#these guys look at you from across the wheat field... what do you do? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

delopsia · 3 months ago

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nosedive | rhett abbott x reader

Word Count: 18,900 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, AFAB!Reader. Storm chasers AU, Kate, and Tyler appear but are so inconsequential that they can be read as OC's. You do not need to watch Twisters to understand and read this fic! Arguing, brief food mentions, undisclosed past trauma, storm chasing, vehicle accidents, anxiety attacks, friends to lovers, grinding, unprotected sex, includes a sketch that I traced from stock photos I stitched together. Brief Summary: You swore off storm chasing a long time ago. You haven't been able to look at that old truck since the accident, and if you could have your way, you'd never think about that part of your life ever again. You've moved on. Every time you touch that damn truck, something goes wrong. But when your friend and her so-called business partner become wrapped up in a never-ending quarrel, it's Rhett who becomes your biggest supporter. You think you're beginning to remember why you used to love this. How you used to live for your out-of-this-world builds and ideas. Or maybe…just maybe, you're beginning to fall in love with something that isn't a truck.

"So, at what point are we going to tell them?"

"What would that be?" Speaking with the straw against your lips, seconds away from taking another sip of that cheap gas station coffee. "That I'm the one who keeps filling Rhett's truck with tiny ducks?"

"No," Kate's eyes roll, her head shaking ever so slightly, not quite ready to admit to her part in it. "About Dallas."

A gust of wind blows past. Entirely invisible to the eye, and yet you catch Kate's head following as it twists through the field, the wheat rippling in waves. Strange how something you can't even see can cause so much trouble, ripping up the garage roof, blowing Rhett's hat down the driveway, and taking that long-awaited Amazon package across the lawn.

Worse, it blows your straw around, leaving you to gape like a fish as you blindly try to find it again. "Do we even want to tell them?"

Her brow furrows. Confused.

"You can't convince me it's not entertaining to watch them puff up like a bunch of peacocks when we mention him," you can't help but giggle, memories flickering through your head like a slideshow. Rhett grumbling about Dallas under his breath. Tyler pulling up his YouTube channel to prove he's done bigger things than this Dallas guy ever could. Overhearing them griping about him in the hotel gym. "Can you imagine the look on their faces when they finally see him?"

A smile bursts onto her face. "You drive a fair point."

Something clangs to the left. Appearing so suddenly that both of your heads swivel toward it.

Speak of the devil.

Rhett and Tyler. Hauling some kind of unnamed contraption to the trucks. You're pretty sure that it's supposed to put extra weight on the chassis to prevent them from being blown around as easily. Rhett's been muttering about having to build a new one ever since his original build cracked a few days ago.

If you weren't distracted, you think you would be able to recall more of the details, but all you can focus on is...

"Are they allergic to shirts?" Kate chirps after a long moment, but she's not making any effort to peel her eyes away.

Neither are you. Too wrapped up in the way Rhett's bicep flexes as he readjusts his grip on the steel frame. Not quite as bulky as Tyler, but he's got a wiriness to him that almost seems to hypnotize you, stuck staring until you run the risk of being caught. "Are we complaining?"

"Absolutely not," and you only peel your gaze away when you realize that they're walking toward your little afternoon coffee party. You're not dealing with the misery that is Tyler's cockiness again.

Kate's got the same idea, her cheeks dusted with a subtle shade of pink that wasn't there a few seconds ago. Something flickers behind her eyes, the same kind of glint you're used to seeing when she's caught the trail of a brewing storm, but she doesn't say anything.

You wonder if this new frame means they'll focus on upgrading those drills next. Anchoring two feet into the ground was likely an impressive feat when they first installed that onto the rigs, but the technology has progressed so much further since then. Longer augers would be a start, twisting deeper into the earth, harder to be ripped out by high winds.

"So, do you know when Dallas is coming in?" Kate asks once the boys are within earshot, like she doesn't know the answer to her own question.

Rhett's head perks. Tyler peeks over his sunglasses.

"Few more days, I think," feigning interest in your drink, swirling the straw in circles, anything to pretend that you haven't noticed them yet. "Sunday at the latest."

"Dallas!" Tyler crows. So loud and sudden that you jolt in your seat. "Finally comin' to meet us, huh?"

Rhett peeks at you through the corner of his eye, either too focused on the task at hand or not quite bold enough to match Tyler's antics. Even from a distance, it's difficult to miss the way his gaze rakes up and down your frame as if transfixed by your pajama shorts and the beauty that is your half-awake face.

"He was supposed to be here earlier, but..." motioning toward the empty beer can blowing past. Budweiser's aluminum version of a tumbleweed. "Another wind delay."

Tyler scoffs, the heel of his boot thunking against the can and sending it flying. "How many more times is he gonna use that excuse?"

"As many times as he wants," Kate's stolen the words right out of your mouth, her shoulders shrugging as she turns her attention back to her cell phone.

Wind howls in your ear, rolling the ballpoint pen across the table and right into your cup. It tips before you can even comprehend what's happening, the remnants of your coffee spilling into the dirt.

"I reckon that's my sign to head inside," you sigh, defeated. This battle was lost the moment you quit paying attention to your drink.

There's not much for you to gather, but nature herself had might as well be interfering with your every move. Blowing the cup toward the garage, rustling your notebook pages when you scoop it up, the pen jumping off the edge of the table just to rub salt into the wound. It's not bothering anything else, not Kate's hair, not the dumb hat on Tyler's head, just your things.

Talk about a personal vendetta.

At least the garage has never betrayed you like this. Cozy and windless, albeit a bit dusty, depending on the day of the week and what project Rhett is working on. The loveseat tucked into the far right corner is much softer than that sunbleached wooden chair, the beaten cushions enveloping you in a loose hug. The thick armrest is the perfect size to fit your notebook. Doesn't have you trying to cram yourself into an itty bitty space.

And with the back of the couch being up against the wall, there's no opportunity for someone to mosey up and peek at your notes, either.

The side of the pen is dented, the groove creating the perfect space for your finger to settle into as you begin to draw. This must be the pen that you forgot on the roof of your car and wound up driving overtop of.

Ink drips from the tip in spurts, scattering across the page in small, ugly blotches. What's supposed to be your delicate sketchings of an idea are starting to look more and more like an interpretive art piece in a museum. Is it a component for one of the storm vehicles, or is there an underlying message about the beauty of mistakes and brokenness?

Whatever. The answer only matters if it's attached to a big, fat check from a private collector looking to hang it next to a myriad of other, questionably produced works.

"Whatcha ya doin' over there?" Rhett's voice echoes through the garage, seems to come from so many directions that you don't realize where he is until you spot him in your peripheral. Red dirt and grease smeared across his forearms, sweat glistening in the overhead light. You already know he doesn't smell the best, but you can't say you hate the sight of him.

Your pen drifts across the paper once more, streaking through a blob of collected ink in your efforts to build the general shape of a truck. "Sketching."

It's such a bland reply. Shouldn't intrigue him in the slightest, and yet you can hear the soft thunk of his boots against the cement floor, drawing closer. "Sketchin' what?"

"A fantasy for an advanced anchoring system," your pen darts across the metal arms, extending from the roof of the truck, one on the passenger side and one on the driver, anchored into the ground. "Buildable, but it's not a feasible idea."

The light reflects off of his rodeo buckle. Amelia County's bull riding champion. "Can I see?"

You're not sure why he wants to look at your fantasy sketches, but you don't have the energy nor the will to tell him no. Certainly not when he's bending down next to you, so close that his bicep bumps into your arm, hot and swollen from hauling around that heavy frame. You're making no effort to move away, either. If anything, you're moving closer, turning the notebook for him to see.

As if to guide his thoughts, his index finger traces across the lines, grease-stained and so, so much thicker than yours. "What's makin' ya think it won't work?"

"It's not realistic." Easy answer. There's a reason why nobody else has done this.

But Rhett's head just tilts to the side, a thought visibly crossing his mind. You know it's there; can see it glisten in his eyes as it passes by. "Yes, it is."

You feel the tug of your arm and the warmth of his hand around your wrist before you realize that he's pulling you up from the couch. There's a creak in your knee as you rise, helplessly stumbling after him.

"What are you doing?" You're chirping, but Rhett doesn't reply, too dead set on hauling you to the other side of the room.

He spins. So do you. The garage blurs into streaks of gray.

Then your back bumps into his sweaty chest, and you're staring at...a newly built drill for the frame.

"Does this look unrealistic to you?" His voice rumbles straight through you, low as the thunder that you've spent too much of your life chasing.

"Well...no," you croak after a long moment, "but you already know that it—"

"What about that?" His hand darts out, pointing toward the old radar, built out of scrap material and the sheer power of will. It doesn't work anymore, not after that hunk of debris split it down the middle, but it did for a good few weeks.

Rhett isn't waiting for you to reply, already pointing toward another contraption. The roll cage, and the rest of the steel exoskeleton frame that hasn't been welded onto Tyler's truck. Then he's guiding your attention to the windshield and window cages; lord knows those glass replacements are getting expensive. The armor plating that has yet to be welded to the vehicles, the reinforced overhead spotlights, the custom grill guards, and all of the little, unnamed crafts that you have yet to see in action.

"None of this was feasible, either," his words are solid, fleeting things, dancing around your head like words from the gods above, "but we still gave it a shot."

A puff of air breaks past your lips.

All of that happened long before you and Kate stumbled across them crammed into the corner of a Waffle House. Their trucks were already built. Field tested beyond belief. But...well, you suppose his ideas had to have started the same way yours do, a random thought that evolved out of control until it became a reality.

"Your ideas are no more unrealistic than these were," Rhett murmurs, and it almost sounds like he's sharing a secret. A whimsical little thought meant to stay between the two of you.

...maybe he has a point.

You turn, twisting to face him. The tips of your noses bump. Piecing blue eyes staring right back into yours, wide as can be. Too close. Way too close. But you don't make any effort to move, and neither does he. He should. Fuck, any closer, and you'd be kissing him, can already taste his minty toothpaste on his breath.

"Rhett!" Boone's voice arcs across the room like lightning, sends you jumping apart as if struck by it. "You fixin' to bring that upper frame or what?"

Whatever that moment was, it's gone in an instant.

Your head comes so close to hitting the ceiling that you can feel it graze past. Seatbelt cinching tight around your chest. Ass bouncing against the seat. Struggling to keep both your hands on the shivering plastic handle overhead. Something clatters across the floor, landing in the mess of components and contraptions that met their maker three bumps ago.

You'd complain, but Tyler's rollercoaster of a truck looks even worse than whatever the hell you just experienced.

"I'm shocked this old truck has survived this long," you're trying to sound calm, but it comes out resembling a yelp more than anything else. "I remember you driving to high school with this thing."

Rhett's hands flutter across the wheel, a wave of mud kicking up from under the back tires. "These ol' ranch trucks last forever if you take care of 'em."

"Doesn't care involve things like...not driving into ditches?" Your shoulder presses against the glass, sliding around as the truck veers to the left, loosely chasing Tyler's messy trail.

"Probably," he laughs, "but we survived, didn't we?"

"I'm not too sure about that," frankly, you think half of your soul may still be sitting on the road, milliseconds away from experiencing the horror of Rhett's truck diving into the ditch.

"Oh, c'mon," his hand darts out, nudging your arm, "ya worry too much."

You haven't forgotten about the clouds twisting up ahead, downward spiraling, growing thinner and thinner as it nears the earth. A plume of red dirt rises, staining what was once a perfect, white funnel cloud. Wind squeals around the edges of the truck, wedging its way through the nonexistent gaps between the windows and wailing in your ear.

Tyler's truck rips straight into the center, unhindered by the mud and soybean plants being hurled against it. There's already a drone dancing around the upper part of the funnel, bobbing and weaving, serves as the eyes for however many people are watching the live stream it's broadcasting.

Rhett's a little more conservative, looping out to the side and into the path of the tornado instead. Leaves scatter across the windshield, wedging beneath the windshield wipers. But the nose of the truck turns to face the cyclone, and the wind is already beginning to tear them away.

"Wanna press the button?" You can hardly hear him. Only realize he's talking when you notice his mouth moving.

You're already reaching out, pressing the little green button on the dash.

The drills whir to life, entirely inaudible, but it's impossible to miss their vibration as they dig down into the soil, the truck gradually sinking lower.

One blink and the world around you turns to dust. The little ranch truck shivers under the battering of the wind; feels like you're going to blow away at any moment, but nothing around you is moving.

Hesitant, you peek out the passenger window up at the tornado overhead. It's almost calm. A little quieter now. The crystal sky peeks through the twirling clouds, and if you tilt your head just right, it kind of looks like one of Rhett's gentle blue eyes.

Rhett's elbow nudges yours as you settle back into your seat.

You know what he's going to say before he's even opened his mouth.

"Now, is this more fun than it is with Dallas?" Always comparing your ventures together to what you've done in the past, like he's aiming to jump up to the top of your 'Best Experiences' list.

"Nah," repeating the same thing you always tell him. He should have expected this answer from a mile away. "Dal still has ya beat."

His eyes roll, but he laughs nonetheless. Defeated again. "One of these days, I'm—"

Bang.

The truck jumps.

Something sharp scatters across your face. Wind screams in your ears.

The world flips on its head. Upside down. Rightside up. Upside down again. It jars you so hard that your teeth snap together, head smacking against the seat, and there's something yanking against your chest, and your ears are popping and, and, and—

You should have known that was coming.

Why didn't you know that was coming?

You don't feel the pressure on your shoulders until it's gone. Replaced with something warm that you can't identify. Can't think to try and identify where it's coming from. Something about your head doesn't feel right, but it doesn't hurt. Tickles. Like something is running down the side of it.

The truck flipped. How did the truck flip?

Fuck.

You, from three years ago, would have seen that coming from a mile fucking away. How have you gotten worse at the one thing you're supposed to be good at? You should've checked the drills, the circuits, the wires. Why didn't you run through any of the safety checks before you left? What if the tornado had been stronger? Sucked you up and spit you out several hundred feet into the air?

Did you not learn from the last time?

This was entirely avoidable.

There's something muttering near you. Sounds like thunder in a strange sort of way. Deep rumbles, rolling in one ear and out the other. But thunder doesn't pause in the middle of its booming, not like this.

"We're okay."

Your throat is so raw that you can hardly speak. Dry, too. Chest heaving, sucking in air faster than your lungs can handle it. What, what...what...

"We're okay," Rhett. That's Rhett's voice in your ear. "We're okay."

And he keeps saying it. Over and over, like he's trying to convince himself just as much as he's trying to convince you. But it's not working. You're still shivering, and his voice is lodging in his throat, and...

Your head goes dark.

You don't necessarily know if you pass out or if your memory decided to stop writing things down.

One moment, you're in the truck, and the next, you're sitting in the middle of a hospital room, squinting as a nurse shines a blinding light directly into your eye. She hums something to the woman next to her, then turns the light off.

There's a spot in your vision now. Dead center, lingering as you turn your head to look at whoever is sitting next to you, entirely blocking out their face. Their hand over top of yours, thumb swiping idly across your skin, back and forth in a rhythm that you haven't figured out yet.

"What failed?" You know it's your voice, can feel your mouth shaping around the words, but it sounds nothing like you.

"Hm?" Rhett's hum nearly disappears amongst the commotion going on around you.

"The truck," trying again, a little more specific now. "What went wrong back there?"

Stitches line his forearm, probably sliced open by the same thing that left the cuts on the left side of his cheek. Glass from the shattered windshield, you think.

"You'll never believe this," he leans closer like he doesn't want anyone else to hear what he's about to say. "We got hit by a tree."

That doesn't... "A...tree?" Parroting him. You're expecting for him to furrow his brows and ask how in the world you've managed to mishear him, but all he does is nod. You heard him perfectly.

All of that was because of a tree hitting the side of the truck. Probably struck hard enough to rip the drills from the ground and gave the tornado all the leverage it needed to start throwing you around like a children's toy.

...huh.

"Hey, is there a lug wrench sittin' over there?" Rhett asks, his foot kicking out toward the tool cabinet as if to try and point you toward it. Whatever he's doing up under the truck, he must not be able to see that you're already standing in front of the damn cabinet.

You already see them, sitting amongst the mess of tools resting on top of it. "You've got two."

His head pokes out from the side. "I do?"

"One is silver, the other is black," lifting them both for him to see. You don't see a difference between them; they both do the same thing, but you're not the one needing them.

"Give me..." his lips purse, "the black one."

You bend down, handing the tool off to him, but the silver one is still in your other hand. "Remind me again what drawer these belong in?"

He taps the thing against his chin. "Any of the middle ones is fine."

"And here you wonder why you can never find anything," you tease, an ache blooming in your chest as you laugh, still a bit sore from being rolled around like Mother Nature's bowling ball.

Something metal hits the floor, audibly rolling away. A bolt, you think. Rhett swears, boots squeaking as he clambers out from beneath the vehicle. "'ts hard to stay organized when ya share a garage with someone like Tyler."

"That bad?" You would look to see what he's chasing, but organizing this mess is higher on your priority list.

There's so much junk on the top of this cabinet that you can't figure out what is what, in such a disarray that it seems to swallow up everything you sit on top of it. Somewhere in here is your ten-millimeter socket.

Kate's voice echoes from outside, loud enough for you to hear her but not enough for you to understand her. Tyler shouts back, the slam of a truck door punctuating whatever he has to say. You think he's still talking when Kate blurts something that sounds like an "I don't care!" Tyler doesn't seem to like that at all.

You turn to look at Rhett right as he does the same. Defeat. Confusion. An overall look of being absolutely done with hearing it from them. You recognize it all; you're feeling the same damn thing.

And here you thought you'd found a place to escape from them.

"Are those two ever gonna get together?" Rhett whines after a moment.

Your head shakes, "Kate's got a strict��'no dating business partners' clause."

They're getting closer now, slowly but surely carrying their argument to the garage. You're not sure why. Everyone was there when the argument started in the restaurant, gradually clearing all of you out of the booth with to-go boxes and a migraine to boot.

Rhett reaches through the open truck window, pressing the garage door opener. With a groan, it starts to close, taking away your fresh midnight air but granting more silence in return. "Does that rule apply to you, too?"

"I'm not sure," you'd never actually...considered if you were wrapped up in that law or if it was Kate-exclusive. "Why?"

Rhett's eyes dart away.

Have his ears been red this whole time? Or maybe it's a trick the light is playing on you because it seems to disappear as he rushes toward the side door, sliding the deadbolts into place and twisting the locks.

There's no way that he's... "Are you seriously locking them out?"

"Do you wanna hear them argue for another hour?" He doesn't need for you to answer that; he already knows the answer. "Get me that padlock off the table."

Padlock. Shit, where did you last see that?

There's so much on this table. Jumper cables. Tools. Tools. More tools. Bolts. A box of nails. Your missing socket. A chocolate candy wrapper. Tootsie rolls. Another box of nails. Shit, is that a broken phone case? You push your hands through the mess, shoving it all to the side, but you don't see it. Where is it? Where is it?

Someone knocks on the garage door. Rattling across the garage.

Fuck, fuck, where is it? You don't see—

There it is.

You don't feel it in your grasp until you're halfway across the room. Shoving it into Rhett's open hands. The garage door rattles. But Rhett's shoving the hook through a hole in the tracks, squeezing it closed until it clicks.

"Are y'all in there?" Tyler's muffled voice is the last thing you want to hear.

Something moves in the window.

Your body moves on its own. Grabbing Rhett by the bicep. Diving toward the couch.

He's too big to be tumbling after you, but he does, the loveseat squealing as he lands on top of you. An elbow finds its way into your ribs. Your knee slots between his thighs. His hair is in your face, and you can smell the vanilla of his cologne, and his hand is on your waist—

"Rhett?" Tyler tries again. Knuckles tap at the window.

You know they can't see you. If they could, then they would be calling you out on it.

This couch isn't wide enough for you and Rhett to be lying on it like this, your shoulder hanging off the edge, his knees awkwardly bent to make room for your legs. He's finding a way to make it work, though. Wedging himself up against the back cushion, granting you enough room to roll onto your side without falling off.

You're not sure if you want to comment on the arm that drapes around your waist, securing you to him.

"I entirely forgot about the window," he whispers. Does he think Tyler can hear him talking from outside?

Laughing, you tap him on the nose. "I know you did."

So much of his hair has fallen into his face that you can no longer see his expression, concealed under a mass of unruly, brunette curls, untamable by any means of the word. He can very well push it out of the way himself, but for some reason, you find that your hand is beginning to do that for him. Collecting locks of it with your fingers, sorting them to their respective sides, tucking some of it behind his ear.

"Watcha doin'?" He asks as you unveil his hidden eye. It looks bluer than it was before.

Your touch falters. "I wanted to see your face."

"Yeah?" The corner of his lip lifts a little.

"Yeah." Nodding.

And your hand just...falls onto his cheek. Idly resting there, like this is exactly where it belongs, where it's always gone after you've finished fixing his hair.

Worse. He doesn't make any effort to stop you, lets your thumb swipe up and down his skin, meandering across the tiny cuts that linger there. If you didn't know any better, you would think he nicked himself while shaving, but there are far too many of them for that. Too high, too. There's even one up beside the corner of his eye.

"No!" Even the garage door isn't enough to muffle Kate's voice. "We're not doing that, Tyler!"

Tyler isn't quite as loud. You can hear the general sound of his voice, carrying through a sentence or two, but you can't make out a single word.

"Because—because it's ridiculous," Kate's still going. Tyler says something a bit louder.

You don't know when Rhett started moving, but all of a sudden, you're way too aware of how close his face is getting. Inching closer and closer until...

He rubs his nose against yours. Slow little motions that don't stop until you can no longer fight off your smile.

"What're you doing?" You giggle, making no real effort to stop him.

He's too close for you to see his mouth, but you recognize the way that the corners of his eyes turn upward with his grin. "Distractin' ya."

It must be working because you no longer have the capacity to think about what's going on in the driveway. His hand smooths up your back, making its way up to your face, and he's so warm, heat radiating off his palm like he's got a small fire burning in his veins. Rough fingertips brush against your cheek, hesitant to make any solid contact.

"Your cheek is still swollen," his palm gradually comes to flatten against your cheek, his hand so big that it seems to cover your entire face.

Kate's voice echoes in the back of your head. No dating business partners. But something about his touch...it's addicting. "Well, that's what happens when you get thrown around by a tornado."

He doesn't seem to have much else to say to that.

To be fair, you don't know what you would say to that, either.

His thumb swipes across the upper portion of your cheek. Your fingers find their way down to his jaw, pushing through the stubble there. It's soft, has had time to lose the stiffness that comes with being recently shaved.

It seems that you may have finally lost Kate and Tyler; you don't hear them bickering outside, at least. You lift your head, craning to look over the arm of the couch and at the door. The window is impossible to see from this angle, but you get the feeling that they're no longer standing outside.

"What's that?" You ask, nodding toward something that you know he can't see.

Rhett's fingers trace their way over to the shell of your ear, not interested in trying to look at what you're asking him about. "Hm?"

"The little contraption sitting next to the door," clarifying, "it looks like a bunch of pipes welded together."

"Oh, that's...supposed to be a tree to hold a bunch of different instruments," he tilts his head back a little, realizes he can't see anything without sitting up, then immediately lets himself fall back against the couch. "I can get everythin' on it, but I can't get it to stay on."

"Industrial glue and steel hose clamps." You have to pause for a moment, sifting through dusty memories, trying to recall how you used to protect Kate's old contraptions. "Maybe build a thin cage around it in case those two things fail."

Rhett's quiet again, his brows knitting together.

Is he confused, or is he just thinking about what you said?

It takes him some time to find his words, half-built sentences flickering behind his eyes. You can practically hear the gears turning up in his head. And then, hestiant, his lips part. "I feel like you know a lot more 'bout storm chasin' than you let on."

Something in your lower belly twists. "What's telling you that?"

"You're confident when you're in here," he doesn't need any more time to think on this, his thoughts flowing off his tongue like a waterfall, "most of the folks who walk in here don't have the slightest clue what we're building, but you recognize almost all of it."

Your eyes dart away, looking down at your intertwined legs, bent and crammed onto this tiny little couch. His fingers curl around your jaw, gently guiding you to look him in the eye.

For reasons unbeknownst to you, you don't fight him on it.

"You draw up some of the coolest concepts I've ever seen, you...you..." the corner of his lip wobbles up and down. The sight of it makes your head feel funny. "Shit, you make me feel like I'm not the only person here who knows how to do this kind of stuff."

You suppose you should have expected this. It takes one to know one, and you haven't done yourself any favors by always working with him in this dingy old garage. But you don't entirely know how to respond to that or where you should even start...

"I used to work on an old storm truck that Kate and I owned," it comes out so easily that it almost surprises you, "but that was...god, that was forever ago."

Rhett's eyelashes flutter, his head tilting like that of a curious puppy. "Why'd you never tell me?"

Shattered glass. The snap of hydraulics splitting in half. Blood blurring your vision. Ear-splitting howling. The world flipping on its head. Rain in your eyes. Steel digging through your back. Your chest tightens. Hail pounding into your skull. The screaming. It's your fault. It's your fault. It's your fault.

And you're...warm.

"'m sorry," Rhett murmurs, and you don't know when he got so close, but you can feel the vibration of his voice against your nose. A careful hand smooths up your back, another arm securing you to him, tucked up under his chin, shielded from the glaring openness of this too-big garage.

He doesn't move, and neither do you. But this time...this time, you think you know why.

Rubber squeals against the pavement, so shrill that it soars above the roar of the engine. Your shoulder slams into the window, seat belt cinching tight as everything spins into a blur.

"Tyler!" Kate yelps.

"Kate!" Tyler. Ever so mocking.

"You're gonna get another ticket." Her hand darts out, smacking his arm. Tyler's got something clever to say about that; you don't hear any of it. If you start listening now, you'll have a migraine before the funnel cloud touches the ground.

Rhett meets your gaze out of the corner of his eye. Telepathy must be real because you know exactly what's running through his head.

Here we go again.

If you'd known this would start up again, then you probably would have faked an illness to stay home. A headache, an upset stomach, or a sudden onset of death that will miraculously cure itself when the storm chase ends. Anything.

Tires squeal again, the truck seeming to tip onto its front wheels. The seatbelt yanks on your shoulders, throwing you back into the seat. Rhett's phone smacks against the console. A scattering of papers, nameless weather instruments, and unlit rockets scatter across the floor.

Wind rocks the vehicle back and forth. Squealing through the crack in the window like a kettle boiling over. Or maybe you're just hearing things because nobody else seems to hear it. Tyler's shouting into his camera. Kate's rattling something off about how the tornado is forming directly above the town you're driving through.

A wave of rain pelts the windshield. Hail pattering on the roof. Something silver flies past the nose of the truck, striking the building to your right. The brick splinters, debris falling like rain. Kate yells something. Tyler shouts back at her.

"Hang on, hang on," Rhett jumps in his seat, blindly smacking his hand on the console, looking at something you can't see, "stop the truck."

