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tiredmamaissy · 6 months ago

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Ralak te Sepawn ieyk’itan: Special Episode VI

Labor of Love - Part II

Masterlist ; Rut/Heat/Knotting Info

🔞 minors, do not interact 🔞

Hyperlinks are attached to specific paragraphs that when clicked on will lead you to its illustration by Ralak's insanely talented creator @zestys-stuff. Thank you so much for allowing me to play around with your characters!

Characters: Metkayina!Ralak (25) x Sully!Omaticaya!Reader (20) featuring Metkayina!Zu’té (29)

Warnings: zero smut, angst angst angst, mention of past trauma, expletives, pregnancy, contractions, heavily described labour, blood, mild physical violence, reader is really going through it, ralak is too but he'll be alright i promise, brother!neteyam makes a star appearance, cute family fluff, let me know if i forgot anything

Word Count: 6.5k

Requested: Yes || No

Author’s Note: Hope you're enjoying your tour in angst town...we're almost finished. You could say we're nearing the final attraction, so continue to keep your seatbelts buckled. lol why am i like this? anyways... please don't hate me for this chapter, and i will try my best to get the next one out quicker so you guys can get some closure lool :)

Synopsis: You didn't plan for things to turn out this way. But no amount of denial can make reality go away...

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And when Ralak sees it, he almost caves in on himself. His mask of indifference—of intimidation, cracks. Hell, it shatters. Into thousands of pieces, scattered at his feet. Tonowari’s previous right hand. The banished. His karyu.

Time chips by at a torturous pace. You spend the first hour sitting on the beach, eating some fruit whilst watching what your brothers get up to. Neteyam, of course, is bearing most of the responsibility whilst Lo’ak and Tuk are taking a more easy approach to the day. Mom and dad made sure to leave them with a list of things to get done whilst they’re away—number one being to keep an eye on their sisters.

Number one, check.

All that floods your mind is your mate and if he’s okay. You try to process everything he’s said but it’s all too much to wrap your head around. All too new. Your brothers aren’t much help either, as they claim to be ‘out the loop’ as much as you are. You know it's bullshit, and probably just another thing that they’ve been ordered to keep from you so as not to ‘stress you out’.

Regardless, it’s all you can think about.

Until you feel your son do a flip in your womb, big enough to make you gasp. Your hands immediately fly to your belly, feeling around to gauge his position. A pressure begins to grow against your bladder. One so intense it presses into your tailbone too. The pads of your fingers sink into the skin, tapping around as you make out a leg, then a knee. A hand to the left.

Is he…head down? You think to yourself.

“Everything alright?” Neteyam asks, concern wrinkling his forehead.

“Hm?” You look up, seeing the outline of his silhouette in front of the sun.

“You okay? You’re…you look a little—”

“Oh, yeah. Everything’s fine. He’s moving a lot today.” You smile, catching Tuk excitedly running over in the corner of your eye.

“Really? Can I feel? Please?” She squeals excitedly, falling to her knees in the sand next to you.

“Of course, Tuk.” You smile, and place her hand on top of your stomach, right where his foot is. Only a few seconds pass by until your son gives Tuk a strong kick, making her mouth open with glee.

“Wow! Tey, you gotta feel this!” Tuk exclaims, tugging your brother by the hand so he’s next to you too. Neteyam looks at you, unsure if you’re okay with it. You nod with a gentle smile, tugging his hand over to the other side of your stomach. His hand hovers as he hesitates for a moment, this is his first time feeling his nephew move. He gives you a final look, and gently rests his hand on your belly

A few moments pass and nothing.

“Aww, he stopped moving.” Tuk sighs with a pout.

“Patience, Tuk.” You whisper, feeling him kick on cue. Her face lights up with a beaming smile and Neteyam seems to be in awe with wide eyes and slightly parted lips.

“Woah, y/n. Your tummy’s getting hard.” Tuk says innocently, looking at her brother to see if he feels it too.

“Hm?” You hum, feeling a bit spaced out and achy.

“It is.” Neteyam lets go and keeps his hands to himself, feeling like he’s invading your personal space. A heat floods your back, and you feel your thighs spasm. You begin to groan, holding your breath until the strange feeling subsides. “Hey. You okay?”

You nod, finally release your breath, and hear Tuk’s excited voice. “It’s all soft now!”

“All good.” You smile, but Neteyam doesn’t seem convinced at all. “Ronal says they are normal. They aren’t the real thing. Mom had them with Tuk, remember?”

Neteyams' features soften as he nods, prying his little sister's hands off of you. “Ease up now, Tuk.”

“Sorry, sis.” She says quietly, ears laying flat to her head.

“Nothing to be sorry about.” You say as you roll to your side to get up, shamelessly using Neteyam to gain some momentum. “Think it’s time for me to take a walk, though.”

“Yes, sure. Where are we going?” Neteyam asks, ready to accompany you anywhere.

“I’m going down to the rocks.” You emphasise on the first word, making it clear you need some alone time after being babysat all day. “I think Lo’ak needs some help with the net.”

Neteyam and Tuk look over to see their brother struggling with a tangled fishing net, and turn back to see that you’re already waddling down the beach.

——

Suddenly, Ralak’s back inside of his family marui pod on his iknimaya night. Trapped. Small. Powerless. Cornered by a person he once looked up to. A person he trusted. Manipulated by her heat— her pheromones. A crime punishable by banishment. Forced to give, forced to receive. A betrayal he’ll never forget. A face he swore to himself that he would never see again.

No wonder they ‘demanded’ his presence.

Tonowari and Ronal lose their colour when their eyes land on her. It’s been so many years. They quickly look over to Ralak, who is seemingly falling to pieces where he stands. The expression on his face is no short of pure shock and… terror. Truthfully, the last time they’d seen such an expression on his face was the deaths of his parents and spirit brother. Jake and Neytiri aren’t aware of what’s going on, but they know it must be serious for Ralak to be so…expressive.

They can even see his shoulders heave from how hard he’s breathing, and how his face of terror quickly morphs into something of fury. Tonowari notices the way he tightens his grip on his weapon, and his eyes as they gloss over red with rage. It takes a lot to make this man blind with anger. Tonowari knows if he doesn't step in now that this could turn sour in the blink of an eye.

——

Two.

Releasing a shaky exhale, you begin your walk back to your siblings. That was the second ‘practice’ contraction you’ve had since starting your walk, and your third since coming here with your brothers. Your waddle is becoming more sluggish with each step and the fire in your back is beginning to burn hotter rather than fade out.

“Not now, little one.” You whisper as you caress your bump. “…please.”

Weariness sets in as you make it halfway back, making you perch on your knees to take a break. The fire spreads from your back to your thighs, and up your stomach. You brace yourself for the tight feeling, holding your breath in the base of your chest. You grumble a little, swaying side to side until it passes, which thankfully doesn’t take more than a few seconds.

Three.

Finally making it back to the beach, you see Neteyam and Lo’ak hauling a few sacks on their backs, with Tuk skipping behind them. You overhear Lo’ak trying to convince Neteyam to let him be with the other warriors, and Neteyam reminding him of your parents orders. They stop mid sentence when they hear your heavy, muffled footsteps, taking one look at you and knowing that something isn’t right. Lo’ak in particular, to your surprise.

“Damn. You look exhausted.” Lo’ak says, earning a jab in the rib by Neteyams elbow. “What? She looks like she’s about to pass out.”

“You can’t say that to a pregnant woman, skxawng [idiot].” Neteyam hisses.

“It’s fine. He’s not wrong.” You say, tail dragging low and heavy behind you. Ralak still clouds your mind, and you’re eager to know if he’s back yet. “I want to go home now. I really need to lie down.”

Neteyam just nods, understanding that something deeper is going on. “I will take you.”

“I got it, bro.” Lo’ak interjects, plunking the sack off his back and onto the ground.

“Stay with Tuk.” Neteyam orders, clicking for his skimwing.

“Why don’t you stay with Tuk?” Lo’ak snaps back.

“Guys. Please?” You sigh, waddling towards the winged beast, throwing a leg over its tough back. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Come ‘teyam.” Neteyam smirks, making the bond with the beast and mounting it in one swift move.

As you arrive at your marui, you see Zu’té at the outside fire pit, concentrating on not burning yet another type of meat-on-a-stick. Hearing your arrival, Zu’té turns and acknowledges your presence. He puts down the sizzling meat on a leaf, allowing the fire to continue to burn as he begins to make his way over to collect you. Neteyam and him exchange glances and silent greetings, and suddenly the air is thick.

“Right…I’m going up. Thank you, tey. See you.” You say out of breath, giving him a quick hug.

“Let me—” Neteyam begins.

“No, I’m okay.” You cut off your brother, hualing yourself off the tsurak.

“Right. Kìyevame [see you again soon]. If you need me, send your watchdog.” He speaks clearly, holding you by the wrist to steady you as you get off.

“I will, tey.” You chuckle lightly and make your way to the marui. Neteyam waits patiently, making sure you get in safely.

Zu’té is only half way there when you reach the bottom step, already offering his arm for the stairs. You sigh and shake your head, hurriedly climbing the stairs as fast as your swollen ankles will allow it. For some reason, his gesture really annoys you. Your mood is off and you feel queasy and achy—like your entire body is throbbing.

All you want is for everyone around you to stop babying you, and let you be alone for the rest of the day.

“I got it.” Your voice strains as you wobble ahead, leaving Zu’té and your brother behind. Neteyam remains silent for some time, locking eyes with Zu’té.

‘Keep a close eye.’ Neteyam signs with disquiet wrinkling his forehead. Zu’té gives him a puzzled look at first, but slowly nods when he successfully deciphers the message. Neteyam nods as well and dives underwater.

By the time Zu’té gets to the bottom step, you’re already at the top, clutching onto the railing as you lean forward in pain. You couldn’t even make it into the pod without another hitting you so soon. You take a few deep breaths rather than holding it in, waiting until the tight feeling subsides.

Four.

Zu’té darts up the stairs to your side, offering a hand in support only to be swatted away. “What is it?”

“It is nothing.” You catch your breath and insist that it was nothing—because it was nothing, right?

His brows furrow in disbelief, a look of concern washing over his face. Zu’té allows his eyes to fall to your bulging, veiny belly for the first time, taking in the sight. “You were in pain.”

“I’m fine.” You’re short with him, stony eyes staring into his.

“Someone once told me no good comes from pretending that things don’t hurt.”

“Well nothing’s happening until my husband is back. Okay?” You try to remain nonchalant, to believe your own words.

He simply stares down at you for a bit, analysing your facial expression. Despite your stone cold facade, he can easily see the fear etched into your features. Fear that this baby may come before Ralaks return and that if you allow yourself to accept reality, then it may really come true. He glances down at your hand still stuck to the side of your stomach and swallows, looking back up to you.

“Understood.”

“Right. Now...” You huff, contemplating if you should say what you want to say. You feel like telling him to back off—to give you some space. But he’s obviously just making sure you’re okay. “...I need to lie down. Just, keep an eye out for—”

“My brother? Sure. Rest well.”

——

“Ay’ana.”

The Olo’eyktan lets out a lengthy growl, earning a look from the traitor herself.

“Waari.” She sings with a grin, shifting her leer to his mate behind him. “Ronal.” Her eyes fall to her swollen belly, “You are expecting…again.”

It wasn’t a, ‘congratulations’ either, no. But rather a ‘I see that you are the most vulnerable.’

Ronal scowls, hissing through her teeth. Tonowari steps in front of his mate, blocking her from Ay’ana’s view.

It was one thing to commit kawngkem [a crime; evil deed] and be banished for it, but it’s another to seek uturu with the enemy. She is no longer considered to be among the ‘banished’, but is now the ‘enemy’.

Ay’ana looks behind Tonowari, not at Ronal, but at the two deeper skinned, slender na’vis. She scoffs, the corner of her mouth pulling into an evil smirk, revealing her sharpened teeth. Tonowaris eyes widen when he sees that she’s completely adapted to this vile peoples’ ways by putting a file to her teeth. Her eyes flick past them to the last person, the most important.

“Ralak.” She slowly moans his name as she peers up at him with sultry eyes, allowing her tongue to glaze over her canines. “Such a pleasure.” Ralak winces, chest heaving violently as it fills with repulsion and loathing. “Ah. I remember you being quiet, but not this quiet. Nothing to say to your karyu?”

——

A couple hours have passed and the pain is enough to disrupt your rest. The sunlight dulls with each passing minute, casting a familiar orange hue into the marui. It comes in waves, rippling through you like a bolt of lightning striking the tallest tree in the forest. Making it hard to tell yourself that things are okay—making it hard to keep things quiet.

“Agh!” You groan suddenly, feeling another jolt of electricity shoot up your spine. It stops you in your tracks, the tracks you’ve been burning into the floor with your constant, nervous pacing. You quiet down into a whisper, “...please wait for your sempu [daddy], my child.”

“You—uhm.” You hear Zu’té clear his throat at the door, projecting his voice so that you can hear him through the curtain, “You alright in there?”

“Mmn—yes! Fine.” You grate out, making your way back to the bed to lie down. Your feet are so sore.

“Hungry?” He asks, food in hand in the case you were.

“‘m not.” You try to speak up, but you’re still in the height of the contraction.

He grits his teeth, leaning into the frame of the marui door. “I didn’t burn it this time.”

You wish you could laugh, but you can’t even muster up the strength to raise your voice.

Zu’té lingers at the door quietly, knowing plain as day that you weren’t okay. “...what about water?”

“No...I’ve got.” You say at a normal volume, finally released from the constraints of your pain.

You begin closing your eyes in hopes that sleep may find you, even if it's just for a few minutes. Zu’té remains at the door for a moment longer, feeling so helpless and useless. He sinks back to the floor, putting down the meat and picking up a new, special piece to weave.

Weaving passed the time, distracting him from the tiny sounds that managed to escape your mouth.

Until night fell, and those tiny sounds morphed into deep, lengthy groans and high pitched wails.

——

“Let us begin.” Tonowari speaks over Ay’ana, averting all attention back to their leader, another female that goes by the name of ‘Varang’.

She’s almost grey in colour, embellished with a red headpiece that resembles something of an ikrans wings. Her eyes narrow as she looks straight at Tonowari, standing close to his height.

“Let us.” She hisses with a smile, leading Tonowari to a smaller, private room sectioned by a leather curtain. She motions to Ay’ana to accompany her, leaving the rest of her men to stay with the others. Tonowari lets out a soft grunt, and grits his teeth. He knows he must choose, but his mate is heavy with child and Jake has no interest in leaving his mate in such a place alone. Therefore, he must choose his right hand—Ralak. He motions with a quick tilt of his head, prompting Ralak to clutch his weapon close to his chest and follow closely behind.

——

“Y/n.” Zu’té’s at the curtain again, half considering to pull it back and come in on his own terms. But he would never invade your privacy like that. And by the sounds of it, things are picking up. “Do you need the healer?”

“No!” You shout out of breath, wobbling to the door with a hand clutching your stomach. You lean all your weight against the wall, knowing he’s on the other side waiting. “No healer.”

You’re drenched in sweat, sliding down the wall to sit on the floor. He hears your back slide against the surface, and he mirrors your movements, sitting on the floor too. Only a wall sits between your backs, separating you two.

“You’re in labour.” Zu’té speaks, his poor attempt at urging you to face reality.

You know that. Of course you know that. But you don’t want it to be true—you didn’t expect it to happen this way—you didnt want it to happen this way. You take a few deep breaths, concentrating on breathing through the remainder of this horrible feeling. And when it’s finally over, you rest your head against the wall and close your eyes—leaving silence to fill the air.

Where are you, Ralak?

——

The room is much smaller than the one they were in, equipped with some sort of table or workbench with a few spears and bows mounted on the wall. Ralak stands quietly behind Tonowari, as does Ay’ana to Varang.

As they negotiate the terms of the treaty, Ay’ana keeps her eyes locked onto Ralak with a smug look on her face. Her hungry eyes wander, shamelessly taking in every inch of the man before her, surprised by how much he has changed. He’s much bigger, more filled out in his warrior attire. His muscles—more defined, thicker. His skin—calloused and scarred. Inked, unlike before.

And as her eyes trail down the line between his abs they lay upon the six stripes that peak out over the band of his loincloth. Her eyes widen and glisten with greed before darting back up to his face, meeting his eyes that bore into her fearlessly.

What’s worse is that she can see that his mind is elsewhere.

That his mind runs on you. You’re all he’s been thinking about since he stepped off the reef. He feels deep in his heart that something isn’t right back home. That you need him. That perhaps, you’re calling for him right now, swollen and heavy with his child.

And it bothers her.

“It is decided, then.” Tonowari speaks in a confident tone.

“Yes, it is.” Varang’s smile is uncanny as she unsheaths a small, double edged knife from her hip.

She grabs Tonowari by the hand, placing the blade in the middle of his palm, and closes his fingers around it. She rips it from his hand, drawing blood, and then hands Tonowari the knife and gives him her hand. He returns the unsettling act, slitting her palm. She keeps a smile on her face, locking hands with him until their blood combines and drips to their feet.

Supposedly, it is a method of establishing some level of trust between the two. Where each has the ability to do much greater harm, but makes the deliberate choice not to. Then, when blood has been drawn, it is mixed by bringing the hands together, sealing the treaty.

“Bound by blood.” Varang whispers, letting go of his hand to bring hers to her mouth for a taste.

She sighs and smiles, popping a thumb in her mouth before gesturing to him that they leave. Tonowari fights the flinch on his face, disturbed by her behaviour. Ay’ana stays back, watching the two leaders exit the room. But as Ralak is about to leave behind Tonowari, Ay’ana calls for him.

——

Another couple agonising hours pass, and you’re constantly changing positions in hopes of finding some relief. Desperation sets in, making you beg the great mother herself to guide you through this. To bring your mate back home. But there’s still no sign of his return. The night dew settles on all the surfaces around you. Pacing no longer helps, leaving you to take refuge in your bed, panting and shivering.

No matter how much you twist and turn, your stomach only tightens more. Deep groans rip past your lips to cope with the feeling—the pain shooting through your core. Beads of sweat roll off your body at an alarming rate, soaking the sheets on your bed. You feel him move further down, his head now sitting plush in your pelvis, creating an immense pressure that’s almost unbearable. His feet press into your ribs, and with each strained breath you begin to yearn for your mate more and more. For his comforting touch. For the bond.

“Ralak…”

——

“Ralak.” She sings, making him stop dead in his tracks. “A word.”

His ears tuck back and he looks at Tonowari, who gives him a begrudged nod. Ralak sighs and turns around, fixing his mask of indifference tightly to his face. He remains silent, his hand practically bonded to his spear.

“Still tight lipped, hm? Come now, tak. That is no way to treat your karyu.” She speaks in a condescending tone, approaching him warily.

Ralak nearly takes the bait, a heat growing in his chest so hot it makes his jaw tense. How dare she call herself that? To taint such a word? He swallows, taking a single, deep breath to recenter himself as he looks away from her.

“I have to admit.” She steps towards him, the crown of her head meeting the bow of his shoulder. “You have grown into a fine man. You are taller than me now.”

Ralak just looks down at her, still as stone, his mind consumed with the fact that he could be on his way home to you but this…vile creature is keeping him away. But he will do what he needs to keep you safe, even if it means to tolerate this for the time being.

With no reaction, Ay’ana grows frustrated and begins circling him, a single finger tracing around his body.

“You know…My body still yearns for you.” She speaks with a sultry voice, stopping at his side and bringing herself to the tips of her toes to whisper in his ear, “...especially when I’m in heat.”

For a second, Ralak succumbs to her tactics, the ones she used to use on him years ago. A memory, forcibly resurfaced, reminding him of the way she whispered in his ear on that night. It makes him feel so small. Impotent. But only for a second. Ralak recoils, stepping back to create distance between them. He towers over her, dwarfing this small, lanky woman, regaining his confidence and power.

“Is that all?” He growls, looking her dead in the eye—facing his past with no fear.

Facing the reason why he lived in a bottle before he met you. You. You. He can feel you. He can feel you yearn for him and he’s ready to come home to you. For this to be over.

He’s too focused on you to even notice Ay’ana’s face of shock. Shock to know that she’s been releasing her pheromones this entire time and he’s been completely oblivious to them. Which only means one thing.

“You’re mated.” She gasps.

And he’s back.

Staring at a mirror now that he is, too, in a state of shock. Ralak’s heart leaps out his chest, beating so hard that Ay’ana can hear it. How could she know that? He watches as a grin spreads across her face, ear to ear. She knows she’s got him now, despite the jealousy bubbling inside her. She could use this to her advantage—it didn’t matter to her that he’s called for, after all.

“Using tsaheylu for such useless things.” She bellows a wicked laugh, which fades out when she sees an even more serious look on his face. A look that tells her he’s trying to mask something more, something deeper. “Oh? Is there more to it?” The twitch of his brows and quick flare to his nostrils reveals the truth. “I have to know. What is it, hm?” She nears him once more, two fingers walking up his chest. “Come now, you were never this hard to read.”

Ralak remains silent, focusing on slowing his heart rate.

“Is she ill?” She asks as she searches his eyes, fingers grazing across his quivering jawbone. “No, no. It’s not that.” She sighs, stepping closer and closer until his back hits the wall. He moves his head away from her touch, still looking her in the eye—refusing to be the first to break eye contact. Her eyes light up and her ears stand tall.

“She carries your child, doesn’t she?” Her eyes gloss over green with envy. “Pregnant.”

Ralak swallows his spit, the lump in the column of his throat quickly undulating.

“There it is. I knew you would make strong babies.” Her hand slips down his chest, slithering over his abs and down to the twine of his loincloth, causing him to jolt. “Ralak.” She moans his name slowly, “Oh, Ralak. The last I see of you, you were barely covered in this vile ink with no one at your side…and now you are mated and a father to be.” Her fingers tickle the raised skin on his most intimate tattoo. “I have always longed to be bred by you.” Her fingers attempt to burrow themselves under the band of his loincloth.

“Enough.” He lets out a deep growl, shoving her away, dropping his weapon in doing so. She loses and quickly regains her balance in a few seconds, throwing herself on him. He grabs her by the wrists, restraining her with ease so that she can’t come any closer to him.

“Perhaps we need to renegotiate the terms so that you are a part of them, yes?” Her voice is full of desperation, trembling as she strains against him. “How does that sound numeyu? You know we have a population problem, right? We could all use you.”

“I have no interest in being your stud.” Ralak spits, forcefully shoving her away, causing her to stumble back and for her head to hit the table.

He moves quickly, picking up his spear off the ground and heading for the door. She lunges at him, dagger unsheathed from her hip and armed in her hand, whilst her other arm snakes around his throat to pull him onto the ground.

During the struggle, Ralak drags her off his back, resulting in a nasty gash from his collarbone and down his shoulder blade. He hisses from the burn, instantly assuming an offensive stance to plunge his spear through. Ay’ana returns the hiss, crouching with her bloodied dagger ready to strike.

“I will kill you.” Ralak threatens, nearing the pointed tip closer and closer to her chest. “And I will take great joy in doing so.”

“Is that right?” Ay’ana hisses, tail wagging in excitement with unsettling smile spread across her face. She looks as if she’s toying with him. As if she’s playing a game and she’s winning. “Let me have a taste of you.”

“Nìtam! [Enough!]” Tonowari roars as he yanks back the curtain, instantly averting Ay’ana’s attention to him. Perhaps it was her roots calling her to respond to her true leader. Varang appears beside him with a scowl stained on her face, displeased with her subordinate. One more move and the treaty would’ve already been broken.

“Easy, Tak.” Tonowari murmurs, and Ralak relaxes into position next to him, blood trickling down his chest and back.

“Come with me.” Varang snarls at Ay’ana, seizing her by the queue.

“Night has fallen. We will take our leave.” Tonowari speaks roughly, trying his hardest to contain his anger as he rests a careful hand resting on Ralak—leading him out the room.

“In another ten years, Olo’eyktan.”

Tonowari grunts as he and the rest push past the swarming ash people. As soon as they’re far enough, he stops Ralak and has Ronal safely look at his wound. It’s weeping and open, prone to a nasty infection if not dressed immediately. She unclasps her medicine pouch from her hip, and retrieves a small bottle of iridescent liquid, a viscous concoction of herbs, and a needle and thread.

“Come, son.” Tonowari speaks softly, ripping the cork from the small bottle with his back teeth and spitting it on the ground. “That vonvä’.”

Ralak sits on the nearest rock, elbows propped on his knees and head hung low to hide his face. Jake and Neytiri observe in silence, cringing as Tonowari douses the gash with the liquid as Ronal prepares the needle and thread.

Ralak groans, biting down tooth on tooth.

Tonowari leaves a little left in the bottle, offering it to Ralak who is visibly trying to keep it together. He plucks the bottle from Tonowari’s hand and knocks it back, puffing out a sigh.

“Keep still.” Ronal orders, driving the wooden needle through his skin.

Ralak grumbles, letting his head hang between his knees and his hair fall forward. At this point Neytiri looks away, but Jake can’t. His eyes are plastered to the scene unfolding before him as he recognizes his son-in-law’s strength and perseverance.

“That should hold until we are back.” She declares, gathering her supplies and stuffing them back into her pouch.

“Irayo [thank you], Ronal.”

“You’re strong, boy.” Jake mumbles, patting Ralaks back as he gets up. “Anyone care to explain what the hell happened back there?”

Ralak just shakes his head, leaving Tonowari to speak for him. “I will explain on the way back. You all have someone waiting for you.”

Ralak’s ears spring up at the thought of you, giving him a burst of energy to spring to his feet, gather his gear and lead the trek himself. The women walk behind him, concerned about his wound. Tonowari and Jake are left at the back, sharing a look before they begin their journey.

——

“Fuck. Fuck.” You pant, looking down at your trembling hands that sink into the bed through double vision. You sway from side to side, trying to take steady, deep breaths, but the pressure between your legs is starting to make you panic. The possibility that you may have to do this alone is quickly becoming a reality.

Zu’té is the one doing the pacing now, unable to sit still in his spot for much longer. He has long abandoned his woven pieces, burning lines into the patio floor as he walks back and forth outside—conflicted on his next move.

He doesn’t want to go against your wishes and call a healer without you requesting it. But he must keep his word to Ralak—to keep you safe—which means calling for a healer. He chews on the toughened skin on his thumb, listening to your continuous whimpers and whines. By the sounds of it, you’re in active labour now, ready to give birth at any moment.

——

A few hours have passed since they started the trek back home. Everyone has fallen into new positions that work for them. Ralak, eager to be at his pregnant mate’s side, leads the pack, clearing the path for the others. Jake and Neytiri stay not too far behind him, keeping a vigilant eye on their surroundings. Tonowari and Ronal are far at the back, linked together as she trudges on despite her extreme weariness.

“Let us take another break.” Tonowari speaks quietly to his mate, hand on her stomach. They share a look, speaking to one another with their eyes. She doesn’t want to hold up the group much more than she already has.

“No. We are almost there—ugh!” Ronal lets out a sudden groan, clutching her stomach as she doubles over.

Everyone stops dead in their tracks, turning around with wide eyes. Tonowari supports her, and carefully walks her over to a nearby fallen log, lowering her down onto it. She takes a few deep breaths as Neytiri and Jake rush over to her.

“Is it time?” Neytiri asks, crouching down next to her. Ronal nods once, completely in tune with her body and aware of exactly what’s happening.

Which is why she insisted they continue, or else she won’t make it back in time. Ralak watches at a distance, his face contorting with sheer worry. No, borderline distress. He looks almost mortified, but not for the reasons that one may think. They all know why, it's obvious. If Ronal is in labour,

…that means you probably are too.

“Go ahead.” Ronal pants, beads beginning to form at her temple.

