#this was originally supposed to be a crack AU.

[difeisheng]

thinking about cryptid little forensic anthropology professor li lianhua who wears cardigans with converse and shows up 10 minutes late with a matcha latte every class, but will then proceed to sit on the desk swinging his feet and drop an absolute banger of a lecture without notes or looking at slides (he does have slides, and amazingly they're both legible and genuinely informative). baby future archivist fang duobing is in his class, and Technically this is outside of his focus in the anthropology major he's doing to get there but hey, counted credits are counted credits, and he may as well apply the time he's spent watching elementary and listening to true crime podcasts to something. except all he actually ends up doing is develop a massive infatuation on his cute sweet professor who intersperses all his lectures with pictures of his dog, and his friends are stuck hearing about it because "don't you understand the struggle, guys, going to office hours won't get anywhere because it's really hard to find an opening to flirt when the topic being covered this week is trauma analysis of cranial fragments". it doesn't stop fang duobing from showing up to them anyway, though, because getting li lianhua to go on about some niche and random topic over the tea he always offers, just the two of them, is a beautiful thing. even the pictures of him and his admittedly stunning husband crowded on his desk can't take down the smile fang duobing has on whenever he leaves. sure it really is a puppy crush but hey a boy can dream

[novantinuum]

;w; man i just made a draft post of all my Crack the Paragon art pieces (i've got seven now! :D) i've done so far just so i could visualize them as a group, and it's honestly kinda wild seeing them all lined up one after another

i'll have to hold tight onto this lineup until after we reach chapter seventeen, though, ahahah

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Honey Girl. Chapter Eight.

chapter one. chapter two. chapter three. chapter four. chapter five. chapter six. chapter seven. chapter nine. chapter ten. series masterlist. the playlist.

Chapter Synopsis - Turns out, you’re not the only ones with a secret.

Pairing - Dadsbestfriend!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader - soulmate au

Warnings - cursing. mentions of hospitals/medical settings.

Word Count - 5k

Authors Note - I promise that the reveal was supposed to be in this part!! but I hit 5k words real quick and thought rather than rush it, I’d give it its full own chapter. guess what’s coming next ;). as always, thank you for your love and support and patience and encouragement and kindness. don’t know where I’d be without it <3

as always, if you enjoyed this, please consider reblogging!! reblogs are the only way to circulate my writing, which generates more of it. feel free to send me a comment or an inbox, too!! thanks, my loves!! <3

Masterlist. Inbox.

The sun beams through the white linen curtains, salty ocean breeze drifting through the open window. The rays warm your skin as you kick off the sheets, stretching your arms above your head. You turn over, to find the space next to you empty.

Rubbing the sleepiness from your eyes, you yawn, inhaling the scent of breakfast. Throwing on Bucky’s soft blue button up, you pad out to the kitchen to find him at your stovetop, shirtless and sun kissed.

“I’m getting the full girlfriend experience, huh?”

He grins at the sound of your voice, entire body lighting up with it.

“Girlfriend,” he laughs. “This is the soulmate experience, baby. It’s even better.”

You shake your head, but you can’t fight the smile that etches itself on your face. He looks so at home here, so comfortable. He reaches up to grab a plate from your cupboard, and you feel the sudden urge to burst into tears.

He knows where everything is.

He’s learnt his way around the kitchen just like he’s learnt his way around your heart. Your soul. Your very existence.

“You okay?”

He turns off the burner and glides over to you, warm hands finding your hips like it’s second nature.

“What’s wrong? You like pancakes,” he teases, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead tenderly. “Oh no. Did you want waffles?”

You shake your head, swallowing down the lump in your throat.

“I’m fine,” you say, but your voice cracks instantly.

“Doesn’t sound like it.”

He says it so gently, so carefully. You feel like a precious flower, something to be taken care of, cherished, loved. No one has ever made you feel like this.

“I just realised you… fit, here. Like you were always supposed to. I can’t really remember what this apartment was like before it had you in it too.”

Bucky cradles your face in his hands, tilting your head up to look at him.

“Wherever you are. That’s where my home is.”

You surge forwards to press your lips to his, alive and buzzing with the electricity of being loved so wholly. He reciprocates instantly, wrapping his arms around your back to pull you closer, so you’re chest to chest.

“Your pancakes are going to burn,” you mumble, forehead resting on his.

“Let them.”

“No, don’t let them. I’m not calling the fire department today.”

He laughs, kissing you again chastely before returning to his original position. He plates up your breakfast - pancakes, fruit, granola and yoghurt, with fresh coffee in your favourite mug.

“I could get used to this.”

“And you will,” he flirts, kissing the crown of your head. “Every day for the rest of your life, baby. You’re gonna have to wake up to my face forever.”

You pretend to shudder, laughing when he pinches your side.

“Come on, trouble. Let’s eat breakfast on the balcony and pretend we’re on a tropical vacation somewhere.”

“Sounds perfect.”

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

“We’re really doing this.”

You look up at Bucky, the heavy weight of his arm around your shoulders acting as a grounding agent. Your plates are discarded on the table, cleared and finished, the two of you curled up in your loveseat. The sun is getting warmer, and it’s bringing out Bucky’s freckles, all boyish and glowy.

“We don’t have a choice.”

“Honey girl, there’s always a choice.”

“Not this time,” you sigh, shifting so you can face him properly. “I wanted to do this on our terms, and now I feel like I’ve been forced into it. It isn’t fair.”

“We can wait,” Bucky reassures, confident and understanding. “We don’t have to do anything until you’re ready.”

“I am ready. I have been for a while. It just sucks that it feels like I’ve been pushed in a certain direction, you know?”

“I know,” he soothes, work rough fingertips tracing patterns on your bare legs. “But like you said, we were going to do it anyway. This is still our choice. These are still our terms.”

You press your lips onto his cheek, chuckling when his stubble tickles your skin. He retaliates by attacking you with kisses, planting them all over your face, wherever he can reach. You squeal, hands flying out to his bare chest to try and stop him.

“Your neighbours are going to think there’s a murder happening,” Bucky laughs, fingers sliding up your shirt to rest on your ribs.

“Oh no, they love you too much for that.”

He quirks his eyebrows in surprise.

“They do?”

“The lady that lives next door, Mrs Daniels - she’s like ninety, has that white cat you always see?”

Bucky nods in recognition, so you continue.

“She talks about how handsome you are every time I see her. Always asks when the ‘man that looks like a movie star’ is coming over next.”

He laughs, shaking his head as you tease him.

“Shut up.”

“I’m serious! She probably watches you come and go from her balcony. She’s gonna love it in the summer, when you turn up in your short shorts with no shirt on.”

Bucky chuckles, pulling you into him and leaning his head on top of yours.

“Don’t be jealous, baby. You’re the only one for me.”

“I better be,” you chide jokingly, pinching his thigh in warning.

“I’ve been waiting for you my whole life.”

There’s no humour, anymore. Just love. So much love.

“I’m here now,” you whisper. “And I’m not going anywhere. Ever.”

Bucky leans in to press a kiss to your lips, gentle and filled with a lifetimes worth of promise.

“I love you, honey baby.”

“I love you, Bucky Barnes.”

You let the morning sun slip over you like silk sheets, warm and smooth and completely luxurious. Bucky’s steady breathing grounds you slowly as peace and contentment settle into your bones, weighted and calming. No matter what happens today, you know one thing for certain - you have the security of Bucky’s love to fall back on.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You’ve been sat in Bucky’s truck for twenty five minutes.

It’s parked down the block from your parent’s house, just out of the way. You were pulling in to their street when you panicked, begging Bucky to stop the car so you could breathe for a second.

“Sweet girl, we’ll be fine.”

“I know. I know,” you exhale. Inhale again. “Why is this so hard?”

“Because we’ve been thinking about this moment ever since that first night.”

“It’s almost been a year.”

That seems to stop Bucky in his tracks for a second.

“It… it doesn’t feel that long. Feels like yesterday. But also, somehow, like I’ve loved you my whole life.”

You lean over the console to kiss him softly, trying to ignore the hummingbird fluttering of your heart in your chest.

“Honey, I can feel your anxiety, remember? If you don’t calm down a little, we’ll both collapse.”

“Sorry,” you laugh, taking a deep breath. “Sorry.”

Bucky intertwines his fingers with yours, thumb running over the backs of your knuckles. Soothing, like a field of lavender gently blowing in the breeze on the first day of spring.

“We have to do it sometime.”

“I know,” you nod, squeezing his hand once, twice, three times before pulling away and fixing your hair in the tiny mirror. “Let’s do this. Now or never.”

You pull up outside your childhood home, instantly relaxing a little at the sight of the colourful drapes and flowers in the windows.

“Shit, Buck. We haven’t even planned what we’re gonna say.”

“We don’t need to. Just speak from your heart, baby. I’ll follow your lead.”

When you walk up the driveway, you know there’s no turning back. You also know that the weight on your shoulders will feel a hell of a lot less heavy when you leave. It’s a double edged sword, but you’re ready to wield it, with love as your armour and Bucky as your shield.

You stand a foot apart and ring the doorbell, bouncing nervously on the soles of your feet.

“Hi, sweetheart. Oh - hey, Buck.”

“Hi, Mama.”

“Hi, Lori.”

“Didn’t expect to see you both today.”

You go to speak, but she continues quickly.

“I’m glad you’re here. We need to talk to you both about something. Come in, come in.”

You look at Bucky, realising suddenly that your chest is filled with a foreign anxiety. It’s his.

You squeeze his hand chastely as you walk past him to enter the house, kicking off your shoes in the hallway.

There’s something in the atmosphere when you walk into the living room. The sun is still shining, everything is in its rightful place… but it feels wrong. You know Bucky feels it too, judging by the way his muscles tense next to you.

“Is everything alright, Mama?”

You hate the way your voice sounds like a child’s, small and naive. Your Dad is sat on the couch waiting, always happy to see you. You press a kiss to his cheek before taking a seat across from him, Bucky sitting next to you. Your Mom joins your Dad, both of them looking at you with too much compassion for a normal day.

“What are you two doing here?” your Dad asks, voice still full of light.

Something inside of you is telling you to abort mission, postpone until further notice. You listen to it, wondering for a second if somehow you and Bucky can send messages to each other telepathically all of a sudden.

“Mama said you needed to talk to me. To us.”

He looks taken aback, only for a second. Something like sadness flashes in his eyes before he paints that familiar smile right back on his face.

“Yeah, we do. You sure you don’t wanna tell us why you’re here, first?”

“It can wait,” you reassure, catching Bucky’s minute nod from the corner of your eye.

“Okay,” your Mom begins. “First of all, I need to tell you not to panic, okay? It’s going to seem super scary, but it isn’t.”

Bucky slides closer to you by a millimetre, but you feel it like it’s a mile.

“I don’t really know how to tell you this, honey, so we’ll just start from the beginning. Jack?”

Your Dad nods before taking over the storytelling.

“It all started last year. I was doing some work in the backyard. One minute I was mowing the lawn, the next I was lying on the ground.”

All of the colour drains from your cheeks, and Bucky slides ever so slightly closer again.

“We thought maybe it was heat stroke, or dehydration. No cause for concern, and nothing your Mom’s iced tea couldn’t fix.”

She takes his hand in hers, both of them with their eyes fixed on you.

“But then it happened again. In the shower, this time. I didn’t hit my head, luckily, but I did whack my shoulder against the tiles, which hurt like hell.”

He laughs, and so does your Mom, but you’re not sure what’s funny. Anxiety is rolling off you in waves so strong, Bucky’s worried he might pass out.

Your Mom takes back the reigns, continuing.

“I was insistent that he saw a doctor, which he was reluctant about. Luckily, he agreed, finally,” she gives him a look, “and we got referred to a specialist.”

“What kind of specialist?” you choke out. It feels like someone is sitting on your chest, constricting your lungs with every passing minute.

“A cardiologist.”

It seems to be that word that unravels everything for you. All you can think is cardiologist heart attack cardiologist surgery cardiologist. Serious. Serious. Serious.

“Sweetheart?”

You grab Bucky’s hand, praying that the familiar touch will ground you back down to Earth. When it doesn’t, you feel like you’re falling, down and down and down with no end in sight.

“Honey, it’s okay. Hey, listen to me. You’re okay.”

Your Mom sits down on the other side of you as your Dad kneels down, forcing you to look at him.

“Sweetheart, don’t panic, okay? Everything’s going to be fine. I know it’s scary, but I’m okay.”

“For now,” you whisper, limp in your throat forming.

“I know it’s a lot to take in, and I know it’s probably not what you were expecting us to say. We thought we’d wait until we had answers to tell you… but it’s taking longer than expected. Which is why we’re telling you now. We don’t want you to feel like you’re in the dark.”

Bucky’s running his thumb over the lines on your palm, reassuring and steady. He knows exactly how to comfort you, like a warm blanket wrapped around your shoulders. If you listen carefully enough, you can hear the drumming beat of his heart. You tune into it, letting the familiar rhythm calm you down.

“Sorry,” you murmur. “I’m being dramatic.”

“You’re not being dramatic,” your Mom responds, squeezing her hand over your knee. “It’s overwhelming. And we’ve just… thrown it at you, with no warning. It’s a lot to take in.”

You’re anxious and scared and completely lost. You’re also safe and home and completely surrounded by love from all sides.

“I’m okay,” you nod, taking a deep breath.

Your parents return to their couch across from you, but Bucky’s hand doesn’t let go of yours. If they think it’s strange, they don’t say anything. You have a feeling they’re a little preoccupied.

“Now what?”

“Your Dad is still undergoing tests to get to the root of the issue. Whatever they find, we know we’ll all be okay.”

“Your Mom’s right. I have an appointment this afternoon for an EKG. They’re trying to rule things out slowly. We’ll get to the bottom of it, sweetheart.”

“Are you okay?” you ask, suddenly realising you’ve accidentally made this about you.

“I’m fine,” he laughs. “Seriously. I know it’s scary, but I feel good in myself for the most part. The most annoying thing is that I can’t predict it - it just happens. Very inconvenient, if you ask me.”

Your parents laugh, and this time, you try to chuckle with them.

“You’ll keep us updated, won’t you?”

Bucky’s voice surprises you, somehow. His fingers are still intertwined with yours, but you’ve been so focused on your Dad, you almost forgot he was there.

“Of course, Buck.”

“And if you ever need a ride to an appointment or anything, all you gotta do is ask, alright?”

“You offering to take me on your motorcycle?”

“Sure,” Bucky laughs.

“Absolutely not,” your Mom says at the same time.

You chuckle for real, now. This feels like normality - the four of you, joking around. You have to remind yourself, sometimes, that Bucky knew your Dad before he ever knew you. You were away at culinary school when they met, but you were told stories instantly about this new guy in town who bought the old Garage and drives a cool truck. Your Mom, of course, didn’t fail to mention his big blue eyes and chocolate brown hair, or the way his shirt hugged his biceps. You thought she was exaggerating, when she said he was handsome.

Oh, how wrong you were.

You’re one hundred percent sure you’ve never met a more beautiful person. Maybe it’s your Tethering talking. Maybe it isn’t. You’re not unaware of the way people look at Bucky - he’s got this old school movie star thing going on, and people seem to eat it up. You get it. You get it more than anyone.

But it isn’t his pretty face that makes your heart skip a beat. It’s just him. Him, with his contagious smile and healing laugh and observant eyes. Him, with his confident demeanour but gentle touch, his mind reading abilities, his talent for making you feel like you’re the only person in the room. He’s a rarity, Bucky Barnes. A diamond in the rough. You remind yourself everyday how lucky you are.

He knocks his knee into yours, pulling you out of your daydream. He gives you a look that asks are you okay? to which you nod subtly in reply. A conversation, somehow both silent and loud.

“As much as I’d love to stay here all day, we should get ready to go. My appointment is soon.”

Your Dad strides over to you, wrapping you in his arms. You instantly feel like a little girl again, safe and protected no matter what. You bury your face into his chest a little more, inhaling the familiar scent of your home.

“Everything’s okay, sweetheart,” he whispers into your hair. “Promise.”

You nod against him, tightening your arms ever so slightly. He gives you a squeeze, letting you know he got the message.

As you’re putting your shoes on in the hallway, you can hear your Dad and Bucky chatting away about the baseball game from the previous night, routine easily resumed. Your Mom brushes your hair back from your face, looking at you carefully.

“I almost forgot why you came here in the first place, babygirl. What’s up? What did you want to tell us?”

Your heart skips a beat and Bucky feels it, glancing over to you with concern in his ocean blue eyes.

“It’s okay, Mama. It can wait.”

She raises her eyebrows in scepticism.

“Promise,” you reassure. “Another day.”

She doesn’t look convinced, but lets it go anyway, pressing a kiss to your cheek gently.

“We’ll call you after his appointment and let you know what they say. We love you. So much.”

You hug her fiercely, realising that you don’t do it often enough.

“Love you guys. More than anything.”

Bucky gives you a nod that tells you he’s ready to go, both of you leaving a little different than you entered.

“Call us as soon as you get out of that room, okay?”

“We will, Buck,” your Dad laughs, mock saluting his best friend.

Bucky chuckles, falling into step next to you as you walk down the driveway. You make your way down the street, out of your parents view, before your knees give out. He manages to catch you just in time, strong arms wrapped around your middle. You both sit on the kerbside, Bucky rubbing soft patterns into your back through your shirt.

“Baby, hey. You okay? Talk to me.”

You take a deep breath, looking at him with watery eyes.

“What if it’s bad, Buck?” you whisper. “I can’t do this without him. He’s the best Dad in the world.”

Bucky pulls you closer, fitting you into his side perfectly. Two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, made for each other.

“They don’t lie to you, honey. They’d tell you if it was really serious. All you can do is wait, and hope everything will be okay. Which it will.”

You rest your head on his shoulder, letting his warmth calm you down.

“My Mama knows something.”

“Like what?”

“About us. She didn’t say anything, but I could see it on her face. She didn’t push it any further, but she was definitely suspicious.”

“We’ll tell her soon. Give it a little more time.”

You nod, wrapping your arms around his bicep tightly. He presses a kiss into your hair, inhaling the scent of your shampoo as he does it.

“Let’s go home, hmm? We can sit in the sun for a while, chop up that pineapple we bought yesterday.”

“Sounds perfect,” you whisper, looking up at him.

The afternoon hits his face just right, all warm yellow light and soft angles on his cheeks. The intermittent salty breeze ruffles his hair, all fluffy and sea swept. He looks like an ancient statue, a work of art from the renaissance, a museum piece. The sun could burn out tomorrow, but you’ll have a life source forever. Your Soulmate.

Bucky takes your hands in his and helps you to your feet, heavy arm slung over your shoulders as you walk back to the truck.

Your light in the dark. Your water in the desert. You’ve never been more grateful for him.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

“Close your eyes.”

Bucky’s driving you home, the sound of the ocean waves hitting the shore a replacement for the radio.

“What?”

“Close your eyes, sugar. I want to show you something.”

“How are you gonna show me if my eyes are shut?”

He chuckles, pinching your thigh.

“Just shut up and close your eyes.”

You smile gently before doing as he says, covering your face with your hands for good measure.

“Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise. You’ll like it, I promise.”

You relax back into the seat, allowing the breeze from the open window to whip through your hair. Eventually you come to a stop, Bucky clicking off your seatbelt for you.

“Keep ‘em closed.”

Bucky sprints around to the passenger side, swinging open the door and wrapping his arms around you. He practically carries you out of the car, ensuring you don’t trip while you have no vision. He plants you on two feet, making sure you’re steady before he lets go of you.

“Okay. Open your eyes.”

You blink slowly, adjusting to the brightness of the afternoon.

You’re in the middle of nowhere. The two of you are stood on a huge, grassy plot of land, overlooking a small cove of the beach. You’re tucked completely out of the way, not a neighbour to be seen. All you can hear is the ocean, the birds, and the sound of your thumping heartbeat.

“Where are we, Buck? It’s pretty.”

He takes your hand, looking out towards the water.

“This is gonna be our house.”

Your head whips around in shock, confusion written all over your face.

“What?”

Your voice is barely above a whisper, but Bucky hears it, clear as day.

“I bought this land years ago, when I moved to town. I always knew I wanted to build a place of my own, but I could never get the plans off the ground. Something didn’t feel right. And then our Tethering happened…”

He squeezes your hand tightly, pulling you into his side.

“And everything fell into place. I was waiting for the right moment to show you, and it feels like you needed it today.”

You can’t speak. You’re completely lost for words, looking out at the perfect view. Turning to him, you throw your arms around his neck, burying your face in the crook of it and inhaling.

“Thank you,” you murmur into his skin. “It’s so perfect. You’re so perfect.”

“I’m so lucky,” he chuckles. “My God, you were worth the wait. I’d wait another ten lifetimes if I meant I got to love you again for one of them.”

You’re glad he’s holding onto you, or you’re convinced your legs would give out. You lean up to press a kiss to his lips, savouring the spearmint on his tongue.

“I love you,” you pray into his mouth. “I love you so much I can barely breathe.”

He kisses you back, harder, determined to show you exactly how he feels about you. Your fingers tangle into his hair, making him groan as you tug. His hands slide down to your ass, gripping harshly as he pulls you into his front. He wants every inch of you pressed together.

When you pull away, he rests his forehead against yours.

“You can have anything you want, you know.”

“Hmm?”

“With the house. I know we talked about it that night, at dinner in California. But if you think of anything else you’d like, all you gotta do is tell me.”

“One storey or two?”

“I was always thinking two.”

“Then I’d like a balcony, on the master bedroom. I love mine back at my apartment, especially in the summer.”

“Done,” he confirms, pecking your lips again.

“And a porch,” you whisper. “That we can sit on and watch the waves, when we’re old and grey.”

“I’ll be grey a lot sooner than you,” he jokes.

“You’re a lot more relaxed than me,” you laugh. “So I doubt that, actually.”

You rest your head on his warm chest, both of you swaying to the song of the ocean.

“We’ve got plenty of time, Buck.”

“All the time in the world, honey girl.”

The two of you stay wrapped in each other for a little while longer, enjoying the company of the one person you were destined for.

You can’t remember why you were ever so against soulmates. Loving Bucky is the easiest thing you’ve ever done.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

The two of you spend the rest of the afternoon curled up on the balcony, letting the sun warm you from the outside in.

“Pineapple will always remind me of those margaritas,” Bucky smiles, throwing a piece into his mouth. “Our first date.”

“And last, apparently,” you laugh. “We haven’t been on one since.”

“I mean, we sort of date everyday, right?”

“Yeah, I guess we do. After we’ve told my parents, we don’t have to worry anymore. We can go out whenever we want, whenever we want.”

“Exactly,” he murmurs, leaning in to kiss you tenderly. “Not long now.”

The sound of your phone ringing startles you both, your hand flying out to find it in the cushions of the loveseat.

“Hello?”

“Oh, thank God. I half thought you were dead.”

“Not dead, Lacie. Just busy.”

She laughs, and you realise suddenly how much you’ve missed that sound.

“You’re back in town, right?”

“Yeah, just for a few more days. Then I’m gonna go back to Cali and pack up my stuff for good.”

“Perfect! Me and you are doing dinner tomorrow night. I want you to meet Cameron.”

“Really? Finally! I’m so excited, Lace. Your place, or are we going out?”

“Come to mine. Cam is the best cook, seriously. I’ve gotta run, we’re picking out a couch today. A couch, babe! Can you believe it?”

“Happy couch shopping, you two,” you laugh. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Love you.”

“Love you, bestie! Bye!”

You can’t help but smile when you hang up the phone.

“She’s gonna love having you back home again, isn’t she?”

“Oh, yeah. I can’t wait to see her more. I know she’s been so busy with her soulmate and me with work and with you, but I miss her like crazy. We text all the time, but it isn’t the same.”

“She knows about us, right?”

“Yeah,” you giggle. “She was the first person I told.”

“Thought so,” he laughs, pulling you back into his side. “Knew you wouldn’t be able to keep it from her for long.”

“She can practically read my mind. It was easier to avoid the truth over the phone, but the minute I saw her in person, I crumbled. She gives me this look, and I’m done for.”

Bucky chuckles fondly, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“I can’t wait to get to know her properly.”

“Oh, she’s gonna love you.”

“I hope so.”

“She will, trust me. She used to talk about how hot you were all the time. Pre-Cameron, of course.”

“I’m glad you’re finally getting to meet him.”

“Me too. I feel guilty, you know. It was the biggest moment of her life, and all of a sudden I’m up and leaving across the country, barely keeping in touch through scattered text messages. I was so wrapped up in you and in work, that I wasn’t there for her like I should have been.”

“I’m sure she’ll understand if you say this to her, honey baby. You have to remember that her Tethering was a lot less complicated than ours. They just got on with things, as easy as can be.”

“I guess you’re right,” you murmur into his chest. “I’ll tell her all of this when I see her tomorrow.”

He wraps both arms around you, pulling you impossibly closer. You relax instantly, the warmth of his skin and familiarity of his touch soothing you like melted honey.

Your phone rings again.

“I bet it’s Lacie moving the plans around,” you chuckle. “She always underestimates how long it takes her to get everything ready.”

You find your phone from under the cushion and answer it.

“Hi, sweetheart.”

“Mama?”

“Where are you?”

The sun disappears behind a cloud, sending a shiver down your spine.

“I’m at home.”

“I need you to go and get Bucky, and come to the hospital.”

Your heart stops in your chest, and Bucky has to breathe for the both of you.

“Why?” you ask, barely above a whisper.

“I’ll explain when you get here, but it’s more serious than we thought.”

She sounds scared, which in turn terrifies you. She’s the bravest person you know, your Mom. If she’s afraid, you know it’s bad.

“Okay,” you choke out. “I’m leaving right now. I, uh, I’ll get Bucky, and - do you need anything? Does Dad? I can bring whatever… whatever you need, what do you need?”

“Nothing, baby girl. Just you guys, for now, okay?”

“Okay. Yeah, okay. I, uh, I- I- I’ll leave right now. Where is he?”

“Follow the signs for Cardiology when you get here. Room 4.”

“He’s in a room? In a bed? Mama, please. What’s happening?”

You’ve never heard your voice sound so weak. You’re kicking yourself internally - you have to be strong for her. You need to be.

“Baby, just get here as soon as you can, okay? Get Bucky to drive. I love you.”

“I love you too. So much.”

You try to hang up the phone, but your hands are shaking so much that you’re unable to press the red button. Bucky does it for you, intertwining your fingers with his.

He pulls you to your feet, smoothing your hair back from your face.

“It’s all going to be okay, honey. Put your shoes on and grab your purse. I’ll get my keys.”

He kisses your forehead gently, letting his lips linger for a second before pulling you inside and shutting the balcony door.

He doesn’t let go of your hand the entire time, even as you drive to the hospital.

You feel like you’re drowning. Repeatedly slipping beneath the surface of the water, lungs heaving, desperate to stay afloat.

Bucky feels it, too. All he can do is hold your hand and hope for the best.

All he can do is hold your hand and hope for the best.

tag list part one

@lillytracy6996 @securegorgon @roostersforevergirl @povlvr @val-writesstuff  @dreadfulxives18 @1deadpool26 @abbygraceasd @nyutasgirl @mavrellover91 @winterslove1917 @f-this42 @skewedcherries @noisesinthedark @kandis-mom @black-cat-2 @harrystylesandthegoobs @vladsgirlxx @h0nestly-though @arienotari @nash-dara @wandaneedstherapy @galaxy-dusk @justherefortheficandsmut @cremebruleequeen @cjand10 @buggy14 @avengers-fixation @blueberrybambi @beautiful-loserr @sarah1barnes @miss-rebel-without-applause @ragingrainbowshipl @shamrockqueen @savemeroman @jenn-f @8crazy-freak8 @daddyjackfrost @openup-yourmind @adangerousbalance @mandijo17 @daddylorianisastateofmind @rcarbo1 @casa-boiardi @spideegwen @navs-bhat @mssbridgerton @asuni921 @middle-of-the-earth @mfrnchsk

[muniimyg]

NAKED // KNJ

note to self: take baths alone from now on

+

in which nam joon takes any and every opportunity to see you naked

pairing: boyfriend nam joon + oc 

au/genre:

(new) established relationship

non-idol au

fluff, crack, and smut

warnings:

explicit langauge and behaviour ...

cockwarming & riding,, some titty grabbing & basic ass position changes

THEY SAY ILY FOR THE FIRST TIME :D

note: originally posted on @/meowachi ,, revised !!

🏷️ permanent taglist: @joonsjuice @taetaecatboy @pb-n-juju @miss-rainy-days @firesighgirl @whoa-jo @vantxx95 @pamzn @kakixaku @casspirit0705 @tae165 @prdshobi @sopebubbles @leefics @ggukkieland @bebebutbetter @yoongimentita7 @vampcharxter @miss-jupiter @floweryjeons @taegijns

The water is colder than you expected. 

Your body reacts with goosebumps to which you let out a shiver. Maybe you took too much time getting everything ready that you missed this bath water’s prime temperature… Guess you didn’t girl-math this right. 

Oh well. 

There’s always next time, right?

Thankfully, his bare body holding yours makes it easier to adjust. He nuzzles his chin on your shoulder and wraps his arms around your waist, not missing the chance to hold your breasts for a moment. You scold him as if it’s second nature and he leaves a trail of kisses up and down your neck as an apology. 

Then, you take this moment in. Honestly, setting up music was a good idea. Along with the scented candles, the bubbles in your bath, the bath lavender bath bomb, and the bath salts—all such amazing details. Everything would’ve been perfect if only Nam Joon wasn’t complaining every five seconds. 

“I hate baths.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing here.”

“The bath salts went up my ass—”

Finally, you shush him.

“Please,” he cries, “can we fuck?”

Rolling your eyes, you raise your hand and flick him with your fingers. He purses his lips and shuts his eyes in response. Nam Joon sighs, feeling defeated for the nth time tonight. Prior to this bath, he had suggested shower sex. To which, you argued you’d be too afraid to try since you’re as clumsy as they come… And he himself… Well, it was nice of him to ask.

It’s not like you didn’t want to have sex tonight… No, of course, you do. Your handsome and beefy boyfriend was naked, holding you.. Who wouldn’t be turned on? You just feel like being annoying. You want to push him as far as you can. You want to see how good he stays. How well self-disciplined he is. 

So, you sink into his body again, taking another deep breath in. 

Let’s try this again.

Relax.

You want to relax. 

That’s all you want to do.

It doesn’t last. A few giggles escape your lips as he begins to place small kisses on your shoulder all the way to the sides of your face. 

“Nam Joon…” you attempt to sound annoyed.

In his low voice, he hums; “Yes, my love?”

“You’re not making me feel relaxed!” Suddenly, you squirm as he bites your shoulder playfully. “I want to—stop that! I just want to relax, Joonie! You said you wanted to join me. You insisted.”

“Sorry, sorry,” he murmurs, only half meaning his apology. No, he wasn’t sorry. He was a man, after all. What idiot would turn down being naked in a tub of water with you? Fucking losers, that’s who. 

He squishes your body closer to him. “So... is this what you do?” 

You nod.

“Is this all that you do? This is so boring. You don’t even have those ducks to play with or like a toy boat that moves—”

“Nam Joon,” you warn, groaning at how talkative he’s becoming. “You can leave. I wouldn’t mind watching you ass walk away right now.” 

He laughs in response, getting the hint. You want to relax. He wants to be with you. This was the middle ground.

“Sorry,” he means it this time. “I’m just bored.. Like, I pictured this to be more… Sexy? Aren’t you supposed to seduce me?” Nam Joon wiggles his eyebrows at you. To that, you offer him and confused look.

“Who knows? Maybe I’ve been seducing you this entire time..” you gaslight.

He lowers his gaze. “You’ve been ignoring me since the minute we settled in the tub.”

“Aren’t you turned on?”

“No.”

You smile at him warmly, yet your tone is cold. “My love, if that’s the case… Then why do I feel your dick poking in between my legs right now?” 

He gulps.

“It’s hard.”

“I thought you said it’s boring.”

Nam Joon whines, “___, my dick is hard. I’m bored. Please sit on it.”

You gasp. 

Although, you can’t say you aren’t surprised. You’ve been together for less than a year yet he has never missed a chance to suggest such acts. Most days, you’d give in and it would be a good time. But today… You figure it would be much more fun to be a tease. This mood is sponsored by your incoming period. Regardless if it’s PMS or all your stress from work; it didn’t really matter. You just knew you weren't in the mood for super wet, slippery, hot sex in cold bath water. Imagine all the water that would be splashed on the floor! You’d be the one left to clean all of it up. Nam Joon would probably slip and hurt himself if you ordered him to do the cleaning duties.

“Okay,” you tease. “I’ll sit on your dick.”

He cheers. 

“But I won’t move.”

“W-what?” Nam Joon blinks. 

You shrug, pushing yourself up on his lap. When you find his length, you quickly guide it inside of you. No warning, not even a little rub in between. Nam Joon gulps the second he feels his cock inside of you. Unlike the water, you’re so warm. He hisses, feeling his dick begin to throb inside your tight walls. 

“M-mean,” he hisses. “You’re so mean.”

Ignoring him, you sink yourself even deeper. Now, he’s fully inside you and you’re completely sitting on him. You feel his tip and how far he is inside you.. It makes your body feel tingles and you honestly contemplate if you should just give in.

He feels so good. 

… And you hate to admit it but you overestimated yourself.

You’re having a hard time too. 

Yet, you stick it through. You have to! Rare are the moments you get where Nam Joon loses complete control.

“You asked me to sit on your dick. Sure, I’ll sit on your dick… But I’m not moving. I’m not going reverse cowgirl style. I’m not going doggy. I’m not fucking you.”

“So you’re just going to cockwarm me?” he asks, feeling betrayed. “But you love riding me!”

You glare at him. “No, I don’t. It’s tiring. It’s boring.” 

Nam Joon’s eyebrows furrow together. He tries his best to focus on your words and not how perfect you are inside of him. He’s stressed as fuck but he needs to prove to you that he can get through this… He has a feeling that winning you over will get him the reward he’s been after. 

“Then why do you do it?” 

This is news to him too. You always looked like you enjoyed riding him. Honestly, you probably ride him more than you two do in any other position. Also, why would he question it? You never really complained until now. It’s one of the things he liked so much about you.. It’s like, you just knew him. 

“You love it and I love you—”

Your eyes widen.

Did you really just say that? All this time, you were worried about slipping… Who knew it wasn’t about your body but rather your words? 

You two haven’t said it to each other yet. God, this is so fucking embarrassing. In this position too? In a fucking cold ass bath? It should’ve been more romantic! Plus, he should’ve said it first! You had it all planned out.. You were going to get it out of him before you could say it first. 

As you open your mouth to deny, take back, or spit out an excuse, his words make your world stop. 

“I love you too.”

Your breath hitches. “W-what?”

“Yeah,” he scratches the back of his neck. “I’ve been meaning to tell you.. For the past like… Six months but I couldn’t find the right moment. I figured one day, you’d just get it out of me yourself.” Nam Joon looks awfully shy to you right now. It makes your heart flutter. 

“I thought the same,” you confess. “I wanted you to say it first.”

“Okay,” Nam Joon chuckles, “Then I said it first.”

Your heart begins to pound louder and faster. God, was he always this good with words? In all honesty, Nam Joon has no problem being the first to yield or confess.. He just needed time. Right now, he knew it well. You’re the right person at the right time. He’s so grateful.

“I wanted it to be more romantic.”

Instantly, he dips his head and kisses you slowly. When he pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours. “A slow kiss. Romantic, right? Better?”

You shake your head. 

“You have to hold my hand when you say it,” you whine. “It only makes sense that way.”

“Then, you have to look at me,” he negotiates. “You can’t be looking the other way when I say it.”

“Fine.”

You shift, pulling his dick out for a second. You adjust yourself, opening your legs and facing him. Now, your breasts were completely in front of him. He takes slow deep breaths as you put him inside you again. You wrap your arms around his neck and tilt your head. 

God, you’re so sexy.

With or without clothes, Nam Joon thinks you’re the sexiest human to ever exist. It wasn’t because your body was perfect; it was all because of the way you carried your confidence. It was that exact something he sensed and fell into an intense trance over. Moments like these play over and over in his head when he’s away from you. Moments where he feels so close to you. Physically, this was it. There is nothing more he could ask for. 

You: naked and on top of him. 

But more than that, what makes moments like these so special is the fact that he feels like he knows your soul. Bare, imperfect and so loving. It was sexy to have someone like you. It was something he had never experienced before with past loves. This was a first for him. A first real, sexy, and beautiful love. It was more than your body—it always has been. Regardless, who is he to not try? At the end of the day, he has needs. 

“Say it.” 

He laughs as he intertwines your fingers together. He raises them above the water to show you. Bringing your hands to his lips, he looks up at you and kisses your knuckles. 

“I love you, ___.”

You pout. 

He kisses your wrist and then pulls you closer to him. He kisses your breast, your collarbone, your shoulder, your cheeks, and the corner of your lip. “I’ve loved you for a while now. I’m sorry it took a cold bath to get it out of me.”

“Should’ve taken a bath together sooner.”

He laughs into your kiss. “Too bad the bath salts aren’t making me feel too sexy right now,” he confesses his uncomfortability. This is his last attempt. “Unless…”

“Spit it out,” you say, unamused.

“It’s just—”

“We’re not fucking in this bath of cold water, Joon. Give it up!” you laugh as you cup his cheeks together. You squish his lips with your thumb and index, making kissy faces at him. “No more fucking around.”

His suggestive eyes suddenly soften. “Fucking? ___, I wanted to make love… Since, you know.. I love you.”

Three times.

He said, “I love you,” three times now.

And perhaps, you’re not built for this hard-to-get lifestyle when the love of your life says such dreamy things. Of course, you’d give in. As they all say; the third time’s a charm. 

You burst into laughter, unable to hold yourself back. Desperately, you kiss him for what feels like forever, and as much as you resist; you end up riding him. 

The second you move yourself up and down, Nam Joon’s eyes widen and he smiles into the kiss. He can’t believe he won you over. 

“Fucking finally… Or should I say… Finally fucking?” Nam Joon chides, liking his word play more than he should.

Nerd alert.

You grunt, “s-shut up.” 

As you two continue to make out, you begin to move your hips as you slowly but surely begin to bounce on his hard cock. It feels so good to finally do this. As you move at a faster pace, the water begins to splash and for a second, you turn your head to make sure it isn’t going to flood the floor. But Nam Joon places his hand on your chin and the top of your neck, guiding you to look at him. 

“Don’t look away,” he hisses. “It’s just water. Focus on me.”

You nod, biting the inside of your cheeks. 

For stability, you place your hands on his chest. You feel his heart and how fast it’s racing. His skin has little goosebumps due to the cold water, but you can also see sweat from his forehead lightly layer on top of his perfect skin. His eyebrows are knitted together, as he gathers all his mental strength not to cum yet. At one point, you see his lips make an ‘o’. Why was he trying so hard to last? 

“Just cum,” you assure him. “It’s fine.”

He shakes his head, refusing to give in this early. “It’s your fucking boobs,” Nam Joon blames. “Mmhff—s-shit. What the hell. Fuck it.” 