But Tyler is saying something into the CB radio, veering the truck to the right with one hand. Kate doesn't lift her head from the scanner. And they're still fucking arguing. You don't know if they even hear Rhett over the clash of their own voices, nevermind the storm.

Rhett yanks on the door handle. It peels open, rain spewing through the gap. "Ty, stop the damn truck!"

"Rhett?" You yelp. Scrambling. "Rhett, wait!"

You can't stop him.

He's jumping out of the truck before it's even stopped moving. Bricks and sheet metal hurl past. The door slams closed. You don't see where he went. Where is he? Where did he-where did he go? Why is the truck still moving—

"Stop the goddamn truck!" Screaming so loud that it doesn't even sound like you.

The truck lurches. The seatbelt rips the air from your lungs. Taking it off is the last thing you should be doing, but it's already unclipped. Papers crunch as you scurry into Rhett's seat. Wind beats against the door. Does everything in its power to keep you from forcing it to open. You can't see a thing. Not even with the damn door halfway open.

"Where's Rhett?"

You don't know which of them asked that. You don't care to figure that out. "If you two could stop fighting for two fucking seconds, then maybe you would know!"

It's like someone flipped a switch. The wind and rain just...dies. There's a reason for that, a term and definition that Kate probably memorized in college, but you're not sticking around to hear it. Slipping out of the truck, you dart out into the mist. Fog already licks at your heels, so humid that it feels like you're wearing a second skin out here.

"Rhett?" Calling out.

You don't see him. There's nothing but debris and disheveled produce stands, all the cracked open watermelons and runaway apples in the world, but no cowboy. But where did he... Turning around. Where did he get out of the truck? It was further back than this. Yeah. He must be further down the road.

"Rhett?" You're trying again, toeing through the mess.

There goes the rain again. Starting up so quickly that you wonder if Mother Nature accidentally pressed pause on her remote. Something carries over the rumbling thunder. Something that sounds like your name.

You hear him, but you don't see him. "Rhett?"

"I'm over here." He's already walking toward you, must have seen you coming before you even realized where he was. The rain thickens, but you can see the rip in his shirt clear as day, blood pouring from his shoulder like the water falling from the heavens.

"God, Rhett—don't do that!" It comes out a little too loud. A little too quick. "You can't just go hopping out moving vehicles—"

He throws his hands behind him, gesturing at something. "She needed help!"

You hadn't seen the little old lady standing on the other side of the road until now, being helped back into the safety of an untouched house. You suppose that's who he's talking about, but... "And what if something happened to you?"

"Nothin's gonna happen to me!" Thunder booms behind his words. Just as irritated as he is.

Your hand flies out, gesturing to his bloody arm. "Clearly, it already did. Look at your shoulder, Rhett!"

"God, why are you always so worried?" He spits. Doesn't hear a word you just said.

"I don't know; maybe it's because we almost got sucked into a tornado three days ago?" You can feel your face getting hot. Teeth grit, jaw popping under the strain. "Maybe it's because I've seen storms kill people, Rhett!"

He stiffens.

So do you. Glued in the middle of the street. Even the rain stabbing at your eyes can't make you blink. But the wind is one of those things that forces you to move—swaying sideways, shielding your gaze with an arm. A horn honks, headlights piercing through the silver veil.

Getting back into the truck with him is the last thing you want to do.

Gravel crunches beneath your feet. Shifting under your weight, seeming to drag you in like a thin layer of quicksand. Tiny little pebbles leap into the tops of your shoes, wriggling down through the gaps and working their way up under your foot. Walking barefoot would have been more comfortable.

Ugh, but then you would have to worry about dodging the sharp metal hiding beneath the rocks, leftovers from experiments gone wrong, and backyard-tested explosives.

The spare garage isn't much further up the driveway. Smaller, built to hold only one or two vehicles, depending on their size. There's no point in adding all of the extra space, not when the main garage is on the same property, fully decked out with its fancy tools, wifi, and air conditioning.

Understandable, but you wish someone would have stopped to consider installing a light all the way out here. You can't see a damn thing this far out. Is there a bobcat standing between you and the building? Nobody knows!

There doesn't seem to be anything lurking in your path. You certainly don't feel anything brush past, even when you peel open the door and blindly feel along the inside wall, looking for the light switch.

The grill of a truck glares back at you. Same old golden paint, still the same diamond-shaped chip beneath the left headlight. The dust is new, and yet, somehow, it's the same too. Exactly how it's always been.

And how it will stay if you can help it.

It's a beautiful truck, really. Only one previous owner, still relatively new, decorated in gadgets that you've long since forgotten the specifics of. It's got everything. A roll cage. Bulletproof glass. Window cages. Augers hang on either side of the vehicle, in combination with the overhead arms, and those are only the things you remember installing.

There's a wire sticking out of the cables for the drills, has inexplicably wriggled its way out of the covering. That's what you get for choosing the cheapest company to haul this piece of junk all the way out here. You don't want to touch it, but...it's a simple fix. You've just got to slide this strip of metal up and—

Sparks scatter. A shock bolts through your fingers.

"You mother—mmh!" Yelping. Yanking your hand back. A twitch runs up your arm, the muscles in your hand shivering.

And here you wonder why you quit messing with this goddamn truck.

You peel the door open, blindly feeling around the console until you find the stupid tool you came all the way up here for. This old hunk of metal can sit here and rot for all you care. Why did you even try to mess with it? You know full well what will happen if you do more than open the door.

Something always has to go wrong.

You don't even feel your hand touch the light switch, but the room plunges into darkness all the same. To hell with—

"Am I interruptin' anything?"

The door slams shut behind you, the knob jabbing into your spine. "Rhett?"

It's so dark out that you nearly miss the way his hands twist together, his head tilted toward the ground, not quite bold enough to look you in the eye. "I just...wanted to come and tell you I'm sorry," he pauses, peeking up at you through his lashes. You've never seen someone look more like a kicked puppy in your life. "I was actin' just like Tyler back there."

...huh.

Can't say you were expecting that.

"It's...uh..." What do you say? You can't say that it's okay. It's not okay. "Thank you?"

That seems to be enough for him. Shoulders falling, finally lifting his head to look at you properly. But then, his brows knit together. It's too dark to see where he's looking, but you can almost feel the heat of his gaze fixating on the garage behind you. "What're ya doin' out here?"

"Working on something?" This is what you get into focusing on creating an excuse and not rehearsing it beforehand. An amateur surrounded by Hollywood stars would be more convincing than you are.

"Top secret stuff, huh?" Is he buying it? He sounds like he is. "Somethin' broke on that gold truck of yours?"

...

Son of a bitch.

"How did you..." you don't...you don't know what to...say... "know about that?"

He jams his thumb over his shoulder, pointing blindly toward the heap of metal a few hundred feet away. "Was over in the scrap pile when ya brought it in a few weeks ago."

He's fucking with you.

He's got to be fucking with you.

"And you never said anything about it?" You feel like a deer caught in the headlights of a bullet train. Nowhere to run. Facing down your doom as it barrels toward you at a hundred miles an hour.

"Figured you'd talk about it when y' wanted to," Rhett says it so matter of factly. Like this isn't a big deal. Like you haven't had Kate thinking that the truck has been delayed for the past month and a half.

It takes a moment to gather words on your tongue. It takes even longer to arrange them into a comprehensible sentence. "Does anybody else know?"

Rhett shrugs. "Not that 'm aware of."

You don't entirely know what it is that leads you to reach for the doorknob and twist it again. Nobody is forcing you to show him the truck. Hell, he's not even asking or acting like he wants to see it, but your body seems to be moving on its own accord. Maybe it simply can't handle another day of carrying around the secret, or maybe it's something else. Something that words aren't capable of describing.

Rhett doesn't say a word. Quietly following you into the dark garage, winces when you flick on the overhead lights without warning.

And then his eyelashes begin to flutter in that dumb, endearing sort of way. Intrigued. "What made ya wanna hide this?"

"Because if Kate finds out it's here, I'll have to work on it," you almost lean your hip against the front bumper. Almost.

Damn thing would probably blow up if you actually followed through with that impulse.

"I'm not followin'." Rhett runs his fingers across the hood, leaving behind little trails amongst the collection of dust.

"Every time I touch this truck, it ends badly," now that you're saying it out loud, it sounds like you're trying to convince him that the thing is haunted. "I drove it here, and a headlight blew. Tried to fix that exposed wire on the driver's side and shocked the hell out of myself."

"What, two—"

"Time before that, the hydraulic arm snapped, and we turned into an EF3's playground toy." Not giving him any time to wiggle into the gaps of your argument. You're not touching it. End of story.

He doesn't push it any further. Doesn't downplay what you're trying to tell him or try to sell you on the novelty of coincidences and misinterpretations. No, he just...hums and nods his head as if this is a story he hears all the time.

A part of you hates that you ever expected anything less of him.

The cicadas take over. Singing their shrill, repetitive tune that somehow manages to get louder when you're inside. You don't know if it counts as silence when there are hundreds of bugs screaming the song of their people, like nature's rejected choir.

"Do y' want me to fix it?" Rhett's voice is like silk against the grating little pests lurking outside.

"Fix what?" You're lost.

"The headlight," he taps his knuckle against it, visibly disturbing the dust there, "and the wire that shocked ya."

You're not entirely sure if you want to put the time and effort into this old piece of junk. There's a fairly large possibility that something internal has dry-rotted over the years and is bound to break at any moment, something that will cost a whole lot more than a cheap little headlight. But...

"Only if you want to," you don't mean for it to come out so miserable. Like you've had to strangle the words out of your own throat.

Rhett doesn't seem to notice it, his lips pulling up into a meager smile right before he moseys off to mess with the exposed wire. He taps his finger against the metal casing, following it up to where it ventures over the roof, then follows that until it guides him toward the driver's door.

It's like he's got a blueprint of how you rigged this together, knows exactly where you've got the electric control box sitting, and which of the wires belong to the exposed one. The cover snaps back into place with the slightest bit of pressure. Easy as can be. No sparks, no shocks.

The headlights are a bigger pain in the ass than they should be. You remember that all too well, the tediousness of removing the internal cover, several screws, and the grill, all to reach what should be an easily accessible headlight.

"At the risk of soundin' dumb," Rhett's talking funny with that screw resting in the corner of his lip, "but you really built this thing?"

"Once upon a time, yes." It doesn't even feel like you were the one who came up with all of this.

The countless sleepless nights spent tweaking and redrawing plans. Building or scouring the ends of the earth for specific little parts. The perpetual stiffness in your neck from building your inventions into the truck. God, the grease stains that claimed so many of your t-shirts.

The memories are all there in your head, and when Rhett tugs at the grill housing, your hands still twitch with a muscle memory you've yet to lose. He needs to tilt it up and towards himself. It's easier that way. But the memories don't feel like your own. Belonging to a past life, a glimpse of something that was never really meant for you.

A stray thought draws to the forefront of your mind. "How's your shoulder?"

"Hm?" He lifts his head, staring at you. Then, realizing what you said. "It's a'ight, jus' needed a couple stitches."

You wonder what he defines as 'a couple'. But he doesn't push for any more history between you and the truck, so you don't push him for anything, either.

There's a bunch of spare bulbs hiding in the main garage, and that really should be the end of it. Once the hood slams shut, there shouldn't be anything left to tinker with. The light works, the wire is no longer exposed, and everything is in order. You have absolutely zero reason to lay eyes on this truck again.

To be fair, that's exactly what happens.

For a day.

"I thought they were s'pposed to quit arguin'?"

You hear Rhett before you see him. Half-open eyes and messy hair stumbling down the unlit hallway, his arms full with his fuzzy brown blanket. Must have had the same idea that you did, seeking out the room furthest from Tyler's, hoping for another minute or two of sleep.

You hate to tell him that there's no peace to be found in this damned house.

"Bold of you to believe them," your attention darts back to the notebook resting in your lap, pen idly drawing across old lines, darkening them. Four in the morning is too early for creativity, but you can't fall back asleep, and you didn't bring anything to distract from the never-ending quarrel.

The couch cushion dips, Rhett's heavyweight settling in next to you. His cheek finds its way to your shoulder, landing there so naturally that you hardly even question it. "What're ya drawin'?"

"Same thing as before, just making it look a little less..." You don't know where you were going with that. Rhett isn't awake enough to catch it.

His gaze is so warm that you can feel it following your hand around the page, drinking in the careful strokes of the pen.

It's almost enough to distract from Kate's muffled swearing, but nothing short of a speaker at full blast is going to drown them out. So the pen continues to dance across the paper, and the silence remains battered by two people who need to suck up their pride and kiss already. If not for the sake of their own mundane love lives, then for the sanity of those around them.

"Have ya ever considered buildin' this idea?" Rhett reaches out to trace his finger around your crudely drawn wheel, the only spot he can touch without getting in your way.

"I started on it a long time ago," rattling it off without much thought. You don't have the capacity to consider what you're saying right now. "The sockets and connections are already built into the roof, but I could never get the hydraulic arms right."

"I could help."

"Yeah?"

He tilts his head up to look at you, and you're just awake enough to realize that those aren't actually stars sparkling behind his eyes. But damn, does it sure look like tiny galaxies are lurking beneath the sea of blue.

You don't know why you let him lean up and rub his nose against yours, but it must be the reason why you nuzzle him back.

If there is one thing more awkward about sitting through Kate and Tyler's never-ending argument, it's having to survive their new form of fighting—the silent treatment. Each refusing to say a word when the other is in the room, resigning to comments filled with double meanings and glares out of the corner of their eyes.

You, quite frankly, might combust if you have to sit through another silent meal. If you wanted to be put in timeout, you would go back to elementary school.

"I see we had the same idea," you yawn, fighting to keep your eyes open as it takes over. One wrong step and your food is going to find itself in the gravel, and you're not looking to brave the wall of silence for a second time.

"Great minds think alike," Rhett kicks his foot at you, perched up on the tailgate of his truck. "Unless your mind belongs t' two people I cannot name."

The initial plan was to wait until the weekend before you spent any time working on your truck, but it's hard to put it off when Tyler and his fleet of vehicles tear out of the driveway before noon, taking away damn near ever project Rhett had on the drawing board. You don't see Kate leave, but her car is missing from its usual spot, and you're in no mood to learn any more than that.

They'll get over it.

...once hell freezes over.

It's like you become caught up in a time loop. Every day, you wake up expecting to be put to work, to chase a storm, or to go on a supply run for weather equipment that you don't know the name of. Every day, you eat breakfast in the back of Rhett's truck and watch as every vehicle on the property flees the premises. Every day, you walk into that spare garage, roll up your sleeves, and begin tinkering with last night's project.

And Rhett just keeps coming around. Always the one to attach your creations to the truck, races you to pick up the heavier things around the shop, pokes at your sketches until you've explained every little thought and whim that went into why you created that particular part.

Working with him is so much different than it was with Kate. She was never difficult to work with in the past; nothing big stands out in your memory, but you distinctly recall every frustrating moment she asked to change something that she didn't fully understand. Builds like these were nothing like what she was familiar with. She knew weather, not cars, and that was okay, but...

Fuck, it's like Rhett shares a brain with you. It's strange; he looks at what you're doing, and he just...understands it. Like you've finally found someone who understands a language that only you have spoken until now.

It's two weeks before the parts begin to fall into place, but once they do, it's all uphill from there. The hydraulic arms fit like a glove, and the batteries built beneath the seat offer more than enough electricity to operate them without sucking power from another operation. The drills spin as they're supposed to; they don't even warp when they sink into the rocky Arkansas soil for the first time.

Sunlight reveals that the cage protecting the windshield has rusted to hell. Rhett's sputtering about an improved design before you've even realized how bad it has gotten. A few of the tires need replacing, and if you don't let him fix those mismatching rims, he might just lose his mind.

"How d' you just let it look like that?" He's gotten heated so quickly, but that growing smile suggests he's only trying to bother you for the fun of it, "'n how did I miss this for so damn long?"

"It doesn't affect the performance," you shrug, don't really recall when or how you wound up with one rim that doesn't match the others. Don't particularly care, either.

"It's affectin' mine!"

Your afternoon plans didn't originally include running between three shops in search of rims that match the aesthetics of the truck, but it's hard to say no when Rhett grabs you by the hand and guides you along like he does.

And he...doesn't really let go.

Maybe he does a few times, but he's loosely holding your hand in his while you walk from one store to another, and he's grabbing it to show you a set that he thinks is perfect for the truck's aesthetic. He's squeezing it when someone starts eyeing you up in the checkout lane. He's toying with your fingers at the stop light. And he reaches for it again at the end of the night when the rims are finally, finally on.

Now that you think about it, 'no dating business partners' almost definitely applies to you, too, but...

Oh, what the hell, why do you care?

"Do you...want to try something?" Rhett's thumb swipes across your knuckles, idle little motions that seem to burn into your skin.

You think you know what he's about to try and do, but... "Okay."

He's gentle about it, guiding you forward toward the shimmering gold vehicle, sparkling in all of its post-bath glory. His other hand finds your waist, drawing you to stand in front of him, back kissing his warm chest.

"What are we doing?" You know what he's doing.

"Nothin' huge," he murmurs, voice low in your ear, so close that you can almost feel his lips brushing against the shell of it, "just...touchin' the door, a'ight?"

His hand slips behind yours, grasping it from behind. Gently, he pushes it forward, so light that you can hardly feel his touch at all. Your stomach twists. That paint is too close.

Your arm stiffens. He doesn't push any further.

It's too...well...if Rhett's not afraid of it, you suppose that...

It's cool beneath your touch, like ice, when you compare it to the burn of Rhett's palm. There's a scratch in the pain that you hadn't noticed up until this very moment, just deep enough to feel when the pad of your finger drifts across it. It feels...well, like a perfectly normal truck. You're not sure what else you were expecting.

Your eyes dart to the window, peering at the silhouette of the steering wheel.

Rhett's hand disappears from behind yours, leaves you cold and alone, up against this truck, but he makes no move to step away. Still here, even if you can't necessarily feel him. "That's not so bad, is it?"

"You're not gonna make me drive it next, are you?" You don't mean for it to come out sounding so annoyed, like a petulant child.

His laugh echoes through the room and out the open door; doesn't seem to mind your tone at all. "Nah, we can wait on that."

You don't touch it again until a few days later, your hip idly coming to rest against it during a conversation. And again, when Rhett's on the roof of the vehicle and needs you to climb up and hand him something. It doesn't shock you. The door doesn't magically slam shut on your fingers. It's...normal. Hell, it's at the very bottom of your list of inconveniences.

That's mostly because two names have taken over the rest of the page, but you digress.

There's a moment when you catch yourself climbing into the driver's seat; you accidentally spilled a jar of bolts all over the floor, and the only way to fully clean it up is to get the truck out of the way. The key finds its way into the ignition without question, twisting so easily that you hardly realize what you're doing.

But then the engine rumbles to life, vibrating beneath your feet and echoing around the tiny garage like thunder, and ice forms in your joints. Stiff, freezing you into place like someone's pressed the pause button.

Rhett tilts the broom handle toward you; those blue eyes are warm enough to melt you back into motion. Something about him keeps reining you in. Stops you before you can force yourself beyond your boundaries before you're ready.

You're starting to love that about him.

"I thought we were past this," you mutter, chin resting heavy against your knee.

A midnight breeze swirls past you, bringing a chill that has you drawing your legs closer to your chest. At least the night is quiet, even the chirping cicadas have turned themselves down, nothing but a distant melody that you can hardly hear. Your ears catch the sound of a fork striking a plate, so sharp that it carries through the window and out into the parking lot.

"'m sorry," Rhett's knees crack as he bends down to sit next to you, back coming to rest against the cool exterior of his truck. He's so close that you can feel the heat radiating off his arm, warm and cozy like the flames of a campfire.

"You've got nothing to apologize for," it's not his fault. Nobody could have expected that bringing up the YouTube channel would end in...that.

He hums. "I know."

Wind slams against the truck behind you, rocking it just enough for you to feel the motion against your back. Rhett's hair lifts. Dancing. Twisting along with it. Blowing into his face until he sputters and forces it behind his ear once more. If you had known you would be sitting outside, then you would have grabbed your coat before you came all the way out here.

But hindsight is twenty-twenty, and you've got nothing but this thin t-shirt and the warmth of your own body to get by on, hugging your legs even tighter. They've been in this position for so long that they've begun to go numb, but you prefer this to shivering.

"Cold?" Rhett leans over, nudging you with his elbow. You think he leaves a small fire behind, burning a little spot into your skin.

"Little bit," biting back the waver in your voice.

"C'mere," and he's not really waiting for you to give him a yes or a no, already lifting his arm, beckoning you into his warm side. You shouldn't, but...

Oh, what the hell.

One little motion is all it takes to scoot under his arm, your head dropping to nestle against the expanse of his chest, and fuck, he's burning up. It's like snuggling into a big, cozy flame, one that envelops you before you can think twice about it. His head tilts, his chin coming to rest against your forehead, freshly shaven and a little bit prickly.

You can hear his heartbeat right here. Deep little thump, thump, thumps, following an unnamed tune that you've never heard before. It seems the cicadas have drums now. Performing their little melodies for their barely-there audience, punctuated by the drone of a car crossing through the lot.

"What if I drive us to McDonalds?" Rhett's voice vibrates through your skull. Your head goes quiet. "Think there's a Taco Bell down the road, too."

Finding the ability to speak is...hard. "I'm not sure if I'm ready to move yet."

"That's a'ight," his lips press to your temple, "we can stay here, too."

He doesn't say anything about what he just did. Neither do you, but it sticks in the back of your head like glue. You could convince yourself that it's just a ghost, one who has decided to follow you around and kiss the side of your head every time you think about him, the lingerings of a memory that refuses to leave.

It's there when you lean up against the passenger side door, bent legs lazily slotting between Rhett's as you eat your greasy fast food. It bubbles to the surface when you run into each other in the living room and become sucked in by the Dr. Phil episode blasting from the neglected television. You can feel its presence when you spot him outside the garage while you and Kate are having coffee on the porch.

You don't know if she realizes that you tune out of the conversation right then and there, mindlessly following the sight of his pale shoulders as he hoses something off. Muscles flex with the mundane effort, thick enough to cast a shadow.

"I mean, can you believe he said that?" Kate's still going, the ice rattling in her cup as her hand moves about. "Yes, I'll admit I have feelings for him, but you know how that would affect the business!"

"Who says that kind of thing?" You wonder what it would be like to dig your nails into those shoulders. What it would feel like for those jean-clad hips to slip between your parted—

"Exactly!" Kate hasn't the slightest clue what kind of daydream she just interrupted.

The memory of a kiss has zero reason to make itself known in the middle of an auto parts shop. When your hands are stained in indescribable grime that has no doubt managed to mar your face, the rattiest clothes you own hanging from your body with all the grace of a cardboard box. If you don't already look your worst, then you certainly feel your worst.

So why do you have the audacity to think about crossing the aisle and kissing him until you get kicked out? What provoked you to start thinking about this? You're supposed to be looking for that stupid...battery...damn which of these...did...

"Which brand were you looking for?" The question is so prominent in your mind that it slips out of your mouth before you can realize it, already turning to look in his direction.

"The purple one," he rattles off, staring down at something in his palm.

The...purple one?

Huh, you'd thought it would be a lot more complicated than that.

"I..." Rhett lifts his head, a lone curl casting across his cheek, wide blue eyes staring back at you. There's not a thought behind them. "I...forget the name."

Not your truck, not your fight. If he wants the one with the purple label, then that's what you'll pull off the shelf—

Shit, you forgot how heavy these damn things are. Your elbow pops, shivering under the sudden weight. It's not too heavy; you were just...not ready to actually carry something heavy. If you'd remembered, then you would have lifted it differently.

Rhett's arm drifts past your chest, his hand curling around the plastic handle, taking it from you so easily that you hardly feel it leave your grasp. "I got it."

You understand why you were so unprepared now.

It's because he makes the thing look light as a feather, only needs one hand to hold it as you walk to the checkout together. He doesn't even need help to put it up on the counter, so nonchalant about it that he doesn't even pay attention to what he's doing.

An ancient little television buzzes in the top right corner, directly above the chair of the missing cashier. You don't think it's been touched since it was hung when this place was built, a mountain of dust resting atop its boxy shape, but it still plays. A blurry newsreel crosses the screen, a bald-headed man pointing at a live weather radar.

The nameless man waves his hand across a patch of red and purple on the screen, rattling off words that take you a moment to process. "As this growing storm bears down on—"

"Y'all ready to check out?" The cashier is right in front of you all of a sudden. Rhett says something that you don't entirely catch.

This is the storm Kate was muttering about earlier, up in the northwest corner of the state, projected to produce conditions ideal for one of her beloved little tornadoes. The tiny ones that do nothing but rock the trucks back and forth, maybe striking a few unlucky houses but not taking out entire towns.

Your lower belly twists.

You're not entirely sure why it happens, but it does. Stomach churning back and forth like you're about to be sick, all over the sight of a television screen. Something in the room begins to ring, quiet but gradually growing louder, right in your ears, this piercing noise that you can't seem to shake. Your tongue is numb in your mouth, the air cold in your chest.

The scene changes. A woman in a raincoat, holding a microphone to her lips as she gestures broadly at the road behind her. Cars rush past. A Prius, a minivan, two Volkswagen Beetles, a silver truck, a red truck, an ancient motorhome...

"There they are," Rhett mutters, just barely audible over the ringing. You and he are supposed to be out there with them.

You think your hand is shaking.

Again, the cameras change, jumping back to the same bald weather forecaster as he points to something you don't understand. But they've laid it out for people like you, all of Kate's unexplained terminology has been dumbed down into vague, simple terms that you recognize loud and clear.

"That storm is gonna be too much for their trucks to handle." It darts out of your mouth before you can think about what you're about to say, teeth chattering around the letters.

Rhett tilts his head. "What do you mean?"

"The storm trucks," your jaw shivers, muscles fighting to disobey your every command. "Are any of them rated for tornadoes stronger than an F2?"

"None of 'em are," he reaches to pull his card from the reader, then, pausing, "the only rig that can handle that sort of thing is..."

You tear your gaze from the television, the reporter's voice droning on and on about something you don't entirely understand. Rhett's already looking back to you. Still frozen in place. You think you catch one of your own thoughts flickering behind his eyes.

But you can't help yourself, looking back up toward the grainy screen. The weatherman is still talking, his warbled voice drowning in the squealing filling your ears. You think you catch the card reader beeping, yelling about a forgotten credit card. The storm wasn't this big when it crossed Kate's screen; you remember it fit perfectly between these two towns. The forecast entirely covers them now, extending out to the areas nearby.

Something warm curls around your hand.

The ringing stops.

You don't know where the cashier has gone or when Rhett walked up next to you. But you can hear the shallow sound of your own breath, the sharp ins and outs that mismatch with the slow puff of Rhett's.

It's still audible, even as the room changes. Ever so present when the tile floor morphs into smooth concrete, that familiar musty scent swirling around your head, assaulting your nose and drying your mouth out. Shimmering gold paint glares back at you. But your right hand is still warm.

"You've got this," the keys jingle as Rhett talks, awkwardly holding them out with his other hand. They're right there for you to take. You don't even have to reach. "I know y' do."

