#one last post before I go lurking again

[nhilovesflower]

i can't do this anymore

[caelum-in-the-avatarverse]

Fandom can do a little gatekeeping. As a treat.

So I finally decided to archive-lock my fics on AO3 last night. I’ve been considering it since the AI scrape last year, but the tipping point was this whole lore.fm debacle, coupled with some thoughts I’ve been thinking regarding Fandom These Days in general and Fandom As A Community in particular. So I wanna explain why I waited so long, why I locked my stuff up now, and why I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m a-okay with making it harder for people to see my stories.

Lurkers really are great, tho

I’m a chronic lurker, and have been since I started hanging out on the internet as a teen in the 00s. These days it’s just cuz I don’t feel a need to socialize very often, but back then it was because I was shy and knew I was socially awkward. Even if I made an account, I’d spend months lurking on message boards or forums or Livejournals, watching other people interact and getting a feel for that particular community’s culture and etiquette before I finally started interacting myself. And y’know, that approach saved me a lot of embarrassment. Over the course of my lurking on any site, there was always some other person who’d clearly joined up five minutes after learning the place existed, barged in without a care for their behavior, and committed so many social faux pas that all the other users were immediately annoyed with them at best. I learned a lot observing those incidents. Lurk More is Rule 33 of the internet for very good reason.

Lurking isn’t bad or weird or creepy. It’s perfectly normal. I love lurking. It’s hard for me to not lurk - socializing takes a lot of energy out of me, even via text. (Heck it took 12 hours for me to write this post, I wish I was kidding--) Occasionally I’ll manage longer bouts of interaction - a few weeks posting here, almost a year chatting in a discord there - but I’m always gonna end up going radio silent for months at some point. I used to feel bad about it, but I’ve long since made peace with the fact that it’s just the way my brain works. I’m a chronic lurker, and in the long term nothing is going to change that.

The thing with being a chronic lurker is that you have to accept that you are not actually seen as part of the community you are lurking in. That’s not to say that lurkers are unimportant - lurkers actually are important, and they make up a large proportion of any online community - but it’s simple cause and effect. You may think of it as “your community”, but if you’ve never said a word, how is the community supposed to know you exist? If I lurked on someone’s LJ, and then that person suddenly friendslocked their blog, I knew that I had two choices: Either accept that I would never be able to read their posts again, or reach out to them and ask if I could be added to their friends list with the full understanding that I was a rando they might not decide to trust. I usually went with the first option, because my invisibility as a lurker was more important to me than talking to strangers on the internet.

Lurking is like sitting on a park bench, quietly people-watching and eavesdropping on the conversations other people are having around you. You’re in the park, but you’re not actively participating in anything happening there. You can see and hear things that you become very interested in! But if you don’t introduce yourself and become part of the conversation, you won’t be able to keep listening to it when those people walk away. When fandom migrated away from Livejournal, people moved to new platforms alongside their friends, but lurkers were often left behind. No one knew they existed, so they weren’t told where everyone else was going. To be seen as part of a fandom community, you need to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known, etc. etc.

There’s nothing wrong with lurking. There can actually be benefits to lurking, both for the lurkers and the communities they lurk in. It’s just another way to be in a fandom. But if that is how you exist in fandom--and remember, I say this as someone who often does exist that way in fandom--you need to remember that you’re on the outside looking in, and the curtains can always close.

I’ve always been super sympathetic to lurkers, because I am one. I know there’s a lot of people like me who just don’t socialize often. I know there’s plenty of reasons why someone might not make an account on the internet - maybe they’re nervous, maybe they’re young and their parents don’t allow them to, maybe they’re in a bad situation where someone is monitoring their activity, maybe they can only access the internet from public computer terminals. Heck, I’ve never even logged into AO3 on my phone--if I’m away from my computer I just read what’s publicly available. 

I know I have people lurking on my fics. I know my fics probably mean a lot to someone I don’t even know exists. I know this because there are plenty of fics I love whose writers don’t know I exist.

I love my commenters personally; I love my lurkers as an abstract concept. I know they’re there and I wish them well, and if they ever de-lurk I love them all the more.

So up until last year I never considered archive-locking my fic, because I get it. The AI scraping was upsetting, but I still hesitated because I was thinking of lurkers and guests and remembering what it felt like to be 15 and wondering if it’d be worth letting a stranger on the internet know I existed and asking to be added to their friends list just so I could reread a funny post they made once.

But the internet has changed a lot since the 00s, and fandom has changed with it. I’ve read some things and been doing some thinking about fandom-as-community over the last few years, and reading through the lore.fm drama made me decide that it’s time for me to set some boundaries.

I still love my lurkers, and I feel bad about leaving any guest commenters behind, especially if they’re in a situation where they can’t make an account for some reason. But from here on out, even my lurkers are going to have to do the bare minimum to read my fics--make an AO3 account.

Should we gatekeep fandom?

I’ve seen a few people ask this question, usually rhetorically, sometimes as a joke, always with a bit of seriousness. And I think…yeah, maybe we should. Except wait, no, not like that--

A decade ago, when people talked about fandom gatekeeping and why it was bad to do, it intersected with a lot of other things, mainly feminism and classism. The prevalent image of fandom gatekeeping was, like, a man learning that a woman likes Star Wars and haughtily demanding, “Oh, yeah? Well if you’re REALLY a fan, name ten EU novels” to belittle and dismiss her, expecting that a “real fan” would have the money and time to be familiar with the EU, and ignoring the fact that male movie-only fans were still considered fans. The thing being gatekept was the very definition of “being a fan” and people’s right to describe themselves as one.

That’s not what I mean when I say maybe fandom should gatekeep more. Anyone can call themselves a fan if they like something, that’s fine. But when it comes to the ability to enjoy the fanworks produced by the fandom community…that might be something worth gatekeeping.

See, back in the 00s, it was perfectly common for people to just…not go on the internet. Surfing the web was a thing, but it was just, like, a fun pastime. Not everyone did it. It wasn’t until the rise of social media that going online became a thing everyone and their grandmother did every day. Back then, going on the internet was just…a hobby.

So one of the first gates online fandom ever had was the simple fact that the entire world wasn’t here yet.

The entire world is here now. That gate has been demolished.

And it’s a lot easier to find us now. Even scattered across platforms, fandom is so centralized these days. It isn’t a network of dedicated webshrines and forums that you can only find via webrings anymore, it’s right there on all the big social media sites. AO3 didn’t set out to be the main fanfic website, but that’s definitely what it’s become. It’s easy for people to find us--and that includes people who don’t care about the community, and just want “content.”

Transformative fandom doesn’t like it when people see our fanworks as “content”. “Content” is a pretty broad term, but when fandom uses it we’re usually referring to creative works that are churned out by content creators to be consumed by an audience as quickly as possible as often as possible so that the content creator can generate revenue. This not-so-new normal has caused a massive shift in how people who are new to fandom view fanworks--instead of seeing fic or art as something a fellow fan made and shared with you, they see fanworks as products to be consumed.

Transformative fandom has, in general, always been a gift economy. We put time and effort into creating fanworks that we share with our fellow fans for free. We do this so we don’t get sued, but fandom as a whole actually gets a lot out of the gift economy. Offer your community a story, and in return you can get comments, build friendships, or inspire other people to write things that you might want to read. Readers are given the gift of free stories to read and enjoy, and while lurking is fine, they have the choice to engage with the writer and other readers by leaving comments or making reclists to help build the community.

And look, don’t get me wrong. People have never engaged with fanfic as much as fan writers wish they would. There has always been “no one comments anymore” wank. There have always been people who only comment to say “MORE!” or otherwise demand or guilt trip writers into posting the next chapter. But fandom has always agreed that those commenters are rude and annoying, and as those commenters navigate fandom they have the chance to learn proper community etiquette.

However, now it seems that a lot of the people who are consuming fanworks aren’t actually in the community. 

I won’t say “they aren’t real fans” because that’s silly; there’s lots of ways to be a fan. But there seem to be a lot of fans now who have no interest in fandom as a community, or in adhering to community etiquette, or in respecting the gift economy. They consume our fics, but they don’t appreciate fan labor. They want our “content”, but they don’t respect our control over our creations.

And even worse--they see us as a resource. We share our work for free, as a gift, but all they see is an open-source content farm waiting to be tapped into. We shared it for free, so clearly they can do whatever they want with it. Why should we care if they feed our work into AI training datasets, or copy/paste our unfinished stories into ChatGPT to get an ending, or charge people for an unnecessary third-party AO3 app, or sell fanbindings on etsy for a profit without the author’s permission, or turn our stories into poor imitations of podfics to be posted on other platforms without giving us credit or asking our consent, while also using it to lure in people they can datascrape for their Forbes 30 Under 30 company? 

And sure, people have been doing shady things with other people’s fanworks since forever. Art theft and reposting has always been a big problem. Fanfic is harder to flat-out repost, but I’ve heard of unauthorized fic translations getting posted without crediting the original author. Once in…I think the 2010s? I read a post by a woman who had gone to some sort of local bookselling event, only to find that the man selling “his” novel had actually self-published her fanfic. (Wish I could find that one again, I don’t even remember where I read it.)

But aside from that third example, the thing is…as awful as fanart/writing theft is, back in the day, the main thing a thief would gain from it was clout. Clout that should rightfully go to the creators who gifted their work in the first place, yeah, but still. Just clout. People will do a lot of hurtful things for clout, but fandom clout means nothing outside of fandom. Fandom clout is not enough to incentivize the sort of wide-scale pillaging we’re seeing from community outsiders today.

Money, on the other hand… Well, fandom’s just a giant, untapped content farm, isn’t it? Think of how much revenue all that content could generate.

Lurkers are a normal and even beneficial part of any online community. Maybe one day they’ll de-lurk and easily slide into place beside their fellow fans because they already know the etiquette. Maybe they’re active in another community, and they can spread information from the community they lurk in to the community they’re active in. At the very least, they silently observe, and even if they’re not active community members, they understand the community.

Fans who see fanworks as “content” don’t belong in the same category as lurkers. They’re tourists. 

While reading through the initial Reddit thread on the lore.fm situation, I found this comment:

[ID: Reddit User Cabbitowo says: ... So in anime fandoms we have a word called tourist and essentially it means a fan of a few anime and doesn't care about anime tropes and actively criticizes them. This is kind of how fandoms on tiktok feel. They're touring fanfics and fanart and actively criticizes tropes that have been in the fandom since the 60s. They want to be in a fandom but they don't want to engage in fandom 

OP totallymandy responds: Just entered back into Reddit after a long day to see this most recent reply. And as a fellow anime fan this making me laugh so much since it’s true! But it sorta hurts too when the reality sets in. Modern fandom is so entitled and bratty and you’d think it’s the minors only but that’s not even true, my age-mates and older seem to be like that. They want to eat their cake and complain all whilst bringing nothing to the potluck… :/ END ID]

-

“Tourist” is an apt name for this sort of fan. They don’t want to be part of our community, and they don’t have to be in order to come into our spaces and consume our work. Even if they don’t steal our work themselves, they feel so entitled to it that they’re fine with ignoring our wishes and letting other people take it to make AI “podfics” for them to listen to (there are a lot of comments on lore.fm’s shutdown announcement video from people telling them to just ignore the writers and do it anyway). They’ll use AI to generate an ending to an unfinished fic because they don’t care about seeing “the ending this writer would have given to the story they were telling”, they just want “an ending”. For these tourist fans, the ends justify the means, and their end goal is content for them to consume, with no care for the community that created it for them in the first place.

I don’t think this is confined to a specific age group. This isn’t “13-year-olds on Wattpad” or “Zoomers on TikTok” or whatever pointless generation war we’re in now. This is coming from people who are new to fandom, whose main experience with creative works on the internet is this new content culture and who don’t understand fandom as a community. That description can be true of someone from any age group.

It’s so easy to find fandom these days. It is, in fact, too easy. Newcomers face no hurdles or challenges that would encourage them to lurk and observe a bit before engaging, and it’s easy for people who would otherwise move on and leave us alone to start making trouble. From tourist fans to content entrepreneurs to random people who just want to gawk, it’s so easy for people who don’t care about the fandom community to reap all of its fruits. 

So when I say maybe fandom should start gatekeeping a bit, I’m referring to the fact that we barely even have a gate anymore. Everyone is on the internet now; the entire world can find us, and they don’t need to bother learning community etiquette when they do. Before, we were protected by the fact that fandom was considered weird and most people didn’t look at it twice. Now, fandom is pretty mainstream. People who never would’ve bothered with it before are now comfortable strolling in like they own the place. They have no regard for the fandom community, they don’t understand it, and they don’t want to. They want to treat it just like the rest of the content they consume online.

And then they’re surprised when those of us who understand fandom culture get upset. Fanworks have existed far longer than the algorithmic internet’s content. Fanworks existed long before the internet. We’ve lived like this for ages and we like it.

So if someone can’t be bothered to respect fandom as a community, I don’t see why I should give them easy access to my fics.

Think of it like a garden gate

When I interact with commenters on my fic, I have this sense of hospitality.

The comment section is my front porch. The fic is my garden. I created my garden because I really wanted to, and I’m proud of it, and I’m happy to share it with other people. 

Lots of people enjoy looking at my garden. Many walk through without saying anything. Some stop to leave kudos. Some recommend my garden to their friends. And some people take the time to stop by my front porch and let me know what a beautiful garden it is and how much they’ve enjoyed it. 

Any fic writer can tell you that getting comments is an incredible feeling. I always try to answer all my comments. I don’t always manage it, but my fics’ comment sections are the one place that I manage to consistently socialize in fandom. When I respond to a comment, it feels like I’m pouring out a glass of lemonade to share with this lovely commenter on my front porch, a thank you for their thank you. We take a moment to admire my garden together, and then I see them out. The next time they drop by, I recognize them and am happy to pour another glass of lemonade.

My garden has always been open and easy to access. No fences, no walls. You just have to know where to find it. Fandom in general was once protected by its own obscurity, an out-of-the-way town that showed up on maps but was usually ignored.

But now there’s a highway that makes it easy to get to, and we have all these out-of-towner tourists coming in to gawk and steal our lawn ornaments and wonder if they can use the place to make themselves some money.

I don’t care to have those types trampling over my garden and eating all my vegetables and digging up my flowers to repot and sell, so I’ve put up a wall. It has a gate that visitors can get through if they just take the time to open it.

Admittedly, it’s a small obstacle. But when I share my fics, I share them as a gift with my fellow fans, the ones who understand that fandom is a community, even if they’re lurkers. As for tourist fans and entrepreneurs who see fic as content, who have no qualms ignoring the writer’s wishes, who refuse to respect or understand the fandom community…well, they’re not the people I mean to share my fic with, so I have no issues locking them out. If they want access to my stories, they’ll have to do the bare minimum to become a community member and join the AO3 invite queue.

And y’know, I’ve said a lot about fandom and community here, and I just want to say, I hope it’s not intimidating. When I was younger, talk about The Fandom Community made me feel insecure, and I didn’t think I’d ever manage to be active enough in fandom spaces to be counted as A Member Of The Community. But you don’t have to be a social butterfly to participate in fandom. I’ll always and forever be a chronic lurker, I reblog more than I post, I rarely manage to comment on fic, and I go radio silent for months at a time--but I write and post fanfiction. That’s my contribution.

Do you write, draw, vid, gif, or otherwise create? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you leave comments? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you curate reclists? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you maintain a fandom blog or fuckyeah blog? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you provide a space for other fans to convene in? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you regularly send asks (off anon so people know who you are)? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you have fandom friends who you interact with? Congrats, you're a community member.

There’s lots of ways to be a fan. Just make sure to respect and appreciate your fellow fans and the work they put in for you to enjoy and the gift economy fandom culture that keeps this community going.

[sleepyjuice]

toxic!rafe will blow your phone up the second you post something on instagram that he’s ‘iffy’ about.

you posted a photo dump which consisted of some random photos of the beach, some of your friends, one of you and rafe of course, but the one that had rafe seeing red was the last slide, which was you in a bikini. he texted you several times at first, and while you were literally typing your response, he called you. your fingers were typing so fast to respond to him that you accidentally declined the call, and he did not like that. you immediately went to call him back, but another text from rafe rolled in, saying ‘fuck you don’t talk to me we’re done’ you sighed loudly, knowing damn well he was talking out of his ass right now, so you sat back and waited for the inevitable next string of texts to roll in. which they did, only seconds later.

rafe <3: do you get off on making me mad or something

rafe <3: like i’m racking my brain trying to understand why you do the things you do and that’s all i can come up with

rafe <3: and i see at least 4 guys have already liked your post like that’s crazy to me?? thought i told you to block all the guys that followed you?? of course you didn’t

rafe <3: also who even took that pic of you??? bc i know damn well it wasn’t me so who the fuck you posing for with your fucking ass and tits out? WHAT THE FUCK

rafe <3: DO NOT PUT YOUR SHIT ON DO NOT DISTURB answer me rn.

rafe <3: nah it’s cool actually i’m gonna go hit up my other gfs so you have a good night.

you rolled your eyes at that last text, deciding to fully turn your phone off. you knew he would likely try to text or call you again very soon but you didn’t want to deal with it right now. this wasn’t your first rodeo, you knew nothing you could say to him right now would calm him down, so letting him freak out on his own was the best method to his madness.

three hours had passed since you turned your phone off. you had caught up on some reading and turned on your current favorite show, but found yourself interrupted by a knock at your front door. you expected it to be rafe, but instead it was a large bouquet of your favorite flowers and a gift bag. you glanced around to see if rafe was lurking around, but saw nothing. when he freaked out over text and was able to reread his actions, he usually waited a bit longer to show his face as opposed to a verbal argument.

you brought the flowers inside and set them on the counter before grabbing the card attached to the side of the bouquet.

sorry we argued. you are so beautiful and i love you so much. got you a little gift and sent you some money for food and i set your appointment with your nail girl for tomorrow at 10. love you forever baby -rafe

you couldn’t help but smile just a little. the flowers were beautiful and the note was pretty sweet, so you chose to ignore the part where he said ��we argued.’ you didn’t get a word in, but you let it slide. especially after you opened the gift bag to see the new dior bag you had been wanting.

you hurried to turn on your phone, immediately seeing a $500 apple payment from rafe as well as a new text from a few minutes ago.

rafe <3: hope you like the flowers and bag baby. love you! :)

you: i love them. thanks rafe, love you too

rafe <3: good to hear. lmk what you end up getting for dinner and i’ll pick you up tomorrow to take you to your nail apt. can’t wait to see you baby

you would order yourself dinner that was obviously way less than $500, but you would send rafe a picture and thank him again. you’d facetime him before bed and conversation flowed like nothing had even happened just hours before. he’d ask you what color nails you were getting, tell you funny stories about the old men at the country club and excitedly plan what you two were going to do the next day. the cycle seemed like it would never end, but you often forgot about the bad when he was talking so sweetly to you and all you could think about was how excited you were to see him tomorrow.

[screamlet]

08x06 fix-it fic: break and be mended

not connected to that excerpt i posted before, just something completely different. 4.5k, read on the ao3

---

Another hospital room. Buck takes a deep breath and closes his eyes again, letting it out and hoping he gets back to sleep. It doesn't happen, though, because his brain catches up to his eyes:

Maddie, wearing a yellow paper hospital mask, a hand anxiously on her belly, sitting in the chair next to him with that too-familiar oh-thank-god-you're-finally-awake face… and Tommy leaning in the doorway.

He takes another deep breath and opens his eyes again.

"You're okay," Maddie says patiently, slowly, as Buck tries to slam the door shut or set the doorway on fire with his brain. "It's just the turkey flu, it hit you hard."

That breaks Buck's concentration. "Wait, is this a dream? Another coma dream? Turkey flu has to be something I made up."

Maddie raises her eyebrows and looks over her shoulder at Tommy before turning back to Buck. "Another one?"

"No, no, don't look at him," Buck interrupts. "He's not supposed to be here, not when I have turkey flu, not ever. He broke up with me, remember?"

In the doorway, Tommy shifts his weight from one foot to the other. He's wearing the dark blue LAFD t-shirt and pleated pants, a special Air Ops patch on his shirt sleeve. They always lurked under his flight suit, under his turnouts when they were on the same scene, but Buck didn't get to see them often. It was for the best, he thinks now, because the shirt fits perfectly across Tommy's chest and shoulders, the pants belted low. His shirt is tucked in better than Buck's ever is. He almost never got to see him like this so it feels like some new Tommy he's seeing, a Tommy that hangs around Harbor long enough to take off his flight suit but doesn't peel the rest of his work self off. He doesn't get off his shift, put the pilot away, shower and go home.

Buck looks away. He's looked too long.

"I'm actually here, you know." Tommy raps his knuckles on the door like that's proof of anything except a very strong poltergeist. "I can hear you."

Buck watches something that he hasn't seen in years sweep across Maddie's face (mostly her eyebrows, because of the mask).

She turns around and snaps, "I let you come within ten feet of my brother and you think bitchy fun Tommy was invited, too? He was not." Tommy looks shocked and abashed; Buck loves her so much.

"Why was he invited at all, Maddie?" Buck asks. "And you're both real, right? Like I'm not hallucinating both of you. Is that a turkey flu symptom? Can I have my phone? I need to look up turkey flu."

"It's a strain of avian flu, you just happened to get it from a turkey farm. Hen said you had a call to one of those last week," Maddie explains. "And you kept giggling when I said the words turkey flu so, you know, why not?"

"It's pretty funny," Buck admits. "Hey, why's he here?"

Maddie turns around and looks at Tommy expectantly. Buck still knows his face, still knows him, and can see the quip that wants to escape past his lips. He can see the work it takes to hold it back and look sincere, really sincere, for them.

"You collapsed at a scene and I flew you over," Tommy says. "I wanted to make sure you were okay."

Buck stares at him as he presses his lips into a fine line. "I'm okay. Thanks."

Tommy nods, then asks, "Can we talk? Alone?"

It's taken four months, almost as long as they were together, but Buck's finally hearing the words he's wanted to hear since Tommy walked out his door. I'm sorry, I was scared, I love you, yes let's take the next step together, from now on let's take every step together—that was Buck's first choice. Can we talk as a jumping off point for all those other things—that was Buck's second choice. Was.

Buck glances at Maddie and knows his face does something dumb. "I'll be outside," Maddie says. "And I'm not far, if you want me to throw him out." She looks over her shoulder at Tommy. "I'll do it."

Tommy nods. "Wouldn't doubt you for a second."

She squeezes Buck's hand and lingers for a beat, one long look at him like she's waiting for him to say actually, wait, don't, stay, but he doesn't. He hates that he doesn't. He hates that he wants to hear what Tommy has to say.

She and Tommy swap places; he takes the chair next to Buck's bed and she leaves, shutting the door behind her. Tommy doesn't see the way she passes by the window like a shark, watching, but Buck laughs. When Tommy looks back, she's gone.

"Your sister's changed a little," Tommy says casually. "Her sense of humor, I mean."

Buck licks his lips. "Yeah, well, when you were my boyfriend, you were her friend. Now you're neither."

"Yep, got it," Tommy says. He sits back in the chair, but looks so uncomfortable that someone would think he'd never sat in one before.

"Are you okay?" Buck asks. "Why are you here?"

"This chair is so weird."

"Tommy, what do you want to talk about?"

It startles Tommy, and it should. He only got soft and smitten, totally-in-love (even if he couldn't admit it out loud) Evan Buckley, cute and bratty Evan Buckley. He doesn't get that Evan anymore. No one has.

Tommy sits with his feet flat on the floor and his hands folded in his lap. He takes a minute, a long minute, of staring at the floor before he looks up and stares at Buck. "You asked me to move in with you."

Buck blinks. "I did."

"You asked me to move in with you."

"You said that. I mean, I said that, but you—"

"Evan," Tommy interrupts.

"I thought I was Buck now," Buck interrupts.

Bitchiness lurks on Tommy's tongue, but he holds it back. "You asked me to move in with you. Into the loft."

Buck tilts his head. "Yeah?"

Tommy shuts his eyes hard and shakes his head before he looks at Buck again. "Evan, I own a house."

"... okay?"

"Did you ask me to move in with you and expect me to give up my house?"

"What, no—" Buck says, then stops himself. "I don't—I didn't think—"

"Did you even think about that?" Tommy asks. "Like when you talked about moving in together, getting married, the future, all of that—did you even remember that I own a house?"

"You know," Buck interrupts. "Four months ago, you could have said, haha, wow, that's moving pretty fast, also I own a house, maybe when we're ready, we could move into MY HOUSE and make it OUR HOUSE, but you needed to run out the door so why would you say any of that?"

"Yeah! I was freaked out! Because here was this guy I—this guy I really liked, and he asked me, a 40-year-old man, to move into his loft?"

"What's wrong with it? Why do you keep saying it like that?"

"It's downtown! Downtown is loud and filthy and did I mention it's noisy? It was hell sleeping there in the summer because even with your central air, heat rises and it rises right into the bedroom. I saw your electric bill, Evan, it was unforgivable."

Buck wants to throw something at him. "And we could have been at your house, quiet and with better temperature control, but we weren't because…?"

"I'm just saying," Tommy continues. "Yeah, all that's true, but I realized you wanted me, wanted a future with me, and you didn't even remember that when I wasn't working or with you, I was at my house."

"I get that," Buck says. "Now how many times did we hang out at your house?"

Tommy sighs. "It's out of the way, your place was always closer to the 118 and to Harbor, and I kept—I was going to, okay? Like maybe after our anniversary, we'd take a week off together and we'd actually be at my house, or take a trip somewhere—"

"You got me basketball tickets," Buck snipes at him.

Tommy stops completely.

"For our six month anniversary, remember?"

"How the hell am I going to forget that?"

"You got me tickets to see the Lakers. Really good tickets."

Tommy rolls his eyes. "Alright, well, that's the last time I call that guy I know in the press office for anything."

Buck thinks he's getting closer to setting something on fire with his mind. "I hate basketball."

Tommy stares at him. "What the hell are you talking about? We met because of basketball."

Buck sits up so quickly and angrily he starts wheezing and that turns into a coughing fit. Tommy's immediately there, sitting on the edge of his bed with water, getting him to take a small sip as he rubs his back. When Buck realizes what's happening, he covers his mouth with his blanket and shoves Tommy away, coughing even more.

"Sorry, I was just—"

"I have turkey flu!" Buck yells through the blanket covering his mouth.

"The doctor said you're not contagious anymore."

Buck points at a small paper box across the room. Tommy, so put-upon, grabs a pale yellow mask and slips it on before he sits in the chair again. "Sorry."

"It's—" Buck halts because Tommy had grabbed two masks and was holding one out to him expectantly. Tommy motions to it again and Buck can see how he wants to make a bitchy comment about not having this conversation through a hospital blanket, but he doesn't. That's what makes Buck reach out and put the mask on. The icy fist around his heart thinks about melting.

"We didn't meet because of basketball, we met because of Bobby and Athena and the cruise ship," Buck corrects. "I wanted to see you again after that tour at Harbor but I couldn't think of another reason—"

"I gave you the widest of openings," Tommy interrupts. "Hello? Flight lessons? When you finally offered to buy me a beer, I almost dropped to my knees right then and there."

"But you never called me! You're the one who left to hang out with Eddie!"

Tommy throws up his hands. "Ball was in your court! Speaking of basketball."

Buck sighs, exasperated. "We weren't, like, running into each other, I didn't have a reason to call you—don't say the beer—so finally I saw Eddie was going to that pick-up game with you and I dragged Chimney along."

"Right," Tommy says. "And you played basketball with us. We kicked your ass in a way that made me think you were pretending to be bad at it to make me feel good or something? And then there was the whole thing with Eddie's ankle."

"I hate basketball!"

"You brought your own ball!"

"I same-day ordered a basketball so that when I showed up you'd be like, wow, that guy's ready for basketball, what a cool guy!"

"So you're mad that your basketball ruse worked on my dumb ass, and worked so well for six months that I got you Lakers tickets for our anniversary."

Buck's so annoyed that he put it like that. Maybe that's true, but he didn't have to say it. "I don't like basketball! It was a ruse but I didn't hide it after. You watched games with Eddie and I never came along because I don't like basketball."

"You said you wanted us to have our Eddie-Tommy friend time!"

"Why do you make me sound and feel like a five-year-old? Eddie-Tommy friend time? Seriously?"

Tommy folds his hands together like he's in prayer and shuts his eyes. "Okay, listen, I just. I wanted to get the house thing off my chest, alright? Because it's—it's bothered me so much."

Buck could argue about the basketball thing for about another 500 years, except that Tommy has said what he said. "Has it?"

Tommy puts his hands in his lap again, folded politely as he looks at Buck. "I meant what I said. You were so swept away in how new and exciting everything felt, that I felt like you forgot who you were talking to. Like… I'm not a guy who's going to move in with you. I'm a guy who has a house with a home gym and a car lift, and—and the winter was so mild that I put in this little patio space in the backyard. I bought furniture for it. I took this corner of my front lawn, too, and started to plan a pollinator's garden because they sounded really interesting after those three days of bee hell. Evan, I have a house."

"You keep saying that," Buck says. His ears are burning, but he's listening too intently to feel embarrassed about it (much).

"I freaked out, alright? Because I heard: give up your house to live in this downtown loft with a couch that has a faded but GIANT blood and placenta stain on the other side of the cushion, and then the words engaged and married got thrown in there, too? All in the same breath?"

Buck stares flatly, then nods. "Yeah. I get it. Sorry." He clears his throat and grabs his water before Tommy can offer it to him. He takes a sip, looking at Tommy before he nods at the closed door. "Are we done here?"

"And I'm not a gay rights hero," Tommy adds. "You said that, too." Tommy looks away, and looks so miserable. "I'm just a guy, Evan. I've been burned before by younger guys who thought I was everything that their first gay boyfriend should be, and then—and they didn't see who I was. It's always—" Tommy holds out his hands like he's balancing scales. "Not straight enough to fake a life with a woman, not gay enough to have a real life with a man."

Buck hasn't done this in so long that his throat almost aches with it. He sighs, pained and breathless, the word crinkling against the mask: "Tommy." He swallows again and asks, "Did you really think that was me?"

Another long pause. It ends with Tommy saying, "I thought you were too good to be true."

"I'm not, though, I'm—I'm just me," Buck says. "And I did have a lot to figure out, but not about you."

