seemed to have frozen in place. The amethyst of his eyes bloomed to be blinding, though he sat as still as a geode, unmoving with shock — the rise and fall of his chest from each breath even ceased. 

A sobering amount of ice flooded your veins and embarrassment burned up the skin of your chest and neck, the scorching pain of the needles entirely unlike it. The reality of preferring to be chained to the chair for eternity with the constant pricks of needles over your delicate skin, rather than take in the way he only sat there, hit you like a tidal wave. 

“I’m sorry–” You gasped, the build up of shameful tears forcing their way to the corner of your eyes. “I didn’t–” The chair rattled as you hastily moved to sit up on your elbows. “I’m so sorry, I’ll go–”

Before you could even sit up and run from the room, you were forced backwards by the solid weight of a body. Tattooed arms caged you against the chair — steadfast, gloved hands were planted either side of your hips, while you scurried backwards with a squeak of shock. 

Rafayel had moved so fast it was a blur. All you could see was his face, the way his cheekbones were dusted pink; how his lips were shining from the light next to you. 

“Raf–!”

“Shut up.” 

You tried to shy backwards, to gain some distance from his suffocating presence, but he followed, keeping his nose close enough to yours to bump against the tip of it — a normal, cute tradition that suddenly held you in its vice just as tightly as the man who loomed over you. 

“Please–”

“I said shut up, cutie.” Rafayel remained immovable, his hands still caged you in place — no matter how hard you tried to scoot backwards over the leather chair, you could not escape the warmth of his molten stare, or the way his breath came in slow, deep exhales over your cheek and jaw as you desperately looked everywhere around the room but at him. “Look at me.”

“Please don’t make me.” The pressure of tears on your waterline made you squeeze them shut, desperate to stem the flow. “Please, I– Pretend I didn’t say anything.”

“Who are you talking to, kitty? You, or me?” His question made you freeze, the entirety of your body stiffening, and he pressed his advantage. “Huh, so you’re talking to yourself and gettin’ all worked up.” There was a slight shuffle, and the sound of latex gloves snapping followed straight away. “You’re gonna make me ask again, aren’t you?”

A heavy sigh sounded, and you felt the rush of air against your shoulder, above the freshly done tattoo. The room was filled with a silence that grew and grew, expanding to encompass your whole being to make it feel like an ornate pane of glass soon to shatter from an unseen pressure. 

“Miss Fishie,” Rafayel whispered, his voice so close you could almost taste the words on his tongue. His fingers gripped your chin gently and turned you to finally face him. Through the protection of your closed eyelids, you could imagine his expression of pity, and it only soured the butterflies in your stomach. “I need you to look at me, pretty girl. C’mon.”

Your eyes opened immediately — the fond use of your nickname mixed with the praise made a whole new heat settle in the pit of your stomach, and the butterflies bloomed through the murky depths to flutter once more. 

Rafayel looked earnest, almost desperate in his need for you to look at him. The way his eyes glimmered and ebbed with the waves outside, amethysts and coral colliding as one again; his mouth slightly agape as he stared back at you. His hand moved from your chin to cup your jaw. 

“I–”

“Shh,” he soothed. The pad of his thumb brushed over your cheek, a soothing gesture that only made your heart ache more. “Why’re you gettin’ all scared, baby? I didn’t even get to reply—you shut me out like a clam, or an oyster, take your pick.”

Baby. 

Never before had that word been said between you, and you blinked fast in shock. The flush of heat deepened on your chest and neck while it spread to your ears. 

“But you’re– You don’t–” The stuttered reply was silenced by his arched brow. Each of his movements were sharp in clarity, and if you hadn’t have felt so poised to run, you would have admired the way his tattoos and piercings only made him more beautiful in the moment. 

A small, amused smile played at the corner of his lips, and the tip of his tongue darted out to wet the pink skin. “My cute kitty can truly be so damned stupid sometimes, y’know.”

“Hey–!”

“Do you see me backing down?” Rafayel pressed, his brows suddenly furrowing and casting his eyes into shadowed depths. “Do you see me runnin’ away from you right now?”

You hesitated, and in your telling silence, you realised something. The feeling of it crashed over your whole body like a tsunami wave — far more intense than you ever felt before. “...No.”

“No,” he repeated, and he moved closer. The tip of his nose brushed yours. “I think you have your answer then, baby girl.”

“Hmph–” Any reply to him you could have mustered was utterly banished from your mind at the feel of his lips on yours. It was tender and soft; the warmth he held consumed you whole. 

Slowly, he pulled away and rested his forehead on yours, his breath fanning over your parted lips while a smirk tugged at the corner of his. “Is that enough to show you just how much I want you; how long I’ve waited for this?”

“You knew!” you burst out, staring at him with wide eyes. “How–?!”

Rafayel chuckled quietly. “It’s Reddie’s fault.” The rise of his shoulders in an indifferent shrug obscured the light for a second. “He’s the one hidin’ my secrets.” 

“You– You’re blaming a fish–! Oh my god.” 

You surged forwards and captured his lips again, the leather under your legs scuffed with the sudden movement. Rafayel grunted with the force of your embrace, and he kissed back fervently, one hand on your waist while the other rested on your cheek. 

The soft, feathered feel of Rafayel’s hair tickled the pads of your fingers, and you wove them upwards, revelling in the shuddered breath that hitched his chest. Your tongues met in a brief dance, and you tugged his head back lightly — more tresses fell loose from the updo to cover the ways your fingers entangled to your anchor. 

“Shit, kitty,” Rafayel huffed, his lips only far enough away to draw breath. “If I had known you felt like this…”

“What, you would have said something sooner and put us both out of our yearning, heartfelt misery?” 

Pink and purple danced with mirth, and he kissed the tip of your nose. “Damn right I would have.”

“I guess we’re both pretty dumb, huh?” you asked quietly, holding his face in your hands. 

Rafayel winked, the corner of his mouth quirked up in a playful smirk. “Yeah, I’d say so, but you’re still the cute one.”