You're still not so sure about that. But the radio in the corner is blaring its muffled severe weather alert warnings, the old television screen is burned into your retinas, and this damn old truck isn't going anywhere, regardless of how hard you glare at it.

Rhett's shoulder nudges yours, his hand squeezing a little tighter. "It's just a grumpy ol' truck."

The truck roars. Back tires squealing as your hands fly across the wheel. Cinching all twelve thousand pounds of machine to the left. The guy behind you blares his horn.

"Prick." Rhett snarls under his breath. His hand on the overhead handle tightens. Muscles and veins flex so harshly that you can see it in the corner of your eye. The front right tire dips off the pavement, the steering wheel almost ripping itself to the right.

Where are they? Where are they?

"I thought you were navigating!" You don't mean to yell. Too focused on jumping your foot between the brake and gas pedals, fighting against a speed limit that you know isn't being enforced right now.

"I am!" Rhett's nail taps angrily at a screen. "Wherever they are 's got no fucking service."

The storm seems to be further to the east, right might be your best bet. But this road doesn't look like it goes on for at least another mile, and you can't take another dead end. Not with the rapidly darkening sky overhead. Looming. Waiting for the right moment to drop an ocean's worth of hail and rain upon you.

"Right!" Rhett yells. "Go right!"

The tires scream. Foot tapping the breaks. The steering wheel spins. You're vaguely aware of your body tilting in the seat. Shoulder bumping into the glass.

But you never teeter off the road.

Even if you come close to it.

"What made you decide that?" You feel as if you're still spinning, even as the road straightens out in front of you.

His hand lifts, middle finger pointing toward something you don't have time to identify. "I remember them passin' them grain silos before the live stream cut off."

You see them. A cluster of six, up in the distance, towering over the corn fields that have swallowed you whole. Maybe a mile or two up the road, give or take. Plenty of time for you to lean on the gas pedal again, the floorboard rumbling as the speedometer crawls back up to seventy.

Everything still seems attached. No sensors are going off on the control panel crudely built into the center console. You know Rhett would have said something if one of them lit up, but you're looking at them anyway. Just in case one magically decides to light up with a catastrophic error in the next thirty seconds.

You've already got to tap the brakes again. Stupid, winding country roads forcing you to crawl back under fifty to avoid tipping over. It would be so much easier to cut through this patch of field that has already been harvested, barren, until spring rolls back around. Dodge the curves and jump right back onto the main stretch. Actually...

If Kate can accidentally drive this truck into a small river and come out fine, then a little offroading shouldn't hurt it in the slightest.

What's stopping you?

"What the hell?!" Rhett squeals. "You coulda damaged the damn—!"

"Dallas has handled worse." There's no way you're doing this. There's no way you're really driving this rig. Never mind hauling it straight through someone's old cornfield. Bouncing up and down with every little bump in the soil.

Rhett's head whips toward you. Still clinging to that oh-shit handle. "Dallas?"

...well.

He had to find out eventually.

All it takes is the slightest nudge to the left to jump back onto the road. And you never realized how quiet driving on the pavement is until now. Virtually silent as you reach for the turn signal, easing through a turn that you were definitely supposed to stop for.

The cornfields break apart up ahead, diving down into the much shorter soybean crops, expanding as far as the eye can see. No police cars around to catch sight of you blowing through another all-way stop, straddling the thin expanse of pavement.

There's a van parked on the side of the road, tucked away in a little patch of gravel. Lights and cameras flash. Yellow and white ponchos scurry back and forth. Dressed in t-shirts and shorts and flip-flops, not one of them prepared for more than mild rain.

"There's no way they didn't come this way," Rhett's echoing the very thought that just crossed your mind.

The first drops of rain come in one thick sheet. Slamming against the windshield. Blurring sight of the rapidly deteriorating road. You've only just turned the windshield wipers on, but they're still not enough. Whirring back and forth as fast as they can possibly go.

Everything around you has gone white. You can't—shit, you can't see the road. "Can you see anything?"

Rhett leans forward, chin bumping the dashboard. The tablet in his lap beeps. Once. Twice. Three times. "Not a fuckin' thing."

The console lights up. Purple in color. The wind gauge.

"What does...?" Rhett doesn't finish that question. Doesn't really need to.

"The wind speeds are higher than a hundred-fifty miles an hour," your mouth is moving, but you don't recognize what you're saying. Don't have time to focus on that. "Tell me if the green one comes on."

Gravel abruptly appears under the tires. Panging against the sides of the truck like hail.

Rhett reaches for something on the dash. "What does green mean?"

"That we should go in the opposite direction." And you don't want to remember if that light is meant to detect two hundred mile-an-hour winds or two hundred fifty.

Fog melts from the windshield. You didn't recognize it was even there. Fading away into a clearer world. You can see the fields again, mere feet away from the vehicle, as you tear down a road too tiny for your tires to fit on.

Clouds stir overhead, so dark that they're visible even through the rain. Twisting in a slow spiral, gradually descending to the earth below. But she's not here yet. She still needs a minute to gather her momentum before the clouds can kiss the ground.

Red flashes up ahead.

Your stomach drops.

"Take this left!" Rhett's order is your command. Shooting off onto an even smaller dirt path. A windmill shudders to your right, swaying back and forth.

There they are.

Drills whir on either side of Tyler's truck. Digging deep into the earth. But there's nothing to help the aluminum trailer hitched to it, shivering violently under the wind.

"You're sure they don't have this covered?" Rhett has to shout for you to hear him. Even then, you don't think you do.

The back of your throat is sour. It's crawling into your eyes, clawing at your belly. Your hands shiver. The steering wheel briefly slips from your grasp.

Something isn't right.

Your foot slips off the gas pedal. Sporadically tapping around, struggling to jump back on. Dallas's engine roars louder than the winds squealing past.

"It's not working!" Tyler's voice arcs across the radio.

Hail crashes into the roof. Scattering across the windshield cage.

"The barrels aren't deploying!" Kate.

The backend of their trailer jumps. The left auger slips through the soil. Tyler's truck twists a few feet. Was never meant to withstand this kind of wind.

Dallas is slipping. Tires fail to cling to the ground as you rush forward.

"Rhett—"

"I'm on it." He's already got his hand on the overhead button. Thumb hovering over the red light.

You're almost—you're almost. Just a few more yards is all you need. Almost. Tyler's door parallels with your passenger side. Little more. Little more—

The brake pedal spurs beneath your foot. Kicking back. Dallas lurches. Something internal shrieks.

"Now!"

Drills spin. Digging into already saturated ground. The engine roars impossibly louder, and the lights begin to flicker. All power concentrates over your head. Groaning to life, the hydraulic arms resting overhead begin to extend. Arking high into the air. Twisting outward. The tip of a drill bumps into the trailer, but it's still moving. Swinging over top of Tyler's rig, drills sinking into the ground on the other side.

A blackened wind takes hold of the outside world. Dallas shudders. But the steel arms never let Tyler's truck out of their hug. You don't think they're slipping any further. Fuck. Fuck you couldn't tell even if they did. Why did you think this was a good idea? Why did you think this was a good idea? Why did Rhett let you do this? It's too loud to hear if they've blown away. And you can't see a single—

"Hey."

Your shoulder is warm. And that sensation is crawling up the back of your neck, forcing your head to turn. Rhett's hands crawl up to your cheekbones, blocking out your surroundings. You're trying to look out the windshield, but he's not letting go.

He's the only thing in existence.

The console digs into your side as he pulls you toward him. His forehead kisses yours. Noses resting against each other. It's so dark, but the blue of his eyes is still as bright as the sky lurking above the clouds. The howling tornado softens into a hum.

"We're okay," it's nothing but a whisper in the rampage, "we're okay."

You hear him. There's no reason you should be able to. His mouth is moving. The words never greet your ears. Lost. Drowned out by a muffled sound that you're no longer capable of comprehending.

But you hear him.

This mattress...is the lumpiest thing you have ever felt in your life. A bed made of bubbles would be more even than this is, digging into the curves in your spine and nudging awkwardly beneath your hips. But you can't bring yourself to move. Not when the tension is easing from your back and shoulders. Has been there for so long that it almost hurts to let it slip away.

The television is on, multicolored lights flickering across the screen, playing what you think is another newsreel, but you can't look at it. Not today. Not tomorrow. You're dying here in this cheap motel bed. The last thing you plan to hear is either the slow drone of the weatherman or the boom of thunder outside.

Someone knocks at your door.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

"Who is it?" Using your voice requires far too much effort on your behalf.

A muffled sound works its way through the scratched wooden door. You don't know what he says, but you know who it is.

Your body tells you that getting up is impossible. Your heart already has you sitting up, sore feet falling onto the thin carpet without complaint. Something twitches in your back as you walk toward the door, wordlessly begging for the comforts of that shitty bed.

"Hey," you breathe.

Rhett's eyelashes flutter. "Hey."

Neither of you say anything further. It's as if all of your words have spilled out of your brain and carried off with the breeze, venturing off into the storm, never to be seen again. You think the same thing must happen to Rhett because he doesn't seem to have any words left, either.

Wind twists through his hair, whirling past and into your hotel room. Its invisible hands find your backs, pressing until you fall together like a pair of dolls. Like two trucks who needed one last nudge to nosedive off the cliff. His arms curl around your waist, and your nose is buried into his shoulder, and he's so warm and real.

"So Dallas, huh?" His breath tickles your ear, almost enough to make you shudder.

"You gotta admit, I had you convinced," talking into his shoulder, unbothered by how muffled it makes you sound.

"Sure y' did." It's his laughter that does it, sends a shiver racing down your weary spine. You think you're going to collapse into a million tiny pieces. "I would've never guessed that it was your fuckin' truck."

There's a part of you that wonders how he never figured that out; you're pretty sure that you scribbled Dallas's name into the license plate of your sketch that he's looked at so many times. Or maybe he did and simply didn't make the connection that Dallas was a truck and not another man.

"Found out why those two losers were always arguin'," he makes no effort to draw away from you, his arms remaining comfortably looped around you.

"Really?" Perking up. Maybe you've got a little bit of energy left after all. "What was it?"

Rhett leans back a little bit, enough for you to see his face, but he's yet to let you out of his grasp. "Dallas."

"Oh, so you both fell for it!" You giggle, and you're only vaguely aware of the door slamming shut on its own, cutting off the shrill embrace of the midnight air.

"Hey, at least I didn't make snide remarks about 'em," but you can still see the lingering embarrassment coloring his cheeks, unusually rosy. He fell for it, hook, line, and sinker, but...

Your hand darts up, pushing a strand of hair behind his ear. "To be fair, you have always been the sweet one."

The corners of his lips quiver, gradually curving upward, but his eyes refuse to meet with yours. "Y' think so?"

You know so, but those words don't dare to make their way out of your mouth. Even if they did, it would be no use because they fizzle away the moment the bridge of Rhett's nose bumps into yours. He's been eating those butterscotch candies again; you can taste them on his breath, sweet as can be.

You could kiss him if you wanted to.

All it would take is the littlest nudge forward for your lips to collide. A clever gust of wind could even do it, forcing you to take that final step forward, throw yourselves into fate's palm, and see what she decides on the matter. You could spend the rest of your life doing just this, gazing into soft hues of blue, kissing him through every storm that will ever pass. Or, this could be the only night that you ever experience this.

Thunder rumbles outside, the overhead light flickering with it in perfect synchrony. There's no stopping this one. No amount of magic powder can ease up the onslaught of rain and hail raging outside of your window, pelting everything in its sight.

"'s probably my cue to get out before the rain picks up too much," he says, so suddenly that you're almost shocked to realize that this isn't a dream.

He disappears so easily. Slipping away as easily as an afternoon daydream, those eyes daring to linger for a second longer before he turns to reach for the door. That big, bruised hand of his dwarfs the knob, gingerly wrapping around it like it'll break at any given moment.

Your lower belly coils. Sour.

You should kiss him.

And that might be how his name tumbles out of your mouth. That might explain where you get the nerve to grab a fistful of his t-shirt, yanking so hard that he stumbles. His gasp is the last thing you hear.

It's messy. Chapped lips collide, and noses crash. His chin bumps into yours too hard, and his chest hits you with the force of a freight train. But he exhales when you do. He tilts his head forward, and you think you're beginning to fall, plummeting off the cliff and into the nebula.

Rhett draws back just as quickly. His eyelashes flutter. You release your grasp on his shirt. Maybe you shouldn't have—

The corners of his eyes curve with his smile. You blink, and he's leaning back in.

You're not falling into the abyss alone.

Except, you literally might be falling because you're vaguely aware of the world spinning around you, seemingly weightless for a few fleeting milliseconds, before your back finds home in the lumpy mattress you paid fifty-something dollars to sleep on.

"Shit—" Rhett blurts, jerking away as if burned. "'m sorry, I..."

You only realize you're moving when you see your hand coming to rest against his cheek, coarse and unshaven. It's been a few days since the last time it was trimmed, has had time to soften and lose that sand-papery texture.

"I don't mind this," you confess. Lightning crackles outside, so bright that you can see the flash of it through the curtains.

Rhett meets you in the middle. Your noses bump once more as teeth unexpectedly clash, such a disaster that it ought to make you embarrassed, but you don't have the capacity to think about that right now. Not when he's letting himself settle against you, his heavy body slipping between your parted legs, fitting against you like he was built just for you.

Kissing him is...kissing him is like running into a tornado head first. He's so strong, pressing you down into the bed, anchoring you here with his weight alone, and he's just...Fuck, he's everywhere. His hand is curling around your face, and his belt buckle is digging into your lower belly and he smells like the rain that has enveloped the outside world.

He's traveling. Working his tiny, open-mouthed kisses across your cheek, the tip of his nose tickling the side of your neck as he finds his way to a spot beneath your ear.

Your hips jerk up into his.

He gasps.

"Is this...can I...?" Breathy. Hesitant. Like he's lost the ability to think.

It must be contagious. All you can do is nod. Dumb. But it's enough. It's more than enough.

No dating business partners, but surely they'd make an exception for a pretty cowboy, right? Kissing him doesn't count. Tangling your fingers in his hair doesn't count. It doesn't count if they never find out. Whatever the repercussions may be, they're not enough to stop you.

They would understand if they knew he tasted this sweet. If they knew that he hums when he tilts his head, leaning deeper into you, as if he hasn't gotten enough of you yet. His chapped lips tangle with yours so easily that you almost think you've danced to this tune before, falling into a routine that you haven't thought about in years.

The hand on your cheek disappears, fingertips idly tracing across your skin, down your neck, and then up to the corner of your eye, doing nothing but feel you. Something rumbles outside, in perfect tune with the slow roll of his hips, grinding down into you.

"Rhett," your head is spinning, idly grabbing at his biceps like that will somehow anchor you down.

"I ain't goin' nowhere," uttered like a sacred promise.

But the need for oxygen strikes you at the same time. Reeling back. Gasping. Eyes peeling open for what must be the first time in hours. Days, even.

Oh, he is something. Swollen lips and pink cheeks, his unruly hair ruffled and stubbornly falling into his face, so long that the ends of it tickle your face. You can only tuck so much of it behind his ear before some of it escapes and falls forward again.

Your eyes meet.

He laughs. "I feel like a damn mess."

"I'm sure I don't look any better," your thumb wanders out, tracing across his bottom lip. His tongue darts out, timidly wetting the pad of your finger. It's the last push you need to lift your hand and tap him on the nose with it.

Those eyes scrunch shut. Overreacting just a little bit.

Thunder slams into the ground with its heavy iron fist, shaking the motel and rattling you back into motion. Leaning back up to drown in him once more, almost sighing as he meets you, grants you the luxury of settling your head against the pillow. You think he only means to shift his position, but the bulge in his jeans grinds into you all the same, a little spark of heat bolting up your core.

"This is okay?" He whispers against your lips, those big forearms settling on either side of your head, seeking more leverage.

Your tongue is limp in your mouth, distracted by how the dim light catches on his bicep, illuminating a bulging vein there. Thick, winding down into his forearm and into his big, meaty palm.

Rhett's nose finds your cheek, gently nudging.

It takes a moment to recall his question. "More than okay."

Rhett's chuckle is a fleeting thing. There one moment and dissolving the next, overtaken by your sudden movement, too impatient to wait any longer. But you miss. It's hard to find any leverage when you've got him between your legs.

His hips roll down; you're convinced that you feel him twitch in his jeans. "That what yer after?"

There's no reason why this should work the way that it does. These layers between you should be making this harder to feel, but you're nearly convinced that the clothes are a minor hallucination because they do nothing to stop the feeling of him slowly rutting against you. The coarse material of his jeans drags against your thighs, the tent in his jeans heavy against your core.

You can't help yourself. One of your hands are tangling in his hair, and the other is grabbing hold of his bicep, greedily squeezing the thick muscle that you've spent too much of your life staring at. It flexes in your grasp, shamelessly showing off. You'd call him out on it if not for—

"Your ass is vibrating," you can feel it against your knee, a steady buzz that wasn't there before.

"Think it's Ty," he doesn't reach for his phone. Instead, his finger curls into the pearl snap buttons of his flannel, raking down and popping them open one by one.

His pale chest is...distracting.

"Are you gonna answer?" You croak, already fixating on that bucking bull tattoo. Old. Faded. Some little thing he picked up right after he turned eighteen, a discount job that has already begun to wear down. You recall him saying that his momma almost kicked him out of the house for it.

"Nah," the thin fabric falls from his body like a distant memory, landing somewhere on the floor. "Whatever it is can wait 'till mornin'." It's the tiniest motion, reaching into his pocket and tossing his phone off to the side, but the light catches on his chest just right, and...

"Rhett, this is..." You had a feeling it was worse than just a few stitches, but the image in your head wasn't this.

It's just below his collarbone. Healed at the top but opening up into a wide gash that is far too wide to be stitched closed, scabbed over, and surrounded in a sea of yellow and purple. You can see where the stitches once were, little red dots following the space that has already scarred.

"I know," he mutters, almost sounds ashamed.

You don't know what makes you do it. But you lean up, lips delicately pressing to the thin line of pink skin. Just two slow pecks, steering clear of what you know is a sore wound.

"'re you kissin' me better?" His voice is right in your ear, his smile shifting the tone of his words.

"S'ppose I am," there's an unexpected twang to your tone; you're starting to sound like him.

Your foreheads meet. Softly thunking together, noses rubbing back and forth in their own unspoken dance. He squirms, pulling himself a little higher on the bed, and—

"Shit." He's hissing, dragging his hips against yours again—something about that angle, fuck.

Rhett's the one who's taken charge of this, deliberately grinding himself into you like he can't think of doing anything else, but it's you who pushes things further. Craning your head up to find the prickly underside of his jaw, pressing your lips to the space beneath his ear. It's just so hard to stop yourself, lightly sucking on the skin there, enough to hear him gasp and leave a faint red patch in your wake.

One after another, gradually making your way down his neck, his heavy breaths enough to make you dizzy. Only stopping when you can no longer reach, forced to reel back before the ache in your neck begins to grow.

Rhett picks up right where you left off, his tongue poking between his lips as he kisses down your neck, leaving behind little wet spots that seem to freeze over in the chilly bedroom air. His big hands dip beneath your shirt, callouses dragging against your sensitive skin. You know what he's about to ask, and you're already arching your back off the bed.

But he doesn't take it off. Stops right as he pushes the fabric up to your neck, skipping across it, lips finding your naked chest instead. "You'll get cold if I take it all the way off," he murmurs as if he can hear the question floating through your head.

Without warning, his mouth finds your nipple. Delicately pulls it into his mouth like you'll shatter if he's too rough, his tongue swirling around the little bud in such a way that your head spins in tune with it. Your hands are in his hair, clinging to those curls resting at his nape, a little noise whistling out of your throat.

He draws away, and—shit, it really is cold in here.

Your hips jerk on their own accord. Impatient for something you weren't thinking about.

"Hang on, hang on," Rhett's chuckling at your antics like this is a little game you've been playing for years on end.

You're playing into it. Lifting your hips when his fingers curl beneath your waistband, shyly drawing your legs together when you realize that he's taken your underwear with your shorts, all in one go. It's easier to ignore the sudden over-exposed sensation when he reaches for his belt, pinching it open and squirming out of those too-tight jeans that have no right to cling to him like they do.

He's here before you hear the clothes hit the floor. Slipping between your legs once more, his body so warm against your chilly skin. Melting away the metaphorical frost that has already begun to call you home.

Oh.

You didn't realize he was—fuck, that's so much better without clothes in your way. His cock slipping between your folds, the thick underside massaging against your swollen clit so easily.

"Rhett..." aimlessly babbling, grasping at his biceps before you can think twice about it.

You don't know if it's because you never gave it much thought or if it's because it's been a while, but he's so much bigger than you thought he'd be. Just the sight of his thick, weeping tip is enough to make you dizzy, the kind of size that almost makes you feel minuscule in comparison.

"So fuckin' wet already," you don't know when he got so close to your ear, a violent shiver quaking across your body as he whispers in that stupidly low voice of his. "were y' wantin' me that bad, sweetheart?"

You can't respond. Not when he's using his own body weight to keep you pinned to the mattress as he ruts his big cock against your pussy, deliberately targeting your poor clit over and over. Little fireworks rattle up your spine and explode in your head with every motion, glittering behind your eyelids, staining your view of his face.

"I...shit, Rhett..." speaking is like swimming through a tsunami, words there and gone in a matter of milliseconds, washed away to the back of your mind. "Rhett..." It's no use. You can't...you can't...

The bridge of his nose kisses yours, one of his stray brunette curls coming down to tickle your cheek. You fear the day he cuts his hair short. "Say it again."

He's said...something, you know he did, but it's so—it's so hard to focus. Too distracted by the way precum obscenely spills out of his slit, mixing with your own wetness, sickening the glide of his length, his every motion punctuated by a quiet squelch that's too loud for this little hotel room. Kate can hear it from down the hall; you're sure of it.

Hell, maybe she's too busy with Tyler. Maybe she'll throw that 'no dating business partners' rule to the wind and shut that loud-mouthed cowboy up once and for all.

"...huh?" You think you were supposed to be figuring out what Rhett said. Still haven't done that.

"Say my name again," he sounds a little breathier now, his sharp hips forcing your thighs to rise and fall with the motion of his body, clinging to him like he's the only stable thing in this big, blinding world.

"Rhett." It slips out like you've been uttering it your whole life, tongue hand-crafted to do nothing else but form the shape of his name. Can't really stop yourself now that you've begun to say it. Mindlessly mumbling his name with every long thrust. "Rhett...Rhett!"

Pressure unexpectedly blossoms. Air catches in your throat as his cock head dips into you.

"Shit—!" Rhett's yelp dissolves into a muffled groan. "I didn't mean..."

But your legs are curling around him, your heels digging into the swell of his ass, urging him deeper. More. You want more of this.

Oh, and he gives you exactly what you want. Softens and lets you draw him in, so overtaken by the sensation that he visibly fights to keep his eyes open. You weren't ready for this at all and you don't even care. It's hard to think about the ache when he's already dragging against a sensitive cluster of nerves, his cock so thick that it rubs against them without even trying.

"'s it feel good or 'm I hurtin' ya?" Rhett's voice is like gravel. So much lower than what you remember it being.

"'s good," you're whining, absently squeezing at his biceps as he sinks further and further into you. There's just so much of him to take, slowly splitting your poor pussy wide open inch by fucking inch.

Thunder booms outside, but it's not near as scary as the monster between your shivering thighs. Lightning flickers as you feel him bottom out, buried to the hilt, and you don't...you don't know if you have room left to even breathe.

There's no real waiting. He can't, with you taking it upon yourself to dig your heels into the bed and impatiently rutting yourself against him. Shallow little ins and outs that very nearly punch the air out of your lungs.

"So fuckin' impatient," his chest settles against yours, anchoring you into the bed and forcing your squirming hips to hold still. "Needin' my cock that bad, baby?"

You've got just enough of your bearings left to glare at him. No, you were wanting him to buy you a snack out of the vending machine. What else could you want?

"Hey, I didn't say I wouldn't give it to ya," he chuckles like he can hear every little snarky thought that crosses your mind; maybe he's been reading your mind ever since the day you met.

All of a sudden, he's moving, drawing those strong hips back, only to rock back into you, doing nothing but shallowly rut his cock into you. If it were anyone else, this wouldn't work, but fuck he's already got this figured out. Massaging against those little nerves you haven't touched in so, so long, such a simple thing that has you clenching around him.

And you're helpless to do anything but cling to him and take it. Pinned to this shitty motel mattress as the storm rages on outside.

"'s that better, hm?" He coos, nuzzling your noses together as if to soothe the pitchy noises he's gently punching out of you. "I can feel your little legs just a shakin'."

There's nothing you can say. Stunned into mindless sounds that you can't seem to stifle, all too aware of how he's beginning to pull out further, fucking you in long, heavy strokes that leave stars sparkling in your vision.

Your hips involuntarily buck. The angle shifts.

"Aha—!" You're crying out. Way too loud. The neighbor absolutely heard that.

But you can't think about that because Rhett's caught onto it, swiveling his hips. Misses on the first try. Drifts closer on the second—

Not a thing escapes your lips, but your back rises up off the bed, clenching around him as he strikes that spot again, and you're only vaguely aware of how you're getting wetter. Absolutely dripping around him, every little motion punctuated by a sickening squelch that you can't possibly ignore.

"This poor lil pussy of yours," he's so talkative, purring those filthy words against your lips like they're gospel. "Gonna have ya limpin' all tomorrow."

You can't...you can't keep still. Wriggling helplessly, not sure if you're pushing up into him or trying to pull away; whatever it is, it's not working. That fat cock of his is still sinking into you at his own pace, balls lightly smacking into your ass, heavy and full and...

"Probably have to tell 'em a little lie or two," kissing him only briefly shuts him up. He's talking the moment you part ways. "'s not really acceptable to tell 'em the shop mechanic was—mmh between your pretty little legs all night long."

Your hand finds its way up his arm. Crossing his shoulder blades. On a one-way track to tangle in his messy hair and pull. It's enough to yank his head back, that pretty, pale throat on full display as a warbled moan jumps out of him.

Rhett's teeth sink into his bottom lip, muffling something you wish you could hear. "Talk to me, baby."

"Wanna...wanna hear you," that doesn't sound like your voice at all. If you couldn't feel it coming out of your own mouth, you'd think it was someone else entirely. "Please." For extra measure.

You'll fuss about begging on another day. When you're not—oh, when you're not...

The tiniest noise stumbles out of Rhett's throat. Music to your fucking ears. You want more of it.

It takes a moment. Gathering the strength to use the rest of your body. But then you do, and you're deliberately clenching around him, shivering thighs squeezing his pistoning hips as tight as you can, and he whines.

"Fuck, I...I..." Stumbling out of him. Aimless, but it's damn near enough to make you dizzy.

"Uhuh," is all you can utter. Dumb.

Lips collide. Crashing so clumsily that it's a wonder you don't knock a tooth out, nothing but open-mouthed entanglements and tongue. Calling this a kiss would disgrace the very word. Kisses are meant to be elegant. A beautiful sort of dance that no language will ever be able to properly describe.