Tommy laughs suddenly. "Really? Because you forgot I was a homeowner and I didn't know you hated basketball. Did you even go to that game?"

Buck coughs. "I gave the tickets to Karen and she took one of her brothers. They're nuts about the Lakers."

"Huh," Tommy says. "Well. I'm not mad about that."

The two of them are quiet until Buck says, "Seems there's a lot of things we don't know about each other."

Tommy glances at him; Buck can see the shape of his smirk beneath the mask, and the very specific way it makes his eyes crinkle. "And just when we thought we knew everything about each other."

"Yeah, I thought that, too, and then you dropped that you were engaged to my first serious girlfriend at our six month anniversary dinner." Buck raises his eyebrows. "Do you land helicopters that smoothly, too?"

"I got you here, didn't I?" Tommy bites back, then catches himself with a laugh. "Okay. Fair point."

It's so easy, it's so easy, it's so easy, it's so easy and Buck hasn't had it easy for months. He hasn't had these quips, this back-and-forth, this person who got him until he didn't, who—Buck rubs at his eyes. Tommy made it easy. He made everything easy. Not perfect, not effortless, but easy. Easier.

"So, uh." Buck fusses with the blanket in his lap. "What have you been doing for the past four months? You, uh…"

"Am I seeing anyone?" Buck nods. "I was, yeah. Didn't last that long."

Buck can't help himself: "Neither did we."

"Ouch." Tommy looks back. "And you?"

"Yeah," Buck says. "I liked them but I broke up with them because it just—it wasn't going anywhere."

"And what's wrong with that? Staying in one place? Isn't that what you wanted for us?"

It's not, but Buck can't articulate it, so he says, "Do you think that's the same?"

A beat, and then Tommy says: "No. No, I don't."

"Tommy," Buck says quietly. "How many people do I have to be with before you decide I've figured it out?"

Tommy's eyes widen. "What? I never said that."

"Tell me what you said, then." Buck swallows painfully, that turkey flu kicking his ass harder than he thought. "Tell me what you meant when you said I didn't know what I wanted. Because I told you what I wanted. I told you I was ready for something and all the things we did together, I thought that you believed me. I guess you didn't, so tell me how many bodies it'll take before you believe me."

Tommy doesn't say anything.

"God, and you know what really sucks?" Buck asks. "That we were together long enough to talk about who we'd been with so we could get tested and be safe. We talked about all that, but I never told you how many times I'd had my heart broken and you never told me yours."

"Three," Tommy eventually says. "Shawn, who was like… all of 25. He was all-in, knowing for sure that the first time was the charm, and I was old enough and steady enough to be That Guy. I believed the hype even though I was barely out of the closet. I shouldn't throw stones at Abby's House of Himbos when I set up my own on the other side of town. And then there was Raúl, my Army buddy who came out to his family and immediately moved to LA to get away from them. Everything felt like a fresh start for him, but… not quite for me."

Buck thinks to ask, but Tommy beats him to it. "Do I need to say the third?" Buck shakes his head. "What about you?"

"Abby, and you." Buck looks at Tommy as he says, "It's not just ending things with someone because it doesn't work. It's heart break. Something's gotta break and be mended."

"I don't think I did that part. You've one-upped me there."

Buck wouldn't have believed that 20 minutes ago, but he believes it now.

"So Bobby's been there, watched me since I was Abby's himbo and helped me to grow into the person who wanted that stuff with you. Once he, kinda, told me that if I care about how people see me, then I haven't learned a damn thing," Buck says. "And that is and isn't true, here. I can't live hoping I meet people's expectations of what they think I should be. I want people—I wanted you—to see me as I am. I thought you did but you didn't, and I didn't either because I didn't see how scared you were. I've made my peace with that. We had something really special and made each other feel really good but, in the end, I guess we were saying all the right things to people we didn't know."

Tommy listens, considers, and nods. "Whole lot of past tense, there."

Buck glances at him and doesn't want to look away, but he does. He doesn't meet Tommy's eyes. He's scared, too. He's done enough today: said a lot of things he's been thinking about for four months and said them very calmly and thoughtfully, but this is gonna hurt. It hurt Buck to realize it and it's gonna hurt Tommy to hear it.

"You got what you wanted, right?" Buck asks. "You got to keep your heart, and I don't feel new and excited anymore." Buck inhales deep; it hurts. "I feel like I did before, like I'm short one piece of being whole. Now the ocean I have to search is so much wider and deeper. So thanks for that, I guess."

"Evan—"

"I let you into my family," Buck interrupts sharply. "Because I cared about you and because you fit. I fit because they're mine and that's my family I made, and you fit there right next to me. With us."

"You're absolutely right."

Buck watches him, tries to see behind the sunshine yellow and white mask on his face, but all he sees are his eyes that, like always, make Buck feel too much, like laser beams disintegrating him.

"Were you really that scared?" Buck can't help the way his voice cracks. "You were that scared of me?"

Tommy looks up again, lasers in place. "I was that in love with you." He shakes his head like he did that last night in the kitchen, and looks up like he'll tip the tears back into his eyes. "And those heartbreaks—you'd leave them light-years behind if I let you. You'd leave me light-years behind."

Buck nods, then says, "Could you leave, please." His wet breathing crinkles grossly in the mask. "Thanks for telling me all this, thanks for the closure, but I don't need to see what someone looks like after they've walked away from me."

"You collapsed at a scene three days ago and I was the closest pilot to medevac you here," Tommy says slowly. "You were delirious and told Shreya, Don't tell Tommy I'm sick, he doesn't care anymore."

Tommy clears his throat. "I do care. I never stopped."

Buck sits back in his hospital bed and pulls the blanket up to his neck, the only comfort he's got right now. "If this is a turkey flu dream, I'm gonna be so pissed at you, real you," Buck says.

Tommy laughs quietly, sadly, then hesitates for a moment. "Can I ask you something? Can I ask you the scariest thing I've ever asked anyone in my entire life?"

Buck doesn't move, doesn't breathe. "What is it?" he finally asks.

"Will you give me a second chance?"

Buck, hearing what he's quietly dreamed of hearing for four months, doesn't feel the euphoria he thought he would. He feels something else, though: a strange kind of wonder that someone wants him again. Again. He swallows hard, feeling the pain right in his turkey-flu-ridden throat. Someone knew him. Someone left him. Someone came back—came back for him.

Tommy left. Tommy came back. Tommy wanted him then. Tommy wants him now. Tommy's wanted him all along.           

Buck asks, "Will you invite me to your place more than once every six months?"

Tommy's half-smile is still wide enough for Buck to see behind the mask. It falls, though, back into something serious. "Will you forgive me when I'm not a paragon of queer virtue?"

"Will you believe me when I tell you I've fucked around and found out enough for a lifetime?"

Tommy raises his eyebrows ever so slightly. "Will you believe me when I tell you I've fucked around and found out enough for a lifetime?"

Buck thinks he smiles a little behind his mask, but it doesn't stay. "Are we gonna break up again?"

"I don't know," Tommy admits. "But maybe next time we can stop each other and hit the brakes. I love romcoms, but maybe we don't do that again: you don't propose fixing a problem with marriage and a baby, and I won't run out the door."

Buck raises his eyebrows, too. "Who said anything about a baby?"

Tommy sputters. "I mean, you were the one raising the stakes before."

Buck laughs. "Right, right."

The quiet stretches out between them. They look at each other and don't look away. The stubborn, proud, cocky side of Buck feels annoyed that this feels like—like he can't get out of this. Like all roads lead back to Tommy, like he doesn't have a choice. Like if he wants to be happy, it's with this person.

A part of him wants to run and throw himself into the hunt again. He wants to thrive in the search for someone who makes him feel that euphoria and fondness and love that he felt with Tommy. He tries to imagine someone else, some vague smoky figure that isn't Tommy's height, Tommy's build, Tommy's arms crossed over his chest and that tilt of his head. The problem is that Buck feels more looking at that furrow and arch of his eyebrows than he's felt for anyone he's met in the past four months, maybe even longer.

Not all roads lead to Tommy—only the ones he wants to take.

"Say it again?" Buck asks.

Tommy nods ever so slightly. "I'm in love with you." He pauses and a smile reaches his eyes. "I love you."

Buck can't help the way his eyes water; neither can Tommy.

"Ask me again," Buck says.

"Will you give me a second chance?"

"Yeah." Buck wonders if his own smile reaches his eyes. He hopes it does. "Yeah. Will you?"

Tommy chokes out a laugh behind his mask. "Yeah, god, of course. Of course. You sure?"

"About you?" Buck asks. "Yeah. I mean, I want to be. Don't make me regret it."

"Don't make me give up my real estate."

"Don't make me go to any sports events."

"Seriously? Not even baseball?"

"God," Buck moans. "The sleepiest one of all."

"Hockey's good."

"You hate the Kings."

Tommy scoffs. "Of course I do. You always hate your local teams—you just hate visiting teams more. Can't let management get comfortable."

Buck attempts to take a deep, exasperated breath, but he forgets that he has the fucking turkey flu. He chokes and starts to cough and wheeze, but Tommy's there again. He freely, lovingly pushes Buck further to the other side of the hospital bed so he can sit and take care of him: water, tissues, hand on his chest to steady him, eyes worried and on him.

"It's not official until you kiss me," Buck says. "I'm not contagious."

"I mean, not with turkey flu," Tommy says. "Your Buckness? That I'm not so sure."

"Don't call me that anymore," Buck says.

Tommy puts his cup of water on the table next to Buck's bed, then shifts so he and Buck are closer, face-to-face, head on looking at each other. "How'd you get even brattier in only four months?"

"How'd you forget I was this bratty?"

"At my age, well, everything's starting to go."

Buck laughs, then coughs and wheezes. "Stop making me laugh."

"How'd you forget I was this funny?"

Buck tilts his head. "I didn't. I didn't forget a thing."

Tommy searches his face, then cups his jaw with one hand. Buck doesn't lean into it, just lets Tommy hold him as he tips Buck's chin up ever so slightly.

Then Tommy kisses his forehead and his birthmark, and wraps his arms around Buck. It's the warmest Buck has felt all winter. It finally feels like spring.

---

read on the ao3

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Sail Away

Summary: Another nightmare leaves Javi wide awake, forced to wrestle with the consequences of his past as he looks towards his future

Pairing: Husband!Javier Peña x Wife!reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count: 2.6K

Warnings: Heavyyyyy on the angst, PTSD, references to violence/death (from Narcos), panic attack and descriptions of past panic attacks, insomnia, feelings of guilt/shame, mentions of pregnancy/parenthood, comfort, still a happy (enough) ending, post DEA Javi, poor Javi just really needs a hug :(

A/N: We're tryin new things here people!! Fair warning- I feel like this is DRASTICALLY different from the way I normally write (content and style wise) but big sad time, pre-period hormones said it's time to cry 🤷🏼‍♀️ I think a lot about how post-DEA Javi handles thinking about his time in Colombia, and how hard it is for him to talk about, even with the people he knows care about him the most ☹️ I hope this doesn't beat you to death with metaphors, imagery and lack of beta'ing (I can still hear my AP lit teacher screaming SYMBOLISM into the abyss) Trying to emulate a lil @jolapeno on this one (ily my descriptive queen 👑)

It happened again. 

You instantly knew from the stark cold of his side of the bed, the empty void where his broad frame should be, his sheets twisted and tangled from where he had fought another round with sleep and lost. 

3rd night in a row, the 5th time this week. At this point, it was hard not to keep track. 

The cyclical pattern of restless nights, haunted by ghosts of his past that taunted and teased him, cruelly lurking the back of his mind, no matter how hard he begged or pleaded for them to disappear. 

Forcing himself to wrestle with his demons in the darkness couldn’t help but feel like insult to injury- the harsh blacks and blues that flooded the sky, drowning out the last glimmer of sunlight as it dipped below the horizon, perfectly mirroring the way his mind so devilishly seemed to paint his thoughts in shades of ebony and cerulean with erratic, angry brushstrokes over the warm yellows and oranges of his new life he had finally learned to embrace. 

It only seemed fair that he went to battle with the darkest musings of his mind under the night sky that so cruelly reflected his mood. 

You weren’t surprised the first time you found him hunched on the back steps of your porch, head buried in his hands, fingers twitching for a cigarette- the vice he’d sworn to give up after his final return home, a vow that moments like these had made him distinctly regret. You always wondered how despite the stark silence that surrounded him as he stared off into the dark abyss, you could still hear his thoughts screaming at you- crying out for attention, acknowledgement, anything to get someone else to understand what he was hiding inside of his mind that he was too scared to say out loud. 

His midnight disappearances came in waves, fading and reappearing like an unpredictable ocean tide that left you wondering when the cool and salty water would crash around your ankles next as you stood at the edge of the shore. 

For a while, the seas had been calm, Javi’s body nestled next to yours, his warmth comforting and covering you along with the messy piles of blankets and bedsheets that filled your mattress, the nights being nothing more than drifting to sleep in each other’s arms, haunted dreams harbored at bay. 

For the last 5 nights, the tides had shifted. A storm was raging. 

The first few nights you let him go- you’d watched him weather this kind of storm before, always insisting it was a journey he was supposed to go on alone, the type of trip you need to make without risking hurting the innocent passengers that were supposed to ride with you. 

But as the days came and went, golden rays of vibrant sun shifting to dark and lonely blackness, it felt like you were leaving him out in the abyss without even so much as a life vest, praying for a return you knew would never come unless someone weathered the storm to save him. 

“You’re up again.” 

It’s a neutral statement, enough to disarm him from the implications you’ve sent yourself on a rescue mission to find him while you settle next to his stoic frame sinking into the porch step. 

“And you shouldn’t be.” 

Not quite resistance, but certainly not acceptance to you let you come aboard with him. Not yet. 

“I was already up anyway. Someone has been a big fan of punching me in my gut at 2 A.M. Hard not to notice when I wake up and your side of the bed is empty for the 5th time this week.” 

Both your eyes shift down to the subtle swell of your stomach, barley poking out from under the worn t-shirt you’d stolen from his dresser drawer. You’d never really had a knack for thievery until the past few weeks, claiming that everything was too tight for your growing belly. Despite all his years intertwined with the law, Javi had never had a problem with pardoning you for your violation, happy to let you, his household thief, and your new partner in crime indulge in the habit if it brought you any sort of comfort in your constant uncomfortability of growing a new life inside you. 

“Already picking up on her dad’s shit sleeping habit.” He scoffs under his breath, a bitterness in his tone that he thinks he’s somehow managing to inflict years worth of poor choices on his future child, still months away from even making her arrival into the world. 

It hurts, watching the pain well in his eyes as he stares off at the stars, glistening in the distance like some sort of unreachable sanctuary, the savior of a temporary distraction. Right now, you wish he’d look at you the same way, but he knows you won’t let him wallow in the all consuming waves of his own self pity like the stars will. 

A silent journey to outer space is the easy way out. You aren’t. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” You ask it like it’s a question, like he has a choice in the matter. He knows that you’ll be gentle with him- you have been since the moment you met him- but Christ, he also knows you’re nothing, if not persistent, too. 

He sighs, accepting his defeat as his gaze drops from the sky down to the ground, cautiously allowing you to climb aboard with him. 

It’s like trying to approach a wounded wild animal- move too fast and you’ll scare him away, leaving him to writhe in even more pain as he tries to flee from you. Move too slow and you leave him to bleed out, alone and afraid. 

“I’m fine.” It’s almost humorous how blatant of a lie it is, immediately putting himself on the defensive, like he has any ground to stand on with his claim. 

You say nothing, your silence enough to intrigue him as his eyes finally meet yours, the look on his face revealing the truth his words wouldn’t. You try your best to remain neutral, but Javi knows the sadness slowly slipping through your expression, the one you’re trying your best to hide because you’re not the one that’s hurting. Yet, there’s something about seeing you hurt because of him that’s enough to chip away at the wall he’s put up between you two, finally allowing you a crack just wide enough to let you see through to the other side. 

“I- I keep having the same dream. Every night, it’s the same.” He says “dream” like he’s letting himself drift off to sleep to all the pleasantries the world has to offer him, waking up to his midnight thoughts refreshed and renewed. Because his dreams aren’t just dreams, his dreams are the most terrifying nightmares the majority people wouldn’t even be capable of imagining, a violent parade of the worst memories his brain can muster.  

“What dream?” You ask, as carefully and cautiously as the way you shift yourself closer to him. 

“I- It’s- I just- Fuck-” 

It’s then you choose to gamble, wagering that he’s let you in enough, your next move won’t startle him, inching yourself closer as your right hand begins to intertwine with his left. He’s resistant at first, but as the familiar warmth of your body grazes across his skin, he begins to let you in, allowing your fingers to gently tangle, anchoring himself in your grasp. 

“It’s okay, Javi. I’m here. You can tell me.” 

It’s then the bets become less of a reckless gamble, squeezing him just a little tighter, stroking his skin with your thumb and feeling him squeeze back, taking your hand and finally letting you start to lift him out of the eye of the storm. 

He still needs the reassurance you won’t leave, that the man his nightmares make him won’t scare you away like they have so many others. An insecurity that distresses him enough to make him ache, despite your compassion. 

You’re not gonna scare me away, Javi.

The words still ring in the back of his head when he finds himself like this, remembering the first time you found him on the living room floor of your apartment at 3 A.M., skin tacky and covered in sweat, heart beating so fast he was convinced he was dying, terrified of his mind, and even more terrified you would leave him, letting you find him exposed, like some sort of disgusting, open wound. 

He’ll never understand why you showed him so much mercy. In no lifetime will he ever be able to thank you enough that you did. 

It still doesn’t make what comes next any easier. 

“I just stood there. I just let him- I just let him do it. He was just a fucking kid.” 

You can practically hear both your hearts break over the stark silence. Javi’s, because of all the things he’s done, this is the one he’ll never forgive himself for. Yours, for the same reason. 

“Javi…” 

“I didn’t even try to stop him. He was just a kid. We just- we just fucking left him there. What kind of person does that? I- I spent so long trying to convince myself, trying to- fuck- trying to justify it was okay. That casualties happen when you’re trying to catch a fuckin’ monster. But what if- what if none of it fucking mattered because I was the one who was really the monster.” 

It was flowing out of him now, a flash flood crashing through the rest of the brick wall he had built up to defend himself. You can feel him trying to pull his hand away, trying to keep you from getting swept away in the current with him, but it only makes you double down harder. 

“You’re not a monster, Javi. What happened back then, it- it did matter. I know it hurts, but it doesn't make you a monster.” 

It’s not his admittance of guilt that breaks him- it’s your forgiveness. 

He wonders how can stand him, let alone love him. How his past hasn’t left him tainted and useless, like some sort of lame animal with a limp that can’t be cured, its only options left to die or be sent out to pasture, too weak to venture back for help. That you were the only one who wanted to help fix the parts of himself that were the most broken and mangled. That you were the only one who gave him a chance to be healed instead of leaving him for dead. 

When his eyes meet your stomach is when the guilt begins to morph into terror. Because years ago, a mother, just like you, was nestled away in the haphazard rows of colorful buildings that lined the streets of Medellín, carrying her unborn son, dreaming about the life she would plan for him. 

Javi knows that nowhere in those plans did she account for the pain and heartbreak she would suffer as some asshole DEA agent watched her son’s body become one with the earth while he took a bullet to the brain.  

How was he supposed to live with himself when he got a chance to play God- that now, after letting a life disappear, he was allowed to have a hand in creating a new one? 

You watch the gears in his brain churn, yearning for an explanation to the unexplainable puzzle he’ll never be able to solve, even though he’s convinced he can. His brain works in logic and reasoning, only making the emotional torment of his past decisions more confusing for him. The same kind of logic that you’re not sure will ever allow him to forgive himself. 

“How am I supposed to be a dad? How are you ever gonna trust me? How am I supposed to keep her safe when I’ve done so many terrible fucking things?” Tears begin to flow down his cheeks, each word more ragged and shaky than the last until he can’t fight it any more. 

It feels like the entire weight of the world collapsing into your lap as he melts into you, so heavy that there’s nothing that you can do but wrap your arms around him at let him cry and soak the battered fabric of the his stolen t-shirt draped over your top, fisting at the frayed hems. 

He can’t pretend anymore, not after he’s shown you all the cards he’s had to lay out on the table. There’s no more facade, no more attempt at a stubborn masquerade to hide his hurt. He’s finally let you climb aboard his ship and take the wheel, trusting that you’ll guide him home to shore where he belongs. 

“I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.” 

The way he repeats it, chanting it like a broken prayer, begging for your forgiveness makes you ache. You’ve forgiven him for the sins of his past long ago, yet he still feels the need to plead to you for redemption. You wish there was a way to take it from him, to let him unburden himself from the shame he’s carried for so long and carry it for him, even if just for a little while. To let him see what you see in him, to know that you love him for all of his past, and not just in spite of it. To let him know that the storm he has to weather is a storm you will never let him weather alone. But for now, three words are the best you can do. 

“I love you. I love you, Javi.” 

And you do. You mean it. With every bone in your body, with every fiber of your being, you mean it. And right now, he may not admit it, but he knows you do, too. Those three words are enough to let him see the shoreline approaching in the distance, to see the light of day beginning to peek its way through the cracks of the night sky, to carry him back home to you. 

He says it with his silence, the way his sobs start to slow, replaced with long inhales and exhales, his chest rising and falling against you. He says it with the way he holds you just a little tighter, hand splaying across the swell of your stomach, muttering a promise to himself just loud enough for you to hear. 

“I promise I’ll protect you. Both of you. If it’s the last thing I do.” 

“I know you will. I will, too. I promise.” 

The promise is the last gentle wave that pushes you back to the part of the beach where tides roll gently, forgetting the raging currents they once were in the middle of the ocean. A place where you can safely row your boat ashore without the fear of another dreadful thought creeping up on you and dragging you back out to face torment again. 

As you look out in front of you, the sky is no longer laden with heavy shades of black- a pastel sunrise is beginning to creep over the horizon, glistening like some sort of trophy for an underdog fistfight you’d managed to win, even if you’d come out the other side beaten and bruised. It was enough to nudge Javi’s head out of your lap, encouraging him to accept his prize at a game where winners came few and far between. 

Tonight, you'd never been more thankful the universe had let Javi come up a winner.

“It’s been a long time since we’ve been up early enough to watch the sunrise.” 

“Yeah. It is pretty, isn’t it? Sorry this is the reason you get to see it.” 

“As long as I get to be with you, that reason will always be good enough.”

@chaotic-iguana @rhoorl @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

@pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24

@3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85 @raspberrybesitos

@partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo

@endlessthxxghts @beware-my-thorns @missladym1981 @milly-louise

@jay-zzle @the-one-with-the-grey-color @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled

@pedropascallvr @millennial-teenybopper @vee-bees-blog

@hopplessilse @mxtokko @its-nebuleuse @mandoisapunk @msmorningstaarr

@amyispxnk @honeyedmiller @mountainsandmayhem @picketniffler @burningnerdchild

@copperhalfcent @theoraekenslover @bloodyinspirationaldemon @vee-bees-blog

@samgirl4life @pigeonmama @survivingandenduring @itsokbbygrl @javierpena-inatacvestnotifs

[scudslut]

ahhh yes yes, I haven’t written him too subby on here yet so I was super excited to write this❤️ I hope you like it @darylsgirl23 <3

Heartsease

Daryl x f!reader

Setting: Bridge Camp/Post Savior War

Wordcount: 2.6k

Warnings: 18+, softdom reader, unestablished relationship (but both know there’s a little somethin somethin iykwim), aka your his and everyone knows it, oral (m - receiving), unprotected piv, premature finish

Daryl was never one to keep still.

It made him anxious to be in one place for too long, always going on runs and patrols ensuring his people were as safe and provided for as they could be. He felt at ease outside the walls, out of people's prying gazes, and left alone to do his part for the community in peace. These days though, he was a flurry of activity. Hardly ever in the same spot long enough to see the sun rise and set again.

You knew he felt guilty - that he was angry and didn't know how to release it. You'd watch him work on the bridge for hours, frustration seeping out of his bones and into the atmosphere around him. It hung off him like a phantom.

The vast majority of the community was intimidated by it. They would walk on eggshells in his presence as if they could predict an oncoming outburst. But you knew better, you knew him.

He was angry at the world, yes. But he was distraught with himself... his own mind. It ran a mile a minute and gave absolutely zero reprieve. Anyone could see that if they dug just a bit deeper, looked at him a little closer.

Sure he was strong and burly; a true beast of a man, but he was also quiet and thoughtful. He cared so deeply about others that it frightened him to his core. All he wanted was to protect his family and do right by them.

And you saw all of that.

You had for years now and it only made your desire for him stronger. You wanted to thank him. Drop down to your knees and worship every freckle and scar that made him, him. He deserved it, deserved an escape.

Initially, you thought maybe he wasn't into that and preferred to keep his relationships asexual, to which you were perfectly happy to abide by. Any time spent with him was cherished time in your eyes. But during a sleep-deprived chat with Carol one night on patrol, long ago, you had found out he did have a few sexual encounters before the apocalypse. Just none that had truly meant much to him, or that he was entirely sober for.

That small bit of insight helped you understand the man so much more and you carefully dropped your hints from that point on. However, with your luck, every time you thought something might happen between you two, the moment would slip right through your aching fingers, dusted away by whatever imminent danger lurked behind each corner.

To be quite honest, you were getting fed up with the world's continuous cruel jokes, and from the looks of things, Daryl could use a healthy distraction right about now.

Ears perking at the familiar rumble you'd grown to love, you watched as he pulled up on his trusty, beaten-up Nighthawk, finally returning from a longer visit at Hilltop. You could see the sheen layer of sweat built up above his furrowed brows, his teeth nibbling away at his lower lip - an anxious habit you had picked up on mere days after meeting him.

His mind was bothering him. That much was clear.

He shuffled quickly to his tent, gaze transfixed on the muddy shoes he wore, avoiding any onlookers who wanted to ask their silly questions, throwing the flaps open, and disappearing in a fluster.

You knew better than to bother him now, give him some time to gather his thoughts and decompress. You whittled away at your spears, biding the time as you devised a plan on how you would approach him. After all, the last thing you wanted was to scare him off or embarrass him in any way. He was reserved when it came to these situations, unsure of himself. The few times you had brushed lips or touched him a bit heatedly, he was jumpy and almost insecure, as if he needed instructions on how he should behave. It was extremely endearing to you; like a stray pup who just needed a little reassurance and affection to calm his fierce walls of doubt.

It was almost dusk when you finished with your spears, gathering them up and placing them near some of the other weapons the community used when needed. You scanned the grounds, noticing everyone collected by the fire, dishing up for a late dinner. You quickly made your way over, grabbing two portions and slipping away before you were noticed and stopped for conversation. You knew Daryl wouldn't get one for himself, spew some excuse that 'he wasn't hungry' or was 'too tired' when really, he just didn't want to take away from another. Even if that meant he didn't eat or drink anything for days at a time. It made your heart blister for more reasons than one.

You balance both plates on your left arm, reaching to pull the flaps open slowly, not wanting to startle him with your arrival, "Dar? You asleep?" you whisper into the dim den.

You hear a grunt, some shuffling, and in a moment a soft glow fills the area as he lights a nearby lamp, perching up on his small cot, "I was."

Flicking off your boots, you zip the entrance closed behind you, "I brought you some dinner, figured you'd be hungry after your trip," You smile and he mutters a quiet thanks, opting to accept your kind offer rather than argue with you, he knew you wouldn't take no for answer anyway. He scoots to the side, creating a spot for you to sit while you two eat in comfortable silence. He liked that you didn't feel the need to fill the air, that you could simply enjoy each other's company without all the small talk. You were one of the few people he'd met in his life, who just inherently understood him, down to the most basic level. He hated leaving you all the time like he had been, just another thing to nag at his over-exhausted mind.

Hearing him sigh quietly, you cast your eyes over, watching as he scrapes up the remaining crumbs off his plate, placing it outside the tent along with yours for you both to deal with in the morning.

"I imagine your pretty tired, huh?" You ask, following his movements as he plops down again beside you.

"Nah, not really. Got a few hours 'fore ya came bustin' in here," he grumbles with a small smirk and you lean into him nudging his shoulder playfully. "Why ya wanna chat or somethin'?"

You consider him for a minute, trying to find the proper words to initiate what was truly on your mind. You knew you had no reason to be nervous. That even though you'd never labeled anything between you guys, you both felt it. Knew it was there. You just needed the right moment. Now was as good a time as any, you figured.

"No, I just- I wanna try something."

He nods his head for you to continue, so you scoot closer, placing your hand delicately on his shoulder and bringing your face centimeters from his. You stop just before you close the gap, gauging his reaction. His breath hitches slightly and you feel his pulse rapid under your fingertips, but he doesn't pull away. Taking that as the only confirmation you'll get, you press your lips to his softly, brushing your thumb against his stubbly, pink cheek. He takes a good minute to respond, carefully moving his lips back against yours and placing his hands on your hips. You feel him squeeze, eliciting a quiet moan of encouragement from you and he all but sinks into your touch, falling into a comfortable rhythm with your lips. You stay like that for a while, breathing in his piney scent and relishing in his gentle kneads at your waist. It wasn’t much to the untrained eye, but you knew that was his way of pouring his affection into you without so many words. His way of telling you he was yours.

You drag your kisses down his neck, nibbling and sucking at the salty flesh between his collarbones. His breaths grow uneven and you can feel him begin to tense again, unused to such personal attention, "Is this okay?" You ask, not wanting to push him past his boundaries. He only nods in response, his throat feeling like the Sahara.

He has to admit, he's thought about this many times, relieved himself to thoughts of you too many times to count over the years. He's just never known how to approach you about it, scared you'd reject him or he'd do something wrong.

He watches as you slip to your knees before him, your eyes glued to his. "You'll let me know if you want me to stop, yeah?" As he tries to nod in response again, you stop him, "I need you to say it to me," You press.

"Y-yea, I'll say somethin'," he whispers timidly and you grin, beginning to unbuckle his belt and slip his raged jeans down. You kiss down his strong thighs, feeling them tremble slightly beneath you. His hard-on is poking through his boxers and you drag your lips across it, placing soft pecks down the length of him, listening to his breathy pants. You didn't realize how turned on you'd be, having him all flushed and needy for you, but god were you enjoying it. Slipping your fingers into the waistband, you tug them down and his cock springs free, precum leaking from the pretty, pink tip.