But Ralak doesn’t move. He can’t move. He’s at conflict with himself. An internal battle of knowing that he should stay and help, even though he really wants to go—needs to go.

“We got it, son. Go to her.” Jake huffs as he helps Tonowari lift Ronal to carry her. “Go on!” He shouts, prompting Ralak to look to his father figure for approval, to which he meets him with a quick nod before averting his attention back to his labouring mate. And with Neytiri’s soft smile of reassurance, Ralak takes a few steps back before turning his heel and booking it home.

——

“Haah…holy fuck—holy fuck.” You moan, feeling another contraction start up and the pressure between your legs intensify.

This one has you on your hands and knees, clutching the bed head so hard your nails dig into the wood. It’s undeniable now. This baby is coming whether you like it or not. And as the contraction reaches its peak, you scream.

“Zu’té!” It pains you to cry out for his name and not your mates. Hearing your call—your permission to enter—he finally bursts through the door and rushes to your side.

“I’m here, I’m here.” He’s out of breath and on edge.

“I think—oh god—I think the baby’s coming!” You cry out, swooping your hand between your legs to try and feel what’s happening.

“Shit. Like now? Like right now?” Zu’té panics as he watches you, hands hovering around you, unsure of what to do.

“I d-don’t know! I—I don’t—I want Ralak! Fuck, fuck. I want lak!” You cry out in sheer agony. “I want my mate. I-I need him!”

“Y/n. Eywa.” Desperation is potent in his voice now.

The fact that you’re calling out for his brother means the time has come and he feels like a fool to have let this get this far without stepping in. He swallows and takes a breath to calm down, just as your contraction ends and leaves you sobbing on your knees.

“I’m getting the healer.” He says firmly, turning his heel to leave but you grab his wrist before he can walk away.

“No! Don’t leave…Please don’t leave me alone.” You beg, fear glossing over your eyes until it spills onto your cheeks once more. He looks at you with furrowed brows, lamenting for you. Now he’s really conflicted, because this means…it’s him or no one.

“Ah, shit. Shit. Uhm.” He rakes his fingers through his scalp, thinking about his next move. He’s seriously considering going regardless, able to see the situation for what it is.

“Please, Zu’té.” You plead weakly, slowly lowering yourself onto your behind and off your knees, leaning back into the bedhead.

“Okay, okay.” He nods and you let go of his wrist, immediately using your hand to support your stomach. You let your eyes close, they’re swollen and heavy. “Uh–right, right.”

For some reason he can’t stop repeating himself twice. Perhaps it’s his way of keeping grounded. He heads straight for the bucket of water and rag to bring it over to you. He dips the rag into the water, and wrings it out. You barely open your eyes at the sound of the bucket making contact with the floor, and see that he’s nearing you with a damp cloth and raised brows. He’s waiting for your go ahead.

“Yes.” Your voice is hoarse and trembling.

Zu’té begins to wipe away the sweat that’s dripping in your eyes, your forehead, neck and chest. Dipping the rag back into the water, he wrings it out once more and wipes down your shoulders and arms. You can’t help but sit there and close your eyes, allowing him to do it all, exhausted.

Feeling something press against your lips, you open your eyes in a daze. Zu’té holds a cup of water to your mouth, and you drink ardently, gasping for air and closing your eyes when it’s emptied. Sleep calls to you, taking you as you barely manage to mutter out a weak, “...thank you.”

Zu’té calculates another five minutes before your next contraction, giving him enough time to fetch a fresh pail of water—something absolutely necessary for the birth. He leaves you sat up against the bedhead, rag on your forehead as you sleep. But not even three minutes go by before he hears your languid moan.

Abandoning the bucket, he rushes back into the marui, finding you standing and holding onto the marui stilt with one hand as the other tugs at the strap of your top. Seeing you try to undress has him stopping in his tracks and turning his head to look away.

“Y/n—”

“Ughhaa—” You grunt, untethering the knot of your top. Your body is trying to get comfortable for the birth of your son now, and these pieces of cloth feel suffocating. “Get out!”

With that, Zu’té turns and retreats back to the patio, hands on his head as he begins to make his plan. If he flew on his skimwing, he could make it to the village and back with a healer in about ten minutes. But would that be enough time? What if you didn’t have ten minutes? Your pained groan turns into a howl and it makes his ears twitch.

By the sound of that, you might not even have five minutes.

“Come on, baby brother. Don’t make me do this. Please. Don’t make me go back in there. Oh shit—I’m going to have to go back in there, aren’t I? Eywa. Eywa. Okay—It’s okay. I can do this. Childbirth. It’s just childbirth. Right? Right.”

Zu’té tries to convince himself that he’s capable of this despite this not being what he signed up for.

“Okay, Toto. Just do it. Go in there.” Zu’té sounds breathless as he speaks to himself, turning around to face the door. He hears your whimper and his jaw tightens. “Shit. Okay. Right.”

Just as he raises his hand to pull back the curtain, he hears a winded voice.

“Brother.”

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warping-realities · 2 months ago

Text

Parental Pressure

Eddie watched the personal trainer's video for the thousandth time as he was getting closer to the little gym for his first class. He had snuck out of his house super early and quietly because he knew Nick, his old man, wouldn’t approve of his son wasting time on this kinda stuff. He became a single father really young, back in high school, and now, at 35, he did everything he could to make sure his kid didn’t follow the same path. Becoming a doctor was Nicholas Rousseau’s biggest dream, but early fatherhood messed up his chance to hit the books at college. Not that he blamed Eddie for it; on the contrary, they usually had a solid relationship, except when Eddie strayed from the plans his dad laid out for his future. If Nick couldn’t get into med school, Eddie sure as hell would, whether he liked it or not. And now, with less than a month before college kicked off, Eddie was having doubts about the path laid out for him. So, in a rebellious move, after getting an invite to check out Rocco “Rocky” Mancini's gym, an Italian bodybuilder who moved to the States, now retired and not exactly a big name in the game, who a few years back started hustling as a personal trainer and, according to the promo video on Eddie's Instagram, was looking for young men to boost his portfolio. It looked like that gig wasn’t going great either. The first person to sign up would get a month of free daily training. Perfect for Eddie; after all, a month of training with an expert before college would make things way easier when he had to hit the gym away from his overprotective dad’s watchful eye. Surprisingly he was the first one to sign up! And so, the young skinny man, with light brown hair found himself stepping into the dimly lit gym at 6 AM.

As he stood frozen at the door, anxiety washing over him, a monstrous figure approached, strutting with swagger, muscles bulging looking like they might burst from the thin layer of skin wrapping them. With a fuller beard and looking at least five years older than in the video Eddie had seen over and over, the guy oozed confidence and a certain arrogance. But those weren’t the only things he was giving off, as it became clear to Eddie when the dude came up to him with a sweaty hand extended to shake, a distinct animal musk dominating his senses.

“You must be Eddie! Nice to meet ya, kid; I’m Rocco, but you can call me Rocky—everyone does. Welcome to my little temple. So, you ever trained before?”

“Ahn, no... I wanted to, but my dad... no, I’ve never trained.”

“Feeling a little bit of Daddy Issues here? Just kidding, son! Where’s your workout gear?”

“I thought, since it’s the first day... I... didn’t bring any...”

“Damn, son, you weren’t kidding when you said you’ve never trained; you don’t have a clue! But don’t sweat it, we’ll fix that! You can wear the shirt; I’ll get you some shorts.”

“I... don’t wanna be a bother.”

“Son, you came here to train, and train is what you’re gonna do. I don’t know what your pops taught you but it looks like you got a lot to learn from me. First thing, you gotta be more assertive—don’t be scared to say what you think or do what you like.”

Hearing that, Eddie felt something shift inside him; the fear and anxiety that had been eating at him for weeks seemed to fade away. He wanted to be there, and nobody was gonna take that away from him, not even his old man.

After hitting the locker room and putting on the shorts Rocco lent him, which were way too big in the legs but surprisingly just right in the waist, Eddie went back to the main room where the personal trainer was waiting for him.

“We gotta fill those shorts, son!”

“That’s why I’m here, Mr. Mancini.”

“Hell yeah! That’s the spirit but none of this Mr. Mancini nonsense; you either call me Rocky or coach.”

“Yes, sir, coach!”

“That’s right! Now, back to our chat, you said you’ve been training for a while, but how long is a while, son?”

That info was totally wrong; he’d never trained, right? But why did he have fuzzy memories of sneaking out to hit the school gym before class during his senior year? If he hadn’t trained, where did those small but tight muscles come from?

“I’ve been training for almost a year, coach, but I don’t think I’ve seen much result.”

“Two more things to teach you, son: first, we’re never happy with the size we are, and second, even so, you’re never gonna downplay your achievements; you’ve done something that most people can’t even pull off. Be proud of that.”

“I... I’m proud, yeah!” he replied, realizing the coach was speaking the truth. He had a lot of pride in what he accomplished, even though he knew he was still far from where he wanted to be.

“Awesome! Now you’re talking like a real champ. But enough chit-chat, let’s see what you’re made of.” Rocco said before putting Eddie through the most grueling workout he’d ever experienced. His self-taught training hadn’t prepared him for this level of exhaustion. After half an hour of intense agony, they took a break, and Eddie tried to recover before what he knew would be another half hour of torture as Rocco praised him.

“Damn, son, all that fuss you had with your pops to come train with me in your junior year was worth it. You’re huge; another minute and that shirt ain’t gonna hold!”

Still exhausted from the workout, Eddie took a moment to wrap his head around what the trainer had said. A fight with his dad...? And training here for at least three years...? No... it didn’t make sense... but then he saw his own reflection in the gym mirror, and he was... fucking swole! And that... that wasn’t just possible; it was thanks to the time he’d spent caring for his body all this while, even with his dad breathing down his neck.

“Thanks, Coach, but I’m still not anywhere near where I wanna be!”

“Well, if you get closer, this shirt definitely isn’t gonna hold. I’ll grab you one of mine, or you can train shirtless until the other clients show up, son. In the meantime, figure out how to get that thing off, but I doubt it’s coming off without tearing. Maybe you should film a video for your social media; I bet your followers will go wild!”

“Haha, I don’t think that they will care, and I feel kinda uncomfortable putting myself out there. So I’ll take the shirt.” Eddie replied as the coach returned with an enormous shirt in hand and offered it to him.

“Son, there’s no reason to be shy about showing off; you sculpted that body for a reason. Don’t tell me that’s another one of your dad’s ideas? You never cared much about what he thinks, and I’ve known you since you were a little brat, fourteen years old, showing up on opening day to get an autograph!”

Once again, Eddie felt something shift inside him; the cordial relationship he had with his overly protective dad was turning into a conflictual one, with both of them constantly arguing about the expectations they had for Eddie’s future, which drove him to practically live at Rocco’s gym, where he helped with maintenance or took care of the place to keep training without having to pay.

“You’re right, as always, Rocky; it’s just that, I dunno... I think this crowd that needs to post everything they do is kinda empty and vain.”

“Son if you don’t show off your gains, you won’t grow your followers, and so what if it seems kinda empty? What matters is being seen. And nobody builds a body like yours without a bit of vanity. I’ll let you keep training; I’ve got a client in twenty minutes. If you need me for anything, just holler.”

“Rocky, I can train better than a lot of pro bodybuilders, man! You know that!”

“Son there’s a fine line between confidence and arrogance! You can strut around all you want with your followers, but don’t come at me with that!” Rocky shot back, though he couldn’t hide a smile of approval.

As the trainer moved away to organize things for his client, Eddie focused on finishing his remaining exercises. Kicking off his sneakers and heading to the squat rack barefoot, he stacked plate after plate until he formed a sizable pile that would surprise anyone. But the truth was, despite the insane weight, it was relatively easy for Eddie. Next, he hit the leg press and finished with deadlifts using a bar that weighed more than a baby rhino. When he sat down to do his last exercise of the day, calves, a distinct funk emanated from his armpits, but mainly from his giant size 14 bare feet. Looking at himself and feeling pumped, he couldn’t resist pulling out his phone to shoot a TikTok video. He was in the middle of recording when Rocky interrupted him.

“Damn, kid, you reek! No offense, we all have a little man funk; I know how it is, but clients are gonna start showing up, so take a shower and let’s get to work.”

“Damn, coach, sometimes you’re worse than my dad.” The kid replied, stopping the recording.

“I am your father, boy!” The older man shot back with a sinister grin and a predatory look at the younger man before continuing. “And if you really wanna please your fans, be a show-off; don’t hide your assets, son; show off that chest and those abs, but hurry up, ‘cause this place is gonna be packed soon. We’re not the biggest gym in town by luck, Wardo. This young stud pose might please your fans, but the morning ladies prefer when you play the part of the innocent bambino.”

This time, the wave of strangeness hit Eddie so hard that he felt dizzy and nauseous, exacerbated by the potent funk he was putting off. And for the first time since he stepped foot in that gym, he fully realized what was going down as he automatically took off his shirt and walked toward one of the gym mirrors, a gym which seemed to expand with every step he took, turning from a small studio into a gigantic complex. As his skin took on an olive tone and his dark brown hair curled into perfect black curls, while his nose turned aquiline like a Roman emperor from antiquity, Eddie struggled within his own mind while Edoardo Mancini took control. If someone could hear the debate between the two, it would sound something like:

“Dude, I am... no, we are what you’ve always wanted to be! Pops gave you this chance; why not embrace it?”

“’Cause I... I’m going to med school...”

“You never wanted that; we never wanted that; that was Nicholas’s thing, not ours. This is our chance to be whoever we wanna be!”

“No... we are what Rocco made us; we’re just trading one controlling dad for another!”

“Not even close, dude! We chose this path; he didn’t pressure us! We followed him out of admiration, and that boosted both his success and ours; we’re legends in the fitness world!”

“Rocco was a mediocre pro... he’s using us for leverage!”

“And what’s wrong with that? We’re getting something out of it too! And how is that different from Nicholas pressuring you?”

“I... I... don’t know...”

“Dude, if you didn’t want this, I wouldn’t be here. Chill and enjoy; besides, Pops already got what he wanted from us. He’s not gonna pressure us to follow in his footsteps. We can be whatever we want: bodybuilders like him, or fitness models, or even kickstart an acting career; and I’m not even talking about porn, even though this big guy between our legs would be a hit. Just accept it.” Wardo said, stroking the giant cock in his mind and in real life.

“I... I... damn... this feels so... fucking... good!”

“Wardo! Wrap it up, kid, and stop playing with that thing; we got a new client coming.” Rocco scolded his son.

“Damn, Pops, another ruined video!”

“You weren’t gonna post that, kid; you wanna get banned from social media?”

“I was just messing around...”

“Kid... you’ve got five minutes to take a shower and get your ass to the front desk.”

“Okay, Dad! Did you hear that, folks? The great Rocco Mancini has spoken, and the good son obeys! I’ll be back with updates soon.” The young man said before stopping the recording.

“I’ll edit it so nothing racy gets out; don’t worry, Dad!”

“Five minutes and counting!” Rocco replied with fake irritation, but in reality, he was puffed up with pride for his son as he headed for the reception, spotting a man in his mid-thirties, wearing glasses and an outfit that screamed he’d never set foot in a gym in his life.

“Good morning, sir; welcome to Rocky's Gym; I’m Rocky Mancini, the owner and head coach. Are you looking for something?”

“Good morning, I’m Nick Rousseau, and I’m actually looking for my son; his phone tracker showed he was here just a few minutes ago before it suddenly stopped working.”

“Tracker? Isn’t that a bit much? Anyway, how old is he and what’s he like? We haven’t had anyone too young around here today, except for my own kid, but if I can help you out…”

“I... I don’t know...”

“You don’t know? What kinda dad doesn’t know how to describe his own kid?”

“I... I...” Nicholas replied, his voice filled with genuine desperation, which made Rocco feel a bit of sympathy, but not enough to stop him from making the next call.

“Hey, Wardo... Wardo!!! Damn kid never listens! Edoardo Mancini!!!!” Rocky yelled while watching Nicholas slightly tremble at the sound of that name.

“What’s up, Pops? I’ll get ready in a sec.” The handsome young man replied as he prepared to flex the powerful muscles that no kid his age could get without maximum dedication, watched by his dad and the other boy.

“Not that, you insubordinate ragazzo! This guy’s looking for his son; has anyone younger shown up today?”

“Nope!” He replied, giving Nicholas a quick glance over the shades he was wearing just for style before turning around and finally heading to the locker room.

“Sorry about that, teenage boys; you know how they are.” Rocco said, smiling at the other man.

“I... know?”

“Didn’t you come looking for your son?”

“Son?? Son... no... I don’t have kids... do I?” Nicholas replied, looking both confused and desperate.

“Are you feeling alright? I’m no doc, but I can try to help.”

“Doc... doctor? No... no need... I’m a doctor.” Nicholas replied with more confidence.

“Seriously? That’s awesome! Doctors are always good clients; they know how to take care of themselves.”

“Client?”

“You didn’t come here to train? We’re in a gym, after all.”

“Of course... I came... to train. You come highly recommended.”

“Modesty aside, it’s because I’m the best. I normally don’t take new clients, but we could use a doctor to evaluate our clients, so we could do a trade; you wouldn’t happen to be a sports doc, would you?”

“No, I…”

“Awesome! Just what I needed! But I can tell you’re already in shape!” Rocco said, grinning. “Let me show you the gym. Normally, this would be Wardo’s job, but the kid’s been so focused on his influencer career that he’s slacking here... between us, I’d rather he be a bodybuilder like me, but I think a dad should respect his kid’s wishes; don’t you think?” Rocco asked, and without waiting for a reply, he continued. “Don’t you wanna have kids? Are you single or married? Dude, if you’re single, I gotta introduce you to my sister; no disrespect to her, ‘cause my mama raised me right, but between us, she’s a total smoke show...” And so he went on while Nicholas followed, not realizing that with every word spoken, his reality was adjusting to the other man’s desires.

Minutes later, Rocco stepped into the locker room bathroom and watched his son recording another video, already showered but still unable to shake off the musk that surrounded him, maybe because he was still wearing the same shorts from his workout. He admired his boy, feeling proud knowing all this was his hard work paying off.

When the young man finished recording, he turned to him.

“Wardo, finish getting dressed and come out here for a minute; I got a surprise for you.”

….

“Hey guys, Wardo Mancini here, and I’ve got some awesome news! You’re probably tired of seeing my pops in my videos, but today, besides him, I wanna introduce you to someone else.” He said, repositioning the camera in the packed gym.

“This handsome fella next to my dad is my doctor, Nic Russo, and on top of that, he’s my uncle, married to my dad’s sister. And now for the biggest news: he’s about to be a dad, and he asked me to be the godfather of his boy! Just think about the genetics of that kid with a dad like this and an uncle like my pops. My uncle says the kid can be whatever he wants, but we all know the iron bug is in our blood, and as far as his godfather is concerned, Rocky Russo is gonna be a champion bodybuilder!”

#male tf #mind change #reality change #jockification #mental transformation #race change #musclegrowth

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jamiepaige · 18 days ago

Text

Constant Companions Closeup #3: ROT FOR CLOUT

youtube

(also on bandcamp and spotify!)

WHAT'S going on guys, welcome back to another Constant Companions Closeup, the show where we take a DEEP DIVE into what makes these tunes tick! Last episode, we went aaaaaall the way there on Not Quite There, and today, we're making that liggity-line go up up up up up with ROT FOR CLOUT featuring VISUALEYES!! Before we get started, remember to SMASH that like button, SLAM subscribe, and FUCK the bell icon. This week's community challenge: leave your credit card info in the comments! Bet you won't!

(*cough*)

---

I check my notifications way too fucking much. It's a habit I'm trying to curb, and to my credit, I am doing better lately, but being chemically predisposed to dopamine deficiencies has done a number on my ability to go five minutes without checking the funny glowing numbers on my phone. Naturally, I also very much seek more validation than I should from the opinions of strangers yadayadayada yeah that's what the song is about but none of that actually has to do with why I started writing this song in the first place.

Have you ever taken a flight with American Airlines?

This was after waking up at 4 in the morning to fly out of Houston thinking I'd be napping on a couch in Ohio by 2 pm at the latest.

I want to make one thing clear here, and that's that I made this bed for myself. Tucked the sheets in and all. You see, on the rare occasions I fly, I normally take Southwest. Southwest does not overbook flights like a lot of other airlines do, so it's a practice I am mostly unfamiliar with. So, when I received a notification on my phone promising genuinely ridiculous amounts of flight credit money in exchange for taking a slightly later flight, I thought - well, shit! That sounds nice!

This is how they trick you. I didn't really realize I'd been tricked until I was on my second flight of the day, sitting in a middle seat at the very back of the plane, heading from Dallas, a city I don't live in, to Washington, DC, a city I was not trying to get to, staring down the barrel of another flight I was destined to get on that had been delayed like two fucking hours.

I became the Joker. All I could do to remain sane was write a song about it. This is how ROT FOR CLOUT came to be.

I guess the moral of the story is this: Don't go to Ohio. And to answer your question,

Yes I am

Not really

---

This is a complete sidenote but I want to mention it here: I'm genuinely overjoyed at the amount of people excitedly talking about my songwriting or the intention behind my lyrics. For a long time, it really felt like lyricism was the last thing people cared about from me, while it was always the thing I wanted to take pride in the most... So genuinely, thank you everyone for caring!! Every single fire emoji people have put next to a line I've written has extended my lifespan by multiple years

There's a brief little moment where the song's chords leave the key, doing a really stereotypically jazzy 2-5 movement, and it's one of my favorite parts of the entire song. I'm not really a music theory buff or anything, and I'm certainly not formally trained, but I've always been very passionate about more complicated harmony in otherwise poppy and accessible contexts - bo en's album pale machine really rewrote my brain when I first heard it.

On that note, there are microtones in the vocal melody - During the chorus, some of the rapidly repeated words move up in quarter tones! Possibly the simplest way I could've included microtonality, but I'm genuinely afraid if I learn more than what I already know about it I'll be lost to the darkness.

Obviously, the work of Sasuke Haraguchi was a massive influence on this song, particularly the song Igaku. I think basically everyone on the entire planet has picked up on that at this point, but I do also wanna point out some other songs that were on my mind at the time! (two for three on these posts mentioning louis cole now)

I'd also like to take a moment to spotlight the vocal samples on this! They previously appeared on エビチャーハン!, and they've honestly become some of my favorite samples to throw in things. They're also just a fucking goldmine sincerely

Finally, HUGE thanks to Visualeyes for the delightful synth solo on this!! I had put out a call on Twitter looking for instrumentalists, genuinely originally envisioning a super jazzy piano solo, but their synth playing genuinely brought the whole song together perfectly!

That's about it for this song - though again, if there are any more questions people have, I'd be happy to answer them in the replies to this post or elsewhere!! (*ahem*) THAT'S gonna do it for today's video, folks! Feel free to leave a like, comment, hit the subscribe button for more and click the bell so you don't miss any new videos. Tomorrow? I Wish That I Could Fall. it hurts.

#music #jamie paige #bandcamp #constant companions #behind da scenes #Youtube

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starkidmunson · 10 months ago

Text

glitter & crimson

It’s both exciting and terrifying to be in Chicago when they arrive Thursday afternoon. This is, unfortunately, very often as close to hometown shows as the band gets to these days. They have the night off, before the show tomorrow, when the band will find out if Steve and his friends actually show up to the gig or not. Despite not having a show, the band doesn’t get the whole day off; Paige had booked a few radio interviews before the gig to drum up attention.

He should have seen it coming when the radio host brought up the TikTok exchange. “So, be honest, have you guys coordinated with Harrington and his friends to get him to your show tomorrow?”

“Not really. Our manager sent info and Steve gave it a thumbs up, but that’s really been it? But we’ve been busy with shows almost every night, and he’s had a lot of travel games the last few days, so we’ll have to wait and see if he’s able to make it out.” Jeff takes over the answer with ease, probably having predicted the attention.

“Did you really not recognize him, Eddie?” The host goads and Eddie lets himself chuckle.

“It may sound kind of ridiculous, but the genuine answer is yeah. I haven’t seen him in, like, 6 years. And, believe it or not, we didn’t exactly run in the same crowds. We knew of one another, I think, but there were hundreds of kids in our school.” Eddie always defaults to the truth in interviews; it’s the simplest route and leaves less room for people to poke holes in the narrative if he’s just honest.

“Will you guys be going to the Blackhawks game on Saturday?”

“We’ll just have to wait and see, man,” Gareth laughs, and just as quickly as the segment started, it’s over with their own latest hit playing them out of the studio.

A Thursday night off in the city wasn’t the most exciting thing in the world, but the band collectively made a trip to the bar closest to their hotel for wings and a few drinks. One of the guys must have posted something on social media about being out because as Eddie’s walking into his hotel, he happens to check his TikTok to find a message waiting for him.

harrington94 should I take it personally that you guys went out in my town and didn’t ask for recs or anything?

eddiecc I honestly figured you’d be too busy and didn’t want to bother you.

harrington94 never too busy to show a friend around town. But I do appreciate having a down day, so thanks.

Eddie wasn’t entirely sure how to answer as he processed Steve’s message. Friends? Is that what they were? Could they even really consider one another that? He ultimately decided not to think too much of it, in favor of keeping the conversation going. Maybe the more they talked, the less awkward the next two nights would be.

eddiecc I totally get it if you want to skip the show in favor of another down day.

harrington94 no backing out on me now, Munson. I’ve finally got the cool card with the Party. We’ll be there, no doubt.

Eddie feels a little smile creep over his face and his ears feel a little warm, but before he can answer that, text bubbles pop up again. He waits to see what else Steve is going to say before he does something embarrassing.

harrington94 now feels like a safe time to confess that I haven’t really listened to much of your music, though, so don’t think I’m rude if I’m not headbanging along with the boys.

That was more like the interaction Eddie had expected from their TikTok exchange. He never expected Steve to know their music and was shocked he even knew their band name when his response had been posted on TikTok.

eddiecc I honestly cannot exactly say I’m surprised to hear this. You never exactly struck me as a headbanger, anyway.

harrington94 i feel like that’s some kind of thinly veiled insult that I’m missing, but you’re not wrong.

The text bubbles appear again, and Eddie waits for him to finish the thought rather than respond.

harrington94 why don’t you text me instead? It feels easier than paying attention to this app I don’t really know how to use.

Eddie was quick to copy the number Steve sent and shoot off a text, weirdly enjoying the exchange the two were having and not ready to call it a night just yet.

__________

A particularly ridiculous meme from Eddie had Steve snorting from his spot lounging across the sofa. The next thing he knew, a pillow was flying at his face. He was able to react quickly enough to block it with his arm, dropping the phone to his chest, before glaring at Robin. She was watching him from the recliner across the living room.

“What the fuck?” He asks, tossing the pillow back in her general direction, more gently than she’d tossed it his way.

“You’re grinning at your phone like you’re setting up a hot date. Please don’t tell me you’re talking to Heidi again.” Robin pleads dramatically, twisting her body in the chair to face him.

“I’m not grinning at my phone, shut up.” He grumbles, ignoring how hot his neck feels as he blushes. Instead, he picks his phone back up to finish the thought he’d been typing before he’d been interrupted. “I’m just texting with Eddie, that’s all.”

Robin’s eyes widened immediately, and she sprung from the recliner toward the sofa. “Give me your phone!” She demands, grunting as she fell face first into the sofa, missing Steve by an inch. He manuveres away from her without looking up from his phone, making his way down the hall to his room. “Steve, come on!”

“It’s not a big deal! We’re just talking! It’s fine!” He insists, tucking the phone into his back pocket as he turns into his bedroom.