Soft little whimpers creep past his defenses. Faint at first, but it's so hard to stop once he starts crying into your mouth when you clench around him once more. You don't know if it's the sound itself or the delicious drag of his cock that sends the wave of heat roaring into your lower belly. Hell, maybe it's both.

"Sound so fuckin' pretty." He's the one who says it, but you utter it in the back of your mind, too.

This room is so damn hot all of a sudden. A familiar pull has you fluttering around him, spasms that you feel just as much as he does. And he's driving directly into those little nerves so easily that your entire body is beginning to tingle with it, his weeping cock head striking them over and over and over.

Rhett shivers. A bead of sweat runs down his flushed face. "Fuck, I'm—"

"Close!" You blurt. Didn't mean to finish his sentence for him, but it's already out there, and oh, oh, oh.

His motions are quickening, unexpectedly thrown off of his rhythm, only for his hips to slam into you so hard it rocks the headboard. An unfamiliar heat blossoms, and you can feel his cock twitching inside of you and—Oh, he's cumming in you.

That's all it takes.

Your ears go numb as your back arches. Heart hamming in your chest. Crying out something that you never get to hear as you cum around him without warning. Little sparks firing across your nerves, and for the briefest moment, you think you've been swept up into a twister. Swirling 'round and 'round, nothing but Rhett's sweaty body to keep you from flying away entirely.

And the storm whispers your name, barely audible over the hammer of your own heart. Echoing as the color drowns to black, warping until you can't no longer hear that, either.

One of your eyes peeks open.

Did you fall asleep?

Because you feel like you fell asleep. Don't quite recall feeling so groggy, gravity weighing heavy on your eyelids, fighting against all odds to stay closed. Your tongue is almost stiff in your mouth, difficult to move.

Rhett's hand has long since curled around your face, his thumb stroking the thin skin beneath your eye. Delicate. You don't think he's realized you're back yet, so distracted that the proof of it is evident in his face. Those deep blue irises flickering across your face, trailing across your forehead, your cheeks, your bitten lips, cracked and dry from the elements.

You're far from looking your best. That you know for sure, but something about the way he looks at you...has you feeling like the prettiest thing this side of the country.

The corner of his lip rises the moment your eyes meet. "There ya are."

"I think I fell asleep," you croak. That still doesn't sound like your voice, but there's nowhere else it could be coming from.

"'s only been a few minutes," pausing to press a kiss to your temple. That might be a faint hickey forming beneath his ear. "had me thinkin' I killed ya."

You can't help but giggle, an image emerging to the forefront of your mind. "Could you imagine having to explain to everyone that your dick killed me?"

His eyes roll as hard as they possibly can. You're almost disappointed that they don't get stuck. "'s not that big."

"You'd sing a very different tune if we could swap places," you mumble, reaching for his hand. So much bigger than yours, you can hardly even cover half of it.

"Who says we can't?" He says it so...bluntly.

...is he already implying that pegging is on the table?

You can't find your words. Neither can he. All too quiet as you stare back at each other.

You crack at the same time. Sputtering into laughter like a pair of dumb kids, collapsing into perfect synchrony as you scramble out of the bed. Don't need to utter a word to Bare feet stumble across horrendously patterned carpet. His hand guiding you along on a one-way race to a too-small bathroom.

You're beginning to realize that cowboys and mechanics are just nerds with a very specific niche.

There's no way that Rhett is still out there poking at Dallas, running his hands over the different components, pressing on buttons just to see what they'll do if anything at all. Even from the door, you can see the gears twisting and turning in his head, processing every little detail and scratch like it's a work of art he's never laid eyes on before.

Except he has laid eyes on Dallas before. More times than you can count, and that beat-up old thing is far from a work of art. At least it's still prettier than Tyler's rusty old rig over there in the back...

No, it's not there anymore.

Did they leave already?

"Where's thing one and thing two?" You hope he doesn't notice the way you waddle across the parking lot, an ache plaguing you with every step. It was cute, the idea of being sore from a night in bed with him, but hell, is the actual experience a lot less romantic to deal with.

"They ditched us fer a date at some kind of storm chaser convention."

And here you thought Kate would at least give you the luxury of sticking around to tell you where she was going. Better yet, sending a text.

"A date?" Tilting your head to the side, like that'll somehow make you hear better.

Rhett presses another button. Every light in the truck turns on. "'s what it looked like on Ty's Instagram story."

You've already dug your phone out of your pocket, thumbs fumbling over each other as you search for your friends. Kate's account is the same as it was three days ago. No new posts since July of last year, but Tyler's...

There they are. Posing in front of the camera, spinning it around to unveil a line up of storm trucks. There has to be at least two dozen of them, sidled up next to each other in a perfect line with little white boxes resting on their hoods. A blurry sign sits behind them, forces you to replay the video and squint in order to read it.

Voting opens @ 4 PM.

"You have got to be kidding me," deadpan. Damn, not even an invite? After all that arguing? After yesterday? They wouldn't even have a truck to enter if it weren't for Dallas!

"Hm?" Rhett blinks at you. If this were a cartoon, he'd have a question mark hovering over his head right now.

You turn the phone around, showing him the video he's already seen. "They entered a competition for the best storm rig in the state!"

He bites the inside of his cheek, watching it again. After a moment, those big blue eyes flicker up to you. "...we could beat 'em."

"You think so?" Is this what you're doing now?

"I know so." Grinning.

They'll never let you hear the end of this.

And that's exactly why you find yourself bouncing up to him, your hands bracing themselves on his chest as you lean in to steal a kiss from his waiting lips. Curling a fist in his t-shirt, don't even need to tug for him to fall into line, boots thumping along as you dart back into the room. Scrambling to collect your bags, tripping over him in your effort to shove your pajamas back into the suitcase.

"Who's drivin'?" He giggles, leaning across you to get the room key.

The answer is obvious. "I am!"

Kate and Tyler don't realize you're there until it's too late.

#rhett abbott x reader #rhett abbott #oneshot #afab reader #outer range #tw food mention #description is subject to change (i hate it)#delgato writes

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snapghoul · 4 months ago

Note

Okay snap as we can I did not get my phone taken lol *looks at notes* so how did the boys confess there feelings for there crush

We’ll do Jake first.

Maybe I just wanna be Yours

For once it was Jake who was snug in his perch and Bradley took the leap.

Warnings: mention of homophobia

Song: I wanna be yours - arctic monkeys

Tyler was animatedly jumping around with Kate in the near wheat field just outside the diner, they were excited about the cloud formation in the distance, leaving Jake and Bradley to themselves in a quiet corner booth.

Jake fidgeted with his coffee cup, his gaze fixed on the window where the sky seemed to boil with energy. Bradley sat across from him, calm and composed, though his eyes betrayed a hint of curiosity.

“Bradley,” Jake began, finally alone with his wingman after two days of unrelenting tension. The endless game with Tyler had left him on edge, watching as Bradley seemed more focused on Tyler than on him. Jake could hardly stand it any longer. He wanted to be the center of Bradley’s attention, not a background character in Tyler’s show.

Bradley leaned forward slightly, his expression softening. “Yeah? What’s up?”

Jake’s breath hitched, and he hesitated. “So… how are you liking Oklahoma?”

He winced inwardly, frustrated with himself for not directly addressing what was really bothering him. He wanted to ask if Bradley was into Tyler.

Bradley’s gaze met his with a knowing look. “Oklahoma’s nice, but it doesn’t quite measure up to Cali.” He smiled gently, sensing Jake’s hesitation. “But I can tell that’s not really what you’re trying to get at, is it?”

Jake cursed silently. Bradley always had a knack for seeing through him.

Bradley’s eyes remained encouraging, urging him to speak. “Just say it, Jake.”

Taking a deep breath, Jake found a surge of courage. “Tyler. All you’ve been talking about lately is Tyler… you—”

“No.” Bradley cut him off, a smirk playing on his lips. He’d been expecting this moment, and Jake had actually lasted two days longer than he’d bet on. “I owe Kate twenty bucks, by the way.”

Jake’s eyes widened in surprise, his mouth opening as if to protest. “But—”

Bradley shook his head, still smiling. “Nah, Tyler’s a great guy, but he’s not my type. Too nice for me, honestly. I like a little more edge.”

Jake felt a rush of protectiveness for his brother, though he could tell Bradley wasn’t being rude—just honest. He was about to defend Tyler when Bradley continued.

“Yeah, but his brother? Now that’s different. I like that sass of his, the kind that gets under my skin but also makes him interesting. Can’t have him without that ego.”

Jake was stunned into silence, his heart racing. He’d come here to lay his feelings on the line, and now he was caught off guard by Bradley’s unexpected admission. He was frozen, unsure of how to respond.

“You two weren’t very subtle with your game, so Kate and I decided to have some fun with it,” Bradley said with a smirk. “Trust me, I’ve felt the same way for a while… since, you know, our first breakup.” His smile was wistful, revealing the lingering affection he’d harbored.

Jake was left speechless, his mind reeling.

Bradley chuckled. “I’d kiss you right now, but given where we are, I’m not sure it’s the safest move. Some folks around here might not be too accepting, especially since we’re Tyler’s guests.”

Jake’s heart raced, caught between relief and exhilaration.

“But when we get back to Ms. Carter’s,” Bradley continued, “or when we head out for Texas, I’ll definitely make sure to make up for it.” He flashed a playful grin that made Jake feel as though he was spinning, caught in a whirlwind of emotions.

#seresin twins #sereshaw #twisters #tyler owens #glen powell #top gun maverick #jake hangman seresin #glen powell tyler owens #twisters movie #bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #hangman x rooster #jake seresin

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obsessedwrhys · 6 months ago

Note

Any ship headcanons for Niru from AFK Journey? Can be fluff, angst, anything :)

|| NIRU DATING HEADCANONS ||

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ fluff, angst (im a sucker for it), mention of death and killing, reader is gn (can be read as merlin or not)!!

For a soul collector, it's expected for him to be the quiet and serious type. That's why falling for you was the last thing he expected to happen.

He was simply doing his duty collecting the souls of a heavily wounded fighter. How he sees things is that it is better to put someone out of their suffering instead of feeding them the delusion of a possible recovery.

He was ready to approach them, his scythe held close in his hand. All he can promise is to make their death swift. And that's when you came in, running from wherever you were.

Seeing the presence of another person, he quickly hid in the shadows. You kneeled beside the man and began doing your magic. An unreadable expression was on his face as he watched you tend to the fighter.

The way you still choose to save the man even though he was on the brinks of death was... naive and yet, funny enough the guy managed to survive thanks to your aid.

Ever since that day, he wouldn't stop thinking about you, of the sight of you saving that man. There was just this indescribable feel of hope in you.

Obviously approaching you was the worst way to deal with his thoughts, that's why he came up with the idea of meeting you in your dreams.

And you didn't pay no mind to that because you yourself didn't know it was an actual person in your dreams talking to you.

Every night, he would always set out on adventures with you. Whether it be lucid dreams or not, he's just glad to be there. Watching you do silly things in your dreams was entertaining enough.

However if you had nightmares, he is fast to protect you. Sometimes he might just hold you in his arms and you'd always wake up in the morning thinking back to how real it felt.

Despite the fun times spent with you, the guilt of not telling you whole truth of who he was still crept up to him. Not to mention how he really felt about you... that's why he decided to tell you when the moment was right.

Scenario ↴ (this ended up being so long)

You ran across the field, enjoying the way the birds all flew away when you came even a step closer. It was another dream of yours but this time it was oddly soothing, no excitement no nothing.

That's when you turned around to see your dream friend sitting under the tree, the shade protecting him from the sunlight. It's a wonder how he manages to appear in all of your dreams but you figured it wasn't anything serious. Besides it's kinda nice having a friend to talk to at the end of the day, even if it's during your sleeping time.

You approached him, his scythe placed on the grass beside him as he's leaned back on the tree. He watches when you decided to sit beside him. Then you let out a sigh.

"Tired from playing?" He asks while you curled up into a ball with your arms wrapped around your legs.

"Just bored..." You said, looking out at the beautiful field of Golden Wheatshire.

"Bored?" He raises his brows out of surprise. This was not the reaction he wanted out of you, after all, this dream was his whole idea.

"Yeah..." You rest your head on your knees. He stayed quiet for a second as he looked at your expression.

Suddenly he looks away and joined you in staring at the golden wheat from afar. He's not showing it but he's clearly having doubts in his mind. Is it a good idea to tell you the truth? What if his friendship with you ends?

After what felt like centuries of hesitation, he finally spoke up.

"I hope these dreams have brought some beauty into your life, as they have for me..." You look at him and you could see a hint of fear in his eyes, like he's afraid to say what he has to say next.

"But I'm sorry... I'm sorry that I am not just a figment of your imagination, but a being that exists beyond the realm of your waking hours. I am a Soul Keeper, a Graveborn, and I have been visiting you in your dreams because I could not stay away..." He pauses, his adam's apple bopping as he swallows.

"During the times we've shared together, I have grown to love every aspect of you, and I can no longer keep my feelings hidden... Your soul is a beacon of light in a world that is often dark and cold. It shines brighter than any star in the night sky, and I am drawn to its warmth like a moth to a flame. I have never felt this way before, and it is a feeling that I never want to let go of..." Slowly he finally locks eyes with you, the muscles on his face are relaxed as he's practically giving you the heart eyes.

You tried to say something back but it felt like your voice was gone, no matter how much you try talking nothing came out. You frown, realising it was one of those dreams again. Seeing you struggle, he lifts his hand to the side of your face to caress your cheek.

"It's okay, I know this is all too much for you to comprehend... I am not a being that's alive... yet you make me feel like I have a soul again. So if you'd please, meet me here again tomorrow at night..." He said and at the same time you could feel your body starting to awake from the dream.

You try really hard not to wake up but eventually you did thanks to the sound of your companion banging on the door and shouting for you to wake up. You let out an exhausted sigh as you ran your hands through your hair. The thought of that mysterious being still in your mind.

Like the usual, you carried out your daily duties. But your mind was constantly distracted by what the dream said. Is it even real? What if it was all in your head? Night time came slower than anticipated, you were on your way back home with your companions until you finally made up your mind. Without giving anyone much of an explanation, you decided to head to the place.

From the distant you could hear everybody asking where you're headed but you just shouted back a simple "I'll be back"

There it is.

A small smile makes it to your face as you anxiously approach the tree. You sat down and looked around, feeling a bit awkward. Ah... did you really expect this to be one of those romances? You sigh.

"Tired again?" A familiar voice spoke that it sent goosebumps across your body. You quickly turn and that's when you saw him, walking out of the shadows to join you.

You never realised how tall he was. Seeing him in real life now felt so unreal.

"Have you given my words some consideration?" He stands before you while making sure he gave you just enough space to not make you feel uncomfortable.

"... I have..." You uttered.

"And to be honest... I'm excited to see what the future holds for us" Your answer catching him by surprise since from your tone, he had expected you to be against the idea. He smiles almost out of relief.

"As am I... Let's take this journey together, one step at a time"

Since he's very connected to spiritual world, you can trust every moment with him to be a moment to be remembered. Even if you guys are just chilling somewhere in the forest, it'd still be a soul fulfilling time.

He finds your height cute, he's like gigantic so there's no way are you ever gonna be taller than him 😭

"Agh... I've been breaking my back trying to kiss you lately..."

"I'M NOT EVEN THAT SHORT"

Now his kisses are gentle and tender. It's the kind of kisses that speaks louder than words. He enjoys running his hand across your back when you guys kiss because he can't help but smile everytime you chuckle from the ticklish feeling.

He enjoys watching you sleep, not in a weird way, it's more like admiration.

You both are laid down on your mattress, you were already fast asleep but he was still awake. He's laid on his side as he observes the gentle curves of your face. The sound of the soft whispers of your breath made him feel he belonged. He smiles slightly, wondering how he was so lucky to have scored you.

PDA? No thank you. Honestly, he does not want to be risk seen in public at all. He's a Graveborn and he doesn't want to risk his relation with you to be the reason you're getting harassed by people.

But it's fine, he doesn't care if everybody views him invisible when you see him clear as day.

However, dating this man isn't all rainbows and sunshine. He has major PTSD from his military days.

I'm talking constant triggers and nightmares about the lives he's failed to saved.

You are always the one to be there for him and he never realised how comforting it is to be able to go through one of his episodes with someone there to remind him of the good times.

Head boops? YES. He just gives me black cat vibes.

Cuddles is a must have. I think he prefers being the big spoon for obvious reasons 🤭

You have once try to hold up his scythe and he was fast to take it from your hands when it was too heavy for you to bear. Thankfully nobody got hurt.

Since he used to be a doctor, he just has this instinct to always make sure you're healthy and well. If you ever get hurt, he's already there to take care of you.

Nicknames? He calls you my flower or my person, maybe even sweetie when he's in a really affectionate mood.

Now just because he's kind towards you that doesn't mean he's not such a big tease. He's so mean with it too.

Also did I forget to mention how flirty he can get?

"Niru, can you help me get the sugar?" You'd ask as you're by the kitchen counter preparing to bake.

You simply wait for him to get it for you when suddenly he cups your face, you bat your eyelashes at him a few times out of confusion.

"We ran out of sugar... how about we use you instead?" He jokes to which you smack his hand away with a laugh.

You probably don't realise but he keeps the letters you write to him everytime he's away. So when he's feeling a bit down, he'd just take it out and read it to make himself feel better. The reminder that he's truly loved.

1000% GRIM REAPER SHI

#AHHHHHHHHH #I HATE FRIZZY HAIR #x reader #fluff #afk journey #afk journey x reader #afk journey niru #niru x reader #afk journey niru x reader #niru afk journey #afk journey headcanons #afk journey fluff #afk journey niru headcanons

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anniesocsandgeneralstore · 2 years ago

Text

here to stay (Rhett Abbott x OC)

Summary: Once Rhett and Tessa are aware of each other, they can't seem to stop seeing each other everywhere.

Pairing: Rhett Abbott x OC (Tessa Abernathy)

Word Count: 6583

Warnings: fluff, some cursing, supporting oc characters, drinking, the lead-up to a fight, throwing up mention

ONE | TWO | THREE

✎……likes are great but comments/reblogs are even better!

✎……ty @newlibrary for looking this over for me

✎……masterlist on pinned!

Three days was all it took before Rhett saw her again. It was nearly the end of the rodeo season, and he had barely managed to scrape his way into the next ride. He knew his chances of moving on after tonight were slim, especially with the lot of bulls present for the event. He finished with a higher score than everyone thought he would get, but it just wasn’t high enough.

His season was over. At least he had no injuries and got a pat on the back from his father. He couldn’t say the same thing last year.

He stuck around until the bulb lights strung overhead were about to get turned off. There was a bonfire getting started in the field around the east side of the rodeo grounds he could join. Or he could have gone straight to The Pit Bar along with all the other bull riders. But there he still was, leaning against the metal railing with his fingers laced together, looking out over the dirt riding pit and the stands just beyond. His mind lost in what went wrong, what he could have done differently — the ill-disguised disappointment in his dad’s eyes.

That was when he saw her. Trailing behind what he assumed were her friends as they finally exited the stands. They were all giggling amongst themselves, but he could hear Tessa’s laugh over them all. Could see her smile even from where he stood. Hair like wheat ready to harvest swinging in a ponytail.

She touched down on solid ground and looked out across the pit. Rhett straightened when they locked eyes, three fingers raising in a wave that he regretted the instant it happened. But that didn’t matter when she just smiled and waved back, gesturing for him to come over.

Rhett smiled to himself as he picked up his bag and headed over. He didn’t know why she wanted to talk to him, but he was glad that she did.

For mid-October in Wyoming, it was a cold night. Tessa’s cheeks and ears were pinked from the chill, but she dressed warm with her hands tucked into the sleeves of her worn Carharrt jacket.

Her friends were already far ahead, close to the exit. But she lingered behind, lips pulled between her teeth as she watched him approach.

“Told ya I’d see ya again,” she said when he finally came to a stop before her, a knowing grin stretching her features.

Rhett snorted as he smiled down at her. “I swear, I’ve never seen ya at one of these things.”

“I don’t get the chance to come very often.” She shrugged, hands digging into her pockets. “So s’understandable. Just thought it was kinda funny how we met again the other day — knowin’ I was gonna be here tonight.”

“S’that cause of your job?” he asked. “You not gettin’ to come, I mean.”

Tessa nodded with a sigh that spoke volumes. “Keeps me busy.”

“Well — “ Rhett groaned, rocking on his feet as he looked back over at the pit. “ — Sorry you had to see me ride like shit.”

“I thought you did great. Bones hasn’t been good ridin’ in years. You got screwed over.” She paused, lip caught between her teeth as he narrowed his eyes at her. Then she grinned. “I don’t know — that’s just what the old guy behind me was sayin’.”

Rhett laughed, really laughed for what felt like the first time in a long while. And she looked pleased with herself for getting him to do so.

“But seriously,” she went on, pulling a hand beneath her nose as she sniffed. “You were good in high school and your standings the last few years have always been great. You’re better than that.”

“You’ve kept up with my standings?” he questioned, a smirk pulling the corner of his mouth.

She rolled her eyes playfully. “Yes, local boy Rhett Abbott I would look up your standing from time to time. Don’t flatter yourself.”

Her eyebrows suddenly furrowed as she pulled her phone out of her pocket. She huffed as she used reddened fingers to type something up.

Rhett licked his lips. “Everythin’ alright?”

“Yeah — yeah,” she replied, tucking the phone back away in her pocket. “I just…Need to head back to the home s’all. Coworker askin’ where I’m at.”

The overhead lights finally turned off as the last of the cleanup crew started meandering their way towards the exit.

“D’you drive?” he asked and she nodded. “I’ll walk ya to your car…If you want?”

Tessa looked around at the dark rodeo grounds, lips pulled back between her teeth before she clicked her tongue. “Yeah — I’d like that.”

They walked together through the darkened grounds and out into the parking lot — chatting the whole way. About their days on the high school rodeo team. About how Tessa never left Wabang, got a degree online, and started working at the home just last year. She talked about the place with a warm smile. The kind Rhett had never seen anyone have about their line of work. It made him wish he had something like that. That made him that happy.

When they got to her car, a beat-up rusted minivan, they said their goodbyes. And Rhett watched her drive out of the parking lot hoping he would see her again.

Why did they have to stock the dish soap on the top shelf? Tessa looked up at the product she so desired with disdain, hands on her hips.

She already had everything else she needed — her cart filled to the brim. Just this one last thing. Determined, she pushed up the sleeves of her sweater and stepped up onto the bottom shelf. She reached with all her might, fingers stretched towards the soap. But it was no use. A huff escaped her as she stepped back away from the shelving.

Maybe there was a stool lying around somewhere that she could use. Or she could just cave and ask Nancy working the cash register for help — but she wasn’t much taller than Tessa was. She was sure that would be a sight. Stepping back onto the bottom self, popped onto the tip of her toes, she reached for the soap again. Thinking maybe this time it would work, surely if she grunted in effort some kind of magic would happen.

“D’you need help?”

Tessa whipped her head to the side, the tip of her nose nearly knocking the sponges all lined up on the shelf in front of her face to the ground. Then she felt a heat rising in her cheeks — surely turning them a bright shade of pink.

It wasn’t the magic she was expecting.

Rhett Abbott stood at the end of the aisle with a bag of dog food slung over his shoulder. That small little smile on his face and a ball cap on his head, dark curls peaking out the bottom. He looked even better than he did in high school. Gone was his little baby face, now he had defined cheekbones and stubble on his jaw. The long hair suited him better than the proper boy haircuts his mom forced him to get. But his eyes were still big and blue as the ocean — looking at her now like he had never done before.

“Uh — “ She glanced back up at the soap just out of her reach, her stomach doing flips. “Potentially.”

Rhett chuckled, boots thumping against the linoleum floors as he came closer. “Potentially?”

She hopped off the bottom shelf just as he came to stand behind her, arm reaching up and easily grabbing the soap above her head. He stood close. Close enough for her to feel the heat radiating off of him on her back as he handed the bottle to her wordlessly.

“Thanks,” Tessa muttered as she looked over her shoulder at him.

He smiled down at her, crooked and small. Then, blinking rapidly, he seemed to realize just how close he was and he backed away. Freeing her to turn to her cart and throw the soap inside.

“H-How ya been?” Rhett asked in his quiet way as she took hold of the cart’s handle.

It had been a week since the rodeo and the last time they saw each other. Tessa had to wonder what string of fate had been tugged for them to keep bumping into each other after six years of barely caught glimpses. Not that she minded. It was nice catching up with him. It was nice knowing this version of him instead of being stuck with the mental image of eighteen-year-old Rhett. And it was nice having him look at her like she was a puzzle he couldn’t quite figure out, but he wanted to.

And she wanted him to, too.

“Been alright,” she replied, leaning her elbows against the cart handle as she grinned. “Busy, with the boys back in school — but alright. You?”

“Yeah. M’okay.” He nodded at her shopping items. “What’s with the soil? S’kinda too late to be plantin’ stuff ain’t it?”

Tessa started pushing the cart down the aisle and Rhett fell into step beside her, bag of feed still perched on his shoulder. “We’ve got a fruit and veg garden out back — saves money and gives the boys somethin’ to do. It’s’on sale and it’ll keep till spring, so…”

“Do they like it?”

“Not really,” she laughed, turning out into the main aisle. “But it gets ‘em using their hands and they can see progress on their work. Makes ‘em feel good about a job well done, even if they won’t admit it.”

When they reached the checkout counter, Tessa insisted he go first since he only had one item. But once he paid he stuck around, lingering around the edge of the carpet in front of the door, fingers fiddling with his keys. As she put her items on the counter, the older woman gave her a look then shot her eyes over at Rhett.

It was a look that screamed watch out for that one that Tessa didn’t understand.

“What?” she questioned with a nervous chuckle as she glanced over in Rhett’s direction.

“Just…Be careful with that one, sweetie,” Nancy replied quietly, making sure he didn’t hear. “Don’t wanna see you get hurt, now.”

Tessa leveled her with a look. “He’s just a friend.”

“That Abbott boy is never just friends with a girl he’s set his sights on.”

Paying for her things, Tessa didn’t push the subject any further. Over the years, Rhett had come up in her friends’ shared rumors several times. About who he was dating, who he wasn’t seeing anymore, which bar he got caught making out with some buckle bunny behind and when. Tessa didn’t really believed most of them. From their few conversations, he seemed far too awkward and sweet and respectful to be the womanizer Wabang tried to paint him to be. If anything, he was just being nice the few times they even had spoken. It was all preconceived notions, and she would rather learn about the man he had become from the source.

When she pushed her cart out onto the sidewalk, up to her minivan to put things away, Rhett was quick to step in and help her with the several heavy bags of soil she purchased.

“Thanks for the help,” she said as she closed the trunk on the van.

He flashed her a shy smile, “No problem.” And for a moment, he looked like he wanted to say something more, a question brewing in those bright blue eyes. But then he shook his head, pulled at the bill of his hat. “See ya around.”