"You dun have'ta," he mutters, anxiety sweeping over him fast, even though he really, really does want to. You catch his gaze, noticing how dark his stormy eyes have gotten.

"Let me take care of you, sweetheart," you reply, pressing soft kisses from the base to tip, feeling him pulse under your touch. You enclose your mouth around him, taking almost his entire length at once and you hear a guttural groan from above you, his knuckles white from the clutch they had on the bedsheets.

You wondered if he had ever had a woman go down on him before. Judging by the gasps and twitches he was emitting, if he had, it hadn't been for a very long time.

He bucks into you, searching in a daze for more friction, and you pin his hips down, earning a deep whine from him. You knew if he wanted to, he could easily overpower you, use your mouth to his heart's content, but he wouldn't. He wanted you to take charge. Needed it.

Raking your eyes over his heaving figure, you slide your tongue along his shaft, moving in slow, sensual circles as you bob up and down. Daryl's head is tossed back, eyes screwed shut and you can tell he won't last much longer. The sensitivity of not being touched in so long, sprinting towards him at full speed. You pull back, slowing your movements. He lifts his head off the wall, pale blue eyes blown to darkness as he watches you take him so sweetly, "Please," He whispers.

When you shake your head, humming a soft, "Not yet," as best you can around him, his eyes roll back into his skull, entirely overwhelmed by the overstimulation, but loving it nonetheless. "I-I can't," He gasps, his accent muddled even stronger in his lustful state. You have to squeeze your legs tighter, clenching around nothing hearing your man so utterly wrecked beneath you. You want to draw it out for hours. Have him begging you to let him cum down your awaiting throat. However, you decide you both have waited damn long enough to prolong your union even more.

Releasing him with a soft kiss to his leaking tip, you stand in front of him, shimmying out of your clothes as quickly as you can. "Lay down for me, baby,' You direct, moving the straddle him as he eagerly follows your orders, turning lengthwise on the makeshift bed. His eyes never leave yours as you sit down on him, groaning when he feels how wet you are pressed against his cock. "Have you thought about this before, pretty boy?" His cheeks flush crimson at your sultry compliments, nodding curtly whilst avoiding your stare.

"Dar." You press.

You were being so gentle yet stern with him it was making it brain fuzzy, all stressors from the day long washed away to be replaced by only you.

"Have, yeah," He huffs in embarrassment, trying with great difficulty not to portray how truly turned on your words were making him. But you saw right through him... or rather felt him. You lean forward, kissing and nipping up his neck to the shell of his pink ears, "Do you want me to stop?"

A full-body shiver jolts through him when he feels your warm breath against his ear, involuntarily rolling his hips into yours and you chuckle at his obvious sensitivity. He knows he needs to use his words. You won't be letting him off that easy. "Please don't," Is all he manages and it seems to do the trick. You grip his length, tracing it along your soaked folds, and slowly sink down. Your careful as you take in his reaction, scanning his expression for any signs of discomfort. He bites his lip, his eyes squeezed shut and lets out a muffled groan.

"Fuck," He mumbles, and you're surprised to hear him say anything you didn't need to pry out of him. A positive sign, you determined and start to bounce your hips slowly, creating a synchronized dance between your bodies. Your body is buzzing as you ride him, finally feeling the dull ache you’ve had for the man below you begin to dissipate as he whimpers oh so softly for only you to hear. His hands grip your waist hard enough to leave bruises to find in the morning, but you hardly give it a second thought. All you can think about is Daryl. His closeness, his warmth and strength, and-

He tenses beneath you, broken gasps leaving his chewed lips and suddenly he’s lifting you off of him, soaking your thighs and abdomen completely. You gawk as you watch him come down, sworn you haven’t ever seen something so fucking sexy in your life. His head tossed back, jumbled curses leaving his mouth, and dark auburn hair dripping with sweat. You don’t care that he finished before you, this was about him. But you see his eyes snap to yours when he fully comes back down to reality, cheeks blazing for a different reason than before.

Leaning towards him, you capture his lips with your own, tenderly pouring your affection into him, needing him to know you weren’t upset, “It’s okay, relax,” you whisper against him with a soft smile, leaning your forehead onto his. His eyes are filled with guilt, “I mean it, Dar,” And he’s back to his nods of response.

He didn’t need any more words of sympathy. He knew you were happy as a kid on Christmas, he just needed to accept it for himself. So with one last peck to his cherry lips, you slide off him, grab a rag to clean yourself up with, and scoot right in beside him, craving his warmth. He turns to you quickly, grabbing your waist and pulling you impossibly closer to him, burying his head into the crook of your neck. You feel a few soft pecks from him along your jaw and you sigh contentedly, wrapping your limbs around his, reeling in your post-coital glow.

You were safe, snuggled with your love, and that was all you needed.

[hedgehog-moss]

I met with you in my dream last night! For some reason I was in France, so it was only natural I go visit you. You took me on a little tour of your house and showed me some cow bones you had, and then you took me on a ride in your flying boat and fed me some cut fruit. You were very kind and gave me some excellent advice on a problem I was having in the dream. Then we met up with my mother, and I introduced you as my friend Hedgehog, lol. Thank you for being such a lovely host in my dream!! It was quite fun. I hope I get to visit dream you again, and maybe meet the dream llamas next time!

That's such a nice dream! All it's missing is a kiss from Poldine :) I'm glad I was a welcoming host, because I was bracing myself for a dark turn when I read "you showed me some cow bones you had"—that just felt ominous.

I want you to know that it may have been a prophetic dream. Just a few days after I read your ask, back in June, Poldine & I went to visit some distant neighbours, and not only did I find the place eerily quiet and messy-empty, as if they had moved in a hurry, but there was a cow skull on their doormat. (There was also a goat skull behind the window in the barn.) My first assumption was that someone had placed the skulls there while the owners were temporarily absent and it had scared them into leaving for good. (I asked a friend "What should I do if I came home from a weekend away and found a cow skull placed in front of my door, and a goat skull behind the window in the barn?" and she said "Let whoever did this have your house; leave immediately.")

I don't want to post my cow skull photo because you see the glass door + the inside of the house behind it so it feels weird, like I'm doxxing my ex- or future-neighbours. Whoever moves here next will already have enough problems, what with all the skulls. I do have a photo of Poldine looking ambivalent about our presence here, post-skull discovery:

EDIT 2 months later: I kept this in my drafts and let the summer pass before posting, hoping local gossip would allow me to figure out what happened and I'd have a fun story to share, but no. The facts are: my distant neighbours (who moved here just last year) moved back to the big city in a hurry, no one knows why, 2 other people went to visit them after they left but I am the only one who saw the skulls. Maybe the person who put them there came back for them later so they can use them again when a new family buys this house? (It's a nice little wooden chalet, if anyone is interested. You'll be living in the woods with your nearest neighbours quite far away and possibly an enemy lurking in some nearby tree.)

I'm very sorry for unexpectedly turning your lovely ask into an episode of Creepy Rural Mysteries! Let me know if you have any more dreams about visiting me; they could contain important details and / or warnings.

[floweringanna]

Sweetest Win

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Baker YouTuber! Reader

Summary: You’re a baker youtuber who does vlogs on the side your friend convinces you to come to the paddock

Warnings: not proof read

Notes: First smau!! Hope you guys enjoy! Requests are open and comment or reblog if you liked it :D

Yourusername posted!

Liked by Yourfriend, Rosannapansino, and 15,728 more

Yourusername last cooking video before we go on vlog break! I’m so glad to say we’ll be on some new adventures this year! 🏁

yourfriend this is going to be so fun💕

user72 the checkered flag???

throughgoeshamilton are you guys thinking what I’m thinking?

f1fan my worlds are colliding

candyman mother is mothering

user12 oh to be fed by y/n

user199 why’s this so real?

Yourusername posted!

Liked by Yourfriend, Maxverstappen1, and 45,383 others

Yourusername Made it to the paddock? I brought some snacks for the drivers (not quite sure if they can eat them though)

user26 SHES IN BELGIUM SHES IN BELGIUM

yourfriend The muffins were great!

yourusername you ate like half of them😕

yourfriend they were, good what can I say?

user83 Arianna what are you doing here? (max)

user44 ohhhh he lurkin

user12 I smell love

user44 go back to bed grandma

user27 I want those muffins so bad🤤

Danielricciardo Can you make me more muffins?

yourusername of course Danny✨

Danielricciardo yay! 😊

Maxverstappen1 posted to their story!

Text messages!

Yourusername posted!

Liked by Maxverstappen1, Danielricciardo, Yourfriend and 45,383 others Yourusername Last night in Belgium 🥂

user83 IS THAT MAX VERSTAPPEN I SEE!?!?!

user 12 nurse shes out again

user83 CAN YOU LET ME DREAM?

Danielricciardo I need an arm like that

user65 he’s so messy😭

user82 it’s the instigation for me

yourfriend didnt even take me along how rude

landonoriss ill take you

yourfriend 👀

user1 WHAT.

user03 SO WE'RE JUST GOING TO IGNORE THIS???

f1fan max still lurking in those likes i see

user76 ikr

Maxverstappen1 posted!

Liked by Yourusername, Landonorris, redbullracing, and 83,793 others

Maxverstappen1 It's good to be back in my hometown

user83 I CANT be the only one seeing it

user11 please go take your pills

danielricciardo the sneak in second picture

user44 WHAT IM SAYIN

user67 not Daniel throwing Max under the bus 😭😭😭

user8 welcome back max!!

user93 he looks so fine in that first pic

Danielricciardo hey I know that hand!

user74 DANNY PLEASE💀💀💀

user37 IM ACTUALLY CRYING

Yourusername posted on their story!

Twitter!

user83 i could almost be surprised

happytail it looks like hes bagged a baddie i fear

mollytwin that shouldve been me

parkedcar well theres always charles

user02 who even is she bruh

maxineupd probably that y/n girl

Yourusername posted!

Liked by Maxverstappen1, Yourfriend, Danielricciardo, and 56,248 others

Yourusername It's nice to have someone else to the baking for once <3

user78 the soft launching from these two

user43 pov half the grid is in the likes

maxverstappen1 baking isn't as easy as you make it look

yourusername well i could have told you that

maxverstappen1 teach me again sometime?

yourusername of course <3

user83 MY PARENTS

user12 not her making him do things for her

user67 please go touch some grass

Maxverstappen1 posted!

Liked by Yourusername, Redbullracing, fia.official, and 947,048 others

Maxverstappen1 Sweetest home race win thanks to my lucky charm

yourusername congrats lieverd, im so proud of you ❤️❤️

maxverstappen1 couldnt have done it without you knapperd

user02 them calling each other dutch endearments is my new roman empire

Danielricciardo congrats love birds 🥳

user83 AND THEY ALL SAID I WAS CRAZY

user12 and you still are (just happen to be correct)

yourfriend you better treat her right Verstappen

maxverstappen1 🫡

Yourusername posted!

Liked by Yourfriend, Maxverstappen1, Landonorris, and 857,923 others

Yourusername i guess things are sweeter with you

maxverstappen1 nothing can be as sweet as you liefde

yourusername 🥰

landonorris @.yourfriend are you going to make me sweets too?

yourfriend keep dreaming Norris 🙄

user01 are we seriously just going to keep glazing over this??

user33 to be her right now

user56 oh to be her right now

Danielricciardo I’m invited to the double dates right?

yourusername of course Danny, can’t forget our wingman

user93 the way he’d been hinting since the beginning

[mascdestr0yer]

CAN I BE HIM

Knight!paige x princess!reader

Warnings: nobody’s dying this time, trust

Synopsis: The tension between you and Paige is building, driven by secrets and expectations, with both of you caught between duty and desire. The atmosphere remains heavy and uncertain, hinting at deeper conflicts and emotions that will only grow as the story unfolds.

A/N: i finished the other chapters, i’ll post them in moderation

The castle had always felt too big. Its halls, lined with tapestries depicting ancient wars and victories long past, echoed with the heavy footsteps of guards and the murmured conversations of nobles. Outside your window, the sun cast the last rays of the evening over the dark silhouette of the forest, stretching shadows across the stone floor like tendrils reaching out to pull you from the warmth of your chambers.

But warmth was an illusion here, you’d come to realize. A castle of cold stone can only hold so much heat before it slips through your fingers like water, leaving you clutching at something that was never really there. Just like people.

You sighed, running your fingers over the edge of the windowsill, chipped with age and flecked with dust. It had been three days since Vincent and his family had left, three days since your father and his advisors began their quiet, tense deliberations about what your future might hold. Three days since Paige had pulled away—again—leaving you alone with your thoughts, staring down at the flowers Vincent had brought. You had kept them in a silver vase on your dresser, though they were already beginning to wilt.

The petals were soft under your fingertips as you absently brushed one of the roses, its once-vibrant red now fading to a dull maroon. There had been a time when you would have pressed them between the pages of a book or tucked them into a drawer to keep them close, but you knew better now. Roses, like promises, were fragile things.

“Princess,” a voice came from the doorway, breaking the silence. You turned, and your heart twisted when you saw Paige standing there, her figure half-hidden in the shadow. Her armor glinted in the dying light, a stark contrast to the softness of her dark hair that curled around her neck. She looked hesitant, like she had something to say but couldn’t find the words.

“Yes, Bueckers?” you asked, deliberately formal. It was a barrier, a shield. Something you could hide behind, just like the heavy silk curtains that draped your bed.

She took a step inside, the usual swagger in her step absent, replaced by something… uncertain. “Your father requests your presence in the great hall,” she said, her voice clipped and businesslike, though her eyes were darting to the flowers on the dresser, the barely-there frown tightening her lips. “It’s about Prince Vincent.”

“Of course it is,” you replied, your tone light, almost flippant. It was easier to pretend, easier to deflect with humor than to acknowledge the strange knot in your stomach when you looked at her. Paige’s expression didn’t change as she turned to leave, but something flickered in her eyes—a flash of something raw and vulnerable that disappeared so quickly you wondered if you had imagined it.

You followed her down the corridors, your footsteps barely making a sound on the cold flagstones, but Paige’s armor clinked with every step, a steady, distant rhythm. You knew that beneath the armor, her shoulders were tense, and her hands—those hands that had so often held yours in secret—were clenched tight.

The great hall loomed ahead, the heavy wooden doors shut tight, and you swallowed the knot of unease that had lodged itself in your throat. Your father was waiting, along with his advisors and the knights who always seemed to lurk in the background like silent sentinels, watching your every move.

Paige stopped before the doors, her back straight as she faced you. “Go on,” she said softly, and for a moment, the coldness in her gaze softened. “I’ll wait here.”

You wanted to reach out, to say something that would ease the tension between you, but the words stuck in your throat. Instead, you gave a short nod and pushed open the doors, stepping into the cavernous hall where your father, King Alaric, sat upon the throne with a solemn expression.

“Ah, there you are,” he said, his voice carrying the weight of authority and exhaustion. “Come, sit. There’s much to discuss.”

You took your place at the long table, feeling the weight of everyone’s eyes on you—eyes that saw a princess, not a girl; a future queen, not someone lost in her own castle. The fire roared in the massive hearth at the far end of the room, but it offered no warmth, only casting shadows across the faces of the court, making them look hollow and distant.

“We’ve received word from Héroux,” your father began, and your heart sank. This was about Vincent, then. About the future that was slipping away from you like sand through your fingers. You listened as your father outlined plans, negotiations, arrangements—details of a life that felt more like a cage with each passing moment.

But your thoughts kept drifting back to Paige, standing just outside the doors, waiting. You wondered if she felt as trapped as you did, bound by duty and expectations neither of you had chosen.

When the meeting was finally over, you excused yourself with a polite bow, your face a mask of perfect composure even as your mind swirled with confusion and doubt. You had to find Paige, had to make sense of the distance that had grown between you in the past few days, ever since Vincent’s visit had stirred up things you hadn’t been ready to confront.

But when you stepped out of the hall, she was gone.

Later that night, you found her in the training yard, a lone figure in the moonlight, her armor piled neatly to the side as she ran through drills with the precision and grace of someone who had done it a thousand times before. You watched her move, the way her muscles tensed and released with each fluid strike, the way her breath formed small clouds in the chill air.

“Paige,” you called softly, and she froze, the sword hovering in mid-swing before she lowered it and turned to face you. Her expression was guarded, the easy smile she usually wore nowhere to be found.

“Shouldn’t you be inside, princess? It’s cold out,” she said, sheathing her sword with a harsh, metallic clink.

“Shouldn’t you?” you countered, taking a step closer, feeling the weight of her gaze settle on you like a physical thing.

She shrugged, but the movement was stiff. “I’m used to the cold.”

“Is that why you’ve been avoiding me?” you asked, the question coming out sharper than you’d intended. You bit your lip, regret already welling up inside you, but Paige didn’t flinch. She just looked at you, her dark eyes searching yours, and for a moment you thought she might tell you the truth.

But she just laughed, the sound bitter and hollow, echoing off the stone walls of the yard. “Avoiding you? Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve been busy. Training. Preparing. You know… knight things.”

You took another step, closing the distance between you until you could see the flecks of gold in her eyes, until you could smell the faint scent of leather and sweat clinging to her skin. “Don’t lie to me,” you said, your voice barely more than a whisper. “I know you better than that.”

“Do you?” she asked, her voice dropping low, almost desperate. She looked away, her jaw tight, and you knew then that whatever walls had been building between you, they were higher than you’d realized. “Maybe you don’t know me at all.”

“Paige—” you reached out, your hand brushing hers, and she pulled away, turning her back to you with a sharp, angry motion that left you cold and aching.

“Go back inside, princess,” she said over her shoulder, her voice flat. “It’s late.”

You wanted to argue, to tell her that you didn’t care about late or propriety or the future your father was planning for you. But the look on her face stopped you—something broken and fragile that you didn’t understand, not yet. So you stepped back, wrapping your arms around yourself as if that could hold you together.

“Goodnight, Bueckers,” you said softly, using her last name because it was safer that way, because it was easier to pretend that you were still just a princess and she was still just your knight.

She didn’t respond, and you walked away, feeling the weight of her silence pressing down on you like a winter sky, heavy and endless and unbreakable.

But you knew you couldn’t stay away forever.

sorry if it's too short, hope you guys liked it taglist:@aerinaga @dancingqu33n @darlindayss @secretlifeofmarii @aavasstuff @ajcuteee @naipoohh @theendofevangelionnn @mrsengstler @thebignunfun @tired-duckling @julienbakerloverr @mrsarnold @slut4uconnwbb @abbyswif3 @svudetective @liviiyyy @hellokittyfeenie @paigeslanyard @latenighttalkinqwp @ashortyluvsports @kittykatz1227 @paulamdm @patscorner @addil244 @1-800-fantasy

[kianely]

”LORD KNOWS, IT WOULD BE THE FIRST TIME”

i. PAIRING — Leon Kennedy x GN!Reader

ii. SYNOPSIS — Leon saves you from the unlucky predicament you found yourself in when you decided to take a rewarding vacation overseas. He ends up liking you a little too much though, and not just in a platonic way. And naturally, you’re pretty love struck by him too.

iii. CONTENT — Mostly fluff, mentions of trauma (from what the reader saw while being rescued), mentions of Leon’s survival guilt, Leon’s smitten with you, fluff, tension and kissing at end, banter, he gives you a flip phone, work gathering, motorcycle ride, he finally gets a vacation, inaccurate depictions of the government, coercion to work for the government, RE4 Leon

iv. WC — 7.2k

You knew a lot. Too much. All because you decided to go abroad as a reward for finally getting a white-collar job. Your countless years spent in post-secondary education whilst having a part-time job paid off, and before you started your new job, you decided to indulge in a trip overseas.

You never expected to get lost during one of the tours, much less to find yourself stumbling across what seemed to be a ghost town that had a few…peculiar citizens. They told you to get lost when you asked for directions, and the one time you found a map plastered on a wall, it was an outdated one that didn’t even show the modern roads, no use in that.

That’s what led to your current situation. Somehow, you were lucky enough to make it out of there with the help of a particular someone. You never expected to board a helicopter in your life, you felt your stomach churn as you glanced out the window and reflected on what you had just been through.

All the thoughts revolving in that mind of yours were the freakish events and sights you had been an unwilling witness to. Ones that would undoubtedly throw you right into therapy, and have you tossing and turning in your bed at night like a scared child with a night light thinking a monster would seep out from their closet or underneath their bed. You would never set foot into a movie theater to watch a well-done horror movie ever again, all the things you had seen in the last couple of days topped all of that.

You wished you could wash and reset your eyes after all the mutated and downright monstrous creatures that flashed through your brain now and again. Hell, you now believed that every single urban myth or legend was a complete possibility, probably lurking out there somewhere. Every moving object just made your heart drop like from when limbs had reached out to try and grab or swing at you. You wanted to curl up into a little ball and be cradled by a parental figure, to be coddled and rocked back and forth until you fell asleep with no worries on your mind.

The murky fluids carried by the bodies of water in underground tunnels that were potent with diseases and infections were the same ones that had dried up on your once damp and soaked pants. You were damn lucky you hadn’t gotten an open wound anywhere under your upper thighs, how horrible would it be for you to escape and end up dying a day later from an infection?

The heavy gunfire and explosives left your ears physically hurting, you hoped the lingering buzzing noise would eventually leave. The only soothing sound you would hear throughout your utterly traumatic experience was the voice of a certain strong agent urging you to “hurry up” and “stay close behind him.” The same one that reassured you and checked up on you whenever the two of you got a chance to relax and take a breath, he would look you in the eyes and tell you that it was all going to be okay. And you believed him.

“You doing alright?” Ah, there was that familiar voice.

Your internal response? Absolutely not. But then again, you didn’t have the heart to tell the source of the question the truth. After all, Leon had been protecting you and had even taught you the basics of self-defense and combat moves for extra measure. All out of his own generosity, too. You had picked up on why he was sent to the site. You weren’t a priority to his job, not at all. Yet, he had gone through hell just to make sure you got out alive.

So, you resorted to masking your response with some sarcasm, by now, you knew he’d appreciate it. It felt like you had known him forever. “Peachy. I don’t think I’ve ever been better, you?”

You were still in denial, accepting everything would be too hard right now and you’d crumble on the spot. You were trying to think of anything else: your first meal after all this, maybe you’d need to buy new clothes now so a fun shopping trip was in order, Leon’s perfect face — no, not that.

Leon scoffed — the corner of his lips tugged up in response to your sarcasm. “It’s okay to tell the truth, y’know. You went through a hell of a lot more than you should’ve had to. Give yourself some credit.”

“But I’m fine,” you insisted, slumping against your seat and scratching the nape of your neck. Your mind was all over the place, you wouldn’t even be able to articulate all your worries without stumbling over your words. “I made it out without any major injuries, thanks to you.”

The only injury you had gotten were some cuts on the palms of your hands from all the times you had toppled down onto the earthy ground or wooden floors and had to use your hands to catch yourself and dodge…whatever the hell was chasing after you. The damn bastard didn’t even have a name. Your back wasn’t doing so well either, you definitely wouldn’t be able to reach your toes or stretch properly for a good while.

Leon sighed at your stubbornness, finding himself in you, he understood you better than most people could. He reached over and placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder, and he smiled. “Don’t thank me for that. You did good and made it out alive. Plus…you did well at defending yourself, that leg strength of yours is no joke.”

His dazzling toothy smile stirred butterflies in your stomach. It felt genuine, a far cry from the close-mouthed smiles he had cast your way before. You wondered how he could muster up such a smile with that job of his.

You couldn’t offer anything more than an appreciative smile of your own as you looked down towards your lap, murmuring a small, “Guess so.” His praise made you feel a little light-headed, or maybe it was the gentleness within his gaze that had that effect.

He would’ve liked to hear those same words he just told you back during the incident of 1998, maybe even a small pat on the back accompanied by a “you did well, rookie.”

His missions involved so many casualties that it pained him, he had never grown desensitized to it despite his long years in the field. He’s too human for that, the angel perked on his shoulder wouldn’t allow him to be numb to it.

But you.

He managed to save you. And that was a couple fewer pounds that could’ve been slumped onto his shoulders — the ones that threatened to snap and give out on him from the years of massive and overwhelming guilt of everyone he had watched die. It didn’t matter that the two of you were essentially strangers, it would’ve crushed him if you had died on his watch. Through the short time you guys had been together, he had learned a lot about you.

Plus, he liked you. Romantically, he wasn’t the biggest fan of the meek and weak type. No. He liked mature people, those who could challenge his witty banter, who wouldn’t be clingy, and who could understand his baggage. You. You had spunk, the same kind he found himself yearning for in a companion when he went back to an empty home. He was fond of you, it made him wonder if he would be able to have you in his life.

Maybe, just maybe, whatever God was out there would grant him some mercy and give him what he wanted for once.

The helicopter had landed, and your leg was bouncing up and down out of anxiousness. Where the hell were you even at? You had nothing, not an ounce of technology or identification on you aside from your DNA and fingerprints.

Leon was feeling tense too, not for the unknowns but because he knew. He’d been forced to kiss the government’s ass and he was familiar with their way of thinking, they’d likely interrogate you, and if you had some use for them then they’d find a way to keep you around. He felt some solace in knowing that you didn’t display the same physical capabilities that he did, otherwise, they would snatch you up, train you into a machine, and send you out into the field in a couple of years if you made the cut.

Leon was the first to get out of the helicopter, extending his arm and offering his hand to help you. He knew you were feeling uneasy, he didn’t plan on leaving you alone to your thoughts. “Was this your first time on a helicopter?”

“Yeah, first time.” You gladly accepted his assistance, feeling the calluses on his skin as you cautiously got out. “Not how I imagined it to be like, but…”

“Well,” he shrugged, “you took it like a champ, no motion sickness or anything.”

“You must be used to flying all the time, right?”

Leon nodded, letting out a sigh before sharing his thoughts on the topic. He figured some honesty could go a long way. “I’m actually kind of sick of flying — planes, helicopters, everything. But if I ever get a vacation? I’m leaving behind a cloud of dust and making a beeline for Italy.”

“Italy, huh?” You made a mental note of that, for future reference. You just hoped there would be a way to keep in contact with him after everything was said and done.

“Yeah, I’ve always wanted to go. Never have the time though.”

There was only so much conversation that could be held until you curiously took a look at your surroundings. You took a breath, feeling a bit daunted by some of the important-looking personnel whose eyes were boring into you.

“This place looks…pretty intimidating.”

Leon’s hand hovered over the small of your back so he could keep you close and guide you inside. “You’ll be okay.”

After that, the two of you pretty much got separated. He had to give a full report about the mission, and also explain how he had strung you along. The higher-ups had to run a background check on you and were going to monitor you. But he made you a promise, he’d come to see you when he was allowed to.

Leon always told himself he’d start minding his own damn business. You were well and alive, that should be more than enough for him. He didn’t deserve to indulge in someone who could make his life brighter, that was selfish. But, he so desperately wanted to have you in his life.

Whenever he got attached to someone, it all went south. But, he knew you were alone. He’d been in your situation — alone and with unimaginable baggage, a deadly mix. He needed to do something.

On the other hand, you were taken into questioning about what you had seen, and how the state of the town you had been visiting before everything went to shit. You hated having to talk about it, stammering over your words, and taking long pauses because it was too much. Broke down sobbing after one session. The denial phase progressively diminished, it was painful. They then transferred you to a more isolated area to monitor your physical health. They didn’t give a damn about your actual well-being, even if you had been injured they wouldn’t have tended to you.

You lost track of time, a couple of weeks had gone by.

You were a pitiful sight, all alone in a room with high-quality technology surrounding you — machines monitoring you just in case anything irregular popped up in your health that was connected to the bioweapons you had been exposed to.

But alas, the day finally came, and you could leave. You relished the clean clothes they gave you in place of the gown you had been required to wear for the monitoring. You sat on the twin-sized bed, gaze cast to the floor as you thought about what the future held.

Some gentle knocks on the door made you jump a little, your eyes immediately darting over to see who it was through the glass on the door. Leon. God, he was a sight for sore eyes. He looked concerned, the knit of his brows made that clear.

Mustering up a small and weak smile, you beckoned him to come in. If there was one person that could bring you some solace, it was him. He would’ve come sooner, hell, he would’ve visited you every damn day you were stuck here. But he wasn’t allowed to under strict orders, not until the day you were to be released.

Leon entered the room, closing the door behind him. He was carrying a bag of takeout in his free hand, holding it up for you to see. “The food here is pretty bland, figured you could use this.”

The sight almost made you groan, anything sounded more appetizing than the soup and packaged food you had been given the past few weeks. “God. Yes. Please.”

He chuckled at your reaction, setting the medium sized drink by your bedside before sitting down next to you. He opened up the bag and then handed you the plastic utensils, napkins, and the container.

“I’m glad you came, I was getting lonely.”

“Yeah, I bet.” Leon knew how deafening the silence could be, nothing good came out of being left to your thoughts.

“I owe you a meal someday,” you told him as you began eating. “You have to pick though, I don’t know any of the restaurants around here.”

“I’ll be sure to make a list then. I’m paying though.”

“What? That’s hardly fair.”

“Shh, eat your food.”

You rolled your eyes and grumbled something under your breath, but you knew he meant well based on the lightheartedness of his voice. So, you complied.

Meanwhile, Leon was mentally brainstorming places he thinks you would like in the area — somewhere pretty, he wanted you to have a good time.

After you had finished, Leon let out a sigh and pulled something out of his pocket. A flip phone. He gave it to you. He wordlessly handed it to you.

Woah. What?

You cast him a curious glance before reaching out for it. “Uh, what’s this?” You knew what it was, but why?

“Well, your phone broke.” He placed a hand on your shoulder. “I saved my number on it already, so just give me a call if you ever need anything.”

Could a man be more perfect? A flip phone was simple, easy to call and all. He knew that you’d likely get an actual smartphone in a couple of days, but he was worried. He just wanted you to be able to contact him whenever and wherever.

You laughed a little, taking a minute to toy around with the buttons on the flip phone. “Thanks, I appreciate it.”

“It’s nothing.”

“How much did it cost?”

“Not much, they’re pretty cheap these days.”

With the topic of technology brought up, you had the chance to ask something you had been mulling over. “So, how come I’ve never seen you on the news before? You’re like a knight or something.”

Leon was mildly amused by the sudden inquiry, humming softly to himself as he stirred up a response.

“Well, I’m not too sure people would believe a headline about half of the things I deal with. It’s pretty much kept undercover.” There was a lot more to it than that, but he kept it simple. “Plus, I’m just doing my job — it’s no biggie.”

