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#or run around in the middle of thunderstorms

ragingbookdragon · 2 months

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Whoever decided to ring her doorbell in the middle of a midnight thunderstorm was either a serial killer or a poor soul stuck out in the rain. Either way, she still felt sorry enough for whatever poor bastard was stuck outside and decided to open the door, but her expression dropped into annoyance when she saw the man leaning against the doorframe.

“Hey,” he murmurs, gazing at her. “Long time no see.” She starts to close the door and he sticks his foot in it. “Wait, please, don’t close me out.”

“Like you did to me,” she retorts, opening the door. “What do you want, Simon?”

He glances back towards the rainy street and hefts his rucksack higher on his shoulder. “To stay the night.”

“Seriously?”

“Please?” He begs and she pauses—Simon Riley wasn’t a man who begged often.

She gazes at him a moment longer before sighing and opening the door. “Clothes and shoes off at the door. Mask too. You’re soaking wet.”

“What gave you that ‘int? The rainstorm?”

Turning, she shoots him a glare. “I’m letting you stay the night despite you breaking my heart. I’d be a little less sarcastic.”

“Sorry,” he mutters, starting to strip his clothes as he shuts the door behind him. He hands her his clothes, standing in his boxers, then cups the front of himself and asks. “You wouldn’t happen to have any of my clothes shoved in the back of your closet…would you?”

“Bottom drawer in the chest of drawers.”

“You kept my clothes? Aw, you still car—” he falls silent when she glares at him. “Going now.”

As she disappears into the laundry room, she calls out, “What did you do, walk here from the base? You know Birmingham has cabbies, right?”

“I’m not wasting money to drive twenty minutes when I can walk within an hour.”

“You know you’ll get sick from this.”

“Wive’s tale. Can’t get sick from the rain.”

“Smart-ass,” she retorts, shoving his clothes in the dryer.

He comes around the corner, leaning against the doorway with a hand towel thrown over his shoulder, short blonde hair sticking up in all directions, evident he’d dried off with it.

“That is a decorative towel, not for use.” She glares at him. “You know that too.”

“You moved the other towels.”

“Oh, for god’s sake,” she mutters, then looks at him, eyes trailing down to where the sweatpants hung low on his hips. “Put a fucking shirt on, floozy.”

“I couldn’t find one,” he replies with a small smirk. “You must’ve used ‘em for fuel for the fireplace.”

She stands up straight and walks up to him. “Why are you here, Simon?” Her voice is quiet, calm, waiting.

He looks down at his feet, shifts his weight and murmurs, “Missed you.”

“You left me.”

“I know.”

“You start going to therapy yet?” She asks and he purses his lips.

“SAS doesn’t exactly offer therapy, y’know that, right? Not exactly ‘ow we operate.”

She crosses her arms over her chest. “You know I asked that friend of yours, what was his name? Soap? He said that the SAS offers routine psychiatric care and therapy. He also happened to mention you conveniently manage to get out of it every single time.”

Simon lets out a grunt and pinches his brow. “Soap can’t mind ‘is own fuckin’ business.”

“He’s your friend. And he was also drunk.” She waves a hand. “Regardless, you haven’t done the one thing I told you that you would have to do if you wanted to come back—no, when you came crawling back.”

“I don’t need therapy. I just want a second chance.” He shifts to his full height, looks at her with a pleading look. “Things were good between us, love. You know they were.”

“Sure, when you weren’t shutting down when you were hurting emotionally or running off to God knows where when you had a mission and didn’t leave me a notice.”

Simon sighs. “I was protectin’ you. I didn’t wanna drag you into all the shit I ‘ave to deal with on a daily. I didn’t want you to have to put up with…all of…”

She gives him a hard look. “Simon Riley, what part of me gave you the notion that I ever need to be protected or sheltered from what you do?”

He swallows thickly and gazes into her eyes. “Love…you’re too pure for me. What I do…you don’t need to know the horrors I’ve committed. You’re…you’re too beautiful for such things.”

“You mean how you kill people with no emotion? How you’ve taken lives with your bare hands? How you shove so much of yourself down into the black hole until there’s no humanity left but ‘Ghost’, the hollow killer?”

Simon stares at her, throat bobbing as he replies, “I can’t drag you to hell with me, it would kill me, love. What if—”

“Do you know the moment I knew I was in love with you?” She interrupts and he falls silent. “I was sick that one day a year ago, bad sick. And you told me not to go into work, but I didn’t listen and when I came home early, I could barely walk straight.” She places a hand on her hip. “And you helped me into the bathroom. Ran a bath in the dark, lit a few candles and you bathed me. Washed my hair. Took care of me. You were so gentle and so loving. Like a priest tasked with cleaning his alter, you cleansed me and made me feel safe.”

He shifts uncomfortably but his body language is anything but repulsed; it’s soft. “You started cryin’ when I was washin’ your hair. Thought I got soap in your eyes. But you said you just felt so loved.” He smiles then. “You were like a kitten really. Could barely lift your head. So tired and weak.”

“Mhm. And then you tucked me into bed and crawled beneath the covers with me. Laid up beside me, never once acted sexual. Just…caring.” She looks at him. “Do you remember what I said to you before I went to sleep?”

“No,” he mutters but he looks up at the ceiling and she knows he’s lying, it’s his tell-tale sign.

She gives him the benefit of the doubt and closes the distance between them, lays her hands on his chest, and says, “I said, ‘This is the real man beneath all that coldness. The real Simon. The one I knew I loved more than anything. No matter what.’”