But maybe it was a big deal? Steve couldn’t tell; this was the part he was never really good at. He had a tendency to miss signs everyone else thought were obvious, and he didn’t want to risk making things weird with Eddie if Robin thought he was missing something that wasn’t actually there. The texts with Eddie had shifted from Steve confessing his knowledge of Corroded Coffin was strictly limited to whatever the Party played in the car when he drove them places, to Eddie confessing he knew next to nothing about hockey. It seemed to level the playing field between the two of them, and at least made Steve feel more at ease about the time they’d be spending together between the concert and the game.

When Steve had asked how the tour was going so far, Eddie had shared a link to an instagram, where fans were finding something to meme from each night of the shows. To which Jeff and Gareth were making memes in response, picking on one another in a way that felt like with some of his teammates. The message that had prompted the most reaction from Steve was the last thing Eddie had sent before Robin threw the pillow; a meme of Eddie looking confused, which Jeff had edited “So he’s not Joe Jonas?” over his head.

In his room, Steve leans over to pick up his charger, but he feels his phone lift free from his pocket. “Hey!” He calls after Robin, who’s sprinting down the hallway, laughing like the menace she is.

“I just want to see what you’re talking about!” Robin says, unlocking his phone. He’s just about to catch up to her, as she slides on her socks into her bedroom, closing the door behind her, right in his face.

“You’re being a child, Robs, c’mon. Give me my phone back.” He sighs, resting his forehead against the door. He jiggles the handle, but as he’d guessed, she’d locked it behind her.

“Do you like him?” She asks through the door, and he sighs again.

“I don’t know,” He answers, honestly and exhaustedly. “I don’t even know him, you know? We weren’t friends, it’s not like I could tell you anything about him other than Tommy used to buy weed from him and he would stand on tables and yell in the cafeteria.”

There’s a long silence before Robin opens the door, meeting Steve with a little smile. She shoves the phone back into his chest and pats his hand when he takes it from her. “I think this could be good for you. That this could be good for you.”

“I’m trying not to read too hard into it.” Steve mumbles, reaching up to run his fingers through his hair nervously. He glances back down at the screen, to see what while Robin had taken the phone, Eddie had sent another text.

Eddie: How were your games? Are you doing anything special for your day off?

It makes something twist in his chest, that Eddie even cares, and he doesn’t quite know why. It must show on his face, some part of how he’s feeling, because Robin just smiles and nods. Maybe she knows how he feels, part of their weird unspoken telepathy, because she walks further into her room and pats the edge of her bed as she goes.

“Are you going to let me paint your nails for the concert?” She asks. Everything inside of Steve appreciates how she always knows when to give him space to try and figure his shit out on his own.