“Yeah…See ya.”

She wanted to know what that question was, even as she watched him walk back to his truck.

Rhett pulled up in front of the elementary school at three o’clock, just like Rebecca told him to. He parked in one of the designated spots along the curb. He must have been early, there weren’t many other vehicles, and none of the teachers who were on pickup duty were standing outside yet.

Perry was working out in the north pasture on a line of fence that fell in the storm the other night, and Rebecca had a doctor’s appointment — leaving Rhett as the only adult available to pick Amy up from school.

He sighed as he cut the engine, long fingers pushing back the hairs that had fallen on his forehead. His dad tried to tell Rebecca to just let Amy take the bus like every other kid in Wabang. But she wouldn’t hear of it. She didn’t like that it dropped her off so far from the ranch and she had to walk the rest of the way. Rhett couldn’t blame her, he remembered that walk as a kid. It fucking sucked. So he didn’t mind the drive into town to pick up his niece. Especially since it got him away from the ranch for an hour.

Picking his phone up from the bench seat beside him, he unlocked it to start mindlessly scrolling through old photos and text messages. Waiting for Amy to come bounding up to his passenger door.

But then he looked back up — and he froze.

He should have recognized that beat up old van. Rust all along the bottom, green paint bleached in the sun, wood panneling around the outside that dated it back to the nineties. He was amazed that it even still ran. But there was no denying it was the right van though as Tessa stepped out of the driver’s side door and into the midafternoon sun. She was wearing a sweater and one of those zip up vests, brown hair done up in braids. Her grin only grew as she closed her eyes, leaning into the sun's rays like she was a cat as she closed the van door behind her.

This was the third time he had seen her since running into her at the general store two weeks ago. He was beginning to feel a bit like a stalker, constantly seeing her around, but he also wondered if she had always been there and he was just now beginning to notice.

He wished he would have noticed her sooner.

With her seemingly unrelenting smiles and kindness. The joy with which she spoke about the things that she loved. He felt like a stalker but he couldn’t bring himself to care enough because all he wanted to do was talk to her. All the time. He wanted to know her in a way he never had with anyone else before. She was like fresh spring air after a long and hard winter. He wanted to live in that spring forever.

Though he didn’t realize he was staring until she waved at him. A shy little wiggle of her fingers with a closed mouth smile.

“Shit.”

He ducked his head, as if that would make up for the fact that he just got caught gaping at her like a creep. When he looked back up, Tessa was walking up to his side of the truck with that same smile lighting up her face. Rhett grimaced to himself as he rolled down his window.

“Are you following me, Abbott?” she questioned, a teasing lilt to her tone, as she hopped up onto the step bar of his truck and leaned into the window.

“I — “ He chuckled nervously, licking his lips as he thought of what to say. “No?”

“No?” She tilted her head in that adorable way that was growing so familiar.

“I-I’m not. M’pickin’ my niece up, I swear,” he said.

“Rhett, I’m kidding,” she laughed, her hand reaching out and giving his bicep a shake. “It’s been nice — seein’ you around.”

He pushed a hand through his hair, trying not to focus on the electric feeling her touch left behind as she drew away. But he couldn’t help the smile that pulled on his lips as he looked out the window at her. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she laughed again, such a genuine look on her face he knew she was speaking the truth.

“What’re, uh — What’re you here for?” He nudged his chin at her.

Her face somehow lit up even more. “Jace. He’s our youngest right now. Third grade.”

“Kinda young to be stayin’ at the home, ain’t he?”

“His situation is a little different.” Tessa looked down at her hands, where she picked at one of her nails. “Little more permanent.”

“Oh — tough luck.”

“Yeah, they’ve all got tough luck. And I — I hope what I’m doin’ is makin’ it better. Easier, maybe. The world hasn’t been kind to any of them and I just…Just wanna give them a better chance.”

“You are.”

He didn’t have to think about it. He didn’t even have to meet any of those boys to know that she was. He believed in her. In her joy, her kindness, her compassion. In the way she looked at him now with something unreadable in her expression that he hoped to one day understand.

The doors to the school opened and the teachers on pickup duty came out, followed by a line of children with backpacks just a little too big and eager smiles on their faces. Tessa gave him one last smile before she stepped down from his truck and walked back to her van.

She stood on the passenger side, nearly out of his view. But he watched with a small smile as a little boy ran up to her with a giant grin on his face and a drawing that he made that he just had to show her. Tessa took it with wonder and pride evident on her face, he could hear her exclaimatation from inside the truck and it made him chuckle.

The passenger door of the truck opened as Amy greeted, “Uncle Rhett!”

“Hey, ladybug, how’s it goin’?” he replied as she climbed up onto the bench seat.

“Good,” she giggled, then her big blue eyes caught on the view out the windshield. “Who’s that with Jace?”

“You know him?” Rhett questioned.

“Yeah. He’s in my class. Is that his mom?”

“Uh, no. She’s not.”

“Do you know her? She his aunt or something?”

“You ask…A lot of questions. Buckle your seatbelt.” He nodded his head at her as he started up the truck. “She’s uh — She’s a friend. And she’s Jace’s friend.”

“Oh. That’s cool, I guess. So, today, Mrs. Passwater taught us about…”

Amy continued to ramble on about her day while Rhett pulled away from the curb. He drove around the old van as Tessa climbed into the driver’s seat. And he watched in the rearview mirror as she waved goodbye.

He took some comfort in knowing that he would see her again. He just hoped it was soon.

“Riley, I don’t know…” Tessa sighed as she fiddled with the pages of her current read, set aside on her bed when she answered the phone five minutes ago.

“Tess, it’s Saturday night. You have the night off. Come out with us,” her friend argued lightly.

“Who all’s going?”

“Me, you — “ Tessa rolled her eyes. “ — Laney and Chessler.”

“Oh, so s’everybody.”

“Look, I love ya girl, and I love that you found a job that ya love doin’ — but you seriously need to let loose every once and a while. Get a lil’ tipsy, maybe get laid — “

“Riley!” she laughed.

“You know it’s true!”

Tessa looked out her darkened window with a sigh. Yeah, she did know it was true. It was her day off and she spent the entirety of it in her room, save for sneaking downstairs to get food every once and a while. Trying to avoid the boys and her coworker Linda as much as possible so she could try to relax. But it was hard when she lived full time in the place she was employed. And going to her parents’ house just made her feel pathetic.

“Fine, I’ll go.”

“Yay! Okay, I’ll pick you up in thirty. Be outside ready to go.”

“Yeah, yeah yeah,” Tessa said as she got up from her bed and began rifling through her closet for something to wear. “Bye. Be safe. Love you.”

“Love you too, hon,” Riley replied before she hung up.

It wasn’t until she started looking through her clothes that she realized it had been a long time since she had gone out. All of her dresses were pushed into the darkest crevice of her closet. She nearly worried they would all smell a bit musty it had been so long since she had worn them. Luckily they smelled fine, but that didn’t help her choose one in the slightest. Eventually, she just gave up and picked one at random. She ended up with a deep yellow sundress that came to her middle thigh and would leave her probably freezing for the rest of the night. But her fate had been chosen, and she wasn’t about to continue the debate when it didn’t really matter.

It wasn’t like she was going to meet anyone anyway.

No one wanted to be with the girl who had to cancel dates nine times out of ten. The girl who lived in a house full of teenage boys, who carried around the baggage of six people every day and chose that willingly. She and the work that she loved were too much for anyone to handle. And she knew that. Linda had been working for the home for twenty years, started when she was around Tessa’s age, and still to this day she was single. Tessa resigned herself to that same fate a long time ago.

She just hoped she turned out less bitter than Linda was.

Riley picked her up an hour later, the usual Riley-time when she said thirty minutes, and they drove over to The Handsome Gambler downtown.

The place was packed, not surprising for a Saturday night. Four walls filled with chatter, boisterous laughter, banging on tables, and country music blaring over it all. The atmosphere was warm, electric, and familiar. Tessa laughed as she looked around at all the people having a good time, feeling better than she had all day.

Taking Riley’s hand, she dragged her friend over to the bar to order drinks.

“Laney said they found a booth!” Riley relayed as she looked down at her text messages.

“Nice!” Tessa called back before she turned to the bartender with a smile. “Hey! Can I get an aperol spritz, please?”

“Sure thing, Tess,” the bartender replied as he pulled out the right kind of glass. “Riley?”

“Uh, strawberry margarita, Frankie m’dear.” She flashed him a smile then looked back down at her phone with a furrowed brow. “Her boyfriend’s here.”

“Laney’s got a boyfriend?”

“They’ve only been datin’ like two weeks, you’re not missin’ much. But this was supposed to be just girls,” Riley grumbled.

“Who is it?” Tessa asked as she looked around the bar, trying to see if she could spot their friends.

“Uh, Walker Browning.” Tessa gave her a look. “I know. But apparently he’s changed since high school. Got a job workin’ the Tillerson ranch — somethin’ honest.”

“I’ll start stockin’ up the ice cream for when they inevitably break up again.”

Riley laughed, then looked back down at her phone. “Ugh, Walker brought friends. One for each of us apparently.”

“Oh, great, can’t wait to meet ‘em,” Tessa chuckled drly.

After getting their drinks and opening their tabs for the rest of the night, they weaved their way through the crowd to find this booth their friends said they occupied. It was in the far back corner of the bar, past the pool tables and the small dance floor. Laney and Chessler instantly rose to their feet with enthusiastic waves once they saw their friends approaching. Leaving behind four cowboys in stetsons sipping from green beer bottles. Once the girls had hugged, Laney sunk back down into Walker’s lap on one side of the booth — pressing lipstick-kisses into his cheek. The other three boys stood up from the booth to greet the newcomers with charming smiles.

And one of them was definitely Rhett Abbott.

Even in the dim light of the bar, he looked good. Still a little rough around the edges, with his white thermal shirt and ubuttoned flannel overtop, but good. His eyes shone with the neon lights, crinkled at the edges by his small smile.

“Tess,” he greeted with a tip of his hat.

“Rhett,” she replied with a grin.

“You two know each other?” Walker asked around the lip of his beer.

“Yeah.” She looked up at Rhett again. “We were uh — we were on the high school rodeo team together.”

“Oh, my God, I forgot you even did that, Tess,” Riley exclaimed as she slid into the booth, followed by one of the boys.

“Best barrel racer we had,” Rhett said, voice nothing but a low rumble as he gestured for her to sit next to Walker and Laney.

She tried to stop the butterflies that erupted in her stomach as she moved past him, elbow brushing against his torso. As her mind lingered on the fact that he wanted to sit next to her. She tucked her lips between her teeth as he slid into the booth next to her — barely enough room with how Walker and Laney were sprawled all over each other. Forcing Rhett to press in close to her side so he had enough room. Tessa was just thankful for the warmth he was putting off, she had been correct when she guessed she was going to be freezing all night in that dress.

“Y’cold?” Rhett asked on a chuckle as she sipped her drink, trying not to get a brainfreeze.

Tessa pulled away from her straw with a shiver, teeth chattering. “Slightly.”

“Here.” He made quick work of shrugging off his flannel and handing it to her. “Sorry it…Doesn’t really go with your pretty dress.”

There were those butterflies again, now accompanied by a heat in her cheeks and a bit lip smile. She took the flannel gratefully, fingers brushing over his own and this time she noticed. This time it made her breath catch in her throat and she couldn’t even explain why.

“You think my dress is pretty?” she asked quietly as she pulled on the shirt.

It was warm and smelled like him. Some cologne and a bit of whiskey. Her arms got swallowed completely by the sleeves and it nearly made her feel like a kid. She glanced over at him as she grabbed her drink, fingers barely peeking out from the plaid material and he laughed. She laughed too — some instinct drawing her to lean closer to his side.

“I — “ He started, then he coughed. “Yeah. I do. Ya look nice.”

“Well, thank you.”

Tessa looked down into her lap for a moment, suddenly acutely aware of how his jean clad thigh pressed against her bare one, and the way his scent was filling her lungs. And when she looked back up, she made eyecontact with Riley — who was trying so hard not to laugh, hiding behind her nearly empty margarita glass. Tessa gave her a look, and it only seemed to make her laugh more.

But then she coughed, lowering her glass back down to the table. “So, Walker, how’s that new job goin’?”

Conversation amongst the eight of them picked up from there. Tessa had never seen Rhett in a social environment before. He was quiet, commented sparingly or only really spoke when he was spoken to. But he laughed quietly along to funny stories and added on when he had something to say. Nursed his beer and fiddled with the cap on the table top. When Tessa finished her drink, he offered to go get her another. And she let him despite the looks her friends were giving her. He looked a little funny carrying the dainty glass with the bright orange cocktail inside — but it warmed Tessa’s heart in the best way possible.

Old, familiar feelings were starting to creep back in for the Abbott boy. And this time she wondered if he felt even anywhere close to the same.

While he was away, Laney and Walker spread out even more in the booth — forcing Tessa to move even closer to the edge of the bench.

When he came back to their table, she smiled up at him sympathetically. “Sorry.”

“S’alright” He slid her drink across the wood grain to her, then tapped the table twice with his knuckle. “Here, scooch over a lil’.”

She did the best she could with the way the couple was angled. Then Rhett sat back down on the bench beside her — only half of his ass able to fit on the bench. Tessa could only watch, a heat pooling in her chest like sunlight, as he hooked one big hand around the inside of her knee and lifted her leg up. His hands were rough, calloused, warm. A gasp slipped out of her when his thumb brushed across her knee. Then he put his thigh beneath her own and settled her leg back down across his own.

Everyone else carried on with their conversation, but Tessa could no longer focus. Especially when Rhett didn’t move his hand, and he looked over at her with that shy little smile on his face.

“This okay?” he asked.

“Y-Yeah. S’okay.”

There was a pink tint to his cheeks now as he looked away, reaching for his beer. But still his hand remained, thumb rubbing a soothing back and forth into the soft flesh of her lower thigh.

He certainly had enough room now.

“What’s, uh — What’s the name of the horse that you used to race with?” Rhett asked quietly, blue eyes focused on their stacked legs. “Was tryin’ to remember the other day but, uh…”

“Peaches,” she replied, fingers fidgeting with the hem of his flannel. “Peaches and Cream, if you wanna get technical.”

He chuckled. “Peaches. That’s right. She’s a good lookin’ horse.”

“She’s a sweet ole girl.”

“D’you still do any barrel racin’?”

“Nah, not really. I do demonstrations at my parent’s ranch sometimes for students but…That’s about it.”

“S’shame. You were good.” He took a swig of his beer.

“Not all of us can live the rodeo life forever, Rhett.”

She regretted it as soon as the words came out of her mouth, saw the way he blinked and cocked his jaw to one side. She reached for the hand still curled around her knee, felt the tendons beneath his warm skin flex before she gripped it completely.

“M’sorry. I don’t know why I said that,” she spoke quietly, eyebrows furrowed together as she watched his face.

He shook his head. “Maybe cause it’s true? Bull ridin’s all m’ever gonna be good for.”

“Hey, don’t say that about yourself.” Tessa gave his hand a squeeze. “What I meant was that…That I couldn’t stick with it because I’m not tough enough. Committed enough. You’ve got somethin’ special, Rhett. A fire. And it lights up when you’re ridin’. I can see it.”

He didn’t say anything, but the corner of his mouth ticked up as he looked down at her. And that was enough to know he heard her. Really heard her. Then his hand slid an inch up her thigh, and she jumped.

Rhett’s eyes widened, hand retreating back to its former place instantly. “M’sorry. I — I don’t know why I thought — “

“Dance with me.” She blurted out. “Please.”

“Okay.”

He slid out of the booth first, then offered her his hand. Tessa looked back at her friends one last time to see Riley mouthing oh my God at her. Her face felt burning hot as she took Rhett’s hand and let him lead her over to the small dance floor. She kept her gaze locked on his back, heart pounding in her chest like she just finished a race. His shoulders were broad, rounded with muscle built up over years of back breaking labor. The people parted before him like Moses and the sea.

Tessa didn’t know what was happening, she just knew she didn’t want it to end. Didn’t want him to retreat in on himself. Didn’t want him to stop looking at her with those big blue eyes lit with neon.

The dance floor was crowded with couples swinging around to George Strait and Dolly Parton. Rhett led the way through the people until he found a relatively empty spot, then he turned and pulled her into him. Both hands on her waist. Her hands naturally landed on his chest before sliding up to rest on those broad shoulders.

“Can I be honest for a sec?” Rhett asked and she nodded. “I’m a shit dancer — I d’know why I agreed to this.”

Tessa laughed, felt the rumble of his own chuckle beneath her palms. “You’re doin’ alright so far.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He tugged her in just a little bit closer as they swayed to the beat of the song. One of his hands slipped beneath his flannel she still wore just to get that much closer to her. Out of her control, her own hand tangled into the hairs at the back of his neck. And she watched as his eyelids fluttered.

Tessa didn’t want to hold out hope. She had been disappointed and heartbroken far too many times to think this time, this one might be different. But it was so hard to linger on that when Rhett made her feel like she hung the very stars in the sky. Like she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Like he had been waiting all his life for her.

Rhett leaned a little closer, eyes glancing down at her lips. Before she even realized, she was leaning too — gaze focused on the way his tongue poked out to wet his lips. Long fingers and wide palms squeezed her waist just a bit tighter. But then his eyes caught on something over her shoulder.

“Ah, shit,” he hissed under his breath. “One second.”

Nudging her to the side, he stepped around her and marched towards the entrance to the bar. She followed his movements, eyebrows furrowed in confusion and a little bit of hurt. Why did he just leave her standing in the middle of the dance floor? Didn’t he want to kiss her? Had she been reading everything wrong?

But then she noticed, at the door to the bar, Trevor Tillerson was dragging Walker outside by the back of his shirt. And Rhett followed right after them.

Ah, shit, indeed.

Tessa pushed her way back through the crowd until she reached what was their booth. Only to find Laney with her face hidden in her folded arms, shoulders shaking with sobs. Chessler and Riley were on either side of her, giving comforting pats to her back and whispering words of encouragement.

“What the hell happened?” Tessa asked

Chessler looked up at her with a sigh. “Trevor bumped into Laney. Walker tried to make him apologize — he didn’t take too kindly to it. So now Walker’s gettin’ his drunken ass kicked.”

“Rhett went out there after ‘em,” she mumbled, gaze drifting back towards the door.

“Oh, so Walker stands a chance then,” Chessler replied in her dry way.

“Speakin’ of which,” Riley said, “What the fuck is goin’ on between you and Rhett Abbott?”

“I don’t know,” Tessa replied, distracted. Thoughts lingering on what could be happening outside. “We’ve been…Talking lately.”

“Talking? What does that even mean?”

But Tessa was already moving towards the exit. “I’m gonna go check on ‘em — make sure they’re okay.”

“Tess, just let ‘em duke it out. You don’t have to mother hen — “ Chessler started, but she was already moving away from the table.

The sounds of the bar were muted to her ears, like they were far away, as she picked her way through the people and out into the chilled October night air. She looked east and the street was deserted, but when she looked west, she spotted Rhett’s broad shoulders immediately.

Him and Trevor were standing chest to chest, shoving one another. While Walker was leaned with one arm against the wall, puking his guts out. The two of them were about to start throwing punches, that much was certain from the way Trevor just wasn’t backing down. And was most certainly saying something that would push Rhett over the edge. What neither man noticed, however, was the sheriff's car parked across the street, and the deputy about to step in and break it up. Tessa could see it all play out. Deputy steps in, someone gets defensive, someone gets arrested. And it certainly wasn’t going to be the golden boy Tillerson.

So she decided to step in instead.

“Hey!” she called as she approached, heels clicking against the sidewalk. “Rhett, come on, let’s go back inside.”

Both men turned to her instantly, just as Walker slumped against the wall with a groan.

Trevor’s face split into a grin. “Oh, got your girl comin’ in to save your ass now, huh, Abbott?”

“Man, shut the fuck — “ Rhett started, but he stopped when Tessa wrapped her hand around his fingers and tugged.

He went into her willingly, barely put up a fight. And it surprised her. He let her pull him away until she was between him and Trevor. Until she could look up into his face with her free hand on his waist. He stared over her shoulder at Trevor for a second more, eyes lit with fury and jaw clenched, but then he looked down at her and it all seemed to melt. Tessa shifted her eyes pointedly over at the sheriff’s car and he followed her line of sight — recognition flashing over his face.

“Let’s go back inside, cowboy,” she repeated, softer this time.

Rhett nodded, hand moving to engulf hers completely.

“Fine!” Trevor exclaimed, raising his hands in the air then slapping them down on his thighs. “Guess I’ll just beat the shit out of your barfly friend over here — just like I wanted to in the first place!”

Tessa turned and squared him with a look she reserved for the boys under her care, causing Trevor’s expression to drop immediately. “Why don’t you get over yourself and go back inside too, huh? Walker seems miserable enough.”

As if to agree, Walker groaned again.

Trevor scoffed, rolling his eyes. Then with a muttered whatever he pushed past the two of them and back inside the bar. His arm collided with Tessa roughly, shoving her further into Rhett’s chest. But he caught her easily with a hand on her waist.

“Y’okay?” he questioned softly.

She smiled up at him. “I’m okay.”

“Walker?” Laney’s voice called out from the bar’s front door. “Oh, my God, Walker!”

She ran to her boyfriend, cheeks still red from crying, and knelt down beside him.

“He’s fine,” Rhett assured, “Just needs soberin’ up.”

But Laney wasn’t listening, too busy holding her boyfriend’s face and yelling at him for being stupid. That should sober him up well enough.

Rhett and Tessa shared a look, then he led her back inside the bar by the hand.

“How can I thank ya for savin’ my ass?” he asked as they walked inside.

“Buy me a drink?” she suggested with a smile.

“I can do that.”

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#oc: tessa abernathy #fic: here to stay #fd: outer range #outer range x oc #outer range imagine #outer range fanfiction #outer range fanfic #outer range fic #rhett abbott #rhett abbott x oc #rhett abbott imagine #rhett abbott fanfiction #rhett abbott fanfic #rhett abbott fic #fic update

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fanfic-fairyy · 1 year ago

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Asheiji fanfic recs pt. 4

Pt. 1 , 2 and 3

Brooklyn Baby by suffragettecity(41k)

Front-man Ash Lynx goes from coast to coast with his bohemian band. Photographer Eiji Okumura goes from journalist to groupie with his newfound freedom.

Your Best American Boy by suffragettecity(57k)

Cherry popsicles, bummed cigarettes, wrinkled photographs and shirtless nights. The summer a Japanese tourist moves in across the street, and an American boy falls in love through the fire-escapes.

Dusk till Dawn by equinoctial(97k)

“Alright. But you stay safe okay? I mean-” Eiji immediately regretted his reflexive reply to a goodbye. This wasn’t just your ordinary stranger, this was probably a powerful wizard for crying out loud.

But instead of an awkward laugh, the wizard settled with a gentle smile, the kind that reached his eyes and made the mystifying jade more brilliant than ever.

“Thanks. You stay safe too,” and with that, the wizard hopped off the balcony and vanished into the crowd below.

---

In which Eiji gets cursed into a ghost, the kingdom wages war on its neighbours, and the devil wizard Ash Lynx roams the wastelands while striking fear into the strongest of hearts.

But of course, fate would see the seemingly heartless wizard fall in love with a heart that had so much to give.

satin birds by kybelles(48k)

PUBLIC ANNOUNCEMENT

Mr. James R. Callenreese and Ms. Hideko Aoki are very delighted to announce the engagement between Mr. Callenreese's son and sole heir to Callenreese Corporotions Mr. Aslan J. Callenreese and Ms. Aoki's beloved nephew Mr. Eiji Okumura. The happy couple haven't decided on a wedding date yet.

(Except, Ash and Eiji are not happy at all because they don't want this marriage.)

of sugar cookies and chocolate puddings by kybelles(3k)

Eiji first meets Ash on a gloomy sunday afternoon.

After a little silence, the door is slowly opened by someone Eiji doesn’t notice at first. When he lowers his eyes a little, however, his gaze meets with a pair of bright green eyes. He takes a little step back, taking the appearance of the blonde kid who’s standing in front him. The suspicious scowl on his face softens a little when his eyes catch the plate in Eiji’s hands but he keeps holding his guard.

“Um…” Eiji begins hesitantly.

“What do you want?” the boy asks with a challenging face.

“M-my mom sent this.” he stammers finally, pushing the plate forward a little clumsily.

be my mirror, my sword and shield by kybelles(15k)

Ash Lynx finds the love of his life on a quiet night after he trips on sidewalk and harshly bumps his face against it when he exits from library.

Ash lets out a long-suffering sigh and prepares to take out his phone when he hears a sharp inhale and feels someone approaching him in a hurry. He defensively turns towards the noise but freezes like a deer caught in the headlights.

There’s guy in front of him who’s looking at Ash with concern and the sight of him literally makes Ash’s heart flutter like it’s never done before. He has the softest looking black hair Ash’s ever seen and for a crazy moment, Ash feels an irrepressible urge to run his hand through it. The guy’s already big dark eyes grow impossibly bigger when they land on Ash’s bruised cheek.

“Oh my god!” he shrieks in an adorable manner. “Are you okay?”

“You must be an angel.” Ash blurts before he can stop himself.

Sacrifice by signpainter1(33k)

Ash, the Sun God asks for only one thing; a daily sacrifice of wheat to help him maintained the fields. When war threatens the country, they turn from a wheat sacrifice to a human one. People are brought to the capital including the man Ash loves the most, Eiji Okumura. Ash has to find a way to prevent Eiji from dying which is hard when humans only hear only what they want to hear.

The One With the Vampires by TurnUps(99k)

Eiji Okumura has travelled to New York state because a Count Golzine is paying him an awful lot of money to take some pictures of his house. It doesn't take long for him to find out that he's the intended prey for creatures of the night.

But he instead to save the mysterious Ash, Golzine's supposed son, as well as himself.

Ash put his hand over the boy's mouth. Kept him pushed against the wall.

"Listen to me." His voice came out as a growl - a monster's voice. "If you go up to the Golzine Estate, then you won't come back down. With or without the money, you won't see a cent of it. That man - that - thing - he lives to trap pretty boys like you into his web, and he'll gobble you up before you realise you're stuck. Go. Home."

The boy didn't struggle. A rabbit who knew it had been caught in a snare. Dark eyes stared at him - wide. Maybe that meant he was finally seeing sense.

His lips were parted, under Ash's palm. He became away of that. Warm skin and warmer breath. A familiar feeling reared its head in his stomach. A hunger.

No. He could not save this boy from Golzine's clutches just so that he would fall prey to his own.

Uncharted Waters by midnitewrites(148k)

A routine day on the water is turned on its head when fisherman Eiji Okumura spots a strange creature in his fishing net. His excitement quickly morphs into disbelief when he realizes that what he caught is no fish: it’s a mermaid, beautiful and deadly—and, as he soon learns, gravely injured.

Desperate to save them, Eiji spirits the mermaid away to his home and nurses them back to health in his bathtub. As they recover, he learns more about them and their situation: their name is Ash; they can’t hope to survive without a fin to replace the one they lost; and in a year’s time, their pod will once again return to the bay where Eiji first found them.