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[ncssian]

Take the Long Way Home

One: Comeback

Nessian Modern AU

Summary: Cassian returns from an out-of-state business project to find that Nesta Archeron, his best friend's sister and social pariah, has returned to Velaris after years of no contact with her family. With no explanation for where she's been all this time and a frightening tension between her and Rhysand, it's clear that she's hiding secrets from their Inner Circle. Eager to find out why the woman he used to have feelings for disappeared and returned a shell of her former self, Cassian won't stop until he uncovers the truth.

tl;dr: manipulative adulterous rhysta, acosf but if nesta and rhys made way worse decisions, acosf if cassian was a real man, unconditional love nessian, kind cassian and healing romance, nesta goes through a lot but she will be loved

word count: 6576

Read on AO3

A/N: this fic is gonna be a fairly short one! probably 5-10 chapters. if you like mess with a side of redemption i hope you like this one.

***

Cassian wasn’t sure what the commotion was about when the taxi from the airport dropped him off at Rhys and Feyre’s river manor.

He hadn’t expected to be welcomed back home with champagne and a festival or anything, but he’d hoped the mood would be livelier than the thick air that suffocated him as soon as he stepped foot into the foyer.

From where he stood, he could see everyone gathered in the formal living room, spines tense as they muttered together about something serious. Dropping his bags with a loud thud, he watched as Feyre was the first one to catch sight of him.

“Oh!” She jumped up from her seat in Rhysand’s lap. “Cass, you’re back already.”

“What, no ‘good to see you’?” he joked, but his voice faded away as he stepped further into the living room and finally took notice of the extra person among their group.

Standing up and turning around to face him, Nesta Archeron met eyes with Cassian for the first time in sixteen months.

He stared at her for a long silent moment, wondering whether his dreams had finally bled out into reality. Because for Cassian, Nesta Archeron was a fictional character, an experience he’d made up in his head a long time ago.

Mor was the one to break the silence. “Welcome home, Cassian,” she said, trying to inject false cheer into her tone, right before Amren stated, “We have a guest.”

He could see that.

“You’re back?” His words, his gaze, all his attention was directed at Nesta and only Nesta.

“I’m back.” Her perfect features stayed frozen in the same expression as she said the words, but it was her voice that shook him most of all. Quiet, almost weak, like she hadn’t spoken aloud for a long time.

He tore his gaze away to look at Feyre, Elain, anybody who would have an explanation. Of course, it was Rhysand who spoke up next. “Nesta has decided that she’s bored of living away from her family. She wants to get to know Nyx— and move back in for good.” To an outsider, Rhys would have sounded calm, if not almost bored, but Cassian had known his brother for long enough to hear the twinge of fury in his words.

“Only until I find a place to stay,” Nesta corrected, which seemed to enrage Rhys even further.

But Cassian couldn’t have given less of a damn about the obvious tension in the room. He was grinning wide. “I see you’re still the sexiest Archeron sister,” he said before stepping around her chair so he could wrap her into a hug.

A few laughs broke throughout the room, and Feyre seemed relieved for Cassian’s lightness. Nesta, however, was stiff in his arms. She pulled away from him with a small smile and a whispered “Thank you” but offered nothing else.

“Feyre.” Nesta turned to her sister like she was the only safety net in the room. Cassian noticed that Elain had been studiously ignoring Nesta the entire time, sitting right next to Azriel but refusing to look at her or say a word. “Can you show me to my room?”

“Of course,” Feyre said hurriedly, coming over to take Nesta by the elbow and lead her out of the overcrowded room. Amren sank deeper into her favorite armchair, a nasty smirk plastered on her face, while everyone else carried varying degrees of bitterness and discomfort in their expressions. Even Azriel, who once had been Nesta’s closest friend, looked like he had no idea what to say about this situation.

Cassian knew Nesta was a prickly topic within their group— she had been since the moment they’d met her. But he couldn’t pretend to be as upset about this unexpected comeback as everyone else was, so he went over to Azriel and kicked him in the shin. “We’re still throwing a welcome home party for me, right?”

“Who else would it be for?” Mor snorted, pushing herself out of her seat. “Let’s just see if Feyre’s mood isn’t ruined by all this.”

They all began to disperse, with Rhysand heading straight for his study and Elain and Azriel disappearing into the back gardens. Cassian found himself back in the foyer, where he finally spied an old blue suitcase that he’d strolled by earlier in his excitement to be back home. A baggage tag hung from the handle, and he went over to it and lifted it up with a single finger.

LAX TO VEL

ARCHERON, NESTA

Los Angeles. His heart picked up a beat at this realization. Had Nesta been a mere few states away for all these years?

There had been no hints that night she’d disappeared, or any of the nights since. Just a numb Feyre relaying to everybody that Nesta had moved away and would be going no-contact with her family, and for them to not search for her.

It’d only been a few weeks that the lack of Nesta— or rather, the lack of explanation about her leaving— felt like a gaping hole in their group. But as the months passed and it became more and more clear that she wouldn’t be calling or coming back, she ended up being smoothly erased from the narrative altogether. They didn’t talk of her, think of her, bring up old photos of her. In the end, it had begun to feel like Nesta was a figment of Cassian’s imagination, like he was the only person on earth left to remember her.

There was an unbearable curiosity within him to find out everything: where Nesta had been, why she had left, why she had returned. He wanted to go to someone and demand answers, but he hardly knew who to ask without getting a knowing look in return. It was a look that implied that Cassian was too interested in Nesta for his own good, as if he was a traitor for not disliking her the way everyone else did.

Cassian made himself let go of the baggage tag. No. He couldn’t toe the line this time, not at the risk of creating a rift in their group. Feyre and Rhys had a kid now, and Nyx needed a happy family to grow up in.

What had happened to Nesta was none of his business.

***

The welcome-back party ended up being not much of a party at all, but an intimate family dinner at an upscale restaurant called The Marchesa. To Cassian’s disappointment, Nesta hadn’t come along.

“She said she didn’t want to intrude and would rather get some rest,” Feyre explained as she wrestled Nyx into a high chair.

Amren snorted. “That’s why you dragged Nyx here instead of letting her babysit him?”