“Bummer,” you sighed out, “you’d have tons of fans.” It wasn’t even a stretch. A man as attractive and heroic as him? With the size of his biceps? He’d be trending every other week, and some portion of the population would definitely have posters of him. A bit unfitting considering the contents of his job, but not unlikely.

“Would I? Why’s that?” The concept was foreign to him. Sure, he’d gotten compliments on his looks, but that was about it…nobody actively tried to pursue him. And the couple of times he had tried to ask someone on a dinner date, he got a no. He wasn’t insecure about it, though — the only people he had tried to ask out were people in his line of work, all the baggage made relationships and dating tricky.

His question caught you off guard, you knew the answer but you couldn’t say it out loud. “Well…” you trailed off, meeting his gaze before immediately darting your eyes away. “You know, just…”

“No, I don’t think I do.” His voice was one of humor, spoken through a chuckle — he wanted to know.

You let out a long exhale before recomposing yourself. “You look like you could be the heartthrob of the decade. And your personality isn’t half bad either.”

He was quiet for a moment. Now it was his turn to look away, attention now on his hands as he pretended to pick at some of the calluses. Eventually, he voiced his next question. “Would you be one of my fans?”

You snorted, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Oh yeah. With pom poms and all, maybe I’d even come up with a cheer or something.”

His lips tugged into a small smirk at that, one that was barely visible — he really liked you. “I’d be sure to take a picture to make it last longer.”

“You wish.”

“A guy can dream.”

The government could have very well sent you on your way out into the world when you essentially had absolutely nothing. But, you had some close ones back in your hometown, so, if you just suddenly vanished and your family panicked when they thought you were returning from a vacation…then that would make some things more difficult. The mystery of how you ended up in DC without any of your belongings would be concerning.

Plus, they looked into your file backgrounds. Intelligent, you had the brains, and now the knowledge of bioweapons. Surely, there’d be good use in keeping you around. Possible training to become a field operations support was in your future. They could kill two birds with one stone: gain another worker, and keep you close to the headquarters just in case you tried to expose what you had seen.

It was easy for them to do through blackmail and threats to hurt your loved ones if you didn’t comply with their orders of living in DC. They made you record some bullshit lie to your family as to why you were here.

They printed out all your personal documents that you had lost so you could get a job nearby and get back on your feet, helped get your credit card replaced, and that was it. Any physical cash you had was gone, but at the very least you did have enough money in your bank account to crash at a motel while you sorted things out.

Bastards, really. Yeah, at least you had necessities now, but it was purely for their own benefit.

The prices for even renting a place in DC were just… jaw-dropping. You’d have to search for a small place, and honestly, a car was the last thing on your mind. Having a roof over your head was the most important part. The good news is that with your resume and educational background, you bagged a job fairly soon — though it was nothing compared to the job you were supposed to have.

It had been months since the whole fiasco. You managed to find a small apartment, nothing fancy of course. That was for the better, having a spacious place all to yourself would drive you to the brink of insanity.

You were still very jittery: jumping whenever there was a knock on your door even when you were anticipating a delivery, needing the television on just for the sake of not being left in silence with your thoughts, and sleeping with all the lights on even if your electricity bill suffered as a result.

You thought you would be able to muster up the courage to go to therapy, but would that even be possible? It’s not like you could truthfully talk about your experiences. Even if you did, there’s no way anyone would believe you. And again, it was too much money.

By now, you had gotten a smartphone. But you never discarded the flip phone that Leon had gifted you. You used it to give him a call on a couple of occasions, but you never kept him for over five minutes, not wanting to disturb him for too long, you knew he was busy. Sometimes he didn’t pick up, but after a couple of days, he would return the call and tell you what had kept him from doing so: another assignment, long meetings, all that jazz. Even so, those calls always left you smiling for hours afterward.

Unbeknownst to you, the man on the other side of the phone was equally as thrilled. His pearly whites were always on display whenever you called him. Whenever he got back from work, the first thing he did was check to see if he had any missed calls or voicemails. No matter how battered and sore his body was, your voice alone managed to make him feel all better.

The days blended in together, and oftentimes you found yourself asking what or who was your motivation to keep up with this routine. The only answer that immediately came to mind aside from your loved ones was him. Leon.

Washing the dishes? Hm, you wonder what kind of food Leon eats. Watching TV? Leon mentioned he liked watching movies when he had free time. Struggling with opening a stubborn jar? Leon could definitely open this. Typing a text message? Would Leon use emojis? Abbreviations? Maybe he was one of those people who texted slow as hell and only used their index finger for each individual letter. You should know by now, but the two of you only ever called, and never texted.

The point is, he was flooding your thoughts.

In your mind, you justified it by thinking the only reason you wanted him in your life was to repay him for all the help he had been. But, that was far from the truth. Not when the memory of him flashing you a smile was enough to make your heart do tiny flips or the way his voice was so deeply engraved in your brain that you longed to hear it all the time. And the way you started spending more time on your appearance, just in case you happened to bump into him somewhere — slim chances, but you’d take them.

And naturally, you knew you would feel safe and content with him keeping you company. What you would give to roll your eyes and scoff at one of his puns or lame movie references, or to maybe catch the glimmer of endearment in his gaze whenever it shifted to you.

Would you ever be able to love a man who didn’t understand what you had gone through to a degree?

The sensation of your smartphone suddenly vibrating in your pocket made you flinch and snap out of your thoughts — a frown tugging on your lips as you scrambled to pull it out and answer.

Oh boy, your time at the headquarters wasn't short-lived. And that job of yours? You’d have to resign soon. Seems like the plan to train you to become a field operations support was coming up. Your presence had been requested at a work gathering, collaboration and teamwork skills were essential. So with this event, trainees and recruits could converse with those who were more experienced, to break the ice a little bit. So you convinced yourself you had to go.

Here you were a week later — sitting inside a fancy looking room, moving your now empty cup around. You had been here for thirty minutes and you weren’t sure how much more small talk you could handle. If you were asked the question, ‘So, how’d you land this position?’ one more time, you’d feel physically ill.

Getting ready for the gathering had driven you insane, you took an entire two hours to get ready, mostly because you kept pacing in front of your closet, indecisive about what to wear. Assuming Leon was going to be there, this would be his first time seeing you in actual clothing that aligned with your fashion style, enough said.

You stood up, ready to go outside for a couple of minutes to get some fresh air from this otherwise suffocating environment. But as you looked towards the door, a certain man caught your attention.

There he was. Leon Kennedy in all his glory. When was the last time you saw him in person? A few months. So, why did it feel like you were seeing him for the first time again? You were blown away by his beauty.

He was talking to a taller man who was pretty hunky and had the body of an agent. You assumed they were good buds, seeing the way they patted each other and seemed to be having an interesting conversation rather than a forced one.

You had no idea how long you stood there, but it felt like only a couple of seconds since you were busy admiring him. Maybe he felt your eyes on him, because he eventually looked over directly at you and then dismissed himself from his friend.

Leon almost looked like a puppy as he made his way over to you, his eye-lit gaze set on you despite the plethora of other people he knew in the room. With a couple excuse me’s, he finally reached you.

You had a lot of time to think of a way to greet him, and yet your mind turned to mush the second he was near you. A simple hi, hey, what’s up? No, that wouldn’t suffice. It would feel forced.

“No offense, but this doesn’t strike me as your kind of scene.” You eventually told him, a sly smile forming on your face.

He placed a hand over his chest and scoffed, pretending to be offended. “Like a dagger to my heart.” After a shared chuckle between the two of you, he gave you a genuine answer. “It’s nice sometimes, gives me a chance to catch up with some people and nurse a drink. But generally? No, not really my scene.”

Before you could say anything in response, he gestured towards you with his hand. “You look stunning.”

“I’d hope so. Though, I think anything is a step up from what I was wearing when you met me.”

“Oh c’mon. You pulled off the look.”

How? He had witnessed you wearing dirty and muddy clothes with scrapes all over. You had definitely not been in the most presentable state. Though to be fair, he had been in the same boat — he did all the combat, so he ended up with ruined clothes and blood all over. Then again, his pretty face and killer body blinded you from those details.

“Well, what can I say? Guess I’m just that charming,” You tried to come across as confident, but the giddy grin on your face in response to his compliment gave away just how much his words affected you.

Cute. Did he make you happy? Years of unsuccessful romance led him to believe that it’s not a big deal, it’s just a natural response to being complimented. But…there was a hopeful voice in his head that said otherwise. No no no, he was being silly. He saved you, he shouldn’t even be thinking about asking you to dinner. Shouldn’t be thinking about how you’d look sitting across the table from him, with a glass of champagne in your hand and that perfect smile plastered on your face from the conversation at hand. He wanted to know you. And he knew he was a goner when he woke up one morning upset because he felt like something was missing — you in his arms, curled up against him.

“So, you’re a trainee now?” Leon knew you were going to be here, it was the reason he had unconsciously put more effort into his appearance.

“Yeah, it’s surreal to think about…it sounds stressful.”

“I’m sorry you got dragged into all this.”

“It’s not your fault. Things could be worse, I’m just glad I’m back on my feet.”

“You’re pretty optimistic.”

“Mhm. Who knows, maybe I’ll be able to talk to you over your earpiece one day.”

Leon almost froze at that. The thought was appealing. Maybe he should feel selfish for thinking of this in a positive manner when the government had been responsible for the switch up in your life. Even so, he knew that his spirit would be boosted if he heard your voice giving him intel and instructions. Plus, how come you didn’t seem so upset over that?

“In that case, I’m looking forward to that.”

“Yeah? I’m surprised you haven’t gotten sick of my voice after all those voicemails I’ve left you.”

Ah, the same ones he replayed over and over when he couldn’t sleep. The same ones that managed to keep his post-mission loneliness at bay. The same ones that prevented him from getting a bottle of beer from his fridge and spiraling.

“I could never.” The nearly whispered answer gave away just how sincere he was. Not a quip, not even a tug of his lips.

It made your breath hitch, those three words made you melt like an ice cream left out on a hot summer day. How was it that everything blurred out except for him? The nearby chit-chatter, the blur of people moving around in the background, the clinking of plates and glasses — nothing mattered, nothing took your attention from him.

“You sound pretty confident in your answer.”

“I am.”

“How come?”

Would it scare you if he chose to be sincere? “It’s just nice hearing your voice, y’know, I don’t get many phone calls.”

No, he had to give you more, that sounded too casual. “And uh, they help me…make me feel like I’m not completely alone or lost in this world.”

“I’ll be sure to keep calling you, then.” You were being honest.

He became aware of the semi awkward conversation he had caused, Leon cleared his throat and gestured to the table with drinks. “Shall we?”

Mostly everyone had left after two hours, the only vehicle left in the parking lot was Leon’s bike. You got here through public transportation, you really had to get a car eventually. But, it was hard with your financial situation.

You let out a low whistle when you caught sight of his bike, it suited him, honestly. He took good care of it. “Sweet ride.”

It was his pride and joy, one of his only belongings that gave him a thrill and an escape. And he really wouldn’t mind letting you into that part of his life.

“Yeah, she’s a beauty.” He could give you a ride if you were willing. He kept two helmets anyway, an older one just for nostalgia, and then a newer one. “Ever ridden one?”

“No way,” you laugh, you’re intrigued though. You meet his gaze and see that he’s smiling — and you manage to piece together what he’s offering. “No way.” You repeat incredulously as if asking: Seriously!? You’d let me?

“Way.”

He walked over to his bike and patted one of the helmets. “C’mon, it’ll be fun. Promise.”

“What if I fall off?”

“I won’t let you fall off.”

Oh, what the hell? After all Leon has done for you, you trusted him with your life. You approached him, catching onto the subtle flame in his eyes. “Fine, I’m up for it.”

He knew the nearby layout of the area pretty well, so when you told him your address, he knew what route to take.

“Hold still.” Lifting the helmet, he made sure to put it snugly onto you, buckling the chin strap so it wouldn’t fly off or be loose. It made you feel some kind of way. He was so close. If you didn’t have the helmet as a barrier, you’d be tempted to kiss him.

He took a step back to look at you, unable to resist from mumbling out a small ‘cute’ under his breath. Somehow, you hadn’t heard.

“Comfortable?” He asked. You nodded. Why did his voice sound raspy all of a sudden? Leon then worked on putting a helmet on himself. Your throat felt dry as you idly stood by and watched, he always looked good…but the sight of him with a helmet on was something you could get used to. With his handsome face now hidden, your attention was drawn more to his body, you tried to not stare at the way his shirt fit tightly against his muscles. Then you realized your eyes weren’t all that visible due to the helmet and dark night. So…you stared.

He taught you how to mount and dismount the bike, he prefers to get on first and for passengers to get on afterward, and for you to dismount the bike before he did. Naturally, he also went over some of the rules for passengers, when to lean, to be cautious of stops, etc. He just wanted both of you to be on the same page. With some trial, error, and a couple of laughs over it, you eventually managed to get the hang of it. So here you were now, all ready to go.

“Hold on tight, I wouldn't want you to fall off or anything.” By now, he knows you’re used to his joking.

“Thanks.” You deadpanned, though you couldn’t help the sliver of amusement that slipped into your voice. “Very reassuring, Kennedy.” You wrapped your arms around his waist, you could feel all the muscle he had gained throughout his years of nonstop physical activity.

Leon was smiling underneath his helmet, feeling your body warmth against him. He never really thought he’d be able to have someone else on his motorcycle, especially not someone he had grown to adore so much. The feeling of your arms around him put his heart at ease. “Okay, here goes. Remember, if anything happens just tap me twice.”

At first, it was pretty steady — merely navigating out of the parking space and into the streets, stopping at some red lights, getting a kick out of the way Leon purposely revved the engine for you to hear, and the way you could feel the rise and fall of his muscles as he breathed. It was a soothing pattern, one you’d like to feel more often, perhaps with your head resting comfortably against his stomach.

Entering the ramp to the freeway was an entirely different experience, the breeze suddenly increased tenfold as Leon sped up now that the speed limit was higher.

It felt exhilarating — a stark contrast to how you had felt when you were cooped up all alone in your apartment with nothing but silence. The loud engine of the bike roaring through the freeway drowned out any doubts or worries before they even had the chance to surface to your consciousness. It was so fast that the lights of the cars almost turned into a blur, but the nighttime made it seem so pretty. It felt good.

Honestly, it felt like you were there for hours when that was far from the true reality of a short five minute ride, your heartbeat slowed back down along with the speed of the bike as Leon cautiously drove in the lonely and dimly lit streets of your neighborhood, relying on your input to reach the specific building that had your apartment in it.

Once he finally parked, you got the chance to exhale properly — having been so caught up in the pretty night scenery and the fact you had just gotten a ride from none other than Leon S. Kennedy. You were reluctant to unwrap yourself from him but did so anyway. “Woah,” was all you could say.

“Pretty cool, huh?”

“Much better than the bus I take, that’s for sure. Life changing.”

With the short lessons you had gone over, you managed to dismount his bike, maybe checking him out a little as he then followed to do the same. He took his gloves off before making his way to you and working on taking your helmet off. The entirety of the situation felt oddly intimate, like a daily interaction a couple would partake in.

“You have a lot of trust in me,” he muttered that comment under his breath as if it was meant for the breeze to sweep away like a leaf. But you heard it anyway.

“That’s pretty funny coming from the guy who quite literally saved my life.”

He merely chuckled, now taking off his helmet. Leon didn’t want to delve into that topic. In his mind, he didn’t necessarily ‘save’ you, he didn’t want to take credit for your own mental and physical strength. The way you were so happy despite everything that had occurred…he admired you for it. He didn’t want you to spiral into the same loneliness and self-guilt that he had, he swore he wouldn’t let you. God, how he wishes he had met you sooner. Late was better than never, though.

“C’mon, I’ll walk you to your door.” Dork. He didn’t even know which door was yours. It was sweet though, you led the way inside and up an elevator to your floor. Leon committed the way to memory, just in case he ever swung by in the future. He took a look around, making sure everything looked clean and safe, just a habit of his after his years in the force. It looked pretty cozy though, the halls were illuminated well, and everything was in great condition. Some of his worries were eased.

“Thanks for the ride, I had a lot of fun.” Honestly, you had a lot of things you could thank him for, but that would take you more than just a couple of minutes and you didn’t want to keep him since you knew he had to get home too. Internally, you hoped maybe the two of you could meet up — you liked being in his presence.

He brushed it off with a brief wave of his hand, “No worries.” He didn’t feel like you needed to thank him for anything. He felt a pit in his stomach as he watched you open up your door. It was too soon. He didn’t even hide the fact he was staring at you, you turned around back around to face him, ready to say bye, and awkwardly get inside.

This was his cue to leave. In any other situation, he’d say, ‘I’ll see ya around’. But he hesitated.

You felt like you were burning up under his pensive gaze, wanting to know what thoughts were occupying that mind of his. Whatever it was, he clearly had something to say. You felt your hopes lift. “Leon?”

The fact is, he had something to ask you. Some higher entity had listened to his pleas and he had gotten a week off, his godsent vacation was finally here.

Like he had mentioned to you once, he wasn’t a huge fan of planes. Vacation or not, he tried to avoid them, there was nothing more reliable than his gorgeous motorcycle. But, he made an exception, and maybe he’d feel more at ease with you on the plane with him. Truth be told, if you said no to his offer, he wouldn’t even go on a vacation abroad, he’d probably just stay at his place.

He was feeling a tad bit doubtful. He knew that your life had been flipped since you had gone abroad for a vacation, so maybe you’d say no. Regardless, he had to ask now. He could be given another assignment at a moment’s notice despite being granted a break, and your training was going to start in a while. He couldn’t afford to not make his feelings known, not with the kind of life he led.

“Hey, listen.” Leon broke the silence that he caused — taking a deep inhale before he continued to voice his thoughts. “I’ve been due for a vacation for a while, and I finally got some time off. I’m planning on taking a short trip.”

“Ah,” you remember a similar conversation, how could you not? You practically memorized every bit of information he told you. You closed your door and leaned against it, not wanting to seem like you were in some hurry to get in. “Italy, right?”

“Yeah.” He confirmed, smiling over the fact that you remembered that detail. “So, here’s the thing. I bought two flight tickets and booked a room for two. If you’re not busy or anything and if it’s not crazy for you to consider then—“

“Yes,” you responded immediately, like it was pure instinct, the word slipped through your mouth before your mind even had time to process it. Maybe it was the lingering adrenaline you still felt from the ride.

He grinned, letting out a huff of amusement. “I didn’t even finish—“

He cut himself off when he felt you cup his face with your hands, you could feel the heat radiating off his skin — like warm and cozy laundry straight out of the drying machine. His Adams apple bobbed up and down when he swallowed thickly, feeling the tension rise when your lips inched towards his.

You were taking the opportunity, afraid it would slip from your fingers like sand if you hesitated for even a second.

“Yes,” you repeated, your voice dropping to a whisper as your eyes searched his. After a few seconds of keeping his arms by his side, he lifted his hands to place them on your hips, coaxing you closer to him.

Leon felt weak to the knees, crumbling at the eye contact before his eyes flitted towards your lips longingly. Closer. He could feel your lips brushing against his, not a kiss just yet, but the contact was there and served as a complete tease.

“Okay,” he murmured out, warm breath fanning against your lips. He tried to keep his voice stable, but the close proximity was killing him. His hands gave your hips a gentle squeeze. “Consider a first-class window seat all yours then.”

“With gourmet meals and all?”

“Mhm,” he couldn’t think—he parted his lips in anticipation for yours. His gaze returned to your eyes, his own were half-lidded, looking like they might shut at any minute in preparation for the kiss.

“I thought you didn’t like being in planes?”

“I don’t,” he replied briefly, this felt like torture. His voice was low and rugged, eyes now closing and head tilting to the side slightly. “But with you by my side, it wouldn’t matter.”

God, he was perfect. You pressed your lips against his and he responded immediately, one of his hands snaked up to gently hold the back of your head and keep you in place. He felt an influx of dopamine hit him right away, losing himself in your suave kiss — he was hooked on your taste, it felt like a drug. Like he’d go through withdrawals if he ever had to go without this sensation again.

One of your hands slid to the back of his neck, your fingers curling around the ends of his hair. It was soft, feeling like silk. Your nails brushed against his skin on the nape of his neck and he shuddered, feeling the remaining air in his lungs vanish. He could keep going though, he’d drown in your kisses and suffocate by the sweet taste and press of your lips without a single complaint.

If love was possible just by a single kiss, then Leon had just gotten struck by an arrow. It continued, kiss after kiss. It felt right. The final piece to a puzzle — the perfect fit.

Not having a death wish, you eventually pulled back for breath. His lips chased yours, drawn to them like a moth to a flame, only pausing when he heard your soft laughter, one that made his heart leap and his eyes open to meet your own. He pressed his forehead against yours, a smile ghosting his lips as he took the moment in. “We’re uh, pretty good at that.”

“Mm, I dunno.” You shrugged out, running your thumb against his bottom lip. “I think we could use some more practice, don’t you?”

It was a clear ploy to continue on with the kissing. He took the bait with a chuckle. “Hey, I’m game. Just do a countdown and I’m ready whenever.”

“Someone’s eager, here goes. One, two, three…”

[ariascoven]

⟡ LOST BUNNY PT.2

PAIRING : salem!agatha harkness x reader

CONTENT / WARNINGS : female reader. petnames (bunny, dear, darling). soft agatha. mentions of homophobia.

WORD COUNT : 4.3k

A/N : sorry for not posting for i-don't-know-how-long, i hate everything i write these days lmao this has been sitting on my drafts for ages until i decided to let it out of the cave. i mostly have the energy to make bots as they're waayyyy shorter than fics so i end up making a bunch, sorry

MY MASTERLIST | PART ONE | C.AI BOT

The sound of birds happily chirping filled your ears the moment you stepped outside of your small, humble little home while carrying your picnic basket. Your mother had asked you to go fetch some apples for the pie she planned on making. Somehow, she managed to get all the ingredients needed beforehand, but forgot the damned apples — for an apple pie. At least you knew where your forgetful nature came from.

As you wandered through the woods in silence, you couldn't help but remember your first and last encounter with Agatha Harkness. A hidden, secret part of you buried deep within your being hoped, perhaps even wished that you would bump into the witch again, but your dreams never became reality. During every mind clearing stroll you took at night, your eyes darted around anxiously, scanning the surroundings and trying to find the brunette with a smug grin on her face, her pretty face illuminated by the moonlight and stars above. If anyone saw you in that state, they would assume you were afraid of what lurked in the dark, when in reality you were looking for Salem’s most feared witch.

It was ridiculous, to say the least. Months had passed ever since the unexpected meeting occured, it was now summer and the snow you had stepped on in the company of the young witch had melted completely ages ago. But the feeling of her hands on your waist seemed to have burned onto your skin, making it impossible to forget the warmth of her touch. You could still feel her, hear her... hell, you could still smell her. You often tried to convince yourself that she had put a spell on you that day, and that you were not absolutely smitten. But you knew the truth, no matter how much you didn't want to admit it — you were utterly fucked. You had met her once and had a brief conversation that was infuriating, to say the least, and that was enough to make you fall. Well, she also gave you a coat.

It might be important to note that your plan to make up an excuse about the piece of clothing to tell your mother failed completely. You weren't able to come up with anything before you reached the worn out door of your house, where you were met with the familiar sight of an upset old lady that noticed her daughter was missing from the warmth of her bed hours ago and decided to wait for the rebellious creature and demand an explanation. You had no friends, so you couldn't say it was a gift from one. For obvious reasons, you couldn't say you had bought it yourself as your mother knew that in your condition, buying a great coat like the one you had on was nothing but an impossible, silly dream.

So you had no choice but tell her the truth you wished to keep hidden, all of it. You spent almost a whole hour sitting on a chair, your head downcast shamefully as your mother scolded you, her voice laced with nothing but pure disappointment and annoyance. “She's a witch, for God's sake! She killed her own mother and the rest of her coven! Why would you even look her way? And even more accept this so-called gift?” However, she allowed you to keep the coat, knowing it was warmer and better quality than your entire wardrobe combined. Filled with guilt and shame, you gave your dear old mother a kiss on the forehead and assured her you would keep your distance if you ever stumbled upon the witch again. What a lie.

Crouched down picking a few berries you had found, you hummed a random tune you had never heard before. The berries were not what your mother had asked of you, but you shrugged it off, allowed to easily fetch the apples afterwards. The basket was big enough to fit all without a problem, and extra fruit was never a problem — you were sure your mother would be excited to make something out of the berries, anyway. You let out a satisfied hum at the amount you had picked, ascending from the crouching position. When you turned around, a yelp escaped your lips the moment you saw her. “Agatha!” Your eyes were comically wide as you exclaimed, face growing warmer at the realization you weren't even able to try and hide your excitement.

“Hello, bunny. You seem pleased to see me.” God, the way you missed her voice was nothing but pathetic. You let out a huff and rolled your eyes in a failed attempt to seem unbothered, but unfortunately, you were not an actress. A smirk appeared on the brunette’s face when she took notice of the subtle pink dusting your cheeks. “Ah, there is no need to respond. Not with that adorable blush saying everything.” When you looked up at her, your bottom lip was curled up ever so slightly, forming an adorable pout that made Agatha feel unwanted things — the flutter in her stomach being one of them, for example.

She stepped closer to you until the tips of your boots were touching hers, hand reaching up to rub her thumb across your bottom lip in a gentle caress. Almost instinctively and definitely against your will, your mouth fell open at the touch. You wished you could pull away and keep your distance from her, there was nothing you wished more. But something about the young woman pulled you in like a moth to a flame — a dangerously enchanting flame that made you crave more of its touch, no matter how much it threatened to burn and swallow you whole.

“How did you find me?” Your question came out as a breathless sound and you cursed yourself mentally at the poor attempt to hide the undeniable shakiness in your voice. Your knuckles hurt from the way you were gripping the basket as you tried to mask how much you were trembling — and you weren't entirely sure why. Maybe from excitement. Maybe from anxiety. Maybe from a mix of both. You noticed the way Agatha’s gaze seemed to search for yours more and more insistently the longer you avoided eye contact. She opened her mouth to respond with what you expected to be another snarky remark of hers, but she faltered, mouth quickly closing.

However, she didn't take much time to compose herself, that wicked and familiar grin returning to her lips and sending shivers down your spine. Considering how surprisingly hot the weather was during the summer, Agatha’s fingers remained cold as she tilted your chin up — freezing, even. And exactly the way you remembered them to be. You lost count of how many times you had harshly rubbed your sponge against the places she had touched on your body during your long baths, trying everything and anything you possibly could to make the memories disappear from your mind. But you kept thinking back at it whenever the chance appeared and you were ashamed to admit, even to yourself, how much you wanted her.

Considering how hot it was during the summer, Agatha’s fingers remained surprisingly cold as she tilted your chin up — freezing, even. Exactly the way you remembered. You lost count of how many times you harshly rubbed your sponge on the places she had touched on your body during your baths, trying everything and anything you possibly could to make the memories disappear from your mind. But you kept thinking back at it whenever the chance appeared. Before bed, waking up, while taking strolls around the town but mostly, in the woods you had your first meeting at. You were ashamed to admit, even to yourself, how much you wanted her.

“What? You think I found you because I wanted to?” She replied, the mocking evident in the tone of her voice and her raised eyebrow. With the proximity between your faces, you could almost taste the sarcasm that dripped from her lips. “It was simply a funny coincidence, my dear.” Your eyes scanned her face for any signs of honesty and widened the moment she leaned closer, her nose touching yours. The only thing you were able to do was hold your breath and anticipate her next move.

There was no way she was going to kiss you, right? Although the answer was pretty much clear, you couldn't help the flicker of disappointment that flashed through your eyes when all she did was chuckle low in her throat and pull away, taking a few steps backwards to put some sort of distance between your bodies. It was funny, the way you wanted that distance so badly at first but now it brought a frown so big to your face that missing it wasn't even a possibility.

Your eyes followed her gaze as she glanced down and towards the basket your hands were clutching. Or rather, the fingers that were a deep shade of red, knuckles turning white from the sheer force you put into holding the small object out of nervousness without even realizing it. You hadn't even realized the way you could barely feel your hands due to the gesture. You let out a loud groan full of frustration, deciding it was a better idea to hang it onto your arm instead of gripping it. Agatha’s curious (or rather, nosy) eyes focused on the content inside of the basket. “Berries…” She muttered quietly, and you weren't sure if she meant for you to hear it.

“Yes, berries.” You repeated as you eyed her curiously, her gaze never faltering from the fruits. It should be illegal to say Agatha Harkness looked adorable, but she did. Her unusual demeanor and sparkling eyes made you tilt your head aside as if the simple gesture would help you solve the current mystery — why would an evil witch become so seemingly excited over some stupid berries? You clicked your tongue in thought before grabbing a few and putting your hand out. “Do you…?” You don't finish the sentence, instead looking at your palm then back at Agatha as you trailed off. There was a pause. Then, she nodded, snatching the fruits from your hands and shoving them down her mouth. Your eyes widened at her enthusiasm, but the surprise soon turned into amusement and you let out a small chuckle, shaking your head.

Agatha’s gaze moved back up towards you, and it was difficult to take her seriously with the way her eyebrows were furrowed and lips were stained red from the berries — like a child who is still learning how to eat properly. “What are you laughing at?” She almost growled. It was clear to see that the witch was trying to seem menacing and scary, as she always did. But unfortunately for her, it seems looking evil when your eyes are shining with happiness while your mouth is full is incredibly hard. You waved a dismissive hand and shook your head once more as your giggles died down, a sigh falling from your lips. She looked at you with suspicion, reaching up to wipe her mouth with the back of her hand. Your face scrunched up slightly. “What?” She questioned, sounding rather annoyed.

“You just don't know how to not make a mess, huh?” You nagged with the faintest hint of a smirk dancing on your lips as you grabbed the checkered fabric your mother had given you to cover the fruit basket and that was long forgotten. You handed it to her — handed as in shoved it into her hand and gestured towards her mouth with a wave of your hand. “Clean that up, you are looking more like a toddler rather than a feared witch.” The sight of Agatha Harkness herself frowning pathetically was the most amusing thing you had ever seen in your life. You pushed away the thoughts of how cute she looked as you watched her clean her lips and cheeks grumpily. When she tried to give the piece of fabric back to you, you pushed it back against her chest. “Keep it. As a treat.” You joked, continuing your mission to find apples for your mother’s pie.