Simon shudders beneath her touch, feels weak in his knees like he might drop to his and worship at her feet, beg for forgiveness like a sinner in confession. His chest aches, tightening as the words tear violently at his chest, a reminder that he left one of the only good things to ever come into his life, all because he was too afraid to let the walls come down, too afraid to be vulnerable, too afraid to risk being hurt—because if she hurt him, he’d never come back from it. In the end, he’d felt like a fool trying to protect a damsel who never needed saving in the first place; and he was left with the realization that she’d been protecting him the entire time.

“I know what you do, Simon. I know it’s hard, even if you don’t think it is. I know that no matter how you push your humanity down into that hole that it’s still there. I know killing someone takes something from you every time but, Simon, I’m not your enemy. I love you.” Her eyes are calm, but her voice is firm. “And I will not stand on the outside of the lines under some guise of protection. You either be upfront and honest with me about everything or you leave, and you don’t come back.”

Simon knows she’s asking him to choose now, and he feels that creeping anxiety rise in his throat like bile until he manages, “Can…can we talk about everything in the morning?”

She sighs and pulls her hands away. “Yeah, I guess so. Sheets and blankets are in the hall closet. You know where the couch is.”

“You’re not going to let me sleep in the bed?” He sounds incredibly offended.

“Couch, Riley.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles, but he can’t help but smile when she sets the bedding out on the couch for him. “Goodnight, love,” he murmurs as she passes, and her shoulders tense and she waves a hand.

“Goodnight, Simon.”

He sits on the couch for a few moments, watches the rain splatter against the window, the clock ticking on the wall, before he pulls out his phone and simply types, “I love you,” and sends it.

It’s quiet for a solid ten seconds before he hears, “You absolute bastard!” From the bedroom followed by, “Get in here!”

Simon gives a victory dance as he clears his throat and attempts to look innocent as he steps into her bedroom; she glowers and points to the other side. “You’re on that side.”

“You can make me,” he retorts and crawls into the middle of the bed, groaning when all the bones in his body snap and pop.

She rolls her eyes and goes back to her book, but after a moment, she shifts against the headboard, getting comfortable again. Simon lifts his head, watches her, then he moves and lays his head in her lap, his arms wrapped around her hips under the pillows behind her. Her eyes rise to the wall in front of her and she stares unamusedly at it before she switches the book into her other hand and rests her right hand at the back of his neck, gently thumbing the juncture of his spine and skull. He groans beneath her touch, shifts himself so that she has control over moving him, body going slack when she scratches her nails into his scalp.

“You’re like a cat,” she mutters, feeling his lips turn up against her thigh.

“Meow,” he mimics, and she snorts, feeling him move until his head is pressed into her stomach, face turned so she can see the right profile.

He watches until she puts the book down on her nightstand and turns into him; they gaze at each other, and his eyes gently shut when she cups his face, thumbs brushing over his features.

“You know I’m giving you another chance, don’t you?”

Simon swallows the lump in his throat and nods. “…yeah.”

“But we’ve gotta change. Or else we’ll end up back where we were before we broke up.”

“I know.” He opens his eyes and looks at her. “I’ve missed you, love.”

“I’ve missed you too,” she murmurs, bending down to press her lips to his forehead. “Doesn’t feel the same without you haunting my apartment.”

His lips turn up in a smile as she pulls back and lays on the pillows; Simon rises and crawls up her body, his nose brushing hers as he whispers, “I’ll do better for you. I’ll change. I swear it.”

“Yeah?”

His gaze turns solemn in a way she’s never seen before as he replies, “On their grave, I will.”

She smiles softly at him, pulls him down so his face is tucked in her neck, and replies, “Get some sleep.”

“I love you,” he mutters against her warm skin, arms tucked safely around her, body weight comfortably on her. “I love you more than the world.”

“I love you,” she says back, reaching up to turn off the lamp on the nightstand.

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toji-girl · 2 months

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come back to me 1 | pro hero k. bakugo

tags: you two are divorced and parents + angst + repost from my old blog + this part and all the others have been edited to add more

part two | part three | part four

Loud squealing could be heard coupled with loud laughter and heavy footsteps when you knocked on Katsuki’s door. It was the Monday following his weekend with your children and you dreaded this.

Not that you would ever keep Aya and Kouki away from their dad, after all, they are a lot alike. "Mommy!" Aya cried when she was the first one to open the door followed by Katsuki who was dressed up as a villain of sorts if you had to guess.

It's just seeing the only man you ever loved after such a painful divorce that made your heart ache and twist in your chest, and not in a good way either.

They were clearly in the middle of playtime and your stomach dropped. Your ex-husband stood behind his mini him, the little one who looks so much like him down to the resting mean face. "I told you not to open the door without me present my princess." He grumbled with a huff.

"I knew it was mommy though!" She shot back with a little bit of an attitude and waited until you crouched down before wrapping her small arms around your neck followed by her older brother who was dressed as a hero and came running towards you.

Katsuki watched you hug your babies who weren't babies anymore, with Kouki who just turned seven, and Aya five. "I was able to beat the villain and save the princess!" He announced proudly with a smile.

You raised an eyebrow and laughed looking at them and stood up as they both looked at each other. “I’m glad you guys are having fun. Are you two ready to go? It’s getting late and a thunderstorm is going to start very soon so we need to get back before it starts.”

“Can we stay a little longer, please? We still have to finish this and have dinner.” Aya asked, her bottom lip jutted out perfecting the perfect pout to try and persuade it to fall in her favor, her red eyes turned glassy making you nod your head in agreement.