Feyre’s mouth drew into a tight line, and Rhys had an expression to match. Glancing between the two of them, Cassian realized they didn’t trust Nesta with Nyx, despite her bringing toy gifts for the boy earlier and sitting in the game room to watch him play with them.

“It’ll be some time before Nesta is mature enough to watch after a baby herself, I think,” Rhys muttered.

Elain gave a sardonic huff into her wine glass. “If she’s mature enough to survive on her own for years, surely she can handle an infant.”

Already Cassian was forgetting the promise he’d made mere hours ago to not ask any questions. “What was she doing while she was gone? Does anyone know...?”

Mor shook her head, blonde curls flying everywhere. “She won’t tell anybody. That’s what we were interrogating her about before you arrived at the manor.”

“It wasn’t an interrogation,” Feyre said defensively.

“She was a stripper,” Azriel’s soft voice cut through the conversation. All chatter came to a quiet.

“Are you for real?” Mor said.

“How do you know that?” Elain demanded.

Az shrugged as he cut into his filet mignon with precision. “Feyre and Rhys told me not to look for her when she ran away, so I didn’t. It only took a few hours of research after she came back to find out what she’s been up to, though.”

“What else did you find out?” Rhys cut in.

Azriel shrugged. “That’s all there was. Clean record, renting a cheap apartment in the shadiest part of LA.”

“Goddamn.” Mor let out a low whistle.

Feyre looked stunned and upset. “I had no idea… I mean, she still won’t say a single word to me about it.” Her voice weakened on the last word.

Rhys covered her hand with his larger one. “Don’t cry for her, darling,” he murmured, rubbing his thumb soothingly over the back of her hand. “Not when we’re here celebrating. She’s made her own decisions.”

***

It was a Sunday afternoon with only Cassian frequenting the river manor, cautiously watching baby Nyx as he gnawed on the railings of the second floor landing, when Rhys stormed through the foyer below and into the dining room.

“Look what I found in Nesta’s room.” The muffled words floated up to Cassian in Rhysand’s angry low tone, and Cassian instantly moved closer to the railing. 

An exclamation of surprise came from Feyre, but her voice was much softer and the words harder to make out. Cassian strained his ears to hear.

He’d hardly seen anything of Nesta since she’d returned home a week ago, and he’d be lying to himself if he said he was babysitting Nyx at the manor so often only for the little boy’s sake. Since hearing that Nesta had been hiding away as a dancer in LA for the past year and a half, his curiosity had only burned hotter, now impossible to put out. He wanted—needed— to know more about her.

Only whatever heated conversation that Feyre and Rhysand were having about Nesta right now was too muted for Cassian to have a chance at overhearing, and, taking a risk, he swept Nyx into his arms and stood up. Before the baby could start yowling at being taken away from the banister rails, Cassian handed him the bright glowing screen of his phone. Nyx shut up in exchange for inspecting the device in his chubby hands with a focused look of curiosity.

As they crawled down the stairs and down the hallway leading to the dining room, Feyre and Rhysand’s voices grew louder—not because of proximity but because Feyre was getting more distressed about something.

“You shouldn’t have looked through her things, Rhys. We promised we would give her a chance—”

“And look what she’s done with her chance, darling. Look at it. Tell me this is what you want to have in our home, around our baby.”

Cassian stopped several feet beyond the doorway of the dining room, his breath caught in his chest. What could they possibly have been talking about?

“I—She told me she’s never been involved with drugs,” Feyre said, sounding helpless. “How can you be sure…?”

“Adderall, oxy, xanax. You tell me what she’s doing with all these pills, Feyre. You fucking tell me.” 

A long silence, eventually broken by quiet weeping.

In his arms, Nyx had grown bored of Cassian’s phone and threw it to the ground with a shriek. Cassian froze in place for a moment before admitting defeat and stepping into the dining room. 

Neither Rhys nor Feyre would look at him as he approached, but he handed Nyx over to his father anyway. On the dining table, he finally spied what the two of them were so upset about.

Everything that Rhys had listed and more, a variety of colorful pills neatly sorted into small plastic baggies like a cop had planted them. Had she taken all of that through the airport with her or acquired it here?

Despite the severity of the situation, a disbelieving laugh was bubbling low in his chest. Once again he was reminded that he didn’t know a single thing about this woman— not her values, her life, nor her character— and for the first time he asked himself why he even cared so much. What did it matter to him if Nesta Archeron was popping or snorting or injecting every drug under the sun? Why did he feel such a strange grief right now?

Staring down at the table, he put his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “They could be prescription.”

An exasperated sob broke from Feyre.

“Get out, Cassian,” Rhys snarled. 

Meeting his brother’s eyes, Cassian turned somber. “I won’t tell anybody,” he promised.

Rhys looked at him for a long moment before nodding once, then turned to comfort Feyre. It was a clear dismissal.

With a sad sort of resignation, Cassian knew any mistakes made by Nesta wouldn’t be taken as kindly as they had in the past. Rhys was on an arrow-straight path to governor, and he wouldn’t let even a negative news article get in his way, much less a full-blown scandal. These days he demanded perfection from everybody in his life, and that would include Nesta.

Back in the foyer, Cassian stared up the grand staircase toward where he knew Nesta was, unaware of everything taking place in the dining room below her. 

He frowned to himself. Her room was upstairs, yet Rhys had come from his study downstairs. Cassian wondered how long his brother had been sitting on this knowledge and contemplating what to do with it.

***

Life went on as normal and Cassian didn’t hear a peep about Nesta or her drugs for the rest of the week. He stayed true to his promise not to say anything about what he’d seen, and instead fell back into his routine of working through the day and going out with his friends at night. The way everyone else was so eager to ignore Nesta’s existence, it became easy for him to forget she was living at the manor at all. 

Until Friday evening came around, and Rhysand called Cassian into his study while the Inner Circle gathered in the sitting room to share drinks and chat by the fire.

Rhys had been absent from their weekly family dinner that night with an apology about having urgent work to get done, so Cassian was wary about another business-related discussion as he followed Rhys into the study.