Agatha snickered and her lips curled up into an amused smirk at your comfortableness in teasing her, being ao used to people running away from her for simply being her. She stayed behind and watched as your figure continued the path, the dark shade of purple of her dress contrasting with the hint of red from the fabric you gave her, poking out of her pocket after she had folded it lazily and shoved it there. For Agatha’s immense displeasure, you were an incredibly fast walker, but she quickly caught up to you.

Her arms were behind her back and she whistled in feigned innocence, strolling just a few steps behind you. You rolled your eyes as you heard the melody, but a smile was playing on your lips. Your mother would kill you if she found out about this, about you hanging out with the woman you promised her to keep your distance from. You quickly pushed those thoughts away the moment you saw the apple trees ahead, full of life and covered in sweetness. As you stepped closer, a gasp fell from your lips at how beautifully red the fruits looked. “Ah, mother will love those!” You exclaimed happily, mostly to yourself, an arm stretching to grab the apples that were in a level where you could reach.

Harkness grabbed one of the juicy fruits as well, bringing it to her nose and inhaling the marvelous scent with an approving hum. “These look delicious. You said your mother will love them?” She raised an eyebrow with curiosity-filled eyes, leaning back against the tree nonchalantly and taking a bite out of the apple she held in her hand. You hummed and nodded in agreement, side eyeing her for just a split second as you continued to fill the basket. “Well, do you think your mother would be so kind as to spare me some apples?” She said playfully, batting her eyelashes in a dramatic manner. You scoffed.

“Well, my mother made me promise I would never talk to you again. Want to take a guess?” You didn't look at her as you spoke, but you could practically see the frown on her face with the way she let out a long, annoyed hum. “Don't take it personally, she would make me promise to stay away from any witch ever.” You tried to sugarcoat it, even though you knew she probably didn't care at all. There was a pause.

Without a word, she stared at you with suspicious interest, those icy blue orbs roaming over your figure as she studied you with narrowed eyes, seemingly trying to find the final piece of a puzzle she longed to solve. “Mind telling me why you are breaking the promise you made to your dear mother, then?” The question came out quietly, as if it was a secret that no one other than you two were allowed to hear. Your movements faltered, hand freezing just as your fingers had wrapped around the last apple that was on your reaching level. You cleared your throat, finally snatching the fruit and shoving it inside the picnic basket.

“I guess,” you began, the almost whispered words leaving your lips slowly as you contemplated what you should say. “Your company doesn't bother me. Much.” You looked her way as you put emphasis on the last part, which elicited a chuckle from her. The brunette observed as you moved next to her and leaned against the tree before sliding down until you were sitting on the grass. You placed the basket on your lap and stretched out your legs with a long and loud groan.

After a moment, Agatha repeated your movement and plopped down onto the ground while holding her skirt securely. Your gaze fell upon the fabric you had given her poking out of the pocket of her dress and then moved up back to her face. Your heart skipped a beat when you saw her already staring at you, her palm supporting her chin as her elbow rested on top of her knees, which were pulled against her chest. Your mind wandered back to your first encounter, in which she had said she wasn't an ordinary girl, nor like you. But seeing her like this, so calm and quiet, she really did look like just an ordinary 18 year old girl.

A hand dived inside the basket and grabbed a few more berries before handing them to Agatha, who gratefully accepted the offer. An unexpectedly comfortable silence washed over the two of you as the witch ate calmly — this time, taking her time to savor the sweet taste. The gentle breeze made her hair sway subtly, and you thought the sight was breathtaking. Fists clenched around the fabric of your skirt as you tried to hold back from the sudden urge to just… touch her. Make sure she was real, that she really was there with you. Since you never saw the young woman after your first encounter, your mind had became a mess of thoughts as you wondered if what happened in the woods actually did happen or was just a fever dream — a fever dream that felt a bit too real.

“Why so many apples, anyway?” The sound of her voice breaking the soothing silence forced you to come back to reality and turn to face her, confusion splattered across your features. She gestured to the basket with a nod of her head, noticing the way you looked lost in thought as she handed you the last berry she had in her hand. “So many apples. Are you baking something?” She didn't miss the way you took and ate the fruit in agonizingly slow movements, as if you were doing anything to not answer the question. She didn't blame you, she was used to it — and she didn't miss the hint of regret that flashed through your eyes when you mentioned your mother earlier. People had always warned you, saying that you should be careful when giving any information to witches, no matter how unimportant it might be. But before she could open her mouth to say you didn't need to give her an answer, you finally spoke up.

“My mother is.” You answered simply, the sound of your voice coming out as a quiet, almost shameful confession as you leaned your head back against the tree and looked up at the leaves hanging from the branches above. “I'm a disaster.” She raised a brow at your statement, an amused smirk tugging at the corner of her lips as she waited for you to give more details. You looked at her and let out a small giggle. “I'm not exaggerating — I wish I was, but I'm literally banned from the kitchen at home.” The loud laughter that escaped the witch’s lips as she threw her head back forced a smile out of you, the sound making something flutter inside you.

“You— oh, goodness! Are you serious?” She panted out between giggles and laughed even more after you nodded in confirmation, her hand moving to clutch her side as she felt the threat of a cramp forming. “I'm gonna get a side cramp!”

There was only one word to describe your state as you watched the scene unfolding in front of you, and that word was fascinated. Was it weird to be obsessed with someone's laugh? Maybe it was, maybe you were weird, after all. But you simply couldn't help it, the way her eyes crinkled at the corners as the cutest sound left her lips. The so-called evil witch, Agatha Harkness, rather a monster than a woman, a girl, even, that had no feelings nor a heart, laughing so beautifully. You lost count of how many beats your heart skipped, pink lips parting in pure awe. God, you wished you could paint her at that moment, eyes scanning over her features in an attempt to memorize it. She seemed to notice your behavior, her laughter dying down as her face twisted into an intrigued expression. You felt a blush dusting your cheeks at being caught, a shy smile appearing on your face before you looked away, gaze focusing on the ground instead.

She tilted her head to the side then scooted closer to you, so close you could feel her leg resting comfortably against yours. You felt your cheeks heat up at the simple touch, and you mentally cursed yourself for being so easily affected by the woman — although a part of you knew anyone would be if they were in your shoes. Her face leaned closer to yours as she searched for your eyes, and when they met hers, she smiled. It made your heart skip several beats. It wasn't her usual smug grin or teasing smirk, no. It was a genuine and beautiful smile, and you were sure you could die happily at that moment, with the sight in front of you as the last thing you saw before the curtains closed. “You're so shy all of a sudden. Was it something I did, darling?”

Darling. God, the sweet names she called you made you crave her even more. You wondered if she only called you those things, or if she did it with everyone, ignoring the way you hated the simple thought of the second option being correct. “It's just—” you tugged your bottom lip between your teeth, stopping yourself from speaking any further. More silence. Your body was set on fire when the familiar coldness of her fingers lingered against your skin as she brushed a lost strand of hair behind your ear, and you noticed the way she seemed to touch you for a bit longer than considered necessary. You cleared your throat, feeling a lump forming. “Your laugh.” You said simply, avoiding eye contact at all costs.

“Didn't expect to like the sound of it this much.” Crap. Your eyes widened as soon as the unwanted words left your mouth against your will.

She let out an amused, soft chuckle. “Didn't expect to hear me laugh, hm?” She asked teasingly, her hand now resting on your shoulder.

Agatha looked stunned, perfectly shaped eyebrows shooting up in pure surprise. It was the sweetest thing anyone had ever told her in ages — perhaps, even in her entire life. You couldn't believe your eyes as you took notice of the light, almost unnoticeable shade of pink that appeared on Agatha’s cheeks. The hand on your shoulder slid down your arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps on its wake. It settled next to your own hand that rested on top of the basket laying on your lap. Your whole body tingled when her pinky brushed against yours in a teasing touch. You finally had the courage to look up at Agatha again, butterflies forming on your stomach at the way your gazes met and the small, maybe shy smile that she sent your way. Your hand was shaking with nervousness, but that wasn't enough to stop you from linking your pinky with hers.

A small gasp escaped from Agatha’s lips at the gentle gesture, gaze darting down to your entwined fingers. The moment your head came to rest on her shoulder was the moment the witch realized that you would be the death of her — but she would never complain, laying her head against yours. You stayed like that for what seemed to be an eternity, simply relishing in each other’s company and touch, the comfortable silence from earlier making an appearance once again. “To be fair with you, I didn't expect to enjoy your company as much, either.” She finally broke the silence, voice sounding so soft it was hard to believe it came from Agatha Harkness herself. Your mind was racing and heart thumping against your chest so fast you really thought you would have a heart attack for a split moment.

That's when you remembered why you had even left your house that day — apples, pie, your mother who awaited you at home. You hesitated before breaking the contact and ascending from the ground, dusting off the skirt of your dress. Agatha frowned at the lost touch and repeated the movements with a hint of annoyance. The sun was starting to set and your lips pursed into a firm line upon realization you would get a scolding when you got back home. “It's getting late, Agatha. I should really go now. Mother would be furious if I took any longer.” The pang of sadness and disappointment at the words leaving your own lips stung like hell. Realizing Agatha wasn't going to say anything in response, just staring at you with an unreadable expression on her face, you stepped closer to her and pressed a soft, lingering kiss on the soft skin of her cheek.

You turned on your heels and started walking away, fighting the urge to glance back over your shoulder, knowing that looking at her would make you turn back around. What if it took even longer to see the witch again than the first time did? What if your mother found out? Not only would you feel her anger for breaking your promise, she would be even angrier at the way you were so affectionate with another woman. You had mentioned your attraction towards women to her briefly once, but quickly learned to never do it again and pretend it was just a mistake, something your confused mind made you believe was real. But it never went away, and it never would. But you hid yourself with bitterness, being the good example of a daughter you always had been. The sound of the familiar voice snapped you away from your thoughts, body whipping around to face the young woman.

“Shall I see you again?” Her voice was uncharacteristically quiet as she questioned and took a small, hesitating step forward, which did nothing to the still significant distance between the two of you. You couldn't help the bright smile that formed on your face, nodding enthusiastically in response. She smiled back, a hint of something that looked like relief playing across her features. The realization made you feel special, worthy.

“Tomorrow, same place and time?” Agatha’s heart raced at your words and she nodded slowly, trying the best she could to hide her happiness. Never in her life did she expect to be smitten by a woman she met twice. But, oh, she was. Unbeknownst to you, during your time away, Agatha also couldn't stop thinking about you. Her mind wandered back to your first encounter more times than she could count, and knowing she would see you again filled her with an unfamiliar sense of happiness. She couldn't wait to see you again, waving goodbye even as you turned your back to her.

[fen-luciel]

The mistakes of a Acolyte

ATTENTION

This post is an experiment; for now, I'll publish only a few chapters to see if anyone new is interested. The story is currently ongoing on AO3.

WARNINGS: Unplanned pregnancy/toxic relationship/Sith oc-reader

Story: Many wrong choices had brought me to that moment.

Few were the ones I regretted.

Getting pregnant by Qimir? I don't think I'll ever have a definite answer to that.

All I needed to know was that I had to escape to a galaxy far, far away.

-Chapters

---------------------- ♡ ---------------------

Shopping was perhaps the worst part of the week. Summer had just arrived on the planet and the heat had always been unbearable, so being five months pregnant, everything had worsened from 1 to 100. Especially the sweat under my breasts and the belly that was terribly enormous for my current situation. The only positive part was that occasionally some neighbor would recognize me to help, but that wasn’t one of those lucky days.

I continued to walk through the market, armed with bags full of groceries. There wasn’t much left, but I had to get at least the fruit before heading home. The streets were full of all kinds of people and aliens, the stalls in full swing, yet something was off.

It was a feeling... that I hadn't felt in months, as if the Force was around me. But not the usual hum of life around me, or... the presence of someone familiar, just a powerful force lurking.

I tried to look around but saw nothing suspicious or resembling a Jedi or a Sith. I sighed before continuing my walk to the end of the street where the fruit stall was. Fortunately, the Twi'lek there knew me well and ran over to take my bags and place them on the counter. "What were you thinking? Here alone, you need a hand" I laughed slightly, following her at a slower pace. "Yeah well, as a single mother, it’s difficult, don't worry, I'll grab the last things and head home," I slowly touched my stomach, looking around. "The usual?" She asked kindly, to which I nodded, continuing to look around for new things. "Do you have something sweeter than the usual purple fruit with the unpronounceable name?" I said with a sly smile. "Unfortunately not, rather, do you want my husband to accompany you home? These are really a lot of bags" she replied, but I shook my head before taking the wallet from my bag and leaving the credits on the counter. "Don't worry, it’s not far and—" "And we will help her," said a male voice behind me.

It was like a flash of realization, behind me, strong and clear, I could feel the Force pulsing alive, after months of being shut off from it. I turned sharply and in front of me, two men in Jedi uniforms smiled kindly. My breath caught in my throat; it was impossible for them to know me, and I certainly didn't recognize them, but it was obvious they were here for me. And not just to help a poor pregnant woman.

"Excuse me, I..." but the taller of the two with dark skin took the bags the Twi'lek had handed him, full of groceries. "Wait..." "Don't complain, Sabrina, you're lucky to have two Jedi helping you, now go home and rest" she interrupted with a smile while I stood bewildered at the counter. "It's okay, Miss Sabrina, we'll accompany you home" said the other, offering me an arm which I reluctantly took. I certainly couldn’t make a scene in the store, or all the cover I had built would be blown, and in this condition hiding again might be impossible.

We walked out of the store slowly; despite the tension, I couldn’t deny that support was useful after all the walking I had done today. "So? Do you intend to introduce yourselves?" I said looking ahead, keeping my face stoic. The older man nodded before indicating himself. "You're right, we were rude. I am Master Sol, and this is Knight Yord, we apologize for the sudden intrusion, but we have been looking for you." I glanced at him sideways; the name Sol was familiar, although it could mean anything. "I am Sabrina. But let’s be honest, you're not here to help random passers by; we're on a distant planet in the Outer Rim, the Jedi have no supervision here, are you perhaps on vacation?" I said with a tight smile, allowing myself a nervous joke. Maybe I was too hasty with the questions, but I preferred to be the one asking rather than answering them. The two laughed briefly as we continued towards home; at this point, acting suspiciously would be worse. It wasn’t as if I could run very far; it was obvious the two were not mere padawans or inexperienced. "Actually, we're here for you. Or rather, we believe you know someone we're looking for" Sol said, still with a gentle smile. I looked at him confused, but my heart began to beat fast in my chest. I wanted to stay calm, afraid the two could sense my mood change, but the terror that my worst nightmare would come true clouded my rationality. There could be many possibilities, or just one, maybe being caught now would be better.

I freed myself from his grasp, pulling out the keys in front of the apartment building where I lived, searching for the door card. "Oh yeah? And who? I guess you have a name" the card activated, opening the glass doors. I gently touched my belly to hide the trembling of my hands. Neighbors came out right at that moment, an elderly couple who greeted me kindly. "Oh dear, you went shopping alone? Fortunately, you met these kind gentlemen to help you, you shouldn’t strain yourself in your condition." I could only smile at their concern. The affection people had shown me here since they found out I was a single mother was constant, help, advice, an atmosphere I had rarely encountered in my life and which had truly made me fall in love with this place. "I know, but it was really an emergency, I swear I'll ask for help next time" I replied, nodding slightly at other kind admonitions before waving goodbye and continuing to my apartment. Reaching the elevator with the two Jedi silently following me until then. "You have a warm neighborhood" said Sol as we went up to the fourth floor. I nodded, glancing at them behind me when the doors opened, and we walked into the hallway. "Yes, they’ve all been kind since I arrived, I’ve been lucky. Anyway, you were saying..." finally in front of the door, I took the right key from my pocket, but just as I was about to continue, the other young man spoke for the first time, interrupting me. "Does the name Qimir mean anything to you?"

It was like a bucket of cold water in the face. Of course. Obviously, they were looking for him. How could I have even hoped it was something else? Everything had been too quiet; it was obvious it wouldn’t stop without me, but now... there were Jedi knocking at my door. Asking if I knew him. So maybe all was not yet lost. "Sabrina? Did you hear what we said?" I turned to realize the two were looking at me, confused and a bit worried. Sol was staring at me intensely; it was obvious he understood that I knew something, I had lost awareness of my surroundings for a few seconds. "Yes, I'm just... very tired" I replied in a lower voice than I wanted. I turned to the door to open the lock, my hands visibly trembling, and they noticed it too. I tried to reach for the lock, but Sol's gentle hand took the card from me and opened the door. "Here, let's go in, you need to sit down."

The first lights of sunset were starting to enter through the window I had left open. The apartment was in shadow thanks to the sunshade of the windows, leaving the place mostly in the dark. I walked slowly into the living room, Sol at my side, concern written on his face. I turned to Yord, who still held the shopping bags, and looked around confused for a few seconds. Qimir's name echoed in my chest, choking my throat. "Can I..." but he seemed to understand immediately, shaking his head as he placed the bags on the kitchen counter. "I'll put away the groceries."

I stood there like an unsure idiot, unsure of what to say or do, as Yord opened my fridge in silence while emptying the bags. Sol's gentle but firm touch pushed me onto the sofa, where several pillows were positioned to help me sit comfortably and get up alone. I was gently pushed onto them, my tense body melting into the soft material, my feet on fire, but the worst was still in my chest, where my breath struggled to pass through as I kept myself contracted and tense. "We know you were... friends, I guess." He began rummaging through his clothes before pulling out an old printed photograph.

I recognized it immediately, the same tear at the corner, the slight stain of spilled coffee at the base, and in the image, me... and Qimir. I remember the day we took it; we had the hologram, but it was inconvenient to carry, so we had it printed, two identical ones to always carry with us on missions, both smiling while his arm warmly circled my waist, my head on his shoulder, my gaze happy... almost... in love. Ironic that I realized it when I had already made the most drastic decision. Qimir, however, always had that smile, the one of someone who knows too much and doesn't want to tell you out of spite. I hated his insolence when I first met him, but over time I got used to it as he got used to my ironic comments. We loved teasing each other; at first glance, we looked like two insolent kids... two lovers taking a photo. "Please, Sabrina. We need your help. This man... has committed unspeakable actions. The Order has been searching for him for years, and now more than ever, we need a hand," but I could only continue to look at that photo. I already knew everything. Of course, I knew.

"Where did you get it?" I said, keeping a more steady tone. Sure, I had left, but I wouldn’t betray him. Especially not to the Jedi. I was good at lying, but I needed to play this better; they definitely wouldn’t leave without answers, and they knew I had them. I took the photo and held it in my hands. I still had mine, hidden in the same box where I had placed the few things I hadn’t had the courage to throw away. "We managed to bring him out into the open after months of intensive searches. When he escaped, we searched through his things and the only thing that linked him to someone or something was this photo." Internally, I breathed a sigh of relief. At least I knew he hadn’t been caught or that he was on my trail, though I couldn’t be sure about the latter. Keeping our photo wasn’t typical behavior for him towards things that pissed him off. I took for granted that he wasn’t happy about my disappearance.

"I... I can't tell you much, I haven't seen him in months, I cut off all contact... and before you ask, I have no idea where he might be, disappearing without a word was his hobby." I had to choose my words carefully, say half-truths that would seem plausible without exposing myself... or us too much. "But in the photo you look close" continued Yord, walking near the couch, the groceries neatly stored on the shelves. I let out a sigh mixed with a smile. "Oh yes. Something like that, but we've always been two solitary souls, we needed our own space, so we had our secrets" I sighed before casually dropping the photo on the wooden table in front of me. "Honestly, I wouldn't know how to help you find him and I'd prefer to stay as far away from him as possible." Sol beside me adjusted his seat before giving a reassuring smile. "Anything about him would be helpful. I also want to understand your relationship more... if you think you're in danger, you can tell us, we can protect you." I gripped the fabric of my dress to distract myself from the laugh threatening to escape my throat. "The fact that you are here is already a problem for me. For all I know, he might have followed you. Qimir is many things, but he’s not an idiot." I sighed before starting to get up slowly. Yord at my side leaned in to give me a hand, but I ignored him, placing a foot on the edge of the table to try and unlace my shoes, at which point the Jedi bent down again to do it for me. "Wait, there's no need-" "I want to. You look tired, and we're disturbing you, it's the least I can do." I looked at him a bit irritated, the kindness of the Jedi had always seemed insincere to me, so good it felt fake. But I let him do it, it’s not every day you have a Jedi kneeling in front of you of his own will, and I couldn't deny it amused me terribly. "Anyway, Qimir and I were friends for a long time before..." I considered whether to tell the truth or not, but the months were too precise for me to take such a risk; if they had already asked someone about me, they would realize I was hiding something. "Well, as you can see with your own eyes, before we became something more," I gave a strained smile, indicating my belly. With my feet free of the shoes, Yord standing in front of me looked at me intensely, they had probably already considered that my pregnancy might not be with a casual someone. I walked towards the window, enjoying the twilight sky. "I left as soon as I found out I was expecting. I... I knew what kind of life he led, I imagined he wouldn’t let go just like that, I was afraid of his reaction to everything. To us, to this baby, to what he would do as a result. So I took my things and left." Sol was frowning at my words. Or maybe at the casual way I said them. Too bad. "You knew he was a Sith? About his actions? And you stayed with him anyway?" he asked. "Yes. Well, it’s not like he was very explicit about it, he told me it was his religion, it’s not like I was an expert, he talked about passion and... I don’t know, it seemed normal to me. I’ve met civilians with worse morals" I said honestly at the last part. The two seemed satisfied with my answer so I continued, "Besides, it’s not like I’m some innocent soul. That's how I met him, I was smuggling goods and sometimes we collaborated." Yord gave me an arrogant smile, "and you’re telling us this openly?" I chuckled in response. "I know my rights, kid, we’re outside your jurisdiction and even if accused, you wouldn’t have proof. Who knows, maybe I’ve been doing this job since you became a Jedi." I gave him a smirk which he returned mockingly. For being one of them, he seemed strangely likable.

"In any case. I would kindly ask you to continue this conversation another day, it’s getting late and I’d like to be alone." The two exchanged a look but nodded understandingly, "certainly, maybe we can continue tomorrow?" said Sol as he got up and moved towards the door, followed by the younger one. "Certainly," I replied with a half-smile, following them to the door. At the hallway, they gave a small bow before giving a final goodbye and walking towards the corridor. Reaching the elevator, Yord gave me one last look before smiling and winking at me. Only when I heard the elevator start did I allow myself to release the breath I had been holding until then. Back inside the house, a sense of terror hung in the air.

I was in deep shit.

Fuck.

[doboosh]

Can I request a Wednesday x fem reader where they’re cuddling in bed - Wednesday the big spoon/reader is on top of her and Enid walks in and Wednesdays like “if you wake her up I’ll murder you” or something haha

“Take one more step, I dare you”

Wednesday Addams x fem!reader

Wednesday isn’t much of a cuddler, but you’re just so tired and look so cute. She can’t help but let you sleep.

Warning(s) None; This is a fluff fluff fluff, I loveee requests like this. What would you guys think about me maybe later on writing a slow burn story with Jenna Ortega x fem!small town reader?

Little insight; I hope no one is angry with me about my first post, I understand the predicament with the age but I hope it was a reasonable action for me to speak on how most people don’t comment on the Xavier Thorpe smut, I specified that I aged the characters up. Again, I love the ff and the writers! No hate at all!

-

Finally.

Fucking finally.

The day had dragged on and on today, you felt as if it was never going to end. Got a bad test grade in not one, but three classes. Three!

All you wanted to do now, was to go into your girlfriends dorm and take a nap in the warmth.. um. coldness of her arms.

Well you’re in the dorm currently, begging for her to let you sleep on her chest.

“Wednesday! Please! I’m tired and I just want to fall asleep on you!” You beg, extravagantly getting on your knees in front of her bed and grabbing her sheets.

She stared at you and rolled her eyes, “Cara mia, you can sleep just fine on your own”

You look up at her and puff out your bottom lip, “Wednesday, honey, please” you drag out the last syllable slowly.

“You’d have to lay on my rock hard, cold, decaying body, because that is not happening”

“Oh my god Wednesday, why are you being so difficult” you whined.

The girl just shrugged and went back to reading her book on her neatly made bed.

“Wednesday please let me sleep on you”

“No, I’m not letting you sleep on me”

-

“How did you get me to agree to let you sleep on me”

“Because you love me so much” you grumbled, as you smothered your face into her sweater.

She huffs as she brings her arms around your body, tugging you closer than you already were.

You liked this

Loved it actually

The sound of her heartbeat by your cheek and the movements her chest makes when she breathes, it was like a lullaby, and before you knew it, you passed out.

Small snores and puffs of air came from your mouth as you slept, and Wednesday couldn’t help but stare at your face and track every detail of it.

She felt humiliating, watching you like this.

She felt like her father when he adorned her mother every waking moment of the day.

Though deep inside her cold body, she loved it.

Your body twitched every now and again, your mind processing your slumber to your limbs.

She brought her hand up to your face and traced out your features softly, barely grazing your skin.

She brought her lips to your head and placed soft kisses on top of it; she herself thought about taking a nap as well, until her roommate and best friend Enid burst through the door as loud as can be.

Wednesday hurriedly covered your ears the best she could, “Enid,” she snapped in a whisper, “If you wake her up, I’ll make it my personal promise to you, to feed you to any creature that may lurk in the bottom of the lake”

Enid stopped full force, slowly turning her head to look at the two of you.

The blonde girls face lit up in a wide, bright smile, and she hurriedly reached for her phone in her bag.

“Enid, don’t you even think about it”

Snap

Oh no she didn’t

Wednesday would’ve gotten up and absolutely annihilated the girl if it weren’t for you still peacefully sleeping on her.

So as for now, all she did was shoot the werewolf a dirty glare. Snuggling closer to you as a way to ignore her.

You’re lucky she loved you so much

-

“Where did Enid go?” You asked, you had woken up a while ago and just decided to lazily sprawl on Wednesday’s mattress.

“Nowhere, just took care of her.. and her phone”

“You what?”

-

I wish I could’ve made this longer! It’s more like an imagine now 🥹 I still hope this is close to what you asked for anon! Love 🤍

[banggyu0308]

genre: internet strangers to lovers, idol au, smut

warnings: nsfw under the cut, not very coherent, slutty yeonjun, dom!yeonjun, sexting, choking kink, pet names (baby), praise, drinking (they don't get THAT drunk, alright guys?), one night stand-ish, degradation, unprotected sex, breeding kink, handholding, cursing, dacryphilia, yeonjun lurks on social media TT, reader is bold ASF, not proofread

wc: 2.5k+

an: tysm for the username help @itgirlgyu TT + this is just for the delulus + @beomsl MEL YOU REMEMBER WHEN WE TALKED ABT PART OF THIS???? + i might title this later but who knows!!

taglist: @full-sunnies , @agustdiv1ne

yeonjun who likes to wear his tank tops to show off, loves heading onto moa twitter and tumblr after lives just to see the fandom having a meltdown... especially hard stan social media, watching all the comments and photos of himself show up. he likes being in control like this, having the power to make everyone else go crazy just by wearing something else that day.

he scrolls and scrolls and one specific post pops up, it's community labeled and when he clicks 'keep reading', he can see why; pretty tits on display from the original poster, comments in the tags all about how she's all his, and he's not very surprised to feel himself growing hard in his pants. yeonjun eyes the username, ready to click the blue-fonted 'follow' button, but it's already gone, and his eyes widen to see that it's an account he's been following and interacting with for a while. that fact only makes it better, and he's clicking to his chat with you before he can even think it through what he's about to do.

yawnchoi you look really pretty in that new post...

yn what can i say? yeonjun brings out a special part of me 😭

yawnchoi im very sure he feels the exact same

yn in my dreams 😭 don't fuel my deluluness

yawnchoi i'm being very serious right now

yn mhm mhm sureeee and how would YOU know? 😑

yawnchoi ajksdbwsjdhbw maybe this wasn't a good idea

yn WHAT wasn't a good idea, hm? 🤨

yawnchoi baby all i'm trying to do is figure out how to word that i'm yeonjun 😭

yn i do not believe you for one moment

yawnchoi i'll send a pic that i would never, ever post and you can even reverse image search it or whatever or i could send a video, im not messing around baby

yn go ahead then ;-;

yawnchoi [sent a photo]

yn alright so yeonjun would definitely never post a photo of him in his boxers in bed so imma need that video ��

yawnchoi [sent a video]

yn oh. oh holy shit choi yeonjun has seen my tits- NOT ONLY HAS HE SEEN MY TITS HE LIKES THEM- one sec imma need to process haha im totally not hyperventilating haha

yn alright im back hi haha

yawnchoi helloooo 👋

yn wow. alright. so. uh. how do i ask this- you wanna see more tit pics?

yawnchoi THAT WAS SO BOLD HELP ME- but yes pleaseeee

yn [sent a photo]

yawnchoi oh baby- holy shit you're so pretty 🥺

yn thanks jjunie kwsnbdwjkd im still like- going crazy rn yawnchoi thats cute baby :((

yn wjhbswhjdhj so- since you've seen my tits i wanna see you again :(( preferably your dick but haha

yawnchoi yeah? pretty baby wants to see my dick?

yn kjwbshwjdbhe yes please?

yawnchoi asking so nicely... alright baby~ [sent a photo]

yn oh 😳 oh fuck alright sjbdsewjh wanna touch :((

yawnchoi me or yourself, baby?

yn well, both, but only one can happen, right? so me-

yawnchoi go ahead, can i see? yn alright 😳 [sent a video]

yawnchoi baby's so pretty :(( wanna see you cum for me <3

yn [sent a video] would be better if you were here :( want you to touch me so bad wjbwjhdbe

yawnchoi can fly you into korea if you want...

yn YOU'RE KISSING *KIDDING

yawnchoi i'm notttttttt dekjbdekj pretty cunt's got me all horny :((

yn i don't even care if it's a one night stand choi fucking yeonjun's gonna fly me out to korea to fuck me heck yeah

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

and he does. books a flight last minute for the next day, from your country to seoul, puts on a pair of sunglasses and his least conspicuous outfit, and drives to the airport. he isn't THAT nervous- it's not like he thinks you're gonna murder him.

and when you walk out of the airport building with nothing but a backpack with you, looking around and waving slightly when you see him, his heart quickens just a little. (and NOT just because he's seen you naked).

you decide to sit in the back of his car for no reason other than you want to, and maybe a little bit because you can't exactly handle looking at him straight on quite yet.

to your surprise, there's no awkward small talk, just him getting straight to the point and saying all the members are out of the dorm currently, but, ever the gentleman, he says since you flew a long way, you can sleep a little bit first and he won't bother you.

your whole body is on alert and you find yourself thinking that there's no way you'd be able to sleep now. it's one thing to sext someone knowing they're an idol- another to actually be in the car with them, on your way to where they live, and knowing you're going to actually fuck them.

yeonjun politely takes your bag when you get out of the car, and when his fingers wrap around the strap, his hand brushes yours slightly. you internally feel like you might faint- you hadn't actually prepared yourself for this, and now he was touching you and he feels real and you knew he was real but now it just feels extra.

holding your bag, he opens the door to the dorm, leading you in before following, taking you into his room and placing your bag down on the floor next to his bed. every single action that takes him closer to you makes your face grow hot, the bed dipping slightly under your weight when you sit down. the sheets are soft, but your mind barely registers it, focusing instead on the fact that you are in yeonjun's bed.

he opens his mouth to say something, and you panic, cutting him off quickly with a wry grin and a statement. "i might need some alcohol in my system before we do anything else."

yeonjun raises his eyebrows in the slightest, a little surprised, but he also gets it. he's pretty sure both his body and his mind want you way too much right now, but he's so nervous he might not do anything. his hands are twisted in his lap and he quickly realizes and sits on them instead before standing.

he leads you to the kitchen, getting himself a can of beer and letting you pour yourself a couple shots of vodka. you know your limits- it's just enough for you to get a little tipsy and stop overthinking everything.

knocking one back, you enjoy the burn in your throat before taking the second. the slight buzz under your skin makes you smile slightly, leaning against the counter while he takes long sips of his own drink. it's obvious he wants this to pick up, so you busy yourself messing with his shirt just a little while he drinks. you slip your fingers under his sleeve, mindlessly rubbing your fingertips back and forth over his skin. you can tell he remembered your comments the previous day about his arms, basing his outfit around that.

he has another tank top on today, arms flexing when he brings the can to his lips to take another sip, and you move your hands a little farther down to rest on his chest. this time, when he lowers the can, his lips are a little wet from the drink and you can't help but press a messy kiss to them, licking the liquid off. yeonjun lets out a slight hiss when your tongues meet, left hand reaching behind him to place the can on the counter.

the alcohol must really be working already because you're both stumbling to his room, messily tugging each other's clothes off, and yeonjun leaves a line of wet hickeys up your neck. each and every touch of his skin on yours makes you feel fire burn a trail across your body, but it's in a way that makes you almost absolutely sure that it's not just because he's one of your celebrity crushes, or because you're a little drunk.

yeonjun's movements are so rushed that in seconds he's on top of you, his own shirt off, pants quick to follow once you tug at them. your hands find way to his newly-lightened hair when his lips and tongue meet yours again, a different kind of intoxication weaving itself up and over each of your limbs, the kind of intoxication that makes you want to live and breathe this man.