Your eyebrows knitted together a bit as you stood up and looked at Katsuki. You really didn’t want to stay any longer and have to be around the man who has seen every fiber of who you are, and the part that sucked is you still love him so much it hurts at times.

It took him a while for him to admit he liked you but the day he did you'll never forget it, it was the night of high school graduation when he pulled you into an empty classroom to tell you how he felt.

From there you both spent a lot more time together, eventually, he was your first kiss and first everything, he's the only man you've been with and you don't think you're quite ready to get with someone else.

When you got pregnant at the tender age of nineteen, a year after high school it only made sense to get married and you were highly in love with Katsuki but later it all came crumbling down when his job took precedence over everything in his life, including his family.

He’s still madly in love with you and has been since middle school, during his time at UA the relationship was strained a bit as you didn’t go there and his dream of being a pro hero meant everything to him but he still did his best in spending time with you.

Four years into the marriage it was to the point that you couldn’t bear it anymore, no matter how many conversations you had to have about it nothing ever changed and you couldn’t hold him back either.

At the age of twenty-three, you found yourself a single mother with two children.

“If you want I’d never tell you no, it wouldn’t hurt to have dinner as a family.” Katsuki said with a slight grunt as he watched you step inside the house you two bought years ago. You kicked your shoes off and scooped up your children kissing their cheeks with a soft smile.

You followed the blonde male into the kitchen and sat Kouki and Aya down in their chairs at the table. The room smelled delicious, yet another thing you missed about Katsuki then your mind filled with painful memories of spending time dancing in the kitchen.

Aya watched and followed you once you departed from the table, her tiny fist curled into your pant leg. “Did Daddy tell you he has a girlfriend?” She asked looking up at you with an innocent smile.

Your heart sunk to your stomach like a rock being thrown into a lake. It seems he’s moved on and there’s nothing wrong with it because you were the one to ask for the divorce. “No he didn’t, is she nice to you?” You asked in return hoping your voice didn't creak or break.

It's been three years since the divorce and it only made sense for him to move on, you didn't blame him but that didn't lessen the pain you felt, it was a never-ending soft pulsing pain that stung.

Katsuki stared at his daughter while making the plates, it was something he wanted to share with you privately but it seems like now is the best time. He could see it clear as day the pain in your eyes and wondered why you felt such a way after divorcing him.

“She is yes! She takes Kouki and me to school and makes desserts!” Aya replied not understanding how that could affect you in such a manner.

Katsuki cleared his throat and made the table. “Sit down, Aya.” He told her.

His voice was soft but still something you didn’t want to argue with. Your bottom lip wobbled a bit as your stomach curled. “How would you two like it if you were able to stay with your dad one more day? I’ll pick you up tomorrow.” You asked with a soft smile that was fake.

The air felt thick inside your lungs, like it was mud and breathing was no longer an option. You needed to get out of there before you broke down in a fit of tears and the last thing you wanted was for your kids to see such a thing. You knew why it hurt still. You love Katsuki.

“You don’t have -” Katsuki began then cut off at the eager nod of their heads at the prospect of being able to stay. You smiled and kissed their foreheads and swiftly gave each a tight hug before pulling away to stand up.

You looked at Katsuki and then down at your plate, you were starving but wouldn't be able to stay any longer to eat, and he was right, it would be nice to have a family dinner until the bomb was dropped.

Was it a bit cowardly to run away? Perhaps.

But you couldn't help how you felt about him. You'd always love him no matter what.

Aya dug into her food as did your son thanking their dad for everything. "Before the storm hits I gotta go, and my apartment is about thirty minutes away anyway." You explained and turned your attention back to your children.

"I'll see you two tomorrow morning then, be good and make sure you listen well to your daddy." Your voice wavered with unshed emotions, and being by yourself meant you could get the chance to calm down and think about him moving on.

With another handful of hugs and forehead kisses, you walked to the front door to slip your shoes on and open the door only for it to be shut, and Katsuki's arm next to your head as he stood behind you so close you could feel his warmth and smell his cologne and him.

His chest brushed against your back when he took in a deep breath. "Don't go. The kids don't want you to go, you can sleep in ou- my bed and I'll take the couch, it's raining already anyway, so stay here."

You cleared your throat and turned to look at him, but instead, your gaze dropped down to the faded text of his Pro Hero name on his shirt. It was one you've worn too many times to count. "I'll take the couch then and we'll head out after breakfast then."

#katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki x reader #katsuki x you #Katsuki x reader #Katsuki Bakugo x reader #Bakugo x reader #my hero academia x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader #bnha x you #Katsuki x you #bnha bakugou #bakugou x reader #bakugou x you #bakugo katsuki

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greg-montgomery · 4 months

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hi hi!! can i maybe request a rly cute and fluffy one shot of aaron just comforting and taking care of the reader 🥹

like maybe there was a thunderstorm in the middle of the night and reader subconsciously just runs to hotch’s room and he comforts her udhaidbsjanxb

also maybe a cute lil age gap to feed my daddy issues pls pls pls

ANYWAYS ILYSM NEVER STOP WRITING, I LIVE FOR UR STORIES BB

hiiii!!! <3333 thank you for the cute request and your sweet words!!!!

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

Nothing would ever beat sleeping in your own bed. Nothing could beat the comfort that the fresh scent of your sheets brought you, or the little light you always left on the entire night since you were a child.

Being away for a case meant you had to learn to sleep without those comforts. And you were really good at it; but the thing you could not get yourself to adjust to, were the unfamiliar sounds of a new place. Sometimes it was the sound of a passing car, and others some annoyingly loud neighbor.