The heavy door snicked shut after them and Rhys went to pour each of them a finger of whiskey at his desk. He handed Cassian his tumbler and gestured for him to take a seat in the leather armchair across from him. 

“Don’t tell me you’re sending me away again,” Cassian groaned as he sat. “It’s too close to the holidays.”

Rhysand was silent for a long moment, staring down into his whiskey with a deep furrow in his brow. He twisted the crystal tumbler in his hand and watched the liquid slosh around until he finally said, “Nesta is going to go away for a while.”

At the mention of her name, Cassian felt as if he’d been tossed into a lake of chilled water. “What do you mean?”

“Feyre and I want to keep it as quiet as possible. We’ll send her off without anyone noticing, just for the next year.”

“What do you mean?” Cassian repeated again, because he had less answers now than a few seconds ago.

“What do you think I mean, Cassian?” his brother snapped, growing irritated. “She’s been spending every day under our roof high as a kite. I’m shocked she hasn’t tranq’d herself to death yet. She can’t keep living with us like this, and she certainly can’t be trusted around Nyx. She needs to go away until she’s gotten better. That’s where you come in.”

“So—so you’ve already confronted her about it? Staged an intervention and everything?”

Rhys clenched his jaw and ran two fingers across his upper lip. “Something like that,” he gritted out. “She’s agreed to take up residence in one of my properties up in the mountains for the next twelve months. Then we can reevaluate her role in the family.”

Cassian shook his head hard, still confused. “If she’s abusing drugs, she needs professional help,” he insisted. “She needs to consider a rehab—”

Rhysand’s scowl was so dangerous it cut Cassian off mid-sentence. “And risk the news getting out that Feyre’s sister is a pill-popper? Over my dead body,” he growled.

He threw back a gulp of his whiskey and glanced away. “Besides,” he muttered, “she isn’t an addict.”

Cassian’s mouth dropped open in disbelief. “Then what the hell is she?”

“A fucking flight risk that needs to lay low during this election season.” Rhysand’s eyes burned with a hatred Cassian had never seen before. “I will not have her fuck up everything I’ve worked so hard for right at the start of my campaign. This is my career and my family at stake, Cassian. You know better than anyone how important good PR is.”

Cassian went cold as if all the alcohol had been drained out of his veins. He swallowed without looking at Rhysand. “I do.”

“Nesta knows she fucked up. She’s consented to our plan for her, so you don’t need to get your bleeding heart twisted in knots over this. All you need to do is drive her up there and make sure she’s settled in.”

But no matter how Rhys put it, it seemed far too harsh a punishment for a woman who was clearly ill. Nesta had felt off from the very day she’d returned. After he’d seen the pills they’d found and meticulously researched the purposes and side effects of each one, the thought of leaving Nesta somewhere alone without any help made his stomach turn.

Rhys seemed to be able to read all of this on his face, because his own features softened as he said, “Cassian.”

“What.”

“You’re right that she needs help. This is the help. The plan is in my interests, yes, but it’s in hers more than anything else. The isolation won’t be a punishment. It’ll be her chance to heal.”

When Cassian didn’t say anything, Rhys went on, “My family practically owns the entire mountaintop the house is located on. She’ll be safe from any prying eyes and also will be too far from people to get her hands on any substances. All you need to do is transport her there tomorrow morning and visit twice a month to check in and do a supply restock. I’ve already cleared out your schedule.”

Rhys had clearly had this plan in place for a good while and was only now choosing to let Cassian know about it. Cassian had to clench his glass to hide the trembling of his hands. “What if she hates it up there?” he whispered. “What if she hurts herself?”

“We wouldn’t be doing this if we didn’t have complete trust that she’ll be fine. This isn’t her first episode.”

He met Rhys’s gaze at that. “It isn’t?”

Rhys clenched his jaw and shook his head, the movement tight. “When she ran away two years ago… Trust me, this is nothing in comparison.”

Like he was sinking into a deep sleep, Cassian found himself nodding along to Rhysand’s words. She’s a big girl, a Rhys-sounding voice whispered in his head. She’ll thrive up in the mountains. She’ll get better and come back to you.

Feyre and Elain wouldn’t agree to this unless it was what’s best for her.

Feeling exhausted and weighed down by the endless arguments raging in his head, Cassian finally gave in and said, “You can count on me. I’ll do it.”

As if he had a choice in it.

***

Despite the aching hangover he woke up with the next morning, Cassian obediently got up before the sun had breached the horizon and packed a small bag. He was dressed and ready outside of the river manor by seven in the morning, two steaming cups of coffee waiting in the heated truck behind him. 

His foot tapped a restless beat into the ground as he waited for her. Nesta didn’t always make him this anxious, but whenever she got herself into trouble with his family, there was no other way to feel.

He couldn’t look forward to any of it the way he wanted to: the scenic drive ahead of them, being alone with her, the possibility for conversation. Because he’d been assigned to the role of security guard instead of friend, and she was a prisoner instead of a willing participant.

Not a prisoner, he chastised himself. A patient at best. 

A flight risk at worst, as Rhysand had said. 

His breath halted in his chest when the front doors opened and she finally stepped out.

It was his first time seeing her since the day she returned—not for lack of trying on his part— and she looked… different.

Her face was caked with thick makeup and heavy eyeshadow, the type of face you’d see paired with a skimpy dress against the backdrop of a pricey club. In any other context, the look would have been glamorous, but under the gloomy sky with her unwashed hair and plain jeans, it was almost comical.

Cassian didn’t feel like laughing.

His swallow was tight as he watched her come down the stairs and cross the front lawn. How quickly his joy at her return had turned into regret. The woman in front of him didn’t look like the Nesta he knew at all, and it made him wonder if his friends had been right to be wary of her.

“Where’s your luggage?” was the first thing he asked her.

Idiot. Not even a good morning?

If Nesta noticed, she didn’t care. “Feyre is bringing it.” 

Her voice was the same as before: quiet and hollow. She was looking at him without quite seeing him, as if her eyes were here but her mind was somewhere else.