Without warning, he places his hands on your waist and lifts you up. Nam Joon gently, yet firmly, turns you over. Your chin rests just over the rim of the tub, along with your arms. Your back is arched as he backs your ass up to his dick. He takes his fingers and plays with your clit for a bit. You moan, unable to fathom just how fucking sexy this all is. You feel yourself coming close. Before you know it, he sticks himself back in and begins to pump. Nam Joon pumps himself at a steady pace. At first, they were short and fast strokes that made the water spill over and you moan louder than usual. As you reach your peak and so does he; his strokes transition to long and deep ones. 

After a few more pumps, he lets himself go and cups your breasts with his hands. You don’t feel his cum inside of you as your walls still tingle, but you know it’s inside. Regardless of the water, you just know he creamed you messy as usual. 

As you two catch your breath, he kisses your neck once again. 

“For round two…” Nam Joon teases, “I’m thinking shower sex. Thoughts?”

“Haha,” you play along. “No.”

Nam Joon pouts, giving you puppy eyes. “... But I love you.” 

You can’t help but melt.

Oh, you’re so fucked.

You know for a fact he’ll be using this line for a while… And it’ll work. He’ll get you every time. But it’s okay! You love him too. You want him too. You need him too.

Besides, you’ll be charging him the water bill.

[greeniegaes]

Back at it agains with another svsss au im pulling out of my (slightly) sleep deprived brain

Basically yada yada everything happens as normal UP UNTIL the immortal alliance arc. SQQ gets this searing headache and the system just keeps popping up with errors, so while they are all fighting the spider hoard the system just kinda snaps and breaks. SQQ suddenly feels like he’s hit by a truck, his body starting to act like his sickly Shen Yuan body and his cultivation is tying itself into dead knots and every bone in his body feels like it’s locking up. There’s no system to blame for things as he and LBH confront MBJ and he just has to do his hardest to survive with just his spiritual sword.

And then the worse thing happens, Xiu Ya shatters.

SQQ panics at this, continuing to try his best fighting people off and eventually MBJ leaves *hooray* except not really because all the system errors are getting louder and louder in his head, and everything is blue and blaring and he might be bleeding and he can’t understand what LBH is saying even though he is right there, shaking his body and crying.

And then the abyss opens. He suddenly has the choice. He can send LBH, his white little sheep, down there to continue on with the PIDW plot, or he can… not do that.

So he pushes LBH.

Away from him. Away from the abyssal rift, only for him to be the one that falls though. He had prepared various lesson plans, life advice, what skills people to work on and so much more once he got without-a-cure, just incase he slipped up one day and couldn’t protect himself. So SQQ was satisfied as he knew his peak would be taken care of if LBH opened a specific drawer, everyone could still be taught by the hall masters and also have some future help prepared for each of them.

So SQQ let’s himself fall into the abyss, watching his student’s horrified expression as he plummets. He hears the system disconnect from LBH as he falls, all of the glowing blue error messages and pop ups instantly go away and he’s left in the dark as he sinks further and further into the abyss.

Surprisingly, he wakes up. He landed in the same field of flowers that are the reason LBH didn’t die in the original, they are filled with celestial qi in a place meant to be horrible and deadly. The one good thing about this place. He lays there for awhile and lets the plants essence fix up his meridians.

Then he has to experience the same horrifying things the protagonist did in person, fighting off each beast and trying his damn hardest to survive. It takes him a while, fighting and walking his way through what’s practically hell on earth, slaying beasts ten times his size, making sure not to fall into the trappings of demonic plants. He cuts his long hair, he thinks he will never see his peak again, so what do filial ties matter when you’re barely surviving. Sometimes the worse thing is his own mind, he feels a heavy layer of guilt to himself for so willing going along with the system. He sometimes forgets it’s not his fault too, that he was threatened to return to a dead body if he didn’t do as he was supposed to. But he’s happy sometimes too, he goes back to that field of flowers, laying in them and basking in his memories of a happier LBH, a LQG that isn’t dead, a Qing Jing peak full of song and happy healthy students.

He ascends from the abyss that day. He doesn’t know how or why but he wakes up in the same field of flowers, the sky above him no longer a damning black with red cracks seeping light in. it’s blue, soft, it hurts his eyes almost to look at it. It hurts so much but he can’t look away. He picks himself up, looking at all the grime and blood on himself and weeps in relief that he can go home. He hides his face and asks people where he is, somewhere in HHP territories, and begins to make his way back to his sect. Once he gets to his peak he sits down softly at the gate, it’s night time and there haven’t been many people about. He basks in the feeling of being home, leaning his head against the tall bamboo pole as he falls asleep.

He’s glad tomorrow is a new day, when he can see his family and just go back to his life.

(in the years he’s been gone all of CQS has been in some kind of mourning. LBH found all the letters from his shizun and they made all the disciples of QJP weep. Some of them took the advice given and left, some of them stayed and took care of a lordless peak. None of the hall masters or disciples were qualified to step up, and when the issue was raised even the peak lords agreed he shouldn’t be replaced. It was LQG who found him at the gate, going to visit the sword shrine in the bamboo house after an expedition, going to leave another fan to rot at the shrine’s foot. instead he heaved up his shixiong, hair not even reaching his shoulders, hands callused and dirty, and brought him back to the bamboo house, waking LBH in the process. Once morning light came everyone would know that their lost peak lord came home, but first they had to get the doctor to make sure he actually got through the night)

[thefallennightmare]

What It Cost-Noah Sebastian[AU]

*gif created by me. feel free to use, simply give credit*

Pairings: Noah Sebastian x Reader

Warnings: smut, violence(talks of death/beating/forced sex), language, fluff, angst.

Summary: The darkness was all Reader ever knew and now that it was following her, closing in to devour her, she needed to chance to breathe. With one destination in mind, she set out only to stop when she noticed an attractive stranger on the side of the road; his own darkness making her give him a ride to where he needed to go. Both of them were desperate for something else but neither of them could change and it nearly cost them everything.

Authors Note: Thank you everyone for being so patient with me while I worked on this the last five days. It originally wasn't supposed to be this long but fuck it, we ball.

Tags: @thescarlettvvitch @klutzy-kay24 @cookiesupplier @bngurngheart @thatchickwiththecamera @artificialbreezy @madomens @lookwhatitcost @mitchhbitch @concreteemo @marvelousmal @heyyoplayer @vinyardmauro @shilohrosechicken @eclipseeetop @lma1986 @spicywhenspeaking @missduffsblog @concreteangel92

I stifled yet another yawn behind my fist and shook out the cobwebs, doing my best to stay awake. The nighttime air as it busted through the crack in my car window did little to keep the slumber from pulling me under, but I did whatever I could do. The music was blasting, the bass shaking all parts of my car and I had just thrown another empty can of Dr. Pepper into the plastic bag in the front seat I’d been using as garbage. I’d been driving for the last three hours, exhaustion desperately trying to weigh me down but I refused to let it win. I had somewhere I needed to be at a certain time otherwise all of this, everything I sacrificed would have been for nothing. 

Blinking my eyes, I did my best to see through the thick fog that seemed to have crept along the long stretch of the back roads of California, making it nearly impossible to see more than a few feet in front of me. Through the music that played in my speaker came a text tone followed by another and another. 

“The fuck,” I grumbled while reaching for my phone. 

Texting and driving. Nice, dumbass. Try not to kill yourself. 

Ignoring the chastising voice in my head, I flicked my gaze down to the screen on my phone and quickly read the messages. 

Matt: Package is shipped. 

Matt: We will meet at the rendezvous point in four days. 

Matt: Be safe kid. Love you. 

Through the hell of the last 34 hours, I let a smile creep on my lips at the words from my brother. He was always there for me, no matter what I had done growing up and that didn’t stop now when both of us were adults. 

“I’m your big brother. It’s my job to protect you, Y/N.”

His words from when I called him the other night in tears were what kept me going; and kept my mind from thinking back to that night. I needed to keep moving forward, not dwindle in fear of the repercussions. 

“Oh shit!” 

My phone clattered to the floor of my car, and the sound of my brakes screeching in the night air when I saw the faint form of something through the thick fog. I stopped mere inches in front of it, then once my erratic heart began to slow, I leaned closer to my windshield, barely making out the man that stood in front of my car. 

His dark hair covered his eyes, cascading down past his shoulders and the white tank top he wore stood out in the vast darkness when he spread his arms across the warm metal of my car, hands pressing against it. His broad chest rose and fell with each deep breath and I couldn’t help but notice that he spent a lot of time in the gym. The muscles in his arms rippled as he continued to keep his arms outstretched on my car. The headlights cast him in a bright glow thanks to the fog around him and I nearly choked on my breath when he made a down motion with his finger. 

Roll down the window. 

I shook my head, fear settling low in my stomach. Why was he out here in the middle of the night? Strolling around on the dark road alone? This was a receipt for disaster if I obliged his request. The smart thing to do would be to drive away from him, leaving him in the dust, so why the fuck was I rolling down the window?

“You almost hit me,” he adjusted the bag on his shoulder. 

My stomach flipped at his deep voice. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t see you.” 

The man didn’t move, only continued to stare into my soul from outside the windshield. 

“Can you please move? I need to keep driving,” I asked after a beat of silence. 

“Where are you headed?” He asked. 

I scoffed. “Why the fuck would I tell you? You could be some serial killer.” 

Even in the dark, I saw the faintest smile pull at his lips. 

“I need a ride,” he shrugged, finally pushing himself away from my car to run a hand through his long hair. 

“Call a taxi,” I said. 

Suddenly, the man began walking around my car, closer to my side and when he reached the open window, I slunk farther down in my seat. I could see him more clearly now; his arms, chest, and neck were all covered in tattoos. Fuck, even his fingers had tattoos as they gripped the door. 

“Why would I do that when I have a perfectly good ride right here?” The man leaned over, his face now inches from mine as he peered into the open window. 

I swallowed thickly when I breathed in his scent; woodsy with a hint of bergamot. 

“You’re insane if you think I’m going to give you a ride anywhere,” I chuckled, mostly to myself. “I don’t even know your name.” 

“Noah.” 

I blinked. “What?” 

The man bent at the knees outside my door so he was at eye level with me. 

“My name is Noah. What’s yours?” He asked with a smile in his eyes. 

“If you think I’m going to tell you my name, you’re fucking insane,” I shook my head.

“You’re not wrong,” Noah licked his lips. “Although, I like to think of myself as more charming than anything.”

My eyes now bulged out of my head. “You’re really not helping your case in getting a ride from me.”

“What if I say please?” He jutted out his bottom lip. 

With his pout and large almond eyes, I felt my heart soften the teeniest of bits. Surely if he was a murderer, he would have killed me already. 

Right?

Capturing my bottom lip between my teeth, I let out a long breath. “Where do you need to go?” 

“Calgary.”

“Canada?!” I screeched. 

“Is that going to be an issue?” Noah wondered, eyes flickering over his shoulder at every unknown sound. 

“Yeah considering we’re in California and Canada isn’t exactly where I was headed,” I informed. 

He raised a brow. “You still never told me where that is exactly.” 

Even though he was a very attractive stranger who didn’t seem to be a serial killer, I still wasn’t going to tell him that I was headed to Wisconsin to meet my brother then both of us would continue the drive to Vermont. Calgary wasn’t exactly on the way. 

“Look, if it’ll help sway you. I’ll pay for gas and food,” Noah’s voice brought me from my thoughts just in time to see him pull out a thick stack of cash from his black sweats. 

If he had this much money, clearly he could find another way to Calgary; something I made known out loud. 

“I could but I run the risk of being recognized. With you, I’d have a front-row seat to your beauty. Better company.” Noah admitted, still kneeling in front of my car door. 

There was an underlying tone in his voice that should have scared me and put me on high alert, however, it was his words that held my attention. 

“My beauty?” I repeated with a slight blush on my cheeks. 

Focus, you idiot! You’re letting this stranger sweet-talk you into giving him a ride into a different country!

“I’m not trying to sweet talk you into giving me a ride, even though I really do need one. I want to make sure you’re comfortable with driving me. I know Canada isn’t exactly close-.” 

“Or anywhere near where I'm going!” I interrupted Noah, voice still high an octave. 

He nodded while holding up the thick stack of cash. “Exactly why I’m offering to pay you. There’s about fifteen hundred here and you can have all of it if you get me to the Canadian border in one piece.” 

My eyes darted from Noah to the money in his hand. It was a very tempting offer only because I was starting over and money was desperately needed. I was already ahead of schedule for meeting Matt, four days we were set to meet and it wouldn’t take that long to drive to Wisconsin. So a detour wouldn’t be the worst thing, especially if the end game was money. 

He could kill you!

“Okay fine,” I gave in with a drop of my shoulders. “Get in.” 

Tapping the hood of my car, Noah rose to his feet and adjusted something in the back of his sweatpants. The only glimpse I got of it was something metal with a blank handle as he ran behind the car, slipping into the front seat. Now his scent engulfed the entire small space along with his long limbs; his legs had no room so Noah adjusted the seat for him to spread them out. He placed the bag in his lap and I tilted my head when I noticed the design on it; a reaper skeleton with a scythe.

It looked eerily familiar but I couldn’t decipher where I’d seen it before. 

My car was still idling in the middle of the road as I ran my palms up and down the steering wheel, unsure what to do next. My heart was pounding so loudly, that I thought Noah could hear it. I couldn’t explain it but having him this close to me affected me in a way that threw all common sense out of the window. 

Fuck, this was such a bad idea. I should be hours away by now, far away from what I left behind. But instead, I’m still in California with a stranger in my car that I just agreed to drive to fucking Canada. 

At least he’s attractive. You can claw at the tattoo on his neck when he’s murdering you. 

I cleared my throat while sitting taller in my seat. “Do you have an address?” 

“Just get me to the border,” Noah answered while tying his long locks into a low bun, showcasing the sharpness of his cheekbones. 

“Oh. Kay,” I muttered while searching up the border for Canada; a twenty-one-hour drive. 

Lovely. 

Finally putting the car in drive, I let it glide along the dark roads with the silent tension debilitating. Every so often, I peered out of the corner of my eye to see that Noah had yet to relax in his seat. He sat straight up while tapping his tattooed fingers against his thighs. It seemed like he was on edge with something and whenever we did pass a car, his eyes watched it with sharpness. 

However, when a cop car sped past with its lights and sirens in the opposite lane, Noah slinked down in his seat, which was odd. The cop drove past so fast, I didn’t have time even to pull over so it wasn't like the officer could even see in my car. Before he could sit up again, another two cop cars sped past even faster than the first one and I nearly missed the way he cursed under his breath because of the music playing on the radio. 

“They must be heading to the prison,” I said, eyes watching the lights disappear in the rearview mirror. 

The state prison was about ten miles back.

Noah didn’t say anything, only shivering while running a hand over his bare arms due to his tank top.

“Are you cold?” I asked. 

“A bit.” 

I adjusted the heat but then nodded to the back seat. “There’s a sweater in the back seat.”

He was quick to reach behind us and grab the sweater, slipping it over his large form. It was Matt’s sweater from one of his favorite movies. 

“Hereditary?” Noah asked while pulling at the sweater. 

I nodded while keeping my eyes on the road. “It’s a movie. Have you seen it?” 

“I haven't had much time for movies this past year,” he answered with a low voice. 

The GPS indicated I needed to take a left turn at the upcoming red light so when I eased to a stop, I glanced over to him. In the low light emanating from the street lights in the car, he looked almost eternal, hiding in the shadows. His hair was still pulled back but the hood was covering his face. The darkness was emanating off of him with such a force that it was practically pulling me in, needing to taste it; melding it with my own. 

“It’s pretty good. A bit of a mind fuck,” I said as the light turned green. 

Noah hummed. “I’ll add it to the list.” 

Silence fell between us again but didn’t last as long as before. Noah turned his body toward me, eyes burning on the side of my face. 

“You’re staring,” I said. 

“I like what I see, can you blame me?” 

The sureness in his voice made my heart flutter and my skin blaze with heat. Instead of saying anything in response, I gripped the steering wheel tighter and adjusted my position in my seat. I’d been driving a total of five hours now which was typically my limit and noticing it was almost two in the morning, I debated on bringing up to Noah if he was fine with stopping at a motel for the night. 

Oh, so now you want to share a room with this guy? What if there was only one bed? 

I shook my head at my inner thoughts. I wouldn’t share a room with him. We’d get our own rooms. 

“You know,” Noah’s deep voice pulled me from my thoughts yet again. “We have another twenty hours. That’s a long time to go without knowing your name.” 

He was leaning his back against the door, arms crossed over his chest. 

I snorted. “Just because you told me yours doesn't mean I’m going to tell you mine.” 

“How am I supposed to thank you once this is all over?” He teased me. 

“By leaving the money in the front seat,” I retorted back. 

Noah clicked his tongue on his teeth and chuckled; the sound making something twitch inside of me. 

“You’ve got some sass, angel. I like it.” 

My eyes snapped to him for the briefest of moments. “Angel?” 

“You won’t tell me your name. I have to call you something,” Noah said as if it wasn’t that big of a deal he gave me a nickname. 

“What if I don’t like it?” I said, still driving. 

He leaned closer towards me and I felt his warm breath fan over my ear, dancing down the side of my exposed neck. 

“Too bad. It stays, angel,” he murmured.

The smile on his face told me he caught on the way my breath caught in my throat and how fast I licked my lips with his proximity.  

When I pulled up to a stop sign, I let the car idle while I turned to face him, nearly choking on my spit when I realized how close we were. His plump lips peeked out from the darkness of his hood and I could faintly see facial hair line his upper lip and pepper his jawline. A few long strands of hair fell onto his face when he tilted his head down at me, those almond eyes searching every inch of my face. 

Kiss him. 

I blinked at the sudden thought, nearly taken aback at how forward it was. I’d never wanted to kiss someone so bad, especially a stranger. But there was something different about Noah although I couldn’t tell quite yet if it was a good or bad thing. 

“Do you have a boyfriend?” 

“Wh-what? Why?” I stuttered, flashes of what happened a few days ago creeping back into my mind. 

A tattooed finger reached up to twirl a strand of my hair around it. 

“I don’t want to kiss someone that’s unavailable,” he said. 

Suddenly a loud horn from behind caused me to jump in my seat, doing what I could to scramble away from Noah in the confined space and start driving again. He continued to wear that smug smile as he leaned back into the leather seat. While I kept my eyes straight ahead on the road, Noah kept his on me, and my heart hadn’t stopped pounding in my chest. 

How could I let this stranger almost kiss me? 

The last thing I needed right now was another relationship, especially because of what happened with my last one. Hadn’t I learned anything from what happened? I was on the run because of what happened. 

Crimson. 

All over the living room spread into the hallway into the bathroom where it splattered over the wall; all where it started.

“What’s on your mind, angel?” 

With a sharp breath, I snapped my eyes over to Noah for a curt moment to see that he let out his long hair from the bun and it fell around his face, still clouding him in mystery. But the darkness seemed to work for him, making those eyes shine brighter as they were filled with mischief. 

“Nothing,” I muttered before paying attention to the road again. 

“It didn’t seem like nothing.  You went somewhere just now,” Noah said. 

I scoffed, gripping the wheel tighter. “I didn’t realize I was easy enough to read.” 

“I’m a very perceptive person. I picked up on some of your cues the second I sat in your car,” he shrugged one shoulder, very nonchalantly. 

“Oh really?” I raised a brow. “Please, do tell.” 

Noah sat quietly for a moment as he studied me one final time and I felt my entire essence flare up the longer he silently stared at me. I shifted in my seat to try and curb the itch that seemed to ache between my legs; our almost kiss replaying in my mind like a loop. His lips were plump and I couldn’t help but wonder what they tasted like. Even in the darkness of my car, I could see the freckles that peppered his nose and the faint scar just underneath his right eye. 

Maybe from a piercing? A fight? 

“When you’re in your head, you do this thing where you bite your lip; the left corner. Like you’re doing right now,” Noah smiled. 

Quickly, I let go of my bottom lip but said nothing as I continued to drive. 

“You also rub your hands on your things,” he continued in my silence. 

“I do not!” I fought but then realized he was right when I noticed my free hand rubbing up and down my thigh. “Congratulations, you can read me like a book. Do you want a fucking medal or something?” 

Noah chuckled low, the noise rumbling in his chest, and stretched an arm behind me to rest against my headrest. My heart stuttered in my chest, offbeat and unbalanced when I felt fingers play with the ends of my hair behind my neck.  

“You’ve got such a sassy tongue, angel. Do I need to keep it busy with something else?” 

My foot nearly slipped off the gas pedal at his question but I did my best to compose myself. 

“You’re not my type,” I responded flatly. 

Liar. 

Noah was exactly my type, down to the long hair and tattoos. 

“See, I think you’re lying to yourself,” Noah said, still running his fingers across the exposed skin of my neck. “If you weren’t even the slightest attracted to me, you wouldn’t have let me get in your car.” 

My voice faltered. “Y-your money. I need it.” 

“Why’s that?” His warm breath fanned over the crook of my neck while his other hand grazed over my thigh. 

I audibly gulped. “None of your business.” 

Now the grip behind my neck tightened and the hand on my thigh brushed dangerously close to my pussy. I could feel his warm touch through the thin material of my sweatpants, igniting a fire within me. 

“Do you want to know what I think you need?” Noah questioned. 

When I didn’t say anything, he took it as a silent cue for him to continue. “I think you could use a good fuck. Something to loosen up this tension. I bet your panties are soaked because of me and I haven’t even done anything to you yet.” 

“They are not!” I seethed through clenched teeth.

Liar. 

“When was the last time someone touched you, angel? Made you scream for them?” Noah wondered. 

“That’s none of your buis-Shit,” I cursed when his finger brushed along my folds, over my leggings. 

“The way you moan makes my cock throb. Fuck, it’s been too long,” he grazed his teeth along the shell of my ear. 

Suddenly, a loud ringing broke through the lust-filled car and shattered whatever fell between Noah and me. I realized though that it wasn’t my phone ringing but his when he pulled away from me to rummage through his bag. 

“Yeah?” He answered curtly. 

I let my pulse rate calm while trying to squeeze away the arousal between my legs. Noah’s touch awoke something in me that I had buried away years ago; the dark side of me. For the last five years, I had to pretend to be perfect in all aspects of my life; looks, personality, and relationships. The perfect trophy wife. 

After years of mental and physical abuse, a few nights ago I finally snapped. He never saw it coming. 

“Eighteen hours,” Noah said into his phone. “I found a ride.” 

I gulped again when I felt his eyes on me. “I find myself asking that question as well.” 

The street lights that glowed along the roads began to fade away the farther we drove away from the city and the amount of stop lights became less and less. We passed the state sign for Nevada a few hours ago and with the GPS taking me through the back roads unseen, we didn’t get to see the city strip of Las Vegas.

How tragic. 

“Reassure Joakim and Nicholas I’ll be there,” Noah sighed while running a hand over his jaw. 

Doing my best to tune out the rest of his phone conversation, I reached for another soda and popped it open to take a long drink from it. My body was practically screaming for rest, even if it was for a few minutes so my eyes could close. Once Noah finished his phone call, he tossed the phone back into his bag before letting out a long sigh and easing into the seat. I didn’t bother asking who he was on the phone with because frankly, I couldn't care less. The sooner I dropped Noah off at the border, the faster I could get back to my own life and figure out my future. I didn’t need to let him crawl completely under my skin because I knew what the ramifications would be if I let that happen. 

A long silence filled the car and after a while, I heard Noah’s soft breathing echoing in the car meaning he had fallen asleep. 

Lucky asshole. 

For the next two hours, I drove with the eerily calm breathing of Noah, every so often peaking over at him. From the second I nearly hit him with my car, he seemed to be on edge and constantly looking over his shoulder with any soft breeze. Now it was like he finally let himself relax because he thought he was safe enough not to be on edge. 

My body jerked awake, the car nearly swerving into the opposite lane and I breathed a breath of relief when I realized we were still the only car on the entire stretch of road. It had been like this for the last few hours and I was beginning to wonder if the apocalypse happened without us knowing and we were the only two survivors.

"You're not falling asleep on me, are you?" 

Noah’s gruff voice made my shoulder go rigid when I realized he woke up and I gripped the steering wheel harder, knuckles going white from my agitation. If he'd known I'd already been driving for three hours before I picked him up, he might have understood why I was so tired. 

"You could drive," I grumbled under my breath. 

He tsked while leaning over in his seat towards me, his long tattooed fingers reaching for my thigh again. I sucked in a breath when I felt the heat radiating off of him engulf me. 

"Or I could sit here and find a way to keep you awake," Noah muttered, leaning into me. 

My heart beat wildly in my chest and I nearly let my eyes flutter shut when his hand reached for the waistband of my leggings. Suddenly, I wasn't tired anymore. Instead, I was very aroused. 

"Do you want that?" He asked, voice gone with lust. 

I swallowed thickly, doing my best so my voice wouldn't come out shaky. I was ready to throw away that final broken piece of me, the one I had to create so I could ultimately be free. Be who I used to be. Some might think I was crazy to allow myself to let this stranger finger me while I drove but I didn’t care. It’d been so long since I had a release that wasn’t brought on by my own hand and I craved it. 

"Please,” I breathed.

Noah’s bright grin shone in the darkness of the car when his hand slipped into my leggings and underwear, finger gliding over my slick folds. His groans sent a shock straight to my pussy. 

"You can lie all you want, angel. But you're fucking soaked for me. A stranger. Someone you picked up on the side of the road a few hours ago," Noah’s teeth grazed over my ear lobe. 

I jerked the wheel, the car swerving yet again, and it made him pull his finger away from my clit to which I whined in protest. 

"Keep your eyes on the road. If you don't crash, I'll let you cum. Deal?" 

When I nodded, he pressed a tender kiss to the crook of my neck before slipping a finger inside of me. "Good girl."

“Fuck,’ I moaned as his thick finger began to pump in and out of me, slowly at first as if he was testing the waters; figuring out what I liked. 

I shifted in the seat, still trying to keep my attention on the road ahead of me. Now that there weren't any street lights, it was a lot harder to see more than a few feet in front of me so I had to turn on my brights. 

“Shit,” I whimpered when Noah’s thumb pressed against my clit. 

“Oh, you like that, angel?” He asked, nipping at my earlobe. 

With his thumb on my clit and finger now working fast inside of me, I was a blubbering mess, words spilling over my tongue. That familiar ache that soon turned to pleasure began building low in my gut and I gripped the steering wheel harder now, doing my best to keep the car straight. 

“You’re swerving,” Noah breathed against the shell of my ear before pressing a kiss there. 

I shivered. “I can’t help it. You’re-.” 

“I’m what?” He teased, now working on leaving a mark on my neck. 

Smug bastard.

“It’s so good,” I moaned while exposing more of my neck to him. 

Now his teeth began nipping at the sensitive skin while his thumb worked fast circles on my clit and I clenched over his finger when he added a second. I felt so full and nearing my climax, the white haze creeping into the edge of my vision. Sheer ecstasy was filling my veins as I began convulsing in my seat, Noah edging me on with vulgar words. 

“Such a whore for my fingers. If you act like this, I can’t imagine how you’d look coming apart on my cock.” 

The noise that erupted from my throat was downright disgusting but it seemed to urge Noah on because now his pace on my clit was messy. 

“Do you want my cock, angel? Have it split you open?” 

He sunk his teeth into the flesh of my throat and I arched off the seat, all while still keeping the car straight. 

“Noah,” I begged. “I’m gonna-.” 

“Fuck, my cock is so hard angel. Be a good girl and cum for me, let me see you fall apart.” 

With an earth-bending scream, I spasmed all over Noah’s fingers as he worked me through my orgasm. He praised his pleasure in my ear and it made me keen with satisfaction. My eyes darkened as I watched him pull out from me and then lick his two fingers eagerly; like a man starved. 

“You taste so good, angel,” he hummed in approval. 

“I think it’s safe to say, I’m wide awake now,” I said while my chest rose and fell with each deep breath as I did my best to come down. 

I drove for less than a mile before Noah shifted in his seat, adjusting his sweats. 

“Pull over,” he ordered with a grunt. 

My eyes snapped over to him. “What?” 

“Pull over,” he repeated, this time more gently than before. 

Doing as he asked, I pulled the car over to the side of the road before putting it in park. I brushed away the stray hairs from my face and then turned towards Noah, who was staring down at his lap; at the wet spot. 

“Oh,” was all I said with red cheeks when I realized what I was looking at. 

Noah chuckled while running his hands over his thighs. “I told you, it’s been a while for me.” 

I glanced in my backseat, although I knew it was futile. The only extra clothes I had were for me, none to fit his tall stature. 

“According to the GPS, there’s a truck stop a few miles ahead, with showers,” I couldn’t help but giggle. 

He ran a hand over his chin to hide his smile. “Hilarious.” 

For the next ten minutes, we drove in silence beside the soft tune of the radio, and I allowed my mind to wander to what happened moments before. My body was still buzzing from the high of my release and I desperately needed to feel like that again. 

Noah’s muttering about his hair made me give him a sideway glance as I took a right turn. “Everything alright?” 

He was staring at his phone with a stone face making it impossible to read him. 

“Fine.” 

His answer was curt and I tried not to let it bother me while pulling into the almost empty parking lot of the truck stop. Besides my car, there were three others and about six large semis parked on the other end of the lot. 

“Did you want anything?” Noah asked while gathering his things and slipping over his hood. 

I raised a brow at how he almost went into hiding but said nothing of it. 

“I’m fine. I’m going to fill up and then use the bathroom. Take your time cleaning up,” I teased before slipping out of the car. 

Noah waved over his shoulder as he made his way inside the shop. 

Almost twenty minutes later, I had filled up the car with gas and gone to the bathroom to freshen up. The cool night air felt great against my skin as I took my time walking back to the car to stretch my legs. I changed into a pair of comfier shorts and an oversized hoodie, wanting to be a bit more comfortable for this next leg of the drive. 

When I reached the car, my feet skidded to a halt seeing Noah sitting against the hood of it, bags full of snacks at his feet. However, my attention was on something else. He was now wearing a pair of black mesh shorts and a shirt with some sort of anime character on it. I expected to see the long locks of his dark hair pulled back or falling over his shoulders. Instead, his hair stopped before it reached his ears. 

He cut his hair. 

I blinked, unable to speak. 

Fuck, he looked so good. 

“You’re staring,” Noah smirked. 

“Uh,” I motioned to his head. “You cut your hair.” 

He fixed the hair across his forehead so it could fall to the side giving himself bangs. 

“Yeah, I was tired of the length. I needed to see the back of my neck again,” he said while rubbing his neck. 

I still haven't moved, standing in the middle of the parking lot, and it wasn’t until Noah picked up the bags full of snacks. 

“I know you said you didn’t want anything but I still got you some snacks.” 

My heart fluttered as a smile pulled at my lips. “You didn’t have to do that. Thank you.” 

“Come on,” he motioned to the passenger seat. “We should get back on the road. 

While he slipped behind the wheel, I hesitantly got into the passenger seat. “You’re driving?” 

He nodded while starting the car, pulling out of the lot once the GPS was loaded. 

“I’m in the driver's seat now,” he winked. “You should get some rest.” 

I wanted to fight it because falling asleep and being vulnerable around Noah still worried me. If he wanted to kill me he would have the second I rolled down my window for him. He could have killed me and stolen my car but he didn’t. 

The thought of sleep, however, sounded heavenly. So with a nod, I grabbed my blanket from the back seat and snuggled deeper into the seat. 

“Try not to crash my car, yeah?” I somewhat joked. 

Noah winked. “No promises, angel.” 

“I’ll be there in time, don’t worry Nicholas.” 

A soft breath fell from my lips as I adjusted my position on the seat and brought the blanket closer to my chin, sleep still having its claws in me. 

“What’s the news saying?” 

It was then I noticed Noah was talking to someone, his hushed conversation being picked up easily in the quiet car. 

“I cut my hair and I’ll cover my tattoos until I’m across the border if I need to.” 

This made my eyes open just a slit, enough to see Noah was on the phone, it clutched tightly to his ear while the other hand gripped the steering wheel. I could tell the car was still moving along the road smoothly and when I glanced at the time remaining on the GPS, I nearly choked on my saliva. 

I’d been asleep for five hours; we had less than eight hours left until we reached Canada. 

“No, she doesn’t. I plan to keep it that way.”

Now my attention was on Noah again as I continued to pretend I was asleep. 

“It’s not like that, Nicholas. She’s getting me to Canada and that’s it. She’ll go wherever she was headed before she picked me up.”

He audibly snorted at whatever this Nicholas said. “No, she has no idea. Prison was hell enough and I barely got out of there alive.”

All the blood drained from my body and I felt every part of me go stiff at hearing his words. 

Prison. 

Noah had been in prison and I picked him up on the side of the road like some kind of idiot. 

Told you he was going to murder you. 

Suddenly, all the pieces began to click into place like a disturbed puzzle. 

Noah standing in the middle of the road with a bag, dressed in almost prison clothes. 

Him randomly deciding to cut his hair.

Sharp eyes watched as each car passed us and nearly hid underneath the seat when the cop cars sped past us. 

Cops trying to find an escaped prisoner. 

“Stop the car,” I demanded while sitting up. 

Noah cursed before hanging up the phone, letting it fall into the cup holder. “How’d you sleep?” 

My eyes sliced into him. “Stop the fucking car, Noah!” 

He didn’t. Instead, he kept driving as if his words meant absolutely nothing. 

I stared at him still with such venom behind my eyes, hatred burning low in my gut. 

“You lied to me,” I seethed. 

“You never asked,” he glanced my way for a quick second before looking back at the road ahead of him. 

It was mid-afternoon now, the sun shining brightly in the car and showcasing all of him. The tattoos on his thick arms bulged as Noah gripped the wheel tighter with one hand while the other rested on his thigh; also covered in tattoos. 

I licked my lips, trying to tell myself not to fall for his looks or remember how he made me crumble with those fingers. 

“Were you released from prison or did you escape?” I asked with crossed arms. 

Even though his lips didn't smile, the way his eyes glinted told me exactly what I needed to know. 

“STOP THE FUCKING CAR!” I bellowed while pulling on the door handle. 

The noise of the locks engaging echoed loudly in the small car. 

My blood ran cold when I realized he wasn't going to let me leave. 

“A-r-re you going to k-kill me?” I asked with such a thick waver to my voice, that the sob was practically crawling its way out of my throat. 

Noah sighed while scratching at his cheek. “If I wanted to kill you, don’t you think I would have by now?” 

I shrugged. “That doesn't mean you won't.” 

“I’m not a killer, angel,” he said with a stern voice. 

“Then stop the fucking car,” my jaw ticked. 

I could see the way he fought with this decision internally until finally, Noah pulled the car over to the side of the road. The route we had been going made it so that not many cars were following us; Noah and I being the only ones out here. 

“Can you let me explain?” He asked while turning his body towards me. 

“Fuck you,” I spat before storming out of the car and leaving the door open. 

The fury blinded me as I began walking on the edge of the road to a destination unknown. Yes, I was leaving my car and belongings behind with him but at that moment, I didn’t give a shit. There was only one thing that mattered. 

Get far away from Noah. 

“Angel!” He called out after me. “Get your ass back here!” 

I tossed him the middle finger over my shoulder, sandals slapping against the gravel. Unfortunately, I hadn’t made it far enough because I heard Noah curse something under his breath before his thunderous footsteps echoed behind me. 

“Put me down!” I screamed when I felt myself being tossed over his shoulder. 

I writhed against his stronghold as he carried me back to the car. From my view, I was upside down in front of his ass, and for a brief moment, I marveled at how perfect it was. 

Focus, idiot!

“I swear to God, Noah. Let me go!” 

When I kneed him in the gut, he let me fall to my ass with a grunt and I scrambled to get away from him again, this time hoping I could reach my car and drive off. However, right before I reached the handle of the driver's side door, Noah wrapped his fingers around my wrist to whirl me into the open door of the back seat. 

“You’re fucking insane!” I screamed while reaching for the door opposite of me, still trying to escape. 

I thought I would feel a sense of fear with him chasing after me and keeping me hostage, instead, I felt an arousal pool between my legs, and my breath hitched when his large frame lay on top of my back, keeping me locked between him and the seat. 

“Stop fucking fighting,” he growled low in my ear. 

“Just kill me,” I shot back with tears brimming in my eyes. “Get this over with.” 

Noah hummed while breathing in my scent. “I already told you, angel. I’m not a killer.” 

My bottom lip trembled. “Then what do you want?” 

“You,” he answered with zero hesitation. 

His large hand snaked up underneath my sweater to scratch at the warm skin of my back and I shivered underneath his electric touch. I should be scared of him yet I yearned to feel him devour me. My soul was vibrating with the need to feel his lips on me, his cock inside of me, and finally let go of that sliver of a person I used to be. Noah wasn’t the only one running from something. Who was I to judge what he’d done to land in prison when I wasn’t any better than him? 

“Then what are you waiting for?” I murmured while looking over my shoulder at him.

With a growl, Noah pulled me up to pull off my sweater and bra, leaving me topless for him. His eyes darkened as he licked his lips at the sight of my perky nipples before pushing me back down on the cool leather seats. He then yanked on the seat belt beside me to wrap it around my wrists, keeping them locked behind my back. Then he did the same thing with the other seat belt with my ankles and once he was satisfied with the tightness of my binds, his face loomed over me again. 

“The second you want out, say mercy.” 

I rapidly nodded. “Please don’t stop. I need this.” 

As I was still glancing over my shoulder, I watched Noah as he pulled out a pocket knife from his shorts and felt my heart stop in my chest when it clicked open, the blade slicing through the material of my shorts and underwear. 

He had the knife this entire time? 

“Such a pretty ass,” Noah mused before laying his palm against it with a strike, followed by another then another. After the six strikes, he soothed the reddened skin with a gentle caress. 

I hissed in my bindings, trying to pull away from him but knew it was pointless. He managed to tie the seatbelts so tight, that there was no way I’d be able to escape. 

Not that I wanted to anyway. 

Noah’s lips kissed down my spine, tongue, and teeth tasting every inch of skin and his name fell off my lips in a hungry whisper. One lone finger gathered up my arousal between my legs which made him hum in delight.

“I’ve barely touched you, angel. You’re already so wet for me,” he licked at his fingers like a kitten lapping up milk. 

“Noah,” I panted, trying my hardest to raise my ass towards him. 

The space in my car was tight due to his tall frame so he currently was half sitting on me, one leg bent at the knee on my right side while his other leg kept him up against the back of the driver's seat. 

“Tell me what you want,” he dragged the flat side of the blade over the swell of my ass, down between my legs, and over my pussy; my slick arousal coating it. 

I gulped, the words now foreign on my lips when the cool metal pressed against my clit. My brain was a jumbled mess as I tried to pick out the correct words I needed to say. 

“Your cock,” the words finally spilled out when the handle of the knife pressed inside my slick folds. 

“Ask nicely,” he demanded while licking up my arousal from the blade, the sharp point cutting his tongue slightly. 

“Please,” I groaned at the sight. 

The noise that rumbled from the back of Noah’s throat made my pussy clench as I watched him quickly strip out of his clothes, his bare form on full display for me. He was covered in tattoos, almost every inch of him and when he leaned over towards the front seat, I sucked in a breath at the large tattoo on his back. 

“Shit,” he grumbled and tossed his bag back onto the seat. 