"want you," he whispers, cheeks pink from the alcohol, his eyes slightly glazed when he looks into yours, and the way he says it makes your cheeks grow hot again.

"go ahead then, 'm all yours," you exhale in response, trying to ignore the way your heart twinges at your own words. this is just a one time thing, you have to remind yourself.

but yeonjun's eyes light up and he presses another kiss to your lower lip, one hand moving between your legs to part them. his eyes lower to your cunt, and you can feel the way your underwear are sticking to your pussy. you'd chosen to wear white underwear today and you're pretty sure they're see-through by now, drenched completely from all the feelings yeonjun's touch is sending through you.

"all mine?" yeonjun mumbles, eyes wide. and when you nod, he smirks slightly. "love your cunt so much, i might just take you right now." your own eyes widen and yeonjun can feel your breath hitch. "but you'd like that, wouldn't you? pretty slut would love her jjunie taking her raw, would love to have me cum inside..."

you suck in a breath through your teeth at his words, nodding quickly, spread out on the bed beneath him. your mouth tastes like alcohol and yeonjun, and your brain tries to forget how he so flippantly called himself your jjunie.

"jjun, just, just fuck me, please?" you whimper out when he rubs a fingertip over your clothed cunt.

"baby asked so nicely, might as well give her what she wants," he coos, tugging off his boxers only once he slides your underwear down your legs. "promise you'll let me taste you next time?"

you nod, too distracted by the fact that he's already planning a 'next time' in his head to realize that he wants to eat you out, but by the time you understand, he has the tip of his cock pressed to your entrance, other hand holding yours as he slowly pushes in. the gesture feels sweet, romantic even, and you let your eyes fall shut when he pauses his movements.

yeonjun's body is pressed flush to yours in a way that allows him to brush his fingers over your neck, skin smooth against you. his hand wraps loosely around your neck and his breath is hot on your cheek when he whispers, "is this okay?"

you nod once more, only because the combination of the alcohol and his body on you is making your brain so fuzzy you can't think clear enough to speak. yeonjun hums lightly and experiments with his grip, making you gasp a little when he also hits your g-spot. he lets out a hiss when your already-tight walls tighten further around him.

he'd had a feeling that you'd feel like heaven around him, just because of the fact you had stated you were only able to fit two fingers inside yourself, but he had obviously underestimated all the sensations that were going to overwhelm him like they are now. every movement of his hips towards yours makes him fight to control the tremble of his body. your hand is linked with the one he doesn't have around your neck and every time he buries himself completely inside you, your hand tightens just a little around his.

he's losing himself just a little, hand still laced with yours, pace quickening until jolty, broken, high pitched moans are the only sound leaving you. yeonjun can't help but smirk at that, hoisting one leg over his shoulder. "fucking pussy is so perfect, almost like it's made for me, taking me so well... might just keep you here, my personal little cumslut, could bring you on tour with us, fuck you every night in the hotel room, how'd you like that, hm?"

his rhythm is so brutal you're choking on your words by now, broken sobs slipping through your parted lips, tears filling your waterline and then slipping down your cheeks, mixing with the slight mascara you'd put on this morning and making your face a mess. yeonjun likes it too, the way he's so easily able to get you like this, just a few words from his lips and you're crying.

he can't help but tell you this with a mocking pout on his lips that turns into yet another smirk, chuckling when all you can do is whimper incoherently. yeonjun kisses you gentle enough to make up for his harsh words though, he's only trying to make you feel good, and he knows you like it when he talks down to you.

one hand still around your neck, the other moves from your hand to your waist, and he's only fucking into you harder when you whine out that you're close. his lips catch yours again when you gasp out his name, gummy walls fluttering around his dick as your whole body shakes from the force of your orgasm, yeonjun's fingertip rubbing at your clit making you convulse under him.

yeonjun bites back a little moan and lowers his lips to your ear again. "can i cum in you, baby? let me make you mine?"

you can't tell if he's just saying it in the heat of the moment, but you nod, wanting nothing more than to feel him inside you.

he bites his lip slightly, only losing control completely when you lick up the side of his neck and bite a splotchy hickey onto his neck. his warm cum fills you as he mumbles out a string of curses mixed with your name against your neck.

yeonjun practically collapses on you once he pulls out but lets himself take a second to marvel at how pretty you look right now, mascara leaking down your cheeks and neck, his cum and yours leaking from your swollen, abused cunt.

you let him wrap his arms around your form, cheek against his chest, both your bodies hot and sweaty, his bangs plastered to his forehead. there's a question on the tip of your tongue but he answers it for you, mumbling in your ear, "will you stay? for longer than just today?" yeonjun pauses slightly, then continues. "i'm not sure if i want you to be just one time. i know that this part of our relationship is new but we've been talking for so long and yeah, i don't want you to go back home and for this never to happen again."

you purse your lips, alcohol fogging up your brain and making you a little too sleepy to respond. "we'll talk tomorrow, hm? it's late and i had a long flight and i'm tired, jjunie..."

he nods slightly, running a hand through his hair, and presses a kiss to your forehead. "goodnight, yn."

"night night, yeonjun," you exhale.

you're almost half asleep when you hear him whisper, "the others'll be home soon, if they see us like this, i'm blaming you..."

[oreolemur]

Streamer's Worst Nightmare

Working as a streamer, you never showed your face. It was easy to make money having a cute virtual character impersonate you, but after losing a couple of fans, money became tight. “Guess what guys?”, you asked your audience through the stream. “I’m starting an Onlyfans!”. In the chat section you had a mixture of comments complimenting and some shaming you. “I know this may be a bad idea…but at least I’ll let you guys see my face”. Looking at the chat you began to get more supportive replies. “It’ll only be for a short time until I work something out for extra cash. I hope you all subscribe and see more of my personal interests”. Waving goodbye to your fans, you immediately shut off your webcam. “I can’t believe I’m doing this”, you sighed. 

Meanwhile, there was one fan of yours who wasn’t too happy about your decision. “An Onlyfans, huh?”, the man titled his head. “I’m not too happy to hear about that y/n”. He sat in front of his computer, lurking through your socials as he scarfed down a bunch of sweets. “I should pay a visit to her soon”. Crouching at his desk, L took drastic measures to find your location. “I will have you sooner or later, my sweet doll”.

Over the next few days, you began to feel more and more comfortable with your new line of work. “I’m making more than what I do streaming”, you beamed, staring at your financial statistics. “Maybe I should keep this up. Just for a little”. Posting pic after pic and video after video, you decided to open up your messages to give your subscribers a paid one on one chat with you. “Cum to my dm’s and have a little fun with me in private, my loves”, you say, making a vid of yourself in a pink robe. “I’ll be waiting”. 

After making your final post for the day, you spent the entire night trying to reply back to the hundreds of customers who hit your dm’s. “I didn’t know I’d get this much”. Without opening the last few that came in, you got bored. “Nothing new?”, you scoffed. “It’s all the same suggestions”. Before closing your laptop, you received another message. “This one better be good”. Opening it, your eyes widened. “Hello”, it read. “At least this one has a normal greeting”, you smiled.

Messaging the person back, you enjoyed talking to them. “Wow, it’s been 30 minutes and they haven’t asked for anything special yet”. Texting them back, you asked them this. “Are you not interested in seeing anything special tonight?”. Waiting for their reply, you suddenly hear a noise in your living room. “That must be the cat again”, you sighed. Getting up from your bed, you headed that way. “Come here baby”, you signaled your pet. Picking up the furry animal, you walked back towards your room. Seeing the notification come through, you gently put down your cat. As you read the reply, your heart skipped a beat. “W-what?”. Reading the message again, you wanted to make sure that your eyes were working correctly. “Something special? Like your cute fuzzy slippers in the front doorway”, the message read. “This can’t be happening”, you begin to panic. Texting the person back, “What fuzzy slippers? I don’t have any”.  Biting his nails, L stood in front of your bedroom door, “These ones”, he said. 

Feeling a chill go down your spine, your heart beats fast as you froze. “You do have quite an interesting taste in style, doll”. Seeing the man from the corner of your eye, you turned around slowly. “H-How did you get in?”, you asked. He approached you slowly, bending down to your level as you sat on the bed. “Don’t worry about that”, he said. L’s big eyes stared at you, taking note of all of your beautiful facial features. “You know…”, he paused. “You’re more pretty in person…and short too”. He then tried to reach for your face, but you smacked his hand away. “D-don’t touch me”, you said, scooting back. L grabbed your leg, pulling you back towards him. “I’m stronger than I look. I would hate it if you made me get physical with you, my love”, he said. 

“What do you want?”, you asked. “You”, L replied. "M-me? Why me?", you questioned. "If you're some creepy fan that has a crush on me...I won't date you". L tilts his head. "Why you? You're interesting. You interest me in ways no other human has. I want to peel you open. Analyze every inch of your brain until I know everything about you”, he chuckles. Hearing him say that creeped you out even more. L leans forward with each word. As he does so, his long black hair falls around his face, shrouding his eyes from view. "I want to get inside you”. L leans forward even more, until his face is mere inches from yours. His hair, now a tangled mess, conceals his face, but you can see the glint of curiosity and hunger in his eyes. "I want... to devour you." L whispers, his voice dripping with desire.

He tried to grab you, but you dodged it. You fell on the floor, getting up quickly to run away. The man smirked. He liked to watch people try and escape him. He always caught his prey in the end. L follows you, moving surprisingly quickly for somebody as lanky as him. "Where are you going, dear? The game was just getting interesting”. You ran into the living room, tripping over your cat's litter box. "Shit!", you yelled. You got up, heading towards the front door. L chuckled again. He really liked how you were trying to escape. It was so amusing and cute to watch you try and get away from him. L continued his pursuit, closing the ever-shrinking distance between you. "Don't you know that running away only makes me want you more, my dear? The more you resist, the more I crave to devour you”. 

You tried to open the door but it wouldn't budge. L was suddenly directly behind you, his lips next to your ear. "It doesn't matter. There is no escaping me at this point, darling. I'm faster. I'm stronger. I'm smarter. You will be mine." L's words send shivers down your spine. He wrapped his arm around your neck, pulling towards you to the bedroom. "Let me go!", you shouted. "Oh, you are so adorable. Trying to act so tough even though you're shaking like a leaf in my grasp. I can feel how tense you are. You know you can't get away from me, but still, you persist. It's so cute!" L continues to drag you to the bedroom, a smug smirk on his face. 

Once inside, he throws you onto the bed as he proceeds to take off his shirt. L tosses his shirt to the side, revealing his pale, lean chest. His eyes glint wickedly as he looks down at you. "Are you feeling vulnerable, my dear?”. You begin to cry, seeing him get closer and closer to you. "Please go away!", you begged. "Oh, but my darling, we're just getting started." L climbs onto the bed, hovering over you. As he does so, his long black hair falls forward, framing his face again. "You can't run from me. You can't hide from me. I will always find you." He leans down and whispers in your ear. "You're my obsession now”. He rubbed his hands through your hair, pulling on it as he brought your face close to his.  "Shhh... let me hear those pretty cries," L says, placing his finger on your lips. "I want to savor every sound that comes out of you. You're so enticing when you're scared. It's like I'm feasting on a delicious meal”.

He kissed your lips passionately, pushing his tongue past the barrier of your lips. He explored the inside of your mouth, slightly moaning. A trail of spit connected both of your lips and he pulled away. “Now…”, he said. “I want to see more of you”. His hand opened the slit of your robe, exposing your breasts. “Perfect”, L said. He pinned your arms above your head as he moved his way down to your tits. He stuck out his tongue, licking your sensitive nipples. “S-stop”, you said, letting out a small whimper. His hand traveled down to your waist, rubbing your bare cunt. “You have such soft skin”, he said, making a pop suction noise as his mouth latched on and off your tit. Your legs shook, feeling him massage your clit. “No”, you said, closing them, trapping his hand in between your thighs. “I don’t like uncooperative people, my dear”, he said, forcing your legs open.

L’s cock hardened inside his pants, making him blush. “My god”, he said, moving his hand away from your pussy, he had your arms pinned with one hand as the other moved to unbutton his pants. “I didn’t think I would get this excited”, he said. You laid there crying, wishing this situation was over with. You saw his dick poke out of his boxers. “Stay still”, he said, unpinning you. He pulled them down just enough so he can fuck you. With your legs still spread, L positioned himself comfortably between them. He placed his cock on your cunt, spitting on it. He rubbed himself on you, attempting to lube your dry pussy. “If you scream I will hurt you”, he said, shoving cock inside you. The size caught you off guard, making you cry even louder. “Take it out!”, you yelled. He covered your mouth, leaning into your ear. “I can tell it’s your first time, my love”, he slightly smirked. “I felt your hymen break”. His thrusts were slow as he placed kisses onto your neck. His teeth sunk into your skin, leaving bruises. 

Your body started to like his touch as your cunt became used to his cock. You tried to tell yourself that you didn’t like it, but you liked how fucked up the situation was. “Your body is starting to relax. You don’t feel tense anymore”, L grunted. He let go of your mouth, kissing your soft lips. He bit your lower lip, drawing blood. “If you keep up this good behavior…I might just let you go”. His thrusts quickened as he felt your walls tighten around him. You moaned as his pace went faster, feeling your orgasm arriving. L rested his head beside yours, moaning into your ear. “After I’m done, I’ll make sure no one else sees your body but me”.

[delopsia]

if heaven's a moment | Rhett Abbott x Reader

Word Count: 16,000 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, AFAB!Reader, alpha! Rhett, omega! Reader. Size kink, forbidden love (ft. a weak excuse for the forbidden part. we're here for ✨vibes✨, not logic), food, running away, biting, mating cycles/heat, ruts, mentions of breeding (but no implication of children/anything of that nature), first times together, knotting, the worst epilogue known to man. Brief Summary: At one point, you suppose that you did. Marrying rich sounded like a wonderful idea when the subject was brought up ten years ago. But you just had to run right into the Abbott family's youngest son, the one who had nothing but a black horse, a couple of flannels, and a championship rodeo buckle to his name. A new ranch hand, with his scruffy smile and the kindest hands you've ever known. 

There are too many cars in this damn driveway. 

Scratch that, too many fucking alphas. With their bright, gaudy outfits and stupid, overapplied pheromone colognes that do nothing but give you a chemical-induced migraine. If those claims about luring in potential mates are true, then you must be an outlier because you've yet to find yourself head over heels for a man based on his scent alone. 

A warmth greets your nose; something tied between leather and the embers of a roaring campfire, a hint of smokiness lurking underneath it all. Just a hint of it at first, swirling around your head like a daydream and weakening your knees, growing stronger with every step toward this old barn. 

...on second thought.

The barn door opens with a groan, cutting through the silence and echoing up toward the house. Your eyes dart toward the back porch, still flocked full of mingling bodies in their finest courting attire, chatting it up like they haven't had an intriguing conversation in years. Whether or not someone heard that is anyone's guess, but nobody is interested enough to look in your direction.

Thank god because you don't have a single explanation for why you're slipping into the storage barn at ten o'clock at night. 

It's too dark to see where you're going, but you've walked this path so many times that you can do it with your eyes closed. Drifting around the corner. Past the four-wheeler that hasn't run since last autumn. Through the clearing that will soon be cluttered with seasonal equipment once the hands finish tearing out the brush that has taken over the south pasture. They'll promise it's gone for good, but it'll be sprouting again come spring, and the cycle will repeat, just as it always has. 

Clink.

Clink.

Clink.

The room spins. A weight appears on your back, forcing you face down into a bale of hay. The straw prickles your cheek, but it's nothing compared to the sandpaper texture that scratches the back of your neck. The coarse stubble of someone's recently shaven face.  

A cold nose brushes against your nape. 

"Hey!" You squeal, foot blindly kicking at a jean-clad leg, but he just does it again, blissfully unaware of the goose bumps rushing across your skin.

Arms curl around your waist. "What's the matter, sweet thing?" Muttered into your ear, as if there's a risk of someone overhearing.

"Your nose is cold!" And you've got just enough leverage to turn your head to the side, nipping at his jaw. Softly tugging at his skin with your teeth, ticklish little motions that have Rhett laughing, shifting to stand up straight, as if that has ever helped him escape your reign of terror. 

"'m sorry," that nose bumps into your forehead, clumsy, "I only finished up a little bit ago."

Even in the dark, you can tell that he's still clad in those leather chaps, dirty from a long day in the fields and on the back of his horse. This close, they'll surely leave behind a noticeable grime on your white clothes, but you can't bring yourself to care. This is worth the stress of getting your clothes into the washer before anyone can see the stains.

It only takes the slightest nudge for him to reel back, allowing you to stand straight and twist in his embrace. Pale moonlight peeks through the holes in the roof, bathing the right side of his face. Unveiling the smile that upturns the corners of his eyes and the fading cut in his bottom lip, split open in a bar fight this past Sunday.

"They're working you that hard?" Tilting your head to the side, curious. Peak season isn't for another three weeks. What gives? 

"Only on party nights," Rhett chuckles, and he's just close enough for you to feel it rumbling in his chest like thunder. "How else are your folks supposed to tell them rich fellas that y' come from a good ranchin' family?"

Your brows furrow. "I didn't know that I came with a dowry."

It's easy. Laughing with him and falling into his big, warm chest, wrapped up in those arms that ought to have been chiseled from stone for you and you alone. The scruff of his cheek scratches your skin as he snuggles you impossibly closer. Your nose bumping into his neck, just below the scent gland lurking there.

The voice in the back of your head wonders if you'll ever get to enjoy the privilege of him scenting you. Dipping his head down to rub the barely visible glands against you, not stopping until you smell just like him. The closest one can get to saying 'mine' without tattooing it in red across someone's forehead.

"So which of them alphas ya pickin'?" There's that solemn tone again, low and heavy as if the words are too much for his tongue to lift.

And you know that you shouldn't say this; it's only going to make this harder than it needs to be, but it slips out of you, anyway. "The one that's standing in front of me."

There's a sourness in the air. Barely there, but you're so close that it's impossible not to catch the switch, chased by the falter of a smile. 

Oh, why does he have to look at you that way? Deep-set frown and lowered eyes, can hardly bring himself to meet your gaze, as if this will all fall apart the moment that he does. But you're still here, even if it's for a fixed amount of time. You can't have him forever, but you can until your heat decides to set in, whenever that may be. 

"We'd have to flee the state even for a chance of that workin'," he's talking under his breath like it's a thought he didn't intend to make it past his mouth. But you hear it loud and clear. 

 "Maybe..." Feigning playfulness, if only to ignore the sour twist of your belly. "But if you ever decide that you'd like to start running, you know where to find me." 

If only it worked like that. You'd love to live a life so simple that he could run up to your window and steal you away on a random midnight. Off to live your own happily ever after, never to be seen again. 

Rhett tilts his head forward, then off to the side, those pretty blue eyes never quite leaving yours. 

It's like knowing that you're allergic to something and biting into it anyway, but you just can't help it. There are only so many times that you'll get to do this, and the number is shrinking by the minute. Nuzzling the side of your head against his neck and lower jaw, dancing painfully close to the glands on his neck, a faint sheen the only thing to indicate their presence. Rhett's so big that you could spend all day rubbing yourself against him like a cat, always able to find a spot on him that isn't drowning in the warm scent that you call your own. 

Out of nowhere, a sharp puff of air bursts out of him. Some little animalistic noise that you only ever hear when you're doing this, his nose nuzzling your temple as he makes that noise again. The arms around you pull a little tighter as if there was any space left between your bodies to begin with. 

A truck engine roars to life. Obnoxious. 

Rhett jolts, his head spinning toward the door you came through, stiff like some kind of well-trained guard dog. In a sense, you suppose that's exactly what he is, considering all of those bar fights with unruly alphas who could only see you as an easy piece of meat. 

"Sounds like some of 'em are gettin' ready to leave," he concludes after a moment, and he doesn't need to speak for you to know what he intends to say next. He's got to take you back to the house before someone notices you're missing. 

You can't help the whine that rolls out of you, pitchy and drawn out. This whole situation is so unfair; you just got here a few minutes ago! Why do you have to go back inside and parade yourself to men and women that you couldn't give a damn about? All because you were unfortunate enough to be born as some dumb omega. 

"Naw, don't get all sad on me," Rhett mutters, and you're not entirely sure when he moved, but one of his hands has risen to curl around your cheek, coarse thumb stroking the skin there. "I'll come to your window, a'ight?"

"Rhett!" Your leg twitches, kicking against his side. Pulling hard on his hair, thighs involuntarily fluttering around his head. It's the most you can do with this pillow wedged beneath the small of your back. Open and on display for him and his hungry mouth.

"Shhh," but he can hardly deny himself the simple pleasure of pausing to drag his tongue in a loose circle just to feel you squirm. "Don't want us gettin' caught, do ya darlin'?"

Whining, your head thrashes back and forth. There's a 'no' on the tip of your tongue, but you just can't get it out—two little letters trapped in your wide open mouth. Fuck, fuck, fuck, he's forcing your legs up over his shoulders, oversized hands spanning out against the outside of your thighs, keeping you put.

"Won't be able to eat this sweet little pussy if your folks find out," Rhett just can't quit talking. Babbling as if he's completely and utterly lost himself in this, in you. "Fuck, can y' imagine the look on their faces?"

You're not sure if it's the words themselves or the vibration of his voice against your clit, but something about it has a bolt of lightning jumping up your spine. Rattling a whine out of your throat, hardly stifled by the teeth that sink into your bottom lip, your futile attempt at keeping yourself quiet. 

"Comin' in and seein' a ranch hand between your legs, runnin' my tongue up your pussy jus' like..." and he draws just far back enough for you to see the way his tongue pokes out of his mouth as he begins to lick a fat stripe up your cunt. "This."

And your back is rising up off the bed, greedily chasing the burning heat of his mouth, as if even a second of no contact might break you into two. The beat of your heart spurred on by the sloppy, wet noises that punctuate his every movement. Half of it isn't even from you; no, it's from him drooling into you like a goddamn dog. 

There's so much of it, running down your thighs and into your sheets, sure to leave a spot that you'll struggle to make an excuse for. It's a problem that you should fuss at him over, chide him for making such a mess, but he's guiding a hand between your legs, two thick fingers nudging at your entrance, and you just can't bring yourself to say anything. 

It's impossible to be upset when he's got you so wet that you don't need to pause for lube, gliding into you with dazzling ease. So, so much bigger than your own touch, such a sudden stretch that you catch the hint of an ache as they bottom out. More. You haven't even gotten used to this yet, and yet you want more. 

Abrupt, Rhett's pointed tongue dances around your clit, fingers crooking upward, seeking a special little spot. "Can't market ya as an innocent little omega if they know a man like me 's been eatin' your pussy for years."

If only he knew how often you think about that. 

The memories that flood your mind every time you've been put in a fancy restaurant to be wined and dined by some well-dressed know-it-all, intrigued by the false purity he saw in your eyes. How it's not the small talk that has you fiddling with your fork, but instead caused by the crystal clear image of a cowboy who had gotten on his knees for you earlier that morning, eating you alive, much like how he is now. 

And the perpetual, hopeless fantasy of that same cowboy barging in and taking you for his own, fed up with this sick game you've been forced to play together. All because you were born an omega, so rare that the wealthy have begun to see you as a status symbol. 

Sparkles dance in your vision, glittering like fireworks. Course fingertips spiral into a little cluster of nerves, in perfect sync with the tongue still working around your clit. The invisible flames of a wildfire ignite, heat coiling between your parted thighs and flushing up your chest. Fuck, fuck, and the room is spinning around you, hands tightening in Rhett's hair as if there's a risk of being blown away. 

"Rhett, I'm—"

"God, y' taste so fuckin' good," mindlessly babbling, but those eyes are peeling open, the corners of them wrinkling with a cocky grin. "Y' gonna cum?"

"Uhuh," frantically nodding, the best that you can without looking away from him and this. The sight of him between your shivering thighs, legs propped over his broad shoulders, fits so perfectly that your heart skips a beat. That coil is winding tighter and tighter in your lower belly, body stiffening as his tongue keeps working you over, loud and sloppy and out of sync with the fingers working inside of you. 

His chuckle has your foot kicking against his back, a barely muffled whimper slipping out of your throat. "Come on then," a third finger abruptly joins, mouth sucking harshly on your clit. Lightning jumps up your spine, arching up off the pillow. "Give it to me, sweet thing."

And that's all it takes to have you clamping a trembling hand over your mouth, cumming without further warning. Crying out into your palm as your vision goes white, heart racing in your chest, spinning out of control. Feels as if you've been thrust into the clouds, soaring among them for a few fleeting moments.

The hand remaining on your thigh is what draws you back down into reality. 

Or maybe it's the sudden discomfort of emptiness as Rhett draws his drenched fingers out of your cunt, sitting up on his haunches, obscenely shiny chin catching in the light. The pillow pulls out from beneath your hips, and it's not until you feel the rush of relief that you realize there was a strain in your lower back.

The corner of Rhett's mouth lifts, the mattress dipping as he climbs up next to you. "Reckon I wore ya out." Those jeans still unfairly cling to his hips, a little too dirty to be allowed in your bed, but you don't have the luxury or the will to complain.

Certainly not when he's settling down, an arm draping across your belly, very nearly distracting you from the scent in the air. His usual leathery scent, mixed with something a little bit sweet, a little bit warm, and entirely you. 

"For now," you croak after a moment. The simple motion of shifting to lay on your side has the room rolling again, like some kind of fucked up hamster ball. 

On its own selfish volition, your hand begins to wander. Gliding up Rhett's naked chest, feeling the groove of muscle and roaming over the old tattoo lurking just below his right collarbone. It's almost strange to think of how it was brand new when you first met him, so fresh that he'd yelped when you ran straight into each other.

You shouldn't allow it, but you can't resist wandering down his belly, exploring the soft muscles of his belly, only stopped by the elastic waistband peeking out from below his pants. It's impossible to miss the bulge tenting his jeans, such a sight that it almost makes his obnoxiously large belt buckle look averagely sized.

You wish you were as familiar with his body as he is yours.

"It ain't that I don't want ya too," Rhett must be able to read minds because he's already jumping onto your train of thought, "'m still worried I might..."

Lose control. You know. This conversation seems to arise every time you have a little fun together. The dangers of an alpha who gets too carried away and leaves behind too much evidence of your private rendezvous. 

"What if that's what I want?" You say it so firmly. Confident. 

You want him and everything that comes with him. The Abbott name, the not-so-glamourous life of being mated or even married to a man like him. Hell, you want the dirt that tracks in on his boots, the stench of sweat that clings to him after a long day at work, and the horse he's dragged to three different ranches so far. No other mare will do. Only his. 

"'s what I want, too," his hand curls around yours, delicately guiding it up to his chest, where he can crane his head down and kiss your knuckles. "Shame everyone would be able to smell me on ya. Think I'd kill to be there when they realize their special little omega got mounted by some grimy ol' cowboy."

"You're not grimy," it's only after you say it that the memories come flooding in. Dirt clinging to his jaw and neck, all the times he hasn't been able to finger you due to some crude, black substance clinging to his nails. That one time, when he came back covered in a thin layer of mud, muttering something about heifers and tagging a damn calf. "...most of the time." 

If it's not the moaning that's going to get you caught, surely it'll be the fit of giggles that squeeze out of the cracks in the door frame.