Cassian wondered if the pills had done that or if this was just who Nesta was after a year and a half away. Before she’d disappeared, when she’d been drinking and fucking through every bar in the city, there was still anger in her. The depression was obvious, yes, but it hadn’t stolen her indignation or her fire. 

This Nesta made him feel like he was handling a ghost. And as one would with the dead, he moved very carefully. Pulled the car door open and gestured for her to get inside. Told her the coffee in the cupholder nearest to her seat was hers. Glanced to make sure the seat warmer was on before shutting the door.

It only occurred to him when Feyre came out a minute later lugging Nesta’s bags that Nesta should have stayed outside to say goodbye to her sister. Although seeing as how she didn’t move or even look in Feyre’s direction from inside the truck, maybe it didn’t matter either way.

Feyre seemed to read the thoughts on his face as he gathered Nesta’s stuff from her. “She isn’t speaking to me,” Feyre said tersely, lips pursed in that way they did when she was trying to hide her disappointment. “I’ve already said what I have to say.” 

Although they hadn’t talked about it, he was certain that Feyre was furious at how everything was playing out. Her sister had abandoned her family just as Feyre had gotten pregnant after years of trying, putting a damper on what should’ve been the happiest time of Feyre’s life, and had returned out of the blue just to get herself sent away again. Because she was abusing drugs apparently. Because she was unfit to be around her baby nephew, because she was deeply unwell and it would risk everything Rhysand had worked so hard to build for them.

Yes, Cassian could see why Feyre was pissed. 

He leaned in and gave his friend the biggest hug he could manage. “Everything’s gonna get better, Feyre. You just need to be patient.”

“I’ve waited years already,” she whined into the thick material of his jacket. 

He imagined the wait had been even harder for Nesta. He really hoped this plan worked, for Nesta’s sake more than Feyre’s or anyone else’s. 

Releasing Feyre, he gave her a kiss on the cheek, ruffled her hair, and promised to be back by evening. 

She didn’t stay to watch them drive off, instead turning and walking safely back into the warmth of the manor. 

Inside the truck, not even the low buzz of the radio and blast of the heaters could drown out the awkwardness in the air. Not that Nesta likely felt it, or if she did she didn’t care.

He pondered for a long time on how to break the silence as he pulled out of the manor driveway and onto the road. “You don’t want your coffee?” he finally said.

He’d made it just the way she liked it, but she hadn’t touched her thermos at all.

“I’m going to sleep,” Nesta announced, then pulled out a pair of headphones and slid them over her ears. 

Cassian didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed. “I brought a pillow and blanket; it’s in the backseat if you want to grab them.”

“I’m fine.” And then she turned her head away and closed her eyes, or at least did the best she could with her bulky headphones on.

He settled in for the six hour drive ahead of him.

Nesta slowly woke up as the sun climbed higher in the sky, dozing in and out of sleep until she finally came to full awareness around eleven. 

“You’re up,” Cassian greeted. “In the mood for an early lunch?”

He watched from the corner of his eye as she touched her ears, still red and irritated from pressing against the headphones that had clattered to the ground a while back.

Stifling a yawn, she stretched her arms out and nodded. Cassian swallowed tightly and refocused on the road, not wanting to look at her while she looked so soft and flushed.

Before her father had died, there had been— a hint of something. A mutual attraction that he might’ve been delusional enough to hope would actually lead somewhere. Until she’d crushed that delusion on that Christmas night two years ago; until her drinking had gotten worse; until she’d retreated from everyone in the Inner Circle so completely that it was as if that something had never existed at all.

It would be beyond inappropriate to remember that something now. So he kept his eyes on the road and asked where she wanted to eat.

She said she didn’t care.

He didn’t know if the untouchable Nesta Archeron even ate at fast food places, much less had a favorite place to go to, so he pulled into the first burger joint he saw on the road. Ordered through the drive-thru and ate in the parking lot, warm and cozy in the truck while the world outside them froze.

When Nesta wrapped up her half-eaten burger and fries and began to put them away, Cassian stopped her with a look. “You have to eat, Nesta,” he said gently. “I know you didn’t have breakfast.” He couldn’t exactly envision her making herself toast and cereal at the crack of dawn right before she got kicked out of the manor.

Nesta’s eyes snapped up to him with a glare. “I’m not a child.”

“But you are starving.” He almost reached out to poke one of the many bones jutting through her thin sweater. She’d looked healthier than he’d ever seen her on the day of her return, although that hadn’t been saying much. Now it was evident that the past few days had been hard on her, almost stripping her entirely of whatever progress she’d made while she was in California.

Nesta threw the rest of her food back into the bag with unnecessary force. “I’ll eat it later.”

Cassian had to bite his tongue from quipping that it would be cold by then, deciding to let it go. Besides, it was the most emotion she’d shown all day, which was a win in his book.

He took this victory back onto the road with him; as he drove he carefully contemplated what he wanted to say to her next.

“Rhys told me you agreed to all of this.” The words took their time to hang in the air before he said, “Why?”

For a minute, he was certain Nesta wasn’t going to answer. 

“What choice did I have?” she finally spoke.

Cassian worked his jaw, seriously considering her question. “You could go back to LA,” he tried.

She was looking down at her hands when she said, “No I can’t.”

“Stripper money isn’t paying the rent anymore?” He instantly regretted the words, his mouth trying to pick a fight before his brain could stop him. He clearly thought having an angry Nesta in his truck was better than having a numb one, but that was no excuse. “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean…”

Only Nesta wasn’t angry or defensive or any of the things that she should have been— she just remained silent, continuing to contemplate her hands. 

His stomach dropped and guilt ratcheted into his throat, wishing he’d just left her alone. 

So his hands jerked on the steering wheel a little when he heard her whisper, “I agreed for Feyre.”

He looked over at her. She was picking the skin on her palms—did she have calluses?— looking completely disinterested despite the gravity of her statement. 

“Why?” he had to ask. From previous experience, Nesta didn’t tend to be concerned about how her actions affected her sisters, especially not Feyre.