“Obviously.” He laughs softly, following her into the bedroom to sit on her bed and watch her move around collecting things to paint his nails.

~~~

The following day, Steve spends more time than he would like to admit picking out an outfit to wear to the concert. He can hear the Party starting to get antsy in the living room, even though they’d still be plenty early if they left right now, so he decides to just roll with the white shirt and fitted khakis he’d dressed himself in several hours ago before he started overthinking his choices. He finished the outfit off with a black zip-up fleece and black and white Nikes.

A final check of his hair had him walking out of his room and into the living room, where chaos erupted.

“It’s about time!” Dustin exclaims, practically bouncing up and down with excitement on the sofa.

“It took you that long to come out looking like that?” Mike asks, but Max just snorts and shoves his shoulder.

“Let’s just go.” Steve rolls his eyes, glancing over at Robin who jingles car keys she’s already holding, before leading the way out of the apartment.

In the car, he shoots Eddie a quick text to let him know they’re on the way. Eddie’s quick to reply, giving the message a thumbs-up reaction. Unbelievably, the Party somehow manages to get even louder than usual once they were inside, and it doesn’t take long for a security guard to find them. They’re led through the back tunnels of Wintrust Arena, and Steve gets a little nostalgic for playing hockey in college. He’s snapped out of it when a girl passes out their pass lanyards and gives each of the Party a voucher for free drinks and snacks.

“This is too much, really,” Steve protests as she hands him the voucher, but Paige insists with a kind smile.

“We get this kind of stuff from every venue and rarely get to use it to its full extent. The guys want to do this for you and your friends, just enjoy it.”

The Party loads up on treats at the nearest food station, while Steve and Robin grab beers with Paige. As she collects her drink, Paige hands Steve a palm-sized bag of earplugs. He frowns at them, which makes her laugh.

“Eddie said this isn't really your usual kind of scene, and these shows can get loud,” she taps her own ears to show she has similar earplugs in. “Should also help prevent headaches or anything else that might keep you off the ice tomorrow.”

“Please, he’s too stubborn to stay off the ice. The amount of migraines he’s played through is outrageous,” Dustin bounds back into the conversation, earning a chuckle from Robin. Steve throws his arm around the younger boy’s shoulders, pulling him just a little too close and too tight. Dustin exaggerates choking noises, flailing around and making a scene, but Steve refuses to let up.

_____

There’s more anxiety than usual thrumming through Eddie as he and Jeff make their way through the arena, to where Paige had said she’d take Steve and his friends for snacks. As they walk up on the group, however, Steve quickly pulls a younger boy with a head full of curls into a headlock. He lets the scene continue for a moment before he nudges Jeff.

“At what point fo you think we should intervene?” He asks with a smile, making Jeff chuckle. Steve, however, freezes, then shoves Dustin away. He turns to give Eddie a sheepish smile, and Eddie can’t help but raise an eyebrow.

Steve lets out a huff of a laugh, running his fingers through his hair, shrugging and tipping his head in the boy’s direction. “This is Dustin. He’s like my little brother. I’m allowed to pick on him when he’s being a shithead.” Dustin nudges his elbow into Steve’s gut, who’s quick to smack his arm in response. Before Eddie can stop himself, he’s twisting a curl around his finger and biting back a grin. He does, however, make a conscious effort to not chew on his hair. He knows he’d never hear the end of it, fawning over Steve Harrington after a whole 10 seconds.

Eddie offers a hand out to Dustin, hoping Jeff and Paige would let his little tells fly under the radar. Just this once, they seem to, as he greets the Party. “Hey man, I’m Eddie. Nice to meet you.”

“I know who you are, holy shit, man.” Dustin eventually fumbles through, shaking Eddie’s hand and grinning up at him.

Steve rattles off the introductions for each kid, like a proud mom, and Eddie greets each of them politely, but his eyes keep falling back on Steve. He catches his little smiles and the way he nudges different members of the Party, squeezes their shoulders, ruffles their hair. It’s gentle and sweet and it sends a warm feeling through Eddie’s chest. His smile softens as he watches their interactions. All too soon, Freak leans into the area they’ve gathered in and whistles.

“Shit, guys, we gotta go.” Jeff sighs, and Eddie pats his shoulder before he turns back to the group with a grin.

“Just hang with Paige and try not to get into too much trouble, we’ll get drinks after?” Eddie asks, looking at Steve, who smiles back and gives a little nod.

As Eddie runs to catch up with Jeff and Freak, he wonders exactly what he’s gotten himself into here.

____

It’s more fun than Steve expects, the concert. The excitement of watching the show from the suite quickly bores the Party, as they realize it’s the same as watching hockey games from a guest box. They eat their snacks and drink some through the openers, but during the break before Corroded Coffin, Lucas and Dustin drag Steve around to the side stage. Robin promises to stay with the others, and reminds Steve to wear the earplugs.

He’s grateful Paige had slipped them to him as they get beside the stage and he realizes just how loud the crowd is when the lights go down. From where they’re standing sidestage, he can see Eddie, Jeff, Gareth and Freak in a little huddle. They bounce around with their arms around each others backs, before yelling something Steve can’t quite make out. They’re handed their instruments by the crew. As they’re taking the stage, Eddie walks up in their direction and pokes his tongue out at them, before ripping into a guitar riff to make his entrance.

Despite himself, Steve finds his head bobbing along to the drum beat, and even sings along to the songs he recognizes. It’s hard to take his eyes off Eddie through the whole production. He’s a little ball of energy, bounding around from one end of the stage to the other, bantering with the other guys in the band and drawing the fans into his chaos during talking breaks. During a drum solo, Eddie climbs onto the front of the kit and holds his guitar up in the air over his head. Steve watches, mesmerized, as Eddie holds his gaze for a moment that feels like an eternity but is probably only a few seconds. Eddie winks at Steve, then, before he leaps back into yet another riff. It shouldn’t have had so much of an impact, but Steve finds it kind of takes his breath away.

It’s over before long, and Paige is quick to guide Steve and the boys back to the club box. He smiles as they walk behind Dustin and Lucas, gushing over how great the show was. Back in the box, Steve and Paige agree to meet across the street at Fatpour. He charms his way into using the upstairs as a private room with a signature to the manager and flashes a smile and wave to the few people downstairs who seem to have recognized him.

The band makes a loud entrance as the Party works their way through appetizers, and Eddie is quick to find his way to Steve. “You seemed to have enjoyed yourself, was it more fun than you expected?” He asks around a grin.

“I never said I wasn’t going to have a good time,” Steve defended through a smile, making Eddie laugh and Steve thinks that might be the best sound he’d heard all night, despite having just seen the concert. Eddie glances around then, locking eyes with a bartender to get their attention.

“What’s your poison?” Eddie asks in the most cliche way, wiggling his eyebrows a little, but Steve shakes his head.

“Strictly on water tonight. Gotta get up early tomorrow.” He says, and Eddie softens and nods. Once their drinks are in front of them, he holds his glass up to Steve in a mock toast.

“To making it the fuck out of Hawkins?”

“Cheers to that.” Steve laughs, clanking their glasses together and taking a sip.

“Any reason you stayed in the Midwest?” Eddie asks, before he can stop himself. “Sorry, you don’t have to… you don’t owe me an explanation.”

“Nah, it’s… a few reasons. Couldn’t go too far without them, and most of ‘em followed me here, anyway. And then the chips fell and I ended up on the Blackhawks and there’s kind of no other team I’d rather play for.” Steve explains, leaning a little closer to Eddie with a smile. “Speaking of; are you ready for the game?”

Eddie can’t help but grin back at Steve and laugh a little. “You know, I honestly have no idea what I’m getting in to here. All I remember from watching games on TV is that it’s violent.”

“Not always.” Steve defends quickly, before showing a slight mercy. “It’s cold in there, because of the ice. You’ll want to wear layers.”

“Layers. Noted.” Eddie stores the information away for tomorrow, suddenly concerned he hadn’t even thought about an outfit for the game before the conversation.

As they talk, Robin appears with a basket of cheese curds but pulls it away as Eddie reaches to take one.

“What’s your favorite movie?” She asks, and Steve laughs and shakes his head at her.

“Is this a quiz? I’m not good at tests, I flunked out of senior year.” Eddie whines before he stops to think about it. “Uh, well. The answer you’d probably expect from me is Almost Famous, but it’s actually a close second to Dead Poets Society.”

She narrows her eyes at him but slides the basket in his direction. “I can’t tell if you picked either of those because you thought it was the answer I wanted, or because they’re actually your favorite, so I have to give you curds.”

“They’re actually my favorites!” Eddie laughs around a mouthful of cheese curds.

“Dead Poets is one of Robin’s favorites, too.” Steve offers, and Robin nods.

“Steve will tell you his favorite movie is Risky Business, because he thinks Tom Cruise is hot, but it’s actually Go Figure. You know, the Disney movie about the ice skater who joins her school’s hockey—�� Robin is grinning until Steve clasps a hand over her mouth.

“Robin is incredibly annoying when she wants to be,” He grumbles, and Eddie can’t help but laugh at their antics.

“Well, now you’ve got my attention. If Go Figure isn’t your favorite movie, what is?” Eddie asks.

Steve thinks for a moment. “I think Back to the Future feels like a safe answer.” He shrugs, and Eddie glances at Robin to gauge her reaction. She seems to approve, as she gives Steve a soft smile, pats his back, then stands from their table.

“I’ll leave you two alone, I suppose.” She says, leaning close to both of them. “Behave, got it? No funny business before the game.”

Steve flushes and flounders a little, his mouth opening and closing a few times before he just huffs and takes a sip from his water. While Eddie feels his whole face get hot in a blush, he can’t help but laugh a little.

“Is there funny business we could have gotten up to?” He dares to ask, and it’s worth it just to watch the way Steve blushes and bites at his lip.

“Maybe. But I guess you’ve got to wait until after tomorrow’s game to find out.”

________________________________________________________

Wow! Thank you all so much for the overwhelming support you’ve shown this little idea I had! I might just keep this going as a series, with updates on Mondays (Tuesdays at the latest). This is also double the word count of part 1, oops, lol.

I'm going to try to tag everyone in the replies because I hit the character limit! Tumblr wouldn't take them all, so sorry to everyone I missed, I still love you and appreciate the support!

#steddie #steddie hockey au #steddie rockstar au #rockstar!eddie munson #hockey player!steve harrington #eddie munson #steve harrington #robin buckley #dustin henderson #corroded coffin #stranger things #starkidmunson writes #glitter & crimson

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skzdarlings · 2 years ago

Text

07. sharing a bed series ; skz ; seungmin

masterlist.

sharing a bed series part 7/8. because it’s the cheesiest most classic trope and it’s FUN. -

pairing: kim seungmin/reader content info: sexual content. enemies2lovers, sharing a bed trope. sassy bad girl reader, sassy good boy seungmin. handcuffed together trope. sex toys, blow jobs, strap-on blow jobs, handjobs, dick piercings, fake sex. lots of bickering, lots of moaning, lots of evil smirking hehe.

It takes about ten minutes to get through the doorway because neither you or Seungmin will concede ground. With your right hand handcuffed to his left hand, your shoulder-to-shoulder breadth is too big for the doorframe.

After some arguing, you face each other. You are glaring the entire time but you manage to force your way into the bedroom.

You can’t change clothes with the handcuffs so you head straight for the bed where you proceed to stumble around clumsily. With some cussing and your failed attempt to put him in a headlock, you and Seungmin manage to get in bed.

You lay on your backs with your handcuffed hands between you.

There is a minute of silence. Everyone else went to bed hours ago so the vacation house is silent. It’s just you and the most annoying man on earth, forcibly handcuffed together, stuck in the same bed.

“My life is a joke,” you say.

“Yeah,” Seungmin says. “Your life is a joke. Ow!”

He slaps your hand when you pinch his thigh and you smack his chin only for him to chomp at your fingers. You both roll your eyes and look away from each other for all of ten seconds, then you glare at him and he gives you a judgemental stare.

“How are you going to sleep like that?” he asks.

You raise your joined hands, the chain jingling.

“Wow, Seungmin, whatever do you mean?” you say dryly.

“Wow, Seungmin, meh-meh-beh-beh,” he mocks your tone then uses his free hand to smack your arm. It makes a crinkling sound when it collides with the leather jacket you can’t remove. “I’m talking about the skinned cow on the cow.”

“Funny.”

“The skinned cow is the leather jacket.”

“I know that.”

“And you’re the other cow.”

“I got it, Seungmin.”

“Just checking,” he says with that blithe, shit-eating grin of his. “You’re just not very smart so I wanted to be nice and check.”

This fucking guy.

Kim Seungmin is the mouthiest smartass you have ever met. A friend of your friends, the acquaintanceship has been forced on you for the sake of the overall friend group. You two are like oil and water, completely incompatible in every way. You are the denim-and-leather bad girl and he is the blazer-and-tie good boy. Equally sassy, but astronomically apart in lifestyle. You clashed from your first introduction.

You can usually manage an hour or two of civility, especially if you stay out of each other’s way, but this vacation has pushed that strained dynamic to its breaking point.

Changbin’s family owns a vacation house near a ski resort so your whole friend group is spending the winter holidays at the luxury cabin. This means you and Seungmin have been forced to interact for much longer than a few hours.

You expected some annoyance but Seungmin is an even bigger brat than you remembered. You have already spent three days at each other’s throats. Tonight you went to a party at the resort and the few hours away from him did wonders, but it only took one stupid remark for you start fighting all over again.

You didn’t even have time to remove your boots or jacket. With Seungmin, it was on sight.

Fed-up, Minho leapt off the couch and disappeared into his bedroom. The others were just groaning or slouched in their seats, shaking their heads at you and Seungmin. You couldn’t stop if you wanted to, every dry remark needing a comeback, every insult escalating.

Then Minho returned. He yanked Seungmin out of his seat and practically threw him at you. You should have let his stupid face hit the ground but your reflexes kicked in and you caught him in his flail. There were a few seconds of confusion before Minho clasped the handcuffs around you. The whole room went silent, you and Seungmin staring at the cuffs then looking at Minho.

Minho dangled the keys in your face.

“I will let you out of the handcuffs,” he spoke as if speaking to particularly stupid children, “when you overcome your differences and decide to stop ruining the holiday.”

You and Seungmin both sputtered in protest, but neither of you were brave enough to physically fight Minho for the keys. That kitty has claws, mean ones. Not even you mess with Lee Minho.

Now you and Seungmin are stuck sharing a bed. You are still fully dressed, in jeans, shirt, and leather jacket, whereas he was already dressed down in pyjama pants and a t-shirt. All he has to do is remove his glasses and he’s fine to sleep.

You, however, are dressed for a whole different kind of evening.

“Trust me,” you say with an aggrieved sigh, “the jacket is not the most uncomfortable thing I’m wearing.”

He pinches his glasses at the stem, wiggling them up-and-down like it will help him see better.

“What do you mean?” he asks. “Wait, you’re a freak, right? Is it something kinky?”

He asks it mockingly but you smile and turn your face to him, lifting an eyebrow. You get some satisfaction from the way his face contorts with realization.

“Wait, really?” he asks. “What the hell. Why? What is it?”

“You sound curious.”

You really can’t help but tease him, anticipating he will snap back with equal verve. You are surprised when his remark gets tangled on his tongue, his mouth open with no reply. The tips of his ears are faintly red.

“Oh, you are curious,” you say.

“Gross, no way.” He comes back to himself and scrunches his whole face with revulsion. “Keep it to yourself. Pervert.”

“Proudly.”

“Wow.”

You feel satisfied with the silence that follows, feeling like you finally won a conversation and sent him into a mute stupor. But then he looks at you and you brace yourself for the incoming wave of irritation.

“It’s not gonna suddenly go off or something, is it?” he asks. “I don’t want to wake up to you thrashing around like a fish on a boat deck.”

“It’s a hard packer. You know, a strap-on for wearing out? A ready-to-go, signed-sealed-and-delivered dick?” You list everything with the same pleasant smile. “Big one too.”

His face is perpetually frozen in a state of prepared ridicule so he still looks marginally judgemental, but more confused than repulsed.

“Right now?” he says. His eyes drift down to your jeans. “You wore… you wore it out?”

“Brave new world, Seungminnie,” you say, the nickname making his eye twitch despite the sarcasm in it.

“You’re lying,” he says. He doesn’t wait for you to argue; he reaches with his cuffed hand to feel for extra weight between your legs. It drags your own hand along with it, too surprised to react fast enough to stop him. He finds what he was looking for, his brow furrowing when he closes his fist over the hard bulge under your fly. “Whoa, wait, seriously?”

“Dude!” You pry his hand off, though he doesn’t go without a fight, patting it like it’s puppy. “What the hell, man. You can’t just grab someone’s dick like that.”

“Why not? It’s not real.”

“It is in a way! I can still feel it!”

“You can?” He pokes it.

“Yes.” You swat him away. “Depending on position.”

“And you wore it to the party?” he says, then whistles low and shakes his head. “Wow. You have a high opinion of yourself. Thought you were gonna get lucky?”

“I did very well for myself, thanks.”

He holds up your cuffed hands with a sarcastic look of his own.

“Not that well,” he says. “Or you wouldn’t be here.”

“I don’t tend to stay the night,” you say.

“Love ‘em and leave ‘em,” he says. “I should have known.” He sighs as if disappointed in you.

You barely register his retort, your brain jumping ahead a few paces.

Walking around with ready-to-play silicone in your pants does have a tendency to leave you teetering on the side of horny, so maybe that’s why your brain is incapable of supplying another type of plan, but a plan begins to form nonetheless.

“I have an idea,” you say.

“Breaking your wrist so you can slide out of the handcuffs?”

“Kim Seungmin, I’ll let you know that while I might have one hand out of commission, I am still capable of shoving your slipper in your mouth.”

“Kim Seungmin, meh-meh-meh, beh-beh-beh.”

“Why do I even bother?” You sigh. “Do you wanna get out of these handcuffs or not?”

“Fine.” He fiddles with his glasses and glares at you. “I’m going to regret asking this, but what’s your idea?”

You sit up and nod your head towards the wall behind the headboard.

“Minho’s room is on the other side of this wall, isn’t it?” you ask.

“Yes,” he replies, warily. “Why?”

“Let’s pretend to have noisy sex.”

“What!” He sits upright too, the cuffs jingling again.

“We can bang the headboard against the wall,” you add.

“What the hell is that supposed to accomplish, you idiot?”

“Two things,” you say. “One: that we have clearly resolved our differences through the release of sexual tension. And two: if we are exceptionally noisy about it, it will piss him off enough to want to separate us again.”

“That is a terrible plan,” he says, which is not a rejection. “Besides there’s no sexual tension between us. There’s no way he’d believe it.”

“Well then,” you say, leaning closer to his face, “you better put on a believable performance to make up for it, hm?”

You expected him to lean back but he didn’t move, so you find yourself nose-to-nose and locked in a staring contest. It is so quiet that you can hear every intake of breath. His gaze goes from your eyes to your lap and back again, jaw clenching.

“Fine,” he says. “I’m only willing to try because I’d rather chew off my hand than spend the night with you—”

“I mean, you can try that too,” you say.

“Shut up.” He grabs the collar of your jacket and jerks you around. “Just get down.”

“Uh, get down?” You push when you realize he is trying to wrestle you onto your back. You lift your joined hands off the bed so he loses his balance. “You get down. I’m on top.”

“Can you relax?” he says, scrambling back upright. “We’re not actually having sex, you uptight weirdo.”

“Yeah, but do you think those skinny arms can push this headboard against the wall?”

“I think these skinny arms can push you off the bed.”

“I think those skinny arms will find themselves following.”

You tussle for a good minute, pushing at each other’s faces and tugging each other’s shirts. Your physical strength overpowers his but he isn’t hindered by a stupid leather jacket. Already a bit sweaty and exhausted, you surrender with an aggravated huff.

“Fine, try it then,” you say, flopping on your back. You stubbornly cross your arms, trapping his cuffed hand in your arm.

“Let me go,” he says, trying to wrest his arm back.

“I’m not doing anything. Ahh, stop that!”

He tires to lick you. Tongue out, he dives at your head. He only stops when you snatch his glasses off his face, at which point he climbs on top of you to try and grab them back.

“Stop it. This is so immature,” he says, stretching to reach your own outstretched arm.

“Immature?” you ask, aghast. “You were trying to lick me!”

“That was different.”

“How?”

“Because you suck,” he says.

He manages to get his glasses back. He sticks out his tongue as he puts them on his face.

You tussle a little more, shuffling around and swiping at each other. Eventually you get to the middle of the bed with him still straddling your hips. Your cuffed arm lifts when he grips the headboard with both hands. He strains for one pitiful push. His hair bounces but the headboard barely hits the wall.

You lift an eyebrow.

“Shut up,” he says.

“I didn’t say anything,” you reply.

“I can hear your ugly face.”

“That’s a you problem.”

He ignores you and braces himself to push on the headboard again. All the beds are extravagantly woodworked pieces, the headboards dense and heavy. Despite the proximity to the wall, you are not surprised it takes effort to actually make the bed bounce.

Seungmin, to his credit, does not give up easily. He braces his shoulders, but this time when he pushes he rocks with his whole body.

Unfortunately, this does drag almost all his weight against the toy in your pants. You are wearing the kind of underwear designed to support a toy, the base of it separated from your clit by only a strip of fabric. When he rocks against you, it grinds there, and your hands instinctively fly to grab his hips.

It knocks him a bit off balance because your cuffed hand drags his down too. He puts that hand over yours, cupped around his hip, and glares down at you.

“What the hell was that?” he asks.

You let go of his hips immediately.

“Nothing,” you say.

He looks at you with a scrutinizing eye, then looks down, then up again. You hold his gaze unflinchingly, at least until he rocks again and a little spark of heat goes off inside you.

“Can you feel that?” he asks. He asks it matter-of-factly, peering down at you from behind his big round glasses, sitting comfortably in his stupid pyjamas.

“Yes,” you speak in as steady a voice as you can, because you will not show weakness first. “There are only a couple positions where I can feel it strongly. This… is… one of them.”

“Wow,” he says. He looks genuinely reflective for a minute, then he grins one of his evil grins. “So… you can feel when I do this?” He puts his free hand on the middle of your chest and leans forward so he grinds against you at a different angle, his own bulge pushing against yours.

“Ohmyff—” You grab his hips again, freezing him while he snickers above you. “Dude.”

“Just checking,” he says. He grabs the headboard and pushes again. The thud is a soft one.

You clench your jaw, annoyed and wound up. You grab his waist and roll over in one fluid motion, knocking some wind out of him when you thump him on his back. His thighs clench instinctively to hold onto your hips, his legs still around your waist when you grab the headboard and shove it several times in a row.

His cuffed arm is above his head, hand dangling under your grip on the headboard. His glasses are askew from the flip, his legs still open around yours. He stares at you, however crookedly through the tilted glasses. Your breathing is heavy in the quiet room. He swallows.

You break the silence with a pointed, “Well?”

“Well, what?” he asks just as roughly.

“Moan or yell or something. Whatever you normally do in bed.”

“I’m normally quiet.”

“I find that hard to believe,” you say dryly. “Since that mouth never stops.”

“Why don’t you moan?”

“Because I’m in charge of bed pushing.” To make your point, you rock the bed some more, pushing slightly against him with the motion. The headboard hits the wall for a few rhythmic thumps.

He fixes his glasses with his free hand, still frowning at you. That hand freezes on his glasses when you shrug your coat off your free arm, too hot to keep wearing it. It will only get caught on the handcuffs if you push it down the other arm so you leave it hanging off your shoulder. You put your hand back on the headboard, muscles flexing with the next shove. His eyes go to your arm.

“Well?” you say.

He looks at you. It’s a cold, unfeeling stare, followed by an annoyed puff of a breath.

Then he makes a sound, a small, rough moan in the back of his throat. You are certain only you can hear it. He looks right at you while doing it, legs still accommodating your shape, on his back with an open mouth while glaring at you despite the noises.

It is, in a word, hot. Hot as fucking hell. Oh god. You are not getting turned on by Kim Seungmin. Absolutely not.

He moans again, closing his eyes and shifting with the next push, as if he can really feel it. He cants his hips and falls back again. He moans one more time.

Ah, you think. Fuck.

You stop shoving the bed for a second, breathless and not from exertion.

You clear your throat. Seungmin is still staring at you. You stare back, then your gaze drifts. The leather jacket starts to slip down your shoulder so you tug it back up. You gulp.

“You’re hard,” you say, a very basic observation. His soft pyjama pants leave little to the imagination.

He drops his legs from around your waist, but you are between his thighs so he can’t quite close them. He plants his feet on the bed and glares up at you.

“So are you,” he says.

“Mine’s not real,” you say.

“Ohh, so now it’s not real?” He rolls his eyes. “Sorry, I can’t keep up with Schrodinger’s dick.”

“You know what I mean, smartass.”

“If anything yours is more real,” he says. “Your dick is more deliberate than mine. I can’t control my hard-on but you put one there on purpose.”

That logic is a weirdly difficult to argue. You try to think of a witty comeback but your brain is more than a little fried.

“So,” is all you say, at a loss.

He stares up at you for another second, then pushes himself upright. You let his cuffed hand lead yours, at least until you realize he is bringing his hands to the button of your jeans. You seize his cuffed hand and tug it away.

“What do you think you’re doing?” you ask.

“What do you think I’m doing?” he asks contemptuously. He even snarls.

Despite the viciousness, he dives in without waiting for an answer. He uses his free hand as a guide, but otherwise he leans forward and clamps his teeth around the button. He works it open quickly, then takes the zipper in his mouth and yanks it down.

You let go of his hand, surprised. He uses both hands to fish the toy out of your pants.

He balks at it.

“You walked around with this all night?” he asks, looking up at you.

Fuck. It is literally right by his face. It looks obscene. Your figures twitch with the urge to cup his chin.

“Yes,” you answer in a low voice. “It’s my preferred method of, uh, action.”

“Action,” he repeats, smiling like the word is a hilarious punchline. He even cackles a little. “Action,” he repeats. “Not ‘making love?’” His tone is drole.

“Not really the making love type,” you say.

“Wow,” he says. His eyes flick to your toy dick, just millimeters from his face. He pushes his glasses up his nose. He glances up at you with that evil smile. “Same,” he says.

Then suddenly he has his mouth wrapped around the end of it, looking up at you as he sucks on it.

For a second, you think you have gone completely insane, because you swear you can feel it. Your clit and pussy and every other body part rears to life with sudden, unbidden arousal.

“Jesus fucking—” you start.

He pops off your dick with a wet sound. He licks his lips.

“Hmm,” he says, eying it thoughtfully. “Tastes funny. Could you feel that?”

“Kinda,” you squeak. “In a way.”

“Got it.”

Is this even turning him on? His dick is filling out his pyjama pants so you think so, but he is also approaching the entire thing like it can be hacked through a scientific algorithm. He studies the toy with a lot of scrutiny, as if he is calculating the mechanics of it.

“You don’t have to—” you start, but then suddenly his mouth is back on the end of it, his free hand is in the middle of it, and he is pushing it back against you, clearly having figured out you can feel the part against your clit. He grinds it there, up and down, bobbing his head and staring up at you.

It is usually fairly difficult to reach orgasm this way but he takes you the edge in an almost terrifying speed run, then abruptly stops. He takes in a deep breath, a huge wad of spit connecting his lips to the end of the toy.

“Did that do something?” he asks, wiping his mouth.

Your jacket slips down your arm and catches on the handcuffs. You stare at him.

“Uhhh…” you say, voice guttural. “Yes.”

He grins, looking immensely satisfied with himself.

“That wasn’t so hard,” he says. “I thought it would be more complicated. I’m guessing gravity works in your favour when someone sits on it?”

Yes, that is your brain spilling out of your ear in a big, mushy goop.

“Uh, yeah,” you say. “Yeah.” What the fuck else are you supposed to say?

He suddenly narrows his eyes at you, his regard suspicious even while he starts jerking the toy with his free hand.

“How do I know you’re not lying?”

You show him the only way that makes sense, leading his cuffed hand to your pants and nudging the toy aside so he can slip his fingers past it. He freezes completely when he feels how turned on you are, looking up at you as he returns his now wet fingers to himself.

“Oh,” he says. He looks at his fingertips. “I see.”

Then he grins at you and puts his fingers in his mouth.

“Right,” you say. “Got it.”

You grab him and put him on his back again, reaching immediately for his waistband. You have barely grasped the material when you are suddenly shoved back, his foot planted squarely in the middle of your chest.

“Slippers first,” he says.

He is just being difficult. You know that, but you indulge the little brat anyway, glaring at him while removing his stupid slipper. You toss it behind you and he switches feet, shoving his other one in the same spot. He smiles at you, leaning back on his elbows at tapping his slippered toes against your heart. You shake your head but remove that one too. Before he can try any more funny business, you grab him under the knee and push his knees back to his chest. His glasses slip a little again. His cuffed hand can’t leave yours, hooked under his knee, so his free hand awkwardly reaches up to fix them.

“Careful,” he says, like you’ve been the unreasonable one in any way, shape, or form.

“I’ll try,” you say dryly, then reach for his waistband.

You get the material barely shuffled past his hips when your jaw falls open.

“Hold on,” you say, fingers reaching for his twitching dick. “No way. No way.”

Kim Seungmin. Blazer-and-tie good boy. Pristine socialite. Arrogant snob. High society darling. Spoiled brat. Good boy. Good boy. Good boy.

He has a classically beautiful piercing on the head of his dick.

He opens his mouth to speak, his expression revealing it is about to be some mouthy retort, but it turns into a gasp when you run your thumb up and over, teasing at it, gathering a not-inconsiderable amount of precum and stroking the whole length of him.

“Aren’t you pretty,” you say, circling the most sensitive cluster of nerves with your thumb. It makes his thighs twitch and his shoulders shake.

“S-surprised?” he asks.

“Honestly, yeah,” you admit.

He looks very satisfied with that, grinning at you. That evil smile drives you crazy so you flash a grin of your own then dive down.

His fake moans were pretty close to his real ones, but his real ones are louder as you expected. He has to bite his fist to keep the sound down. You rise, wiping at your mouth and glaring at him.

“Louder,” you say. “Remember?”

“Oh, right.” He drops his hand. “Your stupid plan. Okay. Continue.” He waves you onward like a prince, thumping his head back on the pillows.

He is so annoying. He really does have a pretty dick, though. Drawing real moans out of him is more fun than arguing over fake ones, and he makes some exceptionally lovely sounds when you put your mouth on him. He starts gasping when he gets close, his face scrunching up, but he grabs your head and stops before he gets there fully.

You look at him with a questioning eyebrow lift but move when he nudges you. He gets on his knees so you are kneeling in front of each other, then he guides your hand back to his dick at the same time he curls his fingers around the base of your toy.

Your eyes are heavy-lidded and your mouths are close together but not touching. It feels like another contest, to see who will give in and kiss the other person first, even while your hands are way past that stage.

Fuck it, you think when he gets a bit whiny, breathing hard against your lips. You clasp your free hand around his neck and drag him close for a kiss. It makes him come, his back locking and mouth opening under yours. He wouldn’t be Seungmin if he didn’t try and turn a kiss into a fight, licking at you with messy intensity. The rapid back-and-forth of his tongue coupled with his skilled hand takes you over the edge too.

You get a bit euphorically giggly when you come, smiling against his mouth.

Seungmin turns unexpectedly clingy, putting his free arm around your neck and burying his face in your shoulder. He holds so tightly that you fall, flopping onto the bed with him still nestled against you.

You lay there for a bit, him still hiding, your heavy breathing slowing to a more normal cadence. Eventually he lifts his head and exhales. He adjusts his crooked glasses then grins.

“I won,” he says.

“You can’t win at sex,” you reply.

“Yes you can, and I just did. Don’t be a sore loser.”

“Oh my god.”

Your exchange passes with far less animosity than usual. You still side-eye each other while dealing with your respective dicks. It’s a little easier for him to pull up his pants one-handed than it is for you to wrestle a toy out of an O-ring, but you do succeed. You let it roll off the edge of the bed, watching and listening as it thumps onto the floor.

You look over Seungmin who was watching too. When you make eye contact, you both start laughing. It turns the whole scene into an unusually affectionate one. Figuring you might as well commit, you hold his cuffed hand in your own. He rolls closer, eying you with those perpetually mischievous eyes.

Then suddenly the bedroom door flies open. It smashes into the wall, startling both of you.

Minho walks up to the bed and chucks the keys at you, glares, then turns and leaves the room. He slams the door shut behind him.

You and Seungmin look at each other then down at the keys.

“Told you,” you say.

“Don’t rub it in.”

“Don’t be a sore loser.”

He licks your cheek unprompted, then unlocks the cuffs while you complain and wipe your face. It has you so distracted that you are a second too late realizing he has another dastardly plan in mind.

Your wrist is still cuffed. He takes the now empty half and clasps it around one of the intricate loops in the headboard. You tug on it then look at him.

“Kim Seungmin,” you say.

“Kim Seungmin,” he repeats in that mocking voice, grinning as he climbs up over you.

“What do you think you’re doing?” you ask, trying not to smile at his wicked grin as he starts kissing under your chin and down your chest.

“What do you think I’m doing?” he asks. “I’m winning.”

You decide not to argue for once. It goes without saying you both won this round.

#skz smut #stray kids smut #kim seungmin smut #kim seungmin x reader #skz x reader #seungmin x reader

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dean-winchester-is-a-warrior · 1 month ago