“What is it?” I wondered. 

He ran a hand over his jaw. “Unless you have a condom hiding somewhere in your car then we need to rethink this.” 

My face fell and I sucked in my bottom lip which caused Noah to tilt his head at me. 

“You’re going back to that place, angel. If you want me to stop, please-.” 

“No!” I said a little too suddenly. “I want this, Noah. Trust me. We don’t need a condom. I’m safe.” 

“Are you on birth control?” His brows furrowed. 

I winced because I didn’t want to get into the procedure I had undergone six years ago; against my free will. So I lied instead. 

“Yeah.”

That was all Noah needed to hear before he spit on the palm of his hand and wrapped it around his thick cock; beads of precum spilling over the head. It was long and red with a blue vein on the underneath of it. 

It was the prettiest cock I’d ever seen. 

Noah adjusted himself behind me the best he could due to the limited space and he raised my hips off the seat with one hand while the other angled the head of his cock at my pussy. I trilled in delight when he filled me, the sudden fullness making my stomach twitch with slight pain. He must have noticed because he stopped moving his hips and placed a tender kiss on my shoulder. 

“Safe word?”

“I’m okay, just give me a minute.” 

I didn’t want to tell him that the last time I had sex it was rough, not in the nice kind of way, so my body was still reacting to it. 

“Okay,” I breathed after a moment. “Don’t hold back, Noah. Please.” 

And he didn’t. 

His hips smacked against my ass so hard, the sound drowned out the mewls of pleasure that spit from my tongue. The head of his cock hit that spot every time he pulled almost all the way out and then slammed back into me. 

“Fuck, angel. I missed this feeling so much. I’m not going to last long with you gripping my cock like this,” Noah’s teeth bit down on the skin between my shoulder blades. 

“Oh God,” I grunted. 

He pulled on the part of the seatbelt that wasn’t tied around my wrists and wrapped it around my neck twice; just tight enough to cut off my oxygen a bit but still able to breathe. 

“There’s no God in this car with us. Just you and me.” 

Noah’s nails dug into the sensitive skin of my hips as he pounded into me with no regard, the squelching of our shared arousals sounding vulgar. Due to the tightness of the belt around my throat, it felt like I was floating higher and higher to my orgasm. The edges of my vision went blurry with the impending doom of unconsciousness. It was there, along with my orgasm, ready to pull me under the waves and never let me up. 

Just as I was about to succumb, the blade cut through the belt around my neck and slightly nicked my skin, blood dripping to the seat below. 

“Shit,” Noah hissed when he realized what he’d done, hips stalling. “Angel, I’m-.” 

“Don’t fucking stop!” I commanded. “I’m so fucking close, Noah.” 

He slipped a hand between my pussy and the seat, fingers strumming against my clit like he was playing the guitar. It was exactly what I needed to finally slip underneath the waves and I screamed out my arousal, it coating his cock. Noah didn’t give me a second to enjoy the after-shocks because he cut the binds at my wrists and ankles and then flipped me over on my back so I could look up at him. With my legs wrapped around his back, he thrust a few more times before spilling himself inside of me with a guttural moan that sent shivers down my spine. 

Noah’s freshly cut hair was a mess across his forehead so I did my best to brush it away from his eyes, the darkness of them drinking in the sight of my wetness on his cock and then snapped up to the blood drying between my breasts. The tip of his tongue darted up to clean the bloody mess he made before kissing his way down my stomach and leaving a soft kiss on my clit. 

“Ah! Shit!” I panted when he began lapping up our shared arousal between my legs, licking me clean. 

I ran my fingers through the softness of his hair, pulling him away from me because the overstimulation was too much to take. 

“Too much,” I sighed. 

Noah slinked his hand behind my neck to jerk my mouth up to his and wrenched my jaw open to spit the blood and cum mixture in my mouth. It was filthy and so fucking wrong. 

I loved every second of it. 

I tasted both of us on his tongue and it made me hum in satisfaction before he let me fall back to the seat with a soft thud. 

“You taste fucking divine, angel,” Noah mused while wiping his lips clean. 

Sighing in content, I let myself lay there for a few extra moments while I watched Noah rest against one of the seats doing his best to calm his breathing. We let the silence encompass us for a long while until I rested my hands on my stomach and looked over at him when his voice broke through the quiet. 

“Are you alright?” 

The features of his face were soft but filled with concern so I quickly nodded, reassuring him I was more than alright. It felt like my body was still floating in ecstasy. 

“You barely cut me, Noah. I’ve had worse,” I said while slowly sitting up. 

He frowned at my words and I realized what I said so I did my best to change the subject. 

“How’d you escape?” I asked while pulling my knees to my chest. 

Noah extended his arm across the back seat and sighed. “Me and another inmate were on the way to be transferred to another prison across the state when the van crashed and I snuck away. According to the papers, prisoner 213123 died in the fire while prisoner 44536 escaped.” 

“Let me guess, you swapped your numbers so it seemed like you died instead of the other guy,” I snorted. 

He merely shrugged with a smirk. “Are you going to turn me in?” 

I pursed my lips already knowing the answer. “Why are you telling me all of this? If you’re on the run, don’t you think you should have come up with a different identity?” 

“I trust you, angel,” he answered, not missing a beat. 

Trust. 

How can this man trust me when I hadn’t spoken an ounce of my own transgressions? 

“You don’t even know me,” my voice was hushed. 

Noah brushed away the hair from my face so he could look directly into my eyes. “I was betrayed by someone I’d known for years. It’s a feeling, telling me to trust you.”

“You said you didn’t kill anyone, right?” I questioned while resting my head against the headrest. 

We both were still naked and the cool air from the vents brought chills to our skin. 

“Bank robbery. My crew and I were set up. I took the fall for all of it. I got twenty years while they went into hiding,” Noah’s fingers brushed along my shoulder. 

“How long did you actually serve?” 

He gave me that infamous smirk, the one I found myself swooning over. “Three years, just enough for my crew to set up shop somewhere else.” 

“Canada?” I teased with a lift of my brow.

“You can come with me, ya know?” Noah suggested while stretching out his long limbs in the backseat. “Get away from whatever you’re running from.”

I suddenly froze in front of him. “What makes you think I’m running from something?” 

He lifted my chin with a tattooed knuckle, his breath fanning over my lips. “The look in your eyes matches my own. And maybe that’s why you haven’t run from me yet.” 

The truth in his words scared the hell out of me, how he could read me so well like a book. 

“We should get back on the road if you want to get to your friends on time,” I said while pulling away from him. 

Without saying another word, I pulled out a pair of sweats and a t-shirt, quickly changing. I hopped over to the front seat and clicked the belt over me while Noah threw his previous clothes on and got out of the car to walk around to the front seat. 

“You fucked up my seat belts,” I grumbled while pulling back onto the main road. 

“Send me the invoice when you get them replaced,” he chuckled. 

Four hours and the glowing moon later, we were closer to Canada than before and Noah had been reading a book while I silently sang along to the words on my playlist. Every so often his hand would graze over to my thigh, squeezing it when he noticed I would start to doze off. 

“I’m fine,” I assured him with a nod when I’d been caught again. 

He placed the book back in his bag before pointing to an upcoming exit sign. “I think I saw some restaurants up ahead. Let’s get something to eat and I’ll take over driving.” 

Bright red and blue lights filled the car and I cursed when I peeked in the rearview mirror seeing a cop attempting to pull me over. Sweat gathered at my palms as I looked over to Noah, wondering what I should do. 

His jaw was clenched tight and I thought he was about to yell at me, blaming my reckless driving for getting pulled over. Instead, he patted my knee and motioned to the car. 

“Pull over. It’s alright, angel. Just act natural and he won't suspect anything.” 

Swallowing thickly, I did my best to remain calm because the thought of acting naturally knowing I had a wanted fugitive in my car not to mention what I was running from made it impossible. 

Once the car was at a stop, I started running my hands up and down my thighs, doing whatever I could to stop my racing heart. 

“Just tell them you were falling asleep so we were planning on switching drivers, okay?” Noah said while placing a hat low over his eyes. 

You’re so fucked! How can you hide someone who escaped from prison? 

Well, according to Noah, people think he died in the crash so maybe the cop won’t even notice him.

Oh really? And what's your excuse? How do you plan to explain all that blood in your apartment and his-?

A firm tapping on my window made me roll it down with an innocent smile as I handed him my license. “I know I was swerving.” 

“Have you had anything to drink?” The officer asked, shining his flashlight in my face after taking a peek at my license.

I squinted my eyes while shaking my head. “No. I’m sober. It’s been a long drive and we were planning on switching at the next exit.” 

This made the officer glance over to Noah, who kept his head down as if he were asleep. 

“Hm. Well, I ran your plates. Do you know Sean Writhe?” 

My soul had been sucked dry, leaving me a bag of skin and bones as I slumped into my seat. 

No. No. No. This cannot be happening. 

“Yes,” I said quietly. 

“He’s the registered owner of the car, is that right?” 

Noah shifted in his seat next to me when I answered. “Yeah.” 

“According to your license, he’s your husband,” the officer said. 

The noise that came from Noah made my stomach drop and I knew that there would be no way I could explain myself to him without him getting upset. 

“Soon to be ex, we’re separated,” I said while rubbing my hands over my thighs. 

The officer raised a dark eyebrow at me, his salt and pepper combed back away from his face. 

“Sean Writhe is dead. Officers back in Los Angeles found his body in your shared apartment.”

I bit the inside of my cheek, trying to keep my snarky remark to myself but ultimately failing. 

“I didn’t think Montana cops were particular about knowing Los Angeles crimes.” 

The officer's eyes sliced into me, one hand on his hip. “We are when we spot a wanted car driving in our parts of town. You’re wanted for questioning in your husband's murder.” 

“Fuck.”

Noah’s curse from next to me caused the officer to shine the light on him again, this time longer than before. I watched in horror as his shoulders went rigid, the realization setting in on who exactly was sitting in my front seat. I wasn’t sure how he recognized Noah with the short hair and hat but it had to be one of his many tattoos that gave him away. 

“Sir,” the officer's voice was shaky as he began reaching for his gun. “Can you step out of the car for me?” 

Shit. Shit. Shit. 

“Angel,” Noah’s voice was a warning when I glanced over to him, my body shaking with fear. 

The softness of his almond eyes underneath his hat eased me a bit but then everything next happened so fast, I couldn’t register it all until it was too late. 

Noah pulled out the gun from his bag and then reached over my seat to pull on the handle, making me fall back and out of view when he aimed the barrel of the gun at the officer; three loud pops reverberated in the confines of my car, along with my screams. I covered my hands too late, seeing the officer's body fall to the ground in a heap of blood. 

Teeth sunk in deep around my heart, dragging it to the depths of hell along with me, and I choked on the air around me. I desperately needed the oxygen to fill my lungs again as I clawed at my throat, still lying down in the driver's seat. 

“Shit,” Noah clambered over his seat towards me, eyes staring down with worry. “Angel, are you alright? Say something.” 

I shook my head, my brain not functioning enough to say anything, so he raised my seat again and cupped my cheeks. 

“I need to know you’re not going to pass out on me, okay? I have to deal with the body before someone drives by and sees it.” 

The body. 

Even with the vice grip surrounding me, I gave a curt nod which was enough for Noah, who slipped out of the car towards the body that lay on the other side of my door. Daring a glance through the open window, the headlights from the officer's car shined bright on his deathly form. Two bullet holes in his chest, one directly in the middle of his forehead. 

“You said you’re not a killer,” I finally found my voice through the haze. 

It was as if everything was slowly coming back to me. The officer pulled us over, finding out that what I had been running from finally caught up to me, and Noah took care of the problem. 

Just like I had done. 

“Circumstances changed, angel,” he grunted while dragging the body towards the back of my car. “Pop the trunk.” 

I blinked rapidly before pressing the button, the trunk springing open. The shift of the added weight made the car buckle before Noah slammed the door shut and then was back in his spot next to me. 

“What are you doing?” I wondered, watching him type something on his phone. 

“We need a new plan,” he said. “There’s a lake three miles ahead, away from prying eyes. I need you to drive your car there, I’ll follow behind in the officer's car where we’ll dump the cars and him.” 

My eyes widened. “Excuse me? We’re doing what now?” 

Noah ran a tired hand over his face with an audible sigh. “We need to get rid of the evidence, angel. Then get far away from here as soon as we can. Soon, others will come looking for him and us.” 

As much as I wanted to scream at him, remind him there was no us, I knew he was right. The faster we deal with the body in the trunk, the faster we can get away from it all. 

“Okay,” I nodded while starting the car. “I’ll follow you.” 

Noah’s grip was tight on my chin as he forced me to look at him, anger filling his eyes. “Once we’re done with this little hiccup, we’re going to talk about what happened with your husband.” 

The venom in the word husband made my skin crawl. 

“Ex,” I spat through gritted teeth. “I was divorcing him.” 

“Right,” Noah clicked his tongue. “Was that before or after you killed him?” 

My silence gave him the answer he needed. I couldn’t judge or grill him about being a killer when I was one. And now, so was Noah. 

“Follow close behind, okay? I don’t need you to lose me. It’s only a three-mile drive,” Noah left me with a tender kiss on my forehead that eased away some of the fear and worry. 

Five minutes later, I stood off to the side holding my arms to my chest as I watched Noah empty all of our belongings from my car and then wipe everything down. 

Washing away the evidence. 

“What’s the point if we’re sinking the car?” I asked. 

The moonlight struck through the clouds, casting Noah in an eternal glow and if it had been any other moment in time, I’d wrap myself around him to taste his lips. But now, the only thing I thought of was the sound his gun made when it killed the officer. 

“Just in case they find the car and pull it out of the river,” Noah said with not an ounce of worry in his voice. 

Must be nice. 

He’d already put cinder blocks in the officer's car, letting it drive off the ledge of the cliff to the waters below with a loud splash. For the next few minutes, we watched as the same thing happened with my car and I held onto the two bags that held my entire life's possessions. 

“How’d you do it?” 

Noah’s question jarred me out of the trance I had found myself in. 

“Uh,” my tongue darted out to wet my lips. “I stabbed him. Except I missed and ended up slicing his arm instead. He chased me through our apartment until I locked myself in the bathroom. He eventually broke down the door but this time I was ready for him and sliced the femoral artery.” 

“Fuck,” he whistled low, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Quick death.” 

“Not quick enough,” I muttered under my breath.

Noah stepped in front of me, blocking the path to my sinking car. He was taller than me by a full foot so I had to tilt my head up towards him. The calloused pads of his fingers grazed over my cheek and I allowed myself to relax with his touch. 

“You made that comment earlier about how you had worse things happen to you than a simple cut of a knife,” he noted.

I nodded. “Sean wanted the perfect trophy wife and when I didn’t deliver, he took it out on me any way he could. Beating me, starving me, or locking me away in our crawl space. Sometimes if he was really pissed at me when I said no to sex, he would-.” 

The words died on my tongue, unable to finish the sentence. But I didn’t need to, Noah understood. He pulled me into his embrace and left a kiss on my hairline as I wrapped my arms around his broad back, resting my cheek against his chest. 

“He deserved death,” Noah grumbled. 

“I gathered the strength to leave him with the help of my brother but Sean was the son of the mayor so when I tried to serve him with divorce papers, they somehow disappeared.” 

His grip on me tightened as I continued. “I was staying with my brother at the time so I met Sean back at his place to try and talk him into getting a divorce. It went sour pretty fast and that’s when it happened.” 

I rested my chin on his sternum now so I could gaze up at him through my lashes. “There’s one more thing you should know.” 

When he nodded, I took a deep breath and spoke. “Before, when you asked me if I was on birth control, I lied.” 

His body went tense in my grasp so I squeezed his hips. “I can’t get pregnant. Sean forced me to have a hysterectomy.” 

“What?!” Noah’s eyes were blazing with hatred. 

“Sean didn’t want kids but also didn’t want to wear a condom. He thought I’d get fat if I went on the pill so he thought the next best thing was to remove my uterus. He had some surgeon friends that did the surgery, no questions asked.” 

“Death was an easy way out for him,” he seethed. 

I let out a deep breath, hoping it would not only calm myself but Noah as well.

“It’s a part of my life I’m trying to leave behind. I have plans to meet my brother in Wisconsin in three days then we’re off to live our lives in Vermont. That’s where I was headed when you found me.” 

“When you almost hit me with your car,” he corrected with a smug smile. 

I playfully smacked his chest before slipping out of his embrace to grab my bags. “Matt, my brother, stayed behind to clean up my mess so the least I can do is keep my promise to him and meet him at our rendezvous point.” 

The corner of Noah’s lips twitched as he wanted to say something but ultimately nodded and tossed his bag over his shoulder. “Well, if you and your brother change your mind. There’s always extra space in our encampment in Calgary.” 

“Encampment?” I questioned, scruffing the heels of my shoes on the gravel. 

We were still standing on the edge of the cliff beyond the trees, far away from the road so no one would see us. 

“My crew bought ten acres of land in the middle of the woods in Calgary. Spent the last three years building homes, making it livable, so when I finally broke out, I’d have somewhere to go,” Noah explained. 

“And you want me to join? Like a cult?” 

He mocked the hurt by holding a hand over his heart. “I would never! It’s not a cult, angel. Just a place for me and my friends all to live within a few miles of each other. Plenty of homes with privacy.” 

My bottom lip caught between my teeth as I weighed his offer. While it sounded very tempting to be able to live within miles of him and see him every day, I made a promise to Matt; one I couldn’t break. 

Clearing my throat, I tossed my hair on top of my head in a messy bun before placing my hands on my hips. 

“Well, now that our ride is at the bottom of the river, how do you expect me to fulfill my end of the deal?” 

Just then, thunderous sounds of motorcycles crept up from behind, spinning around us in quick succession, it made me dizzy to watch. However, Noah had a smirk on his face when the spinning bikes halted their movements. 

“About time you showed up,” he said to one of the men who stepped off his bike. 

When the man took off his helmet, long chocolate waves fell around his face and I sucked in a breath at how gorgeous he was. The light from the street lamp above captured his strong cheekbones and the nose piercing in his nose. 

“Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes,” the man chuckled with an unknown accent. 

Noah and the man hugged. “Nice to see you, Joakim.” 

Joakim ruffled Noah’s hair. “Nice haircut.” 

He smacked his hand away just in time for another man to step up to the group of us, this one shorter than the other but his smile brought immediate comfort. 

“Folio!” Noah gathered the man in a bear hug. “Catch any good fish at Omens?” 

“Every morning!” Folio beamed. 

“Omens?” I quietly asked. 

Noah turned towards me with a smile. “It’s the name of our encampment.” 

“Oh,” I mouthed while adjusting the bag on my back. 

Folio motioned to me with a nod. “This her?” 

“Angel, meet the guys. Folio and Joakim,” Noah introduced while throwing an arm over my shoulder as a way to claim what was his. 

And I didn’t stop him.

I gave a small tentative wave. “Hello.” 

“Sorry you had to deal with this one the last 24 hours,” Joakim said. 

“Oh, he wasn’t that bad,” I linked his hand with mine as it was still resting on my shoulder. 

“You tell her?” Folio asked Noah. 

“Not so much tell but overheard and put the pieces together herself.” 

Joakim chuckled. “Smart cookie. And you still stayed with him?” 

“What can I say?” I glanced up at him. “He’s charming.” 

Our eyes locked and I noticed how pouty and full his lips were. It was then I realized we never kissed. Not even when we fucked in the backseat of my car and I suddenly wanted to change that. 

“We should get going before someone comes looking for the missing officer,” Joakim said. 

Noah nodded before leading me over to one of the bikes the guys rode in on and I practically dug my heels into the ground. 

“There’s no way I’m getting on that,” I shook my head. 

“Angel, it’s our only ride. We’ll get to Canada a lot faster this way,” he explained while placing the helmet on my head, after taking out my hair from the bun. 

“I already told you, Noah. I’m meeting-.” 

“Your brother. I know, I know,” he nodded with a sigh. “I’ll let you take one of my cars. It’ll be waiting for you once we reach the border and you can leave right away.” 

The thought of leaving him made my heart ache but I knew it was something I had to do. 

Before I could ask how all four of us were planning on going back with only two bikes, Joakim pointed a finger at Folio. 

“Watch your hands, fish boy. I’m not Michelle where you can feel up on the back of your bike,” he threatened with a smile. 

Folio waved him off before the two guys climbed onto Joakim's bike and I very carefully climbed on behind Noah. I let my arms hang loosely around his side which made him grab both of my hands, wrapping them around his stomach. 

“You need to hold on tight,” his voice came through the com in the helmet, making it easier to hear him through the sounds of the wind. 

I squealed when the bike jerked with a start, gliding along the darkened roads as the rising sun began to break over the horizon. 

Just as he promised, once we reached the border of Canada, there was a car waiting for me; a shiny black escalade. 

“Wow,” I whistled low while hopping off the bike. “What other secrets are you hiding from me?” 

It was a joke but the look in Noah’s dark eyes made me shudder with the fear of the unknown. 

Joakim and Folio had no issue crossing the border but they still hung back and waited for Noah to cross; in case there were any issues. Noah had explained during the drive that he had changed his name. 

Going into prison, his name was Davis Seb. Now it was Noah Sebastian. His hair was cut shorter and he wore a black turtleneck and jacket to hide all of his tattoos. He reassured me many times that he shouldn’t have an issue getting into Canada. 

“How far of a drive do you have to Wisconsin?” He asked while leaning against his bike, long legs stretched and crossed at the ankles. 

I stood off to the side, close to the SUV, and checked the GPS on my phone with a wince. 

“About twenty hours.” 

Noah hooked a finger through the strap of my backpack and pulled me closer to him, my legs straddling him in a standing position. I ran my fingers through his hair, brushing away the bangs from his face. 

“If you change your mind, both you and Matt will have a place to stay,” he said. 

“You don’t have to do that, Noah. This was only supposed to be a ride, nothing more.” 

He shrugged before nuzzling his face in the crook of my neck. “That was before I got to know you. As much as I don’t want to, I have to let you go.” 

“Maybe just until everything dies down with us, ya know? Once the dust settles,” I suggested with a hopeful smile. 

One Noah immediately returned. “Omens will always have a place for you guys.” 

“How will I know where to find you if I change my mind?” I teased while playing with the buttons of his jacket. 

“There’s a burner phone in your bag; untraceable. It has my number so you can text me when you made it safely to your brother and coordinates to Omens. You don’t need to let me know when you’re coming, just show up, angel.” 

“Okay,” I agreed while biting my lip. 

“You know,” he dragged a finger over my bottom lip, almost ripping it out from my teeth. “We’ve been together for almost thirty hours and I still don’t know your name.” 

Instead of giving it away, I stepped out from his embrace and motioned towards Joakim and Folio, who were growing antsy waiting for him. 

“Your friends are waiting,” I said. 

Nodding, Noah climbed back onto the bike but before he drove off, he glanced over at me and tossed me the keys to the car. 

“Try not to crash my car, yeah?” 

I giggled with a wink. “No promises.” 

He started up the bike, revving to life inside my chest, but before he drove off, Noah tossed me a bag. 

“Before I forget.” 

Peering inside of it with a raised brow, I nearly dropped it to my feet when I saw it was full of money. 

Way more than he originally offered me in the beginning. 

“Noah,” I glanced up to notice that he was waiting in line to cross the border. 

I watched with my heart holding steady in my chest as the person checked his I.D. and then him before letting him go with a nod and I let out the breath I’d been holding. Once I was settled comfortably in the Escalade, I pulled out the burner phone to see there was already a text waiting for me. 

Noah: I hope to see you soon, angel. Drive save. 

With a smile, I texted back. 

Me: Y/N. My name is Y/N. 

Knowing he was driving the bike, he wouldn't have time to respond so I texted Matt from my phone instead. 

Me: Got delayed a bit but back on the road. Everything is fine, I will explain once we meet. I’ve got a new rendezvous point if it works for you.

He replied almost immediately. 

Matt: Where are we headed?

I texted him new coordinates before putting the car in drive, tires squealing against the asphalt as I peeled away from the Canadian border. 

Four Months Later

“Are you sure this is the right place?” Matt asked while peering out of the front windshield from the passenger seat. 

I nodded, driving slowly through the vast forest of trees. “These are the coordinates he sent.”

“Why won’t you text him? Let him know that we’re lost,” he sighed while falling back into his seat. 

“We are not lost!” I defended while easing the Escalade through the thick trees. “It’s ten acres of land, I doubt they would build their houses on the first few.” 

For the last four months, I had kept myself in hiding, starting over with my new life in North Dakota. After leaving Noah, I was quick to change up plans because I didn’t want to be far from him when I was ready to find him again. With the money Noah had given me, I was able to pay for a hotel up front for the last four months so Matt and I could live there, just until recently when my name was cleared in Sean’s murder. Somehow, Matt was able to make his death look like a suicide. Every time I tried to ask him how he simply hushed my question with a swift pat on the head. 

“I’m your older brother. It’s my job to take care of you.” 

I’d also been keeping an eye on the news for Noah’s escape from prison but like he had said, everyone thought he died in the accident. The officer’s death was never brought up, people close to him thought he ran off with some hookers or something. 

With the silence surrounding our transgressions, it was safe to leave hiding and return to each other. I hadn’t spoken to Noah at all the last four months besides telling him I made it safely to my rendezvous to which he responded with two angel wings. I knew we had to keep the communication to a minimum which is why I hadn’t told him I was coming; he was the one that said to just show up. 

Suddenly, past the clearing of the large maple trees turning red and orange due to the cooler autumn weather, houses appeared along with a large group of people huddled around a large bonfire. The sun was setting, casting everything in a purple hue and when I put the car in park, I breathed a little breath of relief when I immediately recognized someone sitting in a lawn chair. 

Joakim, had the biggest smile on his face when he noticed the car with the plates reading OMIIINS

“Come on,” I motioned for Matt to follow as I jumped out of the car, smoothing out the yellow sundress. 

The air had chilled since I left North Dakota twelve hours ago, in the early morning. 

“Hi,” I waved to Joakim. 

“Well, about time you showed up,” he smacked his thighs while rising to his feet. “Let me introduce you guys to everyone.” 

For the next few minutes, while I introduced Matt and me to everyone, Joakim said everyone's names slowly enough so I could remember. 

“Since you’ll be living here, you have to remember,” he winked. 

Folio, who I remembered from that night, and his girlfriend with the short black hair Michelle.

Bryan. 

Nicholas. 

Davis and his girlfriend who had split colored hair, black and orange. Her name was Sarah. 

And lastly, Ash, who smiled at me with a toothy grin. “Noah hasn’t stopped talking about you since he got here four months ago. He’s been working nonstop on making this place home for you and your brother.” 

The fire rose and crackled with earned life when a gruff voice sounded from behind me. 

“Angel.” 

Whipping around on my heels, I came face to face with Noah and nearly stumbled back at his appearance. His muscles were more defined, indicating he had been working out. There was a faint auburn scruff covering his upper lip and chin, not a lot but just enough. He was dressed in a pair of gray sweats and nothing else, the broadness of his chest making the tattoos seem larger than before. But it was his hair that had me nearly falling over myself. 

It was long again, not nearly as long as when I met him that night. Now it stopped just above his shoulders, the familiar brown waves making me smile. 

“You grew your hair out,” I pointed to him. 

He shrugged with a lazy smile. “I got tired of seeing my neck.” 

My lips parted to speak again but his rough hands snaked behind my neck to pull me into him, crashing his mouth on mine. I moaned when the taste of something sweet yet spicy mingled with my tongue and wrapped my arms around his neck, deepening the kiss by molding into him. It was a hungry kiss, full of desire long overdue, and Noah’s teeth scraped along my bottom lip as he pulled away. 

“You came,” he breathed before placing a kiss on the tip of my nose. 

I giggled. “You offered me a place to stay, remember? Aren't you glad you didn’t kill me?” 

There was a wickedness to his smile, one that made my pussy clench. 

“I could have easily murdered you without hesitation,” he reminded me with a wink. 

I stood tall on my feet, arms still wrapped around his neck. “Why didn’t you?” 

“Those angelic eyes made me all dizzy and weak.”

I kissed him again, this time with more passion than before but it didn’t last as long, much to my dismay.

“Now that you’re here, I’m not letting you go, Y/N,” Noah’s hands tightened on my hips. 

I let out a soft moan when hearing my name on his lips. 

“Say it again,” I begged. 

And he did, over and over again as he lifted me from the ground and my legs wrapped around his waist. 

“Nicholas, show her brother to his place. Y/N stays with me,” Noah ordered while running up the stairs of our wooden home, the slamming of the door cutting off my fits of laughter. 

[kaleidohscopic]

IN THE DYING SUMMER SUN — BBH

PAIRING: baekhyun x female reader SUMMARY: a weekend up at the beach house might just be enough to make you crack and come clean about your little (big, fat) crush. alternatively, park chanyeol is possibly the worst wingman ever. GENRE: friends to lovers! au, crush! baekhyun, romance, fluff, a pinch of angst, pining, humour WARNINGS: swearing, alcohol consumption, sexual tension!!, slightly suggestive, reader and baekhyun are both kind of clueless tbh WORD COUNT: 9.4k NOTE: happy birthday baekhyun!! thought it would be fitting to start off this blog with a fic for bbh on his birthday. this was supposed to be a 4-5k piece of fluff but somehow it ended up being double that and a lot more serious than i originally intended (oops?). kinda nervy posting such a long fic for the first time ever so feedback is most certainly welcome and i hope you enjoy!

“You definitely rigged this.”

Chanyeol only rewarded you with a shit-eating grin.

The scrap of paper couldn’t weigh more than a few grams, but in your hands, they felt like the barbell plates at the gym that he could never leave alone. Especially since a certain someone was also holding another scrap of paper with ‘ground floor twin room’ hastily scrawled across it.

You shook your head vehemently, fixing the tall boy with a dagger-like stare that he seemed completely unfazed by. “I demand a redraw.”

“Which is not going to happen,” was his gleeful response. “We all agreed — no take-backs before picking.” The hat that you had all drawn out of, now empty, was tossed on the coffee table as everyone else began to move their bags into their freshly chosen rooms. Somewhere down the hallway, Jongin tripped over the wheels of his suitcase, his pained groan and Kyungsoo’s laughter bouncing against the walls of the AirBnb.

“Besides,” Chanyeol continued, hand coming up to ruffle your hair, “if I had actually rigged it, you should be thanking me. I’d be doing you a favour.” He gestured towards Baekhyun, who was busying himself with packing his hoodie back into his duffle bag, hopefully oblivious to the fact that the two of you were conspiring about him less than three metres away. 

“Yeah, say it any louder, why don’t you. And no, that wasn’t an invitation,” you warned, catching the wicked glint in Chanyeol’s eyes. He opened his mouth, as if to make good on your request and let the whole house know, only to choke back a groan at the elbow you shoved into his side. Behave, said the glare that you shot at him. His replying smile was anything but reassuring, before he picked up his bag and headed upstairs.

That was what you got for getting a little too drunk at Jongdae’s housewarming get-together last month and accidentally slipping up about your big, fat, debilitating crush on Baekhyun after the third glass of pinot noir in one night. If it had been anyone else made aware of your juvenile secret, you would probably be feeling a little less uneasy — but it just had to be the one person who couldn’t keep his mouth shut to save his life. Not to mention Park Chanyeol was a terrible wingman, having heard about the ridiculous escapades he put Jongdae through before he finally cuffed his girlfriend. Lucky for you, you were now getting to experience it first-hand.

“I can ask Jongin to swap, if you really don’t want to room with me,” came a soft voice from your right. Baekhyun regarded you with an expectant, if somewhat hesitant expression. 

“No, it’s okay,” you replied, trying your best to mask the panic that was fighting its way into your voice. It would be just your luck, that he would think your reluctance to share a sleeping space with him was because you didn’t like him enough, and not that you liked him a little too much. The slight furrow in his brow seemed to melt away with your words. “I just wanted the big room with the queen bed, but somehow Chanyeol got it. I seriously think he did something to these,” you said, waving your slip of paper that matched the one he was holding.

Come to think of it, you and Baekhyun had also been the last ones to draw out of the hat, since Chanyeol had insisted on going counter-clockwise around the dining table. How he managed to game the room allocations was beyond you, but you were now almost certain that he did.

“It’s good that he’s by himself though. The snoring would drive anyone mad,” Baekhyun mused, and you had to chuckle in agreement. 

“That time he passed out at my place after Saturday drinks…I genuinely thought I’d end up with a murder charge that night.” you said, chest squeezing at the way his eyes crinkled into crescent moons at your words. You busied yourself with your own bag, hoping he wouldn’t see the dumb smile on your face, and be able to tell how pleased you were to have teased a laugh out of him. Laughter was not something he usually withheld — he gave it freely, if not a little too generously — but it always did a funny thing to your heart when you were the cause of it. 

“Definitely can’t have that. Pretty face like yours would not last a day in jail.” With one hand around his own duffle, he draped the free one around your shoulders, letting the warmth of his arm wrap around you as you headed down the corridor to the room you’d be sharing for the weekend.

Having a crush on Baekhyun was no big deal. Probably even normal, if his college days were anything to go by. But what made it so debilitating was things like this — the little comments he’d throw around that could easily be passed off as just friendly flirting if you were so inclined, though you sometimes let yourself imagine his intentions came more from the flirting than the friendly part. He was a generally touchy person too, never missing a chance to pat Kyungsoo’s ass when the opportunity arose, but sometimes the brush of his fingers against the inside of your wrist felt a little too affectionate for two people united solely through friendship, even if you were the only one who internally crossed that line a while ago. It was things like this that made you question, every once in a while, if your feelings were as one-sided as you believed. Most of the time though, you chalked it up to his disposition, his easy-going magnetism, and concluded that whatever signals you thought he was sending were merely due to your overactive imagination running wild with hopes that he felt the same way.

“Dibs left,” he said, plopping down on the twin bed closer to the window. His arms raised above his head in a long, yawning stretch, revealing a thin strip of skin at the waistband of his jeans. Just the sight of it was enough to control your blood, sending a rush of it to your face, and you internally cursed yourself for being so weak to such a small thing. It was obvious you had been alone for way too long. He was too comfortable to notice the flush on your cheeks, eyes shut and enjoying the tension leaving his body after the long drive up.

You sat yourself down carefully on the remaining bed, noting the gap between the two mattresses. Whether you wanted to push them together or against opposite walls of the room, you couldn’t be sure. It was hard to form coherent thoughts when he turned to you with a boyish playfulness that curled the corner of his mouth upwards.

“You’re not going to sleepwalk your way into my bed, are you?” he asked, chin in his hand, a teasing glint in his eyes. You tried hard to catch yourself from choking on your own saliva.

“I’ve been known to kick in my sleep,” was your reply, voice much more nonchalant than you thought you were capable of, given that he had just planted the seed of the two of you sharing a twin mattress that was definitely not big enough to lie down on without touching in at least three different places. The glint in his eyes faded immediately, giving way to thinly-veiled concern at the threat underlying your words.

“I was kidding,” you clarified when he sat up and started to back away from you. “At least, I haven’t done that for fifteen or so years. But you never know, it might come back again tonight, when you’ve finally fallen asleep, and then BAM! Foot to the face. You better sleep with your eyes open, Byun Baekhyun,” you warned, giggling at the realisation dawning over his face before his pretty features settled into mock annoyance.

“You just think you’re so funny, don’t you?” He was on all fours now, making his way towards you with a wolfish grin. In no time, he had crawled over the gap between your two beds and suddenly his fingers were prodding at your ribs. It was a well-planned tickle attack, and one you had no chance of escaping from, since his legs had caged you in and the rest of him was pinning you down. You were helpless against the ambush of his fingers, succumbing to them with gasping giggles, punctuated by desperate pleas for him to stop. He showed no intention of letting up, fingers digging even deeper into your waist.

If you were going to die like this, you thought, at least you’d be dying while lying under him.

“When you two are done canoodling, we’re going to go set up on the beach,” came a voice from the doorway. Baekhyun’s merciless fingers paused, and the two of you looked back to see Chanyeol’s amused face at the foot of your bed, smirking like he knew some big secret that neither of you were privy to. God, you were seriously regretting that third glass at Jongdae’s new apartment last month.

Baekhyun turned back to you, your noses almost touching, and you could feel the air from his exhales fanning against the skin of your cheek. There was a mole just above the corner of his mouth that you don’t think you had ever noticed before. Warmth from his jean-clad legs radiated into your hips and meandered up and down your spine, and suddenly the late summer air around you was becoming sticky and heavier than usual. 

As if just now noticing the proximity you were in, he slowly untangled himself from your limbs, making sure not to crush you in the process. You sat up, still breathless, having just calmed down enough for full inhales again, but so was he, you noted. Surely tickling wasn’t that exertive of an activity? Or maybe you’d put up a better fight than you had thought.

“Don’t forget your towels,” was the last thing Chanyeol said before he ducked out, yelling at Jongin to grab the beach umbrellas, not the rain ones. There were a few seconds just filled with the sounds of your slowing breathing.

“I’m going to go get changed,” Baekhyun said, turning around to dig through his bag for his swim shorts. You couldn’t see his expression, but you could hear the slight tremble in his voice that indicated he hadn’t quite recovered from whatever was afflicting him. “We’ll probably just be setting up the umbrellas, so no rush, just come down when you’re ready.” As he turned around to head towards the bathroom, he flashed you that familiar smile, the one that always resulted in one of your own to mirror his, and set you at ease again. 

“And make sure you bring your sunscreen,” he added, before disappearing down the hallway. You watched him go, throwing yourself back onto the bed with a frustrated groan once you were sure he was out of earshot. Two whole days and nights in this tiny room, in the languid death of summer, with his body just an arm’s length away from yours — you had no idea how much of this you could stomach and emerge with your sanity intact.

This was shaping up to be the longest weekend ever.

The afternoon sun was unforgiving when you emerged from the house. Though you had thrown on a cover up before leaving, you could feel the heat tingling on the surface of your skin through the thin cotton. From the top of the bushy path leading down to the beach, you could already hear the tell-tale signs of a competition brewing between the boys, even if you couldn’t quite see them yet. A few steps down and you could make out their figures, managing to catch the view of Chanyeol flipping backwards off the jetty before plunging into the water, where the rest of them were bobbing around. Baekhyun’s voice floated above the others the way it always did when he was teasing, liltingly distinguishable, though perhaps that was only because you were now so attuned to it that other voices naturally started to sound more foreign. 

It was hard to pinpoint exactly when he went from Baekhyun, your friend who tended to get a little too rowdy after half a can of beer, to Baekhyun, your friend who made your heart pick up a little faster when you thought of him. One day his hiccuping laugh was teetering on the edge of obnoxiousness, and then all of a sudden it became endearing to hear the raw joy in his voice. If you knew exactly when the switch flipped, maybe you’d be able to retrace your steps and stop yourself from ever setting off down this path to end up where you were now, watching the sunlight glisten against his wet face with an overwhelming affection, wondering what it would be like to be the private audience of his radiant smile everyday.

You set your things down on the sand next to the pile of clothes and towels that were already there, recognising Chanyeol’s hat somewhere in the mix. The beach umbrella that Jongin had set up was already beginning to lurch towards one side, the brim rather close to the ground. Fixing it back in place and digging it into the sand a little deeper, you let out a fond laugh — some things, like the way Jongin used his hands like they weren’t his own, would stand the test of time. 