“Because she deserves it.” Nesta’s voice was hoarse from disuse. “She deserves the beautiful house and beautiful family and a future as First Lady of the United States or whatever. I didn’t want to get in the way of that anymore.”

Cassian was at a loss for words. He never would have thought Nesta cared like that.

“You aren’t in the way,” he said after a long stretch of silence. “Feyre loves you and would rather you be home with her than anything else. It’s just…”

“Election season, right?” she muttered wryly. His stupid heart stuttered at her bitter smile even as he realized with despondency that she didn’t believe his words at all.

“It’s a complicated situation right now,” he tried to explain. “This is the solution that works best for everyone involved.” 

Well, everyone except for Cassian, who would have to make this hellish drive at least twice a month to make sure Nesta didn’t go stir-crazy a la The Shining.

The question was sudden, as if she hadn’t heard what he’d said at all: “Would you believe me if I told you they were prescription pills?” 

He gave her a look that was a cross between pitying and disbelieving. “In plastic baggies?”

She pressed her lips together and looked away, her eyes deadening once again. “That’s a no, then.”

Cassian hated that look in her eyes, like nothing and no one mattered to her. He almost backtracked and told her he believed her just to get that look to vanish.

But that would be lying, and it wouldn’t solve the root of Nesta’s problem. Not at all.

Taking in a short breath, Cassian refocused on the road. “I don’t care what you do with that stuff, Nesta. It’s Nyx that you need to think about. If you won’t do this for yourself, do it for—”

“Please,” Nesta cut him off, and it was more of a choked noise than a word. Cassian blinked in surprise at the unexpected emotion, looking between Nesta and the road.

“Stop talking,” she continued, her voice strung out and strained. “Stop talking about everything.”

The order was so raw that it wasn’t really a choice for Cassian to not follow it. “Okay,” he stuttered out, then moved to turn the radio up, just enough to drown out the tension in the truck.

They were in the final stretch of the journey now. After a while longer Cassian could see the mountain that would be Nesta’s new home, snow and ice crusting the majority of it this late into the year.  The drive to the top looked far longer than he thought it’d be, and he had a hard time imagining Nesta staying all the way up there by herself.

A rest stop came into view as they arrived at the base of the mountain. Rhysand hadn’t been lying when he said that Nesta would be far away from any people; the nearest town was maybe thirty minutes away from this isolated gas station, and it wouldn’t be a fun distance to cover on the uneven roads.

Rhysand had also assured Cassian that he’d already sent someone ahead a week ago— a week ago— to stock the mountain lodge with food and supplies, but knowing Rhys, Cassian doubted that there’d be a sizable snack collection up there. 

“Alright, break time.” Cassian turned into the small parking lot. “Use the bathroom if you have to and buy whatever you want for the next week.” That’d be the next time Cassian would drive back here to check in on her, making sure she wasn’t trying to hurt herself in her solitude.

Nesta didn’t hesitate to unbuckle her seatbelt and shove out of the truck. He jogged after her, about to hold the gas station door open for her when his eyes landed on her bare neck.

His blood ran cold.

“Who did that to you?” 

Nesta’s brow furrowed slightly at his growled question. She followed his gaze downward, to where her scarf had unraveled from her throat somewhere along the drive. Her features went stiff and she moved to rewrap the scarf, only for her wrists to be pushed back by Cassian. 

“I mean it. What the fuck happened to you?” he restated fiercely.

The clear shape of a handprint bruised her throat in splotchy red and purple. It looked fresh. He couldn’t take his eyes off of it, so ugly and wrong against the rest of her fair skin.

Nesta’s mouth curved into a sneer when he wouldn’t let go of her. “Where do you think it’s from, idiot? Sex. Ever heard of it?” She jerked away from him and flung her scarf back in place to hide her throat.

Cassian felt numb, cold and confused all over. The handprint was startlingly recent and violently dark. He couldn’t wrap his head around the thought of Nesta going out and having rough, animalistic sex while her family fell apart deciding how to help her. While Feyre sobbed herself to sleep over losing her oldest sister for the second time in a row.

Nesta’s flustered anger smoothed into a cruel smirk when Cassian didn’t say anything. “Don’t tell me you still have a virgin complex about me. Does it hurt to find out I like it hard and rough?”

Cassian blinked once, twice, then shook his head slowly. “No, Nesta,” he said. “It hurts to find out that you aren’t taking this seriously at all.”

“And what is this?” She suddenly stepped into his chest, so close he could smell the faded perfume that clung to her sweater. “Say the word for what it is, Cassian. How would you describe what you’re doing to me right now? Exile? Imprisonment?”

“A sabbatical.”

She threw her head back and laughed, and the startling sound almost distracted him from again catching the purple bruise peeking out from her scarf. 

“I’m serious.” He had to be serious, because the alternative was that Rhysand and Feyre didn’t care for Nesta’s wellbeing at all, and he refused to believe that. For all the issues they had had with her, he refused to believe that.

Her laugh cut off sharply and her face went suddenly blank. “You’re blind.” She looked like she wanted to add something else, but kept her mouth shut and moved past him, entering the gas station alone.

Cassian was left standing outside in the freezing cold, wondering who the hell Nesta Archeron really was and what she was doing here.

After using the bathroom and paying for Nesta’s things (she’d left a pile of snacks and puzzle workbooks at the register for him to check out), he exited the gas station to find her leaning against the hood of his truck with her fast food leftovers.

She munched on cold fries while staring off into the distance, not even glancing Cassian’s way as he approached her. “The sun sets a lot quicker these days,” he told her, although there’d been no sun in the sky at all today. “Let’s get moving so we can get you settled in before it’s fully dark.” And so he could get home before it was too late. 

His phone chose just that moment to ring. Shuffling the bags of Nesta’s snacks around so he could dig into his pocket, he pulled out his cell and glanced at the screen. It was Azriel. 

He picked up. “What’s up?”

“You need to come home. Now.” His brother’s voice was dark over the line.

Cassian’s hackles raised. “What happened? Why?”

“I can’t say over the phone. It’s not good. Is Nesta settled at the lodge yet?”