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Exclusively My Idiot

Summary: You know Dean can be an idiot, but could he ever be your idiot exclusively?

Pairing/Characters: Dean Winchester x Reader (You)

Warnings: None really. Just some kissing/making out and some jealousy. Also fluff.

Word Count: 1,231

A/N: This is my first gif drabble for my 2K followers celebration! The gif shown in the title card above came from this gif request from @jackles010378 . Thanks so much for sending this fun gif, of our charming, sexy boy!

This will also fill the square, "I hate how much you acting like an idiot makes me want to make out with you.", for my @jacklesversebingo 2024 card.

Hope you enjoy! ❤️

Your blood was boiling as you watched The Woman putting her hands all over Dean. Well, all over his bicep anyway. She just kept touching him, laughing at everything he was saying.

He’s not that funny, sweetie. You thought to yourself.

You and Dean had been on this case for nearly a week and you’d questioned this woman three times now. Well, Dean questioned her. You'd offered to do it this time, but Dean had just smiled at you.

“N’ah, I got it sweetheart. She’s obviously into me, so I can keep her busy while you search her hard drive for any information on what's-his-name.” He shrugged. “You’re better at all that computer bullshit anyway. So you do what you do, and I’ll do what I do.”

He’d given you a wink and a smile that made you nearly melt into the floor. But you played it off, rolling your eyes and spinning on your heel to get away from Dean’s effortless charisma.

Now, standing in her office, you were waiting for the thumb drive you’d plugged into her computer to download everything she had on the guy you and Dean were pretty sure was a monster. This info would very likely confirm it, so what you were doing was important. You had to be quick and stealthy. But instead you were standing at her office window, looking out at the reception area and watching her flirt endlessly with “FBI Agent Cobain”.

It was so stupid of you to feel jealous like this. You and Dean were very happily friends with benefits and nothing more. He didn’t owe you anything, and you had no stamp or claim on him. He was free to flirt with anyone he wanted.

You reminded yourself of that very harshly as you shot daggers at The Woman.

Her back was to you, and Dean was facing you. He caught you staring out the window and raised a brow in your direction. He was asking if you were finished, but you shook your head. Dean stepped closer to The Woman so he could slip his hand around her back where she couldn’t see it. He waved his hand at you in a gesture that told you to hurry up.

You held up a hand, palm out, to tell him to just wait and be patient.

“Can’t make the computer go any faster, dumbass.” You mumbled to yourself, but you forced yourself to turn away from the window, and Dean’s hand on The Woman’s lower back, and check on the progress of the download.

It was only a minute more before the computer beeped and the download was complete. You yanked out the thumb drive and tiptoed out of her office, giving Dean a thumbs up as you left.

You hoofed it down the stairs, all the way to the parking garage that was your rendezvous spot. You found Baby sitting in the very last stall and hoisted yourself up onto her hood to wait.

And wait…

And…wait!

It was almost twenty minutes before you finally saw Dean coming around the corner of the building and into the entrance of the parking lot. He looked a little disheveled and your heart plummeted. Looked like The Woman had gotten pretty handsy, and not in a way that would be office appropriate.

He approached the car and had a silly grin on his face. You recognized it as his slightly abashed and embarrassed smile and you wondered what exactly he’d done that made him feel embarrassed.

Nevermind, you thought, I don’t wanna know.

“Hey!” He said as he approached. “Get everything?”

You nodded. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Good.” Dean answered and started to walk around Baby’s hood to get to the driver's side.

You gave a bad imitation of a chuckle, and waved him back towards you. “Hey, how far did Sexy McSexington push her flirting? Took you forever to get out here and it looks a bit like you’ve spent some time making out in the copy room.” You waved at his loosened tie and wrinkled white shirt.

Dean arched a brow and tilted his head slightly. “And if I did? Does that bother you?”

You scoffed a little too hard. “What? Of course not. I was just wondering how far you had to go in the name of keeping your cover.”

Dean pushed out his lips and nodded slowly, walking back to you and pushing your legs open on the hood so he could stand between your knees.

“Is that right?” His voice was disbelieving. “So, you won’t care if I tell you all about the way she pulled me into a supply closet,” he raised a finger, “not the copy room, and had her wicked way with me?”

His gaze glinted with mischief and you rolled your eyes. “Ugh! Spare me the details, please.” You pushed on his chest lightly so he’d move and let you get down, but he didn’t budge.

“You don’t wanna hear about the way she went down on her knees and-”

You shoved your fingers in your ears. “La la la la la!” You sang loudly out of tune.

Dean pulled on your wrists, forcing your hands down by your side and gave you another wink and a smile. “It does bother you. Admit it, you don’t wanna know about my office escapades do you? Cause YOU wanted to be the one with me in the copy room.”

He waggled his eyebrows and nodded quickly. “Huh? Huh? Because you think I’m gooorgeous, you want to kiiiiss me, you want to huuuug me.” He said, quoting Miss Congeniality and doing a bad Sandra Bullock impersonation. “You want to loooove me. You want to smoooch me.”

You cut him off with a kiss, tugging on his tie to bring him down to your mouth. He chuckled against your lips and then tilted his head slightly so he could deepen the kiss. He swept his tongue past your lips and licked up into the roof of your mouth, tasting you thoroughly and moaning down your throat. He fisted his hand in your hair and pulled your head back so he could slide his open mouth down your neck, scraping his teeth against your sensitive skin and making you shudder.

“Oh god,” you moaned out, “I hate how much you acting like an idiot makes me want to make out with you.”

You felt him smile against your skin before he ran his tongue back up your neck to just behind your ear. He nibbled there for a moment before moving his lips to the shell of your ear and whispering to you, low and sexy.

“Just FYI, there was no copy room, or supply closet.”

You pulled away a little so you could look him in the eye, giving him a suspicious look. “Then what took you so long, and why do you look so…disheveled.”

His sheepish smile was back, and he ducked his head slightly. “I may have needed to escape her by ducking into the men’s room and then crawling out the window.”

Your eyes widened. “Her office is on the third floor!”

He shrugged. “I didn’t say it was easy.”

You shook your head. “You’re such an idiot.” Then you kissed him softly. “But…do you maybe wanna be my idiot? I mean, exclusively my idiot?”

Dean smiled and bit into his bottom lip. “Absolutely.”

#dean x reader #dean x you #dean winchester fluff #jacklesversebingo24 #2K celebration #gif drabbles #gif request #drabble requests

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lewmagoo · 2 months ago

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we own the sky | rhett abbott

part three: atmosphere

read the previous part here

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

description: in which you decide it's time to stop running

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

pairing: rhett abbott x f!reader

word count: 13,768

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

“Let’s go.”

Without a moment of hesitation, you were running after Rhett, shoes thudding against hardwood. You stepped outside and slammed the door shut behind you. Together, you descended the porch steps, and you followed him out to meet the team.

They were all milling about, discussing their course of action. At the sight of you approaching, they stopped talking, watching in surprise as you flanked Rhett. Perhaps they were worried this chase would end like the last one had, but if they were, they didn’t show it.

“Hey! You comin’ with?” Jeslyn asked you, hazel eyes questioning.

Attempting to smile, you nodded. “I am,” came your answer.

Zara caught your eye, and she stepped toward you. “Are you okay to keep an eye on the radar, or would you rather just observe from the sidelines?” She was offering you a choice. You could get involved hands on, or take all the pressure off yourself and simply watch.

You knew what you had to do. “I’ll watch the radar. I can do it this time, I promise.”

She didn’t question you. She didn’t display any shred of doubt. She simply nodded her head. “Okay. You can ride with Rhett, then.” She shifted her weight from foot to foot as she continued. “Rhett said he told you about Danny and Finn’s new trackers?”

“Oh, uh, yeah, he did. Are we using them today?”

She nodded. “Yep! Me, Jes and the guys will get them up and running so you don’t have to worry about that. They should give you a high resolution feed on the radar and let you see things a lot more clearly. We’re hoping the trackers will give us a way to predict twisters more efficiently than just relying on emergency channels for warnings. We’ll see how it goes today.”

Moments later, she was handing you the iPad you’d used last time. She gave you a reassuring smile. “You’re gonna do great.”

You almost scoffed, but instead, remained stoic. “Thanks,” you murmured.

She patted your arm before the stepped back to address the whole time. “Alright guys, let’s do this!”

And with that, everyone climbed into their vehicles, preparing to run straight into the face of danger. You took a steadying breath as you settled into the passenger’s seat of Rhett’s truck once again, making sure to fasten your seatbelt before you unlocked the iPad.

You felt Rhett’s hand on your forearm, squeezing gently. He didn’t say anything, but you knew what he was trying to communicate. You can do this.

You could. You were sick and tired of letting your grief and fear control you. You would never be able to move on with life if you didn’t do something about it. This was in honor of your friends. Perry, Rebecca, and Lydia. You were going to do them proud.

In the meantime, however, there was a long stretch of land to cross before you met the storm. And in that quiet forty-five-minute drive along the wide open stretch of road, you were forced to come to terms with what had happened in the kitchen that morning. Or, rather, what had almost happened.

You couldn’t stop replaying it in your mind as you stared out the window at the rolling Oklahoma plains.

Beside you, Rhett’s mind was whirling a mile a minute, thinking about what had transpired in the kitchen. He’d almost kissed you. He was so close to feeling your lips against his for the first time in years, until the moment had been ripped away.

Now, all that was left was an uncomfortable ache in his chest. A void that could only be filled by facing his feelings for you. What Amy had asked that morning struck a chord in him. It felt like a slap to the face, or a bucket of cold water dumped upon his head.

He still loved you. As if that came as any surprise at all. Had there ever been a time when he didn’t love you? You were a permanent fixture in his life. His earliest memory was the two of you sitting in church together, no older than four years old. You had made a silly little stick-figure drawing of the two of you holding hands.

He never forgot that. And as years passed, it sometimes felt as if your stick drawing had predicted the future.

He realized he loved you when he was twelve years old and entirely too young to understand the weight and depth of true love. You were kind and understanding and you laughed at his attempts to be funny. You made him feel seen when no one else so much as spared him a glance.

Through his greatest achievements, you were there. Through his rock bottom moments, you were there. You kept him steady when he couldn’t stand. You held him together when he was falling apart. Hell, you’d even physically held him together when he was gored by a bull and was certain he was going to bleed to death.

You were there until you weren’t.

And for the six years that you were gone, he tried to replace you. Found himself entering into the beds of girls he didn’t love, hoping to find a connection half as special as the one you shared. But nothing stuck. He realized it was because he never moved on. And maybe he was a fool for it, but he didn’t care.

Here you were now, in the passenger seat of his truck again, and he knew that he wasn’t going to let you slip through his fingers. He was going to fight for you, like he should have done from the very beginning.

“Want y’to know I’ll be with you every step of the way out there, when the storm hits. You’re not alone,” Rhett assured you. He glanced at you briefly before turning his eyes back to the road.

“I know,” you whispered in reply, mouth curving into a fond smile. “I’m glad you’re with me.”

It was his turn to smile, albeit shyly. “I’m glad, too.”

There were so many things left unsaid between you. Feelings that needed to be brought to light. But now was not the time. Not when you were driving into the eye of a storm and couldn’t afford to be distracted.

For the rest of the drive, not much was said between either of you. You were too preoccupied with what was to come. You kept your eyes on the radar, analyzing the storm. There was no guarantee that it would turn into a twister, but something in your gut told you that it would.

The closer you got to Coal County, the darker the sky grew, and it seemed as if you were driving right into the belly of the beast. Lightning flashed in the distance, followed by the unsettling rumble of thunder.

“Damn, look at that,” Rhett remarked. His eyes were wide with anticipation.

“Think it’ll give us our twister?” You asked.

He looked at the sky again. “It just might.”

Suddenly, Finn’s voice crackled to life over the radio. “We’re gonna get ready to send the trackers out soon. You should get better data on the iPad when we do!”

“Alright, we’ll be ready when you are!” Rhett responded into the handheld device.

A wave of fear ebbed through you, cold and icy, as if you’d just been plunged into a bath of frigid water. With each passing moment, the sky became more foreboding. The fields surrounding you were churning, wind rippling through the stalks of green.

Your heart rate picked up in your chest as you watched it blow in, angry clouds moving across the sky like an ocean wave. The kind of wave that would drag you out to sea, straight to your demise.

“Stay with me, honeybee,” came Rhett’s gentle urging. “It ain’t here yet. Need you t’ get your head in the game.”

“I-I’m okay,” you promised.

“Trackers are airborne!” Zara exclaimed through the speaker.

Reality was beginning to set in. There was no turning back.

Eyes locked on the screen, it didn’t take long for new info to be fed through, a notification popping up at the top of the screen. Severe weather approaching.

You looked to the sky again, focusing on the way the clouds were moving, the direction the wind was blowing. Then you opened the truck window, sticking your hand out to feel the breeze. The air was humid, yet electric. There was no doubt that a storm was coming.

You began counting down in your head. Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one. The first drop of rain slapped against your hand. Then another, and another. Quickly, you drew your arm back into the truck, jamming your finger against the button to close the window.

Lightning splintered across the sky.

The rain fell harder, and within seconds, turned into a sheet of water, intense and heavy. Visibility dropped, and Rhett was quick to flip the headlights on, although it did little to illuminate the path ahead.

“Here we go,” he breathed, voice trembling.

Another notification came across the top of your screen. Tornado warning. Seek shelter immediately.

The rain gave way to hail, large pellets pattering against the truck. Your stomach dropped. Hands trembling, chest going tight.

“Okay darlin’. Need you to tell me where to drop the trailer,” Rhett urged.

The wind whipped against the truck, and you closed your eyes for a moment, pulling yourself together. You could do this.

It was difficult to see, but you did your best, eyeing the radar, glancing out the windows. Then you saw it. In the distance, amidst the wind and rain, a tornado was just touching down. With your heart in your throat, you leaned forward in your seat. You breathed deeply, closing out all the sounds around you. The roar of the wind, the rumble of the twister.

You closed your eyes. Three, two, one.

“Go right!” You cried. “If we wanna stay in its path, you need to get into that field!”

Without questioning you, Rhett veered to the right, directly into the cornfield beside you. You stared out the back window of the truck before you looked down at your radar again. “Keep going straight! We need to get a few hundred feet farther!”

Rhett slammed his foot against the gas, and the speedometer needle shot up, speed increasing with each passing moment. You reached out and grabbed the walkie-talkie, pressing the button and calling into the receiver, “Get ready! We’re about to drop the trailer!”

“Copy!” Came Finn’s voice, “we’ll be waitin’ for your green light!”

Letting out a trembling breath, you set the radio down, hand coming up to clutch the iPad in your lap, while your other hand shot up to hold onto the ceiling handle. The ground beneath the truck was uneven and choppy, and you were jostled about something fierce.

“C’mon, honey. We gettin’ close?!” Rhett called to you.

“Almost!”

His hands were clutching the wheel for dear life, knuckles white. His body was tense, shoulders drawn up toward his ears. Wild eyes glanced in the rearview mirror at the destruction that was quickly approaching.

“Shit, it’s close,” he breathed, voice barely above a whisper. For a split second, he wondered if this was the most foolish decision he’d ever made. He wasn’t thinking about himself. He was thinking about you. If anything happened to you, he’d never forgive himself.

But now wasn’t the time to allow himself to be distracted by such things. Instead, he brought his full focus back to his driving, heart pounding in his chest, limbs vibrating with adrenaline.

Then, your voice cut through the air, a desperate shout. “Now, Rhett!”

He slammed on the brakes, and you both lurched forward from the force. Gritting his teeth, he slapped his hand down against the control panel situated in the center console, hitting the button that activated the anchors on the trailer, sending them down into the soil.

Then, he shoved his fingers into the button labeled release, and the hitch unfurled, detaching the trailer from the truck. The split second that it landed, Rhett thrust his foot against the gas pedal, mud and debris flying from beneath the spinning tires before the truck shot forward.

You snatched up the radio, eyes locked on the approaching tornado. It needed to be timed perfectly. The tanks needed to open up the second the twister was in range. As Rhett sped through the field, you held your breath, staring out the truck window, hand gripping the walkie so tight you thought it might shatter in your grasp.

It was coming. Closer, and closer, and closer. Wild and powerful, devouring everything in its path. Almost there, just a little bit further…

“NOW!” You yelled into the received. “NOW, NOW, NOW!”

“Copy!” Finn shouted back.

Rhett didn’t dare slow down. He kept going, determined to get you to a safe distance. He veered the steering wheel to the left, getting out of the path of the twister. As he drove, you watched, silently praying that the nitrogen would work.

And then the vortex engulfed the trailer, and you squinted, but couldn’t see if it was working. You were so engrossed in the moment you didn’t even stop to let it register that you had finally faced your biggest fear.

But Rhett saw it. He spared you a glance as he drove, and he saw not fear, but wonder in your eyes. For a moment, he was transported back to all those times you chased together. The excitement and adrenaline you shared. Nothing could top that.

Despite the danger that was quite literally hurtling toward you both as he drove, he couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face. Oh, how he’d missed this.

“It’s not working!” Jeslyn’s voice suddenly cut through the speaker. “You two better get outta there, twister took some tanks with it and they’ll probably hit you guys if you stay in that field!”

Rhett grabbed the walkie. “I’m gettin’ us out. We’ll catch up with you guys!”

He floored it, truck rocking as it raced through the field. “Hold on!” He told you.

You clenched your jaw, bracing yourself. But that was nearly impossible, and you still felt your ribs collide painfully with the side of the door. At that point, you weren’t even watching the twister, you were merely trying not to get your head knocked against the window.

You put your trust in Rhett to get you both to safety. And, much to your relief, he did just that.

Minutes later, the truck shot out onto the main road, and he kept going, headed east, out of the storm’s path. Once he was certain that he was far enough out, he stopped the truck, tires screeching against wet asphalt.

As he threw the gear into park, he shoved the door open and jumped out. After taking a moment to catch your breath, you quickly unbuckled your seat belt and put the iPad on the dashboard before you climbed out of the truck after Rhett.

You jogged over to him, where he stood near the truck’s tailgate, watching the tornado in the distance. It seemed that it was true. The nitrogen hadn’t done a single thing to tame the beast. But Rhett found that he didn’t care about that. Not when you were standing there beside him, alive and safe.

“Damn, those tanks didn’t do anything,” you mumbled in disappointment.

He shook his head. “I don’t give a shit about the nitrogen,” he said plainly.

You looked at him in confusion. “Why not?”

“Because, look at yourself! Y’did it, girl! You chased down a fuckin’ twister!”

It was then that you realized what had happened. You hadn’t run away. You hadn’t let your trauma stop you in your tracks again. You put your nose to the grindstone and you conquered that deeply rooted fear that had been festering inside you for the last six years of your life.

“Oh my god,” you breathed, eyes wide in disbelief. “I…I did it. I actually did it!”

Rhett laughed, and it was the most beautiful sound you’d ever heard. “I knew you could do it. I knew it!”

You leapt forward, throwing your arms around his neck, and his own arms came up to encircle your waist. He spun you both around, all while rain and wind whipped around you. None of that mattered. And as he slowed to a stop, still holding you close, once again, you were the only two people in the entire world.

Your arms lowered, hands resting against his chest, which was rising and falling rapidly, heart racing like a hummingbird. You gazed into his face, so handsome and strong, so familiar and kind, and you knew that you would never leave him behind again.

You weren’t sure who moved first. Maybe both of you did at the same exact time. Either way, you were leaning in without another moment of hesitation, pulled even closer together by that invisible string of fate. And this time, you let it tie you together as one.

You tilted your head back, and he leaned in, his lips mere inches from yours. Your eyes fluttered shut, anticipation mounting as he ducked forward. Oh so gently, his lips connected with yours, and you melted into him. Just for a moment, the grief, stress, pain, denial; it was all washed away, replaced with a feeling of all-consuming warmth.

What started out as a tender, tentative kiss blossomed into so much more. Heat sparked between you, the beginnings of what would soon turn into a wildfire. His big hands came up to cup your cheeks as he deepened the kiss, pouring all of his heart into the action.

Your veins fizzed as if you were made of stardust and champagne. If you were a firework, you would be exploding across the sky in a million different colors.

This was what it had always felt like to kiss him. A memory you had nearly forgotten until now. Sizzling and desperate, gentle and sweet. Neither of you had any desire to pull away, but your lungs said otherwise, and you were forced to part, breathing labored.

His pupils were blown wide, nearly swallowing the blue of his irises.

A sob tore its way from your throat as you spoke. “I love you, Rhett. I love you so goddamn much. I never stopped.”

His chest heaved, and his mouth parted, silent words coming out before he could muster the strength to form them into syllables. “I love you too, honeybee. More ‘an I ever loved anyone in my whole life.”

You didn’t bother wiping away the tears that were pouring down your cheeks. “I’m sorry I left. I’m never leaving you again, you hear me? I’m yours forever.”

Unshed tears glimmered in his own eyes. He was too overwhelmed with emotion to utter a response, but that was okay. The only response you needed was him surging forward to kiss you again, tears and rain mixing as your lips met.

Finally, you were done running.

When you parted again, you were made aware of how quiet it had become. You looked up to realize the storm had passed, and the twister was gone. The hum of approaching vehicles drew your attention to the road, where you were made aware of the rest of the team pulling up.

Rhett didn’t let you go, choosing to keep an arm around your waist as he turned to greet everyone. You felt as if you were on cloud nine, despite the slightly grim looks of your friends.

“You guys alright?” Zara asked as she hopped out of the F150, boots crunching against the ground.

“Yeah, we’re just fine,” came Rhett’s response.

“We stopped to check on the trailer,” Finn piped up, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “That thing held up pretty well. Twister dragged it across the field but believe it or not it’s still in working order.”

“No shit?” Rhett was surprised.

“Yeah. Tanks went flying, though. We’re gonna have to see if we can find ‘em so they don’t end up sitting in some farmer’s field.”

“We can help look for ‘em all. Gotta figure out how to secure those better next time.”

“I think we also need to try something else. Maybe see if we can add some more nitrogen tanks,” said Jeslyn.

“How the hell are we gonna do that? There’s no room left on that trailer,” Danny interjected, lifting a hand to run through his silvery locks.

“Well, maybe we can bring in a second trailer,” she suggested.

Danny sighed. “Okay, but how many more tanks of nitrogen will we need? We’ve gotta calculate all of it. Go back to OU and do some more tests before we just come out here blindly.” It was clear that he was irritated. “Besides, how do we even know if it’s gonna work? Feels like we’re fighting a fuckin’ losing battle here.”

“Hey,” Zara spoke, her voice clear and hopeful. “We’ll figure it out. We need to tweak some things, and that’s fine. No big deal.”

“Yeah, but how many more things can we tweak? We don’t have the budget for this shit, Zar. We’re just bleeding money at this point.”

“Okay, let’s just take a breather,” came Rhett’s interruption. The two of you had simply been observing, waiting for the group to settle their own argument. But it was clear that tensions were mounting and needed to be diffused. “Look, it’s lunch time, why don’t we stop by the closest town, get somethin’ to eat, and put our heads together so we can figure all this out.”

Finn’s posture fell, and he nodded. “Yeah, sure. Let’s go.” He was already turning to head back to the RV.

“You’re right,” Zara agreed with Rhett. And then, for the first time in the last few minutes, she seemed to finally notice you, and she mustered a smile. “Hey, you did it! That took guts.”

You ducked your head sheepishly. “Thanks.”

“Really, it’s awesome. I’m proud of you,” Jeslyn echoed her wife’s sentiments, reaching out to pat you on the shoulder.

Their encouragement meant a lot to you, and you accepted it gratefully, struck with a sense of belonging. A comradery. You were truly part of the team now. And it felt good.

“We’ll follow you?” Zara nodded toward Rhett, and he nodded.

“Yeah, Phillips is the closest town. We can stop off there an’ eat.”

“Sounds good!”

As everyone climbed back into their vehicles, you breathed out a sigh, catching Rhett’s eye. He reached for you, pulling you to him. “They’ll figure things out. They always do,” he murmured.

“Yeah, I’m sure they will,” you agreed. He opened the passenger door for you, and you climbed into the seat, settling in as he rounded the truck and got into his own seat.

As he put his seatbelt on, he looked at you, and his cheeks rounded as his lips curved into a smile. He couldn’t believe how quickly everything had changed. Suddenly, he felt like a lovesick teenager. The feelings that he had tried to repress for so long were finally allowed to come to the surface. Rhett never had been the most expressive person, but he simply couldn’t wipe the look of elation off his face as he drove toward the next town over.

The missing half of his heart had returned.

The ride into town was blanketed with comfortable silence. You could see in the horizon that another storm was rolling in, and as you took a gander at the radar, you saw that a string of storms would be hitting the area later that day, and into the night.

You hoped the team wasn’t planning on going after any of them. After what you had just gone through, you were utterly drained, and weren’t even sure if you could handle another adrenaline rush.

Much to your relief, the afternoon was relaxed. You stopped to eat at an old family diner, where you ordered some comfort food and allowed yourself a moment of respite. Everyone else was discussing the plan moving forward, trying to figure out if an extra addition of nitrogen tanks would be effective enough to actually stop a twister.

Despite your background in weather science, you didn’t contribute much to the conversation, because you were content to just listen. But you were struck with an idea as Zara and Finn went back and forth across the table, trying to figure out the next course of action.

“I just thought of something,” you said. “It might be a long shot, because there really isn’t that much research out there to support it, but what if, instead of just nitrogen, you added some CO₂ tanks to the mix? It might drop the air temp even faster. But, again, could just be a crazy idea on my part.”

Zara shook her head, dark curls escaping her bun and tumbling against her forehead. She hastily shoved the strands behind her ear. “No, no, that’s actually not a bad idea,” she agreed. “Back when we started testing out the nitrogen we did talk about using CO₂ but ended up deciding nitrogen was better. I dunno why we never considered using the two together, though. It might work!”

“It’s worth a try,” Jeslyn agreed, arms folded against her chest, her back slouched against her seat.

“If we’re gonna do this, we’ve only got one more shot,” Danny said, expression grim. “We got lucky with the nitro tanks, what with my uncle working at the nitrogen plant. But he can only get us so much at a discount before we gotta start paying full price. That shit is expensive. We can’t afford to pay full price.”

“Then we supplement CO₂ tanks in between, so we don’t have to get as much nitrogen,” Finn suggested as he leaned over the table, motioning with his hands for emphasis while he spoke.

“Yeah, but even if we use less nitrogen, it’s still pricey. We can’t afford to go into debt with this. I can’t, anyway. We need funding for this project, and the only way we’re gonna get it is if it actually works. Which means next time we go out there, we better actually stop a twister, or it was all for nothing.”

“Okay, here’s what we’re gonna do,” Zara finally announced. “We’ll go with your idea to test out CO₂ along with the nitrogen. Danny’s right, we don’t have the finances to keep buying nitrogen, especially at full price. So, we’ve gotta hope like hell that this next chase we go on is the one the experiment works on. Otherwise we’ll have to try to figure out how to get funding another way, and I just don’t think we’ll be able to.”

“So that means the next time we go chasing, it could be the last time,” Finn concluded.

Zara sighed. “Yeah, it could. At least the last time trying this experiment.”

“Pressure’s on now, isn’t it?” Jeslyn sighed, hazel eyes downcast.

“It’ll work,” Rhett said from beside you, offering his vote of confidence. He looked at Zara and Jeslyn. “If anyone can make it happen, it’s you two. Jus’ work your genius magic and we’ll be fine.”

The girls smiled at his encouragement. However, it was clear that everyone was tired of talking science, and the table soon faded into silence as all of you finished your respective meals. Another storm was rolling in outside, turning the sky dark again.

Rhett glanced out at the sky as everyone stood and began readying themselves to leave the diner. “We should get goin’ before the storm hits. Might turn into another twister,” he remarked, wary of the incoming clouds.

You certainly didn’t want to be caught in another tornado, so leaving right away sounded rather appealing to you. You were quick to leave a tip for your waitress on the table, along with everyone else’s contribution, before you made your way toward the register to pay for your meal in full.

“I’ve got it,” Rhett spoke to you, stepping into your path, already sliding his wallet out of the back pocket of his jeans.

“Oh, you don’t have to,” you protested, holding up your hand to decline.

“Nope, s’my treat. Think of it as a li’l reward for chasin’ that twister.”

Who were you to deny him? With a shy smile, you relented, allowing him to pay for your meal. When he was done, you walked out of the diner, side by side, a feeling of peace settling within your heart. He opened the passenger door of the truck for you, and you swore you felt butterflies flutter to life in your belly.

Nothing could ever take the charm out of the cowboy.

As you set off back toward the Abbott farm, the weather remained steady, rain cascading from the sky. You were grateful that the worst of it seemed to be behind you. It allowed you to relax in the cab of Rhett’s truck, cozy and safe.

You found yourself growing sleepy partway through, and you ended up with your head resting upon his shoulder. Beside you, he couldn’t ignore the surge of comforting warmth that traveled through his body. This felt so right. As if you were a missing piece to the puzzle, now comfortably slotted against him, in the exact place you were always meant to be.

He wouldn’t admit it to anyone else, but during that drive home, he did travel quite a few miles under the speed limit, just to lengthen the tender moment. He was committing it to memory, every last second, because that was one thing he hadn’t done when you were together before.

He hadn’t lived in the moment as much as he should have. And when you left, that was one of his biggest regrets. Now that he’d been given an opportunity to make up for lost time, he wasn’t going to squander a single moment of it.

But eventually, he did turn into the Abbott driveway, tires crunching against wet dirt and gravel. And as the truck came to a stop, you were jarred from your slumber. With a soft hum, you lifted your head from his shoulder, squinting as you realized where you were.

“Welcome back to the land of the livin’,” Rhett teased.

“Wow, guess I was more tired than I thought,” came your groggy reply.

“Chasin’ twisters’ll do that to a body,” he agreed.

As you stretched your arms out in front of you, you gazed out the windows. The rain had slowed, sleepy tip-tap-tips splashing against the glass.

“Guess we should go inside,” you mumbled.

“Guess we should.”

A beat passed. And then another. Finally, you let out a sigh and slid across the seat, wrenching open the door. Rhett followed suit, and you both hurried into the house, eager to stay dry.

“Oh, thank the Lord!” Cecilia’s voice rang out from the kitchen as she rushed out to meet you. Her face was stricken. “You two scared me half to death! What are you thinkin’, not answerin’ your phone, boy?!”

Rhett’s eyes widened, and he patted his pocket for his phone, retrieving it only to realize that it was completely dead. “Shit, ‘m sorry, Mom, I didn’t even think,” he was quick to apologize.

“I thought for sure somethin’ had happened to you! I was worried sick, expecting a call from the sheriff tellin’ me you got yourselves killed!” She motioned wildly with her arms, tendrils of short brown hair falling from behind her ear and into her face.

Her reaction was perfectly reasonable, considering all she’d lost.

“Hey, hey, we’re alright,” Rhett assured her, tone low and even. He reached out, placing his hand on her shoulder. “We’re safe, nothin’ happened to us. Jus’ didn’t realize my phone was dead.”

You offered support, moving to squeeze her hand. “Yeah, we’re all good. Still in one piece.”

The woman nodded solemnly, placing her restless hands on her hips. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re fine. Of course you’re fine. I’m sorry, I just…I lost my head for a bit there when we got home from church and I heard about the twister that hit near Coalgate. I thought…”

She trailed off, unable to voice it.

“S’okay, Ma. I’ll make sure my phone is charged next time, that way y’ can get a hold of me.”

Cecilia managed a smile. “Good. I’ll, uh, I’ll try not to act so hysterical about it next time.”

“You aren’t being hysterical,” you told her. “You’ve got every right to worry.”

“Uncle Rhett?!” Suddenly, Amy’s voice cut through the tension in the air, and the nine-year-old came rushing down the steps, her golden hair flying behind her shoulders.

Rhett turned just in time as the girl threw herself into his arms. He caught her with ease, lifting her off the ground. “Gramma said somethin’ might’ve happened! I was so scared!” She exclaimed.

“Hey now, nothin’ to be scared about. I’m fine,” he promised his niece, leaning back to brush her hair away from her face. “I ain’t goin’ nowhere, Ames. You’re stuck with me.”