You had hoped that your friendship with Baekhyun would be one of those things, but the more time you spent casting longing glances his way when he wasn’t looking, the more you weren’t sure if you could ever recover from his rejection if you ever did decide to be honest about your feelings towards him. So you did your best to bury them, content to enjoy his company in the way you were both familiar with, afraid that if they did surface, they’d taint your friendship with something unpleasant and irreversible. If you couldn’t own the sun, at least you could still revel in its warmth.

Satisfied with the position of your towel underneath the shade of the umbrella, you looked back at the water, returning Baekhyun’s sweeping wave with a small one of your own. It was just enough of a distraction for Chanyeol to turn around as well, and Baekhyun seized the opportunity to dunk him, gleefully howling as the taller boy’s head disappeared below the waves. Before Chanyeol could resurface and enact his retaliation, Baekhyun was already making his escape, swimming towards the shore with fearful determination. Chanyeol made to follow, but upon seeing you sitting on the beach with your eyes fixed on Baekhyun’s approaching figure, he thought better of it, turning back around to continue the diving evaluation as Jongin took his turn to leap off the jetty.

With an amused smile, you watched as Baekhyun hurried out of the ocean, wet hair flying in all directions and flicking droplets of seawater across the sand. The water trickled down the planes of his bare torso, and you tried to keep your eyes away from the firmness of his pec, or the flexing movements of his abdominals as he made his way over to you. One thing was for sure — the gym sessions with Chanyeol were paying off. 

When he finally reached you, Baekhyun slumped onto your towel, ignoring your protests for him to stay away, and proceeded to soak you in the remaining water that was still clinging to his body. The skin of his stomach was cool against your calf, and he giggled delightfully at your attempts to push him off to avoid getting more water onto your clothes.

“Stop trying to fight it, you’re going to get wet when you go in anyway,” he said, finally rolling off you.

“I wasn’t planning on going in. I’m scared you’ll try to drown me,” you huffed, lightly flicking some sand onto his shoulder with your toe. He turned back around, chin cradled in his left hand, and flashed you a boyish smile.

“I would never do that,” he said, though the glint in his eyes was anything but convincing. “Besides, what are you going to do at the beach if you’re not getting in the water?”

You picked up the book nestled in between your shoes and waved it at him. “Read, of course.” He regarded the worn paperback with amused disbelief, eyebrows slightly raised. It was only when you flipped the book open to the paperclip you’d been using as a bookmark that he realised you were serious, and let out a scoff that was laced with something akin to fondness.

“You are such a cliche. Pretty girl reading at the beach? Unbelievable, seriously,” he said, before wriggling his head into your stomach, relishing in your shocked squeals as your cover up began to dampen again. His mischief had left a few wet patches on the fabric that were beginning to stick to your body in the uncomfortable fashion of late summer. You reached for the hem, pulling it off not without some struggle, and immediately felt the sun kissing against your bare shoulders. Though you were mostly covered by the shade from the umbrella, the last thing you wanted was a blistering sunburn where the straps of your tote bag usually rested, so you grabbed the sunscreen you had so diligently packed and began applying it on the parts of your skin that were exposed.

Baekhyun had gone uncharacteristically quiet. If you had been paying attention to him instead of so attentively rubbing the cream into the underside of your knee, perhaps you would have noticed the way his eyes lingered on you for a little longer than would have been polite. They followed the path your hands took, from the expanse of skin below your neck, across your stomach, and down the length of your legs.

“Do you want me to do your back?” he blurted, his voice a little more strained than usual. He was wearing an odd expression on his face, something you couldn’t quite place, but it was different from the usual playful one you were most well acquainted with. Nevertheless, you agreed, passing him the tube and turning around so your back was facing him.

His fingers were still cold from the water, and you jumped when they first made contact with your skin. He only laughed, squeezing both hands around your shoulders to hold you still before he got back to work again.

The first graze of his hands across your shoulders was tentative. You could feel the heat of him behind your back, the smell of salt and sun clinging to the air around you. His breaths fanned the skin on the back of your neck, sending goosebumps down your arms and legs despite the thick heat of the afternoon. If he noticed, he didn’t say anything. Slowly, his hands made their way down to your lower back, and it was then that you realised you might be in trouble. His hands pressed against the grooves of your spine, curving ever so slightly around your waist, and if you shivered, he pretended not to feel you tremble in his grasp. 

It was when his fingers slipped underneath the ties of your bikini top that the alarm bells began to go off in your head. His movements were hesitant, fingers stuttering in their dance across your skin before they gingerly pulled the strings aside to spread the sunscreen between the top and bottom halves of your back. It was too much, feeling his warmth, knowing there was only an inch of space between your bare torsos, having his hands on you doing such a thorough job with the task he had assigned to himself. When the tips of his fingers brushed the side of your ribs, just under the edge of the fabric, you couldn’t help the breathy noise that escaped your lips. 

“Actually, I think I left something back at the house,” you said suddenly, words hurriedly running into each other as they tripped over your tongue on the way out of your mouth. Twisting away from his dangerous touch, you bolted to a stand and hoped he’d attribute the pinkness of your cheeks to being outside in the brightness of the afternoon. Your words came out staggered, the slight tremble in your voice betraying the composure you were fighting so hard to maintain. 

Baekhyun’s gaze was careful, if not a little confused. The more his eyes ran over you, the more you were sure that the depth of your feelings towards him were beginning to surface on your face. Another second and he’d be able to tell, he’d figure out the little secret you’d been trying to conceal for the last couple of months. And then you wouldn’t be able to deny its existence anymore. 

So you fled, tossing a rushed promise to be right back over your shoulder before scurrying up the bushy path again. Away from the scrutiny of his eyes, away from the truth you did not want revealed to the world. The ghost of his touch lingered between your shoulder blades and along the ridges of your spine, your body already committing to memory the caress of his skin against yours. You realised then, that it would not be possible to continue living on as usual, now that you knew the taste of his closeness, as fleeting as it may have been.

“I think you should just go for it.”

Your fingers tightened around the glass at his words. Chanyeol’s tone was light and pragmatic, speaking as if the act of unfurling your heart were nothing more than a decision about whether to have steak or pork belly for dinner. 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you scoffed, bringing the bottle to your lips.

“I’m serious though,” he continued, nudging your arm with the lip of his own beer. “I think you should just tell him, and see what he says. And stop expecting the worst. You’ll never know how things could turn out if you never do anything.”

You let your head fall back to lean on the doorframe you were both standing against, gazing out at the patio that had begun to darken following the sunset. Baekhyun and Jongin were placed at opposite ends of the ping pong table that had been wheeled out of the living room after dinner, neither seeming to mind the soft prick of grass at the underside of their bare feet. Whether the game was proceeding well was difficult to deduce, since both were sporting wide grins and rosy cheeks, courtesy of the glasses in their hands — but judging by the cluster of orange balls around Baekhyun’s feet, you had an inkling that victory would not be his. He didn’t seem to mind yet, laughing gleefully as Jongin swung his racquet too hard and launched a ball over the fence. 

“Not everyone is as good as you when it comes to talking about their feelings, you know,” you said, fixing Chanyeol with a knowing look that was halfway between admiration and resentment. If you only had his courage of expression, perhaps you would’ve put an end to your suffering a while ago. Ripped the band-aid off cleanly instead of peeling away at it, day by day, bit by bit, until it was hanging on by the last of its adhesive. You weren’t sure how much longer your resolve could last, if it would even survive this weekend without snapping under the force of your attraction.

He only shrugged. “You can’t get good without actually doing it.” You pondered his words in the short silence that settled while you both took another sip. He was right, of course, you knew that, but it didn’t make hearing it any easier.

“I think… I’m just scared,” you began slowly. Realising you were about to put his advice into action, Chanyeol turned to you with reassuring and patient eyes, waiting. You took a deep breath, swinging the contents of your bottle back and forth, and continued, “I’m scared that if I do tell him, it’s going to change our relationship and then I’ll lose him completely. At least if I don’t say anything, he’s still my friend, and I get to keep being in his life.”

He regarded you for a moment, brows furrowed thoughtfully, as he decided on his next words. It was no easy feat to try on honesty the way you just did, having so carefully avoided it for your entire life, and he was well aware of it. The slight tremble in your hands was a dead giveaway.

“And I think that’s completely understandable,” he finally said. “There’s always going to be a trade-off, no matter what you choose to do. But I guess you have to weigh up which one means more to you, and if you’re willing to take that risk on the chance that it does work out between you two. I’m only telling you what I think you should do. You’re the one who knows your own feelings the best.”

Another silence fell over the two of you again. Your bottle was nearly empty now, the beer inside already lukewarm from being out of the cooler for too long. Jongin let out a cheer as the ball sailed over his head, landing far behind him on the grass and ignoring Baekhyun’s flagrant attempts at contesting the point. Even under the patio lights, he was still so pretty, cheeks pink and glowy, the shape of his mouth so endearing as it settled into a pout. By now, you were used to the longing, and paid it no mind as it filled your chest with a bittersweet warmth.

“Aren’t you two best friends though?” you asked, the thought suddenly occurring to you. “You’re telling me you don’t know anything about how he feels about… whatever is going on?” The look you gave Chanyeol was suspicious, but he stood strong, resisting your prying eyes.

“I wouldn’t be much of a best friend if I went around blabbing to you about his feelings, would I?” was his response, accompanied by an elusive smile. There was something in his words that lingered in your mind, some important detail you felt as if you had overlooked, but his amused expression gave you nothing to hold onto. “You’re both so clueless,” he chuckled after a beat of your thoughtful silence, downing the rest of his drink.

Baekhyun was skipping over now, having officially lost 18-21 to Jongin, who was heartily celebrating his victory with a series of hoots and giggles. He headed straight for you, hair all messed up from running his hands through it during the game, and a rosy flush to his face, though you weren’t sure if that was from the game or the glass that he had left at the ping pong table. When he wrapped his arms around you and buried his head in your shoulder, you knew that it was probably the latter.

“I lost the game,” he whined, petulant and firm against you. His hair tickled your chin, and you could smell the faint scent of his shampoo from his shower after the beach.

“Are you drunk already?” you asked, trying to mask your breathlessness at his proximity with a few giggles. Baekhyun’s affinity for physical contact was the worst — or best, depending on how you looked at it — when he had alcohol in his system, and it didn’t take much to push him past the borders of sobriety. His ache for touch and affection was most often relieved on you, and you always obliged, gladly and readily letting him take whatever it was he wanted.

The tip of his nose brushed back and forth against your skin as he shook his head. “Just a little, tiny bit,” he said, voice muffled, and you felt the warmth of his breath through your t-shirt.

“Where’s the love for your best friend?” Chanyeol teased, the only one amused at the way Baekhyun had dived straight into your arms without even sparing him a glance. 

The boy in your arms didn’t even falter, only snuggling further into you. “You know it’s because she’s my favourite,” he murmured, lips skimming your collarbone ever so softly as he spoke. The panic onset was instantaneous, and you prayed he was too drunk to pick up on the sudden rapid thundering of your heartbeat inside your chest. You tried to look at Chanyeol for help, but he was setting off across the patio, taking up Jongin on his invitation for a match with the promise that he would wipe the floor with the younger boy.

Baekhyun only hummed contentedly, oblivious to the havoc he was wreaking inside you, tightening his hold around you when you made a half-hearted attempt to wriggle out of his arms. His pink lips set into another rounded pout, brows slightly creased as he pulled back to look at you.

“You know you’re my favourite, right?” he asked, trying to be convincing despite the slight slur to his words. You could only nod, letting a small smile twist the corners of your mouth upwards. Whether he realised or meant what he was saying, you weren’t all that concerned, simply happy to bask in the warmth of his full attention knowing it was probably just nonsensical babble brought on by the drink in his belly. It was so much easier to be close to him when he was like this, hazier, and sure to forget most of what he had said the morning afterwards. It didn’t hurt that you were also starting to feel a little blurrier around the edges, the beer from earlier making its way through your system and leaving behind a pleasant fuzziness that made it all the more tempting to come clean about your feelings. But you weren’t quite there yet, and you had no plans to get to that point tonight.

Seemingly satisfied with your answer, he curled back up into you. With your hands around his back, you could feel the steady rhythm of his heart, the comfortingly even beat of it through his rib cage. It was so easy to imagine this was the way it had always been, and would always be, so easy to slip into the fairytale you often found yourself fabricating when your one-sided longing became too much to contain. It would be so nice if you could live in this moment forever, you thought. But was this small pocket of peace worth risking your entire friendship?

“I wish you’d stop running away from me,” he murmured, or at least that’s what you thought he said. It was a little difficult to concentrate when his lips were grazing your skin again, lightly feathering across your neck as the words shaped his mouth on their way out of it. 

And then you felt it, the unmistakable and deliberate press of his lips against your collarbone, the gentle pressure and the slight moisture on your skin from it searing through you like a lit trail of gasoline. This time, he had to have heard the stilted gasp that escaped your mouth.

He lifted his head slowly to look at you again, searching your face with glassy eyes — for what, you weren’t quite sure. The only things you were sure of right now were the fiery burn in your cheeks, and the deafening pounding of your heart that echoed between your ears. 

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have done that,” he said, though his expression was nowhere near as apologetic as his words would have you believe. If anything, his gaze on you was almost daring, waiting to see how you’d respond, if you’d shrink back into yourself like you always did when he got too close and crossed that invisible boundary you only danced around. If you’d run away from him the way he had just said he wished you wouldn’t. Or if you’d let him push you over too, just this once.

Seeing the hesitation in your face, he slowly extricated from you, retracting his limbs and warmth until they hung limply by his sides again. Scratched the back of his head. Let his eyes wander around the patio and settle on anything except for you. 

“I’m going to see if Kyungsoo needs any help with cleaning up,” he said quietly, not waiting for your response as he headed back into the house. The drink had made his gait unsteady, and you felt him sway against the doorframe as he brushed past you. A chilling unease began to settle in the pit of your stomach as you watched him go, the shape of his back getting smaller and smaller as he was swallowed by the light of the living room. 

Try as you might, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted, and that there was a possibility it had not been in the direction you had hoped for.

Perhaps the second glass of wine had been a little overambitious, you realised, staring up at the ceiling of your shared bedroom. Kyungsoo had been so excited about the 2012 Shiraz he had brought from home, pouring you a full glass with an enthusiasm he didn’t often display. You couldn’t say no, and you didn’t protest when he refilled it a short while later. If he noticed the faster-than-usual speed with which you drained its contents, he did not show it. Whilst alcohol tended to put people to sleep, it had the opposite effect on you, dangling sleep in front of you like a carrot you could never get a hold of easily, or for long. That second glass of wine was the reason you were lying in bed, not soundly asleep like you wished, but keenly aware of every breath and every movement from the other occupant of the room, only an arm’s length away from you.

Baekhyun had spent most of the night with Chanyeol out on the patio, drinking and laughing under the generous light of the moon. Even if he wasn’t purposely avoiding you, you felt his absence from your side sorely. He didn’t say much during the wind down for bed either, only asking if you wanted the curtains fully shut, to which you gave an affirmative. Still, a sliver of moonlight speared through the gap between them, illuminating the room just enough that if you turned your head to the side, you could make out the outline of his body beneath the covers and acquaint yourself with the familiar curve of his nose.

It was only fair that the wine, having taken your sleep, offered something in return to mark an honourable trade. That something manifested itself in the restlessness of your mouth, which battled against the remaining rationality of your mind. Loose-lipped and anxious, you dug your nails into the palm of your hand, willing the war inside your head to approach a ceasefire. You did not want to make a fool of yourself in the intimacy of this small room. 

However, your resolve could not last for long, corroded by the hours spent without his presence, without the familiar warmth of his touch, without his little comments meant only for you as he pointed out something silly or poked fun at Jongin’s whining. Barely above a whisper, you called out his name, letting your voice permeate the darkness. It was loud enough that he’d hear it above the silence, but soft enough that he could ignore it if he so wished, and you’d attribute his ignorance to the deepness of sleep.

There was a second of silence, which he followed with an answering hum and a shuffle of his legs on the mattress. He was awake, and he was waiting for you to speak.

“Are you mad at me?” you asked the ceiling. 

“No, I’m not mad at you,” was his reply, accompanied by a quiet sigh. He was conversing with the ceiling too, just as reluctant to face you.

Your hands twisted the sheets in dissatisfaction. The even tone of his voice indicated truth, but his answer didn’t explain why he had spent the whole night outside without calling for you even once, when he usually couldn’t last half an hour without pressing into your side and tickling your shoulder to grab your attention. 

“Then what?” you probed, cringing at the whiny edge to your voice. 

He was quiet for a while, letting your words hang in the air, that for a moment you thought he wouldn’t speak, that your brief conversation had already come to an end, and you’d be left with unanswered questions as bedside companions for the night. There was another rustling from his side of the room as he settled himself under the covers.

“Sometimes, I think I want too much from you,” he finally said. He was quiet, but you heard every word with the clarity as if they had been projected through a stereo system. “And you can’t give me everything I want, but that’s not your fault. It’s an indication of my own greed and selfishness more than anything else.”

You kicked around at your sheets to signal your unrest at his words. “I don’t think you are greedy or selfish. At all. At least not with me.” If anything, you were the selfish one, wanting all his smiles and touches for yourself, wanting the entire spectrum of his existence to only ever be shown to you. Your generosity only ever came to light when it was in service of him, gladly letting him take your attention, your time, allocating space in your mind for him and him only. 

Baekhyun only laughed a soft and short laugh at your reply, the sound so different from the usual one filled with boisterous joy that you had grown the most used to. You heard him turn over in his bed to face you. In the quiet darkness of the room, the focus of his gaze flooded over you, and the intensity of it was so blinding you didn’t dare to look away from the smoothness of the ceiling, fearing you’d smoulder into ash the moment you locked eyes with him.

“You know that you are a really important person to me. You know that, right?” he asked, eyes searing into you with the force of a thousand suns. “I mean, everyone else is also important because they’re my friends, but you’re different — you are a special person to me. I don’t see you the way I see Chanyeol, or Jongin, or anyone else.” 

His words were still tinged with the slight slur of the beer from out on the patio, but you could feel the delicate care with which they were chosen and spoken. Something was different about tonight. You could taste it in the thick air between the two of you, feel it in the wire-taut tension stretching across the gap between your two twin beds. Your fingers dug into the comforter, willing the turbulence in your chest to subside.

He paused and took a deep breath, as if bracing himself against something devastating. “I don’t want the same things with them as I do with you.”

You held your breath until you felt the pain of deprivation in your chest.

“But I’ve made peace with the fact that what I want from you, and the way I feel about you, are things I’ll have to carry with me. They’re things I have to bear the weight of alone. I don’t — I would never want you to be uncomfortable, or see me differently.” There was a slight catch in his voice at the end.

You didn’t even know if your lungs were still working while you listened to him speak. There was a surrealness to the night, as if everything had been covered in a blanket of haze and everything that was transpiring was the product of a fever-induced dream, existing on an alternate timeline.

Baekhyun… it didn’t even feel right thinking it.

Baekhyun had feelings for you? And he had convinced himself it was one-sided?

“It’s pretty selfish, isn’t it? Asking you to act like things between us won’t change after everything I just said,” he laughed, but there was little humour in the sound. You finally turned your head to look at him, the wry curve of his mouth catching the moonlight as he gazed at you. He was smiling, the shape of it meant to comfort you, but he could not hide the sadness weaved into the downturn of his eyes. He had always been braver than you, perhaps not in the aspect of riding roller-coasters, but certainly in his ability to be honest and open about his emotions, regardless of whether they were good or bad. 

It was your turn to be brave now, and shed your own fear to meet him where he stood.

“I’ve been seeing you differently for a while now,” you admitted, turning under the sheets to fully face him. You were grateful for the darkness, hoping that it would conceal the heat creeping up your neck and face, painting your cheeks with a hot blush that accompanied the start of your confession. His brows furrowed slightly as he tried to process your words, confusion settling in the crease between them. You held yourself back from reaching out to smooth them over.

“What do you mean?”

“What makes you think you’re the only one who feels this way?” you asked instead, leaving his question unanswered. There was a tremble in your voice as you spoke, and you were sure he heard it above the quiet of your bedroom. It was the closest you could get to telling him without actually telling him about the silent battle that had been raging in your head for the last few months. 

This was it, you thought. He had to know now.

“Am I not?”

The weight of his stare pressed against you, drawing you to him with the tangible pull of gravity. The eyes that roamed your face had replaced their previous confusion with questioning, and a glimmer of something akin to hope. He had never looked more beautiful and devastating than he did right now. You felt the light of dawn breaking over your skin, a promise of something new and good sure to follow. Its warmth simmered within you, staving off the chill of the late summer night with a heat that had you pushing off your covers in a hurried frenzy and rising to sit on the edge of your bed, toes just grazing the floorboards beneath you. Would you still have had the same nerve to face him in the daylight, rough and exposed without the lulling comfort of darkness? Would he still look at you, unpolished and flawed in the clarity of the sun, the same way, with the reverence of man at the sight of an angel? 

Baekhyun mirrored you and sat up on his own bed, slowly, as if not wanting to spook you, fearing you’d run off and retreat back into the confined familiarity of your own head. His knees knocked against yours in the small space between your two mattresses. You jolted at the feeling of his skin on yours, having gone without it for so long that the mere touch was like the first drop of water after emerging from the desert. He made to move away, trying to shuffle across the length of the bed, but stilled at the hand you placed just over his knee, willing him to stay put. Surely, he could feel the beat of your heart thrumming through your fingertips.

It was your turn to be brave now.

Fueled by the second glass of Shiraz and the muted encouragement of darkness, before you could second guess yourself and overthink every possible negative outcome of what you were about to do, you closed your eyes and leant towards him. Slowly, inch by inch, until your journey ended with the soft, tentative press of your lips against his. It was short and chaste, nothing more than a gentle pressure, and you pulled back when you felt his lips part in surprise.

“Does that answer your question?” you whispered, heart in your throat. 

There it was. You had gone and done it. 

His eyes were closed, and in the dim moonlight peeking through the curtain, you could almost make out each of his eyelashes, fluttering dark and soft against the smooth skin of his cheek. For a few seconds, the room was filled only with the sounds of your breathing as you waited for his reaction, for the consequences of your actions and what that meant for your friendship with him. 

Then you heard it — his soft laugh, coloured with appreciative disbelief, and felt the air of it caress your face. The corners of his mouth curved upwards into a small, pleased smile. His eyes blinked open slowly, taking you in with a hunger that had desire curling in the pit of your stomach.

“You are just so…” he began, but you never found out just exactly what you were. He was already pulling you back into him, slotting his mouth against yours like they were always made to fit perfectly together. This time, the kiss was anything but chaste, the sheer force of it enough to scorch your insides down to your bones. His arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush towards him, and your knees parted around his thighs to adjust to the new position. Your own hands found purchase in the softness of the hair at the nape of his neck, desperate for something to anchor yourself to, in fear that the realisation of this moment would somehow make it slip away.

This was what it felt like to stand unafraid and bare in the light of unbridled wanting, to consume and be consumed by a ravenous appetite with no propensity for satiety. When his hands slipped past the hem of your sleep tank, fingertips grazing across the skin of your lower back, you were sure you could erupt into flames. He swallowed the breathy noise that escaped your lips, tongue brushing against yours as he claimed your mouth with his own. 

This was what it felt like to hold the sun in the palm of your hand.

When you broke apart to catch your breaths, his eyes were bright, lips plump and swollen, chest heaving beneath your hands. Somehow, you had ended up back on his bed, his head against the pillows, hands under your shirt and keeping you close to him with an unforgiving hold. He was gazing up at you with a devotion that made your heart swell even more than it did pulling oxygen back into your lungs.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a really long time,” he admitted, hiding his head into the crook of your shoulder. You felt his abashed smile against your skin and wondered how it could be possible that you had contained all of this, the longing, the yearning, inside you for so long.

“How long?” you asked, hearing the smile in your own voice.

“Since Chanyeol’s birthday, when you wore that brown sweater with the little bow on the back.”

Last year, Chanyeol had gotten everyone together at his place for a nice dinner and wine followed by a binge watch of all the Iron Man movies in one sitting. It was all going according to plan until a quarter of the way into the third one, when he began snoring at his own birthday gathering. The bowl of popcorn was sliding out of his hands and sure to make a buttery mess all over the rug, and that’s when the rest of you decided to turn the television off and call it a night. Sehun and Jongin tasked themselves with getting the birthday boy into bed, and likely collapsed onto it with him immediately after, while Baekhyun had offered you the couch, assuring you he’d be fine with the blankets on the floor. At the time, you hadn’t thought much of it. As chaotic as he could be, Baekhyun was nothing if not kind, and you had been grateful that his kindness had always extended to you over the three years you had known each other.

“But that was more than half a year ago. Why didn’t you say something sooner?” 

His fingers prodded into your sides, eliciting a few choked giggles from you. “I didn’t know how you’d react. You know you’re not the most expressive person on the planet,” he said dryly. “Or the most observant. I literally frenched your collarbone and you’re telling me you didn’t realise I liked you more than as a friend?”

“Okay, well when you put it like that,” you huffed, feeling the vibrations of his laugh through his chest. “But you really didn’t know I had feelings for you? Chanyeol never said anything?”

His movements stilled, leaning back into the pillows so he could lock eyes with you again. “You talk to Chanyeol about me?” he asked, to which you nodded sheepishly. “Since when?”

“Last month, Jongdae’s housewarming. He fished it out of me after dinner,” you sighed, picturing his smug grin under the lights of Jongdae’s fancy new kitchen when you realised that you had slipped up and let him in on your little secret. 

“But I talk to him about you.”

You looked at each other for another beat, realisation breaking over the both of you, before dissolving into another fit of disbelieving giggles. Maybe Park Chanyeol did know how to keep his mouth shut after all.

“So he’s a terrible wingman, is what I’m getting out of this whole thing,” Baekhyun chuckled, rolling you over so you were now lying on your side, face to face with him. He planted a slow, sweet kiss on your lips, taking his time to acquaint himself with the shape and taste of your mouth, and you felt the contentment of his smile against you. “I can’t believe we could have gotten together a month ago. Some best friend he is.”

“Gotten together?” you echoed, one eyebrow raised in feigned dispute, delighting in the way his sweet mouth settled into the pout that you adored.

“You mean to tell me that you don’t want to be with me after your tongue was all up in my mouth?”

You pushed his face away, groaning, “Gross, don’t say it like that.” He, however, had different plans, hooking a calf behind your knees and tugging you back into him, before weaving the other leg in between your own.

“You know you like it,” he murmured into your neck, squeezing his arms around you just in case you’d disappear if he didn’t hold on tight enough. One hand traced absent-minded circles over the grooves of your spine as he breathed you in, warm and familiar against your chest. 

Yes, you thought, you’d risk any and everything for this exact moment. It was worth all the doubt and heartache, all the time spent replaying those moments in your head, unsure of the meaning behind his actions. You could be sure of it now.

“I do,” you agreed, threading your fingers through the softness of his hair. “I probably more than like you,” you added, tilting his face upwards to steal another kiss, giddy and chest swelling with affection. Perhaps you weren’t quite yet ready for that other four letter word, but you had no doubt you would be one day, and soon. He was all too willing to comply, letting his mouth mould against yours with the poise and patience of a saint. 

“I probably more than like you too,” he replied, punctuating his confession with one final kiss to the tip of your nose. It was enough for the serene smile on your face to persist, even past the arrival of sleep.

“I knew it.”

You cracked one eye open, trying to adjust to the light flooding in through the open door to your room. Chanyeol stood at the foot of your bed, grinning from ear to ear with what could only be described as a look of triumph as he took in the scene before him. The boy next to you stirred lightly, digging his face deeper into the pillow, reluctant to leave the realm of the sleeping. Chanyeol was not in the least sympathetic to his friend’s struggles, striding over to the window and pulling back the curtains with a clang. You winced as the full force of the morning sun barged in, and Baekhyun let out a soft noise of displeasure at the intrusion.

“I fucking knew it,” Chanyeol said again, quickly bringing you to your senses as you registered the weight of another body on top of your own. You made to remove yourself from him, fighting the flush creeping up your neck and face, but it was an effort which proved futile as he only tightened the arm around your waist, loath to let you go. 

“Can you be quiet? You’re going to wake the whole house,” you hushed, finally succeeding in untangling your legs from Baekhyun’s, feeling the loss of his warmth immediately.

“They’re already up. I came to call you for breakfast,” Chanyeol replied, the grin seemingly stuck to his face. “Which actually reminds me,” he began, before sticking his head out of the doorway to holler, “You better pay up, Jongin. And you too, Kyungsoo!”

“You bet on us?” came the groggy voice from the pillows behind you.

“What the hell, Chanyeol? I thought you said you didn’t go around blabbing about his feelings!” you exclaimed, indignant.

“To you. I never said anything about telling anyone else,” was his reply, smug and victorious at having outsmarted you.

Kyungsoo appeared in the doorway, donning a flour-covered apron, as if to confirm for himself that he was in fact a debtor to the taller boy. “Even if he didn’t say anything, it wasn’t all that hard to figure out,” he said lightly, surveying the room with curiosity and paying no mind to the shock painted on your face. How had everybody known about your now not-so-secret crush on Baekhyun except for the man himself? “Anyways, I only said that it would be unlikely to happen over this weekend, not that it was impossible. So Jongin is the only loser. Now come for pancakes.” And with that, he headed back towards his bowl of batter on the kitchen counter, chuckling at the sound of Jongin’s complaints against fulfilling his end of the wager.

Baekhyun, having somewhat freed himself from the clutches of sleep, rose to a sitting position and shot a drowsy scowl at his friend. “You’re kind of an asshole, you know that right?”

But even the expletive could not put a damper on Chanyeol’s mood, his smile never slipping. “You two should honestly be thanking me,” he said, to which you also shot him a glare. “Also, I’m happy for you and everything, but can you please keep the PDA to a minimum in front of the rest of us? I will lock you out of the house if you don’t.”

Baekhyun turned to you, the creases of the frown on his face slowly but surely smoothing out as he took you in, cheeks puffy and hair a mess from having just woken up. He had seen you in worse states, and definitely in better states, but none of that seemed to matter as he regarded you with nothing but fondness in his eyes. You were sure that your expression mirrored his, affection spreading throughout your entire body, reaching even the tips of your fingers and toes, at the sight of his tousled bed head, the sleepy droop of his eyes, the sweet pinkness of his lips. 

The sun was yours. There was no feasible way to stop the smile from blooming across your entire face.

“No promises.”

[delopsia]

nosedive | rhett abbott x reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her brow furrows. Confused.

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

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

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

Speak of the devil.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Talk about a personal vendetta.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A puff of air breaks past your lips. 

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

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

...maybe he has a point. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bang.

The truck jumps. 

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

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

You should have known that was coming. 

Why didn't you know that was coming?

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

The truck flipped. How did the truck flip? 

Fuck.

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

Did you not learn from the last time? 

This was entirely avoidable.

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

"We're okay."

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

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

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

Your head goes dark. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

...huh. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rhett's eyes dart away. 

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

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

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

Padlock. Shit, where did you last see that?

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

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

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

There it is.

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

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

Something moves in the window. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah." Nodding. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rhett's quiet again, his brows knitting together. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you're...warm. 

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

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

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

"Tyler!" Kate yelps.

"Kate!" Tyler. Ever so mocking.

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

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

Here we go again. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You can't stop him. 

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

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

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

"Where's Rhett?" 

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

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

"Rhett?" Calling out. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He stiffens. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And how it will stay if you can help it. 

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

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

Sparks scatter. A shock bolts through your fingers.

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

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

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

Something always has to go wrong. 

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

"Am I interruptin' anything?" 

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

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

...huh. 

Can't say you were expecting that. 

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

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

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

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

...

Son of a bitch.

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

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

He's fucking with you.

He's got to be fucking with you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What, two—"

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

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

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

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

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

"Fix what?" You're lost.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To be fair, that's exactly what happens. 

For a day. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I could help."

"Yeah?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They'll get over it.

...once hell freezes over.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It's affectin' mine!" 

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

And he...doesn't really let go. 

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

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

Oh, what the hell, why do you care? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You're starting to love that about him. 

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

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

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

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

He hums. "I know."

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, what the hell.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The...purple one? 

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

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

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

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

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

You understand why you were so unprepared now. 

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

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

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

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

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

Your lower belly twists. 

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

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

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

You think your hand is shaking. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something warm curls around your hand.

The ringing stops. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Where are they? Where are they? 

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

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

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

"Right!" Rhett yells. "Go right!" 

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

But you never teeter off the road. 

Even if you come close to it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

What's stopping you? 

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

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

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

...well.

He had to find out eventually.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Red flashes up ahead. 

Your stomach drops.

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

There they are.

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

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

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

Something isn't right.

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

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

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

"The barrels aren't deploying!" Kate. 

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

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

"Rhett—"

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

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

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

"Now!" 

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

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

"Hey." 

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

He's the only thing in existence. 

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

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

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

But you hear him. 

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

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

Someone knocks at your door. 

Once. 

Twice. 

Three times. 

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

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

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

"Hey," you breathe.

Rhett's eyelashes flutter. "Hey."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You could kiss him if you wanted to. 

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

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

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

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

Your lower belly coils. Sour. 

You should kiss him. 

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

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

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

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

You're not falling into the abyss alone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your hips jerk up into his.

He gasps.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your eyes meet.

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

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

Those eyes scrunch shut. Overreacting just a little bit.

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

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

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

Rhett's nose finds your cheek, gently nudging. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His pale chest is...distracting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your hips involuntarily buck. The angle shifts. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That's all it takes. 

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

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

One of your eyes peeks open. 

Did you fall asleep? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No, it's not there anymore. 

Did they leave already? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Voting opens  @ 4 PM.

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

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

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

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

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

"I know so." Grinning.

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

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

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

The answer is obvious. "I am!" 

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

[rip-quizilla]

We Could Be Beautiful: Dead Girl Walking

Eddie Munson X Fem!Reader

🔹An AU in which you and Eddie are both actors in a community theater production of Heathers: The Musical🔹

Word count: 1.6K

A/N: Just an idea I’ve had rolling around in my head for a while. This will probably become a series of short blurbs within this AU, taking place between the auditions and the cast party following the final performance of the show.

Tags: mutual pining, unconfessed feelings, allusions to sex, passing mention of suicide (pertaining to the plot of Heathers), references to Heathers: the Musical, song lyrics

If you’d like a visual for the scene described from the original musical, click here

🔹divider made by @k1ssyoursister 🔹

You took your role as Veronica’s understudy seriously. 

You’d copied down every stage direction, every line, every director’s note- you’d made sure you were prepared. Now, the ultimate test would determine just how prepared for this you really were.

Barb, the actress playing Veronica, had warned you that her sister might go into labor early, and that had been exactly what happened. That meant she would be in the delivery room on opening night, and every program in every audience member’s hand would have a little insert with your picture on it, alongside your name followed by “-will be playing the role of Veronica Sawyer.”

Already, you had managed to make it to the first quarter of the show. “Beautiful” had gone without a hitch, and you’d gotten through “Fight for Me” without your voice cracking. But next was “Dead Girl Walking,” and you were just about ready to fling yourself in front of a bus. Or drink some drain cleaner. 

You hadn’t rehearsed this song with Eddie yet; you knew the words, knew the blocking, knew exactly which note you were expected to sing and every riff you had to hit. But standing behind that velvet curtain as you waited for your cue, you were practically on the verge of a panic attack. When you finally had to enter the stage, you channeled it all- the panic, the nerves, the terror of what comes after tonight.

I need it hard

I’m a dead girl walking

I’m in your yard

I’m a dead girl walking 

You’d watched him sing this song with Barb so many times, and each time you’d wished it was you- now, you had your chance. 

Sorry, but I really had to wake you

See, I’ve decided I must ride you ‘til I break you

Tonight I’m yours, 

I’m your dead girl walking

Get on all fours, 

Kiss this dead girl walking

You knew Eddie’s wide, wet eyes were those of an actor. The eyes of JD as he watches the girl of his dreams. Still, the heat and want you felt right now wasn’t Veronica’s- it was purely yours. So you let it feed Veronica’s words as you held his face in your tender hands and told JD the things you wished you could say to Eddie.

And you know, you know, you know

It’s ‘cause you’re beautiful

You say you’re numb inside

But I can’t agree

You were the one in the blue blazer now. Tonight, he was your JD, and you were scared shitless that when your lips hit his in a stage kiss that was supposed to have so much fire it set the stage ablaze, it might feel a little bit too real. 

So the world’s unfair

Keep it locked out there

In here it’s beautiful

Let’s make this beautiful

Eddie- JD- gazed at you with all the wonder and adoration of a man on his knees for a generous god. His head shook gently, bewildered by his luck as he delivered the next line. “That works for me.”

Then your lips were on him, and for a second you let yourself pretend he was kissing you back and not Veronica. His mouth was warm, his hands hungry as they roamed over your clothes and subtly squeezed until you felt your blazer’s polyester pucker.

When you pulled away for your high note, you gazed into his eyes and saw nothing but truth looking back at you. That fire you’d been feeling all this time was reflected in his eyes tonight. Sure, maybe it’s the stage lights. Maybe he’s just a really good actor. Maybe you’re fucking obsessed with him- but whatever it was, you felt wanted in those eyes. So yeah, you let yourself believe it. You let the script burn you alive.

Full steam ahead, 

Take this dead girl walking

Let’s break the bed,

Rock this dead girl walking

You were drunk on the awe in his gaze, the way he looked up at you like he wasn’t sure if you’d really just barged in through his window to ride him until he was a broken mess, or if you were a fantasy his mind had conjured to fuel his desire to belong to someone who would cherish all he had to give. 

Again, Eddie was a talented actor. You knew that was his interpretation of how his character felt about your character. Still, you let yourself fall into the script as you straddled his tense, shirtless body, his abs crunching under the blue stage lights in a way that made you salivate. You wondered what your spit would look like on his skin. 

You were far too horny to be professional. At least you weren’t so far gone that you couldn’t remember your blocking. 

No sleep tonight for you,

Better chug that Mountain Dew

Your heart fell into your core upon hearing Eddie’s whimpered ‘okay, okay’ in character, needy and submissive beneath you. 

Get your ass in gear,

Make this whole town disappear

His eyebrows pulled together, voice stronger and raspier as it ripped from his chest. ‘Okay, okay!’ His fingers snuck underneath your skirt, fingertips digging into the soft flesh of your ass. You wished it was real. 

You eyed him like a predator eyes a kill, determined to stay in his head until he needed you for real. You ran your palm over your cheek, brought your other hand up to fist in your hair, and pretended both hands were his.

Slap me,

Pull my hair,

You grabbed his wrists forcefully, bringing them up one by one to grope each of your tits. 

Touch me 

There (left tit)

And there (right tit)

And there 

To punctuate the final syllable, you couldn’t stop an involuntary writhe of your torso into Eddie’s hands as he grasped your white button down (which was actually a snap-up) at the chest and pulled hard, simultaneously pinching your nipples through your bright blue bra and ripping open your blouse to showcase the swell of your chest for the whole audience to see. You didn’t notice them, though- you noticed the way he looked at your chest like it was the second coming of Christ. You witnessed that fractional widening of his eyes, the way he was entranced by every move you made as you writhed in his lap. 