Together, Eiji and his friends devise a plan to rehabilitate Ash and reunite them with their pod. Yet as Ash gains strength, so, too, do the bonds they forge, and the prospect of saying goodbye becomes far more difficult than any of them bargained for.

Bed of Roses by TurnUps(103k)

Eiji had been watching the boy for the last three dances.

Well, he had been watching, but not watching. Every time the boy’s gaze came anywhere near him, he stared back down at the table, hoping that he hadn’t been caught.

It was the boy’s hair that had caught his eye at first. Yellow – somewhere between yellow and white. He’d never seen hair that colour before. Didn’t know it was possible for real people to have hair that colour. It was as though there was a miniature sun around his head. As if he was a candle, with its own flame.

The flame flickered in his eyes too. Green eyes – he’d rarely seen them, either – and none quite as vibrant a green as his. They sparkled like emeralds, above flashing white teeth. His waistcoat had a hint of green to it, that brought them out all the more.

Western/Cowboy/Young Guns AU! Eiji has travelled to America with Ibe because of fishy business with the mayor of a small town. Ash runs a group called the Regulators after the same thing.

And in That Light, I Saw You by ohrange(125k)

After a traumatic experience renders Eiji unable to attend school, Ibe suggests taking some time off to work as his photography assistant at an agency in New York. Eiji takes to the idea well enough, but doesn’t expect to get involved into investigating a sex-trafficking ring… something that Ash, a model at the agency, has been secretly keeping evidence of for years.

[In which Ash is a model with a dark past no one dares to question, and Eiji is a design student who escapes from Japan only to be met with the same thing he wants to forget.]

Rewrite the Stars by Hamliet(58k)

When exchange student Eiji Okumura arrives at his American high school for a year abroad, his worries about fitting in and earning As are quickly swept aside when he meets Ash Lynx, a genius rumored to have spent time in juvie last year. Between Ash, his friends Shorter and Sing, and the mysterious younger brother of the school's principal, Eiji finds himself drawn into a power struggle that he realizes is more familiar than he thought. High School AU... (like, where they're actually in school + there's a chance of healing).

Ain't it like thunder under earth by Snow_Falls(11k)

'Alex clarified, when again it seemed like Ash wouldn’t reply. “Whoever goes with the boss has to spend some time fooling around with him.”

“Who is going with Ash?” Eiji had to ask.

There was a significant pause. The boys looked at Eiji and away.'

Fake dating, then real dating, with the mildest of heists thrown in for flavour.

[Read the tags before reading the fic<3]

#banana fish fic #banana fish fanfiction #banana fish fanfic rec #banana fish fandom #banana fish #banana fish fanfic #banana fish fic rec #asheiji fanfic #asheiji #ash lynx #eiji okumura #ash is taking a nap #my babies #they deserve love #fic rec

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ohtumbly · 2 years ago

Text

Mr. Tickle tickles everyone

Written by me

(It takes place around 2014)

Welcome to Misterland! It's a bright and sunny morning and everyone is getting up.

Mr. Tickle wakes up, and still in bed, used his long, wiggly arm to grab a biscuit downstairs. Then he jumped out of bed.

Mr. Tickle brushed his teeth, and cooked a fat sausage, a fried egg, and made tea, for breakfast.

Do you know what his breakfast looked like? Let's say the sausage looks like the number 1, and then the egg and the cup of tea, from the top, looked like a pair of zeros. Have you guessed it yet?

That's right! It looked like the number one-hundred.

And Mr. Tickle has hundreds of people to tickle today.

The first he tickled was after he opened the door. There was Mr. Stamp the postman, and Little Miss Giggles, helping Mr. Stamp deliver the mail.

"Good morning, Mr. Tickle!" Greeted Mr. Stamp the postman.

"Good morning!" Little Miss Giggles chuckled.

And before he could say anything further, Mr. Tickle tickled them, picked up the letters, and went off.

"Hahaha! Hahahahaha!" Laughed Little Miss Giggles, and she fell on the floor.

He went past Mr. Robinson's house and tickled Mr. Robinson from the window. He used his other hand to Tickle Mr. Small, after he walked out of his house.

Mr. Tickle continued tickling people he see. He tickled Mr. Tall.

He tickled Mr. Mean until he moaned,

he tickled Mr. Greedy until he groaned,

he tickled Little Miss Splendid until she sputtered,

he tickled Mr. Uppity until he uttered,

he tickled Little Miss Twins until she twirled,

he tickled Mr. Worry until he whirled,

he tickled Little Miss Sunshine until she shivered,

he tickled Mr. Quiet until he quivered.

He tickled Little Miss Stubborn until she stuttered.

He tickled Mr. Jelly until he jumped.

He tickled Little Miss Dotty until she danced.

He tickled Mr. Funny until he fell over.

He tickled Little Miss Wise until she whined.

He tickled Mr. Rush until he rocked.

He tickled Little Miss Quick until she questioned why.

He tickled Mr. Cheerful until he chuckled.

He tickled Little Miss Chatterbox until she stopped talking.

He tickled Mr. Forgetful until he remembered.

Mr. Tickle went to get eggs from Farmer Fields.

"Good morning, Farmer Fields! May I get some eggs from you, please?"

"Take your time, Mr. Tickle." Replied Farmer Fields.

Mr. Tickle went into the chicken coop, grabbed twelve eggs, put it in a basket, and went off. Then his long arms tickled the chickens.

He tickled not just the chickens, he tickled a cow, a pig, the ducks, the corn field, the wheat field, and Little Miss Tiny!

"Thank you Farmer Fields." Thanked Mr. Tickle, and he gave Farmer Fields one little tickle.

Mr. Tickle was on his way to Seatown, and came across a schoolhouse. He tickled the teacher, a boy with glasses, a girl with pigtails, and Jack Robinson, in his daydream! Out comes Mr. Daydream, laughing on Jack's desk.

He continued his way to Seatown and walked by the doctor's office. He tickled Mr. Sneeze, Mr. Bump, Little Miss Shy, and Doctor Makeyouwell.

Little Miss Naughty was waiting in a blue mailbox. She sees Mr. Tickle and tied his arms into a knot. That didn't stop Mr. Tickle, as he used his tickly fingers and tickled Little Miss Naughty.

He sees Mr. Grumpy leaving the grocery store. Mr. Tickle just can't help it, no matter how grumpy a guy can be. He tickled Mr. Grumpy, and his grocery fell on the floor.

Mr. Tickle arrived at Seatown, and sat on the sand. A hand took out a sandwich and he took a bite of it. Then the other hand tickled a seagull.

Mr. Tickle continued to tickle more people while sitting there.

He tickled Little Miss Tidy tightly.

He tickled Mr. Busy brightly.

He tickled Little Miss Fickle frantically.

He tickled Mr. Clever clearly.

He tickled Little Miss Trouble terrifically.

He tickled Mr. Perfect proudly.

He tickled Little Miss Whoops whimsically.

He tickled Mr. Cool cunningly.

He tickled Mr. Skinny skillfully,

he tickled Little Miss Brainy brilliantly,

he tickled Mr. Muddle magnificently,

he tickled Little Miss Bossy beautifully,

he tickled Mr. Silly superbly,

and he tickled Little Miss Plump perfectly.

Mr. Tickle sees Mr. Impossible on a cloud. He tried to tickle him from above by stretching his long arms. His arms aren't long enough to tickle Mr. Impossible. He tried, and tried, and tried.

The wind blew the cloud away from Mr. Impossible and he fell into Mr. Tickle's arms.

After lunch, he walked to a bus stop, Mr. Clumsy was walking along and slipped on a manhole cover.

"Whoops!" Says Mr. Clumsy.

Mr. Tickle gave him a tickle.

He continued walking and met Mr. Brush the painter. He's painting a fence. He tickled Mr. Brush and he fell on the floor. Mr. Nosey looked from over the fence and saw Mr. Tickle. Before Mr. Nosey said anything, he was tickled by a pair of orange hands. Mr. Tickle's hands!

Mr. Tickle waited for a bus. He stood behind Mr. Happy, standing behind Mr. Noisy, standing behind Little Miss Helpful, standing behind Little Miss Curious, standing behind Mr. Dizzy, standing behind Mr. Strong, standing behind Mr. Mischief, standing behind Little Miss Scary, standing behind Little Miss Princess, standing behind Mr. Rude, in a bus queue.

When the bus arrived, Mr. Tickle sat at the back, stretched his arm, and tickled them all.

It was a long journey, but that wouldn't bore Mr. Tickle.

Along the way, he tickled Mr. Snow in Coldland.

He tickled Mr. Chatterbox at his home.

He tickled Mr. Fussy in a phone box,

he tickled Mr. Wrong in the rain,

he tickled Little Miss Lucky by a lake,

he tickled Mr. Bounce at a basketball court,

he tickled Little Miss Fun playing frisbee,

and he tickled Little Miss Somersault somewhere.

He got off the bus and continued his journey home.

He tickled Little Miss Neat hanging towels to dry.

He tickled Little Miss Scatterbrain talking to a cow.

He tickled Little Miss Busy cleaning her room.

He tickled Little Miss Late running home.

He tickled Mr. Lazy on a hammock.

He even tickled Mr. Nobody.

And he tickled a worm.

He tickled Mr. Messy, Mr. Topsy-Turvy, Mr. Nonsense, Mr. Slow, Mr. Brave, Mr. Grumble, Mr. Good, Little Miss Star, Little Miss Contrary, and Little Miss Bad! Haha!

Mr. Tickle still had one more person yet to tickle. Late in the evening, Little Miss Magic was on her magic carpet. Mr. Tickle stretched his arms out of the window and tickled her. The magic carpet landed safely.

Mr. Tickle had supper, brushed his teeth, and went to bed.

There's someone who Mr. Tickle hasn't tickled yet. Do you know who?

It's Mr. Tickle, himself! He put his hand on his head, and tickled in his sleep.

#mr men and little miss #mr men little miss #little miss #mr men #mr tickle

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brasideios · 2 years ago

Text

My boy Charlie

So, tentatively, I really want to start posting more about my original writing, since that's what I do full time; what I'm working on, the things I'm writing about, and just generally more writerly stuff, including talking about my OCs.

I feel rather shy about it, but I'm doing it anyway. If y'all hate it, I'm sorry in advance.

I've started with an OC because of a conversation I had in passing with @ainulindaelynn last week. As I said there, a lot of my OCs are based on kind of 'archetypes' I've developed (if that's not too grand a name for it) who I write and rewrite in various guises. I usually call them after the name I gave them the first time I really dug into their character.

Which brings me to my boy Charlie.

He's been my muse for a really long time - and I had this weird experience where I found a picture of him the other day so you can even see him without my having to attempt to draw his ass:

[This image is from a fashion catalogue; the absurdly expensive brand is Connolly.]

Something about the unsmiling face, the way he's looking away into the distance - just the whole vibe. The model from other angles doesn’t look like him, just this image... and the vibes.

Original Charlie

The first time I wrote Charlie was in 2004 in a short story called The Pioneer; that short story was re-written heavily in 2014 and was eventually polished up and included in my published (2018) book Stories from Wiacubbin.

It was called - can you guess? - Charlie 😆 I've never enjoyed coming up with titles!

The whole book was written as an extension of that short, to expand on the characters in it so - what a journey this guy has taken me on.

Anyway. This is (the polished version of) how he's first introduced:

~~~

The sky was the barely blue of a long dry summer, even though it was only early December. Sun-bleached wheat fields lay across the flats, blonde on red clay.

Charlie was surrounded by familiar sounds: the shush of the breeze in the wheat; the snort of the horse’s breath and the muffled thump of its hooves on compacted dirt; the clink of the harness. He was a man used to being in the saddle - his mother had liked to say he was born into it.

He squinted out from beneath his hat, pulled low over blue eyes, at the crop as he passed. It was an assessing glance which told him harvest wasn’t far off.

The Young’s homestead lay ahead. Granite dry walls, sun-baked mud brick, corrugated iron; the outbuildings of canvas, tree trunks, stone; and beyond, the granite outcrop, Wiacubbin Hill - a dark looming mass in the bright day.

The cattle dogs heard the horse and rider approaching and began to bark. Two men walked out from the stables curiously, shielding their eyes from the sun.

As Charlie dismounted, the elder of the two asked, ‘You the new man?’

Charlie nodded curtly, and introduced himself.

‘I’m Ed, this is John.’ John nodded in greeting.

‘The boss about?’ Charlie asked after shaking hands with them both.

‘Down the south paddock. He’ll be back shortly. Head into the house and the girl’ll get you a drink while you wait.’

The house faced the outcrop. There was a dry gully which ran from the dam in the orchard at the south end of the house, along the front of the veranda and into oblivion, thus dividing the house from the driveway. Two rough-hewn tree trunks had been placed across the gully, and Charlie walked over these and then up the couple of steps to the veranda and the front door.

The door stood open. He knocked politely against the door frame before stepping across the threshold.

The dining room was unexpectedly cool. With whitewashed walls, it was dominated by a large, scrubbed table; its only nod to decoration was a sideboard on which several old-fashioned photographs stood. He was looking at these when a girl in her late teens came into the room.

‘My father’s out. He’ll be back soon.’ Her voice was very soft. For a moment, their eyes met. She looked away. ‘Please sit. I’ll bring tea.’

He watched her go, then did as she’d instructed. He took a seat which gave him a clear view of the outcrop and the dam humped beneath it. The landscape was blurred and moving in the heat haze, a wash of gold, ochre and brown.

His eyes wandered back to the photographs on the sideboard. The family ancestors, he assumed. None of the girl, he noted; only matriarchal women in tight-laced dresses and huge hats, and men in dark suits and full moustaches, all of them looking very serious.

He heard the clink of the teapot lid and teaspoons against the china as the girl came back. She set the tray down on the table, then handed him a cup and saucer, and set another at the head of the table.

She turned to leave, but stopped when he said, ‘I’m Charlie, by the way.’

She looked at him from under her brows, as if she couldn’t bring herself to look at him directly. Her face was as serious as the ancestors on the sideboard beside her.

‘I’m Rebekah.’ She was gone again before he could say anything further. He poured the tea into his own cup, frowning momentarily.

~~~

New Charlie (Joel).

I've been working on a new story, set nearly ~80 years later, and was digging into a new character via dialogue, Joel. I got a-ways in and was like, oh no. This is Charlie.

So new Charlie has just dropped (or has started to drop, anyway 😆)

(This is a WIP so forgive unpolished bits):

~~~

It was a perfect golden afternoon – the sparkling ocean beneath a high clear sky; a cargo ship even then was slipping towards the hazy horizon.

There was a golden quality to it all that tugged at my heart strings. The strange sense I sometimes have of the perfection of the world – or at the least, of a moment of perfection.

That feeling was powered by intense gratitude. I was still haunted by the person I’d been, and perhaps still partly was. The darkness that’d been in me – but I didn’t want to think about that. There was too much pain in it.

The guy who was sitting with Rowan came over to where I was looking out at the sunset, dragging a chair behind him, clumsy and shy. The sun caught his sandy brown hair, turning it vividly gold. His face was pleasant, wide-browed, but there was something vaguely brooding about him; something stern could be glimpsed lurking beneath the friendly surface. His eyes were very blue.

‘Since your friend and my friend are talking, I thought I’d introduce myself. I’m Joel.’

He offered a hand, and I shook it. His hand was so calloused, I almost recoiled.

‘Arity,’ I said.

‘So, what brings you ladies here this arvo?’

‘It’s my birthday actually.’

‘Let me guess,’ he said, squinting at me. ‘You’re… twenty-five?’

He was right. ‘Good guess.’

He smiled in one corner of his mouth.

I pondered a moment, looking at the pint of beer he’d placed on the table. The drops of condensation on the glass caught the sunlight like jewels.

After a minute, I said, ‘Well, I guess one of us has to do it.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Do what?’

‘Ask the obligatory, boring question – what do you do for a crust?’

He half-smiled again. ‘I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.’

I laughed, though I wasn’t entirely sure he was joking.

I suggested, ‘So… you’re a secret assassin, here to take out innocent women quietly drinking their cocktails?’

He smiled properly. It transformed his face in an astonishing way, softening the hard lines, crinkling his eyes at the corners charmingly.

‘Not at all,’ he said, though I could see him choosing his words. ‘I’m in public service. What about you?’

‘I work in hotels.’

‘Anywhere good?’ he asked, then clarified, ‘I mean here, in Perth, or somewhere exotic?’

‘Here,’ I said. ‘But I want to go up north eventually, after I finish my degree.’

‘Your degree?’

He’d visibly recoiled a little. I wondered what he was thinking.

‘I’m going to be a writer.’ I said it boldly, as if finishing the degree would automatically eject into the world someone who would write a novel. As if authors were somehow produced via a reliable process. ‘That’s part of why I want to travel. I can’t write about this shithole, can I?’

He half smiled at that; whatever thought the degree had provoked had passed, apparently. Maybe I’d misunderstood his body language.

‘I dunno.’ He looked around us pointedly, eyes sparkling. ‘I’ve been to worse pubs.’

It took me a second, then I caught up. I laughed.

‘You know what I mean!’

He took a drink before he said, ‘I sure do. Perth sucks.’

I agreed with him, but there was something about the way he said it that made me perk up my ears. To me, it sucked, but I meant it in an affectionate way; his dislike was different.

‘You’re not from here originally.’ It wasn’t a question.

He shook his head. ‘Brisbane.’

‘Been here long?’

‘Seven months. Another five to go.’

‘Then what?’

He shrugged, looking out at the ocean. ‘Not sure yet.’

Something clicked then. I’d grown up in Langarrin with new Navy kids always turning up for classes, then leaving again a year later. One of my high school friends had joined up when he was old enough, and he’d seemed to move at least every year, sometimes more, until we eventually lost touch.

And, of course, there’d been my Dad.

‘Are you in Defence?’ I asked, unintentionally pitching my voice low, as if I was asking him to disclose a state secret. Maybe it was his earlier evasiveness which made me vaguely nervous about asking.

The swiftest flicker of surprise crossed his face, as though I’d caught him out; but it was gone as he tilted his head and asked very coolly, ‘What makes you ask that?’

I sat back. I knew I was right. I wondered why he hadn’t just told me outright – I’d never met a sailor who’d been that evasive.

I shrugged. ‘I’ve known sailors all my life.’

He scoffed. ‘Navy.’ He shifted then, sitting up straighter. He met my eye with an almost defiant expression. ‘I’m Army.’

I wasn’t sure what he expected me to say about that. I said, ‘Fair enough,’ but I felt compelled to add, ‘I don’t judge.’

He visibly relaxed. I didn’t understand his reactions at all.

‘Do you want another drink?’ he asked. Why did I feel like I’d passed a test?

‘Yes, please,’ I said, waving my now-empty glass at him. ‘Tom Collins.’

He asked Rowan if he wanted another, and Suzie took the moment to glance over at me then.

She tilted her head, as if to ask if everything was good. I smiled back, reassuringly. I wasn’t sure if I liked Joel, but I’d definitely been around worse people.

I returned the favour, and she smiled in this way she had that said she liked him. I smiled back.

~~~

So that's Charlie. He's one of the easiest to pin down.

Where I can identify the source of his character, he's based very loosely on a close friend I had at one time, mixed with a collection of ideas gleaned from the books of Cormac McCarthy, all things Western, and a brief spell of being really into mid-century history.

If anyone cares to ask anything about him or OCs in general, or anything about writing, I'm open to talk about anything pretty much. AND I would love to see/hear about everyone else's OCs. It's so interesting to see what other people people are making 😆

If you read this far, thank you 🤍

#writeblr #own characters #oc charlie #my oc #oc joel #writing #stories from wiacubbin #arity #original fiction #jpdoingwords

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aishangotome · 2 months ago

Text

Chapter 7-13 To Execute a Plan (執手)

Chapter 7-9

Cao Cao's forces were unstoppable, conquering ten cities in Xu Province and stationing troops in Xiaopei.

Sparrow Messenger: Wouldn't it be too risky for Deputy Fu to return to Guangling, leaving Master alone in Pengcheng?

You: Zhao Yu is taking advantage of the chaos to start an uprising in Guangling. Fu Rong needs to return on my behalf to take control of the situation. Emissary, stay here. Skylark, return with Fu Rong.

Sparrow Messenger: I'm worried about that cult leader… Even if he doesn't end up in prison, we need to be wary of his subtle schemes.

Ant Messenger: What do you think about breaking his arms and legs, then throwing him into a rice barrel?

Liu Bian: ....!!!

I saw Liu Bian peek his head out from behind the screen, only to recoil in fear at my words.

You: Just do it. Find a hammer or a machete or something, and get it over with!

Liu Bian: No! You can't do this to me!

Liu Bian peeked out again, his eyes filled with tears.

You: You guys go on out. Leave him to me.

You: …… They're gone. Let's sit down and have a proper talk!

You: Cao Cao has already breached ten border cities. If nothing unexpected happens, his army will be at Yingcheng next.

Liu Bian: Then what are you still doing in Pengcheng? Go back to Guangling, at least you can still escape across the river.

You: Can the common people escape? Are you asking them to cross the freezing Yangtze in the dead of winter, or abandon their half-grown wheat fields in the summer?

Liu Bian: If you want to hold onto some things, you have to let go of others.

You: I won't abandon anything.

Liu Bian: Including me?

You: Including you.

He gave a soft, wry smile and sat down beside me.

Liu Bian: With the enemy forces at our borders, what are you planning to do?

I looked into his eyes and tightly grasped his hand.

Liu Bian: Oh my, my Prince of Guangling! You haven't changed a bit. When all else fails, you resort to clinging to me…

You: -- You are my plan.

You: Liu Xie is currently with Cao Cao, although the news hasn't been made public yet. I hear Cao Cao is treating him with the utmost courtesy.

You: I want to hang you from the city walls and use you as a hostage. That way, Liu Xie will definitely order Cao Cao to retreat.

Liu Bian tried to pull his hand from mine, but couldn't break free; I was gripping it too tightly.

Liu Bian: .....For the sake of our past relationship as ruler and subject, I have never mistreated you. Why do you act this way?

You: Really? Think carefully. Did you ever summon me in the dead of night, claiming it was an emergency and I had to rush to the palace?

You: Did you ever promise to hand over the entire empire to me, only to abdicate, fake your death, and run away?

Liu Bian: You have no proof! Do you have any witnesses?

You: The guards, the palace maids, the Xiliang army, the female officials and adjutants from the Puyi Bureau who accompanied you, Li Cui.

Silence fell over the room for a moment, and he swallowed hard.

You: Alright, enough joking around. I have things to attend to. You rest! And don't wander off.

Liu Bian: Where are you going? Don't leave me alone here! That moth envoy might be off looking for a cleaver and a rice barrel!

You: I'm going to find someone. The Puyi Bureau received an anonymous tip that Cao Cao's father, Cao Song, recently visited relatives in Langya, Xuzhou.

You: He left some time ago. He must have received a secret message from Cao Cao to leave Xuzhou and avoid getting caught in the crossfire.

If the intelligence is accurate, based on the timing, Cao Song should be passing through the border between Langya in Xuzhou and Taishan in Chongzhou.

You: I'm thinking of… taking Cao Song hostage to force Cao Cao to withdraw.

Liu Bian: Actually, I can help you.

You: … I don't need your help. I can handle it.

Liu Bian: I heard that Zhao Yu of Guangling has taken this opportunity to launch a rebellion. You've deployed the Puyi Bureau to suppress him, so you're short-handed right now.

Liu Bian: Even though you have Cao Song's whereabouts, with the manpower you have, it will be difficult to find him in the vastness of Langya.

You: If even the Puyi Bureau can't find him, how can you?

Liu Bian: I visited Langya to preach before, and I have quite a few followers there.

Liu Bian: Beggars, coachmen, peddlers along the road… they would know if a strange carriage appeared.

He gently took my hand and held it between his palms.

Liu Bian: Just like before, when we join forces, we are unstoppable.

Join forces…? Perhaps I have a better partner in mind.

Chapter 7-16

If you’d like to support my translations, feel free to buy me a coffee here! :)

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impulsivewcrewrite · 3 months ago

Text

Chapter 4: Premonitions

With a brief stop to eat the herbs and choke down some fresh-kill, the quad started on their journey. They traveled mostly in silence. Thankfully, the cold wind warmed up as the sun rose, so by the time they had reached the moor, the chill was barely noticeable.

Even though he was not Colonyborn, Rusty wondered how it would feel if ThunderColony had been chased out. Where would they go? Would he have stayed, like Pigeon, Rocky, and Wren did, in hopes that someday, his family and friends would find their way back? He hoped so. His heart ached at the idea of unwillingly leaving his Colony’s home, not knowing if he’d ever come back. Not to mention being exiled during a battle, after watching some of your Colonymates killed in front of you.

“It’s really weird… the moor is so empty,” shivered Wren. At his words, Rusty winced. Being on their old territory, the WindColony cat seemed to have reverted to shouting. Pebbles had told Rusty that WindColony was known for being extremely loud, which hopefully would make them easier to find.

“Were you born in the Colony?” asked Rusty. He realized how little he actually knew about his friend. Besides the name of his mother, Aster, and his favorite prey being crow. Wren was a little older than Rusty, but he still had the playfulness of a young apprentice.

“Yep, after my grandmother joined,” Wren explained. “So supposedly I’m like half kittypet.”

“What’s WindColony like?” piped up Pebbles. He was furiously blinking in the wind. Rusty too found himself unable to keep his eyes open for very long. How could anyone live like this?!

“It’s pretty much the best Colony ever,” Wren casually bragged. He moved with ease across the springy ground, almost like he was dancing. “I mean, look at this place! It’s so beautiful. You have to see it in green-leaf, when all the heather and gorse is in bloom! All my Colonymates are really nice and friendly, it’s like one big family. Plus, my mentor is Cricket, the deputy. He’s so cool and brave. Once, he told me he threw a hedgehog at a ShadowColony cat!”

“You throw hedgehogs at ShadowColony cats!?” exclaimed Pebbles. “Why haven’t I gotten to throw a hedgehog?”

“Probably because you’d get poked, silly,” Rusty bumped his friend playfully.

“I can’t wait for you guys to meet my friends. Me and Rooster are practically the same cat, just in two different bodies,” continued Wren. “And Chirp is like, the smartest cat I know. She’s super pretty too. Someday, I want to be her spouse.”

“As long as I get to meet the hedgehog thrower, I’ll be content,” mused Pebbles wistfully. As they reached the top of a large boulder, the group paused to catch their breath. Rocky had been walking like a cat possessed.

“Stop,” Rocky ordered, raising his tail suddenly. “I smell RiverColony.”

Rusty raised his nose into the air, and was hit with the fish smell. What was a RiverColony patrol doing so deep into WindColony territory? At the same moment, Rocky and Wren seemed to vanish into thin air.

“Get down here!” Rocky hissed. Rusty looked down. Under the boulder was a small pit. He and Pebbles slid down into it and held their breath.