That night it was the sound of a thunderstorm. And the hotel you and the team were staying at was definitely not soundproof enough to let you sleep in peace.

You had been tossing and turning for more than an hour, unable to calm your heart down. It wasn’t just the thunders that scared you; the rain was pouring like crazy and the wind was almost whistling. Suddenly you felt like a little kid again, afraid that the walls weren’t thick enough to protect you from the strength of that storm.

Taking a deep breath you closed your eyes and gave trying to fall asleep one last shot. But at the sound of another thunder, the face of a certain man appeared on your mind.

Hotch.

The truth was when you thought of “safe”, you thought of him: your boss who always had all the answers. Maybe it was his older age or his intimidating appearance but he made you feel like no matter what the problem was, he would fix it. Hotch always made it better.

Without thinking about it twice, you got out of bed and ran to his room. Well, you didn’t have to run much anyway, since his room was right across from yours. He’s definitely awake, you thought; always staying up most of the night to work on the case while everyone else rested.

That was why you were surprised to see Hotch wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants answering his knocking door. But the thing that made you the biggest impression was his disheveled appearance. Sleepy Hotch was the cutest thing you had ever laid eyes on.

“Y/N? Is everything alright?”

“Hotch,” you whispered, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t think you’d be asleep. I’m gonna go back to my room.”

You made a move to turn around but Aaron was faster and grabbed your elbow, gently pulling you into his room.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” he said closing the door once you were both inside.

“I was scared,” you admitted. Seeing him raising his eyebrow in question you continued. “Of the storm...”

You were relieved to see a little smirk on his face. You guessed he was relieved too after finding out that the thing that scared you wasn’t something actually dangerous.

“I’m sorry I woke you up. I don’t know why I’m here.”

“It’s okay.” As tough as Hotch looked, he was the most gentle man you had ever got to know. “You can always come to me about anything.”

And you had the audacity to wonder why he was your safe place?

“I know.”

He sat on the edge of his bed and patted at the spot right next to him, signaling you to take a seat; so you did. You were close enough that you could smell his after shave. It made you dizzy.

“Have you slept at all?” he asked.

“No. And I’m tired.” You let out a heavy sigh. “Maybe I should just pull an all nighter.”

“Nonsense.”

“But-”

“What if you sleep in my room? Will you still be scared if I’m right here?”

Your stomach was suddenly filled with butterflies.

“Wouldn’t that be inappropriate?” you asked.

“I won’t tell if you don’t” he said, and offered you his pinky finger to cross yours with.

You did it with a huge grin. "Deal."

“Come on now,” he said playfully while getting under the covers. Without any hesitation, you did the same, finding your place at the other side of his bed.

It was almost perfect; almost, because his arms weren’t around you, but instead were resting on his stomach.

“Hotch?”

“Hm?”

“Does the offer come with cuddles too?”

“You wanna cuddle with your boss, honey?” he smirked, and reached out his arm so you could curl up in his embrace.

“Yes, please,” you said, and the two of you ended up in each other’s arms. Being around Aaron had always felt safe, but being in his arms? That was a whole new level of safety and comfort.

“Good night, Hotch.”

And just like that the sound of his beating heart made it hard to focus on the rain hitting on his window.

His lips on your forehead and the words “Good night, sweetheart,” were the things that finally lulled you to sleep.

#WAR IS OVER LMFAO I WROTE SOMETHING AGAIN #i missed you and i missed hotch </3 #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner #hotch #hotch 🪐#ask

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unreliablesnake · 7 months

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Thunderstorm (Simon Riley x f!reader)

Summary: Simon spoils his daughter and he’s always there when she needs him–even if it’s because of a little thunderstorm.

Note: MW3 is coming, I’ll be back on my bullshit. / If you want to know when I post new stuff, follow @unreliablesnakefics.

“Daddy, please.”

That was it. Simon was usually defeated by these two words that his four-year-old used every time she wanted something. After all, he was his little princess, the sweet child who often fell asleep on the couch next to him in the evening, the one who held tea parties for her toys and him every now and then.

Since he wasn’t home that much, and since he never knew when his luck would run out on the field, he treated every second with her as if it was the last time he saw her. You knew perfectly well that’s why he always spoiled her, why she quickly became daddy’s little girl, so you never said anything to stop him. They needed to bond so she would have good memories of him, and you didn’t want to take it away from them.

“One day you’ll have to stop letting her get away with everything, you know,” you told him one evening after he came back from his daughter’s room following a fight about bedtime that was over an hour ago. “We need to set certain rules.”

“I know, I know.” Simon took his place in bed next to you, an arm wrapping around your shoulder to pull you closer. “It’s just so hard to say no. I swear I’m trying.”

You looked up at him and before you knew it, his lips captured yours in a sensual kiss that aimed to make you forget about what he had just done. But you knew better than to fall into his trap, so you pulled away with a delicate smile and gave him an understanding look.

“I know that, Simon, but we need to be partners in this. It must be nice to be the good cop, but she’ll become a little monster if we let her do anything she wants.”

After taking a deep breath, Simon nodded. “You’re right. It’s just so tough to be strict when I’m away this much,” he admitted before placing a soft kiss on your temple. “By the way, did you hear that?” You gave him a confused look so he went on almost immediately. “A thunderstorm. It’s coming this way.”

Finally it made sense to you because you let out a sigh and said, “She’ll run in crying anyway. Go get her.”

He got out of bed, but instead of leaving the room, he just put his hands on his hips and asked, “You sure? I will be the good cop again.”