And no more talking

Love this dead girl walking

Eddie’s voice was lightning in the wake of thunder, bright and jagged and beautifully raw with power as he crooned a harmony to your lead as the song drew to a close. This song wasn’t an easy one to sing; had you not been so distracted by how it felt to have Eddie’s hips between your thighs you might have been nervous that you’d flub your high notes- but you didn’t. In a moment of sheer improvisation you did what just felt right, and that meant grabbing Eddie by hair at the base of his neck and wrenching his head back as you rolled your hips into his.

You knew your blocking was to arch your back away from him, but instead you brought your face close enough to his that it’s possible his mic picked up your perfect, clear falsetto as you pleaded, ‘Love this dead girl walking’ with the cadence of a lover asking, begging their beloved ‘don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop’. Eddie’s eyes registered your improvisational choice, and maybe you imagined it but behind those big brown button eyes he seemed to come alive with you, sitting up even further and digging one hand into your soft, hot skin while the other flexed against the stage floor to keep him balanced. His little ‘whoa, whoa, hey, hey, yeah yeah’s were short and breathy, sounding more like moans and whimpers as he rolled the sturdy bones of his hips into you as you matched his rhythm. 

If you closed your eyes, you could pretend. If you didn’t have blocking to follow, you might have kissed him again, might have bitten his lip, might have reached for his belt buckle with reckless abandon and let a summer’s worth of pining win over in your mind. Instead, you channeled that passion into the way your hips ground into him with the fervor of a woman with nothing to lose. 

Together the two of you finished out the song with heavy breaths and belted lyrics. You writhed. He thrusted.  ‘Love this dead girl,’ your voices intertwined in a desperate dance for release from the tension between you that, at some point, had grown thick as two oak trees planted near enough to forget where one ends and the other begins.

‘Yeah!’

Your hand on his chest splayed out over faded ink. Your hips swiveled against his groin.

‘Yeah!’

His hand fisted in the plaid fabric of your skirt. That wasn’t in the blocking- had they added that? Was this improv?

‘Yeah!’

Using the grip on your skirt, he tugged you further into him as his hips bucked up just enough to bounce you on his groin and shake your exposed cleavage. Without thinking, your hand flew into his hair, grasping the sweaty curls at the nape of his neck and tugging sharply back. You weren’t supposed to do that. 

‘Ow!’

It wasn’t supposed to be a moan, but that was definitely what you would call the sound you pulled from Eddie’s mouth. A soft yet sharp, breathy moan that existed somewhere in the valley between pleasure and pain and definitely sounded more sexy and less funny, which is how it was supposed to sound. You saw Eddie’s eyes go wide as he too came to this realization. 

No matter; if you played it off, no one in the audience would know the difference. You let go of his hair and flung your hand into the air above you, reaching for heaven and belting out your last ‘Yeah’ into the stage lights that lined the rafters above you. Your back arched, and you felt one final push of Eddie’s pelvis into yours, weaker this time as he too came down from the endorphins that ravaged every thought in both your mind and his. 

Taglist (people I've been talking to about this since the idea spawned): @ghost-proofbaby, @the-unforgivenn, @munson-blurbs, @hellfire--cult

[always-just-down-the-street]

INANIMATE INSANITY 16 SPOILERS AHEAD!

ALSO EYESTRAIN WARNING!

Also this fan-art is based on the theory I made here, so please read this before checking out the fan-art below!

You beg MePhone to say he's lying. That you're real, that you were never supposed to win, that your conquest to save everyone from themselves hasn't been anything short of the only lie bigger than your continued existence. You try to think back to who you used to be and you can't, it hurts so much, she's dead and it's your fault, you knew you were unsalvageable but you didn't know it permeated so far into your being. The gilded cage you lost the key to. You feel yourself crack again and you pray it'll be quick but no, you just sit there, broken, crying, screaming. A winner forced into the role of the villain, the liar, the freakshow.

The only grace you can hope for is that if you go completely insane, maybe you'll finally be more like her again.

You stare at her. You see every day you had fun with her back in the first season, when things were simple and the world felt like it actually made sense. When you weren't burdened by the knowledge of what you really are. You can't help but laugh- why should you be so surprised? You were only ever meant to take the shape of the vessel you were given, who cared if it was a physical one or not? You think back to every day you saw her in the corner of your eye, watching you prance around in the hotel you stole from her. In the life you stole from her. She missed that and she missed them but she definitely did not miss you. You wouldn't even be surprised if she hates you, and the worst part is she has every right to. MePhone wanted you to be the villain, the person everyone hates, but things went wrong and she was forced to take that role instead. But now the truth is out. Her last good deed was saving you from yourself. You're still the villain.

And somehow you're the most surprised of them all.

-

The joy of being an artist and a theorist is that sometimes I get such a cool idea I can express it in both ways.

Yes, this is a sequel to my Netflix Trip picture with Knife and Suitcase, this time featuring our season one finalists OJ and Taco and Kikuo's Hole-Dwelling! (Originally it was Puppet Loosely Strung by The Correspondents but Hole-Dwelling actually goes INSANE with the theory.) It's based on the theory that I had posted of last, which (and I might go back to the original post to add this) I have now given an official title: The Misremembered Lanes Theory! Or AU, if this gets deconfirmed. You never know! But yeah, it is named after the Season 1 finale.

Just like last time, the models were done in Blockbench, this one was a lot harder because I had to wrangle with stuff like OJ's transparency, trying to pick the right face/expression for Taco- there was a version of this image where Taco had just gone. Completely mad/feral, but it didn't look as good as I wanted it to...but, I think I finally got around to a fun result in the end. Speaking of fun facts, my favorite little design thing I did for this: OJ and Taco's strings are colored like each other! Puppets literally and helplessly ensnared in each other's role. :)

Plus I already have an idea of who I might do a piece of next, so that'll be fun! So I hope you all enjoy this piece as much as you did the last piece and the theory itself, all fan-art is appreciated, and thank you for reading this far!

[koinotame]

boob windows. that's it that's the fic

word count: 1.1K content warnings: this is meant to be yandere au and sagau/self aware au so uh. hint of that, but mostly just crack. nothing Super Nsfw but the whole thing is raunchy and suggestive humour

characters included: mostly ei, but childe, kaeya and briefly zhongli also make an appearance with some others mentioned

a/n: this is a repost (slightly edited)! this was on my to-edit-&-repost list for a while now and this seemed like a good day to do so lol. alas this was originally written before the sumeru release so while editing there wasn't really an opportunity for me to add in wriothesley apparently out-butting zhongli or lyney's tigh high garters and i only just realised kaveh could technically also count here so uh. forgive me. i'll write something for them some day

"is… is everything alright, your grace?"

you loudly suck up another boba pearl, not moving your gaze from where it’s been lodged the past several minutes. "mm, everything’s fine."

ei fidgets in front of you, the cup held tightly in her hands still almost full. she looks unsure, but decides that she knows better than to question you. "if you say so."

it’s clear this isn’t what she had in mind when she personally came to see you instead of sending the raiden shōgun to greet and attend to you. the one time she comes out of her plane, all you’re seemingly doing is ignoring all table manners and gawking at her chest.

yes, that’s right, you’re ogling her chest. or, more accurately, you’re ogling her tiddy window.

between her and kaeya, she’s showing off much more chest. but then kaeya knows what he’s doing, while ei just seems to have it there for convenience over aesthetic…

you squint at her while you get lost in thoughts, and ei’s fidgeting intensifies.

ah shit. you forgot about itto. he wins in terms of who shows off their chest the most, you guess. he’s even wearing that… you’re not sure what to call it but tit belt fits well enough. anyway, the tit belt accentuates his pecs very, very nicely, although they do hide his nips from sight. alas.

you suppose gorou and cyno also exist, but they don’t have the same appeal. oh, and navia and la signora, but both of them are just wearing a sleeveless, collarless dress, so you’re not sure that counts either.

but then by that argument, does itto count? he’s not even wearing a shirt. cyno isn’t wearing a shirt either. and what gorou has is more of a tummy window than anything… but he does have that little window?

between gorou and childe, gorou is definitely winning though. you’d apologise for slandering your poor ajax but between the little triangle he shows off and gorou’s entire tummy out… you’re not sorry. though… there’s something to be said about a small slither of skin inviting you to stick your hands into that gorou having his whole tummy out doesn’t have.

wait, wait. you just had a genius idea. actually, two.

first of all, zhongli with a tiddy window… you are considering. then again, you guess his biggest asset is his bubble butt.

second, and way bigger: an idol group with some of your characters… but they all have tiddy windows.

"…your grace?"

you’re brought out of your stupor by ei, who is gazing in concern at you. you blink at her.

she struggles to find words. "are… are you sure everything is alright? is something not to your liking?"

it’s then that you realise you’ve started drooling at some point. shit.

you hurriedly wipe at it and clear your throat. "yeah, I’m sure. sorry, were you saying anything?"

she looks taken aback. "no, please don’t apologise. I should be the one to… I shouldn’t have interrupted your thinking."

it’s then that childe happens to walk by, and, like the attention hog he is, tries to get a foot into the conversation. you stay mostly unresponsive while the two chat (which seems to be mostly childe trying to hold a conversation with you while ei admonishes him), your eyes drifting back to ei’s tiddy window.

you really could stare at that for the rest of your life.

childe then follows your line of sight and chokes.

…though more because of him trying to laugh while choking on the dango he was eating than embarrassment at having caught onto your very appropriate thoughts.

ei looks confused but makes no move to help him other than pushing his head away from the table so he doesn’t make a mess. you honestly can’t bring yourself to be embarrassed.

he finally manages to swallow properly (you almost want to pat him on the back and praise him for swallowing like a good boy) before turning to you.

"do you want me to strip? my chest looks much nicer, I assure you."

you and ei stare at him.

he raises his eyebrows, pointing at her. "her skin looks way too soft and pampered." she looks almost offended. "mine’s covered in scars and I have actual muscles, doesn’t that feel much better for fondling?"

"what if…" you lean closer to him mischievously, like you’re about to tell him some big secret. "I prefer soft chests?"

he deflates. ei flushes, ducking her head into her still-near-full cup of bubble tea. "well, if that’s what you prefer… I can’t get rid of the scars, but I can stop working out. hmm…" he looks like he’s starting to make serious plans.

"no, I honestly don’t really care. all tiddy is good tiddy." you clap your hands. "anyway! it’s more about the boob window. you already have a (sad) tummy window, so it wouldn’t work."

"why not? wouldn’t that be double the sexy?"

"no, it cancels out."

you’re going to ignore whatever gorou has going on, because that works pretty well.

ei looks unfathomably lost.

"and anyway, if we’re talking about tummy windows, gorou wins."

he deflates further.

then he perks up.

"what about…" he brings his fingers to his face. you think it’s an attempt at looking cool. "butt window?"

you deadpan. "have fun getting arrested for public indecency."

he winks at you. "I wouldn’t mind getting arrested if you’re the one punishing me."

you have to physically hold the electro archon back.

"why, I wasn’t expecting to run into any of you here. what are you three up to?" kaeya’s voice cuts through ei’s snarls all of a sudden. he seems amused, but there’s an edge in the way he eyes childe.

"I am definitely sexier than any archon or soldier," childe says at the exact same time that you say "we’re discussing tiddy windows."

kaeya lets out something between a snort and a chuckle. it’s a pretty sound, but you can’t let yourself be distracted by him. he knows what he’s doing.

"oh? in that department, don’t I win?"

you stare intently at his.

"do you want to touch?"

you move your stare to his face. "am I allowed to?"

he smiles, mirth in his eye. "you needn’t ask. all of me belongs to you, and that includes my chest."

you seriously consider it and childe takes the opportunity to shove himself between the two of you.

"wait, wait! I offered first! ignore him, I’m right here!" "your grace," ei cuts in, "if you’d like to, I don’t mind you touching any part of me."

"ugh, fine, fine! I’ll just sample all of you then. if you’re sure you’re okay with it."

zhongli, somehow, picks the absolute worst moment to walk in.

the look on his face is priceless (you can’t tell if he looks offended or jealous), but even that doesn’t compare to the feeling of soft tiddy in your hands.

you were right, tiddy windows really are the best.

[vxnuslogy]

🍿lights, camera, action .ᐟ

a modern/actor au | alastor x gn! reader

summary: after the initial success of hazbin hotel’s first season, it was no surprise that season two would already be in production as we speak — now focused on heaven and how a soul is judged in purgatory. and luck you! you’ve landed the role of the main character “libra”.

as an angel, life in heaven was supposed to be fine and dandy — if you ignore your script and the potential angst your character holds. well, that is until, you get paired up with the infamous radio demon for an interview after adam decided to chicken out.

warnings: swearing (lots of it) and use of foul language, crack, mentions of alcohol consumption, fast-burn-ish (?), the use of a friend's original character, ooc-ness, will be updated as the series continues

status: work in progress

writer's notes:

this will be my first series in this account so please bare with me

apologies in advance for any grammatical errors, english isn't my first language and i haven't written anything in a hot minute (and i find alastor a bit hard to write so please bare with me as i try to write him)

this series will serve as my gateway to writing again and starting anew on this account

im currently busy with school so updates will be irregular

taglist ━ open .ᐟ

if you'd like to be tagged, please don't be afraid to shoot me an ask or comment! if your user is in bold you might want to check your visibility settings.

chapter 1 — red suit

preview: one can only wonder what alastor did to adam for him to suddenly thrust his responsibility of attending this interview to you. well, you aren't really mad, who were you to decline a chance to meet the ever so charming radio demon.

chapter 2 — hang on for deer life!

preview: “what in the seraphim’s names is radioscales?” you ask genuinely, eyes filled with confusion as azrail just laughed at your side. he’s been telling you how much you’ve been embracing your role as ‘libra’, so much that you’ve adopted their way of speech. rolling your eyes in mild-annoyance, you elbow the man beside you, nearly making him loose his hold on the coffee cup in his hand.

chapter 3 — drinkin’ time

preview: “and the nominees for the best actor and actress awards from hazbin hotel are…” everyone waited with bated breath as sera’s eyes glazed over everyone that’s been on the edge of their seat.

chapter 4 — let the good times roll!

preview: azrail laughed at his theatrics, and kept throwing you glances and elbowing you lightly. and being the ever so mature person that you are, you elbow him back — throwing a kick at his shin from under the table as a bonus before listening to the radio demon that was perched on the stage.

chapter 5 — get me with those brown eyes

preview: he paid no mind when the two overly enthusiastic children asked him to review this new cafe, and he agreed. what a big surprise (not) to see you at one of the seats waving at him with an amused smile on your lips.

chapter 6 — wife stealer

preview: you looked at alastor with wide eyes as he grinned down at you. azrail’s mouth hung open in both shock and excitement as alastor said with a smile, “i hope you don’t mind me stealing your wife.”

tba . . .

© vxnuslogy 2024. do not plagiarize, repost, or translate any of my works without my knowledge or consent in other platforms or websites.

[mins-fins]

a day for love !

"so…what are we exactly?" "mortal enemies". "oh".

synopsis: zhong chenle has too much on his hands, with his musical education studies and being apart of the NCT U student body and basketball team, he has no time for any distractions, but then he meets you, cocky, flirtatious, attractive you, core member of the NCT U fencing team. he's immediately put off, taken aback my your self absorbency and sky high confidence, he finds it annoying, how you never take anything seriously. zhong chenle does not like you, he hates the way you always have his face red, how you make his legs feel weak, how you continue to run through his mind even when he's trying to not think about you. you're so annoying, and he's carrying that sentiment to his grave, he swears.

pairing: zhong chenle x male!reader

genre: university au, strangers to lovers, annoyed (chenle) x annoying (reader), fluff, crack/comedy, again no angst, lowkey fast burn(?), pining pining pining, chenle's in denial the whole time 😭, just super unserious, angry love confessions (kinda), many many other idol cameos, ft. na jaemin the instigator (and also kinda lee heeseung)

warnings: swearing, sexual jokes, mentions of sexy time, threats against your life in like a romantic way, mentions of drinking, lots of back and forth between our main leads, chenle being the stubbornest person ever

word count: 15k

notes: heyyyy… heyyyy…😇 so this is another draft from march that i abandoned for a good few months before finally getting up off my ass and finishing it, im not going to lie, it could've been much better writing wise, the thing that carries this work is the dynamic between chenle & reader which was soooo fun to write because i loosely based it off a dynamic between my irl friends 😭😭 this was originally supposed to come out in may at best BUT.. a lot happened, this is a birthday gift for the one and only user junjiie (take a shot everytime i mention jj in a note) the silliest, my bsf ever, and the person who i constantly attack with unsolicited spoilers! i apologize jj 😓 he listened to all my insane rants about this thing and i always have to thank him bc he's always interested!! happy birthday jj i love you sm 😿 again named after a yukika song, i have a pattern

IF CHENLE IS ANYTHING THESE DAYS, IT'S ANNOYED. it's already annoying enough that he's practically been worked to death this week, given no breaks by the student body or his coach, but now jaemin has decided to drag him away from his work to watch some stupid match between people he doesn't know. now, chenle isn't the kind of person who likes working on friday evenings, but this friday is different, because he genuinely has so much to do and has no time for distractions of any sort. just the sight of jaemin barging into his dorm was enough to make him and sigh and roll his eyes. it wasn't just that, but it was also his insistent begging for chenle to accompany him to his friends little competition, a friend he doesn't even know to begin with.

chenle isn't just annoyed, he's pissed off, his head hurts and there are so many people talking around him. he's currently overwhelmed with thoughts because he has an assignment to turn in soon and because he's standing here looking after jaemin's stuff, even more pissed because jaemin said he'd only be gone a few minutes.

it's been ten minutes, and jaemin is nowhere to be seen.

the moment jaemin appears, chenle swears he's going to punch him in the face. he crosses his arms and lets out his fifth exasperated sigh of the entire hour, a displeased look makes itself apparent in his eyes, what even is this anyway? some dumb fencing competition? chenle doesn't care about this, or about jaemin's friend that he hasn't met yet. at this point, chenle doesn't even want to meet this friend, he's frustrated.

and yeah, maybe it's stupid of him to be dumping all of his frustrations on this friend he hasn't met yet, but he's sleep deprived, and he wants a cup of coffee.

standing around and waiting for jaemin has become boring, so chenle has begun to scour his surroundings. the banners above display your usual school spirit words, all of them talking about beating the other school or something, he hears the people above him conversing about the upcoming competition, making bets on which fighter they think is gonna win.

it's enough to make chenle snicker, they're betting on this like it's a boxing match, it's just dudes fencing, it truly cannot be that serious.

"all this shit for some dumb fencing competition?"

"well, what crawled up your ass today?"

chenle startles when you seem to come out of nowhere, but his momentary fear immediately becomes annoyance once again as he notices your tone of voice. what is he getting an attitude for? chenle doesn't like you already.

"nothing, where the hell did you even come from?"

chenle looks you up and down, taking in your features. you have bewitching eyes, they're a beautiful shade of light brown, your tall, much taller than chenle, your hair falls prettily around your face, a pretty butterfly necklace adorns your neck (chenle has no idea why he's staring there), and your wearing a varsity jacket, the letters NCT U printed on the side.

ah, so he's an athlete. somehow, chenle doesn't put two and two together, or maybe he isn't exactly thinking about that, just annoyed by your audacity.

"i was just.. observing" you respond, shoving your hands into your pockets as you let a small hum leave your lips. "what's with the fencing hate? i don't think it's that bad.."

"your probably saying that because you're a fencer yourself".

a snort. "well— you caught me there".

chenle raises an eyebrow, now your tone confuses him. what is this guy getting at? he can't read you, and he doesn't really like it.

"i'm not even supposed to be here, i have work to do, but now i'm here looking after jaemin's stuff while he's doing who knows what because i agreed to come watch him support his friend!"

"well there's no need to yell.."

chenle glares at you, a certain distaste in his eyes he doesn't think he could replicate with anyone else, but you do sound kinda unreasonable, so he takes a deep breath. "yeah, sorry".

"it's alright".

there's a silence. chenle doesn't know what kind of conversation this is, he's not the kind of person to just interact with strangers like this, he usually doesn't like having conversations with strangers, but he doesn't want to stop this conversation..for some reason. you intrigue him, so he begins again.

"NCT U fencing? i didn't know our school had a fencing team.."

"maybe you just aren't around much, we are the stars of the show after all".

your words make chenle scoff, a small raise of his eyebrow accompanying it. he crosses his arms and examines your varsity jacket once more, then narrows his eyes. wow, what a high ego. "stars of the show? isn't that a little cocky of you to say?"

"cocky? tell that to my fifteen medals" you reply, and that gets an eye roll out of chenle. "and those are just college medals" you whisper, leaning closer.

chenle somehow gets frozen in his spot, not moving back, leaving the two of you with your faces almost pressed together. if he wasn't speechless right now, he would've pushed you away, but your breath fanning against his face and your sudden closeness makes him feel dizzy.

he stares, and he stares for a while. he allows for his eyes to roam your face, and they instinctively fall down to your lips, your lips which just look so tempting.

what the fuck? you don't even know the guy chenle! why are you thinking about kissing him?

"wow, you must be quite the impressive fencer, then".

his words are meant to come off as sarcastic, and he stops staring at your lips so that he can gently push you away from him, trying his best to ignore his currently reddening cheeks. "i am! i would even say so myself, not to give myself too much credit or anything.."

"well that is giving yourself too much credit" a small hum escapes your lips at his words, and you allow for yourself to be humored by his words. "what about the rest of your team?"

"your acting like i called them shitty fencers" you easily reply, glancing down at your watch and sighing as you notice the time. "i never said they don't bring anything important to the team, i'm just acknowledging how good of an asset to the team i am, and that's totally fine, nothing wrong with it".

your reasoning makes sense, but chenle doesn't this conversation to stop just yet. "that's just a level of confidence that seems a little unruly".

"there's nothing wrong with being confident" you say, and chenle allows for his shoulders to fall. he can't exactly disagree with that. "i know how good of a fencer i am, and you should be applauding me for that".

"maybe i'll applaud you when i actually see you display such skills".

you snicker at chenle's words, he hates that you look so good, he doesn't even know you, but you've managed to both annoy and sort of make him swoon in one go. "well it's your lucky day, you can cheer me on when i beat my opponent in a few minutes".

ah. chenle thinks back to the school spirit banners that are hanging from the ceiling, he thinks back to jaemin, to the stupid promise he made a good few hours ago, and now he's standing here with some overconfident fencer, some overconfident fencer he would've never met if he didn't give in to jaemin's incessant begging.

"that's nice, you really think your gonna win?"

"i don't think, i know, chenle".

chenle is about to counter your words with another remark, but pauses upon hearing his name escape your lips. how did you even know who he was? he's about to start assuming your a stalker or something. "you know my name?"

"you're apart of the student body, you play basketball, and your constantly in the top ranks , everyone knows who you are".

the words get an uncertain smile out of chenle, but he quickly lets it drop because he doesn't want to be smiling because of you. chenle doesn't care, he'll remain stubborn. "yeah, right, glad you know that".

"alright then, you can cheer me on, chenle, i'll be looking for you in the crowd".

chenle scoffs again, now he's completely done with you. "in your dreams.." he mutters, and while he intends for that to not be heard by you, you catch it anyway, but you allow for chenle to think he's in the clear, deciding to not comment on it.

"wish me luck!"

chenle watches you walk away.

he allows for the questions to immediately run through his mind, what the hell was that? why did he want to chase after you like some desperate little man? why didn't he want the conversation to end?

but then again, you are just so annoying, you're so convinced your going to win. chenle almost wants you to lose just so he could laugh in your face about it, but he also does want to watch you face off your opponent, just for entertainment.

and with no jaemin to be seen anywhere, chenle just groans and cusses at the older in his mind, he is genuinely going to punch jaemin when he sees him.

for now, he'll focus on this dumb competition (and on you, wait— no, NOT YOU! he is not focusing on you at all).

CHENLE HAS A HEADACHE THE NEXT DAY, AND HE MAKES sure to put all the blame on jaemin. what kind of friend is he? dragging him off to go see his friend's dumb competition only for him to disappear for more than half the time than proceed to only show up after the competition was almost over and scream in chenle's ear in the entire time. chenle thinks he should start getting paid for hanging out with jaemin, because he can never tell where the other male is half the time, but he's still getting dragged out to shit like this all the time. when jaemin skips his way into chenle's dorm the next morning, he's met with an immediate glare from the chinese, and he seems to have no idea why chenle is so upset with him. "woah, who pissed in your cereal?"

chenle scoffs, throwing jaemin his sweater and going to get a glass of water. "you did, i have a headache because of you".

jaemin laughs at chenle's annoyance, a taunting smile coming to his face as he makes his way towards the younger, a surge of pride in his chest. "really? what did i do?" it isn't a genuine question, and chenle can tell by the exaggerated pout which graces jaemin's features.

"you made me go to your friends stupid competition, then still decided to drag me around after the competition" chenle grits his teeth as he says those words, and all jaemin does is raise a humorous eyebrow, a small hum escapes his lips as he gets another glare from chenle. "not to mention, your friend is so annoying".

jaemin chuckles, getting a small punch in the shoulder from chenle. "oh, so you met y/n then?"

the name doesn't register in chenle's mind, he never actually got to know your name. "is that his name?" just the thought of you has chenle's stomach turning upside down, and he has no idea why. "he pisses me off, he talks too much".

"aww, he didn't make you swoon?"

"absolutely not" chenle says immediately, he is not going to admit how he felt lightheaded just by the sight of you, how you easily had his face red without having to do anything. "he's so into himself, how do you even hang around a guy like that?"

how do you not fall so in love with a guy like that?

"well he has every right to be! y/n has basically won the school all of their fencing awards, a majority of them anyway, i don't get what the hate is all about.."

chenle clears his throat. "i don't hate him, i'm just commenting on his self absorbency".

"your saying that, but you couldn't take your eyes off him the whole competition".

the accusation is enough to make chenle's cheeks go fiery red, what the fuck? he noticed? he opens his mouth to immediately deny the claim, but all he does is stutter whilst trying to clearly articulate his words. "that's not true".

"but it is! you were fangirling more than his actual fangirls! you couldn't even contain yourself!"

chenle rolls his eyes, a small scoff escaping his lips as he tries to ignore his reddening cheeks. "i was not fangirling, you're crazy".

"am i crazy? or are you just in denial?"

"your projecting onto me".

jaemin just snickers, able to see right through chenle's little denying streak. his red cheeks are a clear indication that you probably did end up flustering him, the latter is just too stubborn to admit such a thing. "uh huh, sure, keep telling yourself that chenle".

chenle scoffs, completely turning away from jaemin as he tries to ignore the heat rising in his cheeks. no he wasn't fangirling over you at all, jaemin is just crazy, jaemin is just making stuff up.

at least, that's what his mind tells him.

"YOUR LATE, ZHONG CHENLE" THE WORDS get a small glare from the addressed boy. a chortle sounds from his fellow student body member, kim jungsu, who is humored at the sight of the usually stoic zhong chenle being pissed off, but then again, such a face has become a norm to the titular zhong. "woah, what happened to you?" chenle only scoffs at the question, an exasperated sigh escaping his lips as he ignores the question from choi beomgyu, who only raises an inquisitive eyebrow. the two older boys exchange glances, watching as chenle begins getting up to his usual things. "jaemin decided to hold me up, again" chenle grits his teeth as he thinks about the stupid shenanigans of the na, rolling his eyes.

"what did he do this time?"

"made me walk around the whole school to find something for him.." chenle mutters, pissed off. "but he kept stopping every few minutes to catch up with his old friends!"

beomgyu startles at the sound of chenle's shout paired with the slam of files onto the table. it's often these days that na jaemin seems to be annoying zhong chenle more than anything, the prospect is hilarious, though, he has to admit.

"did you guys hear? y/n got an perfect score on friday!"

the absentminded comment is one chenle so badly wants to ignore, but just the mention of you is enough to make his stomach begin stirring in a way he can't explain. it's monday, why are people still talking about your stupid friday competition? (chenle knows why people still would be talking about it, you're a very talented fencer, he can't deny that).

"did he?"

"what are you guys even expecting at this point? it's y/n, he's never lost a competition once.."

chenle stays silent as he listens to his fellow peers talk about you, your competition, your winnings, just you you you. chenle hates the way you take over his mind, he's only met you once, only talked to you once, but he can't stop thinking about you.

it's a mix of butterflies and some other unknown creature fluttering around in his stomach.

"chenle! how come you and y/n aren't friends?" beomgyu suddenly chimes in, nudging the other in the shoulder. the younger blinks, puzzled by the abrupt question. "you two would be a good.. pair".

chenle knows what he's implying with the emphasis on the word pair (pair? more like couple..), and just the look on his face is enough to give him away. he ignores the red which dusts his cheeks, something that's been happening much more regularly when chenle starts thinking of you, he hates that it does. "we just.. don't know each other like that".

"you two have talked though haven't you?"

chenle is getting bothered by these constant interrogations, he doesn't want to talk about you, because he's not sure he'll be able to keep his ground, or his face from heating up irregularly. "yeah we talked at the competition.."

"oh you went!? how was it?"

"it was uh.." chenle pauses, trying to figure out the words to describe the competition, he isn't even thinking about the competition, he's thinking about you. he can't stop thinking about you, you've been running around in his mind for the past few days. "yeah uh— what you said, y/n got a perfect score.."

chenle quickly turns away from his peers so that he doesn't have to be faced with their several questions about you, mostly because he doesn't know how many excuses he'll be able to make for his red face. he puts away the files as he listens to everyone else continue conversing about you, how known are you? chenle doesn't think he wants to know.

"that can't be tru— wait y/n! come here!"

chenle's heart drops at just the mention of you, and he hears a confused "what?" escape your lips accompanied by the sound of footsteps. he curses in his mind, how is he supposed to avoid you now?

"what's up?"

chenle turns around as he tries to not look at you, but unfortunately, his eyes have other ideas. they drift off to you immediately, and once he looks at you, he can't look away. you look so casual, but you seem to glow. everyone else in the room has basically become nothing, and only you matter. chenle reprimands himself in his head for having such thoughts, he shouldn't be thinking about you so much, especially with you currently in the room. so, he clears his throat and takes his eyes off you.

"beomgyu said—"

"i didn't say anything! don't put the blame on me! dongyun back me up here!"

chenle blinks as he watches his friends dissolve into a full blown argument, with you standing there awkwardly having no idea what was going on. he is quick to tune out the argument, as he's done several times in the past.

but you don't seem to care about the argument transpiring in front of you, seeing as how you slip away from the shouting guys and go over to chenle. "do they always do that?"

chenle can't ignore you now, so he takes in a sigh and looks over at you, his legs immediately feeling like jelly as he locks eyes with you.

you're beautiful, just as beautiful as you were the first time chenle met you and became absorbed in you as a whole. chenle wants to fall over, but he stands his ground, he remains stubborn, he doesn't want to give you that satisfaction.

finally, after what seems like forever, chenle finds his voice, it took him pathetically long to though. "yeah, they argue about stupid shit all the time, don't worry about them".

you snicker, eyeing the student council members who are continuing to go at each other's necks. choi taeyang rubs his temples, completely irritated by this idiotic argument.

you aren't focusing on that, though, because your eyes immediately go back onto chenle. "we never truly established our relationship.. are we friends?"

chenle finds the words baffling. did you really just ask him that? he scrunches his nose, but he can't exactly tell how he feels about the whole thing. "are you really asking me this now?"

you hum, fiddling with your sweater collar. "well, jaemin told me i should try getting on your good side, apparently we need to get to know each other".

"of course he said that".

chenle grits his teeth, but his irritation is feigned, because you snort and look away, your smile this bright, blinding spectacle that chenle could admire for ages. "if you don't want to it's fine" you say, smile unable to be erased.

"i didn't say that" chenle quickly rebuts, much too eager to make that fact known to you. "we can be friends i just.. don't be as annoying as you are".

you gasp, offended. "you think i'm annoying?"

"your just jaemin's copy and paste really".

"is that supposed to be insulting? i happen to like jaemin".

"well that's obvious".

you scoff, crossing your arms. chenle has to stifle his giggles, because watching you look so defeated is just a little bit amusing to him. he can't help his smile, why the fuck do you look cute right now?

"you're so rude, i like you though".

chenle blinks. well he was not expecting that. maybe he doesn't have you all figured out like he thinks, you're unpredictable, how aggravating. he feels his jaw clench as he stares you down. "is that how you always make friends?"

"no.. you keep avoiding the term, though".

"you keep questioning me".

"i just want to get to know you".

"you can do that when we aren't in the student body room".

you roll your eyes, but it's not serious, because nothing is ever serious with you. "okay then, i'll see you some other time, zhong".

you give chenle one last smile before muttering something intelligible to beomgyu, which draws an incredulous gasp from him. you bid your goodbyes to the rest of the student council before once again smiling and making your way out of the door. "he's so dreamy isn't he?"

taeyang snorts, shaking his head. "totally, but i think he liked chenle best".

chenle's face goes bright red the moment he's put on the spot, and jungsu's little giggles meet his ears. "you— he was just being stupid.."

"ohhh, i see".

"wait, chenle and y/n have thing?"

"we do not!" chenle immediately shouts, but as his voice elevates, his cheeks continue to flare. he isn't convincing enough, seeing as how taeyang snickers at the way he heats up embarrassingly. "we do not have a thing! he's just.. annoying".

"so you don't want to fuck him?"

"no!"

but unfortunately, zhong chenle isn't spared from the teasing of his student body members.

"CAN I ASK YOU A STUPID QUESTION?" IT WOULD BE annoying if not completely a norm by now. good god jisung is lucky he's jisung, chenle can't count how many times he's wanted to just clock him square in the face. maybe he's saved from such a fate, but yangyang surely isn't, and chenle is just gearing up the punch as he hears the liu begin snickering. if kun didn't nag so much he probably would've followed the whispering thoughts that told him to shut yangyang up with his fists, but keeping his composure is important. chenle clicks his tongue, tugging at his sweater and rolling his eyes at jisung's subsequent muttering. "okay but don't be mad!" chenle immediately snaps his head towards the younger, and jisung halts in his movements, yangyang's growing laughter is definitely not helping. "you're already mad!"

"i'm not, idiot" chenle grits his teeth, but he relaxes his shoulder and takes a deep breath. "just ask".

"what the hell is going on with you and y/n?"

chenle immediately scrunches his nose, pausing. now how would jisung know about anything that happened between you two? not that anything did happen between you two! it's just strange how chenle meets you on one friday, has like three interactions with you, and suddenly everyone thinks that he has a crush on you or something.

he doesn't! he really doesn't! why isn't anybody convinced?

"nothing! oh my god why is everyone asking me this?"

yangyang snorts, great, now he's going to add his two cents to the mix. "you look at the guy like he solved all of your problems, you sure you don't even want to kiss him?"

chenle scoffs, quickly flipping off yangyang and rolling his eyes. "no, yangyang i don't want to kiss y/n, and i don't stare at him like.. that, who even implied that to you jisung?"

jisung is just the slightest bit terrified of chenle, seeing as how his facial muscles strain to try and fit a smile. "jaemin hyung.."

"and you know heeseung gossips about everything! he's about to put it on the school paper!"

"lee heeseung isn't apart of the school paper, he runs a barely functional gossip blog".

"gossip gets around quickly".

"you guys are acting like i got caught kissing the guy! i'm not in love with him or anything!"

jisung clearly doesn't believe that, and of course yangyang doesn't believe that, seeing as how he doubles over in laughter at chenle's statement of denial. chenle glares, yangyang isn't as funny as he thinks he is. "it's not funny".

"it really is, your cheeks are so red, how are you not in love with him?"

"i'm just not, how do you guys not believe me?"

"it's a bit obvious".

"your terrible at lying".

chenle gasps, dropping his arms at his sides. gosh, even when he is telling the truth everyone thinks he's lying.

and no he's not secretly lying! he is telling the truth! he has absolutely no feelings for you at all!

"i'm not lying".

"well you can go prove yourself then, your boyfriend is right there".

when chenle snaps his head in the direction jisung pointed, he stills, because there you are. his cheeks flare up at the nickname yangyang gave you, the words he's not my boyfriend rest on the tip of his tongue, but they get stuck in his throat when his eyes land on you.

are you fucking everywhere now? chenle talks to you one time and now you suddenly appear every single time he tries to convince himself that he doesn't harbor any romantic feelings towards you. you have to be some kind of psychic, you're probably reading chenle's mind, just ready to show up when he suddenly gets stuck in denial.

"see? your doing that weird love like stare" the whisper gets him out of his daze, his eyes of admiration quickly becoming eyes of hatred fully directed towards his fellow teammate.

"i am not".

jisung blinks, contemplating his words because of the way chenle glares, so his mouth falls shut. "there's nothing going on there, you guys are just stupid".

for the first time ever, yangyang and jisung do something in unison, snicker. "okay chenle, i'll totally believe that".

you laugh in the far distance, the harmony is beautiful, and chenle has to use all of the self control in his body to not turn his head in your direction. he can already imagine your smile, and he has to fight his own smile, chenle can admit that you're annoying, but he can also admit that you have a very pretty smile.

"your lover boy is over there".

you pause, still giggling behind your hand as you glance over at kim minjeong. "who?" you inquire, wincing at her hard pinch to your shoulder. when you turn your head, you grin at the person you see. "i can't exactly figure out why you say that".

"you seem a little obsessed".

you laugh. a huge, polyphonic laugh that would make the words you're hearing seem like absolute nonsense. "obsessed? i like the guy a normal amount".

"woah.. like?"

"platonic feelings do exist ms. kim" you rebut, arms crossing over your chest as you listen to the mutters of your fellow students. "and besides, he doesn't seem to like me much".

"he looks like he's even in love with you".

"you don't even know what love is, jiung".

if you're being completely honest, you have no idea why you're going to extreme lengths to defend yourself like this. zhong chenle is cute, easily aggravated, your actions piss him off insanely quickly, you can see why people would think you feel something for him, you enjoy admiring his face way too much, you zone out on his features way too much, others might get the wrong idea. "fuck you, anyway, there is no way he isn't in love with you".

"in love? are we in a romcom?"

jiung scoffs, and minjeong pinches the bridge of her nose. "are you stupid or do you just not want to admit it?"

"admit what?"

your feigned innocence gets a groan of unison out of your friends.

and maybe a certain zhong is just admiring you from afar..

IT'S NOT USUAL FOR ZHONG CHENLE TO WAKE UP EARLY, and six am is really a stretch he can't believe ended up happening. after minutes of tossing and turning, he screamed into his pillow and rose from his bed to begin his day. classes start in two hours, but he's not going to be able to get back to sleep. he makes sure he doesn't wake daegal, grabs a basketball, and leaves his dorm to make his way to the school gym. it's something he usually does when he finds himself sleepless, playing basketball can get his mind off of literally anything, so whenever he wakes up in the early hours of the morning and can't get back to sleep, he simply makes his way to the school gym to entertain himself for a few hours. it's usually always empty too, so he doesn't have to worry about being interrupted while he's cranky in the morning.

he hums to himself as he dribbles the ball down the hallway, basking in the silence of the air. sometimes people are too much, he can enjoy being alone on most occasions.

the cool air of the gym hits his face as he continues his dribbling, taking a shot and having it land perfectly in the basket. he whistles, proud, but not surprised. it isn't surprising how good he is anymore.