She managed a giggle as he tapped her nose. “Good. I’m glad you’re alright.”

You watched the tender moment, and you couldn’t help the tears that welled in your eyes. He was so good with her.

When he finally let her go, he stepped back toward you, and you found yourself instinctively slotting yourself against his side in search of his safety and warmth.

Amy caught on immediately, and her face broke into the biggest grin you’d ever seen. “You are in love!”

This time, you grinned right back at her and said, “We sure are.”

As she jumped up and down and said, “I knew it! I knew it! I knew it!” you looked at Rhett. There was this beautiful fondness in his eyes that you never wanted to forget as long as you lived.

“You two want any hot cocoa?” Cecilia asked, a twinkle in her eyes, as if she’d always known you and Rhett would get back together. Perhaps it was mother’s intuition.

“Yeah, that sounds really good, actually,” you agreed.

“Ooh, can we put the colorful marshmallows in it?!” Amy inquired, hope in her voice.

“If you can find ‘em in the pantry!” Her grandmother told her, at which the girl scurried into the kitchen without missing a beat, eager to find the dyed confections.

As the pair busied themselves in the kitchen, you ducked out of Rhett’s embrace to take your damp shoes off. He followed suit, placing his boots on the rack near the door, lest his mother be frustrated with him for leaving them on the floor.

You ambled further into the coziness of the house, taking a seat on the tan upholstered couch that stood in front of the windows. The couch that converted into a bed for Rhett to sleep in each night.

“Is the mattress in this thing comfortable?” You asked as you settled in.

Rhett hummed, shrugging as he retrieved the old quilt from the back of the couch. “Yeah, I sleep fine on it.”

But surely it wasn’t as comfortable as his own bed. The one you had the luxury of sleeping in for the duration of your stay.

You could invite him to join you.

Was that being too forward? After all, you’d only just rekindled your romance. Was inviting him to sleep in the same bed as you moving too fast? Or would it be like simply resuming where you’d left off. When you were together before, you’d spent more time in his bed than your own. Being with him in his childhood home felt like a safe haven.

It still felt like that. Though, he was part of what made it feel like home. Without him here, it was just a house. A mere building. But bring him into the picture, and there was warmth, safety, and security.

And that was why you thought about inviting him into bed with you that night. You yearned to feel the comfort of being wrapped in his arms as you slept.

Dare you ask him to join you in bed that night?

“Do you guys want whipped cream?” Amy abruptly called from the kitchen, jarring you from your thoughts.

“Please!” Rhett responded. You echoed his answer, letting out a breath as you shook your thoughts of longing away.

He took a seat beside you, spreading the quilt he’d just grabbed over both your and his laps. Immediately, you were surrounded by warmth, and you let yourself sink back into the couch cushions, breathing a sigh of relief as the tension you carried began to slowly melt away.

“Y’alright?” He asked, cadence low. “Been an eventful day.”

“I’ll say,” you agreed. “I’m okay. Just tired from the adrenaline crash.”

His knee bumped against your own. He left it there. “I know I already said it, but I’m proud of ya. I know facin’ that twister wasn’t easy.”

“Well, I know climbing back on a bull wasn’t easy for you, so I guess we’re even.”

He hummed, nodding his head. “Guess we are.”

Moments later, Amy and Cecilia entered the living room with mugs of hot chocolate, and soon, the four of you were huddled around the coffee table, enjoying the sweet, chocolaty drink as the rain continued on outside.

You let your walls down and embraced the domesticity of it all. For once, your body wasn’t in fight or flight mode, and you felt at ease. You could get used to this.

When it came time to prepare dinner, you volunteered to help Cecilia, but after she learned that you’d endured a tornado chase, she insisted that you rest.

“You’ve had enough activity for one day, hon. Y’ should take it easy,” she told you.

This left you to sit on the hardwood floor of the home office, with Amy across from you and Rhett beside you, a jigsaw puzzle littering the space between you. You were quite enjoying watching his large hands put each small, fragile piece into place with such precision and care.

He was so beautiful like this. Comfortable. At ease in his home, with his family. A life you had once dreamed of living with him. And now, you supposed it had become a dream of yours once more.

You could see yourself in the future. A quaint little home, just the two of you. A simple, happy life.

And that’s when you knew. Sitting there, watching him work on a puzzle on the floor, you knew everything was about to change. Your life was forever intertwined with his now, and you would be his until death did you part.

That thought didn’t scare you. It filled you with so much hope, rising up inside you like water from a babbling brook. It was a beautiful feeling.

Later that evening, as you sat around the dinner table, you were beside him, shoulders touching, stealing glances at each other throughout the meal. Things felt lighter now. The tension was gone.

“You two finally quit beatin’ around the bush?” Royal asked. His expression was neutral, but his eyes swam with humor.

Rhett squeezed your knee under the table. “Yeah. We did.”

“Good,” the older man said, nodding in approval. “She’s a good one, like your ma is. Don’t lose ‘er this time.”

The man beside you let his mouth quirk into a soft smile. “I won’t.”

“He’s stuck with me,” you agreed, placing your hand over his, which still rested upon your knee.

Soon after, when supper was finished, and the dishes washed, you found yourself in the living room again, curled up on the couch with Rhett by your side. Amy pleaded with her grandmother to let her stay up just a little later, despite her early wake-up call for school the next day, as she wanted to watch a movie with you and Rhett.

Cecilia made the exception, and it wasn’t long before the opening credits of Treasure Planet were playing. One of Amy’s favorites, Rhett informed you. But as the movie went on, you found your mind traveling elsewhere, hardly focused on the cartoon.

Instead, you were fixated on Rhett’s proximity.

Your head was resting upon his shoulder again, and he was perfectly content with that. This felt more intimate than when you’d fallen asleep on him in the truck. Here, you were settled into the comfort of his home, cozy beneath a quilt that his mother had made many years ago.

It reminded him of the movie nights you would have when you were teenagers. You would trade off who picked the film, and he would often choose ones set in the horror genre, just so you’d have an excuse to hide your face in the crook of his neck during frightening scenes.

Here and now, curled up on the couch with you snuggled against his side, he was overcome with a surge of protectiveness. There was no doubt in his mind that he would do whatever he had to, just to keep you safe.

“Looks like someone fell asleep.” Your whispered statement pulled him from his thoughts, and he glanced over at the floor near the television, where Amy had fallen asleep. He hadn’t realized how much time had passed. The movie was nearly over.

Rhett hummed. “Guess I should take ‘er up to bed,” he murmured.

Reluctantly, he rose from the couch, instantly missing your warmth. Stretching his extremities, stiff from sitting for so long, he stepped across the rug covered floor and stooped to gather his niece into his arms.

She barely stirred as he cradled her close. He had this down to a science now. He was always good at making sure he didn’t disturb her sleep whenever he had to carry her to bed.

From the couch, you watch with fondness as he handled her gently. He took her upstairs, stepping into her room and laying her in her bed. When the covers were pulled over her, he ducked down to kiss her forehead before he crept back out of the room and shut the door behind him.

As he did so, the sound of thunder rumbling through the distant skies reached his ears. Yet another storm was blowing through, it seemed.

When he made his way back downstairs, he found you in the living room still, folding the quilt that had been strewn over your lap. He watched you for a moment, taking in the sight of you tidying up the room. Oh, how effortlessly beautiful you were.

When you caught him staring, you ducked your head shyly. “Thought I’d make myself useful and clean up a bit,” you said.

“Mm,” he hummed, lashes fluttering.

The way he was looking at you took your breath away. “Did you, um, get Amy to bed alright?”

“Yeah, she’s still out like a light,” he told you.

“Good. I love how she insisted on staying up later, and still fell asleep,” you responded with a good-natured smile. Kids were funny.

“She always does that,” he agreed, “an’ every time, I carry her upstairs.”

“You’re good with her. She loves you,” came your next statement, tone full of fondness.

Rhett ducked his head. “I love ‘er too. She’s a special li’l gal. Ever since Perry and Bec died…I dunno, I’ve just felt responsible for her.”

“Well, she’s lucky to have an uncle like you.”

His cheeks rounded as he smiled, and your heart clenched in your chest. He was truly so endearing.

A moment of silence passed. Then another. The air between you was heavy, as if both of you wanted to say something, but were hesitating. You knew what you wanted. It was right there, on the tip of your tongue, but you couldn’t bring yourself to speak it.

Another crack of thunder rolled outside, and you jumped slightly, caught off guard. This seemed to push you to speak. “Well, I…I guess I’ll head up to bed.”

You swore you saw disappointment flash in Rhett’s eyes, but it was gone within a split second. “Yeah. Yeah, ‘m sure you need the rest after the crazy day we had.”

“Uh-huh. I’m pretty beat.” You padded across the rug covered floor, your arm brushing against Rhett’s as you passed. As if on cue, a flash of lightning illuminated the house, followed by the loudest crash of thunder you’d ever heard. The force of it rattled the entire house.

Both of you jumped, and you found yourself surging into his arms on instinct, holding your breath as you waited for the residual rumbling to pass. When it was quiet, you looked at each other, and you began to laugh silently.

“Jump scared by thunder,” Rhett mused with a grin, “didn’t see that one comin’.”

Your hands rested atop his chest, where you could feel the quickness of his heart. “Me neither,” you agreed.

Slowly, your gaze flickered to meet his. His eyes narrowed slightly, and his mouth parted as he took in a breath. As another flash of lightning lit up your surroundings, something shifted between you. Warmth in your belly. Desire in your heart.

When your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, he knew what was going to happen. So did you. That was why you weren’t surprised with yourself in the least when you heard yourself say, “Do you, um…do you want to come upstairs?”

He leaned in, mouth just barely brushing against your own. “I do.” More than anything.

You let your eyes flutter shut as his lips captured yours. You swore, you knew exactly what it felt like to be a lightning bolt when he kissed you. Bright and alive, thrumming with raw energy.

“Please, I…” What were you asking for? Your tongue suddenly felt like lead in your mouth, and you couldn’t form syllables around it.

Rhett sighed softly, his large hand coming up to rest upon the side of your neck. There, he felt your racing pulse, and his eyes widened. “I know, honeybee. It’s been so long, hasn’t it?” His tone was choked. Labored.

Your bottom lip quivered as you were suddenly so overcome with emotion you could hardly breathe. To your dismay, the only sound you could make in reply was a whimper. But, oh, if only you could have photographed the face Rhett made when he heard the sound.

His brow furrowed, and his jaw went slack. You swore his eyes grew darker.

“C’mon, let’s get you upstairs.” He took your hand in his and led you slowly up the steps, your footfalls light so as not to alert the entire house of your movement.

With each moment, the closer you got to Rhett’s room, the faster your pulse raced. He guided you inside, carefully pushing the door shut behind you. You stood in the middle of the room as he moved to turn on the bedside lamp, swathing the room in a golden glow.

You jumped slightly as yet another boom of thunder shook the ground, but Rhett was there within seconds, hand soothing along the expanse of your arm. He hooked his index finger beneath your chin, prompting you to look at him.

“Y’ want me to stop, just say the word, and I will.”

But you didn’t want him to stop. “O-okay.”

He kissed you again, languidly, lovingly, but with the mounting intensity of the storm outside, as well as the one currently brewing between you, it soon grew into something more. You parted your lips and allowed his tongue into your mouth, tasting each other.

Your hands rested upon his solid chest, and his own settled on your hips as he eased you back toward the wall. When you came in contact with the solidity behind you, you gasped.

You were cornered, surrounded by him, his scent, his body heat. He invaded your every sense. And when his hands came up to rest against the wall at either side of your head, you felt so protected.

His chest heaved slightly against yours, and he closed his eyes, gathering himself before he leaned in, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. Then the edge of your jaw. Down, down, down, to your collarbone. The bite of his day-old stubble against your flesh made you shudder, and you felt goosebumps raise in his wake.

Tongue and teeth oh so gently grazed your pulse point, and he buried his face there, breathing in your scent. How was it that you still smelled the exact same after all this time? It wasn’t just your perfume. It was your entire chemical makeup, a scent so intoxicating it made him weak in the knees.

“Can I take this off?” He asked, cadence low, fingers curling into the hem of your shirt.

“Please.”

He lifted the fabric, tugging it off of you as you lifted your arms to allow him to remove it entirely. He took in the sight of you, in just your bra. You expected to find hunger in his eyes, and it was there, but there was something else. Deep adoration. Reverence. It made you feel as if you were going to dissolve into stardust.

Feeling much too clothed, he decided to join you, leaning back to yank his shirt off, letting the fabric fall to the floor in a heap.

In the lowlight, you caught sight of the tattoo of a bull and rider inked into the skin of his chest. Lovingly, you brought your fingers up to trace over it. You remembered so vividly the day he got it. You were there with him.

Silently, you leaned forward, kissing the artwork. His breath caught in his lungs, and his lashes fluttered. You used to kiss that tattoo all the time. Especially when you were riding him.

And then your tongue darted out to trace it, and he audibly gasped. Moments later he was pulling your face toward his again, kissing you deeply, desperately, teeth grazing your bottom lip.

You were both a little frenzied as you pulled at each other’s remaining clothing. You unbuckled Rhett’s belt and he glanced down to watch you tug his jeans down his legs. Once he’d kicked them to the side, leaving him in a pair of blue boxers, he unbuttoned your own jeans, gazing up at you as he guided the denim toward your ankles.

He squeezed your calf, and you lifted one leg, then the other, to step out of the pants. The only thing keeping you from being entirely exposed to him was the thin fabric of your underwear.

You watched through hazy eyes as he began to kiss up your leg and along your inner thigh, palms resting upon your hips. When he made it to your underwear, he looked right at you as he kissed your clothed pussy, at which you moaned breathlessly.

“Wan’ see this sweet li’l pussy. Will you let me see her, darlin’?” His accent had grown deeper with the rasp of his voice. It swam through your head and sent shockwaves through your extremities.

“Y-yes.” You weren’t sure how you found it in yourself to speak.

“Yeah?” Cautiously, he began pulling the underwear down your legs. Slow, slow, slow, all the way down until he reached your ankles. Once you stepped out of them, he was finally greeted with the sight of you.

Deft fingers came up to part your delicate folds, touch featherlight as he began to explore. He was pleasantly surprised to find that you were already soaking wet.

“Can’t tell ya how much I missed this. How much I thought about you the last few years,” he admitted before he leaned toward you, running his nose along your inner thigh before he left another kiss to your now bare cunt.

Your knees nearly buckled, and he’d barely touched you.

“You…you have?”

“Uh-huh.” His tongue darted out to taste you, and his eyes flickered shut. He’d be the first to admit that he’d conjured up images of you when his hand was wrapped around his aching cock. Your softness, your pretty sounds, the feeling of your slick warmth around him. He’d spill his release against his lower belly as he moaned your name into the confines of his bedroom.

“I-I’ve thought about you too,” came your confession. Your head was spinning.

“Oh really? You touched this pretty cunt while thinkin’ of me?”

“God, yes.”

Hearing you admit it had him twitching with need within the confines of his boxers. What he wouldn’t give to be inside you again.

“S’much as I wanna eat you until you come all over my face, I think I need t’ be inside ya. Been too long.”

He rose to his feet, and he grasped your wrist, bringing your hand between his legs. You gasped at the feeling of his hardness. Had you forgotten just how thick he was?

As he kissed you again, you eagerly dipped your hand past the waistband of his underwear. When your fingers curled around his shaft, he grunted in surprise against your mouth.

Stroking him lightly, you took the opportunity to lavish affection on him, kissing along his jaw and neck as his cock grew even harder in your hand. Burying your face against the side of his neck, you took a moment to fully immerse yourself in the moment.

This was real. You were here. In the very bedroom where you’d given yourself to each other for the first time. Now, you were together again, giving yourselves to each other not for the first time, but for the last time. Not because it would never happen again, but because this was the moment that you were acknowledging that you were it for one another. A way of pledging yourself to him, a silent promise that there would never be anyone else.

It was you and him, for the rest of your lives.

“Take me to bed, baby,” you whispered against the feverish column of his throat.

How could he deny you?

With one arm holding you close, he guided you to the bed. But then he paused, brow furrowing. “Didn’t think this through,” he murmured. “The both of us ain’t gon’ fit on that bed.”

“We’ll fit fine, it’ll just be a tight squeeze,” you replied.

But he shook his head. “Nah. The way I wan’ lay you out and fuck you? I need more space than that.”

His words sent a shudder through you, but you still managed a playful quip in return. “Then what do ya propose, cowboy?”

“One sec.”

Then, he went around the room, gathering all the quilts from the rack on the other side of the room. He even yanked the covers off of the bed. You watched in amusement as he spread everything out on the floor, creating a makeshift bed, complete with pillows. It appeared to be a very cozy setup.

As soon as the last pillow was put in place, he straightened to his full height, gaze falling upon you once again. He reached for you, and you let him reel you in, guiding you toward him until your body was pressed against his.

His eyes reminded you of a feline’s, narrow and sharp. The warmth of desire glowed within them, drawing you in, sending shivers down your spine. With a loving kiss, he whispered, “Lay down for me, honeybee.”

Your mouth went dry, and your breath came out raggedly. But you complied, dropping to your knees and crawling toward the pillows, where you then laid your head. You watched, chest constricting, as Rhett pulled his boxers down his legs and tossed them aside.

His cock, hard and heavy, bobbed between his thighs, and you audibly whimpered. You had forgotten how thick he was. The memory of what it felt like to be filled by him flashed through your mind. The delicious stretch. The utter fullness.

Above you, he wrapped his hand around his shaft, stroking lightly as he stepped toward you. Then he knelt, and you still couldn’t tear your eyes away from that gorgeous cock.

“Look at me.” Quiet, yet commanding. Your eyes snapped up to his. “You gon’ let me make love to you, baby?” His hand traveled along your thigh, coming closer and closer to where you needed him most.

“Y-yes,” you peeped.

He smiled knowingly. “Need it so bad, don’t ya?” His voice was barely contained, trembling as he moved to hover over you. “I do too.” His fingers slid over your dripping center, and you gasped softly as they circled your little gathering of nerves.

Rhett moaned when he felt you pulse beneath his touch. As he dipped two of his fingers inside you, his mouth explored your chest, biting at the sensitive skin of your breast before he swirled his tongue around one pert nipple.

You whined as his mouth latched onto the sensitive bud, your hand coming up to thread through his dark locks. You hadn't realized how turned you were until that very moment. But you could feel it now, dripping around his fingers as you clenched around them.

"Rhett, please, I-" You didn’t know what you were asking for. Your mind was swimming. Hazy.

Hearing your pitiful begging had him looking up at you expectantly.

"What do you want, darlin’?"

"You. I need you. I-I can’t…I don’t…please, just…" God, you were spiraling with need.

“Shh, I’ve got you,” he soothed, tongue licking into your mouth before he slipped his fingers out of you.

You watched as wrapped his lips around the digits and sucked your desire off them. Your own mouth fell open at the salacious sight.

“Mm, tastes just as good as I remember.”

He was hovering over you again, bracing himself with his hands against the floor. His gaze was so intense, but you couldn’t look away. When you felt his hard cock against your inner thigh, you shivered in anticipation.

“Honey, I…I don’t have any condoms,” he admitted, voice wrecked.

Maybe it was foolish of you, but you couldn’t be bothered to care. Not when you were so close to having him inside you, skin to skin, after going so long without. You wrapped your arms around his neck and said, “I don’t care. Take me raw.”

Rhett grunted, jaw tightening, lashes fluttering as his pupils dilated. “Fuck. You’re gon’ be the death of me.”

You let your legs fall further apart, giving him full and complete access. But he hesitated, and you could see the wheels turning in his head. “Hold on a minute. I’ve got somethin’ that might be helpful.”

He moved over you, toward his nightstand. Curiously, you watched as he rummaged through the drawer, and moments later, he held up a bottle of lube.

“Thought I still had some of this.” He made his way back over to you, situating himself on his knees before you. “Wan’ make sure you can take it without me hurtin’ you.”

You watched as he carefully poured some of the lubricant onto his palm, and your breath hitched when he brought his hand down to his cock, coating it fully. In the soft glow of the lamp above, it glimmered on his skin.

But he wasn’t finished yet. He poured more of the liquid into his hand, warming it before he lovingly smoothed it over your pussy, prepping you further.

Then he knelt between your parted legs again, and your heart fluttered in your chest as he aligned himself with you. He slid through your delicate folds once, twice, then let his tip catch against your entrance, drawing a gasp of desire from you.

When he began to roll his hips forward, your back arched, and you squeezed your eyes shut, relishing in every last second. Inch by inch, he slipped inside you. Arms braced near either side of your head, he held himself steady, grunting lowly as your velvety walls enveloped him.

As he bottomed out, he let his head fall to your shoulder, where he remained for a few moments, gaining his composure.

He couldn’t speak. If he tried, he knew his voice would fail him. He’d been rendered utterly speechless as he let it all sink in. This was real. He was here, now, on the floor of his childhood bedroom, with you laid bare beneath him.

For a few moments, you were both still, adjusting to the feeling of him inside you. Tears pricked behind your eyelids, and you focused on breathing deeply. For the first time in a very long time, you felt at peace. Here, joined as one with him.

He lifted his head from your shoulder and kissed you softly before he broke the silence. “Y’ready?” He asked. Breathless.

Whining softly, you nodded. “Y-you can move.”

Another kiss was left against the corner of your mouth before he slowly pulled his hips back, inch by inch, before rolling them forward again. You let out a broken moan, suddenly so overwhelmed by him. He swallowed the sound, mouth open against yours as he drew back again, only to fill you up all over again. Your chest heaved. The tears in your eyes finally made their way down your cheeks.

The drag of his thick cock was so slow it was almost not enough, yet too much all at once. You could only focus on him. His comforting warmth, his familiar scent, the pleasured sounds rumbling deep within his chest.

Outside, the wind and rain wreaked havoc, but inside, you were safe, shielded by your lover, lost in the way he made you feel. You didn’t realize how much you’d truly missed him until this very moment. It hit you all at once, like a kick to the stomach, knocking the air out of your lungs.

Instinctively, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, burying your face against the crook of his neck as he moved. You breathed him in. Earthy, musky, and so familiar. You wished to bottle up his scent so you could have it with you forever.

“Missed y’so much,” Rhett spoke, voice trembling. He leaned back so he could look fully into your face. When he saw your tear streaked face, he lifted his hand and lovingly wiped the tears away with his fingers. “Can’t believe you’re in m’ arms again.”

Then he was kissing you deeply as he picked up the pace of his thrusts, causing you to moan brokenly into his mouth at the feeling. You threw your head back as he built a rhythm. Back and forth, faster and deeper. You felt so indescribably full. He didn’t want to ruin that closeness, so he kept his movements contained, barely pulling his hips back, moving in a pulsing motion.

He was so deep that you could feel every ridge and vein of his cock, creating this wonderfully delicious friction within you. It took your breath away and made your head spin all at once.

You let your eyes fall shut and you whimpered as he kept rutting into you, stretching you, fulfilling your needs in ways you never could have imagined. This felt right. Your bodies joined as one. One soul. One heart.

“You feel so good,” you breathed, unashamed of the tears still streaming down your cheeks. “So good.”

Rhett could hardly utter a reply. He was breathless, his ever sense overwhelmed by you. Nothing else mattered. Here, on his bedroom floor, with you laid out so beautifully beneath him, he didn’t have a care in the world but you.

Again, he leaned back to watch you, in awe of the way you shivered and gasped, your body responding to him, releasing more of your slick around his cock. It sent a crackle of arousal through the base of his spine, and he pulsed inside you. You squeaked softly at the feeling, tightening around him.

He couldn’t resist stealing a glance at the place where your bodies met. His mouth fell open, eyes nearly rolling back. The sight of you stretched around him sent a jolt through him. “Takin’ me so well,” he sighed out. “Like you were always made to.”

You pulled his face back to you, urging him to meet your gaze. “I-I was,” you whispered in agreement. “I was made for you.”

“Yeah?” His tongue darted out to wet his lips. “You’re mine. Always will be.”

You tugged him toward you to kiss him again. “All yours.”

With one hand braced against the floor, he brought his other down between your bodies, fingers locating your swollen little button, so sensitive to his touch. You whined out his name, back arching off the floor. He purposed in himself that he was going to make you come before he ever did, because he wanted to feel the way your sweet pussy fluttered and clenched around him as you fell apart.

The sound you made as he swirled his fingers against you was music to his ears. The sweetest whimper he’d ever heard.

He kissed your tears away, a loving gesture that only served to bring even more tears down your cheeks.

As you looked up at him, you were overcome. It hit you like a ton of bricks, knocking the wind right out of you. You brought your trembling hands to his face, cupping his cheeks, committing every part of him to memory.

The love you felt for him was so deep, so intense, that you couldn’t put it into words. All you could do was cry. And you did.

He lowered his head, forehead resting against your own. He slowed down his pace just a little, and it made you feel impossibly closer to him. “Shh, I’m right here,” he soothed. “Don’t need t’cry, honeybee.”

“I-I-I just…I can’t believe I get a second chance with you.”

It was his turn to grow overcome with emotion. His eyes fluttered, and he let out a soft breath, nuzzling his nose against yours. “I know,” he whispered. His mouth was on yours, kissing you delicately, encasing you in love and devotion.

His hand had stilled between your legs, but he soon resumed his movements, fingers swirling as he kissed you. How was it that you could feel such deep emotion and pleasure all at once? It felt as if your body might explode into millions of stars from it all.

You wished that you were more eloquent. That you could find the words to tell him how you truly felt. But it seemed as if he already knew what was in your heart. Because it was in his, too. That all consuming love that he’d always had for you. Something that would never die.

Everything had taken on a new meaning. This wasn’t just the two of you making love on his bedroom floor. It was the joining of two wandering souls as one. And you gave yourself to him as he kissed you. Pouring every part of yourselves into that kiss.

You felt as if you might float away. And yet, there Rhett was, anchoring you, keeping you tethered to the earth. To him.

Beyond you both, thunder once again rolled across the night sky, your only reminder of the danger that lingered just beyond the walls of the Abbott home. It didn’t matter. None of it did. Not when you were sighing, trembling, weeping in his arms. Baring all the intimate parts of yourself to him.

You were climbing toward that peak now. Even as your tears fell and you cried softly against his mouth, a familiar, enticing heat had begun to spread through your lower abdomen.

Subtle at first, but soon, it began to spread throughout your extremities. From the top of your head to the soles of your feet. Rhett could feel it, too. The way you tightened and gushed around him.

“Oh, honey,” he sighed. “You’re close, ain’t ya?”

At which you nodded, bottom lip quivering.

“Poor thing. Don’t worry, I’ll get you there.”

You let him take control entirely. You both realized that although you’d been apart for so long, he still knew your body well. For him, it felt like getting right back in the saddle. Natural. Comfortable.

When he moved to switch positions, you let him, trusting him without question. He was gentle as he guided you up and into his lap, still nestled snugly inside you as he settled onto his knees.

You were face to face, chest to chest, hip to hip. Now, as he held you in his big arms, it felt all the more intimate, if that was at all possible. He cradled you as if you were the most precious thing to him. And, truly, you were.

“Move your hips with me baby,” he urged, voice a whisper against your heated skin, dancing across your collarbone.

With your arms strewn around his shoulders, you tentatively rolled your hips, and when it elicited a gasp from him, you were emboldened to build your own rhythm. There was nothing rushed or frantic about it. You simply took the time to enjoy each other’s bodies, as you climbed toward that glorious peak.

His hand was between your thighs again, fingers pressed against you, swirling firmly, deliberately. He kept his forehead against your own, eager to watch your face. God, you were the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen. Your brow furrowed in pleasure, eyes going out of focus.

And it was all because of him. It made his chest swell with pride to know he was the reason you were overcome with bliss.

He kept his movements slow and even, so deep inside you that neither of you could tell where he ended and you began. You were certain that you would ache with emptiness once you parted, but for now, you were content to be in the moment and relish in the fullness.

However, you were quickly beginning to lose yourself. Part of you never wanted it to end. You wanted to stay like this forever, the electricity of desire crackling beneath your skin, along the base of your spine. And yet, you also wanted so badly to come for him.

“S’okay, honeybee,” he was struggling to form syllables, his breathing rushed. “Let go when y’need to.”

His lips were warm and open against yours, tongue laving at your bottom lip, asking for entrance, which you granted. Moaning into each other’s mouths, losing yourselves in the moment.

You expected your orgasm to hit you like a ton of bricks. Perhaps you’d have to bite down on his shoulder to suppress your scream so as not to wake the entire house. What you didn’t expect, however, was the opposite.

It didn’t hit you hard and sudden. No, it was gradual. Like the spark that started the wildfire. So small, yet able to grow into something so wild and unkempt. You felt it in your lower belly first. As if someone had taken hold of the very core of your being and tugged, like a rope being pulled taut. It wasn’t long before the delicious warmth began to spread further into your extremities.

You were a live wire, thrumming with electricity. “Rhett,” you heard yourself gasp, and you buried your face against the crook of his neck as you began to tremble.

He spoke again, but you couldn’t hear it over the rush of blood in your ears. The range of motion between you was so minimal, and yet it was sending you toward cloud nine. Slow, deliberate grinding, building and building and building until you knew you were too far gone to hold yourself back.

Then he was tilting your head back, hand cradling your neck as he sighed into your open mouth, “Come for me, sweet darlin’.”

And you did.

As it ebbed through you, you were engulfed in the most comforting feeling you had ever experienced. You locked eyes with him, and he watched in amazement as you unraveled. Your face contorted into an expression of raw, unabashed pleasure.

It ebbed and flowed through your body, rising to meet you like the warm waves of the ocean, heated by the summer sun.

And you smiled. A wide, blissful smile as you shuddered in his arms, wholly and utterly satiated. It was as if part of yourself had been missing and was now found. You felt complete and fulfilled in a way that mere mortal words could not describe.

As you floated down from your peak, Rhett was barely holding it together. With trembling hands you held his face and kissed him, rocking in his lap, knowing that he, too, needed to reach his end.

“I love you,” you gasped as you moved, shivering from sensitivity as your puffy center brushed against the base of him.

He let out a high-pitched keen, deep in his throat, and squeezed his eyes shut. “S-say it again,” he sighed, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed.

You picked up your pace, knowing he was almost there just by the pulse of him inside you. “I love you.”

This time, his head fell back, his mouth open to let out his broken moans. He was so close. It clouded his every sense, consuming his being. “Again. Please. Say it again.” If he wasn’t so wrapped up in the moment, he might have marveled at the tears that had begun to roll down his cheeks.

With one hand still holding his face, and your other arm now wrapped around his shoulders, you cried out, “I love you, I love you, I love you!”

His own hands immediately came up to grip your hips and he let out the most beautiful sound you’d ever heard. A cross between a groan and a sob. He had to muffle it by hiding his face against your shoulder.

You felt it then. The warmth of his very essence spilling into the deepest part of you, claiming you, filling you to the brim. You took it all, slowing down until you finally rested still against him as he shuddered from the aftershocks.

You weren’t sure how long the two of you stayed like that, bodies intertwined. After a while, you felt him begin to soften, and gravity took over as his spent cock slipped from the confines of your slick heat.

And oh, how empty you felt without him there to fill you. However, all at once, you were content. For the first time in a long time, you felt alive once again.

As the afterglow settled in, Rhett lifted his head and offered a sheepish smile. “Was that alright, honeybee?” The tips of his ears went pink.

You hugged him close. “It was everything I needed,” you replied with honesty, punctuated with a loving kiss to his lips. “You’re everything I needed.”

The look of pure adoration in his face made it all worth it.

You weren’t sure who initiated it, but soon, you’d switched positions and settled against the mound of pillows and blankets, with your head resting against Rhett’s chest, right over the place where his bull and rider tattoo was.

His fingers traced patterns along your spine, as your own fingers trailed absently over the expanse of his chest. You knew that you should eventually move and get cleaned up before you fell asleep like this, but neither of you wanted to break the spell.

Rain pattered gently against the window. It seemed that the storm had begun to fade, leaving behind a quiet, sleepy earth in its wake.