Pawsteps thudded closer and closer. Rusty could hear a patrol fighting against the wind and brushes.

“Pwah! I think I swallowed a fly,” spat Snapdragon.

“And whose idea was it to come hunting on Wind Colony territory?” purred a tom.

“Stuff it, Whirligig. At least I didn’t get scratched up by a rabbit,” snapped back Snapdragon. “Skylar, don’t you dare say anything either. It’s not like you were supposed to help him or anything!”

The pawsteps faded away quietly. After a few more moments, Rocky peeked out of the hole.

“We’re clear, let’s keep going,” he ordered.

Picking up the faint WindColony trail, Rocky led the group up the moor and towards the farmland. From what little Rusty knew of farming, he gathered that the humans had collected their crops. Instead of fields of wheat, they were empty plots of dirt. Weeds poked through the ground here and there.

“Do you think Raven is living in the barn?” breathed Rusty to Pebbles. His gray friend dipped his head. Raven’s departure had not been announced to the other Colonies.

The smells of WindColony grew stronger. They were several moons old, but the potency of their fear remained. It led the group past the tilled farmland and into a small valley. What met them there was a fresh grave. A somber scene.

After sniffing it, Rocky concluded that the head elder, Tranquil, had been buried there. Another loss. Rocky asked to sit alone by the grave for a while, so the youngsters waited under a bush.

“I never really knew Tranquil,” Wren confessed. “But I know he was pretty old, from before Tatter even.”

“I’m sorry he died,” mewed Pebbles quietly.

“S’alright,” Wren replied. His voice was also soft. “I’m just… a little scared. Y’know, like, if Tranquil died…” He pushed his face into his arms and took an unsteady breath. “I just hope mom’s OK.”

Wordlessly, Pebbles wrapped his tail around Wren. Rusty bunted him gently. “We’ll find her. I promise. And we’ll bring her home.”

He hoped that was a promise he could keep.

#warrior cats rewrite #warriors rewrite #red fire au #red fire windswept fire

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huntress-cori-voidchaser · 6 months ago

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Daughter of the Void (Pt. 5)

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

“Alright! Does everyone have supplies?” Nocturna watched as Cori and Nyx secured their packs to the horses they'd borrowed from the stables.

“Aye Aye captain!” Nyx replied, in an incredibly poor imitation of a Pirate's accent.

“I've got armor- a bow and arrows- replacement armor- some gold- food- and water- is that everything?” Cori asked hesitantly.

“Sounds perfect,” Nocturna replied, mounting her own horse.

Cori decided it was best to follow the two girls ahead of her, she'd never exactly been far from Marris Stead, so of course she wasn't sure where it was they were headed.

Elwyn Forest was a beautiful place, with trees sprawled over expansive lakes and rivers, and vast mountains all across the place.

It was in high contrast with what she saw when they entered Westfall. Westfall was a barren place, covered in dead grass and giving off an air of disappointment that suggested it probably wasn't the ideal situation for most.

But nothing made the atmosphere more stifling than the scene that awaited the trio at the gates.

Two dead human bodies lay sprawled in front of a cart, the cart itself lay in a crumbled heap atop the mangled remains of what Cori believed to be a horse, though she wasn't quite sure with the state of the poor thing.

“Well- it looks like they really put the cart. . . Before the horse-” said a man, standing beside the crime scene and hovering over another man who was knelt in front of the human bodies.

“Are you Lieutenant Horacio Laine?” Nocturna said, dismounting her own horse, which gave a worried huff of disagreement at the sight of the crime scene, clearly thinking it might be next on the menu if it weren't already dead.

“That would be me, what can I do for you? You here about the Help Wanted signs?” The lieutenant asked.

“Yes, I assume this is the murder you posted about?” Nocturna responded, glancing down at the corpses.

“That would be the correct assumption- yes- I need you to go ask those- those ruffians if they saw anything suspicious- anything that might lead to a clue about what happened to the Furlbrow's,” said the Lieutenant, Cori gave a quick glance to the people chattering about in the nearby wheat field- they didn't seem like ruffians. . .

“Alright- let's split up then shall we? See what kind of clues we can get,” suggested Nyx, already making her way toward a young woman dressed in soot-colored clothing, who was engaged in an argument with a man dressed in threadbare rags.

Cori made her way over toward a gentler looking woman, one with blonde hair that had bits of wheat sticking out of it.

“Uhm- here- I think you should take this- you look like you need it more than me-” she took some cloth and a few silver and gold pieces out of her satchel, handing it over to the woman, who immediately went to use the cloth on her face.

“Thank you- kind miss- is there anything you need?” The woman asked.

“We're uhm- we're- investigating a murder- sorry- if you have any information we could really use the help-” Cori said, she felt strange, almost out of her depth with the situation.

The woman's face turned sour “well- if you want my take, it starts back with an old feud between the King and people like us, now don't get me wrong, I don't think murder was the right solution- but sometimes tensions just get very high. . . I'd watch your own back if I were you miss, if the wrong people find out what kind of a pretty penny you've got stashed in that bag of yours, you could be in real danger,” she said, before standing up and walking over to a group of rough-looking children, huddled in the corner of the field.

Cori met back up with her companions to share what she had learned, a strange feeling settling in her stomach.

“So I've got one guy saying its gnolls- and another one that'd insistent on Murlocs,” said Nyx.

“One of them says she saw some men in red bandanas leaving the house in the middle of the night,” Nocturna added.

“That makes sense- the girl I spoke to said there's been a lot of bandit problems- a lot of people upset- with- upset with the king- I guess-” Cori finished.

“Upset with the king? Such ridiculous accusations- it must have been the gnolls and murlocs then.” The lieutenant said, letting our a boisterous laugh that drew some scowls from the people still milling about the field.

“yknow, I think bandits might actually make more sense- but you keep at it!” Nocturna said, flashing the lieutenant a quick smile before ushering the girls back over to the horses.

“Ok- so this guy seems like a total bootlicker, which means he probably won't hear anything about the Defias Brotherhood potentially being back- even if it's just a fringe operation.” said Nyx.

“The Defia- what?” Cori tilted her head.

“Oh right- you probably wouldn't know about that-” Nyx turned to her and began to explain. The Delia's had once been a workforce known as the Stonemasons, and they were really upset with Stormwind for screwing them over, Nyx mentioned something or other about a black dragon and manipulations and the death of the former queen and some such things, but Cori wasn't entirely sure about all that. I mean, what could dragons possibly want with Stormwind? According to Finley they just wanted to be left alone, they were generally peaceful if you didn't try to upset them. . .

“Well either way- we need to find someone who has real information- and the ability to form half a thought about something that may slightly upset the king,” said Nocturna.

“Is the king really- that bad?” Cori asked quietly.

“Well- he let us in and gave us pardons for the atrocities we were forced to commit under the Lich King's control- I think a lot of the bad blood between Westfall and Stormwind comes from deep-seated grudges manufactured by a very powerful woman,” Nyx shrugged, heading toward the pumpkin patch that the Lieutenant had recommended them to.

They'd only gotten a few feet or so away from the pumpkin patch when something shot out in front of their path, spooking the horses.

Upon closer inspection, Cori saw a rather small wolf, with matted golden fur, hackles raised and teeth bared in an expression of displeasure.

Cori dismounted, dropping to the ground in a low crouch and fishing some meat out of the refrigerated pack they'd brought.

“Hey- hey it’s ok. . . Gave you quite a spook there didn't we, pup?” She said soothingly, setting the meat down a short ways away from where she was crouched, watching the wolf to see what it might do.

It stood there, eyes flitting between her and the meat, before it finally approached, taking another cautious sniff of its meal before digging in. Cori raised a cautious hand to place on its furry head, the wolf didn't react, other than to shake itself off slightly.

“See? Much better isn't it?” Cori said as the wolf finished up its meal. It stared at her for a good long while, before plopping itself down and resting its head on her lap.

“I think you just made a friend,” Nyx said with a laugh.

“Well- if that's the case, I should give you a name shouldn't I?” Cori said, scratching the canine behind its fuzzy ears.

“How about. . .” She thought back to the books her mother and father had read to her when she wasn't training, and one in particular stood out to her, “Apollo,” she smiled, the wolf let out a loud bark.

“Well Apollo, you see that pumpkin patch over there? We need to go investigate it ok?” Cori said, nudging Apollo to move off of her so she could get back on her horse.Apollo made a dissatisfied grunting sound, but moved nonetheless to stand by the other horses.

They approached the pumpkin patch, yet again greeted with the sight of various displaced and ragged-looking citizens, Cori felt her stomach twist ever further- how could anyone let this happen to so many people?. . .

Nocturna approached a man standing on a box and began asking him questions. “Two-Shoed Lou”, his name was.

They decided to split up, Nyx looking to eavesdrop on some nearby thugs, Nocturna questioning a few of the people around the pumpkin patch, and Cori would handle the business in the cave.

She found kobolds much easier to deal with when she had Apollo around, and he seemed to be having fun with the activities as well.

As they made their way to the back of the cave Cori found a suitable place to hide, tucking Apollo under one arm, his soft, warm fur brushing against her.

The two of them waited for a short while, before a massive hulking creature approached, an ogre, she figured. The ogre looked around suspiciously, before it was startled by the approach of a second figure, this one much smaller, almost Cori's height, draped in black robes and an almost shadow-like guise.

“What little humie want? Why you call Glubtok?” The ogre bellowed.

“Sad. . . Is this the life you had hoped for Glubtok? Running two-bit extortion operations out of a cave?” Said the human, her voice sounded young, but confident.

“Glubtok crush you!!!!” The orge roared, Cori had to concentrate to keep herself from flinching, lest it reveal her location.

“Oh will you? Do you dare cross that line and risk your life? There's always option two. . .” said the girl.

“What option two?” Said the orge.

“You join me, and I shower wealth and power upon you,”

“So- Glubtok have two choices? Die or be rich and powerful? Glubtok take choice two.”

“I thought you'd see it my way, I'll call upon you when the dawning is upon us,” the girl said, walking away. Cori waited for the ogre to follow suit and get sufficiently out of earshot, eyesight, and any potentially smelling the thing might be able to do.

“Alright- whatever we got?” Nyx asked, perched on top of a hay nest and resting against a gryphon, which seemed a little irritated at having to share its living space with her for the moment.

“The people around here are no help- none of them even saw who killed Lou.” Nocturna muttered, gesturing to the vacant corpse that lay sprawled out behind them.

“There's some ‘her’ that the thugs seem really excited about, only one of them has seen her apparently,” Nyx said, Cori perked up at this.

“I saw a shadowy figure talking to an ogre in the caves- recruiting it for something, she sounded around my age though- not sure if that would help anything-” Cori said, the three of them looked between each other for a moment, before Nocturna stood up and made her way over to their nearby horses tied to some fence posts.

“We need to get to Sentinel Hill- if there's some kind of uprising happening, it'll have to go there first- it's got the highest concentration of Stormwind guards, and if this uprising is lead by the group I think it is- they don't have a high opinion of that occupation.” Nocturna said, mounting her horse.

“Can we stop by the farm first? I overheard they might have some ingredients for something that might- ease the troubles for the citizens a bit. . .” Cori said, speaking quietly.

“You want to-” Nocturna sighed, a small smile crossing her face “- alright, we'll make a quick stop- I think I know what you're referring too, Westfall stew shouldn't take up too much of the trip,”

And it hadn't, necessarily, were it not for the brief detour of handling the Saldean's issue with their harvesters. Cori was thankful for the trip, though, because she'd also learned that the Saldean's had a daughter, Hope, who was around her age, which was more of a clue than they may have realized.

As they approached Sentinel Hill Cori was hit with the overwhelming smell of. . . feces. That was definitely feces. Charming.

“We're here on official business, let us through, Nocturna said, ignoring the shouts of the homeless citizens behind her.

Cori, on the other hand, decided to dismount and unpack the stews she'd stored away in a separate container. As Nyx and Nocturna made their way into Sentinel Hill, Cori began passing out as much stew as she had available. Her heart shattered at the looks on the faces of those she managed to feed, but eventually she had to head back toward Sentinel Hill.

“Cori- I have a specific assignment for you- in Moonbrook, there's supposed to be a rally there, and I think you might be able to get more information than the two of us could,” Nocturna said, Cori merely nodded, walking back over to her horse. She gave a low whistle, and Apollo came bounding toward her feet.

Moonbrook was potentially the most run down area of them all, the buildings were falling apart, and thugs roamed the streets- near unchecked, despite the camp of knights not to far from the town.

“Ah! You must be the adventurer they sent us,” said a human man nearby.

“That would be me- yes-” Cori responded.

“Great- well- I need you to do a few things really, first of all- there's tons of Defias propaganda scattered around, I need you to get rid of it- and while you're at it, take care of some of those thugs would you? There's going to be a meeting in the square- the less people who can listen to this rabble the better.” the man spoke quickly and viciously, like the words tasted of bile in his mouth. Cori just nodded, the instructions jumbling together in her head. The only thing she could really make out being Defias.

But she did as told, ripping apart the propaganda she found, though she only took out thugs if they'd attacked her first, or if she saw them terrorizing any of the innocent people she saw wandering the streets.

It was then that she noticed a familiar shadowy figure, climbing up to the top of a hay barrel.

“Citizens of Stormwind!” She called- her voice sounded more familiar now, in a strange sort of way, but that couldn't be right. . . Could it?

Cori listened as she went on about the tyrannical king, about the disparity of wealth between the elite and their citizens, about war efforts and costs. She didn't exactly see why it was such a problem, that they were discontent, they seemed to have valid reasons after all. Their methods were maybe a little more violent than she'd expected. . .

Nonetheless, she went back to her employers with what she'd discovered, and they pointed her toward a strange looking man with tentacles sprouting from his face. A draenei, she would learn shortly.

The draenei told her to investigate the nearby Deadmines, in the hopes that it would enlighten them on the identity of the mysterious figure.

The Deadmines, in Cori's opinion, were anything but dead, the forgotten people of Stormwind made their homes here, sharing stories, picking at the ores with whatever tools they could find, in the vain hope that perhaps they'd strike something to change their circumstances. She then came upon a strange cave entrance, likely the hideout.

Cori took out the incense burner she'd been instructed to use, and watched as the world shifted around her. It wasn't like her own visions, it was more peaceful, happier even. But she doubted that would last long.

Soon she was on a pirate ship, watching as a group of adventurers only slightly larger than her own engaged in a battle with a gruff looking man, who wore a red bandana around his neck, which covered the bottom half of his face. This must have been the Edwin Vancleef she'd heard about.

She watched, unable to move or speak, as the party slayed the man where he stood, reveling in the death as they ripped their bounty from his corpse. As the adventurers fled, a small figure approached, a little girl, with black hair tied in two little braids over her shoulders, a red bandanas tied around her neck, wearing a little brown dress that looked handmade.

“Papa?. . .” The girl began to cry at the sight of her father's corpse, Cori's mind flashed back to the moment she'd watched her own father be felled by an undead onslaught, all those eons ago, and she felt a tear slip through her eyes.

She went back yet again with the information she'd learned, taking care to drop off some of the gold she'd earned while adventuring with the citizens still trapped in the Deadmines.

The surprise she was met with upon revealing that the murdered leader of the Defias had had a daughter was anything but reassuring. She felt almost disgusted that anyone could possibly let something like this happen, and not even bother to stick around long enough to evaluate any remaining parts of the situation. Apollo rested at her feet, muzzle rubbing against her calves, as if attempting to reassure her of something.

Sentinel Hill was in chaos by the time she'd gotten back, it seemed, evidently, that this new revelation had come to little too late. Vanessa VanCleef stood tall, black hair now much shorter, resting on her pauldrons, a red bandana tied around her face, the spitting image of her father. But Cori could see it in her eyes, she was scared, how could she not be? She was only thirteen, if the visions Cori had seen were anything to go off of. She was a child, fighting a grown-ups war.

“Leave nothing but ashes in your wake brothers! Burn Sentinel Hill to the ground!” Vanessa called out, she turned to leave, and only then did she notice Cori near the gryphon roost.

Noether of them made a move for a short while, until Cori finally spoke.

“I'm sorry. . . I'm sorry this is what you felt was necessary, to seek justice- I- I gave gold- to as many people as I could- it- it doesn't sit right, how they live out here. . .” She said quietly, Vanessa searched her expression, bewilderment evident in her eyes.

“We are more alike than you might care to admit, elf,” Vanessa said, before vanishing into thin air. Cori felt something nudge at her side, and noticed a note appearing in her pocket.

The ride back to Stormwind to warn the king was a silent, somber one.

“You've got much to big of a heart for that body of yours, Cori,” Nyx said as they left from warning the king. Cori had turned over all the gold she'd been given, telling him to redistribute it to the citizens of Westfall, in an effort to rebuild the region, much better than before.

King Varian Wrynn, despite the seemingly terrifying stories the homeless of Westfall had been telling about him, seemed to be an understanding man. Though perhaps it was due to the influence of his young son, Anduin.

“We should take a break now- no use going out on another adventure so soon- I'm exhausted,” said Nyx, Nocturna nodded.

“We'll meet up with you again, when we've had enough time to collect ourselves,” said Nocturna. She and Nyx turned, Nocturna holding out a hand, a strange sort of gate appeared in front of her, a skull sitting at the top of it, and a black outline fitting itself around a swirling green black and purple vortex. Cori watched as they disappeared into it, the Portal shutting behind them.

“And where exactly have you been, my dear?” Said a voice from behind her, cold, much colder than she had remembered it sounding.

#cori writes #the fantasy files #oc: cori voidchaser #oc: nyx venomfang #oc: nocturna deadblade #oc: finley dram #vanessa vancleef #tw arson #tw homelessness #tw class disparity #tw murder #tw animal death #i would like to clarify Vanessa is wearing like. decent shorts also #im not putting a thirteen year old in that outfit

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wooahaes · 2 years ago

Text

under the sun [day 1.]

pairing: non-idol!svt x gn!reader

prompt: darl+ing inspired fic.

word count: 8.0k~

warnings: amnesiac reader. food mentions (fruit, mainly, but they have a garden for food). depictions of reader being afraid initially because they woke up in a field not remembering anything. temporarily nickname given to reader. also skinship in the form of a lot of platonic hand holding. [ask to add additional warnings]

daisy’s notes: haha are you gonna be mad if i say i wrote this in the span of like two days.

summary: It all starts when you wake up in a field without a name or any memories to define yourself with. When thirteen men take you in as one of their own, and slowly you begin to wonder what exactly is going on within this world... and between you and one of them?

< before. || masterlist || day 2 >

When you woke up, you thought you were alone.

Grass poked in through your clothing and made your skin itch from the pointed contact against it, and it was barely enough to distract you from the way your head was pounding. At least, it had been for a moment. Your head felt as though it was shoved into a compactor and someone had pressed the button, the feeling sending you reeling though you had barely roused to consciousness. A flimsy blindfold had been tied over your eyes, doing nothing to protect you from the killer sun overhead. You squeezed your eyes shut tighter, a quiet whimper as you tucked into yourself tighter. Maybe if you could get them closed tight enough, you could find some sort of salvation from your migraine. Why were you asleep there? You could smell wheat on the breeze. This wasn’t any place to take a nap, honestly. Maybe under a shady tree, but out in the middle of... wherever, with the sun beating down on you?

... Where were you, anyway?

The thought was enough to make you tear your arm away from where you’d buried your face into your sleeve, trying to find any further relief from the sun. The grass crunched you, the quiet sound of an exhale enough to tell you that you weren’t alone. Instantly, you reached up, fingers curling around that thin blindfold and yanking hard so that you could see again. The fabric fell down around your neck, and you recoiled slightly, eyes adjusting to the light. Then you were met face to face with a man who’d been slowly approaching you.

Like any normal person would in this situation, you let out a yelp and scrambled away as fast as you could, putting space between the two of you.

“Shit--Nonono--” The man fell to his knees, hands stretched out before him and waving for you to stop. “No, it’s--it’s okay!” The panic was evident on his face, and you almost felt like he didn’t deserve to be as afraid as you were. He glanced back over his shoulder, and you looked with him, only to see no one else was around. “Seungkwan went to get Cheol. It’s okay. You can trust us.”

As pretty as this guy was (and, truly, you kicked yourself internally for noticing such a thing), he was still a stranger to you. Warm brown eyes meant nothing when he could have literally been planning to steal your organs before you woke up. With your luck, he probably would have ripped your heart out and sacrificed it to some shit.

He slowly sank down onto the ground, sitting across from you. The stranger pulled at the sleeve of his sweater, hesitant to speak at first since you still looked so afraid. “Do you... Do you remember anything?” He said, watching you for a moment.

That’s when it hit you. You didn’t remember where you came from, or what you’d been doing last before you fell asleep (you certainly hadn’t been out in any field--you were positive of that), or...

Or your name. What was your name?

“Okay,” he said after a moment, your lack of response being enough for him. “Then... You’re just like us. It’s okay,” he said. “We’ll help you, okay? They helped me. So--”

“Hansol!”

A voice carried out over the distance, pulling your attention away from this stranger in front of you. The sound of people fast approaching, sifting through the tall grass, seemed to grow louder with each heavy footstep against the ground. Two, to be exact. Both had brown hair--one a smidge shorter than the other, and he stopped a little further away while the other continued onward. He continued past... Hansol, was it? And toward you, despite the warning that Hansol had tried to give him that you’d been terrified when you first woke up, that you were just like all of them. He walked with the confidence of someone who’d done this a dozen times before, and yet he stood just a few steps away from you at first.

He had gentle eyes. The newcomer crouched down to be more on level with you, and extended a hand out. “Are you okay?”

Behind him, Hansol scrambled to his feet and was already backing off. The new man watched the way your gaze flickered from his face to his hand and back, confused terror in your eyes as you slowly began to shrink back still.

“It’s okay,” he said, voice just as calm and soothing as before. “We can help you. Like Hansol said... You’re like us. You don’t remember anything, do you?”

You shook your head, only for a sharp spike of pain to wrack your brain immediately after. Your hands flew up, fingers pressing into your skull as the pain forced a whimper out of you. The stranger drew closer, his touch warm at your upper arms through the thin sleeves of your flowing white shirt. With ease, he managed to pull you to your feet. When you stumbled forward into his chest, he just held you there for a moment, letting you hide your face from the bright sun above that only seemed to intensify your pain. He stroked your back slowly, and you could feel him slightly turn to face the other two among you.

“Go tell the others,” he called out. “We need to make room.”

Even if you weren’t sure what he meant, you had a pretty damn good guess. Slowly, you drew back from him, raising your gaze to meet his as the pain slowly began to edge off once more. Hansol kept his sights trained on you for a moment longer, and then turned to his friend to come on. The pair took off, rushing across the field and disappearing into the distance while this stranger--their leader, you felt--stood there with an arm around you to keep you steady. The others seemed to respect him, and apparently felt that you weren’t in any danger in his care. The tiny voice in the back of your head telling you to run, to get away because every person could be a potential threat seemed to grow quieter the more you thought about how much your head had been hurting. If it happened again, you’d rather not be alone for it. Especially if it meant something bad.

The man reached up, brushing a stray strand of grass away from where it’d stuck to your cheek. “It’s okay,” he said again, hands landing at your shoulders. His thumb traced a slow, soothing circle against one of them. “We’ll take care of you. Do you remember your name?”

You shook your head again.

He’d seen this all before. You could tell, as there was no surprise in his eyes. Nothing but a gentle concern for your well-being. “Can you speak?”

That time, you hesitated and then nodded. Your voice was quiet and broken, as if unused for a millennium, but you managed to croak out a quiet “Yes.”

“Good,” he smiled at you, still patient with you. “Watch your step,” he said as he gently pulled you close enough that you should rest any of your weight on him as you walked. He guided you forward, and you felt like a newborn deer when you took that first shaky step.

The grass poked up onto the soles of your feet, and you felt as though you’d collapse without his support, but nevertheless you persisted. With a deep breath, you straightened up, walking alongside this stranger as he kept an arm wrapped around your shoulders. The fields seemed to stretch farther than you could imagine, the two of you traversing up the hill as he watched out. He warned you of any places he knew were less stable, making sure to keep a careful watch toward you in case you slipped or were hit with another surge of pain. When you topped a hill, you could see a walled-in building not too far into the distance.

“That’s where we live,” he told you. He gently squeezed your arm. “Where you’ll live, too, if you want.”

It was an out. But you were too new to this world to be able to confirm or deny whether you’d stay or not. So far, you felt as though you had little reason to distrust him. Hansol had kept his distance when you woke up, and this man had only kept close to you in order to support you while walking (even if you felt you didn’t need it). Maybe the whole friendly, gentle act was to make you lower your guard so they could... you didn’t know, maybe harvest your organs or some shit. But you couldn’t see anywhere else for miles, and it’d truly be some ruse if everyone was out to get you by feeding you the same “we didn’t remember either” bullshit. The world even felt emptier, if you were honest. Amongst the shades of yellow and brown and green, the building where these people lived seem to be rife with color (and you could see trees beyond it, more vibrant than the pale grass leading up to the walls, thriving despite everything else). Maybe the world was emptier. Maybe all you would have were these people--this stranger and Hansol and the other one--if you went with them.

So you nodded, letting him guide you down the hill and through the grass with an “Okay” that came out quiet due to a dry and aching throat.

“Does it hurt still?”

It did, slightly. Just in the very back of your head, but the pain edged off soon after. You nodded anyway, hoping you didn’t have some sort of brain damage that’d require real attention. All you had so far were three guys who might not be able to give you the medical attention that you needed. Although it did sound like there were potentially more people back at their home. Who knew: maybe one of them was a doctor.

The man finally looked at you. “I’m Seungcheol.”

You tried to say it aloud, to test the new name on your tongue, but all you could manage was a soft “Cheol?” in response.

He pulled you up a bit closer when he noticed you’d begun to lag a little bit, fatigue suddenly hitting you ahead. “That’s fine,” he said, a tinge of amusement in his voice. “That’s what the others call me.”

For the rest of your journey toward Seungcheol’s home, the two of you stayed quiet. All you could hear was the sound of crunching grass with each step and the steady breathing from Seungcheol underneath that. By the time the two of you arrived at the place--which, to you, looked like an abandoned church with a smart courtyard that’d been decorated with ribbons and colorful, ripped pieces of fabric--you noticed just how quiet everything was. How big all of it was, too. The courtyard seemed to stretch a fair bit, and you could see where things had been built upon. The garden behind it was mostly hidden by the building itself, but you could see a shed along one of the walls, doors open and revealing gardening equipment. Fruit trees and vegetables peeked out from where you could see, caged in by these walls that truthfully didn’t stretch all that high. High enough to protect, but not enough to cage. Whoever lived here--aside from Seungcheol and Hansol and the other guy--seemed to put a lot of care into it. The sun-shaped window above the church seemed to glitter in the sunlight, shining with its own sense of pride. All the fear you’d been feeling seemed to melt away with how home-y it all already felt, and Seungcheol watched the way you drifted from his side to take the tiniest look around. He could only smile at the amazement on your face, marveling at his and his friends’ work.