"nice shot".

the moment chenle hears the voice, he has to bite back his groan. you snicker at the expression you see blossom on his features, and chenle turns towards you, lips pressed together. "nice to know you're so happy to see me".

"it's beginning to get ridiculous how you are everywhere" chenle is quick to bite back, and you shake your head, a laugh threatening to escape your lips.

chenle can't even help his smile. oh fuck you. you're evil. you're the evilest being chenle has ever had to share a space with.

he doesn't want you to leave, though.

"are you saying i'm doing this on purpose?"

"exactly what i think" you laugh, fingers picking at the fabrics of your sweater, and chenle finds himself frowning.

"what are you doing up so early?" he inquires, cutting off your response with a question.

you feign thought, rolling your eyes. "i usually wake up early to stretch, maybe get in some practice, it's sort of like a built in alarm clock".

"you wake up at six in the morning every day?"

"it's torture" you reply, eyes glancing around the practically empty space you two stand in. "but i've gotten used to it, coach is always on my ass about it.."

"ohhh because your his star player?"

there's a hint of sarcasm in that question, and your brows furrow as you watch chenle distracts himself with his basketball. "he's just constantly like that".

"okay, so you aren't doing this on purpose?"

"even if i was, is there anything wrong with me wanting to see you?"

chenle pauses, blinking as he lets the words slowly settle into his brain. if he had absolutely no self control, he would've giggled out loud right in the very moment. why are you so.. you? it's absolutely ridiculous, actually, why do you say things like this? do you have no regard for chenle's heart? you have to know what you're saying.

"what? like you have a crush on me or something?"

"seems you want for that to be the case".

chenle opens his mouth to respond, but it closes the moment he sees your smile. he grits his teeth, it's sickening how easily he's about to fall. who allowed for you to have such a pretty smile? he finds himself grateful to even be witnessing such a thing.

he finds himself flustered at how speechless he is, and he sighs, ignoring his heated cheeks. "you and your weird fantasies".

"whatever you say zhong".

chenle groans, quickly wanting to change the topic. "you wanna play?"

you chuckle at the question, shaking your head almost immediately. "oh no i'm not good at basketball".

"it's not that hard, just dribble and shoot".

you seem to find that idea ridiculous, because you laugh again. "you're definitely going to kick my ass".

"maybe i want to do that" chenle smiles, and you narrow your eyes.

"okay, i see the game your playing".

chenle laughs, and you frown at the corresponding sound. "come on, just once? i'll return the favor, i'll fence with you!"

you seem puzzled by that one. "..do you want to?"

"it can't be that hard".

you bite back another laugh. "you know how to be convincing".

chenle raises an eyebrow. "is that a yes?"

you sigh, rolling your eyes. "fine yes, whatever".

"don't 'whatever' me".

you can barely resist your smile as you watch a hint of irritation settle in his eyes. "come on, let's play".

and maybe chenle smiles a little too wide at that, because he can't stop admiring your smile.

CHENLE TAPS HIS PEN AGAINST THE DESK, LISTENING TO the murmurs of the rest of the student body. it's easy to be quiet when in a room full of noisy, immature men. he barely even remembers where most of their conversations go, it's become much too easy to tune them out. beomgyu must have said something insane, because taeyang is giving him that incredulous glare he can only share with someone like beomgyu. god chenle misses hanbin, he's the only person who can contain such idiots (which is amusing, because all he has to do is clap and they all go silent). "who even agreed to that? did mr. jeong tell you anything?" chenle just barely fights his groan, of course they're arguing about this again. maybe he should just get up and scream, then they would all shut the fuck up.

"i already told you! nayeon said—"

"i didn't ask about nayeon, did i?"

beomgyu sucks his teeth, throwing his hands in the air. "see? this is why no one likes talking to you!"

"i'm just stating the obvious".

"you two have been at it for hours! please just let it go".

honda hitomi leans against her hand, just barely able to fight her own exhaustion. she's about to collapse onto the floor and not get up, but she keeps herself awake for the sake of her own sanity. "what did mr. jeong say about the end of the year fair we planned?"

chenle sighs. "he has not gotten back to me on that one".

"good god it's never going to happen at this point! can i just take down the posters?"

"don't lose hope so quickly!"

"at this rate hope no longer exists! we have to wait weeks for a response from the principal himself! aren't we supposed to be hosting all the cool student events?"

"yeah that's what we have chenle for".

chenle ignores the giggles that reply to those words, much too tired to even care anymore. "i need to make sure donghyuck doesn't traumatize daegal.. you guys have a good day" he grabs his stuff and scrunches his nose, almost unable to stand on his legs considering how long he'd been sat.

"why would you let donghyuck babysit daegal?"

"he's broke so i'm practically forcing him to" chenle swings his bag over his shoulder, smiling at the snickers he receives from his members. "i'll see you all tomorrow, and if any of you see hanbin tell him he better come up with a good excuse for being missing".

it's a threat that again has beomgyu throwing his arms up in the air, even if it wasn't directed towards him specifically. "will do boss!"

"don't call me that" chenle just barely misses the incoming whine choi beomgyu lets out when he finishes the response.

and then chenle exits the student body room, his shoulder slumping accompanied by a silent sigh. he just wants to get home without any distractions, no yelling, no stupid jokes that lead nowhere, no one to imply something idiotic that will make his eye twitch—

"chenle! hey!"

well of course that can't happen.

zhong chenle's life will never be peaceful, and that disturbance comes in the form of na jaemin, running towards him with that abhorrent smile on his face. chenle is already praying in his head, because he knows jaemin is just going to try something insane again. "amazing to see you jaemin".

the guy isn't even breathless, which chenle finds amusing considering he was totally bolting the whole way here. "did you hear?"

"what?"

jaemin looks disappointed, and he crosses his arms. "you didn't read the blog post? pretty much everyone has already".

chenle blinks, no longer interested in pretending to humor whatever it is jaemin is going to show him. "everyone?"

"mostly everyone, don't be surprised if gyu yells in your ears about it soon".

chenle scrunches his nose. sensing his complete obliviousness, jaemin sighs and pulls out his phone, giggling before even turning it on. "you and y/n are the school's couple of the month".

chenle's eye twitches.

"excuse me?"

jaemin nudges him, showing him the phone. chenle doesn't even have to read anything, all he has to do is look at the title.

[THE SCHOOLS FENCING STAR & SHOOTING GUARD ARE IN LOVE: BUT WE ALL KINDA KNEW THAT ALREADY..]

chenle sighs, of course lee heeseung wrote it. he rolls his eyes, massaging his temples. "tell me you don't believe this.."

jaemin giggles, turning his phone off. he laughs for a while, but pauses when he realizes chenle isn't laughing with him. "wait.. you two aren't dating?"

"no jaemin, we aren't".

the information flabbergasts him. "what do you mean you aren't!? i thought you two were doing like the secret thing.. the whole yeah were dating but like not publicly thing!"

chenle simply shrugs, turning on his heel and continuing his walk towards the exit. jaemin almost trips on his feet, following closely behind him. "how many times do i have to tell people this? there is nothing going on between y/n and i!"

"so then what were you two doing in the gym?"

chenle stops, glancing behind him to catch a look at jaemin's face. he narrows his eyes, scratching the fabric of his sweater. "talking, jaemin, like you usually do with people".

"six in the morning and you two are just talking?"

"you take everything out of proportion, i'm not sure you know what 'dating' looks like".

"well i know y/n, though, and i know his expressions, he stares at you with so much love it's sick!"

chenle can't even muster another eye roll, he simply keeps quiet at the words, turning around to look forward. "whatever.."

he stares down at the floor, not allowing for the words to get to his head. if he does than he'll begin thinking about you, and if he envisions your smile he won't be able to bite back his own.

IT'S FUNNY HOW QUICK GOSSIP CAN SPREAD, BECAUSE ALL chenle's been presented with in these past few weeks are rumors and mindless gossip. what kind of grip does lee heeseung have on everyone? how does his wannabe gossip blog really do all of this damage? he can't even begin speaking without someone asking if he's dating you. is this what being your boyfriend would be like? suddenly everyone is invested in his business and he can't even live in peace because everyone assumes you two are dating. he's let out enough sighs these past few weeks, he's beginning to get tired of everyone's constant muttering, he can't even talk without annoying himself, and he hasn't had an actual conversation with you in a good two weeks, which was totally unintentional at first, but it slowly became more.. voluntary.

you two don't talk much, simply give glances to each other in hallways. it's not that chenle is avoiding you! it's just that chenle is definitely avoiding you.

he just sort of needs space, for an unchecked amount of time.

you almost completely consume his mind, and because everyone thinks you two are dating, it's hard to not think about you. maybe it was difficult to get you out of his head before, but it is insanely difficult now. he doesn't escape jaemin's snickers, whispers, or even just mentions of your name, you're practically haunting him.

looking at your face ensures that chenle will probably collapse onto the floor.

so chenle's avoiding you for the peace of his mind. he makes excuses for why he doesn't want to see you every time, a tight lipped smile on his face whenever someone brings you up.

and of course, because of his avoidance, even more rumors swirl. something about you two getting into a random fight, a lovers quarrel the audience are calling it. how annoying.

but he can't avoid you forever, because you literally know everyone, including the people in his close knit friend group. so what is chenle supposed to say? it gets harder to come up with excuses for not wanting to be in the same room as you. jaemin keeps sending him weird looks, asking questions with his eyes, but chenle simply walks away.

you seem to want to talk to him, but you also seem to sense that he needs his space, because you don't just suddenly ambush him to ask why he's suddenly avoiding you like the plague (even if you do really want to).

and chenle keeps that track record pretty solid for a while, he dodges all of the questions, stares, you, it almost becomes easy after a while.

but it doesn't stay the same, because of course it doesn't, you always just.. appear.

"you sure you can make it? we don't wanna bother you if you can't".

mark is always so considerate, chenle doesn't know the last time he met a guy so nice. "yeah, yeah i'll be fine! just text me the time and i will be there".

"on time?"

chenle snaps his head towards donghyuck, glaring. the older simply giggles as the younger flips him off, and he scoffs. "yes on time donghyuck, fuck you".

"see you lele!"

chenle scrunches his nose at the nickname, he would flip donghyuck off again if not for wanting to keep his sanity in tact. he has to have some kind of limit, and when he hears yet another giggle spill from donghyuck's lips, he wishes he had acted on his intrusive thoughts.

chenle has a few hours considering they always like going out late (and they wonder why their always tired in the morning), he can binge all of how i met your mother for the seventieth time, and he can keep daegal company enough that she'll tire herself out.

chenle's hands stay shoved in his pockets, it isn't even that cold, he just has an emotional attachment to this sweater.

but then chenle stops, because he just walked the complete opposite direction of where he was supposed to go. he blinks, mentally cursing at himself.

"what an idiot you are zhong chenle".

"well that's rude to say to yourself".

chenle jumps, but he can't be startled for long, because it's you. after avoiding you for almost two weeks (seriously he was so close!), you had successfully cornered him.

well 'cornered' may not be the right term to use in the context, you smile, as if pleased to see him. "feels like i haven't been here in years.."

you glance around, feigning interest in your surroundings. chenle bites into his inner cheek, suddenly feeling the air become awkward. "did i do something wrong?" you inquire, seeming completely.. normal.

"no" chenle almost whispers, turning around as to not stare at you. he begins walking the right way this time, unconsciously inviting you to follow him, which you clearly sense with how you straighten up and begin walking beside him. "it's not you".

"so you're avoiding me for what reason?"

chenle shrugs, silence overtaking the air between you two. he listens to the small mutters of others as you two walk together, he can ignore it easily considering you're right beside him now, maybe it's because you overtake all of his thoughts. "i don't know.. everyone thinks were dating, it feels kind of weird".

"well i guessed that was the case".

chenle again goes silent, you are much calmer about this than he would've expected. it's just something he isn't used to seeing from you, he knows if he was getting avoided so clearly he probably would've blown up on the person, but that's just him. "aren't you mad?"

"not really, i can see where your coming from".

chenle hums, the air again becoming awkward. "i'm sorry" you don't look at him as he apologizes, but you smile anyway.

"it's alright, we technically aren't.. friends so i'm really not that offended".

chenle pauses, well he totally forgot that one. he's the one who said it himself. oh he is such a fucking idiot, but you don't say it to offend him, you simply state it as a fact. "still, i probably would've blown up on you if it was the other way around".

"oh trust me, other people have done way worse, a little ghosting is nothing".

that finally gets a smile out of chenle, and you seemed to miss that smile, because you mirror his expression. "i didn't mean to worry you, none of it is your fault".

"i wouldn't say i was worried, i was just confused, but you have your reasons".

chenle sighs, stopping as you hold the door for him. so you're basically just walking him back to his dorm now, no words even having to be exchanged. that's funny. he doesn't put all of his focus on that, though, you're directly in front of him right now, he should put all of his focus on that.

"so were good, right? no bad blood?"

chenle glances over at you. "there never was any bad blood, i just got into my own head".

"that's good, you still have to make good on that promise of fencing me".

chenle raises an eyebrow, suddenly feeling his cheeks dust red. "fencing and basketball are vastly different".

"obviously, but you kicked my ass so i should get to kick yours".

"it was a pretty close game, ten to six".

"my point still stands".

chenle hums, just barely biting back his laugh. "okay fine, we'll fence, just go easy on me".

"aww, but then it won't be fun!"

chenle childishly sticks his tongue out at you, immediately met with an offended stare. still, you laugh, giggle even. chenle finds it funny how easily he can make you laugh.

"either that or we won't".

"fine then".

your smile indicates to chenle that you definitely don't plan on completely fulfilling that.

you raise your hands up in mock surrender, and chenle simply shakes his head, completely done with you. he stops in front of his door, rummaging through his pockets looking for his keys.

"thanks for walking me" he says, quite literally unable to shake off the weird feeling in his stomach. "even though you kind of just followed me here.."

"we were talking, i didn't know how to just leave".

i didn't want for you to leave anyway.

but chenle doesn't say that one, simply smiles again. "it's fine, thank you again".

"so what are we exactly?"

chenle blinks, just about to open his door when you ask that question. he thinks about it, thoughts chugging like a train.

"mortal enemies".

you snicker, looking down at the floor. "oh".

chenle hums, hand resting on his doorknob. "yeah, have a good day y/n".

"you too chenle".

CHENLE DIDN'T UNDERESTIMATE YOU WHEN HE CHALLENGED you to a fencing match. you've been a fencer as long as you could stand on your two feet, you mentioned in passing once that you'd been fencing since elementary school, introduced to the sport by your father. chenle doesn't know anything about fencing, he's watched one competition and can barely recollect the memories of what went on because it was at that competition that he met you. it's hard to focus on anything when your around, especially the match he literally challenged you to. he wasn't exactly thinking when he brought it up, just really wanting for you to play basketball with him. he stumbles back, tripping on his own feet and falling back onto the floor.

"wow i suck at this" chenle mutters, back resting against the mat on the ground.

your distinct chuckle meets his ears, and chenle lets out a sigh. "well i didn't say it.."

"oh fuck you, your the fencing expert".

"that's what you get when you compete with an actual fencer" you respond, chenle rests the épée beside his laying figure. "you didn't go down without a fight though, four points!"

"four points to twelve points, you think that's a worthy competition?"

"it's impressive for someone whose fencing for the first time ever right now" you remove your fencing mask properly, getting a good look at him on the floor. "i'm sure you could take jiung in a match".

"oh don't mention your teammates, i can't handle any of this, how do you do it?"

you whistle, dropping the épée onto the floor and extending your hand towards chenle. he takes it, feeling a pain spike as he stands on his two legs. "you liar, you said you were gonna go easy".

you simply smile, feigned innocence behind that wretched sight ('wretched' is the wrong word to describe it, chenle absolutely loves your smile).

"that was me going easy" you reply, squeezing his hand against yours.

that's when chenle is brought back to reality. holy shit you two are holding hands. he stares at the spectacle, blinking dumbly as you again snicker at your own words. he pulls his hand away quickly, ignoring the excessive heat of his face.

"oh then i really suck".

"your better than most people".

chenle hums, being better than most people doesn't really mean anything when going against you. "stop frowning, you did well".

chenle is definitely not frowning, he's not! how would you even know that? "well doesn't mean much in these books".

you shake your head, and chenle doesn't frown (but his lips turn downward). he picks the épée up from the floor, twirling it around. "can't just say i'm not good at this?"

"the reason you aren't good at this is because of your handiwork" you quickly respond, stepping closer to him and wrapping your fingers around chenle's wrist. "you have to angle your hand at ninety degrees, it has to be parallel to your foot.."

chenle blinks as you begin explaining the ways for him to improve his fencing. your rambling, very interested in actually helping him instead of just beating him at your own game again. chenle is quite literally on the verge of a heart attack, everything you're saying has blurred into the background as you get closer, the heat in the room steadily rising.

you continue talking, angling chenle's arm forward and pointing the sword straight. chenle cannot focus on what you're saying because you are so.. beautiful? you look so good in this lighting, it has to be criminal. you unconsciously get up in his personal space and chenle's breath hitches, but you don't notice.

"—and when you lunge your other hand should go down to balance your body weight" you mutter, smile on your face as you glance at chenle, who looks midway through a disassociating scene.

"hey, are you even listening to anything i'm saying?" you nudge chenle with your shoulder. chenle snaps out of his little episode and blinks, leaning away from you as he sees how close you are.

"oh.. uh— well".

you sigh, letting go of chenle's wrist and watching it lean down in just the slightest. "nuh uh, keep it up, ninety degrees".

chenle scoffs, but you raise an eyebrow, and he pauses. who knew you could be like that? chenle is just a little afraid seeing you serious. "you really don't have to help me".

"it's out of courtesy".

chenle narrows his eyes, and you whistle again, removing the fencing gear your wearing. "you aren't going against me again are you?"

"absolutely not" chenle shakes his head, another heavy breath leaving his lips. "you're brutal, i can't keep up".

"i'm sure you could".

"you have too much faith in me".

you hum, slipping your sweater back on and shoving your hands into your pockets. chenle again sighs, walking past you. "you could've at least tried to get eight points on me".

"the only way i'd get eight points on you is if you gave them to me" chenle replies, and you hold the door open for him again, watching as he narrows his eyes at you. "and you'd never let me".

"it's good to be competitive".

"at least you said something true".

you two must have a thing for unconsciously walking together now, much too distracted in conversation to even catch the looks your being given.

"i see you guys have made up!"

you pause, smiling at the sight of your longtime friend, and chenle sighs at the sight of jaemin. "why are you so sad?"

"jaemin brings chaos into my life".

jaemin scrunches his nose, offended. "don't be so quick to say that, i brought y/n into your life!"

"exactly".

now it's your turn to be offended, a gasp drawing from you. "wow i see how it is, chenle, maybe you should just go back to ignoring me then".

"you're so petty".

"oh and you aren't? that is completely unfair!"

jaemin glances between the two of you as you begin your mini argument, the bickering between you two surprisingly entertaining him.

what an interesting lovers quarrel.  

"DON'T BE BORING! LET'S GO TO JINYOUNG'S PARTY!" JAEMIN shouted in his ear as he saw chenle trying his best to drift off to sleep. the younger was very much not on board, he wanted to sleep, he wanted to rest, maybe have a romantic dream about you or whatever. it's not like he had a load of work dumped on him tonight, he just didn't want to go out on his fine evening, and he also doesn't know jinyoung that well. he's not the extent of social butterfly jaemin is, he's sort of afraid of being that awkward friend who just follows his much more known friend around. he just knows jaemin is going to ditch him the moment he finds a cute guy to make out with, and that isn't his ideal kind of night. it didn't matter what he said though, jaemin had somehow convinced him to not sleep in his bed all night.

"this room reeks of drunk breath".

"don't be boring, chenle!" that must be jaemin's only response, because he smiles when chenle frowns. "have some fun" he pushes at his shoulder, but chenle simply sighs.

"i can't wake up with a hangover tomorrow.."

"just a little?"

jaemin puts his best puppy dog eyes on display, pouting with his hands clasped together. chenle immediately leans back against the wall, put off by whatever.. this is. he points, pressing his index finger against jaemin's chest. "if you get wasted i'm leaving you".

"that isn't a threat".

yeah, it really isn't, jeno is jaemin's ride or die, he'd carry the guy up the stairs while he was hanging off his shoulder for pete's sake.

so when jaemin does eventually get wasted, chenle isn't even that surprised when jeno shows up to follow him around and make sure he doesn't kill himself.

jinyoung is nice, a little erratic, chenle finds it amusing how easily he gets offended at heeseung's jokes. he almost socked the guy in the face, but then they looked at each other and began laughing loudly about it, they're much too gone to even realize they're being stupid.

chenle could barely take one sip of those drinks without grimacing, he can't even get tipsy, he might fall over from the taste alone, he isn't going to risk it.

he can't stand being alone for long, though, because he finds himself at beomgyu's side, listening to the choi talk his ear off. he doesn't know many of beomgyu's friends, he's met taehyun once, courtesy of jisung surprisingly, but the other guys are practically ghosts to him. one of them really likes bread though, he's never seen a guy so passionate about wheat.

"i can't believe you think strawberry ice cream is good! it's terrible!"

"it's not! you're a pussy! no wonder you can't eat fruit!"

maybe beomgyu and this bread obsessed guy have arguments like this often, because the words sound so practiced chenle assumes they must rehearse this argument for every time they drink. beomgyu huffs, crossing his arms, and he snaps his head over to chenle. "tell soobin he's wrong".

"is that his name?" when he asks that, soobin waves from behind beomgyu, a wide smile displayed on his face. "i have no say here".

beomgyu pouts. "even outside of school you're boring".

"you're arguing about strawberries!"

and just when chenle is about to join the argument about the ethics of strawberry ice cream, he hears something.

"boo!"

chenle almost jumps out of his seat, startled by the sudden sound. he grits his teeth once he's met with your smiling face, and you giggle, your breath reeking of the disgusting alcohol. "oh hello you".

"hiiiiii did you miss me?" you ask, hands clasped together as you try your best to sit, tripping on your feet. you hiccup; "cause i definitely missed you—" a poke to his cheek, another giggle leaves your lips. "—i can't believe you're reeeeal" your words slur and syllables stick together, you clearly aren't in the right mind at the current moment.

you lean half your body weight against chenle, laughing at something you say in your own head (at least that's what chenle assumes is happening, you're simply laughing for no reason). "did you miss me too?"

you jut out your bottom lip, chenle has to turn his head to stare at you. your cheeks are flushed, eyes are wide, and you have a permanent smile on your face. "it's debatable".

"you take that back!"

chenle can just barely stifle his laugh, you're absolutely ridiculous. you pout again, brain fuzzy. "don't laugh at me.."

"how much have you had to drink?" chenle asks, a finger in your hair. the strands are soft, just like he predicted.

"uhhh nothing really like um.. uh— four?" you hold up four fingers, then burst into laughter at the sight of your own hand.

oh. so you're that drunk, you giggle again, a snort following that sound. your head rests onto chenle's shoulders, and you shake as you giggle.

"four drinks? already".

you hiccup again. "jinyoung said.. um, i actually forgot what he said, but he promised me something! i like promises!"

you snap your fingers, leaning back in your seat and almost falling backwards in the process.

chenle watches, listening to the continuous drunk chatter of beomgyu and soobin. he then sighs, tired. "y/n, come on".

you crack open one eye. "whaaaaat? you don't wanna dance?"

"i think you've had enough, let's not dance right now".

"but we have to" your lips turn downward into a frown, visible sadness in your eyes.

"we can dance at another time".

"oh really?" your eyes shine, as if you're already awaiting the moment you two will dance.

"yeah, let me take you home before you end up passing out on the floor".

chenle wraps an arm around your waist, and you wrap an arm around his, but he's basically carrying you around.

"jaem" chenle calls out, grunting as he lifts you from your place. when jaemin turns around, he looks fine, not like what chenle expected. he's met with an immediate eyebrow raise, as expected of jaemin. "i'm taking y/n home.."

"youuu just wanna see my bedroom" you slur, poking chenle again as you practically fall onto him, no longer controlling any of your movements. "hiiiii jaemin!"

"okay, i see" jaemin looks you two up down, and you're still waving while he judges you. "have fun".

"don't start".

at the sight of chenle's piercing glare, jaemin puts his hands up in surrender. "okay, make sure he doesn't die".

"he might end up killing himself anyway.." chenle mutters under his breath, again lifting you up as he sighs.

"byeeeee jaemin! i love you!"

chenle scrunches his nose, and you continue to wave even when jaemin disappears from view. you lean onto him again, noticing his silence. "don't be mad, i love you too".

he glances. "not mad".

you giggle again, wasted beyond words. "no need to lie to me, you're so obvious".

chenle's cheeks flare up at that. alright you fucking psychic.

WHEN YOU TWO MAKE IT BACK TO YOUR DORM, you collapse onto your couch, bringing your knees to your chest. you weren't as talkative on the way back as chenle thought you would be, the moment you two left jinyoung's door, you simply went silent, the many drinks probably went to your head, you must be exhausted, and for the first time in forever, you two don't really bicker. you simply walk along with him in silence, so there are no words exchanged between you two. when you collapse onto your couch, chenle can just barely keep in his laugh. you let out a heavy breath, groaning. "i hate parties.." you mutter against your cushion, scratching at the fabric of the cushion. chenle turns to stare at you, and you let out a groan of pain(?).

"no you don't".

"no i don't".

you stretch your limbs, then hug your knees against your chest. "chenle?" you call out, eyes closed, and arms circled around yourself.

your voice is barely audible, he doesn't think he's heard you be so silent ever. he hums as his response, and you take in a deep breath before asking yet another question. "can you get me a blanket from my room? it's always cold in here.."

chenle nods even though you can't see. "okay, and which door is yours?" he's afraid of accidentally walking into the wrong room, he's heard your roommate isn't exactly the easiest to get on good terms with.

"the one at the far end of the hall" you stretch the final letter of the word 'hall', your sighs endless.

chenle mutters a small response and turns on his heel to make his way towards your room. he hears you let out another sigh, your fatigue following closely behind him as he opens the door.

when he does enter, instead of immediately doing what you asked, he allows for himself to get engrossed in the scenery of your room. the posters which litter the walls, your many fencing awards, medals, trophies, certificates. the photos on your shelves containing some familiar faces, there's one with you and jaemin that chenle can only assume was from way before university.

oh, so they do go that far back.

your room is adorable, it isn't exactly big, but you mastered how to make due with the space you were given. he glances at your bed, and he grabs a good enough blanket, heading back to the living room.

"you're a blessing zhong chenle" you say when he lays the blanket over you, watching as you let your body relax.

chenle stares, simply watching the way you shuffle against your couch. "it's really no problem, sleep well".

"what?"

chenle snaps his head towards you. "sleep well y/n, i'm leaving".

"you can't leave!" you open your eyes, staring at him incredulously. "what happens if i get attacked while you're gone!?"

chenle deadpans, you cannot be serious right now. "you're not getting attacked while i'm gone, y/n, that makes no sense".

you cross your arms, clearly not as completely sober as chenle thought you were. "i need for someone to stick by me, just until wonjin comes back!"

wonjin. oh, that must be your roommate. "and when is he gonna come back exactly?"

"i don't know" you put your own hand on your forehead, wincing at the heat that you feel. "he's a wild card.. kind of".

chenle sighs, of course you're starting with something again. "i can't stay y/n, i really have to get home".

no. he doesn't. he doesn't have to get home. the only real reason would be daegal, who his brother graciously stole for the weekend. he doesn't live with anyone else, so he isn't exactly going home to anyone. he doesn't know why he said that, he just lied to lie.

"no you don't".

you're correct, but chenle wants to remain stubborn. he sucks his teeth, irritated at the pure truth. "just for a few minutes?" you ask, putting on pleading eyes as you stare at the other standing at the arm of the couch. "please? you don't have to stay for long, just until i sleep".

now how can chenle deny that? he can pretend he isn't in love with you while others are around, he can act like the flirting doesn't affect him in the hallways, he can act like nothing's there in the bright light of the day, but now? now? while you're staring at him with pleading eyes? how could he ever deny you?

"i— fine.." chenle sighs, hands dropping at his sides as he steps closer, sitting down beside you on the couch. he doesn't lie down just yet, he isn't that tired. "now will you sleep?"

you nod quickly. "much better, good night".

you rest your head against your couch, snuggling against the blanket as your hand reaches over to take chenle's, intertwining your fingers together. "thanks for staying with me.. you're a good friend".

chenle keeps silent, but you still aren't asleep, because you snort in response to your own words. "sorry, enemy, we're enemies".

chenle gives a chuckle in response. "yep, mortal enemies".

you give a dismissive wave with your free hand, laughing again. "okay okay, i love you, good night" you let your hand drop and keep your eyes closed as you slowly begin drifting off into a slumber.

chenle again pauses.

you what?

his cheeks flare up, just the small confession distracting him enough, your thumb caresses the back of his palm, and the touch amplifies the red of his cheeks.

you love him.

well that's nice.

THE SUNLIGHT PEAKING IN THROUGH THE NEARBY window earns a small wince from chenle, eyes begging to remain shut as the light shines against his eyelids. he shuffles— or, he tries his best to shuffle with the lack of space he's in, a small groan escaping his lips as he tries to wake himself. he goes through an inward battle of trying to adjust his eyesight whilst also attempting to avoid the direct light of the sun, taking a few moments of squinting until he can finally open his eyes, adjusting to his surroundings as he begins to fight the fatigue in his body. oh he is such a fucking liar. he agreed to just a few minutes right beside you, and he fell asleep, right beside you. he woke up before you, and your soft snores become all he hears in the room. "oh my god" chenle massages his own temples, cursing under his breath.

you're still asleep, just barely awaken from your seemingly good dreams as chenle takes in a deep breath, rubbing the exhaustion from his eyes with one hand.

he stares down at your sleeping figure, your hair too messy, cheeks rosy red, and your other hand still holding his, squeezing. he snickers silently, and you must not have been that deep asleep, because you shuffle against your couch.

chenle lets go of your hand to rummage for his phone, and you let out a small sound of defiance as you feel his fingers slip from yours.

he almost laughs again, watching the way your eyebrows furrow. 09:14 am. wow, he doesn't remember the last time he slept that long.

"good morning.." you mutter, though you keep your eyes closed. chenle narrows his own eyes, amused by the sight. you feel around until you grab his hand again, intertwining your fingers. "i'm tired".

"yeah?"

"..and it all hurts".

chenle sighs, unable to get away from your hand squeezing his. "you have ibuprofen or something?"

"i just need to.." you pause, finally getting up, somehow without letting go of chenle's hand. "like walk around for some hours" you wave your free hand dismissively, and when chenle sends you a look, you clear your throat. "sometimes i can just walk in circles and get rid of a hangover".

chenle scrunches his nose, and you laugh at the face he gives you. "i'm not sure why it works that way either, it just does".

"you're a strange guy".

you hum, running a hand through your tousled hair. you two stay silent for a moment, staring at each other. "so you stayed over, huh?"

chenle again scrunches his nose, his cheeks flaring up. "i didn't mean to fall asleep.." he mutters, stubbornness immediately on display. "i was tired".

"aww, you didn't stay for me?"

"don't make me vomit, y/n".

you stick out your tongue, jumping off the couch and dusting off your clothes. "you gonna stay around or would you like for me to walk you out?"

"let me settle into the morning air first.."

"okay weirdo".

chenle almost scoffs, there's no way you're calling him weird, you're as weird as jaemin. maybe that's why, weird people can't grasp their own weirdness, they see it all as completely normal.

"you don't have a shitty hangover do you?"

you shake the bottle of ibuprofen then grab a bottle of water, taking the medication as if simply programmed to do it. you narrow your eyes, picking up on chenle's staring problem. "you stare a lot, huh?"

chenle snaps out of his dissociative state, realizing you asked him a question. "oh no i'm fine, i didn't even try to drink that shitty alcohol".

you snicker, putting the medication away and walking towards the bathroom. "you're simply a little too uptight".

"uptight? how did anyone drink that?"

you shrug from where you are, your voice echoing from the bathroom. "jinyoung is pretty convincing" chenle hears the sink water start running, assuming that you're brushing your teeth.

"not enough for terrible drinks".

chenle rises from his place, trudging behind you towards the bathroom. he stands in the doorway and watches you, he doesn't know why he's so interested in watching you do even the simplest of things, there's simply something about you that makes the simplest of tasks so compelling to watch.

you again catch his eyes, spitting out your toothpaste. "you definitely have a staring problem".

chenle sighs, how is he even supposed to argue with that? he is quite literally proving to you that he has a staring problem.

he doesn't really have one, though, it's just with you that he can't help but stare.

he can't exactly respond to that one, and a smirk shows on your lips, you've rendered him speechless. "oh.. am i right?"

chenle's scoff is stubborn, his arms folding over his chest, there's tease in your voice that makes red spread across his cheeks. "you aren't, i just constantly need to be around someone.."

what a reasonable lie that you clearly buy! you simply roll your eyes in response, he really just lies like it's nothing. you clasp your hands behind your back, lips turning up. "why do you lie to me so much? do i make you nervous or something?"

and it's not like you step closer, you simply stand there with your hands behind your back, a tormenting smile playing on your lips. you aren't doing anything, but chenle's legs feel weak, you're simply standing and smiling, it's nothing crazy, but you are crazy, what gives you the right to stand and smile like that at chenle?

"don't flatter yourself".

you raise an eyebrow, smile permanent. god you look so kissable right now, maybe chenle should give into his desires and lean in.

but he doesn't, he simply scowls, feigning irritation at your lack of action. "sorry, forgot we're mortal enemies and all".

you whistle, hands shoving into your pockets and walking past chenle. "you want me to walk you out now?"

chenle turns as your shoulder brushes against his, following behind you to the door. "you don't have to".

you open your front door, motioning with your head. "i technically already did!" oh so you're trying to be a smart ass, how funny. chenle's face falls, and your lips turn up as his turn down.

"you're so annoying".

"i'm simply here to entertain" you sing, gently pushing chenle out of your dorm. "have a good day enemy!"

and chenle would've flipped you off if he wasn't distracted by your smile.

CHENLE LETS HIS STUBBORNNESS CARRY THROUGHOUT the week, even while you two see each other, occasionally talking, occasionally staring longingly (that's more on chenle's part, you have such intriguing facial features, and not in a creepy way). he definitely does not have dreams about kissing you, about going on dates, or even about you two being a real couple, that would be ridiculous, zhong chenle does not have a crush, and he especially does not have a crush on you. yes the evidence looks pretty undeniable, his stares linger too much, his eyes linger too much, especially on your lips, he practically itches to hold your hand when you two are in public, the whole "mortal enemies" thing becoming an inside joke for you two. you seem perpetually oblivious to chenle's stares, or maybe you're just acting, it's getting a bit difficult to tell.

the rise in romantic tension doesn't help the rumors that were already up in the air, because the more chenle stares at you like he wants to eat you (in very figurative and literal ways), the more people just make assumptions about what exactly is going on between you two.

to be fair, they die down in whispers, but not in speculation. chenle can't even glance at you without another post popping up on heeseung's (frankly terrible) gossip blog about how he's obsessed.

and maybe there's some truth there (but chenle would never admit that, he can't give lee heeseung credence, he actually likes himself), but no one should ever know that, and hopefully you don't, he knows you don't read all the shit online. you do enjoy completely irritating chenle, though, he doesn't remember the last day he had that wasn't fueled by your annoying rants.

now, it's become mundane for you to be everywhere, and though it's never uttered, chenle really doesn't mind. he finds your presence to be enjoying, you entertain him like no other.

so no matter how much he tries to feign stubbornness, he loves your company. it's amazing how someone so annoying could also be someone so entertaining, and so.. well— beautiful too.

it's strange how easily you two fall into a rhythm of just existing together. chenle feels as if his life would be stranger if you weren't showing up abruptly for another strange conversation to follow.

it does become friendship, yes, but you two never say it. there's a peculiar romantic line there that you guys never bring up, there are too many almost kissing moments that never actually amount to kissing. chenle thinks you must be playing with him, psychologically torturing him. you fucking know, he can see it in your stupid smile.

but he doesn't say anything, not wanting to think he's getting it all wrong. if there's something chenle has learned about you, it's that you're unpredictable, and seeing as how you usually act with your other friends, being super affectionate is naturally your thing.

chenle doesn't want to seem stupid, it would be so embarrassing if the feelings he's spent a good few months trying to ignore turned out to be unrequited.

"is this your idea of a dat— oh my god you have a puppy!?"

your voice pitches up as you catch sight of daegal, cooing at the puppy who barked as she saw you enter. chenle glances at you, your eyes practically shining as you stare at his dog. he barely bites back his smile. "this is daegal, she's my daughter".

you kneel down to get a closer look at the adorable puppy, lips jutted into a pout. "hi daegal! how are you?"

though she's a little hostile at first, she takes one step forward, and you ruffle her hair, earning an excited yelp. you look like your about to burst into tears with how adorable she is, and you cast your eyes at chenle. "she's so cute chenle.."

"are you gonna cry?"

you shake your head, but chenle still isn't convinced. "i love her, i should come here more often!" daegal makes a sound you take as agreement, and you gasp again.

"oh wow, you're already replacing me with my dog?"

"absolutely" daegal jumps into your arm, and you melt into the feeling. you close your eyes, basking in the air of chenle's dormitory. "she likes me more than you do".

chenle narrows his eyes, but he can't even pretend to be pissed, because you simply look so ecstatic, how could he even be mad?

"okay baby, come here" he doesn't even have to move his hand, but daegal leaps out of your arms to circle around chenle. "you can't just steal y/n from me" he teases, carrying her in his arms as he makes his way over to his room.

he hears your overdramatic gasp in the distance, the words certainly surprising. "did i just hear what i think i heard!?"

you're practically hopping as you follow behind chenle towards his room, barely able to contain your own excitement. "oh my god you like me!"

chenle snaps his head towards you, a piercing (yet faked) glare in his eyes. "no dummy, were mortal enemies".

"i heard that~" you sing, turning on your heel to glance around chenle's room. "you just always have that large stephen curry poster on your wall?"

"he's my idol" chenle places daegal on his bed, she immediately curls up beside one of his pillows and settles, relaxing.

"seems like an obsession".

"you don't get stephen curry like i do".

you stare incredulously, a small smile on your face. you place your chin onto chenle's shoulder, watching his once serene expression become one of irritation, his eye twitching. "maybe not, but i definitely get you now".

chenle raises an eyebrow, silently questioning those words in the reflection of his mirror. he blinks, almost afraid to catch your eyes, but he already has, he's staring at your spitting image right now.

you peel yourself on him, a dramatic sigh falling from your lips as you stare, hands on your hips. "how long have you had a crush on me?"

chenle narrows his eyes. "excuse me?"

"come on! give me an honest answer! i won't laugh, i like you too you know, it's honestly kind of cute—"

"y/n".

you pause, chenle knew you were about to begin a ramble, so you shut up, angering him not really being on your list of things to do. you give him the stage to speak his mind, and he deadpans at you. "you are so annoying".