The roar of a rodeo crowd never fails to remind you of why Rhett does this. Feet stomping on the metal flooring of the bleachers. Hands clapping in a thundering applause. Unafraid to shout and jeer as the numbers on the scoreboard count up.

Four seconds. The bull's head twists to the left. Back legs kicking high into the air. A plume of dirt kicks up.

Five seconds. Rhett's right hand bobs in the air. Torn between the sheer will to keep up for the judges and the overwhelming instinct to use it to steady himself. 

Six. Your breath fogs in front of your face. Shouting Rhett's name. As if doing so could possibly help him hold on. 

Seven. The scream of the crowd is rising now. Booming voices and cowbells so loud that you can no longer hear the beat of your heart in your ears. 

Eight. The buzzer sounds. Artificial flames burst from above the chutes. 

You blink, and he's off the bull. The bullfighters are scurrying like ants. Rhett's scooping his hat up off the ground. Spinning around to face the scoreboard just as the rankings make their switch. You think the crowd may have preemptively exploded into celebration because they're cheering and hollering before you've even realized what the screen says.

1. Rhett Abbott 89.5

You've got to read it twice before you finally understand what that means. He's moving on to the finals next week.

And lord, does he know it. 

Fist pounding against his vest so hard that his hair shakes with every strike, jolted by his own strength. Mouth open. Shouting something that doesn't make it past the arena fences, his wide eyes scanning the bleachers, slowly drifting until they seem to lock with yours.

It's impossible; he's so far away that you can hardly see his features. But he's looking at you, and he's grinning, waving a big hand toward a building lurking just behind the chutes. You've only been to these particular rodeo grounds once, but you've seen that gesture enough times to know what he's asking and that you don't have to head over there right now. 

You won't see him until after he's had his five-minute shower. When he's had time to scrub the adrenaline out of his system and doesn't run the risk of knocking you off your feet by scent alone. 

Do you still regret letting him know that he almost sent you into heat once? Yes. 

A lot.

Though it can't be all that bad. Not when you and your newly acquired chili cheese fries have the pleasure of stumbling across a hell of a scene. Wet, unruly curls and a thin white t-shirt that's ever so slightly too small, clinging to every muscle and curve of his chest, biceps bulging from beneath the restrictive fabric. You can see his tattoo right through it, that bucking bull as prominent as ever.

A pair of green eyes squint back at you, attached to wavy blonde curls and glimmering lip gloss. She's not the only one batting her long lashes at Rhett and twisting her hair between her delicately manicured fingertips; there's a brunette giggling along next to her. A barrel racer done up in purple plaid to your left, another girl in glasses wearing a rodeo hoodie, and those are just the ones that you've noticed. 

All of you are so different in nature, and yet, you have the same end goal: Rhett Abbott.

He'll come when he realizes you're here; you know he will, but hell if this influx of attention doesn't make your stomach twist. Technically, Rhett isn't yours. He can pick any one of these starry-eyed onlookers and never be happier. At least they'll never hold him to the constant strain of being with an omega.

 Something plops atop your head, so big that it falls into your eyes. 

"Whatcha starin' at?" There's that familiar voice that you've become so accustomed to, rumbling from somewhere behind your right shoulder. A familiar scent greets your senses: warm, twisted with the woodsy aroma of body wash, and...something else. A faint musk that makes your nose feel funny.

With the back of your hand, you push his hat up, peering at him from beneath the rim, "I was thinking."

Rhett's head tilts to the side. "'bout?" 

Something tells you that you weren't supposed to see the swift flicker of his gaze. Down to the forgotten snack in your hands, then back up to your face as if nothing ever happened. His tongue darts out, wetting his bottom lip. 

"How I'm gonna explain where I've been all night," it's the weakest lie told this century, but you're covering up for it by lifting your container of fries. "Want some?" 

If he catches on to the waver in your voice, then he doesn't mention it, too busy fighting off the little grin working its way onto his handsome face, still clinging to that stoic alpha demeanor that you both know he doesn't have. 

One of these days, he'll figure out that his fluttering eyelashes are giving away his true emotions, almost excited to reach and take two of your fries. Cheese drips as he lifts them, so artificial that it hardly even counts as dairy, the perfect match to those greasy gas station snacks that he's been serenading you with. 

"Y' weren't out here waitin' too long, were ya?" Talking in between bites, sauce clinging to his lips like an absurd gloss. 

Your head shakes, cowboy hat jostling back and forth with the motion. "Only about a minute or two." 

A pair of sour faces twist your way, surveying the competition. If there even is one. Rhett doesn't so much as spare them a glance. Preoccupied with you lifting his beloved hat off your head and pressing his cheesy lips to your temple like this is some kind of normal thing between you two. 

"Hey!" You squeal, but Rhett's already on the move, dodging your light-hearted swat and shoving a stolen fry into his mouth. 

He'd ought to consider himself lucky that he's got those big, blue eyes to get himself out of trouble. With that big laugh that bounces around your head for far longer than it should, enough to make you a little bit dizzy.

"I thought you were worried about..." pausing to swipe at the residue with the back of your hand, wiping away his sloppy kiss, "you know, people seeing?"

Your people seeing. Or hearing. Or even catching the slightest whiff that you're entertaining the very idea of someone who wasn't at last night's party.

But Rhett just shakes his head, that stupid smile prominent as ever. "Ain't no-one to recognize us out here." 

...huh.

"So you're not worried if I..." Taking one step forward. Then another, until you're nose to nose, so close that you can almost taste the mint of his toothpaste. "Do this?"

His forehead thunks against yours. "Not one bit." 

Kissing Rhett Abbott has always been a dream, but kissing him in public is another whirlwind entirely. The rose-tinted novelty of cementing who he belongs to, whose arms you're meant to fit into, and all of those shallow things that onlookers really couldn't give a damn about. They don't care about the strong arms that wind around your waist, the palm that flattens against the curve of your spine. How difficult it is to blindly hold your fries off to the side, trying your best not to crush them between your bodies. 

As quickly as he'd leaned in, Rhett draws away, nose wrinkled. 

"What?" Is there something on your breath? Melted cheese somewhere on your face?

But he just shakes his head, leaning in for another kiss. "Nothin'."

It must have been something in the wind because he doesn't make another mention of it again. His nose doesn't even twitch when you drift past the food trucks, all lined up in the front section of the parking lot, with their fried snacks, greasy meals, and sugar-filled treats that ought to make anyone drool. 

You've only just finished your fries, but you've already caught sight of another truck, white in color, selling something that you don't know the name of but smells like heaven itself. There's no reason for your stomach to be growling, but it sings its little tune regardless of all the things you've snacked on this afternoon. Shame that you left your wallet in the truck and spent the last of your cash on those fries. 

Why are you so hungry today?

"See somethin' ya want?" Rhett's voice is damn near the only thing that can pull you out of your stupor.

"I don't need it," really, you don't. You've already had three things from here; if anything, another greasy snack is the last thing that you need. There's food at home. 

But Rhett's already taking you by the hand, drawing his wallet from his back pocket, and it's just so hard to deny his firm offer to get you anything you want. The food tastes exactly how it smells: warm and easy on the tongue. Your spare glance at the folks selling fried dessert has him bringing over two plates of it. Maybe it's something he wanted, or maybe he's eating it just to make you feel better, you're not sure, but it's gone in minutes.

In the time it takes to walk to the truck, you've acquired a bag of handmade candy, sweet and wonderful, aside from the bizarrely tart green ones that Rhett insists he likes. White lie or not, you're just happy that you won't be accidentally popping one into your mouth again.

"You're sure ya don't want anythin' else?" The squeal of the passenger door almost covers up his question. One of these days, he'll figure out a solution that'll last for longer than a week.

"I'm sure," though if he gives you an hour, you've got a feeling that the answer will be different. For now, your stomach is so full that you almost wonder how you manage to climb into the truck, the slightest bit dizzy from all that sugar and grease.

Or maybe it's from something else because it doesn't seem to be fading. If anything, it seems to be getting worse, the cars in the parking lot spinning around your head like you're in a cartoon. Even the subtle sway of the truck as Rhett gets in the driver's seat is enough to worsen it. 

You can't see it, but you can feel his eyes on you. "I don't think..." That's your voice...but you never planned on talking? What are you trying to say?

Somehow, you've gotten yourself into the middle seat. Close enough for Rhett to loop his arm around your shoulders, drawing you into his side. He's so warm that you melt like ice on a summer day, head falling against his chest, the thump of his heartbeat loud in your ear. 

"Sweetheart..." his lips brush against your temple, some little thing that sends a shiver down your spine. "You feelin' okay?" 

"Dizzy." Concluding before you've even realized what he's asked. "Why?" 

A hand curls around your cheek, urging you to nuzzle closer as if you could possibly need any more encouragement. You're already starting to wedge yourself into the crook of his neck, right where his scent is the strongest. The little gland hidden there has a thicker sheen to it than usual, glistening even in the barely there light.

"Rhett?" You try again, and this time, you might have a little more control over what your body is doing. 

His jaw scratches the top of your head, sucking in a long, audible breath. "Your heats startin'." 

No, that doesn't make sense. Why would...why would your heat be starting? This isn't your first rodeo; you would have recognized the signs if it was coming on. The mood swings, the sudden onset of clinginess, the sudden bouts of lightheadedness that leave you stumbling, the insatiable hunger right at the cusp of—

"Oh."

You don't even feel your face fall. Or maybe you do, and you're just too distracted with the sting of wateriness building in your eyes, distorting your vision, and already trying to spill over. No. No, no, no, no. This can't be your heat. You've always had them toward the middle of spring, never late autumn. That doesn't—that doesn't make sense. Why would it start now?

"Hey, hey," it's not until Rhett starts talking that you realize you've been muttering your thoughts out loud. 

Problem is, you don't care that he's heard you. How are you supposed to when there's the looming possibility that you're never going to see him again? Doesn't he remember? You've got to choose someone before your heat starts, or else your parents will choose for you! 

"I ain't goin' anywhere yet," he's pulling you in, both arms wrapped tight around you, and even the awkward angle cannot distract you from the shiver that's settling into your bones. 

"I don't want you to go anywhere at all!" You don't mean to cry out like a child, but it happens anyway, pitchy and breaking in the middle.

Rhett doesn't open his mouth again. He can't. The Abbotts may have a reputation for being able to repair anything they get their hands on, but there's nothing Rhett can say or do to fix this. All he can do is keep pulling you close until he's leaning back against the door, and you're settled up on top of him, with not an inch of space left between. 

Maybe if you don't move, time won't tick by so quickly. 

The one bad thing about time is that it does pass, regardless of what you have to say on the matter. Because eventually, that time does come when Rhett has no choice but to start his truck; there's an hour's drive ahead of you, and red flags will begin waving if you come home in a full-blown heat. 

For the first time in a while, you see Rhett's speedometer five miles below the speed limit, uncaring of the impatient vehicles blaring the horns. Doesn't get riled up when some asshole drives by flipping him off, hardly even fusses when the guy merges too early and nearly clips the front of his truck. 

All he's worried about is taking as much time as he can, keeping that arm around you for as long as he can manage. Only draws away to handle sharp turns but quickly returns soon after, and frankly, you don't even care about chiding him for his risky driving. 

There's some dumb, sad song droning on the radio when he finally puts the truck into park, and it may be dark in this truck, but you can still see the wateriness brimming his eyes. You know it because you have that same glassiness, too. 

You've got a million and one things you could say, and yet, you can't bring yourself to say a single one of them. There's no point in it; this is probably the last time you'll ever see him. Unmated, at the very least. 

The front door opens before you can utter a single word. Don't know who it is, nor do you care. 

Rhett's forehead presses against yours, mouth opening, then clamping shut just as quickly. Can't say anything either. But then he leans his head down, temple rubbing against yours, and it's the closest thing to a goodbye that either of you can manage. This short, unspoken thing; rubbing his scent on you for both the first and the last time.

Either something about him was warding off the vicious beginnings of your heat, or the very smell of him threw you off the deep end because you hardly make it into your bedroom before the dizziness takes hold again. Feet dragging across the floor, forced to guide yourself with a hand against the wall while someone else shouts their recognition to the whole goddamn world. 

By the time you get your door closed, they're already muttering about which Tillerson to choose for you. Luke or Trevor? Who is the most worthy of selling you off to, like a piece of meat? 

The dizziness takes over before you've even made it to the bed. 

If heaven can be a moment, then this must be hell.

Waking up is always the worst. A dull, incessant throbbing deep in your bones, the edges of your vision blurry enough to give you the worst tunnel vision you've ever had the displeasure of experiencing. Sleeping on the floor has done you no favors, leaving a stiffness in the left side of your body that definitely was not there before. 

It's almost enough to distract from the obscene wetness between your legs. A clear fluid that stains the crotch of your pants and has left a big spot on the floor itself. 

"Maybe sleeping on the floor was worth it..." you mutter as you push yourself to your feet. Cleaning slick out of a mattress is much harder than those YouTube tutorials cropped it out to be; you'll be able to clean that before another wave of dumbness washes over.

The wipes in your bathroom are enough to take care of it, taking it off the hardwood with ease. Leaves you with more time to figure out what to do about these pants, if you're committing to trying another heat while fully dressed, or if a nightgown, while uncomfortably exposing, will be easier to handle. 

Your instincts are itching at you to build a nest, but is it even worth it, all things considered? If everyone has their way, you'll be shipped off to some alpha's house by the end of the night. First with a weekend bag, then the rest of your things once the heat fades. 

And what's that sitting on your windowsill? 

It's an amalgamation of color: dark red, beige, navy blue, balled up inside of something gray. Hell, even when you're looking at it through the glass, you haven't the slightest clue what it is. Leaves you with no choice but to peel open the window and—

A familiar scent strikes your nose. 

Rhett.

These are his shirts. Wrinkled and warm from the sun, and oh, they smell exactly like him. You can't help but squeeze the whole bundle to your chest, shamelessly burying your face into them. He must have spent the whole night rubbing on these like one of those overly friendly cats.

It's about that time of the morning when he puts his horse up in the pen while he helps with the usual barn maintenance, but you don't see her anywhere. The other horses are there: two palominos, a paint, and a handful of chestnuts, but that sturdy little black mare is nowhere to be found. 

Must have put her around the other side. 

Something crinkles inside of these clothes, deep down in the center of them. You know what it is before you've even unraveled the mess of fabric. Snacks. Your favorite chips, a candy bar, and the hard candies that you didn't realize you left in his truck. A torn piece of paper has been tucked into the candy bar wrapper.

Don't forget to eat :) 

Such a simple message shouldn't have tears stinging at the corners of your eyes, but it does, and as much as you'd like to blame it on your heat, you know that's not the case. Funny how even the bare minimum can look like the greatest act of kindness when your heart is torn in two.

Between the impending doom that is the rest of your life and the next wave of your heat coming along, you've got no appetite. That was the whole point of your inability to feel full last night, your body's futile attempt at stocking up on calories before it devolved into a weeklong period of craving nothing but sex, and knots, and alphas, and skin contact, and everything else under that umbrella.

Still, you eat it.

It's not so bad when you manage to convince your heat brain that Rhett's little note was growled into your ear, an order that you cannot possibly disobey. Snacking on the candy bar when you climb out of the shower, taking bites in between your routine, finishing it off when you settle into bed with one of those flannels. Storm clouds are rolling in, and they're doing nothing to ward off the sleepiness your heat is bringing on.

Your impromptu nap is interrupted by the impromptu barging in of someone letting you know that Trevor Tillerson has been chosen as your alpha. He'll be here sometime around nine to pick you up and take you to some fancy resort that he's rented just for the two of you. Somewhere far, far away from Wabang and the dark clouds looming overhead. 

If you had a choice in the matter, maybe it would be romantic.

The chips get you through a bout of doom scrolling on your cellphone until your face begins to feel hot, and you're rudely reminded that you've got to pack while you still can. A righteous pain in the ass that does nothing but frustrate you to no end. 

How are you meant to shove a week's worth of clothes into so few bags? On your heat, no less, the one time when you'll be soaking through most of your garments! And your laptop, where the hell do you shove that? Between the shirts? Do you even bother with these shorts? 

"Why am I doing this?" You mutter it as if you've got a choice in the matter, idly pawing at your spinning head. 

At one point, you suppose that you did. Marrying rich sounded like a wonderful idea when the subject was brought up ten years ago. A life with everything you could ever want. Endless vacations and money to spend on anything you want because you were born an omega, and such a rare thing deserves only the best. You'd had it in your head that you'd find the person of your dreams dressed up in a suit worth more than your entire family ranch. 

But you just had to run right into the Abbott family's youngest son, the one who had nothing but a black horse, a couple of flannels, and a championship rodeo buckle to his name. A new ranch hand, with his scruffy smile and the kindest hands you've ever known. 

Now, here you are. 

Your parents have invested hundreds of hours and an insurmountable amount of money into luring in alphas. They've made friendships with the families of your suitors and formed expectations for the outcome of your life that no longer align with your desires. You're in so deep that a simple 'no' will not suffice. Especially not when Rhett comes into the deal. 

A sourness blossoms in your chest, spreading into your lower belly like a plague, gut-twisting and churning as if you're about to be sick. There's an invisible hand squeezing around your heart, so tight that it just might burst, but you don't feel nauseous. Not one bit, and maybe that's got something to do with the blurring of your vision.

"Rhett," whining. Rhett. You want Rhett. Here. Right now.

That dizziness is growing worse. A foreign heat spreads deep in your inner thighs, flushing to superheat the rest of your body, but your face feels cold, and something wet is spilling across your cheeks. Tears fall quicker than the rain pattering against your window. A never-ending stream that has you hiccuping, frantically sucking in breaths of air that never quench the ache in your throat.

It is the whim of your own frantic hand that leads you to grab your phone. Scrolling through your contacts until you land on the fuzzy shape of a name that you've seen enough times for it to be familiar. 

It rings.

And it rings.

...and it rings.

"Your call has been forwarded to an automatic voice messaging system," that robotic voice drones through the speaker, already beginning to ramble off the digits of Rhett's phone number. 

Maybe he didn't get to the phone in time. Yeah, that's got to be it. You'll try again. He'll pick up this time. 

"Your call has been forwarded to an automatic voice messaging system."

Thunder rumbles outside, heavy enough to shake the house, rattling the knick-knacks on the shelves and sending slick rushing down your thighs. Sticky and burning, and oh god, your head is spinning like you're on a fucking merry-go-round. 

Someone's knocking at your door, the distorted sound of your name dancing through the room. Whether or not you respond, you've got no idea, but they're responding as if you did.

"Trevor is here," her voice is oddly familiar, but a face isn't coming to mind. 

"I need..." shaking your head, rattling a coherent thought into place. "I need...a little bit longer to pack."

Silence. And then, quietly, "Okay." Footsteps echo through the hallway and then dissolve into nothing.

You can't see. The colors of your room merge together into a sea of splotches, a fire burning up in your chest, the embers reaching all the way up into your skull. White and black, and gray and a spot of green that you just know is the call button. Your thumb darts across the screen. Tapping once. Nothing. Then a little lower.

The screen color changes. 

"Your call has been forwarded to an automatic voice messaging system." Whether or not you manage to press 'end call,' you have no idea. All you know is that the screen color has changed. 

He turned off his phone. It didn't even ring before sending you to voicemail this time; he doesn't want to talk to you. 

Maybe he's already found company in one of those girls from last night's rodeo. Or maybe he's entirely decided that it isn't worth entertaining you anymore, not even in the slightest. But that doesn't explain why he's left you some of his flannels, like the one that you're pulling off the bed. 

His scent has already begun to fade, but as you bury your nose into the fabric, it smells as if he's really here. A little bit of focus is all it takes for you to convince yourself that he's right next to you. A big shield, curled around you, right here on the floor. How his jaw would tickle your neck as he rests his head on your shoulder, waiting until you're ready to get up and run off into the sunset with him.

Hell, if only it were that easy. 

If you were to take off on your own, right here and right now, you wouldn't make it out of Wabang. You can't smell them, but every alpha in town will pick up on the pheromones wafting off of you, and you're in no state to defend yourself. 

Even without the heat, you wouldn't be safe. So long as your neck remains bare, you run the risk of being seen as a piece of meat to others, both alpha and beta. One little nip is all it would take for someone to bond you to them forever; so simple that someone can run up from behind and do it within a second. 

When you open your eyes again, the world around you is a little clearer. 

...strange. 

Waves of your heat should last at least an hour or more, not a few minutes. Standing, even with the uneasy sway of your body, shouldn't be this easy. Yet you've got the strength to walk yourself over to the window, still open from when you took the shirts off the ledge. The wind has carried rain into the room, scattering across the floor and nearly causing you to slip. Your only saving grace is the windowsill itself, your clammy hands gripping it tight as they can. 

Evidently, house shoes aren't meant to traverse the elements. Not even a little bit of water. 

As if to reveal its schemes to you, the wind blows once more. Cool air kisses your burning cheeks, the only indication of how much you've already adjusted to your heat. Now, if only your eyes could do something similar and adjust to the shift in lighting. 

It can't be anything past eight o'clock, but night has already fallen in its entirety, a thick blanket of black covering everything beyond the horizon. Even so, you can vaguely make out the shape of something sitting in your driveway. Blocky, but there are four bits of round metal catching in the dull light hanging outside of the barn. 

Something behind it moves. Noticeably lighter than the dirt and whatever that object is. 

Your eyes narrow. Fighting the urge to lean further out the window as the thing creeps across the drive. A growl rumbles out of your throat. Goosebumps prickle across your skin. It's growing closer. 

Clink.

Clink. 

Clink.

Wait a damn minute.

"Rhett?" 

A laugh twists through the air with all the grace and beauty of a ballerina. "Did I hear you growlin' at me?" 

"You shut off your phone when I tried calling you!" Is all your dumb, cloudy mind can come up with, pitchy and whiny like a child. 

"Shh, shh, I know," there he is. The dull porch light is the only thing illuminating his handsome face. 

His mouth opens like he's got something else to say, but it closes just as quickly, still searching for the right words. Then, trying again. "Ya remember what y' said in the barn 'bout runnin' away?"

"Yes, but..." pausing to look over your shoulder at the closed door before looking back at him. "What about your horse? And, and, your job and your things at the bunkhouse?"

"I got it all taken care of," he's a little closer now, enough for you to see the longer scruff clinging to his jaw. Soft. Not quite as wirey as when it's freshly shaved. "'m startin' on a ranch in Nebraska next Monday mornin'. Owner says he knows a guy with a house I can rent for us. It ain't all that much, but I—"

"Okay." You can't help yourself. He doesn't need to say another word. 

His eyes flutter. "Okay." Parroting you, as if to make sure the word is what he thinks it is. 

For a moment or three, it's quiet. Nothing but the crunch of dirt beneath his boots and the jingle of spurs that he's too lazy to take off. And now he's standing right in front of you, nothing but this window and a small shrub separating you. His nostrils flare, and you're certain that if it were brighter out, you'd be able to see the darkening of his pupils.

There's that smile. Sprawling across his face, wrinkling the corners of his eyes, pearly white teeth glistening like he's the star of a toothpaste commercial. Can hardly close his mouth as you lean in, lips brushing against his. 

Voices echo from down the hallway, squeezing in through the cracks. 

Shit.

Your feet are moving before you can even process what's happening. Scrambling across the piles of clothes that sit on your floor. Grabbing whatever you can. Shoving it into the still-open bags. T-shirts. Shoes. Loungewear. You don't know what else. What you have and what you're missing can all be sorted out later. All you know is that those voices are getting closer, and you can't get back to the window fast enough.

You're not even sure if Rhett hears them talking, but he's not wasting time by asking questions. Already pulling the duffel bag from your arms and turning back towards his truck. Lightning flickers as you run back to your bags. Heart hammering so loud that you hardly even notice the thunder that follows.

One of the voices says your name. A laugh rattles after it. 

A zipper fumbles between your fingers. Climbs halfway down the track. Then catches on the hem of something sticking out. You can't see what it is. 

"Fucking—" swearing under your breath. You pull it again. No give. 

It'll have to do. You're already scrambling to shove the bag into Rhett's open arms. Twisting back for the last one. Phone. Where is your phone? But the room is spiraling with your movement, and your eyes feel as if they're rolling around in your skull. Vision darting every direction except for where you want it to go.

There it is. On the floor, next to his shirt. Which part of the bag are you shoving them into? You don't know. 

The voices are closer. Three. Four. Five of them. Talking, laughing together as they edge near your room and your unlocked door. 

"Baby." Rhett's voice cuts through your thoughts like a knife. 

You don't think any time has passed, and yet, turning back to the window feels like the first time you've moved in minutes. The edges of your vision swim, merging into a haze of black as you scramble to him. 

You've gotten over this window before. He's seen you do it. But as you draw a leg up and over, his hands dart out and settle on your waist. Holding you steady, like you might fall to your death if he doesn't.

Rain pelts your face like tiny bullets, freezing on your superheated skin, and the voice in your head wonders if this is what freedom feels like. The rush buzzing through your veins. The big hand that squeezes yours, the mud that kicks up under your heels as you tear down the driveway. 

Wind squeals in your ears so loud that you nearly miss the clatter ring through the window. But it's too late for them to kick in the door. You're too far gone for them to catch. Because your feet are flying beneath you. And Rhett's right alongside you. And even the storm cannot conceal the glisten in his eye. The way he laughs, loud and triumphant and excited. 

It's the scene that's played through your head ever since you met. 

A voice calls out. Rhett splits off to slam his truck bed cover closed. You keep going.

Another one echoes through the storm. Deeper. Shouting your name.

"Stop!" 

But there's no leash to hold you back. No magical lasso that they can throw out and reel you back in with. Nothing stops you from pulling on the handle of the passenger door and leaping up into the seat, scrambling to slam it shut before someone can magically appear to wedge it open. 

Rhett's door squeals open. Vehicle swaying as he all but launches himself inside, fumbling for the gear shift. 

The truck jerks forward, engine roaring as the tires spin. The tail end jerks to the left, then the right, then back to the left again, gunning it down the driveway.  

Light pours through the front door, vaguely human blotches rushing out onto the porch. Even as you twist to look out the rear window, they're nothing more than tiny spots of color, growing smaller and smaller. The headlights of a truck flick on, but it's no use. Rhett's tires are already kissing the pavement of the main road.

You blink, and the house is gone; you might as well be a million and one mile away.

Rhett's head turns, just as yours does, eyes locking for the briefest of seconds. A little rumble of something escapes him, and it must be contagious because something a giggle is bubbling out of you, boiling into laughter.  

"That was," his mouth fumbles through his smile, "not how I planned it."

"What, were you hoping to get shot at, too?" Slow, you turn to settle back into the seat, wedged between him and the duffel bag crammed against the passenger door. 

Something sharp stabs in your lower belly. So sudden that it has your knees knocking together, eyes squeezing shut. As quickly as it happened, a wave of heat curls into its place, an uncomfortable wetness appearing between your legs.

A hand appears on your thigh. Hot. Clammy. "You okay?" 

"Heat." Is all you can say. 

That's all it is, really. Cramps. The one thing that manages to be worse than your heat itself. You can handle the overwhelming craving for an alpha between your legs, stretching you to your limit as he knots you over and over and over.

Ugh. You can't be thinking of this right now. 

Just like how you shouldn't be slouching to your left, cheek squishing Rhett's shoulder, big and warm, and right where he tends to spray his cologne. Faint from a day of wear, but there's still a peppery note lingering on him, overwhelmed by...something you can't describe. 

Something that makes the tip of your nose feel numb. 

Odd. It was there last night, too, but you don't recall it appearing any other time before that. There was certainly no trace of it in the barn or when he snuck into your bedroom afterward. Maybe your heat has warped your sense of smell again; it wouldn't be the first time. 

Rhett's foot shifts from the gas, gently pressing against the brakes for an upcoming red light, fingers audibly drumming against the steering wheel. 

Something white rolls across the floorboard, tiny somethings rattling around inside. Tumbling toward the front of the truck, then falling back to thunk against the toe of your muddy hose shoe. 

"'s just some vitamins," Rhett mutters, kicking them with his foot, sending the bottle thunking against the passenger door, cap popping open. A myriad of long, round blue pills spill out, decorating the floor. 

Huh. 

You've never seen blue vitamins before, their pastel color seeming to glow in the lights hanging overhead, Wabang's feeble attempt at keeping the darkness of night at bay. Curious, you lean down and reach out for the container. Your fingertips brush against the plastic on your first try, depth perception warped by the haze of your heat, but you get it on the second attempt.

Suppressants for Alphas only 250MG Rut Suppressants.

Your head turns to Rhett. His eyes dart from the label. To yours. Then, back to the road. 

The pieces click together so perfectly that you can hear them falling into place. Resonating through your empty skull until every fiber of your psyche echoes the same thing. 

"You started your rut," it slips out of your mouth like it's a scientific breakthrough. A discovery that will be written in the history books for millennia. 

His Adam's apple bobs, swallowing hard. A pink tongue darts out to wet his lips. "Didn't want ya thinkin' that was my reason for all this."

"I wouldn't have thought that Rhett," reaching for the hand that still rests on your thigh, fingers slotting between his, lightly squeezing it in your grasp. 

But his head just shakes, foot twitching against the gas pedal. The truck lurches, finally beginning to pull through that traffic light. "'s my fault your heat started." 

"I know." You already put that together. It explains everything: the odd timing and the sudden onset of it at the rodeo. That funny scent he's been wearing...it was from the pills. 

He looks at you again, teeth worrying his bottom lip, already swollen from the abuse. First, the licking, now the chewing. If you give it a minute, he'll start rubbing at them with his fingertips. For now, those heavy eyes dart back to the road. Guilty. "'n you're not upset 'bout that?" 

You're not entirely sure what to say to him. That the timing may be inconvenient, but you're happy to be here with him, running after a fever dream that might or might not work out? Do you admit that you wish this would have happened sooner? 

So many thoughts, and yet, not a word drifts down to your tongue. Instead, all you can think to do is this. Leaning over, left arm crammed between your bodies, as your right squirms across his belly, squeezing him. A poor attempt at a hug, but he softens under your touch all the same.

"It's not your fault," you murmur after a moment. The world around you is beginning to twist again, warping into a familiar blur, makes it hard to move your mouth. "You wouldn't hold it against me if my heat triggered your rut. Why would it be any different the other way around?"