“Go.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

His daughter was terrified of thunderstorms. She had been like that since the beginning, always crying when lightning struck nearby, instinctively calling for her mommy and daddy when she was scared, or running into their bedroom right after the sound reached her. He knew she would grow out of this eventually, but until then he wouldn’t want her to stay in her room alone.

Those nights when she slept in their bed between them were his favorites. Sure, he loved to be alone with you too; to explore your body over and over again, drawing out those sweet moans and whines from you, and seeing you fall apart for him. But being together as a family, having his favorite girls so close to him was still better.

Simon liked to think of himself as a good father and husband. He broke the cycle, he became a better man than his father had ever been, and every day he spent home with you two was filled with actions that spoke louder than words. He wanted the both of you to know, to feel that he loved you more than anything in this world.

When he reached his daughter’s room and peeked inside, he noticed that she was sleeping peacefully under the warm blanket. For a moment he wondered if he should just leave her be for now, but then he heard the storm outside and realized you had been right and this was for the best. So he picked her up carefully and walked back to the master bedroom, laying the little girl on the middle of the bed next to you.

“Thank you,” you told him quietly.

Shaking his head, Simon leaned over to give you a quick kiss. “Anytime, love.”

You flashed a wide smile at him, but before you could say anything, your daughter turned on her side and cuddled up to you with her small arm wrapped around your waist. Simon was a little jealous, but he kept this to himself for now. Sooner or later she would wake up and cuddle up to him instead as she usually did.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #modern warfare #mw2 #modern warfare ii #call of duty

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silent-stories · 1 year

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𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐒

Pairing: Eddie x GN!Reader

Summary: Eddie is not scared of thunderstorms after what happened in the Upside Down. Not at all.

It had started raining several hours before and the drizzle quickly turned into a thunderstorm. The wind was blowing hard and slapping the twigs of the tree in front of your house on your bedroom window.

Rain poured down on the roof and from time to time the sound of thunder rumbled throughout the whole house.

The night sky outside was dark, with no moon or stars.

You were on your bed, Eddie was sitting with his back against the headboard, his arm was around your waist, your head was resting on his chest and your face was pressed into his Black Sabbath shirt.

About half an hour earlier you had started watching a movie but then you were distracted by cuddling and because of the noise of the rain and thunder drowning out the voices coming from the small tv in your room.

You had turned off the TV a few minutes before, deciding you'd rather focus on Eddie and his hand slowly stroking your side.

A crashing thunder rumbled in your ears and you thought the lightning didn't have to have fallen very far from you to cause such a din.

Suddenly, you felt Eddie's hand on yours, it wouldn't be the first time he'd start playing with your fingers or your rings in a moment of calm and intimacy like that.

Instead, that time his hand found yours to hold it and intertwine his fingers with yours.

You smiled sinking your face into his chest, just enjoying that gesture.

A few minutes later, as you were about to fall asleep, another thunder almost made you jump and you felt Eddie's hand suddenly squeeze yours. Not to the point of hurting you, but he certainly added pressure.

You lifted your head and before you could speak, his grip already loosened but his hand was still on yours.

"You okay?" You asked.

He nodded. "Of course."

You tried to read his expression, something was definitely wrong, you knew him well enough to know.

"Eddie."

"What?"

"You squeezed my hand."

"No I-"

He didn't have time to finish the sentence when you both heard the rumble of another thunder, so loud it felt like the house was shaking.

Eddie's hand squeezed yours again, this time even harder than the previous one and he closed his eyes tightly for a few seconds, while the sound echoed until it disappeared, and then opened them again, looking at you.

He let go of your hand and stared at you with his big chocolate brown eyes that you could see shining even in the dark.

"Oh my god." You whispered, that was the moment you realized.

Thunders. Lightnings. The noise.

The Upside Down.

Eddie was scared because of what happened in the Upside Down.

You opened your arms and he lunged into them, burying his face in the crook of your neck and closing his eyes.

"Why didn't you tell me before?" You asked without sounding accusing, none of that was his fault.

"'Cause it's stupid." He murmured, his lips tickling your skin as he spoke.

It wasn't stupid if it was scaring the shit out of him, you could tell by the desperate way he was holding onto you.

As another roar of thunder broke through, Eddie hold you even tighter, squeezing the fabric of your shirt in his fists and pushing his face into your neck.

You run your hand up and down his back, tracing imaginary drawings and left a few kisses on the side of his head that you could reach.

"I'm sorry." He muttered, the tone of his voice sounded like that of a child scared of sleeping alone who in the middle of the night, got into his parents' bed.

"Hey, It's okay, I'm here. I got you." You whispered as you left a kiss on his temple. "You're not there anymore. They can't hurt you, I promise."

At your simple words, Eddie actually seemed to calm down a bit and his tense muscles relaxed under your touch.

You held him all night, all through the storm and even after.

Whenever there was thunder Eddie would hold you tight and you would alternate between phrases like "it's okay, breathe. It'll all be over soon" and "focus on my voice, it's okay. No one's going to hurt you. I'm right here. I love you."

Around three in the morning, the storm started to calm down and the thunders finally stopped.

Eddie didn't budge from you and you kept caressing his back and leaving a few kisses in his hair until you heard a buzz.

He had fallen asleep. He was asleep, he was snoring and you had never been so happy to hear that noise.

You finally closed your eyes.

"Goodnight Ed."