"does that mean you do have a crush on me?"

he stares, fighting the smile that threatens to break on his face. "you are so annoying, it's stupid how i have a crush on you, it's so dumb! you're so annoying but it's also what makes you endearing, and charming, and cute and fuck you!"

and maybe chenle does spit such hurtful words, but he doesn't mean them. his face is unbearably red, cheeks heated to the max, it's embarrassing that he's admitting this to you, now all he has left to do is kill himself and change the trajectory of your life forever.

you stare for a moment, and then you begin laughing, small giggles falling from your lips in such a rapid pace chenle is afraid you'll die.

"you always tell people you like them by shouting?"

"you're so annoying".

"is that your way of saying you love me?" you ask, stepping closer with your hands clasped together. "maybe we should talk about it".

"do you want me to die..?" he mutters, face still incredibly hot. he glares again, but he can't even keep his composure. "i'll take back that confession".

"aww, i like it when you yell at me though".

chenle shoves you backward, yet he smiles anyway. you're so annoying, but maybe there's allurement sprinkled in that he can't exactly ignore. "i fucking hate you.." he mumbles.

you again stare, simply pure adoration in your eyes. you again step closer, fingers grazing his jaw in gentle swipes along the edges. you pause, uncharacteristically silent. "can i kiss you?"

chenle stops. oh! well he didn't expect for this to happen now. he looks up, staring for much too long, thinking for much too long. "i— um, yeah.. yes".

the response fizzles into the air, overtaken by the influx of your cherry flavored chapstick, his bottom lip caught between your teeth as your finger draw shapes into his hip. chenle didn't guess this one, maybe it's because he always bites first, but then again, unpredictability is a thing with you.

your teeth scrape against the plush, pink skin, not rough enough to draw blood, you have courtesy. the action produces just the slightest hint of a whimper from chenle, what a fuel to your ego.

when you two pull away for air, chenle's first move is to avoid eye contact. you giggle at the sight of his cherry red cheeks, your fingers still graze his jaw, slowly turning his head in your direction. "hi".

maybe chenle's smile is too wide, but he's done giving a fuck. he begins fiddling with the zipper of your sweater, trying to distract himself. you again laugh, seemingly amused by his actions. "let's not do this before i take you on a date" you whisper, implications high in the air.

chenle's cheeks again flare up, and much too easily as well. "you think i wanna sleep with you right after we just kissed?"

"people are strange.. and you are people".

"you think i'm moving too quick" chenle pokes your cheek, resisting the urge to place a kiss onto it, maybe not now. you hum happily, intertwining your fingers.

"i didn't say it, let me treat you before sex".

the words are much too honest, but chenle loves honest. it's so stupid, you're so stupid. "what makes you think we're having sex?"

"oh just wait".

chenle frowns, eyebrows furrowing. "that sounds like a threat" he states, scratching behind his ear.

you whistle again, hands behind your back as you laugh. "you've definitely said worse, i'll treat you well".

you hold your hand out again, and chenle takes it without any hesitation, basking in the feeling of your soft hands on his own. "okay, i'm holding you to that, if you fail i'll hang your head on my wall".

you snicker, nudging him. "see? you are worse! it's obvious!"

chenle scowls, but it's so lighthearted that he can't even call it a scoff anymore. "you're so annoying".

you tug at his hand, a small act of defiance. "thank you, enemy".

your fingers slip from chenle's, and he can't fight his smile. you're so annoying, yes, but you're also so pretty.

"CAN YOU STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE YOU WANT to kill me?" if chenle thinks about it, you really are jaemin's twin. jaemin's stare is reminiscent of the ones you share with chenle whenever he glares, arms crossed, nose scrunched. jaemin's lips turn downward into a frown, a frown that directly copies yours, wow, you two are simply carbon copies of each other, no wonder you're such good friends. chenle finds it weird that almost anything can remind him of you now, considering you two have only been dating for two weeks (where did all the time go?), his terrible staring problem hasn't gotten any better anyway, he can stare at you with free reign whenever he wants to. it's too hard to be stubborn when he's so obvious, especially because you could just raise an eyebrow and he'd crumble (only a little though, not all the way).

"how else am i supposed to stare at you?" chenle's eyes hold a certain distaste, and jaemin lets out a loud, overdramatic sigh. "do you always have to ask me stupid questions?"

his hands fall at his sides, an action that chenle judges in it's entirety. "jeno would treat me better than this.."

"go sit with him then".

chenle doesn't have to tell him twice, he stomps his feet like a baby and trudges towards where jeno sits. he can barely stifle his laughter, something about jaemin's stupid way of responding to things is amusing.

chenle might just leave right now, it's not like this is one of the games that one of jaemin's random friends is playing at, this is simply a random volleyball game for a team he doesn't really care about (with no offense to the players).

his hands scratch at the fabric of his pants, he's only here because he decided to give into jaemin's incessant begging. oh screw na jaemin.

"this fucking sucks.."

"is this becoming your thing?"

chenle startles, jumping from his spot with a small squeak. he then relaxes when he sees you, a glare settling in his eyes. "you need to stop doing that" he responds, and you snicker, completely amused. "i didn't think you were coming".

"i was looking for you" you whisper, hands behind your back. "since when is jaemin so convincing to you?"

"he isn't, he's just annoying".

"wonder where i've heard that before" you feign thought, tapping your finger onto your chin. your lips turn up as you catch chenle roll his eyes, he's simply so easy to irritate. "you're so mean to me".

"that's my job".

you gasp, hand placing itself over your heart. "you just stole my cue".

i've unconsciously begun taking up some of your habits too, what the fuck is up with that?

the words aren't said, though. chenle simply reaches over and takes your hand, deciding to not say the obvious. you stare for a moment, then your lips turn up in their usual manner.

"that happens when i spend so much time around you" he tugs you forward by your hand, practically pressing you against him. "i'm picking up your annoying habits".

"is annoying your favorite word?"

"annoying is what you are".

you narrow your eyes, swinging your laced hands back and forth. "but you love me" you sing, much too enamored to even be bothered by his insults.

chenle scoffs, but he doesn't deny, simply squeezes your hand. it's difficult to care about anyone else when you're right here, even the people who send you weird looks (which is strange considering everyone already thought you were dating before you actually were, why is it weird that you two are holding hands?).

he shakes his head. "absolutely not".

you frown, that sick, sad frown that is just much too convincing. there's no reason for you to look so sad so flawlessly, chenle wants to punch you in the face. it's how he'll show his love for you.

the game won't start for a long time, he probably would've died of boredom if you hadn't shown up. "hey you wanna go?"

chenle glances at you. "go where?"

"literally anywhere but here" you state, nudging him with your shoulder. "i won't bore you much, i swear".

chenle sighs, he has no argument for that, he would rather be anywhere but here. "if jaemin texts you, don't answer".

you snicker at that, looking down at the ground. "he's going to think you killed me or something" you mutter, just lightly shuddering at the cold air that hits you both as you exit through the door.

"maybe i will" he responds, his rings would usually clash against your hand if not for the feeling being so mundane. "i have to rip you away from daegal, she's getting too used to you".

"is threatening to kill me your way of showing love?"

chenle stares for a moment, simply basking in everything. your intertwined fingers, the cool evening air, the comfort of it all, maybe chenle isn't exactly all that mad at jaemin, you're right here beside him, talking your ass off, and he laughs, it's all so funny. "sometimes you piss me off".

"i'm hoping you said that with love".

it's gotten much too difficult to successfully act serious around you, you're too funny. "of course i did, stupid".

you raise an eyebrow, an action that makes chenle sigh. you have to know that's his weakness, it's much too easy to get him. "say it, please?"

chenle cannot believe the audacity you have. you greatly piss him off, you bat your eyelashes as you patiently wait for him to confess his love to you.

chenle lets out a loud, exasperated breath. you're so annoying.

"i love you".

your face lights up, cheeks flaring at the confession. you press a kiss to chenle's cheek, enamored.

"i love you too".

[really-burnt-toast]

Day 3 of drawing COTL unholy alliance stuff until the update comes out

The goats Narinder.

Aka. Shamura and Narinder swap

(Info dump + alt versions under cut)

Soooo Shamura and Narinder swapped places. That leaves Narinder with a cracked open head and... declawed? Huh, I wonder why he's declawed :)

Anyway, Ill explain more stuff when I draw swap Shamura. But rn, Ill explain some details in this drawing!

1. Like my regular Shamura, one of Narinder's eyes is covered. He also has the same scratch marks like them and has destroyed ears, like shamura has destroyed head-thingies.

2. He is declawed, during that progress they remove the last fingerbones with the claws - in the drawing I also drew them missing. Originally he has his paws wrapped with bandages but I wanted to show it off - they are fully healed but bandaged due to them causing pain (as they would with declawed cats, leading to chronic pain). He also originally looked pained - but I chose a different expression.

3. The crown was supposed to stare off into space but I made it stare into your soul instead

4. Narinder has slightly similar robes to Shamura

5. THE BIGGEST detail, which is why Im even mentioning them all... its the eyes in the background. 4 eyes. Those arent Narinder's. Those are supposed to reprisend Shamura's. The reason why is a secret for now until I expand on the au :)

Anyway - no background and sketch versions

[heevanly]

.ᐟ TEASER: Run The Night : ENHYPEN (엔하이픈)

𝐬yn. : when y/n agreed to take on a mysterious job that no one else in her team wanted, she expected some hardships, but nothing like she’s experiencing thus far. meeting up with a completely different group of young detectives makes life a bit easier though, especially when there’s seven of them. she just never could’ve fathomed the horrific scenes that would unfurl in front of all of their eyes and with no way to contact her original team, all she can do is move forward.

𝐰arnings. / 𝐭ags. : (18+)! series. investigator au. virus / zombie au. late 1990s era but it's not really talked about. horror. body horror. gore. enha members as main characters. ej from &team mentioned. no smut. swearing. humor. not really romantical but there’s flirting and tension sooooo who knows in the end. no character death but a lot of character harm. fem reader. ocs used for plot convenience.

𝐧ote. : new series!! i’ve been playing crow country and it’s kinda based off this (at least w/ some loose plot points and location wise, with it taking place in a theme park). i’m still debating whether or not to make an endgame relationship or keeping it ambiguous. i was supposed to upload this teaser days ago but things unfortunately did NOT go as planned. lmk if you’d like to get tagged! ( ˶ˆᗜˆ˵ )

𝐭aglist. : @graythecoffeebean @livsateez @velvethana

© @heevanly 2024 | do NOT copy, plagiarize, reupload, or steal my works.

RELEASE DATE : JUNE 7TH-10TH, 2024

TEASER WC : little less than 2.6k

the drive was boring, the dull gray road and the blend of the dark branches blurring together and you have to blink a few times to clear your eyes and refocus. the pale yellow road dividers were faded, chipped, and cracked, allowing weeds to pop up every so often.

sighing you turn the radio on but nothing but static reaches your ears, you suspected as much as you’re pretty sure you passed into nothing world little less than an hour ago, the curse of this damn theme park being so far out.

elsher’s kingdom wasn’t a place you often thought about visiting but considering you were above the theme park’s age demographic that made sense, admittingly the place had gathered your attention when it had opened but for a different reason. it was constructed pretty much out of nowhere, the man who owned it was a mystery, he was rich, had a family he kept out of the public eye, and barely made any public outings unless it was for business purposes. 

the theme park was big, eight different exploratory areas all with its own individual “theme”. it wasn’t incredibly massive, like some of the other theme parks within the country, but it was local and it was fun.

you weren’t coming here for fun though. the mission you were given flashes across your mind. no one knows who made the request for someone (solo, they had specified), to investigate a missing person and discover the reason for the park’s shut down, but they anonymously gave a large sum of money that would really help fund the office and with a promise to give more both for the one to investigate and the entire office upon completion of the job.

no one really wanted it, suspicion was heavily written all over the request especially with the lack of clarity in it, but the money was something of interest for everyone. you took up on the offer quickly, your natural curiosity about the place being a part of the reason and well… money was certainly a good thing to have as it was a bit tight for you at the moment.

so here you were, driving down a dusty, somewhat abandoned road, to try and find a missing person who was last seen at the park and and find out why it was shut down in the first place. all for some money that wasn’t even specified in the letter. you hope the money was good and that the job was easy, even though there was an inkling in the back of your mind that that wouldn’t be the case.

the theme park comes into view and you pull off to enter the parking lot, scanning the area as you park you notice there was a few cars scattered around. none of them seemed dusty, in fact they all seemed like brand new cars or at least parked there recently, save for one bright lime green older looking mustang fastback. odd but you don’t think much of it since this place is abandoned after all, teenagers looking for a thrill were bound to be roaming around and you’re sure there’d be a security guard or two as well.

hopping out the car you take a mental note of everything on yourself, flashlight, a fully charged camera, a phone, notepad, pencils, your id and other credentials, and the file.

pulling out the file to read it gives some information on the person you’d be trying to find as well as some other information; “jihoon elsher-yoon, 52 year old male. theme park owner and landowner of elsher’s kingdom. last known location elsher’s kingdom estate, first reported missing to police by daughter, hana, however it is noted that the last person known to see him is business partner, moon youngho. reported missing to head detective lee heeseung.” you hadn’t been able to read this back at the office as it was shoved into your hands by your boss as you were about to leave. you close the file, and ponder about it some, sounds like hana was the one who submitted the request too then.

“i wonder if one of these cars is this detective’s then..” you think aloud, looking back at the cars. there were a few too many so either he brought backup or you’re gonna have a fun discussion about breaking and entering with a few kids.

you walk towards the closest cars to at least gather some intel about what to possibly expect inside, all the cars were empty of people, trash in some and papers scattered in another. you walk towards the mustang and slow down upon noticing a pool of dried blood on the ground near the driver's door.

frowning, you crouch down to get closer to it. it was fully dried, but it wasn’t discolored so it happened recently enough which didn’t appease your mind in any way. you take a note on it in your notepad and stand back up, the driver's seat has some papers and you try and read what you can. the papers seem to be business in nature, addressed to a “mr. elsher-yoon”, this must be his car then, you snap a quick picture. at least this proves he’s here.. potentially, you doubt he’d leave his car behind.

the gate to enter the park is unlocked and you head on in.

⟢

your footsteps echo along the tiled flooring, the theme park is empty, old bits of uneaten but ant infested bits of food scattered, multiple cardboard containers that must’ve held popcorn thrown about, napkins, popsicle sticks, wristbands, and whatever else are littered around too. trash cans are here and there, but you don’t think you can stomach the idea of rummaging through them.

there's a ticket booth to your left and you take a peek within the open counter window, an antiseptic sits on behind the counter and you grab it, “who knows.. i may need it.” you think to yourself as you stuff it into your bag.

you continue walking down, the faded and ripped posters on the wall tug at your heart a little, people were really here one day and then never again the next. it just makes you all a bit more determined to find mr. elsher-yoon and why the park even closed down.

there's a bathroom coming up and you shrug before entering in, doesn’t hurt to make sure everything is clear.

the bathroom is musty, the air stale as if the door was finally opened for the first time in months, which.. if you think about it, you opening it probably was the first time it had been opened in months. the floor is dirty, dust and dirt staining the once white pristine tiles. a noise of rushing water is heard and you turn your head to look in the other corner where theres a small puddle of water coming from a broken toilet, the drain in the center of the room allowing the room to at least not flood.

deciding to not step in that direction, you shine your light at the other corner, in the midst of all the grime, blood splatters are everywhere and you frown.

“where the hell could that have come from..?” you mutter to yourself, just when you were about to check it out, you hear talking from behind you and you quickly rush behind the bathroom door.

faded voices are heard just outside the door, “i’m telling you jay, something entered the bathroom.” a voice filters through, muffled by the door but still loud enough to be heard.

the other one, jay you assume, sighs, “jungwon, if you dragged me away from the group and turns out nothing is in there, i’m serious about you having to go back.”

jungwon, you now know who the owner of the first voice is, scoffs, “we just shot at a bunch of.. things.. and you’re telling me i have to go back because i'm nervous about what’s hiding around in this park? seriously?”

the door is slightly pushed open and you smush yourself as best as you can against the wall as it opens up further, “i’m just saying.. you being skittish isn’t helping us move about any easier.”

the two then enter the bathroom and you get a good look at their backs, both men, but you had deduced that by their voices, they're both of similar height, one is a bit taller than the other. the taller one, having entered first you assume is jay and the other, jungwon. their outfits are similar to detective get-ups but they’ve definitely been modified, probably in a way to help them in their line of work.

“nothing in here dude.” jay turns his head to look at jungwon and you think quickly about your options here.

you could slip away, but that leaves you out in the open and when they come back out, if you can’t find somewhere else to hide and wait for them to leave you’d be caught. you could continue to wait in here, but the door is closing and if it closes fully before they turn around you’d be caught. you could.. draw out your gun and ask about them, but they also mentioned shooting at something so you guess they both have guns on them.

you’re also unaware of what their intentions are, but you hope that it’s at least positive.

“i’m going back to heeseung now, you can stay and look around here if that’ll help ease your mind some.” the taller one mutters out, the door thankfully still open enough to cover your body so he leaves without noticing you, however he shuts the door on his way out and you’re alone with the other one.

heeseung… that’s the same name as the head detective on the file you have, so maybe their intentions are good. you rest your hand on your holster in case, since in your line of work, you really can never be too cautious when running into other people.

you creep quietly to cover the door, your best bet was to at least block the door, so the other one can’t hear you in any way and to prevent the one in front of you from running out and getting the attention of who left.

“what’s your name.” you speak up, voice low and the man in front of you jumps up, spinning around quickly and braces himself as he looks up at you, you see his eyes scan your body and you feel them land on the hand that's on your holster and you see him start to reach for his own, you had been right about that, he did have a gun on him.

your eyes narrow and you bring your gun out quicker, aiming it at the ground. “i wouldn’t reach for that, i’ll have shot you before you even get that out.” 

the man stops and swallows, “jungwon.”

you huff some air out of your nose, he’s too good for his own good, he was honest about his name but at least you know that he’s not a bad person, as far as you can tell at least.

“y/n.” you offer your own and you see him relax if only a little bit, “what’re you doing here?”

he frowns, “i’m not at liberty to tell you that, but i can ask you the same thing.”

you smirk and offer his answer right back at him, “i’m also not at liberty to tell you that. but considering what you got on i can imagine you’ve been sent to investigate this place, am i wrong?”

jungwon falters at your words and that tells you all you have to know that you hit the mark on that, “i am too.”

“too what?”

“sent to investigate this place," with your free hand you grab your id and flash it in his direction, “y/n l/n. special agent l/n, but just keep it to y/n please. i’ve been sent to investigate a missing person.”

“fbi? you’re fbi?” jungwon asks, eyes scanning up and down at you, suspicion in his tone.

you shake your head, “no, i’m just a part of an investigation team operation that specializes in matters like these, hence my title.”

jungwon lets out a noise of understanding and you now realize how awkward this sort’ve is and holster your gun once more, “uh, i apologize for that earlier, i hadn’t expected to hear other people so soon.”

jungwon waves his hand around, “it’s fine, i’d have done the same thing. if it helps you out some, i’m also here to find a missing person.”

“i figured out as much.”

he tilts his head and you couldn’t help but find it cute, “how so?”

“the other one said the name heeseung, my file also mentions a heeseung.”

“ah.. if it’s about a lee heeseung then you’d be correct in it being the same person.”

“sounds like i’m correct then.”

jungwon stands straighter, visibly more relaxed now, “you don’t mind if i bring you to my group then right? if we’re doing the same thing, it might be easier for us all, an even team is better anyways, there’s seven of us and..”

you cut him off, “that’s fine, i’m here solo too and it’d be nice to have some help, this park is massive after all.”

jungwon nods, “then let’s see if we can catch up to jay, uh.. he’s the one that was with me by the way.”

you nod and he leaves the bathroom, you’re about to head out after him before you spot a magazine laying on the ground, you pick it up and a polaroid is on the front cover, the title of the magazine reads, “PARANORMAL HAPPENING AT ABANDONED THEME PARK. FACT OR FICTION?”

you flip the page and read what’s written, “self proclaimed paranormal investigator and photographer byun eunjoo, known mainly as ej sends a polaroid he took of a supposed paranormal being at elsher’s kingdom. he proclaims it was the first of many he spotted. however us here at GS magazine are not entirely convinced, what do you think about it readers. we believe ej here may need some more photos before he convinces us of anything!”

the polaroid looks as if a humanoid figure is walking around, but the image is grainy and you can’t make out much else other than the figure and a few weird large pustules on its body, they seem to be embedded into the skin and are green in color. you shudder at the sight before ripping the polaroid out and placing it in your bag. talk about odd, but anything that can give you at least something about this park is better than nothing, after all you still have that part of the job to complete.

jungwon peeks his head back into the bathroom you must’ve been taking a bit longer than you thought, “y/n? you coming? what’re you doing just standing there?”

you snap out of your gaze and drop the magazine back onto the ground, “ah sorry, this magazine had something that caught my attention, s’all.”

“right well hurry it up, we gotta catch up to jay.”

you nod and take one last peek at the magazine before walking out the door and meeting outside with jungwon.

[mi-i-zori]

Lies of Apathy

CoD - Demon!AU - Demon!Ghost x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS : She should have started running a long time ago. But they’re one and the same. No matter how far she goes, she always comes back to him. And the demon knows how to find her.

WARNINGS : Heavy angst with very small comfort, allusions to self-harm, mentions of smut (with consent), blood, description of panic attacks. There are a lot of religious metaphors that come from many, many religions, but none of them is directly mentioned.

Author’s Note : This is something I originally wrote in my native language a while ago, but ended up getting lost in my files because I had no idea what to do with it. So I used it as both a translation and writing practice. Hope you like it !

I do not give anyone permission to re-publish, re-use and/or translate my work, be it here or on any other platform, including AI.

Word Count : 12k+

Run. Dodge. Strike. Kill.

Beyond the turquoise shine of the firmament, a mayhem hides.

Waiting to awaken.

It longs for destruction, wishing to make our world and its peace a crude copy of the original Pandemonium. Lost in the soft, spectral feathers of a Fallen, a crimson suffering leaks, drops and runs, engraving its cruel wails into the bones of those who dare hear them. Those who only see it as an incarnation of love.

Oh, how tragic it can be, that imitation of kindness forging those who are supposed to guide the lost souls to the other side of the river ! In the blood of an Angel dance the names of countless minor deities bathing in their corrupted altruism - something the Ghost knows too well.

Sometimes, he remembers how he’s not supposed to be, for the memories of his origins have been erased by a never-ending hatred and despair.

In front of him, the young Hunter falls to her knees, facing the ruins of her own happiness. A peculiar fear tears a whimper from her knotted throat, and the idea of praying before this dilapidated shrine, created by a merciless Divine, leaves a rotten taste on what’s left of her tastebuds. A nameless exhaustion claws at her face, tries to drag her down the abyss of her subconscious. Her heart crumbles upon a way too familiar weight, and her breath gallops erratically in her lungs, her chest threatening to cave in under the ever-growing despair tainting her tears.

Knowing said despair is akin to drowning in its breast, to familiarise yourself with its screeching song and bury your bloodied eardrums among its decaying notes. In this very moment, a monster holds her with a renewed form of frenesy, and something inside of her cannot seem to wriggle out of the thorns covering its arms.

Around her, a baritone voice echoes from the darkness.

- Beautiful sight, it says. Small, vulnerable ya, prostrated in a field o’ ruins. ‘Ow many statues of ‘ope did ya build ‘ere, only for ‘em to instantly be destroyed ?

A familiar silhouette emerges from the nothingness facing her. She doesn’t answer to its usual sarcasm - instead, she allows her heart to bleed one more drop on the cracks littering the ground.

- Wot are ya prayin’ for, this time ? The entity asks as he stops next to her, crossing his arms on his chest. Maybe I can ‘elp.

His words awaken a wave of uncontrollable shivers in her guts. An violent earthquake, cold and cackling. Its growls bounce around her vocal cords as her nails dig into her palms.

- I’m not praying, she says from in-between her clenched teeth, her eyes falling upon the remnants of something she can’t bring herself to recognize. The Gods will never lift a finger when it comes to listening to a Fallen Soul.

The Ghost kneels before her crumpled form, the skull covering his face glinting in the darkness. A long time ago, seeing him like this, lowered at her own level, would have satisfied her ; showered her in a grandeur a part of her has always wished to know, laced with a taste of Paradise. Now, it’s nothing more than sickening. His smile, given away by the obvious crinkling of his eyes, brings a storm of Chaos in her already fractured mind, and she wonders if she’ll ever be able to forget this feeling. Trembling hands rise to grip the short strands of blonde hair of the Fallen, dragging him down to properly face her snarl.

- You poor, pitiful bastard. Why do you keep laughing at me as if it’s all your life has been reduced to ?

She wants her voice to be sharp and cruel ; but it only sounds lifeless, washed away by her exhaustion. The rough edges of a laugh bark inside the abyss of her skull. Her muscles suddenly tense like bowstrings, tightening her grip on his hair.

- Ya think Beasts were once made to live the grandest o’ lives ?

Her jaw snaps shut. Before she even realises it, her arms fall abruptly to her side, their strength devoured by the demon’s words.

- Or do ya think your Destiny is only made o’ ruins ?

The smile dancing in his eyes is much softer now, and it’s as if he had lost the usual malice lingering in his heart. Her own heart skips a beat at the sight, so out of place among such devastating surroundings. It’s a terrifying thing to point out, she thinks, probably the most acrid of all.

Blood covered lips twist in uncertain disgust at the thought.

Run. Dodge. Strike. Kill.

She hates him. She hates him. She hates him.

A metallic flavour melts on her tongue, crude and molten, burning her senses through the gut-wrenching wish to fearlessly face his playful, mocking truths. She can barely feel her limbs ; but she feels the bruises blooming on her skin, born from the war and chaos she keeps tearing through on the daily. In the Ghost’s eyes, the mix of such somber colours, full of meaning and ache, holds a beauty he’s never been able to name.

Her clothes get heavier under the amount of blood pooling through their fibres ; but so do his, and neither of them could tell which crimson belongs to whom. The thought carves a smile behind his mask - doesn’it it make it all so much more interesting ?

- One day, she snarls, you’ll be judged.

An endless cacophony of whistles drills through her head. She knows nothing of the issue of their fight ; but it won’t stop her from clawing at both her freedom and her peace. She fishes her weapon out of the decaying puddles rippling around her knees, and holds it at his throat.

- And I’ll bury you a thousands times under the weight lining the Jackal’s scales.

The entity looks at the blade with mocking interest. A spark of danger dances in his lifeless eyes, only growing brighter as they lock onto hers. He notices the way her features are pulled tight by a bottomless rage. Disarming her is simple, done in the blink of an eye, and he wonders if she’s really going down the path that will lead her to surrender. If she’ll do it willingly, or if she’s still going to fight - if so, how long do they have left ? He knows this question has also crossed her mind, sees it in the tremble of her hands. Even like this, now laying under him like a mouse under a wolf, he finds the young woman to be more than a mesmerizing sight.

She could easily be mistaken for some kind of divinity, he thinks, and it almost makes him laugh. The sounds, unfamiliar and rough, mimics the memory of what used to be a beating heart in the depths of his chest.

How long ago was it ? The last time he ever felt alive ?

Did he ever ?

Now, he’s supposed to be close to death - or a vessel for it, even. A being of rage and torment, made for walking in a world of destruction and pain, for leaving a path of decay in his wake. He feels it all, yet he isn’t allowed to die. A part of him probably wishes he was ; but he forgot about it since the moment it was sent to lay dormant beyond his consciousness. He doesn’t even know if he’ll ever be able to find it again. If it still exists.

His attention zeroes back in on the desperate soul laying in front of him. The armor she keeps covering herself with is has once again been reduced to shreds by their never-ending fights. There isn’t an inch of her skin that hasn’t been covered in dirt. He takes in the sight before lowering his face next to hers, his rough whisper floating in her ear.

- Oh, lil’ Snowflake.

I can’t wait.

Run. Dodge. Strike. Fight.

Tonight, her favourite restaurant is filled to the brim.

The happiness of her family’s voice gets lost in the cacophony floating through the room. Everything around her is blurred with exhaustion ; but his presence is crystal clear. Behind her, sitting in the shadows of a decorative curtain, the Ghost is patiently waiting for an opportunity to strike. The more time passes, the more easily she can see him in her mind. It’s a stupid game - one they both keep playing, wondering who will break and speak first. Allow the other in.

Maybe the day will come when they finally become one - simultaneously taking a bite of the poisoned apple.

This cruel temptation may be the reason why she’s cursed, she thinks, an invisible wall slowly forming between her world and the one spreading in front of her, filled with the laughter of her loved ones. Her life is made of painful memories, witnesses of a will to live that never really was. The idea that her future could be the same, tainted with the kind of horrors nobody else can see, is terrifying - injects even more corruption in her veins, lungs and bones. A rusty sword dangles above her neck, ready to cut one half of her existence and leave the other to suffer through a ruthless agony, trapped under the weight of its metallic carcass.

She’s not yet ready to drown in her own damnation, but the somber waters never cease to rise. The black tide finds pleasure in torturing her, filling her trachea to the brim before throwing her back to the surface. It cackles madly as she drags her disjointed puppet of a body on the shore, proud of the violence it keeps subjecting her to.

When she thinks about it, the young woman often realises how far back in time this curse goes. It seems to plunge its roots in her very origins, as if vowing to forever haunt her dreams with visions of madness, horrifying and useless prophecies that could have made sense had she been born in humanity’s most ancient of times. But the old Oracles are no more. So she swallows the twisted sights piling in her soul, and fills her daily life with empty smiles. A normality that was never hers.

Her demons were born alongside her. And they will never meet their end unless she succumbs to her own fall.

She saw many strange things and fought an equal amount of nightmares ; she shouldn’t allow any of this to affect her so badly. But it’s in her nature to think and feel, way too much even, which makes her an easy prey to the eyes of Those Who Fell. One of them trails behind her, melts within her shadow. He wants to devour her life even more than any of the others will, and refuse to let her breathe. He knows which string to pinch in order to make her fall, which melody to play to stir up her rage. He forces her to run within his -her- darkness, to get lost in its endless expanse, to confuse herself until she doesn’t know which path she is following anymore ; abandon or redemption. Like an offspring of Eris, he finds pleasure in throwing the apple of discord between her and the world she desperately tries to belong to.

His very presence used to terrify her. But time decided to drop some hatred in the bottomless goblet of her fears, birthing a futile perseverance at the bottom of her guts.

A few seconds fly past her eyes before the vacant chair to her left silently creaks under the invisible weight of the entity. As always when he manifests himself in public, she barely spares him a glance. A part of her wonders if he would act the same, should the roles be reversed. She came to find a peculiar kind of comfort in his freezing presence and the familiar thoughts he brings.

In front of her, her uncle barks out a laugh at a waiter’s joke, tearing her away from her thoughts. Leaning forward to examine the enticing content of her newly-delivered plate, she feels the demon do the same against her back, reminding her of his presence through the cacophony of her thoughts. Usually, she would curse him without hesitation. But right now, this is not something she can afford to do ; not when she has to play pretend in front of her family’s peace.

An invisible hand settles on her wrist as her free hand rises a spoonful of rice to her mouth, allowing the Ghost to measure her tired heartbeat. It sometimes launches itself to a full gallop whenever she has to speak or a sudden crash emerges from the restaurant’s kitchen. Following the same rhythm as the drumming in her ears. The bloodied melody always takes its time to fall back to a steadier beat, and the thoughts that follows hold a suffering the Ghost likes to decipher.

A secret message. A call for help, written in the trickiest of codes.

What a beautiful song, he thinks, burning with chaos ; and the young woman barely restrains the twist of her features when his mockery echoes in her already overflowing mind, threatening to worsen the migraine lingering around her skull.

How good is it to fight anyway ? She sometimes murmurs to herself, shutting off the cackles echoing in the back of her mind. Is the darkness really that bad ?

Maybe her feelings are getting the best of her. Maybe the idea of surrendering to the enemy’s claws comes from the loneliness nesting behind her heart, the one pushing her to more or less willingly seek the Ghost’s company. Maybe she’s simply imagining the spark of sympathy that sometimes dances in his gaze. A part of her insists that there can’t be any light without darkness, and vice versa ; but maybe she’s just reading in-between lines that don’t even exist.

Maybe all these thoughts are the result of another manipulative ambush orchestrated by her demons.

To hell with all those beings made of impurity and fake divinity ! She exclaims silently while laughing at a story she didn’t really hear. Those monsters corrupting the innocents’ dreams, immolating them with waves upon waves of sinful flames, leaving a salty, rotten taste on the remnants of their tongues ! They find happiness in Their victims’ despair, cooing at the ruins of their broken hopes, recalling the misadventures of Icarus and the other mortals They disgraced with Their attention. Be careful to not burn yourself, they cackle and rasp. The phoenix went extinct eons ago ; it’s now impossible to come back from your ashes.

Lie, little dream, lie, the Divine laughs ceaselessly as she surrenders herself to a hopeless optimism. Why not hide yourself behind an illusion ?

Lie, little dream, lie. Why not become a nightmare ?

Run. Dodge. Strike. Fight.

Sometimes, she wonders if her throat isn’t laced with a red string - the kind that, one day, will inevitably be the end of her.

She often turns around to catch a glimpse of it, in an elusive reflection in the mirror, or in the corner of her vision. She read dozens of stories worshiping it as the proof that true love is far from being a myth, saying that seeing it means one’s soulmate is nearby. But only in dreams can such things really exist.

And, sometimes, even dreams can lie.

For the spectre of her destiny created the thread with a mix of love and hate, of strength and cowardice ; a foreign intimacy made to drown them as one. The kind of thing that, should she ever share it with the world, would only be the source of laughter and disdain. She would probably be punished for her lack of gratitude for the life she was given.

Each breath is constantly filled with a bloodcurdling fear of simply existing. Her body never ceases to quake, trapping air in the expanse of her lungs and struggling to let it out. A thousand bear-traps snap at her flesh as she tries to keep pursuing her future, this vision she never really manages to see clearly. She sometimes think about tightening the string around her throat, deepen its colour with the moisture of her own blood ; yet it seems content with just grazing her skin in a satire of love, constantly feeding the frustration nestled in her breast. She never knows if it will ever be merciful enough to slash her neck open.

The Ghost holding the other side of the crimson line is dangerous, murmurs a voice resembling her own. One wrong move would be enough for him to send her over the edge. A clumsy step to the side. A benevolent mistake.

She often notices the small knot clashing with the dull porcelain of his skin. He likes teasing her by wrapping the string around his palm, adding enough pressure to have it leave a rugged caress on her neck ; to remind her of its presence. She loathes the cruel smile that carves his face open when he catches her off-guard, causing her to lift her hand towards her own knot.

She despises them all : him, the world, her Destiny. And she hates her own inability to get rid of the miasma plaguing her mind ; the way her empathy whimpers whenever her eyes follow the never-ending scars mapping the body of the Ghost ; the whispers that make her realise how similar they are to one another.

They are nothing more than two sinners looking for a reason to live.

Looking for redemption.

- Ya know we’ll always be bound to each other, Snowflake, the entity says, cackling in her ear. Why do ya always try to ruin whot canno’ be destroyed ?

Her blood boils as she presses her frozen palms against his throat with a snarl, as if trying to force him into silence by imitating the thread caging her own pulse. She knows how futile it looks, knows the fruits born from this endeavour will hold the bitterness of her failure. Yet she refuses to crumble under the mocking weight of his words, for it would be surrendering to the way this rotten world keeps trying to send her into exile.

The gravel of his voice resonates against her palms.

- No’ tired of fightin’ a ghost ?

Her teeth sharpen into her mouth as he coils an arm around her waist, locking her body against his. She can’t stop a shiver from rolling down her spine ; and, unable to decide if she can really allow herself to savour the frozen warmth of his skin, her fingers tighten around his breath. His Adam’s apple makes a mould of its own shape in the crevices of her hands.

Yet he doesn’t even flinch.

- ‘Ow many times did you try to run away from me, darlin’ ? To make me fall, only to fail ?

- Shut up.

- Wouldn’t take much for us to bend this world to our will. Think abou’ it : we could face ‘em, ‘and in ‘and, laugh at ‘em until our voices break. Take the clay they used to create their dreams with and burn everythin’ with ours.

- Shut. The fuck. Up !

Yet no amount of resistance seems to tarnish his fantasies of despair. She barely has the time to blink before he slips behind her back, his breath burning incandescent holes against her ear. His hollow heart beats silently against her spine - and her arms fall limp against her sides, getting tangled with the crimson rope circling around them.

- We could make our own miracles, he whispers, never letting go of his decaying thoughts.

A broken cackle tears through her clenched teeth.

- So now you want to play like a God ?

One of his hands, torn open by countless cursed knots, comes to circle the neck of his prey. His smile drips into the passion lining his voice, and she can almost feel him against her cheek as his massive frame leans over her shoulders. Their spines could fuse with each other without her even realising it, she thinks, feeling her back crack under her demon’s weight. She wonder if they are now worthy of the crumbling statues haunting the temple of her mind.

- Why no’ ? He says, and her legs suddenly go numb.

The Ghost breaks her fall without any effort, taking advantage of her now lethargic state to hold her tight against his heart. He presses a kiss against her cheek, slowly savouring the taste of a frustrated tear.

- Why couldn’t we be our own Divine ?

Crimson now runs towards the very center of her soul, and she can’t do anything but dive into the motlen marble of the Ghost’s eyes.

Another fight is coming to an end.

Her human heart pumps with an overjoyed frenesy as its end nears once more, but the Hunter is far from glad as she realises said end is nothing more than an illusion coated in sulfur. The entity can see the suffering dancing in her eyes, now reddened by the tears she refuses to set free. The Fates could slice their mutual despair open with a laugh whenever they want ; but they have yet to do so, and he wonders if they enjoy watching the both of them struggle to stay afloat.

- Slowly now, he whispers, slightly loosening his grip to erase the dull ache throbbing in-between her ribs. Wouldn’t be wise to exhaust yourself withou’ me.

A part of him would probably qualify this role of his of Apathy, or Disinterest ; bury himself in a litany of lies to play the perfect villain, always finding a new excuse to justify the satisfaction he gets out of it all. Try to convince himself of how none of this, her, Them, deserve even a shred of his attention. But he knows that, somewhere in what’s left of his angelic heart, slumbers the reality of a longing, a thirst for love and touch he refuses to see. And she knows it too.

He silences the feeling again, covering it with words dripping with his own broken kind of sarcasm.

- This world doesn’t make any sense if you’re not ‘ere.

A sickening growl shakes her guts as she takes in what she refuses to hear. It dies before reaching her lips.

- What a liar, she grumbles, her voice and mind fading more and more with each syllable. You’re just a fucking liar.

The smile he offers her is nothing short of carnivorous, and through it, she could almost make out the virtuous remnants of what used to be his soul. He presses a searing kiss over the bloodied foundation covering her shoulder, incredibly soft despite the sharp, mesmerizing coldness haunting his each and every word.

- C’mon, lil’ Hunter. Give up.

And this time again, the taste of victory flows bitterly against his tongue.

Run. Dodge. Strike. Choke.