“Did’ya ever think we’d end up like this?” Rhett spoke into the comfortable silence of the room.

You hummed. “Before I came back, I didn’t.”

His fingers stilled against your back. “When did it change for you?”

“The night of the rodeo,” came your reply.

“For me, it was the first time I saw you after you came back. Brought all these feelin’s back that I tried to ignore. But then I held ya when you jumped outta the truck durin’ that twister. And then I, uh, saw you when you ran out the bathroom to grab a towel.” Mirth was in his tone as he said the last part.

You couldn’t help but smile. “God, I was so embarrassed about that,” you admitted.

“S’alright. Nothin’ to be embarrassed about.” He resumed the gentle patterns against your back with his fingers. “I sure am glad I got to see ya naked again, though.”

You lifted your head and slapped his chest lightly. “Hey now,” you scolded, humorously so.

His mouth curved into a good-natured smile. When he leaned in to peck your lips again, you eagerly accepted the kiss.

But it was soon time for the conversation to turn serious. Rhett’s lashes fluttered, his eyes growing misty.

“I gotta ask…what does this mean for us? Because I need y’to know, I’m serious about you. We ain’t two kids fresh outta high school anymore. If we’re doin’ this, I wanna do it right. I want to make this relationship work. But only if you want that, too.”

You let out a soft breath, absently tracing his chest tattoo. In your heart of hearts, you knew what you wanted. “I do want that. I’m not about to walk away from you again, I promise you that much. But I’ve gotta figure out what I’m doing with work. I don’t want to go through a long distance thing.”

His brow furrowed slightly as he placed his warm hand over your own, giving it a squeeze. “I could…I could move to Maryland with ya.”

You met his gaze. “You? Leave Wabang?”

“What? I could do it.”

“You’d hate the city, Rhett. You’d hate living in my one-bedroom apartment. I know you love this place and it’s where you’re happiest. You don’t need to sacrifice that on account of me.”

“Doesn’t matter where I’m livin’, as long as I’ve got you.”

Your heart clenched at his words, and you nuzzled your nose against his. “I’ll figure it out. But I want to make this work, more than anything.”

“So do I.” Rhett was willing to go to the ends of the earth, if it meant he got to be with you. If he had to move to the city to do so, then so be it.

For now, he was content to share this moment with you, bodies entangled on his bedroom floor. It reminded him of days gone by. And if only for a moment, he could close his eyes and go back to that time. When you were young and in love. When his brother was still alive. When life felt safe and hopeful, as if nothing bad could ever happen.

But it did happen. The bull riding memorabilia that currently surrounded you both was a reminder of what he’d lost when he took a horn to the gut. The first bitter taste of reality he’d gotten as a young man. Little did he know that just a few years later, he’d lose three of the most important people in his life, and that injury would feel like a mere paper cut compared to the agony of grief.

How far both of you had come since then. You’d conquered your fear of storm chasing. He’d conquered his fear of bull riding. And it had brought you both together again.

The truth was, you’d needed to go on your own respective journeys of healing so you could return to each other as better versions of yourselves.

“I guess we should get cleaned up,” your sleepy voice pulled him from his thoughts.

He smiled, lips brushing against your forehead. “Guess we should. I’m about t’ fall asleep on this floor, and I know I’m gonna regret it in the mornin’ when my back is fucked up.”

Reluctantly, you sat up, immediately missing his warmth as the cool air rushed over your skin. Rhett stood, his knees popping slightly as he did so, and he reached for your hand, pulling you up with him.

The evidence of your combined releases was slick against your inner thighs, and you were reminded of what you’d just done. The way he’d just made love to you. It sent a rush of warmth down your spine.

“I’m all wet,” you murmured shyly.

Rhett grunted softly. He could see the milky white glistening on your skin, and he had to avert his gaze, because he knew he’d wind up taking you all over again, and you were both much too tired to withstand another round.

“I…I can help clean ya up?” He offered with an earnest smile.

You decided to take him up on that, which led to you both sneaking across the hall and into the bathroom, where Rhett so lovingly wiped you clean. It reminded you of the past, where he had been so eager to learn how to care for you after sex. It had been a learning curve for both of you, being each other’s firsts. It had been such a special experience, one that you cherished to this day.

“Y’ready for bed now, honeybee?” He asked, once you were clean and had brushed your teeth.

You nodded, and together, you tiptoed back across the hall, feeling much like your teenage selves, trying not to get caught by Cecilia whenever you’d sneak into Rhett’s room in the middle of the night.

When you were safely closed into the confines of his bedroom again, you both scrambled to pick up all the pillows and blankets so you could settle into bed.

“Ain’t much room in the bed. Guess we’ll have to snuggle up real close,” Rhett said with a grin.

You stepped into his warmth, kissing his jaw. “I’m fine with that. Reminds me of all the times we used to squeeze into this thing together.”

Rhett was more than happy to have someone to cuddle up to again. His bed had been empty for far too long. And as he climbed beneath the covers that night, your body curled against his own, a sense of peace washed over him.

You nestled your head against his chest, and he felt a sense of protectiveness overcome him. He would watch over you while you slept. You were safe with him. You always would be.

When he fell asleep that night, his dreams were filled with flashes of your beautiful face, and he slept better than he had in years.

taglist:

@ryebecca @peachystenbrough @attapullman @sebsxphia @damrlova

@fragilefearnie @floydsmuse @versipellesh @lovinglyeternal @likearolloftape

@bobfloydsbabe @nobody7102 @mearslot @torturedpoetspsychward @floydsglasses

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

@queenbbarnes @phoenixhalliwell @lyn-js @sunsetsimpsblog @ixxvixcviii

@shinycupcakebaker @frequentnosebleeder @atoncments @eolsens @casuallyclassless

@desert-fern @perfectprettypisces @parcetamoldaisy @zirrocom @rhettsgirll

@just-in-case-iloveyou @ada--44 @sydney-malcontent @9ullmans @callsignmedusa

@antiquitea @ohmyeyesmyeyes @spidervman @oddlymighty-witch @fairyheart

@kissmecaitie @dreams-in-anthracis @rhettmotel

#rhett abbott x reader #rhett abbott smut #rhett abbott fanfiction #we own the sky

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wonryllis · 6 months ago

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𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐒 & 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐖𝐒 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐏𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐒

𝖼𝖺𝗇'𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝖿𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗆𝗒 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝖻𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎? 𝖼𝖺𝗇'𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗆𝗒 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝖺𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎? 𝖼𝖺𝗇'𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗂 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎?

ׅ ꢾ꣒ find the MASTERLIST here.

PREVIEW. you always get what you want, spoiled with the love of everyone around you. and it's all innocent love, at least that's what everyone thinks. it comes with much surprise therefore, when heeseung makes a move on you. thirteen long years of being in the brother zone having made him utterly clueless that if he’s going to date you he has to pass through your actual brothers first. and he knows how scary they can be. especially since they are known to have a sister complex and he’s been the third scary one with them, numerous times before.

𝐈 check out the PROFILES.

PLS READ THE CONTENT BELOW ALL THE CHARACTER INFO IS LISTED IN JUST THIS ONE POST !

𝐈𝐈 tune in to the CHARACTER INTERVIEWS ( given by the characters themselves ! )

CHOI YN 20 ( fashion ), well what do i say? hello everyone i'm choi yn! im sure everyone knows me already ^^ .. what else do i say? hmm i love my life a lot! i love my brothers and heeseung and wonie so much, they are the closest people in my life! oh shit sorry riki too hehe oops. college has been fun since im doing exactly what i wanted and it's fun to hangout with won all the time. seungie brings me snacks all the time and binnie lets me eat cakes everyday even though junnie has scolded them not to cause i easily get dental problems and then he has to convince be to go to the dentist, eww.

LEE HEESEUNG 23 ( film ), if you ever stop hearing from me, please know that my day has come and i have chosen to be exposed. as much as jun and soobs love me, and as much as they love tiny(my yn, she's just real cute) if i ever dare speak of that kind of love with tiny in the same sentence it's my last moment on earth. jay and taehyun help a lot and i'd give everything to thank them for it but man they still haven't been able to actually help me get with yn?

CHOI SOOBIN 24 ( law school ), yes my sister is my everything, each one of her wishes no matter how stupid and idiotic they are, must be fulfilled. i think i was like ten when ynie said being a lawyer would be so cool, and it's been my life's motto now. law school kicks my ass yeah but whenever i think of how happy she'd be to see me as a badass lawyer it feels like nothing. i could easily help her win the divorce that's a plus point, i think i should start looking into divorce attorney things.

CHOI YEONJUN 25 ( model ), i swear scaring away my baby sister's admirers is one of my full time jobs besides runaway modelling but alas she is my sister of course she's a beauty. i know she will date and marry a motherfucking guy one day, and i won't be able to stop it but i hope that day takes the longest time to come. she was one of the first ones to say how good my dressing style was, if it wasnt for her i would not be one of the rising faces in the fashion scene today.

PARK JAY 22 ( music production ), being lee heeseung's childhood friend has been my life's greatest downfall. and being his emergency contact number one is probably the biggest mistake of my life. it's so so so infuriating to see him do nothing and panic over the fact that some might sweep her off her feet right before his eyes like fucker you gotta sweep her off her feet rather than worrying over how someone else might sweep her off her feet. taehyun probably understands me.

SIM JAKE 22 ( physics ), it's fun, so so fun i can not express it verbally man, 'm having a blast! there's so many new things to learn i am so happy with my major and my astronomy club thing is going so well too, it's been amazing so far. the only thing i dont like is my mates ignoring me, like i tell them about all these quantum mechanics things and how it's works like it's legit the coolest thing ever and they don't wanna listen me and then come to me for help with assignments like dude? there's no give and take here and it's not high school anymore? but i do it cause im nice :)

PARK SUNGHOON 22 ( communications ), first of all i gotta thank my man taehyun for letting me copy off of him to pass my semesters so far. as a full time commercial and photoshoot model, college is just a side quest for me at this point, just need an arm candy degree to show that i am infact educated contrary to what people think. oh and i'd like to tell this, don't tell anyone, i actually know all the drama going on and it's so funny but i gotta stay low if i wanna be safe. sometimes i do think of stirring things up but yeonjun man he scares me, i better be on his good side.

KIM SUNOO 21 ( journalism ), for real god am i the only one working my ass off here cause why the hell all these dicks be fucking up their lives and copying off people to survive like? look at me, every little gossip on campus and you know who to go to get the full info! exactly how it should be for a journalism major. i swear i am doing all the shit ass work here. i admit i slip sometimes especially with heeseung's secret in front of god forbidden yn but 'm just a human, and humans make mistakes yk? and please tell kai to fuck off please, thank you.

YANG JUNGWON 20 ( fashion ), it's a different feeling when three guys trust you with their precious sister. and it's a different feeling when that precious real spoiled girl treats you like the best buddy she could ever have. but it's not so fortunate when you gotta dash to protect anytime the brothers ping you, it's like a national secret agency part time job and it's the hardest thing when the target is someone like yn. i treasure her a lot, as a friend! yes, yet the times when her brothers get jealous of me are some of the most nerve wrecking times.

NISHIMURA RIKI 20 ( photography ), are we surprised here? no wtf have y'all not seen the pics i post on my twt like i got talent you have to accept it. especially a lot of talent in gaming and luck, my luck be through the roofff. just started lol a year ago and my YouTube Chanel six months ago and im already almost a diamond and about to hit a million subscribers.. talk about god's favorite! ha that's me. but the thing is more than that i wanna be yn's favorite like i know she says won and i are same but i know that kitty is closer. for now i like being glued to yn, but after figuring out things so easily it's hard to keep quiet.

CHOI BEOMGYU 23 ( film ), with the amount of hate train behind me it's a miracle i am still breathing and in one piece. praying all this ends quickly and my life is returned back to me or i'll go crazy it has been like what two? three? years already! i need my freedom. i can count and name with my fingers the people who hate me. actually no it's everyone. anyways, i share all classes with heeseung and lord is it the scariest part of my life. at least yeonjun and soobin would need time to hunt me down but lee heeseung? he's right behind me two rows, staring down my every movement. look it's not my fault okay?

KANG TAEHYUN 22 ( communications ), it wasn't consensual. it is very important to clear this up. i did not give my papers to park sunghoon by choice. he had to pay me hefty for that so there's no thank you man, dude is pretending. and i am fucking sick of covering for heeseung all the time like dude grow balls, real balls dig up some manly guts and fucking do it before i lose patience and fuck shit up. every moment of listening to him lamenting over his feelings is the most frustrating shit ever. make him hear this one for god's fucking sake.

HUENING KAI 22 ( journalism ), no matter how much everyone denies it, i know they won't survive a day without me like? i provide sunoo with all the gossip of our side? how else do you think heeseung sneaks around yeonbin with his feelings? god it's me i do the passing the parcel of info. i mean taehyun is also involved with them but then i am more useful than that reality check of a guy, i mean who needs reality when you can live in a fantasy! hehe i just outdid everyone with that! or not anyway moving on yn's cr— SUNOO: shut the fuck up bitch!

𝐈𝐈𝐈 learn about THE GROUPCHATS.

01. HEEYN TRUTHERS heeseung, jay, jake, sunghoon, taehyun and sunoo: the group that has been supporting heeseung in pursuing his feelings since he first revealed it to them. for whenever he fucks up and they have to discuss how to save his ass. normal chats happen too.

02. BOSS BABIES yn, jungwon, riki: the trio that has been friends since middle school, and sticks together. yn spends most of her time with them, that is in college. often goes out to hangout and these two are yn's only actual friends!

03. SHOOTERZ 4 YN yeonjun, soobin, heeseung and jungwon: they use this chat to text each other whenever someone upsets yn or she's going somewhere alone and they need jungwon to secretly tag along to give them updates later.

04. PRINCESS & HER KNIGHTZ yn, yeonjun, soobin and heeseung: the main stars— spoiled baby and her overprotective boys. usually text her when it has to do something with the four of them, like when yn goes out or she needs someone to pick her up or accompany her or when they have dinner at each other's place and someone's missing and likewise.

05. PSYCHOS W/ SICKOS yeonjun, soobin, beomgyu, taehyun, huening kai and heeseung: well this is heeseung's other friend group with the yn brothers' friends that become his own after a while. this is yeonbin dominated friend group chat and beomgyu is main character lmao

START THE STORY — prologue 𓈒 ‎𓈒 ‎𓈒

TAGLIST . ( OPEN ) @s00buwu @lilyuwon @pockyyasii @nctislifue @shawnyle @enhastolemyheart @aaa-sia @snoopypupp @criminalyun @oddracha @satan-223 @diorsyun @hooniehon @fakeuwus @caramelcandescence @intromortal @kookify @yutasberryy @sumzysworld @nikiswifiee @shuichi-sama @primroselover @rayofsunshineeee @aishigrey @yjwluvs @soraokkotsu @nyfwyeonjun @srhnyx @trashx678 @wondipity @winuvs @hoondiors @niniissus @firstclassjaylee @biancaness send an ask to be added! (if your comment goes unnoticed it is not my responsibility)

#enhypen imagines #enhypen smut #HOPE Y'ALL FIND THIS FUNNY ENOUGH ㅠㅠ #enhypen smau #enhypen heeseung smut #heeseung smut #enhypen heeseung imagines #heeseung imagines #enhypen social media au #enhypen socmed au #enhypen social au #heeseung smau #enhypen hard hours #enhypen hard thoughts

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yaniluvs · 3 months ago

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just fine. -h.hj ✦ !

💥 chapter 3.

if you haven't, be sure to read chapter 1 and chapter 2 before , here !

✧ pairing : hwang hyunjin x fem!reader (maybe not) ͏ ✧ info : sadfic (hah) , a LOT of angst , melancholy (ofc) , drama , feelings , mature themes , suggestive , bsfs , one sided. ͏ ✧ personas: uni students ; dancers ; hyunjin does art and dance, reader does dance and songwriting. ͏͏ ✧ word count : 75͏1 ✧ warnings : mature themes !

may not be best friends -> lovers <3

— 🁹

saturday night, 7:21 pm.

The grad party was buzzing, a soft murmur of voices intertwined with the familiar hum of the speakers that played an upbeat mix of pop and R&B. The dim glow of fairy lights hung lazily around the room, adding a cozy warmth to the celebratory atmosphere. The small apartment was packed—everyone scattered about, drinks in hand, laughter spilling freely.

“Dude, I’m telling you, there’s no way your aim is better than mine,” A certain blonde argued, leaning against the wall with a stubborn pout.

A puppy-like guy next to him, chuckled, shaking his head. “Right, because button-mashing totally counts as skill.”

“Hey, don’t act like you’re some god-tier pro.” Felix’s mock offence drew laughter from Jisung, who was idly sipping his drink on the couch nearby.

Hyunjin smiled at the exchange, but his mind was elsewhere, mostly drifting back to someone, who’d promised to meet him later that night. He was absentmindedly twirling the stem of his glass when Felix, spoke again.

"You good, mate? You’ve been zoned ever since we got here."

The raven haired just blinked, bringing himself back to the present. "Huh? Oh, um, just... thinking." He swirled his mocktail idly, not quite meeting his friend's gaze.

"Thinking, huh?" Seungmin, chimed in. The sophomore arched an eyebrow, clearly picking up on something. "About Seori, maybe?"

A smirk tugged at the corner of Felix's lips. "Yeah, Hyun. Everyone knows you've been hung up, badly, on her. You two gonna make it official or what?"

Hyunjin shrugged, a noncommittal sound leaving his lips. "I don't know? ...I guess we’ll see." His response was casual, but the way he avoided their eyes said more than he realised.

Across the dimly lit room, Chris was mingling with the others, mainly laughing with the two others from the friend group, one of them slightly quieter than usual, as his eyes flicked over to where Hyunjin sat. Minho’s jaw clenched slightly before he turned back to the conversation, but his frustration was clear.

Changbin nudged Minho, his dimples lightening up the slight tension. "You’re real quiet tonight, Hyung. Upcoming graduation blues already hitting you?"

The quiet guy let out a half-hearted chuckle, shaking his head. "Mm.. Just thinking about some things."

But the younger caught the pointed look he shot in a familiar direction and raised an eyebrow, before pulling him to the rest of the group .

He wasn’t oblivious to what was happening—not by a long shot.

"Hyung, where's Y/n? I haven't seen her since the party started." A younger ginger spoke, approaching the group with a soda in his hand.

Hyunjin shrugged once more, taking a sip of his drink. "She’s been busy with school, I think..? Plus, she’s got her own.. thing going on or something."

Seungmin raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, but it wouldn’t kill you to check in on her once in a while, would it?"

"Whenever I try to talk to her, she just pushes or shuts me out and I can't even talk to her for more than 5 minutes." Hyunjin responded, a frown on his face.

"And why do you think that is?" Mumbled Minho, his jaw clenched and voice slightly inaudible. But he heard that.

"What?"

"She's been pretty quiet lately," Felix suddenly spoke, sensing the tension. "Maybe you should give her a call or something! You know, just to see how she's doing." He awkwardly laughed.

Hyunjin furrowed his brows, clearly puzzled by the sudden concern. "What’s with you guys? Y/n is fine, she’s just busy." He waved it off like it was nothing, his eyes drifting back to the room where Seori was standing with some of the other girls. "Anyway, I’m focused on Seori."

Minho’s grip on his glass tightened slightly, but he kept his voice even. "Yeah, you’re real focused, alright," he muttered under his breath, though no one seemed to catch it.

Felix sighed softly, glancing at the others, exchanging looks. They had all noticed the way Y/n's mood had shifted lately—the way her bright, infectious energy had dimmed, especially when Hyunjin wasn’t paying attention. But they weren’t going to push. Not yet, anyway.

Jisung, trying to lighten the mood, clapped Hyunjin on the shoulder. "Well, just don’t forget about your friends while you’re chasing after Seori. You never know who might need you, yeah?"

Hyunjin offered a half-hearted smile, not fully understanding the deeper meaning behind Jisung’s words. "Yeah, yeah, I get it. I won’t forget about any of you."

But the party had only began thirty minutes ago.

author's note !

2 chapters in one day omg (kms i lied i have 5 chapters ready in the drafts) BUTTTTTTT SHSHSHSHSHHHH can yall SEE the tension here🤗 ALSO. IMPORTANT POINT. pay attention to the timings and events !!!! THEYRE ESSENTIAL BUT A BIT CONFUSING BUT JS STAY FOCUSED ON THAAAA💔 o well bye now ill continue drafting chp6 hHHSHSHSHHHAHS lmk if you wanna be added to my taglist!! 🤓 ty for reading, love u <3

tag list:

@babybreadddd

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katareyoudrilling · 11 months ago

Text

The Sweepstakes: Frankie Morales (Porn Star AU)

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Porn Star Female Reader

Summary: A popular porn site runs a sweepstakes to win a night with your favorite porn star. One of the winners is a man and he has chosen you. Will it be a night of mediocre sex or will Frankie surprise you?

Word count: ~3.5k

Rating: Explicit (18+ only. NO MINORS)

Content Warnings: Unprotected PIV (paperwork is involved), oral (m and f receiving), a hint of tummy worship, reader’s clothing is described briefly but no physical description

A/N: I got in the weeds a bit thinking how something like this could be made safe for everyone involved and decided we all just need to suspend our disbelief. I left some in for the sake of “the plot” but let’s trust that everyone has good intentions. The company mentioned is heavily inspired by Bellesa. This was a lot of fun to write and I hope you enjoy a reverse sweepstakes!

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Taglist - link in bio or let me know!

“Thanks for coming in.” Erin shuts the door behind you as you take a seat across from her desk.

“Of course.” You have a scene to film after this meeting. It was no problem to come in a little early.

“So, as you know, we are running this sweepstakes for our subscribers to win a night with their favorite performer. You agreed to be one of the female options and even though the vast majority of our subscribers are women, one of our winners is a man and he chose you.”

“Oh wow.” You can’t help but be a little flattered. Everyone likes to be chosen.

“Yeah, so I just wanted to check in with you and make sure you’re ok to continue. I have his picture and basic info here.” She slides some paperwork across the desk, and you pick it up.

Looking back at you are the kindest brown eyes you think you’ve ever seen. He is wearing a baseball cap – hair curling around his ears – a scruffy beard, and a lopsided smile. His name is Francisco Morales.

“We’ve done a background check and everything like we talked about, and he looks good from our end. You still have the right to refuse, though,” Erin continues as you read over Francisco’s information.

“He’s cute. I’m not concerned. I can handle a night of mediocre sex with a civilian and make this guy’s dream come true.” It feels a little conceited to say it, but as an adult entertainer, you know you’re the subject of a lot of male fantasies. You also know that you are very good at what you do.

Erin laughs. “That’s very generous of you. Hopefully it won’t be too bad, but best to set expectations low.” She takes the papers back from you. “I know you have a scene to film upstairs. I’ll let you know when we get this scheduled.”

“Sounds good. Thanks, Erin!” You push back from the desk and leave the office with a wave.

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

When the day arrives, you prepare like you would for any scene. You’re not more nervous than any other day when you’d be having sex with a new scene partner. You dress in your signature outfit of a crop-top and cut-off jean shorts, showing off your legs is never a bad idea.

When you arrive at the studio, you check in with Erin to go over Francisco’s final paperwork and reaffirm that all the company’s requirements around consent and safety have been met.

When everything is settled, you go to meet him in the filming room.

You open the door to a man pacing back and forth, worrying a baseball cap in his hands. Erin had warned you that he seemed nervous and not to expect him to be sitting eagerly on the bed waiting for you like your usual partners.

He looks up at you when he hears the door, panic written all over his features.

“Hi, Francisco, it’s nice to meet you.” You approach him cautiously, opening your arms for a hug.

He accepts the hug and you’re pleasantly surprised at the warm comfort of his broad shoulders and t-shirt-clad chest before pulling away.

“Call me Frankie,” he replies, running his fingers through his wavy hair.

“Frankie it is. How are you?”

“I’m… I’m sorry, I just… I feel like such a creep.” He hangs his head and twists the hat in his hands. “The cameras…” he gestures to the tripods set up in the corners of the room. “They said they are partly to keep you safe… I… I shouldn’t be here.”

He was right about the cameras. Sweepstakes winners had the option of recording their encounter for private use, but in your case, the feed would also be monitored for your safety.

“I heard you chose to go for the recording option. I’m glad you did. I would have tried to change your mind before we started otherwise.” He glances up at you, surprised. “I like performing for cameras.” You shrug and one corner of his mouth twitches. You take it as a good sign.

“Look Frankie, I’m not going to make you stay, but I’d really like if we could talk for a minute.”

You sit on the bed and pat the spot next to you. Frankie relents and sits next to you, keeping a safe distance between your bodies. It’s endearing really, and warmth stirs in your chest.

“We’re both adults here, Frankie. I signed up for this too, you know. No one is forcing me to be here.”

Frankie lets out a long exhale and finally meets your gaze. “Thank you for saying that. It’s just a really strange situation and I got in my head about it.”

“Perfectly understandable. Why don’t you tell me why you entered the sweepstakes?”

He runs his hand through his hair again, it must be a nervous habit of his. It’s delightfully disheveled and you notice shades of caramel and gray woven through the dark brown waves. You allow your gaze to roam over his features. Aquiline nose. Pouty lips. He is a very handsome man. His picture didn’t do him justice.

“I’m not sure what I was thinking at the time, to be honest with you. I’m just a big fan.” He offers you that lopsided smile you first saw in his photo.

“You know, most of our subscribers are women, it’s kind of our thing. What lead you to us? And as a subscriber as well?”

“Good question,” he exhales again. “I really like the idea of supporting an ethical production company where I can know everyone involved is consenting. I don’t want to ever think someone has been coerced or treated badly while I’m… you know.” His ears turn pink, and it might be the sweetest thing you’ve ever seen.

“That’s important to me too,” you nod and scoot a little bit closer to him on the bed.

“I also like that the orgasms are real. I’m not interested in anyone... faking.” If his ears weren’t red before, they certainly are now. Along with his nose and cheeks.

It occurs to you that one of the other female performer options practically comes if you look at her. If Frankie had just wanted an ego boost tonight, he could have easily chosen her. It’s not that it’s difficult for you, but it is going to take some effort. It stirs your interest that he might be up to the challenge.

“Do you like making women come, Frankie?”

He nods and smiles a little, still looking down at the hat in his hands.

“Do you think you can make me come tonight?” You look up at him through your eyelashes.

“I’d certainly like to fucking try,” he looks directly into your eyes and the deep rumble of his voice turns the affectionate warmth in your chest into a building fire in your core. You move even closer so that your leg is touching his.

Frankie stares at the bare skin of your knee where it brushes against his jeans.

“Can I touch you, Frankie?”

He looks up at you and nods. So much want burning in his kind eyes.

You run your fingers through the hair at his temple and scratch your nails through his scruff. He leans into your hand and moans.

Oh fuck.

The sound shoots straight to your pussy.

“Can I touch you?” Frankie rasps.

“Yes, you can. But you need to lose the hat.”

He chuckles, dropping the misshapen hat on the floor before tentatively lifting his hand to place it on your leg. His hands are large, warm, and calloused. Sparks fly over your skin as he strokes your softness. You lean in slowly and press your lips to his cheek, then his mouth.

His plush lips part with a sigh. You turn his face towards you as you gently explore.

It’s been a while since you’ve just made out with someone. He seems to need you to go slowly and you certainly don’t want to spook him now that he is more relaxed. In your brief conversation you’ve become very curious about this man.

Frankie tentatively glides his hand over your clothed hip, barely letting his fingers caress the skin above the waistband of your shorts.

You guide him gently up onto the bed and stretch out along his long frame. He’s so warm and soft, you just want to snuggle into his chest.

It’s luxurious and unhurried and oh so hot.

You let out a contented sigh as you slide your hand under his shirt and up his back. His grip tightens on your hip, so you roll your hips towards him in response – encouraging him to touch you.

He receives the message, shifting his hand to palm your ass. You moan into his mouth and are rewarded with a strangled groan as his grip tightens. His rough fingertips skim the sensitive skin of your upper thigh sending shivers up your spine.

“You feel so good, Frankie,” you break away from his mouth as he trails kisses down your neck. “I want to feel more of you.”

You tug at his shirt and he reluctantly stops kissing you to pull it over his head. You are rewarded with a vision of golden skin over strong muscles. He’s slightly soft around the middle and it makes you want to see your teeth marks on his skin.

You sit up and quickly pull your crop top over your head and are reaching for the clasp of your bra, when he sits up and stills your hands.

“Let me, baby.”

“Whatever you want, Frankie.”

You place your hands on his chest as he traces his fingers over the cups and straps of your bra, watching goosebumps rise over your skin. It’s so sensuous and deliberate, you’re struggling not to whimper and you don’t even have your clothes off yet. When he reaches around to undo the clasp, you crowd into his chest and begin to lick and suck at his neck.

His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat as you taste his skin. Delicious. You allow your bra to slide down your arms and off then reach for the button of his jeans. “Take these off.”

“In a minute,” Frankie replies and you scoff. This isn’t the nervous man you first met. You smile to yourself. He must be getting comfortable.

Turns out he needs a minute because he wants to explore your tits. He brushes his fingertips over your nipples, watching them tighten in response. He gathers you onto his lap, better to pull each bud into his mouth.

He swirls his tongue around you, one breast at a time, palming the other with his large hands. It’s exquisitely, maddeningly slow. Your pussy aches as you try to find some friction through your shorts, but he’s holding you away from himself.

Frankie smiles around your tit as you whine and try to grind into him.

“You like this, huh?” you complain, clutching at his broad shoulders.

“Do I like making you sound like that? Yes, I do.” His voice rumbles pleasantly against your chest.

He finally relents, working his way up your neck and back to your mouth. You take control of the kiss, plunging your tongue into his mouth and nipping at his bottom lip. He lays back for you on the bed, settling with his head up against the headboard. You take the opportunity to undo the fly of his jeans.

“Can I have these now?” you tease.

“Only if I can have yours.” His gorgeous mouth pulls up into his signature lopsided grin.

“Deal.” You shimmy out of your shorts and underwear as he pulls down his jeans and boxers and tosses them on the floor.

You sit back on your heels and take in the gloriously naked man in front of you. His long legs stretch out on either side of your hips.

He’s not the polished, waxed, perfectly honed specimen of a man you often work with. You find that it’s perfectly ok with you, might even be preferable. He’s so real, splayed out and unselfconscious.

Broad, warm, soft at the edges, but hard where it matters.

And the way he’s looking at you… It gives you shivers. There’s a deep hunger in those brown eyes, but also patience and a surprising amount of control. You had expected this to be a pretty quick encounter, but that doesn’t seem to be the case anymore. You squirm, noticing the wetness building in your center.

He watches you with hooded eyes as you slide your hands up his muscular thighs. His cock bobs eagerly against his stomach. He has a very nice cock. Possibly the best you’ve seen on a civilian, being a porn star does spoil you a bit in that regard.

His is nice and thick and plenty big enough to know he will feel really good.

You take him in your hand and stroke him up and down, licking your lips.

“You don’t ha…” he interrupts and you silence him with a look.

“I’m not doing anything I don’t want to do, Frankie. Trust me.”

He nods and exhales, relaxing again against the headboard. His chest is delightfully flushed as he takes stuttering breaths with each stroke of your hand.

“You’re so pretty,” you praise him and watch as the flush creeps up his neck and blooms across his cheeks.

So fucking pretty.

Then you take him in your mouth.

His hips buck underneath you and he curses as he tries to still himself.

You pull out all the stops, giving him the slipperiest, deepest blow job you can.

You enjoy watching men come apart for you. It’s a shame so many of your scene partners are so used to it now, they don’t react the way Frankie does.

He fists his hands in the sheets. His mouth drops open. His chest rises and falls with ragged pants. The tendons in his neck strain as he tries to keep himself under control.

His cock is thick and heavy on your tongue. Just how you like it.

You take your time taking him apart.

He’s just so pretty.

At the first sign that his control is slipping, you slow down. Easing yourself off him and surveying the wrecked man in front of you with satisfaction.

You kiss your way up his tummy, nipping his soft flesh as you go. Your teeth marks look just as good as you hoped – little pink crescents on his golden skin. You continue up his chest and recapture his mouth for a hungry kiss.

You straddle his hips and line yourself up to sink down, when he grabs you and flips you over.

“Not yet, sweetheart.” He pants into your mouth before kissing down your body, stroking your skin with his calloused fingers. He continues working his way down to your pussy making his intent clear. What a pleasant surprise.

You love oral sex and even sub-par oral, is still oral, right? You prop yourself up on your elbows and open your knees wide so you can watch as Frankie takes a long lick from your entrance to your clit.

You sigh in contentment. His mouth is warm, wet, and firm. So what if you don’t come, it still feels good.

You relax and let your head drop back as Frankie explores. He circles… sucks… nudges.

Ohhhh

Tightness coils in your belly and you look down at him with a gasp.

He’s good at this.

He’s looking up at you. Brown eyes crinkled at the corners as he slowly drags his tongue through your folds. Then he winks.