Tags: @jacklesdeanvessel @morning-sky7 @pipsqueakkitten @navs-bhat

#eddie x reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie x y/n #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie fanfiction #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson hurt/comfort

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zaimta · 1 year

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Hey hey. I love your writing style and I think that the quality of your work is just so amazing. <3 Can I please request some OP headcanons for Sanji, Zoro, and Law with a S/O who has a lot of fears (heights, the dark, loud noises, typically scary things,etc.,) but is physically strong and can protect themselves and the crew the when needed? Thanks!!

a/n- WHAGAG TY TY <33 sorry for the long wait too!!

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

˗ˏˋSANJI

he is without a doubt “mr. knight in shining armor” you scream once and he’s immediately by your side ready to fight anything and anyone

there’s a thunderstorm on seas and you’re scared? he has to sit in the kitchen with him and he makes you some tea or any kind of snack you want to calm your nerves

if you’re the jumpy kind, he makes sure luffy n them don’t play any pranks on you, if they manage to and he hears your scream he runs over and kicks them all with a quickness

however if you got a problem with a spider or something he will be screaming with you

“what is wrong with you idiots scaring y/n like that?!”

when you’re fighting though it’s like you’re a different person, he watches you fight with hearts in his eyes

if you have to fight for your crew through one of your fears he’s very proud of you

˗ˏˋZORO

he’s sick and tired of you affectionately, he could be in the middle of a nap and once he hears you scream he rushes to you just to find out it’s something minor he gets slightly irritated and brushes it off

he’s always telling you that you gotta “toughen up” and “face your fears head on” 24/7, he claims that at some point he’ll stop helping you but he’ll always come though

if you’re scared of thunderstorms, when you cling onto him he’ll wrap an arm around you and tease you a little

“yea i got you, you big baby”

when you’re fighting he knows he doesn’t need to keep an eye on you and he’s slightly impressed every time, dare i say he finds you kickin ass attractive

but every time he teases you about it

“see you got it in y’a, now all you have to do is keep that up”

˗ˏˋLAW

sick n tired pt 2.

he tries to make sure that nothing that’ll scare you is on the sub, but there’s always something on land that’ll have you screaming

if you run into any bugs he’ll kill it for you with no hesitation but he’s a little irritated, but it’s clear he cares for you a lot

“you can’t keep letting your fears get the best of you what will you do when i’m not around y/n?”

saichi and penguin know better than to rope you into any pranks, but sometimes if your lurking around the ship at night bepo freaks you out because he’s eyes glow in the dark and he looks terrifying

he apologizes to you like 100 times

when it comes to you fighting law still looks in your direction every now and then, he knows you can handle yourself in a fight but since you’re so jumpy he does worry a little

#sanji x reader #zoro x reader #law x reader #one piece x reader #sanji vinsmoke x reader #roronoa zoro x reader #trafalgar law x reader #sanji vinsmoke x you #roronoa zoro x you #roronoa zoro x y/n #trafalgar law x y/n #one piece x you #one piece x y/n #one piece headcanons #one piece fluff

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actual-changeling · 6 months

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if you were to ask them what love is, what other answer could they give but each other's name?

the entire universe is at their mercy, reality bending around them, and they have watched humanity grow from two seeds in a garden to a wave washing over the planet. they came from god's chest and tasted stardust, tasted grace and hellfire, and finally humanity.

eventually even each other.

their wings are starlight white and night-sky black, and they are not a grain of sand in the hourglass of time but the hands turning it over again and again before it can run out.

you would assume they know greater loss than anyone else, having watched everyone around them die, but it is not loss that defines them; it is trust, it's devotion.

it's faith.

so if you were to ask them what love is, the answer would be hidden within six thousand years, in bottles of wine and walks in the park, in feeding the ducks, the very first and the very last ones.

loving the world is an easy kind of love, you can find a new spark whenever you lose yours, and they know that love, too.

you ask them after the world did not end, and they hide their smiles from each other and that is how you know, it is how they know, and you want to give them more time. just a little more, so they can show their smiles without seeking out the shadows, and it's love without loss, it's love built around freedom and trust and the wish for safety.

people might think that adam and eve are the ones who invented love, the first beings to love another, to reach and watch and fight whoever stands in their way.

before them there were two beings fighting thunderstorms and god's will for each other, one who fell for love and one who left for it. love is heavy, a burden to carry, it cannot be unconditional or it will steal you away, swallow you whole, turn you inside out and shape you until you are the hourglass and they are the hands.

he does not need to breathe but he is suffocating on his sudden loneliness, the loss of a love he never imagined he could lose, not like this. it wasn't ripped away or went up in flames like in his dreams night after night after night. he imagined yelling and blood and hands clinging to his with all the faith they have built between them; a chapel meant for them and them alone weathering a storm.

he thought their love was each others names. he thought their love was blasphemy and destroyed churches and standing with your hands intertwined when god rips through the sky and the devil through the ground.

(he thought their love was carried within bags full of books in the dark. he thought their love was kneeling for confession and asking for redemption, for salvation, so they could stop the earth from being torn apart.)

he thought their love was destruction and a desperate search for peace.

(he thought their love was change and the hope for a better world.)

he was an optimist until the end.

(he left his faith behind to try and find it in the clouds.)

but if you were to ask them even now what love is, one would gaze up and the other down, and the answer would form right in the middle, where their eyes meet.

#alex writes good omens #good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #good omens season 2 #go2 #aziracrow #crowley x aziraphale #ineffable divorce #the final fifteen #idk what this is but have it anyway

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riseatlantisss · 1 year

Text

King of Hearts

A special night under the stars with a very special man.

Pairing : Chishiya x female!reader

one-shot, around 1,2k words.