You don't feel him move, but his lips find their way to your temple, lingering for a fleeting second. They would likely stay longer if driving didn't demand so much of his attention, hand idly working the steering wheel as you rumble through Wabang. If anyone has followed you this far, then surely they'll lose you here; too many winding streets for them to maintain a trail.

There's a part of you that wonders if you fell asleep because the next time your eyes open, the road is different. One moment, you're in town, and the next, you're on a dark, four-lane highway merely illuminated by the vivid beams of his headlights. 

Or maybe...maybe it's just two lanes because the lights on the dash seem to have doubled. Blurry and out of focus, no matter how much you try to blink your vision back into clarity. Shifting in the seat, you lift your head. 

And immediately let it thunk back onto Rhett's shoulder, vision twisting as if you've spent the past thirty minutes spinning in circles. "Ugh."

"There you are," Rhett hums. His hand drops down to squeeze your knee, giving it a little shake. "Did you know that ya snore?" 

"I do not!" Your squeal comes out as a hoarse croak. So foreign in your mouth that you hardly recognize it. 

An invisible bolt of lightning fires up your belly. 

Slick pools between your legs, staining your underwear and seeping down to your thighs. There's a shiver in your bones that wasn't there before, wavering like a leaf in high wind, without rhyme or reason. And there's this deep set ache in your lower stomach, reaching all the way to your weeping cunt, almost sore from lack of use, demanding attention that your fingers can't satisfy. 

"What's wrong?" Rhett's voice meets your ears like a ray of sunshine on a stormy day. 

Shame that it can't ward off the wave of cramps thundering through your lower belly. "Hurts," 

"Jus' a few more miles, 'kay?" His arm lifts, draping across your weary shoulders like a blanket. It's a fleeting touch that'll be forced to end at the next curve in the road, but it's nice to slouch into, head coming to rest against the side of his chest. Thin muscle flexes under your cheek, stretched so tightly that you can feel the bone lurking underneath. 

You wonder if he's just naturally built so wirey or if he'll be one of those alpha's that grow bulkier with a mating bond. It's hard to figure it out without being familiar with his family; if you knew the Abbotts personally, then maybe you'd have heard the stories of it happening with his father or brother. Maybe even a grandparent.

On its own, your hand shifts, crawling to rest on his knee. It's just as bony as the rest of him, and yet, conceals just enough muscle to cling onto the backs of those bulls. They're invisible at first glance, but if you squeeze, you can feel the softness of them, wrapped around hard bone. 

"Are you feelin' me up?" He chuckles, wiggling his leg back and forth as if to try and shake you off. 

Well, you weren't yet, but now that he's put the idea in your head...

Rhett sucks in a breath. His hips jerk, the truck lurching as his foot spontaneously presses against the pedal. You've felt him in your palm before, but fuck you don't remember him being this thick, twitching under the slightest bit of pressure. 

"Wait," he grunts. That arm is already slipping out from behind your shoulder, big hand encircling your wrist.

Maybe you should have asked first. "Did I—"

"No. God no," talking so fast that he stumbles over his words, "just...hurts." 

And yet, he makes no move to draw your hand away, letting it remain there as he focuses on keeping the truck on the road, grip so firm that you're almost certain he won't let you pull back. It's all you can do to ignore the way he throbs through his jeans, pulsing against your soft palm, testing the will of the zipper confining him.

It must take a year for him to begin turning off onto an exit, dark and poorly lit by a scattered array of frail lamp posts. The road thins, and all of a sudden, neon flickers to life—a hotel sign. Logo written in such gaudy cursive that you can hardly read its name. 

A whine rattles out of you, squirming impossibly closer. 

There's a blip in your memory. 

You don't remember when he pulled into the parking lot or when you got out of the truck. But the air is cool around your ankles, and his arm is tight around your waist, forcing you to remain upright. You can't feel your feet moving, but you're stumbling along next to him anyway, head hanging low, too heavy for the rest of your body. 

"Where...?" 

"Almost there." His voice is on your left. Damn this stupid heat, why was that such a surprise to you? 

A shrill beep sounds. Green flashes. 

A bed.

It's as if a switch has flipped. The door falls shut behind you, but your feet are glued to the floor; the edges of your vision still twist, but the world around you has become noticeably...still. Surreal, even. Any moment now, you're waiting to blink away the sight of this drab little hotel and find yourself standing in the four familiar walls of your bedroom.

But as you lift your head, gaze crawling up Rhett's chest like a hungry animal, that doesn't happen. The sight of him doesn't begin to fade, his body remaining firm against yours, even as your eyes dare to meet. 

According to the romance novels and the films you've spent so much time watching, you're supposed to be the disheveled one here. Hell, maybe you are. But those films never depicted how pretty an alpha can be when their rut has set in. Freshly bitten lips, messy hair, and rosy cheeks, gazing at you with those glistening eyes. It's as if you hold his entire world in the palm of your hand.  

Slow, you twist, careful to mind where your numb feet fall, greedy hands roaming up the thick expanse of his chest, sculpted from a lifetime of back-breaking labor. Then, wandering up his neck, slowing to feel the vein bulging there, chasing it up into the soft hair clinging to his jaw. Your thumb swipes across his bottom lip, watching how it squishes under the pressure.

His eyelashes flutter; you wonder if he was a butterfly in his past life, still clinging to old habits. It's a question you'll have to ask him later when you're not halfway into leaning in and catching those thin lips in yours. 

There goes your head again, swirling 'round and 'round, set into motion by the hum that rattles out of him. One little peck. Your hands drop back down to feel the swell of his chest. A second. His arms begin to wind around you. A third, and the heel of his palm is pressing into the small of your back, and you're crumpling.

It's like a freshly knocked-over candle. The smokey leather of his scent, haunted by the fading chemical that temporarily overrode the pheromones radiating off of him. Invisible to the nose at first, but the fire is already beginning to spread until it's roaring so bright that you reckon flames might come out of your ears. 

Your arms coil around his thin waist, cinching him in with a strength you thought you'd lost. A stray foot slots between yours, his chest pushing into you, and the room is spinning. Caught by a mattress that squeals and bounces with your combined weight, unprepared for such a landing. 

"You 'megas sure get strong when ya want somethin'," Rhett's hair tickles your forehead as he settles on top of you. Perfectly slotted between your parted legs, jeans deliciously rough against your exposed thighs, pajama shorts hardly doing anything to conceal you. 

A little too curious, your hips roll, eager to find out if you can feel the bulge of his cock. 

You can.

Worse. He felt it too, already beginning to swivel forward, a foreign pressure appearing against your weeping cunt. Something jolts up your spine. Doesn't necessarily hurt; more of a reminder of what you don't have.

"Like you're so innocent in all this," your words come out rushed, riding the coattails of a shaky breath. 

He doesn't have anything to say to that, maybe a little shy as he nuzzles his nose against your cheek. A stark contrast to the bold hips that press into you, so eager and desperate to feel you. It's like the first time you crossed that boundary, ground down on each other until neither could take it anymore. 

Except, this time, you've no reason to stop there. 

No family. No concern about high-dollar alphas or uncomfortable, fashionable outfits. These peeling walls couldn't care less about who you coil your legs around. This bed isn't going to fuss at you for spreading your legs to a scruffy ranch hand without a pedigree. 

You're the only one who cares about the way he guides himself with his nose, blindly wandering back to meet your mouth. Kisses you with all the fervor of a man who's just found everything he's ever wanted. 

His hands are everywhere, cradling your face, skirting down your sides, and wandering up under your shirt, callouses catching on the soft skin of your belly as he roams beneath. Then he's above your shirt again, dragging up the swell of your breasts, on his way to grip your jaw.

It's so hard to stay still. Your fingers find their way to his flannel, already trying to work it open. It's so much harder with your eyes closed, shivering hands struggling to remain still. Fuck, this button just doesn't want to move. Stubbornly caught in the hole, refusing to slip through, even as you pull—

It snaps off. Lands atop your heaving chest. Rhett draws back, already looking down at it. 

"I'm sorry—"

"Don't be." The corner of his lip lifts, flashing a sharp canine. Cocky, as he reaches for the shirt, buttons flying as he yanks it open. "'s kinda hot."

And just like that, he's leaning back onto his haunches, hands skimming down your sides until his fingers can comfortably hook under your shorts. Obedient, your hips lift, knees cinching up to help get them past your ankles. They're gone in an instant, underwear and all.

Is he trying to take his time? Probably.

Does that stop you from impatiently pinching his belt buckle open and yanking on the zipper? No. No, it does not. 

"Alright, alright," only Rhett Abbott can laugh this prettily, cherry red cheeks and all. "'n here I am tryin' to be a gentleman." 

You and your swirling head know that he has to pull away to get those jeans off. They need to come off, but you're already whining for him to come back. Some primal, involuntary noise that you don't recall making before, pathetic as a wounded animal.

Rhett's head jerks up. "It's okay, it's okay," he's already coming back. You knew he would, but the dumb part of your brain argues that he wouldn't have unless you made that pitiful little noise. 

But regardless of the reason, his big, warm body is slotting between your legs, his big chest flexing as he crawls up to meet your mouth. It hardly even counts as a kiss, more of a pressure that serves to remind you he's there. He's here. With you, and he's not going anywhere else. 

"I ain't goin' anywhere," he murmurs as if he's heard every silent worry racing through your dumb little mind. Can't seem to think about anything except for him and his scent and the feel of him against you and what he might be doing next.

His head dips, nuzzling you with his temple. It's the simplest damn thing, but hell, if it doesn't suck the air right out of your lungs. The innately primal drag of his scent glands against your skin, marking you like a prize he's fought tooth and nail to keep. Perfect in every sense of the term, everything you've imagined and more. 

You don't know what made your eyes drift down, but one way or another, they do, and—

"Jesus, Rhett." You've been anticipating this going a number of ways, but good lord, you didn't have this on your laundry list of ideas, what-ifs, and daydreams. 

Even when you were greedily decorating your imaginary version of him, you never quite pictured his cock to be this fucking thick. So damn heavy that it hangs between his legs, hovering just above your belly, the faintest swell of his knot already beginning to show. 

His chuckle almost sounds devilish; knows damn well what he's got and what it could do to you. "Don't think much of me is gonna fit." Understatement of the fucking century. 

No wonder he never let you touch him; he probably thought it would scare you away. In your right mind, maybe it would, but you can almost feel the hearts blossoming in your eyes, already beginning to reach for him. Your hand freezes midway—maybe you should ask first. He still might not...

He's gently taking you by the wrist, guiding you the rest of the way. This is your first ride in this particular rodeo, but your fingers wrap around his base as if you've been doing it for decades. Oh, he's so much bigger than he looked, makes your hand appear tiny as it glides up the length of him. It's enough to have your heart jumping in your chest, pitter-pattering with a newfound vigor. 

Wetness pools between your legs. So much of it that you can feel the way it runs down your thighs, and you just can't help but angle him down, dragging his fat cock head through your weeping folds. 

He groans. 

Your vision blurs. 

The world might fall apart.

A sudden shiver takes hold of you. Quaking like you're being rattled from the inside out, another wave of slick drooling out of your poor, unused cunt, delirium settling at the forefront of your mind. Saliva drips from the corner of your mouth, the edges of your vision blurring to the point of disappearing entirely.

"Shit..." One of you says it. You're not sure who.

It's as if you're the gasoline and Rhett is the lighter, setting you ablaze with the slightest hint of a flame. You don't realize you're still wearing a shirt until after it's peeled over your head, and even then, the loss of it does nothing to soothe the invisible wildfire claiming every inch of your skin.

Oh, and you think he might have it as bad as you do. Noses and chests crashing together, pinning your arm between your bellies, his cock rutting against your cunt like it's always belonged there. He whines into your mouth, jerking forward, the underside of his length massaging against your swollen clit. 

"Fuckin'..." he loses track of his words, panting against your mouth like a dog in the sun, "hell, 'm tryna go slow, but—"

Your body jerks up off the bed. Desperate. Needy. Aching for more than just a brush of him against you. The slow glide of him isn't enough. More. You need so much more. But it's hard to speak when your mouths clash, tongues tangling so sloppily that calling it a kiss would be an insult to the word. 

"Go." Panting against his lips. "Slow." One more word. One more word. "Later." 

Rhett draws back, spit-slick lips glistening in the light. The corner of his eye twitches. As if set off by it, you involuntarily clamp down around nothing, needily seeking something that isn't there yet. The emptiness is nauseating. 

"Rhett," you plea, because why in God's name is he not in you yet?

Dumb, stupid, well-meaning alpha. Always has to be taking his time and treating you like you're made of glass, ready to shatter at any given moment. But you're made of the same material as he is, fully capable of rolling over and—

Teeth sink into the scruff of your neck. Every bone, muscle, and fiber in your body goes still. You're stuck like this. Face down, trapped beneath his body, ass high in the air for him. Big arms cage your waist, his chest resting against your back like you're a pair of wild animals—no grace or sophistication about it. 

"'m tryin' to be careful with you, darlin'," his growl is muffled by your own flesh, still caught between his sharp teeth, "y' don't want me bruisin' this little pussy of yours, now do ya?" 

And as if to punctuate his sentence, his hips twitch toward, cock slipping between your slick-soaked thighs. Draws back, angle shifting just enough to have his blunt tip pressing against your weeping entrance, opening you the slightest fraction, then slipping out to slide through the folds of your cunt instead. 

The voice in your head suggests it's a threat. A reminder of what he's capable of. But your body says otherwise, already pressing back into him despite the teeth holding you pliant. Thick waves of want pulsing through your veins, thoughts aligning to echo the same damn thing. You need more. 

A cramp takes hold of your lower belly, a stabbing sort of sensation that makes you wince. Whatever primal instinct lingering in your genetics is livid.

"It hurts." You cry in a pitchy tone you've never heard yourself use before. 

"'m gonna fix it," his mouth reels away from your neck, licking over the irritated skin. "I promise."

Again, you push back. Hands digging into the bed, moving with your whole body. Sharp teeth sink back into your neck, his arms coiling around you, pulling tight until you can no longer move. 

That pressure appears again, and this time, it doesn't disappear. The unmistakable sensation of his fat cock head pressing into your pussy. He feels so much different than the silicone of your toys, warm and pulsing and so much fucking thicker; you're quite literally made to take a cock like his, loose and slick with your heat, and yet there's still an ache blooming. 

It feels impossible. There's no way...there's no way that's going to fit. 

Oh, but the feel of his tip alone has you gushing around him, an obscene amount of slick waterfalling down your thighs and onto the mattress below. He groans, low and heavy, his heated breath tickling the back of your ear.

"Rhett..." 

"I'm here," he's murmuring, and again, he's soothing the bite with his tongue. You wonder if this is what it would feel like for him to mate you. For him to sink his teeth into the scent gland on the side of your neck and let instinct take over, lick the wound clean, smother you in his scent, and then bear his pretty, pale neck for you to take for yourself. 

You can't think about it for long. Not with his cock sinking into your aching heat, filling every centimeter of you, so big that he presses against each and every little nerve without needing to try. It's as if you're being split wide open, forced to do nothing but relax and take it like a good little omega. 

A whimper escapes you, pitchy and involuntary. Set off by the drag of his tip against a particularly sensitive spot. 

"'s that where you like it?" He coos, rumbling into your ear. It's all you can do to tilt your head back, your cheek bumping into his nose. So close, not another word spoken.

It's like being broken apart and then built back up again. Fuck you can feel him up in your throat. The stretch of him is so much that it aches. Your mouth falls open at the feel of him inching deeper and deeper, pushing the air from your lungs, winding your muscles tight. Head spinning with a gentleness that wasn't there before as if your own body knows that it no longer needs to fuss about an alphas cock. 

The solid bone of his hips presses into the swell of your ass. Fully in you now. His heated breath fans out over your shoulder, heavy and carrying the faintest noises along with it. 

You'd thought that you'd let go of the breath caught in your throat, but...but...

"Fuck, look at you," the soft scruff of his jaw tickles your naked shoulder, such a foreign sensation to feel him there. So unfair. You should have known this feeling years ago. "So fuckin' pretty." 

His hands roam up your sides, callouses catching on the smooth skin, dragging just right. A shiver ripples up your spine, body involuntarily falling forward, only to sway back into him. 

Stars sparkle. Your legs nearly come out from under you. "Shit, Rhett..." 

So much. There's so much of him. In you and around you and on top of you and crowding every single one of your senses. There's no hotel.  No concern about how terrible everyone at home may feel. No earth around you. Not a single star in the galaxy. Just Rhett, Rhett, Rhett. 

"Move," you whisper as kisses press to the length of your spine. One after the other, like he's trying to love on each and every bone there. 

You squirm forward, then back again, hardly enough to even count as a movement, but the underside of his cock drags right against a nerve that damn near takes your voice away. His hand flattens against your belly, but he doesn't hear you. 

"Move," you try again, craning your head to look at him. Dark blue eyes lift, looking back at you, still peppering your back with love. "Please, Rhett—"

His hips snap into you. Pressing hard.

Your elbows crumple, falling face first into the pillow, but he just keeps fucking pressing into you, as if you could possibly take any more. A whine sparks out of you, twisting to expose your neck to him. He chuckles at that, low and dark, tongue poking past his lips to run over the delicate scent gland hiding there. 

 Then, slowly, he begins to move. Drawing back at a snail's pace, his forearms caging your waist as if to keep you from running away when he pushes back into you. Shivers run through your thighs, already beginning to clench from the feeling of him inside you alone. 

You've dreamed of this too many times for the newness to remain for long, squirming beneath him, fighting to keep your eyes on his face. Flushed and red in the cheeks, has yet to say anything, but it's easy to tell that he's feeling it, too. 

Those careful back and forths are already beginning to find their confidence, like he's slowly realizing that his cock isn't going to break you into two, no matter how much it feels like it will. Hips hitting your ass hard enough to send you jolting, a surprised little 'uh' breaking past your lips. 

"Only goddamn omega in the state of Wyomin'," he muses aloud, nails dragging over the side of your ass, making you squirm against him, "n here ya are, gettin' mounted by a cowboy." 

Impatient, he snaps into you. Heavy balls smacking into your clit. Electricity jumps up your belly. You hardly recognize what's happening. But you're fluttering around him. Heart lurching in your chest. Slick gushing down your thighs. Crying out as you suddenly cum on his cock. Eyes rolling back into your head and all. 

"Fuck, that's...fuck,"  Rhett hisses through grit teeth, but he's not stopping. No, no, he's not even slowing down. 

Shocks fire through your nerves with every motion. The kiss of his fat head against your nerves. The drag of his length along your trembling walls. The slight swell of a knot catching on your swollen entrance. But it feels so good that you can't do anything but hold still, clenching around him like a goddamn vice.

"Can't believe I never—mmh," his head falls forward, thunking against your shoulder, hips rolling into you in languid motions. "Can't believe I went this long without breedin' this pretty lil pussy of yours." 

Air catches in your throat. Cunt sent into a spasm from his words alone. "If you keep talking, I'm...I'm..." You haven't got an ending for that sentence, left open-ended and hanging. 

Kisses lead up the side of your neck, working their way to your jaw. You tilt your head, trying your best to meet him. The angle puts a strain on your neck, unable to bend any further. Even as you push your hands into the mattress and try to force yourself backward, you can't...quite...

The room shifts. Falling forward into the pillow. Rhett's heavyweight collapses on top of you. Cool air greets your swollen cunt, suddenly empty. 

"Well, that didn't..." Rhett's laugh is a melody in your ear, his smile so big that you can feel it against your cheek, "that didn't work too well." 

Between the emptiness in your skull and the sudden change in position, figuring out where you start and where he ends is a...challenge. He starts moving at the same time that you do. His knee awkwardly slots behind your thighs. Your knuckles accidentally smack into his jaw. And he's moving toward you, but you're twisting against the mattress, and your noses are smacking into each other—

"There's your pretty face," he grins, a little too cheerful. You've barely got time for your back to settle against the cheap mattress before he leans in.

The kiss is a little too innocent for what's going on below. Soft, chaste pecks. A sharp contrast to the way he settles between your parted legs, heavy cock bumping into you. Your hand darts between your bellies, blindly guiding him toward your sex. 

It's easier the second time. The gentle glide of him, chasing away that infuriating emptiness as he sinks back into you, balls bumping into your ass. So much better. This is so much better. You're already wandering, hands roaming across the broad expanse of his shoulders, seeking the perfect spot to cling on to him.

"Look at that..." he breathes, and you don't need to guess to know what he's referring to, "gonna have y' limpin' before the nights over." 

It's the kind of thing that has you shivering. The obscene sight of his thick cock disappearing between your legs stretched to your absolute limit. Impossible to look away from, even when he draws back by an inch or two, testing the angle as he sinks back in. Almost effortless, he nudges against a bundle of nerves. Sets it ablaze like a match on gasoline.

"Fuck. I can feel ya clenchin' round me, sweetheart," his eyelashes flutter, hair falling into his red face, swinging in synchrony with the lazy rocking of his body, easing in and out of you. "'s it feel that good?"

Greedy, you reach for his biceps, squishing the girth of them, muscle flexing beneath your fingertips. "Uhuh," speaking dumbly. Not another thought crosses your mind. 

There can't possibly be a bad position with Rhett, but this is something else entirely. Feels so nice to wrap your legs around his hips, heels digging into his ass, clinging to his big, warm body. Chest to chest, so close that his scruffy jaw tickles your cheek, big blue eyes threatening to drown you if he gets any closer.

Your mouths fall open, meeting for another one of those kisses that insult the romantics attached to such a word. Nothing but lewd tongue and saliva running down your chins, panting into each other, breath so hot that it ought to fog up the room. And you just can't help it, not with the press of his cock against your nerves, so damn big that missing them is impossible.

He's too quiet. Stiffling little noises in the back of his throat, extinguishing them before they can make it past the tip of his tongue. One of your hands is slithering up his arm. Wandering across the expanse of his shoulders, fingers tangling into the loose curls at his nape and pulling. 

A whine cuts through the air. Muffled at the end, but it's there nonetheless.

Words collide in your head. Tumbling down onto your drooling tongue. "Wanna hear you." 

It should take more convincing than that, but for some reason, that's all that it takes for him to give you what you want. A little noise soars out of him with all the perfection and catchiness of the new biggest hit playing on the radio. 

You think you can cum from that sound alone. 

This is so surreal. 

The nuzzle of his nose against yours, panting against your lips. The flex of muscle in his belly, as he draws himself back and forth, rutting into you, slow, yet meeting your body hard enough to have your back jostling against the mattress. You think you catch the sound of your name, twisted into the symphony of noises rattling around the room.

"I love you," it slips out of you with crippling ease; has been sitting on your tongue for so, so long that you forgot it was there at all. 

His lips wobble up into a smile. There's a glassiness in his eye that wasn't there before. "And I love you." 

He melts. 

Falls into you, even. 

Nothing but sweaty skin and wandering hands and peppered kisses everywhere that they'll fit. Up the side of your clammy neck, atop his burning forehead. The base of his knot is starting to swell, catching on your entrance with every stroke, tugging just enough for it to rip a gasp out of you. 

"'m close," he whispers, just a little secret to be shared between you and him. Not another soul is allowed to know of this little slice of heaven situated atop this old hotel mattress. "You gotta...baby, if y' don't let me go, 'm gonna..."

"Knot." Blurting. Your eyes flutter. "Please, I want—"

He hums. Doesn't need to open his mouth for you to understand that he gets it. No fuss about the crippling lack of a condom or how you really, truly can't go back from this, instead blindly following your request with crippling loyalty. Yours. Your alpha. The one who would follow you to the ends of the earth without a word. 

Even if you wanted to, it's too late to change your mind because his knot is too swollen to slip out of you. Weary, unstable thrusts are forced into an unfamiliar shallowness, but it's forcing an angle that has him rolling directly into every little nerve. You can't stop the hand that dives between your bodies, fingertips pressing to your clit in a familiar fashion.

Just a little more. Just a little more.

An involuntary clench is all it takes to have him spilling over the edge. Face falling into the crook of your neck, cumming with a choked cry that rings through your head. Fuck nobody ever told you that you'd be able to feel his knot swelling inside of you. Stretching you beyond your limit, hot cum spilling into your pussy, not a drop of it spilling out. 

Without warning, your back twitches up off the bed, cumming without warning. Head thrown back. Heart pounding against your chest. Clenching like a vice around Rhett's twitching cock. You might be muttering his name because you can feel your mouth moving, but you're too far away to hear what's leaving your lips. Entirely lost in the thundering clouds looming in the skies. 

However long you're up there, you have no idea, but at some point, Rhett finds the strength to settle onto his forearms. Pressing kisses to your lower jaw and trailing up to your temple, shiny with your scent. No two descriptions of it have been the same, but you like to believe his description is closest to reality. A fresh strawberry pie, sitting on the windowsill after the rain has ended. 

You can't help yourself, his neck is right there. The gland exposed to you like he's trying to show it off, so sensitive that he gasps at the nip of your teeth. 

He hums, leaning back just far enough to get a look at your face. Whatever he finds looming behind your sparkling eyes is enough to have a smile contorting his lips. Then, he tilts his head to the side, properly bearing his neck to you.

You know what he's offering. Asking. The quietest proposal you've ever heard. 

Logic suggests that you wait. Give yourselves time to grow together. Adjust to the discomfort of a collar in exchange for the opportunity to take things slow. The world won't end if you step off onto the well-worn path of tradition; if it's worked for everyone else, then it should work for you.

But you've done enough waiting. Your heart made its decision a long time ago. 

The movies made this seem like some blinding moment of passion. The moment your teeth sink into the delicate scent gland, the world should explode into colors that you've never seen before. The answers to the universe ought to dance around your fingertips, hearts springing from your eyes. 

But all Rhett does is giggle. 

Gidy, like a little kid on the playground, as he cranes his head to find the matching spot on your neck. Soothing it with his tongue before his canines break the skin. 

Blood rushes to your face so quickly that you can hear it in your ears. Your heart jumps, and maybe it grows the slightest bit warmer, but...nothing changes. It's still you, Rhett, and his big, strong body shielding yours from the world. These hands that cradle your cheeks are still the ones that you've known all these years. He still nuzzles your noses together, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

Voices rattle in the hallway. Something—no, someone, bumps against the door, her giggles intertwining with the laughter of a much deeper voice. 

"Mine." 

You don't recognize...

was that you?

 "'re you growlin' again?" Rhett asks, in that playfully accusatory tone, shoulders already shaking with a laugh.

You don't realize your chest is rumbling until it stops. "No." Blinking. No, that wasn't...

"Didn't know y' were this possessive of me," there's no arguing with him; he knows what he's heard. Already beginning to cover your cheek in kisses, his body shifting between your legs. That knot is still snug, tying your bodies together for the next half-hour at minimum. 

"I'm not possessive," you try, but it's hard to be convincing when he's looking at you with those pretty blue eyes like you're his whole world and then some. Maybe that's your hopeful heart talking, or maybe it's truly what you saw. 

"Yes, you are," amusement lacing his tone, "'s cute." 

If heaven's a moment, then you must be dead. 

There are too many things in this damn kitchen.

Scratch that, too many fucking cookies. Some still rising in the oven, and others are scattered on plates across the counter, with their stupid, sweet aroma that does nothing but give you a mild migraine. This idea was better in theory than in execution. You'll be damned if you get ambitious and decide to bake treats for everyone on the ranch again. 

A warmth greets your nose. Leather and something smokey sweet, like a marshmallow roasting over an open campfire. Just a hint of it at first, carrying in through the back door and swirling around the room like a loose tornado, growing in tune with the boots thunking toward you.

Clink.

Clink.

Clink.

"Are you ever taking those spurs off?" You chirp, too focused on setting this tray on top of the stove to look in his direction. If you drop these, your life might end on the spot.

Arms coil around your waist, the thick muscle rippling as he draws you back by an inch, your back coming to rest against a sturdy chest. Lips press to your cheek. One. Two. Three kisses. Leading down to his favorite grand finale: the scar on your neck. 

A shiver ripples up your spine. 

"Gon' have to leave soon," He doesn't answer your question. Probably because you already know the answer; he was going to, but he forgot. "'s a long drive, 'member?"

"Hang on, hang on." Placing the oven mitt off to the side, you reach for a cookie. Still warm, but no longer a burn hazard. Blindly, you lift it to your shoulder until he leans forward to take it with his mouth. "You go pro, and all of a sudden, you're insufferable again."

A chuckle rumbles out of him at that, but he's temporarily muzzled, the short hair on his chin tickling your skin when he nears the end of the cookie. His lips wrap around the tips of your fingers, stealing away the final piece. 

"Like you ain't got a thing for showin' me off after a good ride," his arms tighten as he speaks, fully securing you against him now. 

...and drawing your ass right into a familiar pressure. Don't need to look to know that you're pressing yourself back into the bulge in his jeans, heavy and looking for fun that you, unfortunately, don't have time for. "Are we still talking about bull riding?" 

Twisting in his arms is easy. You've done it so many times that you ought to know that you should draw your head back, but your noses collide anyway. Breaking the habit isn't worth it. 

"Dunno," he's got chocolate on the corner of his lip, and even his smile cannot distract you from it, "you tell me." 

This is a routine you've danced a hundred times. The pre-rodeo adrenaline that has him crawling all over you like some kind of love bug, desperate to relieve the tension building in his muscles. 

Relieving it is only temporary; you should know. You rode him within an inch of his life last month, and he still jumped the fence to get to you, the camera chasing him and touting you to the world as Rhett Abbott's mate—his omega, at that. So much for organically reaching out and introducing your family to the man you left everything for. 

You still need to answer the bombardment of texts that have been rotting in your phone. 

Careful to avoid the hot pan, your hand darts back toward the counter, feeling around until you find something warm and round. Making extra of these has been your best idea yet.

"Then we're talking about both," you pull him in for a kiss. Swift. Chaste. And before he can lean in and seek out any more, you shove the cookie into his mouth. 

Your shirt is gone before you can leave the kitchen. 

By the time your back hits the bedroom door, his hands are disappearing below your waistband, and sickly sweet chocolate is the only thing you can taste on his lips. There are things to do. Places to be. Bags to load into the car and a map to figure out.

But you fear you've grown addicted to these grumbling kisses of his, crave the warmth of his body against yours and all of the other things that come with him. It's a hunger you've never been able to satisfy, and not another alpha will do. Not one with money. Or someone that your family hand-picked. Or someone with a fancy cologne crafted by a brand you can't pronounce the name of.

Just this one.