“Come on,” he said after another moment or two of waiting. “The passage is inside here,” he nodded toward the two large red doors that had been left cracked open. “Everyone’s probably waiting inside.”

Seungcheol had moved to support you if needed, but you waved him off. You felt fine for the moment, aside from the confusion. He merely accepted it, extending a hand toward you just to help guide you inside--that was what he said, anyway. His hand was warm in your own, comforting even, and you admittedly found yourself okay with this little way of being anchored to him. He pushed the doors open, fingers wrapped around yours, and he continued inside with you tagging along behind him.

Rows of chairs greeted you when he brought you inside. Some of them had stuffed toys sitting in them, decorated with ribbon or dried paint or dried flowers that’d been dropped onto them. A makeshift stage at just ahead of the aisle, surrounded by thick curtains that you assume they must have hung up at some point since they didn’t look as though they were naturally there. Along the aisle was a long rug that felt as though it was its own little runway, and Seungcheol guided you down it and past the dried flowers and cut bits of confetti that lined the floor while muttering to himself that this was already supposed to be cleaned up. Parties were the fun part, he said, but things would get disgusting quick if there was a lack of genuine order around there. He’d get Mingyu (whoever that was) to round up a few people to clean up in place of normal chores.

You considered questioning it, actually, but instead watched as Seungcheol pushed aside a curtain and guided you behind the stage-like area. A hole had been dug out through the floorboards and rock underneath it, all the wood around the entrance sanded down to prevent any splinters or other injuries. Seungcheol let you go long enough to climb down, and then looked back up at you, extending a hand up. There weren’t proper steps there, but the rocks looked to have been shaped in a way that you could easily step down them. You reached out, taking his hand, and took the internal leap of faith called trust to slowly stagger your way down them.

It resulted in you crashing straight into his chest as you missed the last step, footing not good enough, but Seungcheol seemed to catch you with ease. He chuckled softly, steadying you.

“Just a bit further,” he said, and then stepped away once he was sure you were fine.

He guided you onward through the carved stone, ducking down with you until the passage opened back up enough for you to walk comfortably. This all felt abnormal for someone to do without the proper tools, but you admittedly didn’t know enough to completely refute it. You just knew what you could see, and all you could see was paintings. All these bright colors that illustrated flowers and animals and pretty landscapes. Ribbon, too, that had been strung up along the walls to make things prettier. A few stuffed toys littered the floor, too. It all felt a little childlike, but... a bit freeing too. Like you could escape whatever bullshit hardships life could throw at you here and just be you for a while.

“Did you make these?” You finally asked.

Seungcheol shook his head. “The others painted this. I just found this place,” he looked onward, a weary sound to his voice, “like... It was meant to be.”

He sounded wistful, too. You didn’t push the topic. All you did was nod and follow him further, hand still in his warm hand as he guided you through the passage as it slowly began to open up more and more. Voices carried down this hallway, some louder than others, but all passionately asking questions or generally talking. About you, you were positive: someone asked about “who they found” and that could only mean you. Despite the fact you wanted to hesitate, to maybe run away and try to face this later, Seungcheol guided you into this comfortable, clearly communal, area.

That was when you came face to face with eleven other men--one of which had been Hansol, who’d been the main one fielding questions it seemed, and the other his companion--that had quieted down when Seungcheol arrived with you. All chatter came to a halt, eyes looking at you with caution and then to Seungcheol for guidance.

He stole a single glance at you before he gently pulled you up to his side. “They’re like us,” was what he decided to start with. It earned a few nods, but he continued on, “They don’t remember their name yet, so..” He looked at you, studying you for a moment. “How about... Mouse, for now?”

... Mouse? Did you look mouse-like...? The new name made you blind a few times, and truthfully you couldn’t find much issue with it--it was better than nothing, and you didn’t have any better ideas.

One of them--not Hansol or the guy he was with--piped up from the back, taller than all the rest. “Why Mouse?”

“They seem very quiet,” Seungcheol said. Then he turned back to you. “Is that okay?”

Unintentionally, your silent nod fit your new name perfectly.

“They’ll remember it in time,” Seungcheol said. Everyone exchanged looks, nodding along. This was a fact among them, apparently. Which... actually meant you would remember your name in time, hopefully. It wasn’t just blind hope to be spoken into existence.

Seungcheol started off the introductions, properly introducing himself again with his given name before bashfully admitting that the others essentially appointed him as a leader due to the fact he’d been there for two years and four months. Two years was a really fucking long time and something about that weighed heavy on you. Joshua continued the train, two less months to him than Seungcheol. That was how most of them went, with two or three months between them. Then when you were introduced to Seungkwan--the boy who’d been with Hansol--he told you he’d only arrived six months ago, six months after... Minghao, was it? You’d commit their names to memory with time, already knowing that you’d slip up sometimes. When Seungcheol told you that Chan had only arrived a month ago, you were... oddly relieved. It helped to know that someone else was likely still adjusting to all of this.

Seungcheol set everyone off to attend to their chores for the day--gathering food, doing laundry--after singling out the tall one who’d inquired about your nickname (Mingyu, apparently) to get a few others and to clean up the church. Then he called over Chan, who’d been speaking to Hansol for a moment before he excused himself from that conversation.

“Will you show them around?” Seungcheol asked, and when Chan nodded, he turned back to you. “Like he said, he came here a month ago.” He gently nudged you forward, a hand at the small of your back. “He can teach you the ropes. You’ll help with chores once you get used to everything, okay?” And when you nodded, Seungcheol took a step back. “We’re a community, and... we’re a family. We help each other. Okay?”

All you could do was nod again, uncertain of what else to do or say. Seungcheol excused himself to go tend to his own duties for the day, leaving you and Chan standing by yourselves. He turned to you, and smiled at you.

“Jeonghan made a space for you off that way,” he pointed down one of the corridors, and then looked around. “Actually... I thought he came back. You didn’t meet him, right?”

You shook your head.

He sighed. “He probably slipped out when we weren’t looking... Just because he has low stamina doesn’t mean he should keep skipping chores,” he shook his head. “Anyway,” he extended a hand to you, “we all tend to sleep in a group, but you don’t have to, okay? We all have our spaces anyway. So yours is just going to be yours, okay? No one’s going to mess with it unless you give them permission.”

You pressed your hand in his, and he wrapped his fingers around it before guiding you forward. He’d hold back the curtains for you as he guided you onward, already talking you through spaces--pointing out the other ‘spaces’ that belonged to the others. There was one far away from the others, up this area with smooth rock steps, that was decorated with pure white bedding that looked as soft and fluffy as a cloud. Curtains had been draped around it, tied back with colorful ribbon in case you wanted privacy. It was just a spot on the floor (although you had to wonder how long it took for someone to set up the curtains, until Chan told you that this had once been an abandoned reading nook), but it felt like more of a welcome than you expected.

“If you want to decorate it, you should,” Chan squeezed your hand. “That’s what I did. Just... Don’t take anything from anyone else, okay? I did it by accident, and...” He looked sheepish for a moment, scratching the back of his neck. “I still get teased for it sometimes.”

Lights hung overhead, illuminating the room in a soft glow. You decided against questioning it, or anything else that felt wrong here. It made your head hurt a little more to think too much about it.

“Mouse?” He said, and you looked up after a moment. The name was still foreign to you, but it was going to be yours until you could remember who you were.

“What was your name?” You asked, the weight of Chan’s hand warm in your own. “I mean... Before you remembered?”

The question didn’t bother him, because Chan just smiled at you again, that little inkling of concern melting away. “Otter,” he said. “Everyone told me I look like one, so...”

“How long did it take?”

He stared at you for a moment. “To remember?” And when you nodded, he hummed to himself, already starting to guide you out of the room. “A week. I’ve heard other people took a few weeks, some a few days. But we all remembered in time. You will, too. I’m sure of it.”

All you did was nod. Maybe he was right. All you wanted was your name. One facet of your identity, at least.

Chan showed you where things were, and you mentally tried to map out the place as he did. It’d take time for you to get used to everything, sure, but the sooner you learned, the better. Especially if Seungcheol had expectations for you to help out with the work around there--you didn’t need to hold anyone else back from their work. You suspected that Chan was enjoying his day off, though, since he seemed light on his feet and happy (but if that was normal, you’d find out in time). He stopped when he saw who you could assume was Jeonghan, since he was unfamiliar to you entirely, paintbrush in hand as he beamed at what he was painting on the wall. It was definitely not what he was supposed to be doing, but Chan gently tugged you onward--no need to snitch on him after all.

“Mouse!”

Which made you stop, turning back to see Jeonghan had looked up to notice the two of you. There was a spot of paint on the underside of his jaw from where he’d touched the spot, the pale teal standing out against his skin. But he smiled at you nonetheless, notably resisting the urge to wipe paint onto his clothes.

“I’m Jeonghan,” he said to you with a smile. “Jihoon was looking for you,” he said. It hadn’t even been that long, and you already felt as though you were in trouble. But if Jeonghan knew that, he didn’t say or give off any indications that he knew what you’d done.

And if Chan knew, then he didn’t, either. “I’ll take them to him,” he said. He gently pulled you away, lowering his voice once the two of you were out of earshot. “Jeonghan’s nice, but sometimes he can be a little lazy because of the stamina thing. Please don’t let him talk you into taking naps with him to skip chores. We all really understand that he has to work harder, but sometimes he just skips altogether. All he has to do is tell us! Not just Cheol! We’re supposed to be a group. It feels unfair that we always have to hear it secondhand...”

You just nodded. You’d keep that in mind.

Chan paused for a moment, realization striking. “We’ll all have less to do with you here,” he squeezed your hand tight. “That’s good!” And he giggled, the sight of him giddy over that completely adorable. “I think Jihoon’s with Jun and Wonwoo on laundry today. He probably has tea for you.”

... Tea?

True to what Chan had said, Jihoon retrieved a nearby mug still steaming with hot tea inside of it. Jun looked up from where he was washing out someone’s shirt, giving you a small smile before looking back at what he was doing. Apparently, Wonwoo was elsewhere--maybe collecting the rest of the laundry or something. No one seemed to let you in on exactly where he was.

“It’ll help,” Jihoon said. He paused, motioning toward his head as you accepted the mug. “With... the headaches,” he said quietly. “Seungcheol taught me how to brew it. It’s just ginger and honey,” he said quietly.

Chan nodded. “It’ll help,” he reassured you.

With that, you felt more secure in drinking it. You doubted that Jihoon would try to poison you in front of everyone, but Chan seemed determined to stay by your side and help you get fully comfortable considering this tour evolved a little from being just that. Taking a long sip, you instantly started to feel a little better. That slight ache in the back of your brain weaned off, and you honestly felt a little revitalized.

“What was your name?” You asked him, rocking on your heels, careful not to spill the tea. “Before you remembered, I mean--”

“We both remembered ours,” Jihoon told you, with a nod toward Jun. “Not all of us did, but... I did.” He took a step back, giving you a slight once over. “I’m glad it helped,” he changed the topic, nodding toward the mug. “It’s Hansol’s turn to do the dishes this morning. He’ll take care of that.”

Chan took your hand again after a moment, and you were comfortable to have him guiding you around. Hansol, true to Jihoon’s word, was in the kitchen washing dishes with a quiet bob of his head to his own inaudible song. You passed the mug off to him with a thanks, and he called out for you right as the two of you were about to walk off.

“How are you?” He asked. “I mean--Jihoon made you tea. It helped, right?”

Despite the way you watched him try to pass the mug off to Chan, you just smile and nod. “I’m fine.”

“That’s good,” he said. “I could always show you around--”

“That’s my job,” Chan cut in, pushing the mug back toward him, but the lighthearted laugh was enough to dissipate any sort of tension. “It’s my turn, right? You got to teach me. So if I’m bad at it, it’s your fault.”

Hansol rolled his eyes. “Just let me know if you need anything, a’ight?” He winked at you, and then softly laughed when you grew flustered. “Cheol told you we take care of each other. All you’ve gotta do is ask.”

You’d keep that in mind. “The guy who was with you before...?”

“That was Seungkwan,” he told you, turning back to his task.

“I’ll introduce you officially,” Chan said. “Come on.”

Chan showed you around the rest of the place--to where they all typically slept, all cushioned and comfortable, with the insistence that you didn’t have to. You were new, and even if you never wanted to join in, you didn’t have to. No one was going to hold it against you. The bathrooms, one of the rooms that just existed for recreation or whatever (Jihoon usually played guitar there, apparently--most of the games were upstairs anyway), a storage room... They had set up their own little self-sustaining community, apparently. What happened when all of it ran out, though? Were they going to one day move on from this place?

Chan seemed light as ever as he guided you back to the church, talking about how all of them had pitched in with the painting. Most of it was Jeonghan and Minghao painting in their free time, but everyone contributed a little. He could point out little flowers he’d painted based off the way they were shaped differently from others, and it was cute to watch him casually fill the space with his own bits of excited conversation. He guided you back into the church where Mingyu and his own group--Minghao and Joshua--were cleaning out the church. Joshua had been sweeping dried flowers, Minghao crouched to the ground where he was picking up different items (stuffed toys) and setting them back into the chairs.

“You could help us, you know,” Joshua called out as Chan went to just guide you through with a mere wave. It was aimed purely at Chan, from what you could tell. Joshua just gave you a warm smile.

“I’m showing them around,” Chan said. “Cheol told me to. I’ll help later.”

Mingyu chuckled from where he was tying back another curtain. “After it’s done,” he teased. “It was your celebration, too.”

You looked back at Chan. “For you...?”

Chan merely grew flustered, nodding, at a loss for words. “Yesterday was officially a month since I showed up.”

Joshua had nodded along, sweeping dried flowers out the open church doors. “We always celebrate things like that now,” he said, straightening up to look back at you. “It’s... good to celebrate things like that, right?”

He gave you another warm smile, and you just nodded in response. They were celebrating... existing, from what you could tell. That was admirable, to be honest. “Right...”

“If we’re going to celebrate both of them in the future, then we should just combine it,” Minghao quipped from his spot. He looked over to you, gaze landing on you for just a moment before he looked to Chan. It all felt unnecessarily icy, and you felt a chill rush down your spine in how distant he seemed to be compared to everyone else. “If they stay, that is.”

“They’re going to stay!” Chan said impulsively, and then turned back to you. “Right?”

Right. Seungcheol had given you the option to leave. You just nodded.

“See!”

“Don’t make the decision for them,” Joshua gently chided. He looked at you and frowned, setting aside the broom as he made his way over to you. He reached up, fingers grazing the back of your neck as he undid the knot of the blindfold and pulled it free from around your neck. “Someone should have taken this off sooner,” he shook his head. He reached for your free hand, raising it before tying the fabric in a neat bow around your wrist. “There. You don’t have to keep it, but... I think all of us did. Minghao can show you how to dye it, if you want.”

Minghao looked up at the mention of his name and gave you a curt nod. “If you want.”

You’d consider taking him up on the offer.

“Seokmin’s outside, by the way,” Mingyu called out. “He and Soonyoung are out in the gardens. Cheol’s there, too, since you’re showing Mouse around.”

The way Minghao scrunched his nose at the name didn’t go unnoticed by you, or Mingyu apparently.

“You’re just jealous they have a cuter one than Frog,” Mingyu called out, and then turned back to you. “They found him playing with the frogs by the river. He hated the name even if he still loves frogs. We would have given him another one if he had a better idea, y’know.”

Minghao took a swift step back into the darker shadows of the church, hiding the way his face had been turning red.

“What about you?” You shifted the focus onto Mingyu, and the relief on Minghao’s face was evident.

“Hound,” he said. “It was Shua’s idea. I remembered a few days later, so it didn’t stick.”

“I was “Doe,”” Joshua called out. “Jeonghan and Cheol both said I looked like a scared deer when they found me. I should have asked for “Bambi,”” he smiled. “It would have been cuter, had I remembered it sooner.”

You could see what he meant. He had those pretty doe-like eyes that made you feel safe. Chan noticed the way you admired him and gently tugged at your hand, moving this tour onward and into the courtyard. It was just a general area that they gathered in sometimes, occasionally playing games or celebrating if they wanted to have a celebration outside. Typically (from what Chan had been told), they would celebrate the first month, the first six, and then they’d start going by year.

“It’s just our way of celebrating being together,” Chan said. “At least, that’s what Jeonghan told me.”

It made sense, didn’t it? If the thirteen--well, fourteen of you, with you--were all that was left in the world...

You pushed back on that thought. No need to dwell on it now.

Instead, you focused back on what Chan was telling you. The gardens were filled with different plants (you noticed a small corner dedicated to flowers alone) and, according to what Seungcheol had told him once, used to be worse when he was alone. It became better with time, especially with the eventual books that the group managed to uncover to help it thrive fully. Sometimes they’d pick more than they needed to keep around in the store room, but typically they took what they needed. They expanded farther than you expected, but Chan seemed to know his way around. He slowed to a stop to peer up a ladder where Soonyoung was at the top, carefully looking through ripe red apples to pick only those he deemed worthy. You weren’t sure what made them worthy, but you’d learn in time most likely. When you called up to ask him what his name was, he beamed at you.

“Tiger,” he said, chest puffed out in pride. “It was my idea and everyone agreed.”

“It was Hamster,” Seungcheol called out from a short distance away. “You wanted to change it to Tiger and we let you.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Soonyoung immediately said as he looked back to you, those cute dark eyes positively glimmering with joy. “It was always Tiger. They’re just jealous.” When you giggled, Soonyoung went starry-eyed just for a moment, and then he called out to you to get your attention back. He pointed further away, “Seokmin’s out with the vegetables. You should say hi.”

So you did, Chan guiding you away as you gave Soonyoung a last wave. Seokmin had been sitting on the ground, humming to himself as he tended to tomato plants. He greeted you warmly enough, hands kept to himself due to the dirt on his gloves. He told you that he remembered his name from day one. Seungcheol told you the same when you asked.

He told you that he woke up there alone and all he knew was his name--why wouldn’t he, after all? He had no one to hide it from--and nothing else. He told you how he found Jeonghan a month later, and then that everyone else started to appear over time. Just as they had all told you. There was a small bit of praise set aside to Chan for taking the time to let you meet everyone once more, to reinforce the names. The sooner you caught on, the easier life would be if you decided to stay. Seungkwan was supposed to be taking stock and helping with cleaning the main living space, apparently.

Then Seungcheol looked at you, giving you a once over. “We’ll find you something to wear,” he told you. “I’m sure we have something.”

Despite being a stranger to all of them, you were feeling genuinely cared for. Maybe the bond of a shared experience truly was enough to bring people together.

Chan seemed to take his time showing you around fully. Guiding you down to the river and pointing off in a direction to tell you there was a lake out there. Maybe one day, when you had the time to spare, he’d take you there. They all went swimming about a week ago after their chores and it felt like heaven compared to the heat of the day. You didn’t have to swim if you didn’t want to, but it was still pretty and Chan wanted you to see it. There was a clearing out toward the west where felled logs had been circled around a spot for a campfire. A little further out they had strung up clotheslines that were bare at that moment. Chan drifted a little further down the path, and then pointed off into the distance after getting your attention back.

“Cheol said there’s a city far from here,” he said. “Sometimes he’ll take a few of us and go. I haven’t been yet, but... I think he wants all of us to see it eventually, if we want to.”

“There’s no one there?”

He shook his head. “No. Wonwoo said it’s like an earthquake might have hit it hard enough to destroy parts of it.” His hand tightened around yours. “Sometimes they’ll go look and see if they can find anything new. Cheol brings back bottles of wine that we save for celebrations.” His eyes lit up as he turned back to you, “Maybe he’ll let us go if he goes back for your celebration. If you stay, that is.”

If you stay. Chan wanted you to, and you could tell. Maybe because he didn’t want to be the ‘newcomer’ anymore. But what about the others? Joshua had said not to push you into the decision, sure, but did that mean he didn’t want you there? And Hansol had teased you but told you to come to him if you needed anything, but did that mean anything?

The sound of someone clearing their throat made the two of you turn to see where Jihoon was carrying one basket of wrung-out laundry, Wonwoo and Jun both carrying their own.

“It’s not impressive,” Jihoon said as he continued onward to the clotheslines. “I went. It’s just sad to see. You shouldn’t think too much about it.”

Wonwoo said nothing but nodded in agreement, heading over to handle his own work. He merely continued over to start hanging things up, fixing his glasses back atop the bridge of his nose. Then he took one glance at you, and cleared his throat. “It was Fox, by the way.”

You just stared at him, confused.

“Jihoon told me you were asking,” he said. “They called me Fox.”

You could see it. Something about his facial features--you couldn’t exactly pinpoint a single thing. Jun hadn’t had a name--he remembered his after a day and no one felt the need to nickname him before--and you had to wonder if maybe you wanted to know just because “Mouse” was chosen because you were quiet. If the others had names that matched up to them, maybe you could learn a little bit about them. Chan called out to you after a moment, nodding to head back inside with him. He pointed out the upper room to the church that had a ladder leading up to it--there was a bed up there underneath that sun-shaped window you could see outside that people rarely used unless they wanted to be completely alone for a bit. Other than that, there were just more books and games up there. The majority of the games, at least: just to keep them in one place.

The two of you found Seungkwan in the kitchen alone, casually sorting out things. He fully roped both of you into helping him the moment he saw the two of you: Chan putting things back into their proper place while Seungkwan separated things out with you--things that needed to be put elsewhere. You asked him your question, and at first you thought he didn’t hear you.

“Teddy,” he said after a moment. You couldn’t tell if Seungkwan was genuinely miffed by the nickname or not. “Because I look like a teddy bear.”

You absolutely could see it, and you fought against the urge to smile or laugh because of how true it was. It was cute, though. He was admittedly cute--everyone there was.

The moment Seungkwan seemed satisfied with separating things into a box, he thanked you for your work and left you with Chan who’d began racking his brain for places he hadn’t shown you. He could take you all the way to that upper room, if you wanted, just so you could see it. When you stifled a yawn, he looked up.

“Are you tired?” He frowned. “You should have said something. Go get some rest. If I don’t wake you up for dinner later, someone else will. Do you remember the way?”

You did. You thanked him for showing you around as you hopped up from your seat and made your way back to where you knew your bed was. Sitting atop the fluffy blankets, though, was a stuffed toy mouse--like one you’d give a kid, not the tiny ones for cats. It stared up at you with button eyes and chubby round cheeks that rivaled how round it was in general. You kneeled down, picking it up and looking it over. Someone must have left it for you while you were with Chan. You lightly squeezed it, just to watch it bounce back to its form, and the scent of vanilla wafted through the air. Cute. You’d have to try and figure out who left it there sometime, just to thank them properly.

You curled up into your bed, surprised by how comfortable it actually was, with that little mouse in your arms. Soon enough, you drifted off, warm and cozy and safer than you’d thought you’d feel.

When you awoke, it’d been hours later when you could see the colors of sunset painted across the floor and wall in a splash of light. You’d heard footsteps, and looked up to see Jeonghan had been approaching with a plate in one hand and a glass of water in the other. He continued over, saying something about how Chan said you were tired and he decided to not overwhelm you by asking you to dine with thirteen strangers. With a small gesture from him, you ended up moving over to make room. Jeonghan settled into the space next to you, handing the plate of sliced fruit to you. For a moment, the moment seemed oddly familiar, but the feeling passed just as soon as it came.

“Did you sleep well?” He asked, holding the glass of water in his hands. “I checked on you a little earlier and you seemed exhausted.”

With a nod, you reached for the glass that he happily passed you. You hesitated before taking a sip. “Do the others not trust me?”

His eyes widened a little at the sudden question, but Jeonghan nodded after a moment. He stole a strawberry slice from you. “A few of them don’t,” he said, “but they will. It’s only your first day. Jihoon and Minghao usually take a few days to warm up to new people.” He paused. “Except Hansol. Jihoon adored him almost immediately. That’s not important, though. A lot of us like you,” he said, “and the others will after they get to know you. Just give them some time.”

Quietly, you merely ate one of the peach slices they’d given you. “Is there anyone else out there?”

Jeonghan went quiet, mulling over it. Finally, he shook his head. “I don’t think so,” he paused, and then looked off as if he heard something. Then he lowered his voice. “But.. Weird things happen, and you should know that.” When you gave him a curious look, he continued on, “Like... One day we’ll think we’re running low on food--not the fruit or the things we grow, but... the processed stuff. Then we’ll wake up the next morning and our rations would be restocked, and no one ever admits to doing anything. This, too,” he said, motioning to your bedding. “It was like... the world knew you were here and put this here for us to find. Seungkwan and Hansol told us we needed to make a bed, and I told them we didn’t have anything left and someone would probably have to give up their stuff.” Jeonghan curled his fingers into one of the soft, plush blankets. “And then I found this in the storage room. Mingyu had moved aside a box of canned food and it was folded away.”

You nodded along. Things felt weird.

“I thought... Someone should tell you this. So when it happens, you don’t get scared.” He traced a finger along the stitches in your blanket. “Joshua thinks its a blessing. I think we all agree now.”

Something about that quiet, forlorn tone in his voice made you want to question it, but you didn’t. You held your tongue instead.

“Cheol will probably come talk to you,” he said as he watched you eat. “I’m sure everyone already told you, but since you’ll be living here, you’ll help us out. Most of the time we divide up chores by what needs to be done the soonest. Cheol will probably start teaching you things over the next few days once you get settled in before we trust you to do things on your own.” He reached for the empty place in your lap, setting the empty glass atop it. “Is that enough? Do you need anything else? I can ask Mingyu--”

“It’s fine.”

Jeonghan reached out, giving you a gentle pat on the head after he stood. “Goodnight, Mouse,” he said. “Sleep well.”

Jeonghan left you to yourself after one last glance with the obvious want to say something weighing it down. True to his word, Seungcheol came to you shortly after to tell you a few more things. The things Chan had left out, but elaborations on what Jeonghan had told you. Even with the weird things that happen, they were relatively self-sustained after all this time. They had started growing their own food alongside what he initially found, and they all worked to maintain it. Sometimes they fished, sometimes they hunted for rabbits and birds and the like. They were fine on their own, mostly. Everyone worked to support each other there. Even if they didn’t have whatever magic existed to refill their honey and their spices, Seungcheol felt confident that they could survive.

He told you to sleep well. Everyone was there to support you, after all. They’d all been the “new one” there at one point and knew the way that being new could isolate a person. He told you not to fret, either, because you’d remember your name in time.

His hand landed atop yours, giving it one last squeeze. “I’ll see you in the morning,” he said. It almost felt like a plea for you to stay rather than a promise.

So you just forced a smile, exhaustion setting back in soon enough. “Good night, Cheol,” you told him.

He smiled back at you, and soon left you to yourself. You buried yourself back into your blankets, little mouse plush brought back into your arms and pressed against your chest for the scent of vanilla to carry you off to sleep. Seungcheol would return to the others, finding them still wide awake. He hoped you’d sleep well on your own, but Jeonghan said he’d seen you sleeping peacefully earlier and not to worry. The idea of sleeping on his own made him feel uncomfortable, but if you were happy to sleep alone on your first (and hopefully not the last) night there? That was all Seungcheol could truly ask for.

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