TW : smuuut, unprotected sex, fingering, oral sex (female receiving), but most of all wholesome sex with a very sweet Chishiya <3

English isn’t my first language, I’m sorry for the mistakes.

♡ ♢ ♤ ♧♡ ♢ ♤ ♧♡ ♢ ♤ ♧♡ ♢ ♤ ♧♡ ♢ ♤ ♧♡ ♢ ♤ ♧♡ ♢ ♤ ♧

It was a warm, peaceful night. One of the rare you could get in Borderland, with that special kind of darkness. The kind that made the stars shine brighter and that somehow made you feel safe, even in this fucked up world. You and Chishiya had found this secluded spot in the middle of an abandoned garden to spend the night under the stars, the soft grass serving as a bed. He was lying beside you, looking at you with a gentle smile and running his fingers through your hair. He was another reason why you felt so safe. Even almost happy.

“What are you thinking about?” Chishiya asked, continuing playing with your hair.

You rolled over to face him, smiling softly. “I wish this night would never end,” you sighed. “I wish we could just stay as we are right now. No Borderland. No game to play. No fear of dying all the time. Just us and the night.” You gazed at the stars and your smile slowly faded. Surviving in this world with him was even more horrible. What’s the point of loving someone if you could die in the next game anyway? And what’s the point of surviving if you could lose him forever at any moment? None of this was fair.

Hearing the anxiety in your voice, Chishiya grabbed your waist and pulled you to him, one hand moving up to cup your cheek. You noticed how incredible he looked in the pale moonlight. The scarce light scattered across the surface of his skin, illuminating each of his traits in a way that was hauntingly beautiful. His eyes glowed like amber, and the silver shade of his hair was enhanced. You wrapped your arms around his neck and his skin felt so hot under your palms, like it burned like fire under your touch. The heat instantly penetrated your whole body from the tips of your hair to your inner organs. He squeezed you tighter and you could feel his breath on your lips. His scent was soothing and stimulating at the same time. Just like him.

“Then let’s make this night count.” Chishiya grinned as he pressed gentle kisses along your jaw, lingering when he reached your lips. It was enough to make you dripping, soaking wet. He had a way of making you feel amazing about yourself, no matter how sad or worried you might feel inside. A low moan escaped your lips as he started kissing you harder. He had never kissed you like this before. Not with this much greed. You wrapped your legs around his waist, letting him know you wanted him at least just as much. He finally broke off the kiss and dipped his head lower, gently spreading your legs as he went. Kissing along your inner thighs, he climbed higher as you repeatedly breathed his name. Without waiting for your plea or invitation, but God knows you would have pleaded for it if he had made you, Chishiya started circling your clit with long licks, adoring the whimpers coming out of your mouth as you felt your breathing becoming more and more shallow.

“Feel good, baby?” Chishiya rasped against your clit. You could hear the grin in his voice and it sends shivers down your spine.

“Yes… oh yes.” you gasped as he continued sucking harshly at your dripping pussy. After several long and amazing minutes, he plunged two fingers into the wet heat of you without warning, swearing under his breath at the tight fit, causing an eruption of bliss. He moved up and let his lips find yours again. Both of you were panting into each other’s mouths, hearts thrumming like thunderstorms as you pressed your heaving chests against one another to be as close as humanly possible. His fingers still working their magic inside you, he set a torturous pace and you found yourself being shoved to the edge of climax faster than you liked. It almost wasn’t fair how quickly the pressure was building. What kind of power had this man over you?

“I - I want you so bad,” You whimpered, squirming helplessly while clawing at the grass.

“Want me to fuck you, princess?” Chishiya asked, voice trembling with excitement.

“Please, yes,” You gasped loudly. “Please, fuck me.”

“Oh, it’ll be my pleasure.” He announced with a mischievous undertone.

Trembling, you adjusted your position to allow him to take you properly. You officially couldn’t take it anymore and neither could he. Chishiya looked at you and you could see in his eyes how badly he wanted you. Without ever breaking eye contact, Chishiya got his cock right up against your tight entrance and pushed all the way in with a loud growl. For a man who usually was in total control of his emotions, he was finding it harder and harder to show restraint, which turned you on even more. You were the first to move again and he followed, slowly building up the pace, already feeling his release creeping up on him. He pushed both of your legs to his shoulders, leaning over you, still looking into your eyes and stealing kisses between two moans of pleasure. All you could hear, all you could see and all you could smell was Chishiya. All thoughts other than him disappear. All you knew was the safety of his embrace and the heat of his mouth. You were now unable to think straight, your vision slowly grew hazy, and your eyes screw shut.

When you came with a broken moan, clenching around his cock, flames of arousal erupted within your core. The tips of your fingers, the inside of your knees, the top of your head, all your body parts seemed to be melting with a blinding, intense heat, making him come deep inside almost at the exact same moment, in the middle of a thrust.

“Fuck, Y/N,” He groaned right by your ear as you felt his cock twitch inside of you, which only made your own orgasm more pleasurable.

His whole body shaking from and exhaustion, Chishiya finally collapsed on top of you, burying his face in your neck, kissing and licking the sweat of your skin. He looped one arm over your bare waist as you were still coming down from your fiery high, keeping you as close to him as he could. He squeezed you tightly, pressing another kiss to your forehead, telling you without even using words that absolutely everything was going to be ok.