When she opens her eyes, her room is nothing but silence, and the chaos of her bed seems covered in a thin layer of ice.

Her entire body is being crushed by an invisible weight as countless shivering waves run along her skin. A choir of ghosts dance in the corner of her vision, their laughter echoing through the walls of her skull. A frozen, corrupted substance flows through her still slumbering veins.

Why is it so cold ?

Her breath quickens as she fights to keep a semblance of control over the ruins of her mind. A sea of urchins is tearing her trachea apart, and she would love to feel her hands smash their spikes through her throat - yet nothing seems to even think of taking pity on her. A river slowly starts running down her frozen cheeks, its flow carrying her thoughts away like a hurricane would a twig, as if trying to drown her in her own mind.

An earthquake suddenly takes over the marble of her hands, and she doesn’t know if it is caused by the ambiant cold or the thunder wreaking havoc inside her ribcage. The magma that was once slumbering in her chest is now trying to escape through her every pore ; and it burns, scorches her insides over and over again as the volcano bursts along with her tears, threatening to carve a new rift on the surface of her heart.

Crushed by her ribs, her lungs refuse to work properly. A pungent breath bites through her bones, as if trying to corrupt even the marrow hiding behind their calcified walls. Her own existence is hoping to tear the guts out of her humanity’s rotting corpse. The decline of a heart filled with despair is tragic enough to become the muse of countless poets and their sonnets ; yet there’s no glory in the mourning of what we once used to be, she thinks, especially when Life itself drinks our tears with a crooked smile painted on its mask of comedy.

Next to her, the mattress sinks. Her eyes, burned by the salt of her tears, can barely make out the dark silhouette leaning over her ; but she doesn’t need them to feel and know who it is. The Ghost lays a burning hand on her cheek, and something inside of her desperately tries to anchor itself to this touch she subconsciously learned to look for amidst the storm.

A somber look covers the entity’s features as his fingers meet the ice of her hands. She’s a warrior ; one he’s used to fight almost every single day. Seeing her in this state is almost disturbing, for he quickly realises there is nothing left of her usual hostility. The Flood swallowed it all.

For once, he’s not the source of her distress, and this train of thought leaves a strange feeling in its wake. Is it rage ? Jealousy ? A mix of both ? It doesn’t matter. The Divine is not allowed to toy with a prey that isn’t Its own.

She barely has the strength to utter a single sound as he takes hold of the fragility of her fingers to bring them to his own neck. The mocking spectres dancing around them suddenly cease all movement. They even seem to disappear the second she starts feeling the echo of a pulse under the scars littering his skin, the confusing proof of the decomposing existence of a life filled with darkness. Its rhythm is slow, silent, ghostly. It gently lulls her mind, offering a blessed shelter against the violent winds.

Her own demon tries to hold her head out of the water ; a situation that would have made her laugh had her throat not be so parched.

- What did it taste like, she finally croaks out as her hand ghosts over his skin, the despair that made you fall ?

Was it similar to the fear haunting the surface of my lips ? Will you end up smearing it on my tongue to break what might be left of my humanity ? Will you be seated on the Emperor’s throne on the highest part of the infernal Coliseum in the middle of which I will inevitably be forsaken ?

Or will I be the one to guide you towards the light ? Will I be able to let you taste the ambrosia of peace I keep looking for ? And if it indeed ends up touching your lips, will I even realise it ?

- Like my own blood, the Ghost says, and she notices the peculiar softness that has replaced the usual sarcasm tainting his voice. Wan’ to try it ?

The kiss he offers her is like a cruel salvation ; a source of comfort immediately shattered by waves of chaos blooming into her soul. It leaves a sour taste on her tongue, akin to a tragedy leaving a trail of weeping arteries and broken bones in its wake. Like the smoking remnants of a battlefield, she thinks, witnessing the horrors she went through ; the nightmares haunting her sleep. A series of erratic visions displayed on the dark screen of her eyelids.

It tastes like the beginning of the end, murmurs a voice lost in the torn expanse of her mind, and she finds herself submerged by the need for more.

The warmth of his skin slowly melts the ice imprisoning her. Yet the tension running between them still has the red thread tightening around their throats, and a part of her refuses to see how good it could be to let him drag her down into his own flames. Let them be hers.

She only now sees the strange pattern they created, made from both violence and peace, love and hatred, as well as a guilty freedom tightening around her guts.

The Ghost probably noticed it too. Even when they exchange words filled with mockery and blood, he always ends up savouring the harsh touch of her hands pulling his teeth back towards her neck. And slowly, surely, he unwinds the knots holding her spirit together, only to tie them up all over again as she wakes up from a familiar anesthesia. A predatory smile carves itself against her neck, sharp teeth threatening to break both her body and soul - progressively widening the rift in the facade she desperately tries to keep in place.

- Relax, luv, he whispers, his abyssal timbre sending shivers down her spine.

His hands clutch every single one of her curves with a desperation she has yet to understand. His fingers seem to reach for her very soul, claws moulding her body to his will. Their hearts dance with each other as he holds her to his chest, exploring the expanse of her back as if he was discovering it for the first time. His breath leaves a scorching ache on her shoulder, and she wonders how his touch keeps getting even more delicious each time.

She lets out a cry as his fingers find her core. Her teeth coax a vicious growl from his throat as they sink into his flesh, and the Ghost drinks up every trembling breath dripping past her lips. A rumble echoes deep within his chest as she loses herself against him, her nails leaving crimson rivers down his neck.

The cold haunting her is now long forgotten. The ice shatters under the Ghost’s fangs, and, for a second, he draws his eyes towards the darkness of the room. They mercilessly pierce the remnants of the now silent spectres that tried to steal his perfect prey. Their silhouettes finally vanish completely ; at the same time, a shuddering whimper shakes the body resting in the iron of his grasp.

- Let’s show ‘em who ya belong to.

Run. Dodge. Strike. Choke.

She feels more than she sees the way her palms turn white under the assault of her own nails. Her heart never slows its erratic rhythm, forcing the mud coating the surface of her lungs to pulse along its beat. A few centimeters away from hers, the Ghost’s chest rumbles with a laugh.

The world could crumble so easily in-between her hands, he thinks ; she’d just need to strengthen her will. She could take over this infernal game and make it eternal, let the Divine Creations burn and burn, turn into a lake of sterile ashes. Ring the final bell and have its sepulcral cries echo in the bones of the Gods. Create her own version of a happy ending.

The world could crumble so easily in-between her hands ; for her determination is a synonym of destruction. And They know it. They are the ones who sent him to her, trying to make her fall. Did They even think he’d try to make her his instead ? To turn her against Their pathetic idea of glory ?

But he has yet to win. An infuriating reality. You should already be dead, he wants to scream, why do you refuse to yield ?

She only looks up at him through the darkness lining her eyes, ignoring the nauseating feeling of her life bleeding along her skin - leaving a series of darkening trails along the porcelain of her bones.

- What about you ? She says, and it’s like she’s reading his thoughts. It’s not like you’re doing much.

And it’s true. He torments her, brings her down over and over through countless excruciating fights. Strikes her weakest spots, both in her body and soul. Yet he knows it’s far from being enough. He wants to see how long she’ll last, what will end up being his coup de grâce ; but maybe a part of him wants her to live, achieve what his distant, decaying memory tells him he was never able to even touch.

His fangs scrape painfully against each other. Under the mask, his jaw is covered with the blood of the lives he took. Hers soaks through his clothes, skin, muscles and bones - but it has yet to taint his teeth, coat the walls of his stomach. He is the reason why his ideas haven’t been brought to light. He knows it well, perhaps he has even acknowledged it.

- You could reign over this world and you know it, she adds weakly, her voice breaking over the words she doesn’t even really need to articulate.

She doesn’t know if she’s glad to still be alive despite the fact that her body should already be lost six feet under, or if she wishes it would be the case.

- You have the power to bring your every desire to life. Make it a perfect reality.

Her muscles weaken with every second that runs through their fibres. Her lungs, filled with a dark, freezing darkness, beg to breathe in even the slightest amount of oxygen as her chest crumbles with exhaustion. Despite all of this, the Hunter refuses to sway, ignoring the waves of pain crashing against her bones. She tries to stand proud in front of the Ghost, feeling him watch intently as she fights against herself. But her legs crack and stumble ; and his reflexes are a perfect proof of his inhumanity when he launches himself forward to catch her, preventing her from shattering her already broken self on the rubble at their feet. He holds her tight against him, letting out a deep, mocking laugh - yet refusing to let her go.

They both know why.

Run. Dodge. Strike. Cry.

A flash of silver.

A familiar sting.

A salty tear.

Another wave of crimson crashes against the porcelain of her skin, violently, beautifully. The puddle swirling around her knees reflects the pathetic face of a broken doll. Her limbs are numb, unable to feel the rain hitting them as if it was trying to avoid her, only aiming for the floor. For a second, she wonders if a Divinity is crying for her Destiny, but the thought quickly falls quiet, silenced by a muted laugh. The Gods never pity their mortals.

Her soul falls into pieces once more on the marbled concrete at her feet, and the faraway echo guides her eyes up towards the sky. The adrenaline born from the usual fighting is slowly starting to fade. On the edges of her blurry vision, the Ghost draws his familiar silhouette out of the fog. The misshaped sarcasm she throws his way doesn’t make him flinch the slightest, making her wonder if this nightmarish entity didn’t place much more faith in her than she ever will.

What a stupid thought, they both whisper, the only thing breaking them apart being the usual snarky smile she forgot to wear to hide her ever-dampening cheeks.

- Ya know you’ll have trouble hidin’ those blood stains, right ? The demon says, kneeling to her side.

A soft sound escapes her lips, scorching hot compared to the rain.

- It’d be useless anyway.

Run. Dodge. Strike. Cry.

She wakes up with a start and a silent scream as sweat runs coldly down her chest. There’s a dry, violent pounding in her skull, enhanced by a laughing tide of cramps tearing her bones apart, its echo bouncing around her sleeping muscles. Despite the confusion lingering in her brain after what is probably her third nightmare of the night, she registers a warmth laying next to her, one she’s surprised to see at this hour. A part of her expected him to come and go as he pleases like he always does - never taking the time to stop, even for a moment. But in the end, him being here isn’t that surprising. Just like her, he’s never been able to leave her side for too long.

Maybe they’ve become each other’s haven among the mayhem of this world.

She shivers violently has she buries her face under the covers once more, ignoring the sweat lingering on her skin. Her hands whiten with the strength she uses to scratch at her scalp, hoping to lose her thoughts among the apocalyptic landscape of her bed. Find an anchor outside of the dreamworld.

- It’s impossible to fully heal, isn’t it ? She whispers more to herself than anything, even though she knows how light of a sleeper the Ghost is. No one can really forget.

Almost immediately, she feels him move against her shoulder, silently turning around to meet her form ; small and trembling under a nameless terror. Pathetic, he would usually laugh, but his own scars burn so viciously that he can only clench his teeth as he faces her pain. Is that empathy twisting his guts ?

What he would do to forget that thought.

- If ya want to forget tha’ badly, I might ‘ave a solution or two.

The Silence is loud as she nods slowly, tiredly. Seeking refuge in the sulfur of his touch.

- Please, she says, quaking as his hand smears layers upon layers of charcoal upon her hips, don’t you wish for the same ?

His lips fall upon the curve of her neck, barely restraining the fangs hiding behind them from piercing the already bruised skin ; reveal the raw pulse hiding underneath.

- Yes, he answers, barely daring to break the erratic rhythm of his breath - and, once more, feeling her melt through the peculiar love of his hold.

When traitorous Morpheus finally takes control over her mind, the sun has already broken through the night, painting the firmament in blinding hues of blue, devoid of any cloud. It claws mercilessly at the Ghost’s eyes, tears a low growl from his chest. On the other side of the window, the world rises to a mix of car engines, footsteps and voices, involuntarily celebrating the light that is constantly trying to burn him to ashes.

The sky has no reason to be blue, he thinks as his forehead meets the window pane, just like his Snowflake has no reason to sigh so serenely in his presence. The atmosphere is soft, warm ; dragging a wave of shivers down his back. A frustrated growl escapes his throat, the night of his eyes sparkling at the taste of a familiar rage. That celestial blue is silently looking down on him, mocking his darkness.

He loathes it.

He loathes her.

A second is enough for his knee to dig into the covers once more, giving him enough support to guide his fingers towards her face. They slowly dance along her skin as the weight of his very existence makes the mattress whimper, before roughly circling her neck. Her blood pumps peacefully under his touch, and his own voice screams in the back of his mind, distorted and rough.

Do it. Take her. Rid us of this nuisance.

His tongue soothes the cracks covering his lips, and a twisted smile eventually slices them open once more as the words settle in his thoughts.

But in her sleep, the Hunter moves - and his excitement dies as quickly as it came to live. She breathes in deeply, her head lolling against the pillows. Instead of braving for a fight like she usually does, she lets her subconscious raise a hand to his wrist, as if she was trying to offer him her silent support.

But that’s not what he wants. That’s not what he is.

What happened to this poor human that fought mercilessly against him, fueled by an endless determination ; the one who bared her broken teeth in his face through a bloody sneer, ready to turn his words against him and burn his entire being to ashes ?

He loathes the way his own mind whispers those words in his ears, exchanging it’s usual coldness for a dry melody made of anger and fear that makes his hold tremble around his Snowflake’s throat. The peculiar understanding they both came to. The doubts this small, vulnerable thing keeps planting in his soul. The fact that he can’t make any sense of the abyss bubbling in his head anymore

So he staightens up, ignoring the way his spine crackles as he makes his way out of this way too-familiar room. He almost expects a knife to dig through his back, to whistle in retaliation for engaging in an unfair fight. Give him a taste of his own medicine, in a way. A painful warning. So he waits.

But nothing comes.

A glance over his shoulder shows that the Hunter hasn’t moved a single inch. She still lays there, swallowed by a capharnaüm of blankets, her sleep-laden breath so slow it barely disturbs the quiet of the room. Her favourite plushie is curled on top of her head, like a guardian trying to keep its treasure from the merciless claws of a nightmare. A fitting description, he thinks, realising it’s probably been months since she slept so soundly.

His teeth strain under the sudden pressure of his jaws. This is the exact kind of peace he is starting to see in the eyes of his prey - as if she was in the process of surrendering, giving up her life to his now familiar hands. He doesn’t understand how she can bring herself to look at something like him and feel so serene. It makes him want to keep her for himself even more, taint the corrupted purity of her soul. He knows she can feel it ; so why does she treat him with so much tenderness ? Even more so after the hell he’s been dragging her through while laughing at her tears ?

A sour smile loses itself to the her sleepy silence as he turns back to sit on the edge of the bed. Perhaps the only reason why he wants her to be his is to understand her better. And once he does, he might finally be able to grasp how similar the chaos brewing in their hearts is. Forging their souls from the same steel.

Or perhaps the roles will change, and he will become nothing than a frail and vulnerable lamb. An easy prey caught in the destructive jaws of the Hunter.

Run. Dodge. Strike. Think.

Above her, a string of neons blink.

The young woman has no idea of what pushed her to once again get lost in the smelly bathroom of this nightclub - the one her friends keep dragging her to. Her eardrums haven’t stopped ringing violently ever since she stepped foot through its doors - perhaps because of the music that’s way too loud for her senses, the multicolored lights tearing at her retinas, or the uncontrollable amount of blurry faces swinging way too close for her comfort.

She doesn’t belong here.

Despite the nauseating swaying of her vision, she notices a more-than-familiar silhouette lingering in a corner of the room. He seems way too big for fit comfortably in the small space, engulfing it completely with his darkness. A stark contrast to the colorful graffiti littering the walls.

- ‘Ow many times do ya plan on makin’ tha’ back an’ forth between the dancefloor and this shithole ?

If the mockery in his tone only serves to irritate her more than she already is, the young woman doesn’t have the strength to meet the Ghost’s eyes. Instead, she stares at her own reflection among the suspicious dirt covering the mirror dangling on the wall, akin to a failed portrait made by a drunk painter. She thinks about taking a picture and submit it to the first museum of contemporary arts she stumbles upon, to top it off with a ridiculous title. Who knows - with a little bit of luck, she could maybe earn a little bit of money. Make it easier to reach the end of the month.

As that thought runs sarcastically through her mind, she ignores the dry chuckle rasping from the corner behind her.

Somewhere beyond the door, the DJ makes a poor transition to another music she barely recognizes. All that’s left in the tired void of her mind is the struggle of her own existence and the calm breathing of the entity, wafting against her neck despite the small distance between them. Her eyes meet once again the cracked lights in the mirror, and she can almost see it pulsating against the wall along the beat coming from the next room. The music keeps screaming in the rancid air, and her blood almost crystallizes in her veins when it’s joined by a chorus of screeches and whistles.

- I need to get away from here, she says, knowing the Ghost heard her despite the ambiant chaos.

She can feel him shift behind her as she reaches towards the dilapidated door with a trembling hand, desperately trying to shut off the pain lingering in her marrow.

- Let’s fuck off then, he answers almost immediately, and she wonders if he, too, hopes to get rid of a loud ringing in his ears.

She barely has the time to step out of the bathroom that she’s assaulted by the sounds, the smells, the touches. The singing voices and bodies burnt by an impossible amount of toxic liquids and smokes, a violent choir telling her to get away, away, away - GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE ; and she has no idea of which is stronger between the screams of the nightclub or the cries of her heart. Almost instinctively, she reaches behind her, seeking a destructive yet familiar contact in the hand of the entity following her. But her pride is a powerful force, and her arm stays stuck to her side.

Yet the Ghost knows her well. He feels what she does as if he was the one living inside her head ; and he kind of is, in a way. Perhaps he is the one feeling all of this, and not her ? He quickly silences the thought, enveloping her hand with the charcoal covering his own, squeezing so tight it’s almost painful.

It soothes an ache in his own non-existent heart. He wonder if she knows, feels, everything about him too.

Another nightmare comes running down his back ; a memory, the laughing spectre of what used to be a majestic pair of wings, which he used to fight in the Divine’s name until It abandoned him to his own abyss, tore his feathers apart to burn them to ashes in the flames of Its arrogance.

He almost feels the need to throw his eyes into another mirror shining below the erratic lights, as if the crevices running along its surface could give him what he lost ; a new kind of feathers, way too sharp for the immaculate hands of the Gods. But the Hunter keeps walking, dragging him along.

And the Ghost follows. For she’s his only shelter in this bubble of suffering they both unvoluntarily insist on sharing.

Run. Dodge. Fight. Think.

How do you mourn a devastating loss when you’ve never had anything to lose ?

Tell an Angel a tale of love, and they will carry it in their dreams. Listen to the beating of their heart, akin to a bird’s song celebrating the rising sun. Watch the molten gold reflecting off the ink of their blood drop from the wounds their longing for such a feeling caused. Realise how beautiful the depths of their darkness is, abyssal and mesmerizing ; how empty it all is, devoid of any sense.

The Ghost isn’t too different, he who lives thanks to those who unknowingly need him, who convinced himself that he was made to serve their torment. His very existence is proof that, if he can’t find a soul to pull him forward, he is nothing ; which is why he looks for his redemption through countless paths made from wounds that aren’t his. He dips his feet in puddles tainted by the blood of mortals, the crimson life -and death- of those whose hatred and suffering only serve to fuel his own.

A long time ago, he forgot what it’s like to love.

Maybe he remembers the meaning of caring for someone. But does that mean his feelings were once given back to him ? The thought is both ridiculous and horrifying ; a description that fits him well, too. It has become impossible for him to get rid of the impression that, if he one day decides to let go of the his Snowflake, these shreds of memories would also slip through his fingers.

So he holds on, so strongly that his knuckles whiten and crack under the corrupted ink of his skin. He doesn’t know whether or not he could speak of love - if he should. Behind the deformed skull covering his face, the entity hides a terrified snarl.

Sometimes, alone in his own darkness, all of this makes him laugh. How lucky he is to have something to fear, something to drive him forward ! And how undeserving he is of it, Fallen that he is, he who fell so long ago in a bottomless well of which he will never get out !

During his most vulnerable moments, laying down next to the Hunter among the chaos of her bed, he lets his doubts break through his voice.

- You’re mine, aren’t ya ? He asks, and she murmurs something he can’t catch before clearing her throat.

- Yeah, she answers sleepily, I’m yours.

Her hands get lost in the gaping scars littering his back, and he allows himself to be lulled by such a light touch, devoid of the usually anxious trembling interrupting her days. Among his sighs, now peaceful thanks to this intimacy they barely think to share, his muscles tense periodically. She feels more than she sees the earthquake hidden behind the baritone notes of his voice ; and she knows his fears too well, these nightmares that keep trying to shatter the pieces of her heart. She can almost see his eyes look for an answer she might not really dare to give him, for she almost knows him better than she knows herself ; and vice versa. Or maybe not, whispers and echo that sounds eerily close to a mix of their voices, but she refuses to torment the already too twisted soul of the Ghost.

What made you like this ? She sometimes yearns to ask. Who made you into those ruins of a man, constantly trying to drown you in a bottomless abyss ?

But she knows she will never be brave enough to loudly articulate those questions, even if he might already know about them. So she settles for snuggling against his peculiar warmth, covering the tangle of their bodies with a toasty piece of her covers, not really knowing which one of them she is trying to bring comfort to. A yawn escapes her lips as she holds him against her chest like a damaged, oversized plushie - not unlike the one sleeping peacefully next to her head.

- And you’re mine.

Run. Dodge. Strike. Dream.

The era she lives in is made of corruption and greed, she thinks, its horrors rivalling with the ones found in the deepest pits of Hell itself. Or perhaps it’s a form of Paradise ? Maybe she’s nothing more than a demon hidden in a masquerade filled with pure, ancestral beings, her flaking skin gripping the velvet of her costume, threatening to tear it apart like the Gods did her soul. Maybe she’s one of the few who see the Truth hidden behind this never-ending show, this cacophony in the middle of which she’s forced to survive despite the fact she’s not meant to be there in the first place.

In a world covered in scorching waves and deadly shores, where is she supposed to find herself a halo ?

Sometimes, she wonders if the Angels of today pray when the sun rises, kneeling in front of the loud cries of their coffee machine. If the remnants of what were once sacred melodies dance in the ashes if their memory, disappearing behind the echo of the last drop falling into a cup they will never empty completely.

She wonders if their now blunt teeth break cigarette after cigarette, their ends piling up on the cold and dirty tiles of public restrooms, the walls around them covered in holy quotes they have long since forgotten. If their tongues happen to trip on the syllabes of a language they can no longer understand.

She wonders if their mouths are still filled with ambrosia, tainting every other food with a flavour they now know as forbidden. If they still remember lazing around in the middle of starry clouds, once upon a time when their glasses were never empty and their laughter ran along the skyline.

And she wonders if they would still be able to recognise their brothers and sisters behind the corrupted aura surrounding them, the foam born form the Lethe that lingers in their eyes. If they meet each other under the noses of the mortals species they now belong to, their sanded claws tearing the silky skin covering their bones, as if trying to find an illusion of peace in the ocean of confusion they are doomed to roam.

Are there even such beings, nowadays ? She murmurs. Remnants of sacred ruins destined to sway forever between their forgotten paradise and the hellish grounds they always feared ?

- You’re overthinkin’ again, a voice echoes at her side, and she can almost see two dots of dried blood light up at the edge of her field of vision.

She doesn’t even think about turning her head towards the sound, her own eyes focusing on the darkness of her ceiling.

- Would you be able to answer any of my questions ?

Her mattress suddenly caves in under a weight she now knows too well. The Ghost leans over her, a foreign expression carving his face behind the skull of his mask.

His silence is as somber as it is eloquent.

- Your fall, she insists, did it hurt ?

- ‘Course it did.

Of course it did, echoes a smiliar voice floating in the darkness. I felt my wings decompose as I tried to slow my fall down, the stars burning my fingertips over and over. My hands have been torn open by the lightning crawling around the atmosphere, and the clouds cried waves upon waves of salty tears upon my wounds. My scapulars tore the muscles of my shoulders apart, and my feathers burned among a sea of flames I once came to admire.

This nightmarish moment still haunts my entire being. I can still hear my own screams bounce around my skull, refusing to quiet down despite the passing of time and the crevices that line its walls.

Of course it hurt.

- Of course, she repeats once more with a pale voice, as if the memories twirling in her mind had always been hers.

Run. Dodge. Strike. Dream.

Angels are sacred beings, spells a voice lost in the young woman’s mind, whose wings have been carved in a block of purity, and whose feathers sway along the rhythm of a virtuous wind. It’s easy for them to lose it all. Remember this, for the next time you catch the eyes of a Fallen.

Inside the Ghost’s ribcage, a somber void sits where a heart once was. The cracks of the Genesis hide a bottomless abyss, cruel and bathed in despair. She never knows how to resist to its alluring call, the loving whispers twisting her soul and turning it into a palette of rotten watercolours.

She’s been standing in her bathroom for a long time now, watching her reflection in her foggy mirror. Her hair clings to her face, still wet from the heat of a way-too-long shower, yet she does nothing to move it. Truth be told, the reflective glass only shows her a vague, colorful shape ; but she knows herself well, so much that it has become impossible to ignore the marks lingering on her body. She’s the reason behind many of them, guided by the honeyed words of her nightmares, always so cold against the invisible flames licking at her skin.

She should run. She knows that too well. She should have started running eons ago, even, but something inside of her refuses to get rid of her chains. She could escape to the other side of the world - yet nothing could stop her from coming back to the entity that, despite their constant fighting, somehow keeps her head out of the water.

Migh’ be our Destiny, is what he always says, persuading her to stay by his side. And it could be true, for the Fates are vicious and cruel, always looking for a way to laugh at their pathetic efforts to stay afloat.

He used to be an Angel. Everyone is to meet at least one during their life, and another one after their death ; no matter its nature. The Divine no longer cares about the purity of the entities It sends to the mortal world, and might even find some pleasure in seeing the consequences of Its own failures, convincing Itself that none of them is Its fault. The Gods will always see Themselves as better than anything else, and the Ghost hopes she never forgets it.

- And there she is, he says as he steps closer to her exhausted form. Back again.

The echo of his footsteps sends shivers down her spine. A bitter taste haunts the dried walls of her throat, soon taken over by a nauseating sweetness - the kind that makes her want to hold even more of it between her teeth.

Run, the voice whispers once more. You poor little thing, it might not be too late to escape him. But she knows this regret will soon go silent, making it even more easier to stay. So she stays, unmoving as he gets closer and closer, until there’s barely an inch left between their chests.

- Tha’ was quick. Missed me tha’ much ?

His smile is impossible to describe. Her reflection is clear in the bloody lake of his eyes ; showing her the peculiar fascination that paints her features, sometimes broken by rays of doubt and desire. Their lips barely graze each other as he leans in, yet the touch is so vivid compared to everything else that the Hunter wonders if it wasn’t just her imagination.

- Your ego knows no bound, she mumbles, her voice lacking its usual sharpness.

The Ghost smiles, knowing too well how captivating his inhumainty is. She constantly tries to get rid of this malicious attraction that chains the both of them, dipping her finger in the spectral thoughts whispering how much better she is than all of this, than this Fallen who knows nothing about the depths of love. It’s all an illusion, a dream created by an infernal fever. A trap. She’s aware if this - so why does it all seem so real, sometimes ? Could it be that all these silent, vulnerable moments are nothing more than the sparks of futile hope she thought was real ?

She should run. But she wants to know if there isn’t even the smallest of truthful lights hidden behind this never-ending nightmare.

- You always say that Destiny’s the reason why we’re constantly brought together, she murmurs weakly, dropping her head against the Ghost’s torso as he holds her there, hands coated in a silent tenderness. But how could that be, since I always do my best to avoid you ? How do you keep finding me ?

For a moment, the entity feels his eyes widen with surprise. He quickly hides it behind a sly smile, cruel and warm. This time, he dives even deeper to really meet her lips, and she can taste the rust that seems to haunt his every touch.

She should run. But she doesn’t. She never will.

- I jus’ follow those who are waitin’ for me, Snowflake.

She sometimes wonder if she’ll ever be able to forgive their mutual sins ; and the voice in her head cackles. You’re bound to a being that lives for this, it says, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten ? The laughter refuses to stop as she realises again and again that she’s far from being Holy - something that the Ghost knows too.

- You always save me from my demons because you want to kill me yourself, don’t you ? She asks, her words bouncing strangely around her dried throat. You’re the only Death you’ll allow me to have.

He sucks in a breath, the darkness of his features twisting under his mask. Those questions -or statements ?- rouse an unknown feeling from the void ; new, complex, indecipherable. She can almost feel his usual arrogance quiver in her own heart, abruptly hidden by the melancholic sigh crossing his lips.

After a moment of silence, the entity places a kiss on her shoulder, light as a buttefly. Something loud echoes from his thoughts, a conflict lost eons ago to the abyss, while his own silence offers no denial or confirmation. So she keeps herself quiet, holding her certainty in a corner of her blurry mind.

And in her dreams, when Morpheus laughs as he asks her if she’s found herself to be seduced by his newfound vulnerability, the exhausted Hunter simply offers him a bitter smile, drinking her own tears from a golden cup.

She no longer has an answer.

Run. Dodge. Strike. Hope.

Among the universe in which she lives, the Hunter never knew a single end ; only strings of never ending realities and gargantuan burdens holding the cruel thoughts that keep laughing at her misery. Destiny has never been on her side. Which makes her laugh ; maybe she stopped believing in it too long ago to care.

She couldn’t say when exactly she lost the taste of happiness that came with the old memories of her youth. Instead, her tastebuds tremble whenever a tired and distressed breath invades her mouth in the hopes of being set free, twist under its sour flavour as she tries to swallow it. Some times are not made for sighing.

The Gods decided that she was made to wither in Chaos, but she’d rather see things differently. She doesn’t like the idea of the cruel, broken concepts They make, those that never hesitate to unleash waves of suffering on thousands and thousands of innocent souls. She tries to focus on the positive things they sometimes leave in their wake, no matter how difficult it is to find them, how easily they can crumble in her hands.

For now, she’s stopped fighting. But the cascades of her own blood are now weaved in her soul, constantly retelling tales of the wars she’s been through. She can do nothing more than to wait for the next storm. Which she does.

Among the uiverse in which she lives, comfort comes and goes however it pleases. More often than not, it goes down a path drastically different than hers, so far away that she loses sight of it. Those periods of time stretch out for so long that when this peace comes back, meeting its almost unknown silhouette triggers her reflex to fight - her soul screaming at the potential enemy standing in front of her.

Fight ! It pleads. Fight ! Fight ! Fight !

Survive !

Yet she silences it for now.

Outside of her window, the city still hides behind a thick veil of fog. As always, it should be too early for her to be awake ; but her eyes refuse to stay closed, and her mind focuses on the heavy feeling crushing her waist. The Ghost lays beside her, still fast asleep with an arm slung over her frame, his body easily engulfing hers. It’s a good opportunity for her to observe how his short, blond hair fades into the porcelain of his skin, shattered by countless scars of all colours. She dares run a hand through the blond calamity of his hair. How strange it can be, she thinks as he sighs against her breast, to sometimes boil with hatred and disdain for the other, yet still share those quiet moments of intimacy whenever the fight ends.

She used to wish for him to disappear. And yet now, she finds peace in his presence.

What happened ?

In her eyes, the entity did nothing to deserve even an ounce of kindness. He dragged her down over and over again, enjoyed building her back together only to break her again, drew tears and blood from her very soul to savour the taste. But so did she.

The Divine keeps laughing at their pain by offering them fake opportunities of redemption. But they both know they can only find their salvation in the other’s soul, walk side by side towards a new world of their own creation. If the thought leaves a bitter taste in her mouth, she still sees how attractive it can be to slowly burn out in the heart of the Ghost while cradling him in hers - free both of their souls of the miasma haunting them.

This is a fantasy based on nothing, cackles a distorted voice in her head. And it’s true. No matter how much they try to redeem themselves, how many times they tear their own knees apart while praying, and how many rebellions they go through in order to cut their own strings, the skies will never allow them to leave Their grasp. But they stopped caring a long time ago.

Raising a trembling arm to her eyes, the Hunter smiles. Exhaustion weighs heavy on her lips as she silently follows the too-many marks littering her skin - a familiar sight, with an ever-growing number. She realises how similar her scars are to the Ghost’s. The canvas of their bodies is covered in white lines, rugged burns and deep, purple bruises that never stop appearing, and her vision sways before she can finish counting.

Yet she can’t stop her eyes from following the crevices lining the entity’s back. They rise and hide among a valley of broad muscles, holding the memories he refuses to share. The visions he can’t forget. Her own back is probably the same. They are covered in the painful remnants of what used to be their wings, the spectres of their freedom weighing heavy against their bones.

- I know you’re awake, Ghost. Stop pretending.

She immediately feels him smile against her skin, his fangs threatening to catch on the red lines crossing her chest.

- No’ pretendin’, he answers with a low and cheeky voice. Admirin’ my work.

- Oh, fuck off.

That drives a cackle out of his throat. He could have followed up with one of his usual snarky comments, but he chooses to nuzzle the crook of her neck instead as she slowly rakes her nails along his scalp. The gesture is soft, tender - so different from the times she claws at him instead, either during their fights, or their rougher moments of intimacy. An empty glance to her face, one she tries to avoid, tells him that she probably had the same thought.

The atmosphere is strange during this morning, bathed in a shy light, but the Ghost doesn’t pay it any mind. The room is perfectly silent, and it would be a shame to ignore this opportunity to get a glimpse of her beautifully complex mind.

How many times did he see his Snowflake’s eyes hold the darker hues of a violent rage, an abyssal despair, or any other feelings she couldn’t decipher ? He reads her like an open book, so satisfyingly transparent. How beautiful it is to watch how her story writes itself to the rhythm of her thoughts, of the days they weave together ! For now, all he sees is a slow melancholy digging in-between the lines, akin to a storm brewing on the horizon. An infinite tiredness that has him silencing the teasing he was tempted to articulate.

- You miss it, don’t you ? She finally says, interrupting his observations.

She hesitates slightly, pausing in her train of thoughts. How could she summarize the entirety of their mutual struggle in one sentence ? Her own saliva becomes painful to swallow, dragging against the dry walls of her throat. It’s like a marble of lead is blocking her oesophagus, leaking the poison of doubt in her system.

- The Chaos, she continues, her voice sounding incredibly raw. You keep chasing it, but it’s getting away.

The Ghost rolls onto his back, grunting as the rust of his bones hinders his movement. She isn’t wrong. Just like Violence has tried to break her soul, his is tainted by a visceral need to ruin all order. All is boring when Peace settles in ; silent, clean. Unsufferable.

But when he looks at the Hunter and her milky scars highlighted by the rising sun, the entity thinks this moment of rest -which will obviously be too short for her tastes- isn’t that bad. He appreciates the calm floating in the air, and her presence too, even if their relationship might be far from ideal. To stay here, bathing in the misty morning glow without holding a blade to the other’s throat, is something he finds himself to enjoy quite well.

He slowly sits up, allowing his head to stretch lightly to the side. The smile he gives her is full of harmless malice.

- Ya’d miss me, eh ? If I left to pursue tha’ Chaos.

- Oh no ! Not at all !

- Always so shy, he sighs as if her reaction offended him. Neva’ sharin’ whot ya really think.

He leans above her, voice lowering, and his arm twisting in a way that can barely support his weight. It wouldn’t take much for him to fall into his previous position.

- Bu’ maybe we could create our own Chaos ?

- We already do that quite a lot, she quips back while rolling over to turn her back to him. It’s enough for me.

She feels more than she sees the way his smile now leaves his fangs on full display, showing how much he enjoys troubling the morning peace with his dark and honeyed words. He softly takes hold of her wrist, where his lips come to follow a path he now knows more than well.

- Bu’ didn’t I hold your hand ta guide ya towards peace, multiple times ?

Face halfway buried into the pillows, the Hunger grimaces. These words reflect a twisted truth, ensnare her throat like the red thread that runs along her skin.

- You hate Peace, she breathes.

- And ya know nothin’ o’ it.

Sometimes, she thinks, « dangerous » isn’t powerful enough to define the Ghost - especially when his thoughts get so close to hers. When she finally decides to meet his gaze, she finds the usual spark of arrogance dancing behind his pupils. Yet there’s also a hint of laziness and sincerity, one she seems to see more and more as time passes. Body still heavy with sleep, she raises herself towards him, and languishly runs her thumb across the traitorous curve of his lips.

- You know your offer is tempting.

Among the universe in which she lives, the Gods like to play like cowards, binding them together as one tormented soul. They both despise Them for giving them so many feelings they will never control. On one side of the coin, it’s freeing to be carried by the dangers they hold ; but on the other side, constantly standing in the eye of the storm is exhausting. Like fighting with bare hands against a raging fire.

- And I know you’re gonna refuse, Snowflake.

She simply cackles.

Run. Dodge. Strike. Hope.

She doesn’t remember much about the happy times of her childhood. The earliest memories she holds are already painful, filled with an almost visceral need to survive against the infernal obstacles that Life keeps throwing in her path. They keep repeating that it’s like this for everyone, forcing her to reduce her own armor in pieces and tear out the heart beating behind it, showing this corrupted world the gaping wounds it has to beat with ; the searing edges she had to cauterize herself in order to not bleed out on her own ; the cries she swallowed into silence to avoid being treated like a stranger to her own existence.

Maybe they’ll come to see how difficult it is for her to keep going, she thinks, to hold her head high when everything tried to drag her down.

Her eyes, circled by her tired pain, get lost in the phosphorescent stars haunting her ceiling. Their pale, green light has always been a guide, a sturdy anchor protecting her against the merciless currents of her thoughts whenever she feels like giving up. Being a Celestial must be tiring, she sometimes whispers while imagining said creatures flying among clouds and comets. She can’t imagine what it takes to bear the weight of the hopes and dreams of others when one’s has already left this world to wander in another.

She always thought she never believed in Fate ; yet when she lets herself be carried away by the abyssal timbre of her Ghost, that demon she now knows more than herself, she remembers that it’s impossible to escape its languid clutches. Sometimes, a part of her wonders if she wasn’t wrong to listen so much to her doubts.

Her body is covered in scars she is ashamed to wear. But her fight is still far from whatever ending it might follow, and something in her mind murmurs that they can’t be that bad, those white marks she shares with the Fallen she’s come to love.

Her bones crack as she turns her pillow over to meet the cool fabric of its unused side ; but it’s the touch of the entity laying on top of her that keeps making her shiver, and a light laugh escapes her when his charcoal-covered claws brush against her ribs. It’s a rare melody, and it convinces him that, somewhere, the firmament must be torn by the miraculous and silent dance of a shooting star.

His thoughts only quiet down when she slides a hand along his scalp to feel the softness of his hair, the clarity of her voice echoing through the silence.

- Don’t you want to see it from up close ? She asks, causing him to raise a curious brow.

- See whot.

- The shooting star.

The Ghost smiles, littering her skin with butterfly kisses filled with reverence. To see the one he gave his love to so eager to do the same is a beautiful feeling, and he realises how lucky they both are to have met each other while looking for a new kind of ataraxia.

- No need, he whispers, nuzzling in the crook of her neck.

I already have one.

Run. Dodge. Strike. Kill.

Run. Dodge. Strike. Live.