“We aren’t even there yet,” Cassian replied. “We took a break so we’re behind on schedule.”

Azriel cursed softly. “How far behind?”

“Less than an hour.”

“That’s too far. Figure out a way to get home this instant.”

“What about—”

“I don’t care, Cassian. Feyre and the family need you. Get home now.” The shadowed threat in his tone lingered long after he hung up. 

Cassian put the phone down and looked toward Nesta, who was still picking absently at her fries. “I’m so sorry,” were his first words to her.

She looked up at that. “What is it?”

“I— I have to go now. There’s been an emergency and Az isn’t telling me what it is.”

“Is it about Feyre?” 

She was too damn perceptive. But he couldn’t let her worry, if that was something she was even planning on doing. “I don’t know anything yet,” he said honestly. “But I need to speed home now.” His brain scrambled for a way to get Nesta to the lodge and himself back to Velaris at the same time. Nesta was clearly thinking the same thing.

“I’ll call you a ride,” he decided. “Someone in the nearest town should be available to drive you up there.”

“You’re going to make me get in some random person’s car?” She didn’t sound angry or worried—just blunt— but the question pushed all the wrong buttons anyway. 

“Considering all the other ways you’re willing to endanger your life, this shouldn’t be too hard for you,” he retorted with a raised brow. “Come on, get your bags while I find somebody. Please.”

He was abandoning her. He was abandoning her and he hated it, because Cassian never left people stranded. He wouldn’t even leave a one-night stand without making her breakfast first. 

But family came first, and if Azriel had refused to speak of whatever the emergency was over the phone, that meant it was too important to risk prying ears. 

In the end, he had to watch Nesta’s figure turn smaller and smaller in his rearview mirror as he drove off. 

She was standing outside the gas station with her belongings and waiting for her rideshare to arrive.

***

A/N: im sorry i have no concept of distance or time in this fic so if something looks wack you'll just have to pretend it isn't. up next is nesta pov and a glimpse of rhysta! also, cassian will eventually stop being an asshole lol

[cherrycherrylady2024]

Christmas with the Grimes'

Christmas with the Grimes'

(Dilf! Rick Grimes x reader) Word count: 1,945

Warnings: 18+, descriptions of dilfs? This one is pretty tame tbh

Chapter 1: Mr. Grimes

Packing your bags for winter break, you thanked your lucky stars you had somewhere to call home for the next month and a half. There was the option of staying in the dorms but you came to terms with the fact that that would simply be too sad. Plus you certainly couldn’t go back to your parent's house, you hadn’t spoken to those two since the day you graduated high school. You were finally well and truly on your own. College was everything you had dreamed it would be. Partially thanks to Judith, your roommate, for dragging you out of the dorm that first week of school. 

You purposely picked the earliest move-in date and had already been living in the dorm for two weeks before Judith even arrived. You tried your best to spruce it up with what little decor you had and sat wringing your hands all day for this girl to appear. With random roommate assignments who knew what you’d be getting? When the door began to open with a click! of the handle, your stomach dropped to your toes, but the second Judith walked in you knew everything would be okay. She immediately ran over to you and almost knocked you over with a bear hug. She was the sunshine that brought you out of your shell, and you two were BFFs since that very day. When she invited you to stay with her family over winter break, it was nearly impossible to say no. 

~~~

“C’mon y/n we’d have so much fun! I can show you around my town, I mean what little there is to see, but still! We can go ice skating, watch movies, have snowball fights with my brother- plus my dad makes some seriously fucking good eggnog.” Judith chatted into your ear as you were finishing up your last essay for finals. You sighed and pushed away from your desk, rubbing your eyes. This paper would be the death of you, especially with Judith's distractions. “That all sounds great, really, but wouldn’t it be an imposition on you guys? I mean Christmas is kinda special and I don’t want to be intruding on your-” Judith cuts you off. “Please intrude! We do the same stuff every year, it gets sooo boring. Anyways, I’ll miss you too much, so I’m not really asking at this point.” Judith plops on her bed and opens her laptop. “This is a kidnapping now?” you ask. Judith types furiously on her computer, “For the greater good. You can’t sit here and mope for the next month and a half, that’s too depressing.” She pauses for a second, staring at her laptop screen. “Is an 8 am train too early?” 

You sigh, and lean back, stretching, mulling it over for a moment.

 “Way, way, too early,” you say.

Judith looks up at you and smiles.

~~~

So here you were, bags packed and ready to go. You two took the bus to the Amtrak station and boarded easy-peasy. “Y’know, I always thought train travel would be like Murder on the Orient Express, but this is like… shanking on the shitty express,” you remarked as you examined the stained seat, shabby carpeting, and… let’s just say, unusual fellow passengers. You quickly corrected yourself, “I mean- not to sound ungrateful or anything.” Judith rolled her eyes in agreement, “Believe me this isn’t my first choice either. It’s only a four-hour drive, if my dad would let me bring my truck up we wouldn’t have to-” she was interrupted by the train starting up. It began to slowly peel away from the station. “Here we go!” you exclaimed, surprising yourself with how oddly excited you felt. Judith yawned, shifting in her seat. “I should’ve gone with the noon train, even 10 am feels like the crack of dawn.”

20 minutes later you were bored as hell and Judith was fast asleep, snoring every once in a while. Your phone had spotty service as it was, but now going through the countryside it was virtually impossible to do anything. You occupied yourself by looking out of the window. When that got boring you too tried to close your eyes, but Judith's snores were becoming increasingly loud. You looked at her and contemplated throwing goldfish into her half-opened mouth, but decided against it. 

Studying her for a little, you concluded that she looked a lot like her dad, from the one time you met him. 