He knows he’s good at this.

You can’t help the giggle that escapes your throat, but are quickly pulled back under by the pleasure emanating from between your legs.

“Yes, Frankie. That feels so good,” you moan succumbing to the building pressure. You clench around nothing and are rewarded with a thick finger in your cunt.

“Fuuuuck,” you whine as he strokes in time with his tongue.

“You taste so good, sweetheart. You gonna come for me?” he rasps between licks. His scruff tickling your sensitive skin.

Who is this pussy-eating king who is better than some of the professionals you’ve worked with?

It doesn’t matter.

All that matters is the coil winding tighter in your belly. The fluttering of your pussy. The stars sparking at the edge of your vision.

And suddenly you’re coming. Pulsing against his tongue as he works you through it. Groaning his own pleasure into your center.

As the waves subside, Frankie reclaims your mouth, dragging his cock through your slick folds, blocking out your vision with his broad shoulders. You pull him down to you, running your fingers through his hair and down along his muscular back.

“How do you want me, baby?” you ask him between nips at his bottom lip. You tilt your hips up to him and savor the rough grind of his cock between your legs.

“I want you every way, sweetheart.” He nuzzles into your neck and your heart does a little pitter patter. Just post-orgasm glow, you tell yourself.

“I want this to be a night to remember for you, Frankie. How about the porn star special?”

He pulls back from nuzzling your neck, amusement lifting one side of his face into that charming grin. “What’s the porn star special?”

You give him a mischievous grin, “Just follow my lead.”

Over the course of the evening, you lead Frankie through your repertoire. The kinds of hyper flexible positions he’ll only ever see in porn. You giggle your way through some of the more ridiculous ones when Frankie furrows his brow and questions what exactly anyone is supposed to be getting out of this.

You slow down when Frankie grabs your hips and hisses that he’s too close. You kiss across his chest and shoulders and from his neck to his soft tummy as he regains his composure. You take breaks for water and lube, teasing and laughing while you catch your breath.

You come more than once along the way. Frankie finds your clit and gives you the extra friction you need to tip over the edge. He stays with you, locked eyes and panted breath, through each one. You don’t think too hard about why each time you come, it’s while staring into those soulful eyes.

In the end, you find yourself on his lap, grinding your hips into him as he sits with his back against the headboard and his face between your tits. He feels so good in your pussy, filling you up just right.

It’s syrupy and slow, both of you worn out and rocking into each other. Frankie’s panted moans hot against your chest.

“Can I finish in you?” he pleads, sweaty curls plastered across his forehead.

“You don’t want to see your cum all over me?”

“No, no, I need to feel you around me when I come, sweetheart, please,” he begs. “I need your perfect pussy.” As if you would deny him that.

You brush his hair away from his face and press a soft kiss to his lips. “Of course, Frankie. Fill me up.”

Frankie practically growls as he tips you backwards on to the bed. He positions himself above you, grasping your leg as he drives into you in long, firm strokes.

He pours every last ounce of his energy into you, finally allowing himself to chase the climax you’ve been edging him towards all evening. He presses his forehead to yours while he slams into you at a relentless pace. So close. So deep. Your climax hovers on the horizon once again.

“Come with me Frankie,” you whimper. He groans and stutters in response. You watch his face contort into pure bliss and it tips you over the edge with him.

Such a beautiful sight.

Maybe you need a copy of this video too.

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

Frankie waits on the sidewalk for his Uber, resting his back against the non-descript building and letting the memories of the evening replay in his mind.

After the scene, you had both cleaned up. The bed was a mess, but you had assured him that it was ok, it came with the business.

You were more wonderful than he ever could have imagined. So beautiful, sexy, and fun. You had been so kind and complimentary after. He didn’t know how to end the evening… to say goodbye. He stammered his thanks when you gave him a hug and a final kiss as you showed him where he could take a shower before he left for the night.

When he’d come out, you were already gone.

Just a memory now.

One he would revisit often.

Thank fuck he agreed to the video.

His phone buzzes in his pocket. The Uber is probably close by. He pulls it out absently, brain still hazy and sex-addled.

There’s a message from an unknown number:

I hope you don’t mind, I convinced Erin to give me your number. I had a great time tonight. Call me sometime ;-)

A slow smile spreads over his face. Maybe not just a memory after all.

- - - - - - - - -

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Taglist in reblog

#the sweepstakes #frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal

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nolita-fairytale · 1 year ago

Text

don't you worry, there's still time | chef luca x fem!reader, feat. marcus brooks

summary: after losing his mother, marcus searches for joy and stillness in copenhagen. you and luca, who are more than happy to host, decide to take a big next step in your relationship. a oneshot from the world of 'burn your life down.'

warnings: fluff, light angst, grief, death, light smut, second person pov, swearing, danish inaccuracies, off-canon connection to the storyline of the bear.

word count: 5.8k

listen to: the playlist

a/n: wow, i missed this world! who is ready for the reveal of chef's restaurant name?! while i don't think i have the bandwidth to write another full series (nor a linear story to tell) i'm thinking of creating a second part to 'burn your life down' where we just get to drop in and see what they're up to. thoughts??

chef luca masterlist | full masterlist

After a tumultuous holiday season, it doesn’t take long for Sydney to realize that her friend is in need of a little help. A reprieve, she so kindly explained to both Marcus and Carmy when she’d proposed the idea.

It was Sydney this time, who called Luca, knowing that she and Carmy would have to find something to do with Marcus. It wasn’t fair – that he’d lost his mom just before Thanksgiving – and they both agreed that Marcus needed to get out of dodge. Quick to act, Carmy set up a few stages in NYC for a week or so, which, while seemed to inspire Marcus, seemed to only plunge him further into a slump come Christmas. “I don’t know. I think we gotta send him on some kinda… eat, pray, love trip. The guy can only sulk on my couch for so long before I consider jumping out of the window,” Sydney says, her attempt to lighten the mood with humor still genuine. “It’s getting sad, Carm. Like… real fuckin’ sad.”

“You’re right. Uh… what about Copenhagen?” Carmy pitches with a shrug, because he knows what all consuming grief feels like.

“Again?” she asks, uncertain of whether it’s the best choice that they could make.

“Yeah,” Carmy shrugs in response. “Think he got a lot of it last time. Could be good for him to go back to somewhere familiar… work with Luca again. You don’t think it’s a-?”

“No I do! I just-,” Sydney hesitates, though she knows her business partner makes a good point. “Familiarity will be good for him. To be around people he can trust.”

“You want me to uh-,” Carmy begins to offer, figuring he’ll make the call.

“Probably best if I explain the situation. Just ‘cause, you know, I know more of what’s going on… just send me his info and I’ll call later,” Sydney interjects.

Carmy agrees with a curt nod before adding in:

“Uh… okay yeah. Yeah.”

You get plenty of time to prepare for Marcus’ visit, performing all kinds of fancy footwork to arrange a proper visit – a week’s worth of time spent staging and living in Copenhagen. When Luca finds out that the prolific houseboat, a chef retreat of sorts that’s always been an option for lodging, is booked for the week and a half that Marcus plans on visiting, you offer up your place without hesitation.

The arrangement goes as follows: while Marcus stays at yours at no cost, you’ll stay with Luca for the duration of the time.

This is how you find yourself at the massive Ikea on Dybbølsbro on a Saturday morning with Luca, in search of a set of fresh bed linens intended for guests.

“I really should host more. And Astrid said she and Lina were planning a trip out here so… why not kill two birds with one stone?” you’d reasoned to your boyfriend, making a strong case for why you and Luca should make this little shopping trip.

“What do you think of the blue?” Luca asks you, as you run your hand over a set of the display sheets, checking for softness.

“Don’t know if the blue is what I’m going for. I was thinking of something warmer. Maybe a yellow or… I don’t know. I’ve kind of been into that trendy rust color as of late,” you reply with a shrug, moving onto the warmer colors.

Luca chuckles and with a small shake of his head, he clarifies his previous questions with:

“No, I meant for me.”

“What do you mean?” you ask him curiously, his comment pulling all of your focus as you search his face for answers. “You just got new bedding.”

And expensive ones too.

But as your eyes follow his gaze, you realize that he’s not talking about sheets, focused on the XL Twin-sized duvets just above where the sheets messily fall along the shelf.

“I was thinking…” Luca trails off, checking in with you before he continues, with “... maybe it’s time I get two duvets… you know… for us.” He takes a beat, and a step towards you, and you know you’ll never stand a chance against his boyish charm as one side of his mouth turns up into a smile.

You’re no stranger to the Scandinavian duvet method – two twin duvets for one king sized bed – but it sounds like Luca’s suggestion is about way more than buying an extra duvet on this trip.

“I want you to feel at home… at my place."

“I do,” you reply, almost instantly, a warmth spreading through your belly as you take a step towards him.

“But I mean really… feel like it’s your home. Because it is. It could be. You know… if you want it to be,” Luca continues, this time with more insistence, a look of hopefulness in his deep blue eyes.

“Are you… are you asking me to move in with you?” you manage to get out, your heart skipping a beat.

“Why not? We could use this week to try it out,” he suggests so casually that you practically have to do a double take. “See how it goes while Marcus stays at your place?”

“Yeah I-... that sounds like a good plan, yeah,” you stammer out, the grin on your face undeniable as you nod enthusiastically in the middle of a goddamn furniture store.

“Besides,” Luca says, clearing his throat as his tone changes to one that’s much more playful. “You’re an absolute blanket hog and a repeat offender at that.” Luca winks your way as you roll your eyes with a laugh in response. “This could prevent some of our silly little quarrels, don’t you think, love?”

“Uh huh,” you sound, your face skeptical as you look his way again. “Preventative measures. Sure, babe.”

Luca chuckles before leaning down to press a chaste kiss to your lips, right then and there, in the Ikea bed linen section, the place you’ll now forever think of as the place your boyfriend asked you to move in with him.

Connection

When Marcus arrives in Copenhagen, you’ve arranged your home with the most comfort in mind, having already packed a week’s worth of things and left for Luca’s. You can only imagine what he must be going through, deciding that something like that – losing your mother – though inevitable, is your goddamn worst nightmare.

“Marcus,

Enjoy your stay and please reach out if you need anything. I can’t wait to meet you!”

…is the note that you leave him, along with a few morning pastries you picked up from your favorite baggeri across the street, and your number scribbled down at the bottom of the notepad.

As Marcus arrives, his eyes drawn immediately to your note and gift, Marcus smiles to himself, noticing that you left a very nice looking bottle of wine on the counter as well. He’s moved by your generosity, considering you’ve never met, and the fact that you’re willing to take so much care, extend this much kindness to a stranger, causes a wave of softness to wash over him.

Maybe, just maybe, he can find softness again – the last few months riddled with pain, grief, and numbness to get through the days.

While he came here to work, encouraged by his friends that a change of scenery may do his broken heart some good, it’s the first time Marcus has had a chance to be still. His feelings of grief sit heavier here and it catches him off guard, uncertain that he’s quite ready to sit with them yet. He pushes aside the thought, focusing on exploring your home and unpacking his bags. Marcus knows how to stay busy – he’s become an expert at it by now – reminding himself that he’s got work at 5 am sharp tomorrow.

“A little too much, chef. Take it down by about 15 grams,” Luca directs, his voice even and sure as he inspects the balls of dough that Marcus currently shapes.

“Yes, chef,” Marcus nods in understanding, plopping the ball of dough back on the scale to adjust the measurement.

The two of them work like this for the rest of the morning, Luca treading carefully while keeping things professional, while Marcus buries himself in the work – something that feels good, safe, right.

He’s missed this. While Marcus has one chef he works with directly at the restaurant, he’s the expert – the head patissier. He misses being surrounded by excellence, getting to be a student of someone who is just as driven, if not more, and inspired. It’s good, quiet, calm, yet there’s a focus and intensity in Luca’s kitchen that feels like a breath of fresh air.

His stage trip to New York has been more of a mess than beneficial. Maybe it had been the chaos of the city, or the chaos of the chefs he was working with. Maybe it was the fact that Marcus, though hungry for a distraction, hadn’t quite been ready to walk directly into the line of fire yet.

As Marcus’ practiced hands move with the dough, there’s a newfound confidence in the way that he works that's not lost on Luca. Luca watches his friend carefully, pride swelling in his chest as his mentee makes the adjustment with ease and diligence.

“Can I join you?” Luca asks, gesturing towards Marcus' workstation.

“‘Course, chef,” Marcus replies, his response short yet reverent.

As Luca joins him, finding a space to the right of Marcus, he busies his hands with rolling each perfectly measured ball of dough into mini boules, ready to proof. The two of them work quietly, side by side, the air between them heavy with words unsaid. He can feel it – the weight that lays so heavily on Marcus' heart – but Luca doesn’t want to bring it up, uninterested in forcing the conversation. Especially about something so painful, something he knows that Marcus has barely begun working through.

“Thanks, again. For uh… you know… letting me come work,” Marcus begins, momentarily checking in with Luca to gauge a reaction.

“‘Course,” Luca replies, his answer instantaneous. “You’re welcome here any time, mate.”

“Yeah?” Marcus asks, stealing a glance in Luca’s direction.

“Yeah,” Luca responds with a certain nod.

“And uh… shit. I can’t thank your girlfriend enough for letting me crash at her place,” Marcus adds, as he works through his discomfort and overwhelm from the wave of feelings that begin to bubble up in his chest.

“You can thank her yourself on Saturday,” Luca brings up, excited over the fact that Marcus will not only be meeting his girlfriend, but staging at her restaurant too. “She’s really looking forward to meeting you.”

Marcus nods slowly, his hands the only steady thing about him as he continues to focus on his work.

“I just mean-, well, she didn’t have to-. ‘S not like either of you owed it to me or anything and I-. You guys just really came through…” Marcus trails off, wanting to make his gratitude clear. It means more to him that he can articulate so instead he settles for, “So thank you. Again.”

Luca shrugs with an aplomb about him as he returns with, “We got you, mate.” He pauses before continuing, fully aware that Marcus isn’t quite comfortable with the feelings that have presented themself in this moment. “And the way I see it, I wouldn’t have met her if it weren’t for you – for our conversation the last time you were here – so we really do owe you for it.”

This time Luca makes an effort to check in with Marcus, gauging his emotional capacity as he concludes with:

“But that’s not what any of this is about: debts, who owes who what. We were both more than happy to host you. That’s what mates are for.”

It’s not till the end of the next shift that it hits him, and Marcus finds himself sitting outside of the restaurant on a bench across the street. He’s not sure whether it’s the jet lag or the exhaustion of the 5 am start time in another time zone, but it hits him all at once, like a ton of bricks. Suddenly consumed with the feelings that he’s been trying his best to avoid, all he can do is pause, completely caught off guard by the strength of them.

Quietly, Luca joins him, having spotted him on his way home, rerouting himself in Marcus’ direction instead.

All he can think of are the words you’ve asked him, and he you, time and time again – the ones that cut right to the core of you each and every time – that show you how much he cares.

“How’s your heart?” Luca asks Marcus, after a few minutes of sitting on the bench together in silence.

And how is his heart?

He’s not sure how to answer, considering it’s been a while since he’s really had a chance to check in, the crippling reality of this great loss is too much to bear alone.

His heart is broken, shattered into an infinite amount of pieces.

He, and his heart will never be the same again and he doesn’t know where or how he’ll ever put it back together.

His heart is… lost, in desperate need of finding a soft place to land.

Marcus takes a while to answer, racking his brain for any semblance of a cohesive answer.

He waits. And then he waits.

Until finally, he can answer.

“I uh… don’t know. But I’m hoping this trip will help me figure that out.”

Creativity

“do you remember the 21st night of september? love was changin' the minds of pretenders while chasin' the clouds away.” (earth, wind, and fire.)

Everything about the way you run your kitchen feels different than what he’s used to.

It’s sure as hell different from his last stage trip to New York, Marcus thinks to himself.

With Carmy and Syd, working with them, there’s a buzz of chaos that runs underneath even the most organized and efficient service. It’s something integral to what they have, gives an edge to The Bear that seems to make it hum in all the right ways. Even with Luca, who comes from fine dining and Michelin-starred restaurants, there’s a quiet and determined focus – an intensity to his work – even without the undercurrent of chaos.

But this. But you.

Your kitchen somehow teeters the line of organized chaos and reckless play so well that Marcus understands why this works – why it’s efficient.

Still, he watches as you and your staff dance – no, literally dance – around each other to the highly recognizable Earth, Wind, and Fire tune. Mathilde sings along while chopping chives for the brothy mushroom grain bowl, while, mid-phrase, manages to yell out a short command to a line cook in Danish. Out of the corner of his eye, Marcus catches Jesper working the dining room, while you finish plating two more dishes, ready to be walked out.

It’s as if you find focus in the center of all the noise, somewhere between the electric energy between you, Mathilde, and your staff, and the feel-good vibes and homeyness of the restaurant that you’ve created.

You had been more than welcoming when Marcus had walked through the doors of your restaurant, Kokuore, mere hours ago. You’d given him the tour, shown him which station he’d be working this evening, then warmly introduced him to your entire team before family meal started. Marcus can’t stop moving, too afraid to be still in fear of falling apart in the presence of how comforting you’ve been.

And this? Your kitchen. It’s all joy, connection, and artistry.

It’s not hard for him to see why Luca fell in love with you.

“Marcus, feel free to take a break,” he hears you say, as you nod towards the dining room through the open kitchen.

As Marcus follows your gesture, he notices that Luca’s arrived, remembering something about a standing Saturday date.

“You sure, chef?” Marcus asks, looking to you for approval.

“Positive,” you nod, reassuringly.

Marcus nods in return to confirm, before taking his apron off and making his way over to the dining room where Luca is exchanging a few words with Jesper.

“Wassup, chef,” he greets his mentor.

“You know, you can call me Luca,” Luca reminds him with a crooked smile. “At least when we’re off the clock.”

Marcus chuckles, “Uh… yeah alright. That’s gonna take some getting used to.”

Luca chuckles in return, before Jesper shows them to his table, mentioning something about Americans being so afraid of fluidity.

“She’s brilliant isn’t she?” Luca asks, in reference to you as his eyes catch yours from across the room.

“Nah for real. Like… mad scientist vibes,” Marcus concurs with a smile. “She can throw down for sure.” He pauses as they sit down at Luca’s table. “So you come every Saturday night, huh?”

“When I can, yeah, which is… most Saturdays,” Luca replies honestly, before beginning to list why he’s kept up this routine. “But it’s nice. Keeps me inspired. I get to see my girl, walk her home at night which makes me feel better.” Luca leans back in his chair this time, crossing his arms over his chest. “And I never mind helping close down at the end of the night.”

Marcus hums in response before one of the waitstaff comes to their table, with a glass of wine in hand, on the house. They chat for a little longer before Marcus returns to the kitchen, his excitement for what you’re doing here filling him to the brim.

As dinner service comes to an end, Marcus can’t help but notice the chemistry and how unique it is as you all work together in perfect harmony. There’s a warmth to it, something different, and he begins to understand why the name of the restaurant comes from the word, heart.

Luca is quick to get up from his table, quickly finishing his glass of wine as he offers to help close down. The music volume goes from underscoring the buzz of a busy night of service, to the main attraction, as a motown throwbacks playlist begins to blare from the speakers. You all work quickly and efficiently, eager to close down, get home, and begin your weekends, but it’s when an old Otis Redding track that Luca decides to put a pause on the progress.

“Dance with me, my love,” he says, offering his hand out to you as a huge gesture that earns a few looks and giggles from some of your staff.

“Luca,” you begin to protest, looking around.

“You can take three minutes,” he offers, exchanging a look with you this time.

You nod, taking his hand as you agree with, “Okay.”

And as Luca wraps you up in his arms, engaging you in a slow dance to Otis Redding’s “That’s How Strong my Love is,” you chuckle, relaxing into him.

“Oh, get a room, you two!” Jesper calls out after you, teasingly.

“She pretends – always puts up a fight – as if they don’t do this every single week,” Mathilde adds, as an explanation to Marcus.

“Every week?” Marcus asks, a little surprised by both you and Luca’s willingness to pause and revel in a moment with each other, instead of just pushing through.

“Yeah. Romantics, they are,” Jesper chimes in.

Marcus smiles to himself. It’s a reminder of slowness – something he hasn’t let himself experience in a long time – and for just a moment, he lets himself settle into the feeling.

You don’t even mind that you woke up an hour before your alarm the moment you feel Luca’s arms wrapped around you, and his lips against your soft skin. The low rumble of his voice resonates across your shoulders, sending chills down your spine as you arch into his hands, his arms wrapped around you.

“I know we’re only a few days in… of our little trial,” Luca begins, the bass of his voice reverberating through your shoulder blade.

“Our living together trial?” you clarify with your ask, letting out a gasp as he nibbles on your shoulder gently.

“Yeah. Just wonderin’ where your mind’s at,” Luca murmurs, his eager hands beginning to explore underneath the oversized shirt you put on before bed last night.

“Well… I really like this,” you reply, the sound that comes out of your mouth somewhere between a giggle and a moan.

“Hmmmm?” Luca sounds, innocently.

“This… Waking up to you thing.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mhm.”

Luca’s name escapes your lips as his fingers gently begin to play with your nipples, his erection hard against your back as you begin to grind your hips back against.

“And the access to round the clock sex is really a bonus,” you sigh, blissfully.

“Oh yeah?” he asks you again, a large tatted hand slipping between your legs.

“Yeah… I’d even be… interested in leaning into that part… right now,” you hiss in reply to his touch. “Considering you’re distracting me with sex.”

“Hmmmmm. ‘S not just it, love. Have I told you how grateful I am for what you’ve done for Marcus?” Luca asks, his mouth back on your neck. He presses your body against him, your back to his chest as he rocks his hips against yours.

“Luca!” you protest, unable to focus on the conversation.

“It’s your kindness. Your heart… I’m in awe of it,” he continues to praise you as the two of you begin to set a rhythm between your bodies.

It’s all heat, and soft sighs of pleasure, and foreplay.

“Well, I know a little something about what he’s going through,” you answer breathlessly. You begin to impatiently push the hem of your shirt higher so that you can give Luca more access to your body.

“That’s why I love you,” Luca murmurs into your skin, his hands all over you, his focus unbroken and your mind beginning to go blank. His hands are tearing your shirt over your head as he continues to praise you. “Your heart, the way you share it.”

“You helped me get there, baby,” you gasp, turning your head so that you can kiss your boyfriend.

Instead of answering, Luca nods knowingly, before crashing his lips into yours. His mouth on yours feels like heaven, and you can’t believe that you ever fought your feelings for him.

“Ah fuck it. Let’s do it. Let’s move in together,” you surrender to him, lost in the moment.

“Yeah?” Luca pauses, pulling away, as if almost can’t believe what he’s hearing.

“Yeah. I mean it, baby,” you nod, catching his gaze, certain in the way you answer. “I wanna wake up to you every morning.”

“Me too, my love,” Luca grins, before pressing his lips to yours again. “Now will you please let me fuck you, darling?”

“Fuck yes.”

Luca spends the next hour showing you just how grateful he is for you, while you in return, spend the next hour showing him just how sure you are about this decision.

And you are sure. If mornings like this are a constant for the rest of your life, you think you’ll die a happy woman.

You’ve found a home in him, and he, you. He’s the person you want to come home to at the end of the day. He’s the man that puts a smile on your face every single time he gets on his soapbox about how Beyonce is the performer of your lifetimes, and he is unequivocally the best, most unexpected thing in your life.

Luca Davies, in almost a year of knowing him, and eight months of getting to love him, has somehow become your favorite person.

By the time you and Luca are both showered and decent-for-company, you’ve begun your mise en place for brunch, completely content with the fact that you’re running a little behind schedule (and in all fairness, the sex was worth it – it’s always worth it). The smell of bacon sizzling away on your carbon steel fry pan fills the entire apartment, and you’re glad that Luca opened a window earlier. It’s not exactly window weather yet, but the air ventilation is a must when it comes to smoked meats.

While you play catch up with your brunch plan, Luca’s busy welcoming Marcus in, pouring him a cup of coffee using the extensive ten-step pour over he’s been fixated on ever since he purchased it, while they chat here and there about what else he’s explored in Denmark.

“Been too busy working, to be honest but… I don’t know. I might wander around today… see what kind of stuff I can get into,” Marcus answers frankly with a shrug.

“Ah, mate. We just had a walk at the Frederiksberg Gardens. Definitely something I’d recommend checking out,” Luca suggests, his eyes lighting up with excitement as he mentions it.

Luca continues moving through his list of recommendations, Marcus chiming in with places and things he did the last time he was here, excited to spend a few days exploring the city instead of just working.

“Wanderin’ around. I dunno. There’s something about it. ‘S good for the spirit, you know?” Luca concludes.

“Yeah,” Marcus nods in agreement, before turning his attention over to the French toast you’re working on. “Okay, I see you. What is that? Mascarpone?”

“Yeah, good eye. It’s just something new I’m working on: a mascarpone stuffed french toast. We’re actually talking about extending our hours… maybe doing weekend brunch,” you answer thoroughly, as you dip the stuffed pieces of bread into their egg batter, pre-cook.

“For real? That’s sick,” Marcus compliments, watching you carefully. “I mean… shit. You could have a whole brunch spot.”

“What do you mean?” you ask, looking up from your cutting board.

“A Brunch spot,” Marcus repeats, simply, the excitement in his eyes at the new idea, evident. “Yeah, you know. Luca could do the morning pastries. You work your magic on the rest of the menu.”

“That’s a novel idea! What do you think, my love?” Luca asks, intrigue in his voice as he searches your face for a reaction.

“I-,” you begin, looking from Luca to Marcus, then back to Luca again. “I… never thought about it like that.” You take a beat, eyeing Luca carefully. “We’ve never talked about going into business together.”

Marcus shrugs, before picking up his coffee mug, “Yo, it’s just a thought. I think you two would be unstoppable together.”

“Unstoppable, eh?” Luca asks, his eyes locked with yours.

You only hum in response, raising a quirked eyebrow in Luca’s direction before adding:

“It’s certainly one hell of an idea, Marcus.”

Kokuore

Monday afternoon, you find yourself at your restaurant with Marcus Brooks, on a day off.

“I might need a little extra help with something tomorrow. We’re closed tomorrow, but I want to get ahead on this special I’m working on. Could use the help of a pastry chef. What do you say?” you’d proposed to him, over one more espresso before he left.

To Luca’s dismay, (“ you silly Americans just can’t enjoy a day of doing nothing,” he’d teased the two of you) Marcus had given you an unwavering yes, reassuring you that he was down to learn everything he possibly could from you, especially while he was here.

And it’s true. You do need the help. But should he want someone to talk to – someone who gets it, even just a little bit – you want to offer him the space and the opportunity to do so.

“As a patissier, do you get tasked with pasta? At The Bear?” you ask Marcus, as you pleat a dumpling in hand with a speed that only comes with practice.

“Nah,” Marcus sounds, his focus on the dumpling he’s pleating too. His concentration on getting the pleats right is reverent and unbroken, even as he answers your question. “Our head chef, Carmy, he uh… he comes from an Italian American family so when we’ve done a stuffed pasta… he usually takes the lead on that.”

You nod in understanding, placing the dumpling you’ve just finished down on the full-sized sheet pan. The two of you sit across from each other, having pushed a few dining tables together as a makeshift workstation.

“Think Luca’ll take over this kinda stuff when you guys open a restaurant together?” Marcus asks, lightheartedly pushing his agenda from yesterday.

You laugh in response, your hands working quickly on yet another dumpling.

“For someone with no skin in the game, you’re really insistent on this idea,” you tease him in return.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never thought about it,” Marcus pushes right back, his tone still light.

“I…” you sigh, trailing off as you pause your work for a moment. “You know, we just said we’d move in together. That and a restaurant? Feels fast.”

“Oh shit.”

“Yeah.”

“Like… a few hours before you came over for brunch,” you elaborate, earning a whistle from Marcus. The two of you exchange a look, and a laugh, as you pick up another dumpling wrapper that you and Marcus rolled out together earlier.

“It’s a good idea though,” you add, stealing a glance his way so that he knows that you’re serious.

“Well, when you two inevitably do open a restaurant… I want ten percent,” Marcus jokes, earning another laugh from you.

“Deal,” you agree with him.

You and Marcus work like this, exchanging a few words, the conversation light, underscored by a softer acoustic soundtrack from one of your Spotify radio stations.

“So how’d you learn to cook like this?” Marcus asks you curiously.

“Uh…” you hesitate, treading carefully as you realize this conversation could open a can of worms.

“I don’t know how much Luca’s told you about me… but I was married… before him,” you begin, cautiously. “And… well, I learned a lot of this… a lot of traditional Japanese cooking from my mother-in-law.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. These are her dumplings actually – her recipe. She passed away last Fall and… well, it was important to me to celebrate her – to celebrate her life – by creating a few dishes for her,” you continue, and it’s as if all of the air has been sucked out of the room. “We’re bringing this one back as a special this month but um… yeah. I’m… still very much grieving and… it helps me remember her. Cooking her food helps me feel close to her, you know?”

“Yeah,” Marcus sighs, his heart heavy as he exhales.

He waits a beat.

And then another, having paused his work as he watches you pleat, head down, with expert hands.

The silence between you and Marcus is full, heavy, connected by shared experience. You wait for Marcus to say something, and when he doesn’t, you decide to continue.

“This restaurant… has so much of my heart in it: it’s got my love for Italian food from growing up in my best friend’s family’s restaurant, and it’s got my love for her – for Aiko – and everything she taught me,” you begin to explain. “And lately… it’s got a fresh perspective… inspired by the love I have with Luca, I think. Well, I know. Inspired by him… how this place brought us together.”

“The name itself is… totally made up, but means a lot to me. The Japanese word for heart is, kokoro, and the Italian word for heart is, cuore. Somehow an homage to my past… and was… Prophetic in so many ways too.”

As Marcus listens, Luca’s previous question lingers in his head:

How’s your heart?

At the time he didn’t know how to answer, and after five days in Copenhagen – after five days of doing what he loves in a place that he loves – his heart is somehow so full, yet so broken all at once. He’s filled with deep sorrow and with the spark of creativity all at the same time, and he’s just not sure how to hold all of this feeling inside of him.

Marcus waits a beat, opens his mouth, then lets the words fall out.

“It’s evident. In your food,” is all he manages to say. “It’s got soul. It’s got heart. I-, it’s inspiring. That’s for sure.”

“I made a dish. For Michael,” Marcus adds, his eyes on the dumpling he works on, but the guard on his heart beginning to fall away. “He was uh… well, he was the old owner of the restaurant, called The Beef back then. Carmy took over after he died. Felt right to honor him and his life, you know? When we reopened as The Bear.”

“Food is… it’s our art, you know?” you agree. “Sometimes it’s the only way I know how to express myself and… sometimes it’s just the thing that makes sense.”

“Yeah.”

A beat.

“Maybe one day I can make one for my mom,” Marcus says, his voice stuck in his throat as he admits, “I don’t know if I’m ready yet. But I think… I think I’d like to eventually.”

“Of course,” you reassure him gently. “You don’t have to be ready now. You don’t have to be ready ever. But when you are, your art will always be there.”

“Thanks,” Marcus nods solemnly.

You get up this time, realizing the sheet pan is full, and ready to be placed on the baker’s rack. As you return to the table with a new empty sheet pan, lined with parchment paper, Marcus finally asks you, his eyes soft, the heartbreak in them present.

“How’d you get through? You know. Losing her? Your mother-in-law?”

You return to your chair with a heavy sigh.

“I’ll let you know when I do,” you answer, letting up a soft chuckle. “It helps to have good people and… from what Luca’s told me, you do. But… I had to let ‘em in, let ‘em help me. Let ‘em love me. And in all honesty, most days I’m still just… taking it day by day.”

“Yeah, I-. I do. I got some really good people. Back home,” Marcus drags out slowly.

“Then that’s all that matters. Your people and your heart. The rest… you just-,” you start.

“Take day by day?” Marcus interjects, pausing to catch your eyes.

You and Marcus exchange a knowing look, the recognition of each others’ pain is met with empathy.

“Yeah. I think that's all we can do.”

By the end of your work session with Marcus, you’re ready to head home so that you can spend the rest of the day with Luca.

“What’re you gonna do with the rest of your day?” you ask Marcus, curiously.

With a sigh, and then a shrug, and a heart that feels just a little lighter, he answers with:

“Think I might wander around a bit. Someone once told me it’s good for the spirit.”

#chef luca #will poulter #luca the bear #the bear season 2 #the bear headcanon #luca x reader #the bear hulu #the bear fx #the bear fanfiction #chef luca x reader #pastry chef luca #burn your life down

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