It was the day Judith moved in.

~~~

Judith pulled away from the hug, “Y/n, right? I’m Judith. It’s so nice to meet you! I like your energy already,” she held your hands as she said this. “That's so sweet of you, you too!” you responded. “And this is my– dad come on!” Judith turned to the door, ushering in her father. The man was balancing two large moving boxes, labeled aptly as Judith’s shit, which obscured his face. “Jesus Judith, what’s in here? Boulders?” He shuffled over and plopped down the two boxes on the twin bed across from yours, breathing out in a huff. “Just my rock collection.” Judith teased. Her father wiped his face and turned to you, making a clack sound in his cowboy boots, “Nice to meet ya, m’Rick” he said, extending his hand to you. 

You froze.

Damn. 

He was handsome. 

You didn’t typically use that word to describe guys. They were always “cute” or “hot,” but this wasn’t a guy: this was a man, and he was fucking handsome. His skin was a little bit bronzed from the summer sun, and you immediately found your mind wandering to where those tan lines might end. Rick's hair was dark brown, thick, and pushed back, ending in perfect curls. You were instantly enraptured by his stunningly blue eyes. How do eyes that blue even exist? Rick had a strong and direct gaze, and you got the feeling that from one look, he could know all about you. Was it crazy to say he had a sexy nose too? You had never liked facial hair until this day. This was nothing like the scraggly high school mustaches you were accustomed to. Rick had a short, slightly salt-and-pepper, beard that perfectly accentuated his high cheekbones. His voice was deep and rough, with a sexy southern drawl that you clocked immediately. He wore a plain white t-shirt which, due to the August heat, stuck to him in just the right places. 

Damn. 

The dark blue jeans fit him perfectly, paired with a black belt cluttered by loops and pouches, what for? You weren't sure. The only thing you could identify on the belt was the gun holster, and the revolver snugly clasped in it. 

You took all this in in the few seconds he had turned to you. His hand was still outstretched when you came to.

“Oh- hi Mr. Grimes, I’m y/n.” You shook his hand gently in a daze. His hands were warm, a little rough, and covered yours completely when he brought the other one on top. “Nice to meetcha y/n. And just Rick is fine.”

Rick. Rick. Rick. Rick. Rick. Rick. Rick. Rick.

You nodded your head fervently and withdrew from the handshake. You did your best to act normal but your eyes drifted straight back down his body to the revolver. Judith had already made herself busy unpacking, and didn’t even need to turn around to know what you must be wondering, “Dad I told you to leave your gun in the truck, it freaks people out.” She turned back to the both of you, holding a teddy bear, “Don’t worry y/n he’s not in the mafia or something, that’d be way too cool for him.” Rick shook his head with a smile, his hand on his hip, “How do ya know I’m not?” Judith moved swiftly past him, grabbing something from his belt. “Hey!” Rick laughed. She tossed it to you and upon catching it, you turned it over in your hands. It was a shiny gold sheriff's deputy badge. 

Officer Rick Grimes.

Damn.

You chuckled lightly and handed it back to him, your fingers brushing his, as Judith entered the bathroom with a box labeled shower shit. “Don’t let your mob buddies see that badge,” you teased. Rick smiled (Damn.) and put it back in his belt pocket, “Thanks for the tip.” 

Judith emerged from the bathroom, “Dinner?”

The dinner was unfortunately quick, mostly Judith talked and you listened. Rick chimed in now and again but it was more for you two roommates to get to know each other. You couldn't help but sneak a few glances at Rick throughout the dinner. You watched as his muscles flexed in his forearms, studied when he’d crack a smile, and nearly swooned when he leaned back and swept a hand through his hair, his arm outstretched on the booth behind Judith.

It was like he was magnetic. Every time you looked away you felt a calling for more. You shook the feeling as best you could and focused on Judith. You found out she had a younger brother, Carl, who was a bit of a troublemaker. Through mouthfuls of pasta, Judith put it bluntly that their mom had passed away years ago. "I'm sorry to hear that," you responded. You glanced at Rick for a reaction, finding nothing. You told Judith about your family, sugar-coating some of the details as you swirled your pasta around, not making eye contact. She seemed to catch on fast and didn’t pry. You already liked that about her.

After paying for dinner, and you thanking him profusely, Rick escorted the two of you back to your dorm building. He gave Judith a bear hug goodbye, “I wish I could stay longer sweetheart but I gotta get up early in the mornin’.” He looked over to you and winked “Mafia stuff.” You smiled (oh my god) back as Judith pulled away. “It’s alright, I’ll see ya at parent's weekend pops!” She kissed him quickly on the cheek and headed towards the stairwell to the dorms. Rick chuckled, then shrugged his shoulders and looked to you, “She’s keepin' it all inside.” He said, patting his heart. You laughed, “I’m sure.” Judith yelled to you from the door, “C’mon y/n we gotta lot of catchin’ up to do!” You turned back to Rick, “Thank you so much again for dinner. It was nice meeting you, Mr. Grimes.” He clasped a hand down on your shoulder (fuck). “No problem, you girls be good now, ya hear?” He leaned down closer to you, whispering, “Don’t let her drive you crazy”. You titter nervously, a little overzealous, as he pulls away. Oh my god Oh my god Oh my god.

You could smell his cologne. Or maybe it was just him. A rich, woodsy, musk that you wanted to stuff your face into.

“I heard that Dad!” Rick spun on his heel and began walking away, his hands in his deputy jacket pockets. “Goodnight girls.” You watched him walk away for a moment, then followed after Judith.

~~~

That was nearly 5 months ago, and the last time you’d seen Rick Grimes. You didn’t have a crush per se, I mean, he was a grown man and you were….…well, technically of age, but it would be weird, right? Right??

I mean maybe it's not so bad if- NO. You need to snap out of it. You hadn’t even thought about him (much) the whole semester, but the notion of seeing him again gave you butterflies that you desperately tried to squash. He is your best friend's dad for god's sake. Not that anything would ever happen, but there was no reason to make things weird for yourself in your own mind. He’s Judith's dad, and he just so happens to be good-looking, nothing more nothing less.

Well- really good-looking. And funny too. Very charming. But nonetheless your best friend's dad! 

A dilf and your best friend's dad. 

This was going to be a long winter break.

***

notes: ahhhhhhh! ok so this is my first fic ever and I already have a few more chapters written and planned so lmk what you think! All comments, reposts, etc. are very much appreciated <3 stay tuned for more!