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delopsia · 21 days

Text

every storm runs out of rain | Rhett Abbott x Reader

Word Count: 17,000 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: AFAB!Reader, Hanahaki disease, soulmates AU, childhood friends to lovers, alcohol, food mentions, vomiting, first kisses, thunderstorms, (temporarily) unrequited feelings, almost kiss, unprotected sex, eventual happy endings 🌹. Vaguely based on the Gary Allan song of the same name. Brief Summary: It's a cruelty you wouldn't wish upon your worst enemy. The perpetual ache of your heart, longing for a man who was never meant to be yours. Everything about him is as if he's made for you, and yet, your tattoos don't match. You're not made for each other.

It's hard to tell if the feelings started with the stuffiness in your lungs or if it's something that has always been there.

An indescribable sort of longing that has flown beneath your radar for the better half of a decade. The kind of thing that has let you assume a false sense of comfort under the title of childhood friend.

Best friend, if Rhett has a few drinks buzzing through his system. Two shining plaques with your name written across them in bold letters.

But neither of them are what you and your dumb heart crave. The pride of being called his significant other is a feeling you will never know, so long as your tattoos are around to remind you that they don't match. So, so close in nature, and yet, they're not the same.

It's a cruelty you wouldn't wish upon your worst enemy. The perpetual ache of your heart, longing for a man who was never meant to be yours. Everything about him is as if he's made for you, so perfect he could fit into your life like a puzzle piece, and yet fate has destined him and you to fall in love with strangers. Not each other.

Never each other.

That tickling rises in the back of your throat. Snowballing larger and larger until you can no longer—

A horn blares.

Your head jerks back toward the street just in time to see the passenger door of an old GMC squeal open. Rhett. Leaned all the way across his bench seat, hair in his face and all.

"Y' comin' or not?" He chirps, already beginning to impatiently pat on the cloth seat, beckoning you in like he would a stray cat.

In this cold little town, your heart burns a little warmer.

How he got here so fast, you'll never know, but you've never been more thankful for it. Water splashes beneath your feet, darting toward his truck and away from the crowd of people raging on behind you. Up into your designated place in his passenger seat, slamming the door closed before you've even gotten settled, effectively shutting off the thumping music and flashing neon lights.

"How did you know where I was?" Because last you recall, you never told him about where you were headed tonight.

Rhett just hums, the noise lost to the rumble of his truck engine. "Recognized the floor in the picture y' sent."

Of course, that would be one of his many odd talents.

"Being able to identify a bar just from the floor tile might mean you have a bit of a drinking problem, Cowboy," your eyes roll, shifting to rest against the door.

"Listen," the streetlight catches in his eyes, lighting them up with a memory, "that checkered pattern is cute 'til your head stars spinnin'."

He's...got a point.

Ugh.

The silence that falls into the truck is a comfortable one. It's the kind of quiet that lets you hear the impatient drum of his fingers, dancing to the soft drone of his radio set to an old country station. Backdropped by the sound of water spraying beneath his tires, washing away weeks upon weeks of built-up dirt from the ranch.

His whole truck could use a good wash, but it won't see a bucket of soap and water until he scores another date with some no-name from the rodeo grounds. Or alternatively, you show up in the middle of the night and scrub it from top to bottom.

Your phone lights up with a text asking about where you went. Sent from some guy you cared so little about that you haven't even bothered to save his number in your contacts. But as you move to unlock the screen, it opens up to a different set of messages.

You: Nothing quite like being stuck at a bar, waiting on your designated driver to decide she wants to leave. 10:47 PM

Rhett: What's wrong? 10:51 PM

You: I told a guy I didn't want to dance, and he 'accidentally' spilled his drink on me 🙄 10:51 PM

You: But my ride doesn't want to leave for another hour or two. 10:52 PM

You never noticed the message that was sent right after yours.

Rhett: On my way 10:55 PM

Maybe not every man in this world has gone to shit.

Rhett's hand bumps into your chest, some kind of gray fabric balled up in his hand, "here."

You've seen this old shirt before; it's the first thing he ever bought online, hadn't realized until it arrived that it was a few sizes too big for him. Not particularly ideal for a cowboy who can get caught on equipment, but perfect for your impromptu sleepovers.

"You still have this old thing?" You're already beginning to tug your damp T-shirt over your head. Potential onlookers be damned, you're ready to be free of the overwhelming whiskey bitterness reeking from it.

The back of his knuckles graze up your naked side, guided by the thin path of a decade-old scar. A branding from younger, brighter days; the ones when Cecelia would let you spend weekends on the ranch. Waking up at dawn to help Rhett with his ranch chores because the quicker things got done, the sooner you got to run down and play in the creekbed.

"Still can't believe that piece of glass marred ya like that," Rhett mutters after a long moment. You can't see into his thick skull, but you've got a feeling that he's got a similar memory flickering through his mind.

"To be fair, I did fall on it," slipping your arms through the clean shirt, you pull it over your head, and once again, that old scar is out of sight.

That half-hearted chuckle sends a warmth rushing through your veins. The exact one that shouldn't be there. But he hasn't the slightest clue of the wildfire sitting next to him, back to tapping along on his steering wheel as he drives through the main stretch of town. Past feedstores, tourist shops, dinners, the grocery store, and every other little niche boutique hidden between.

"Thank you." You hardly recognize that it's you speaking. Hadn't realized it was your voice until the sound of it met your ears.

It's a little too quiet in this truck.

But Rhett just reaches over to shake your shoulder. "Y' don't gotta thank me for shit like that," for a fleeting second, he's got just enough time to look away from the road and offer you a lazy smile. "'s what friends do, ain't it?"

Your chest feels like it's been stuffed with cotton. Meek, you nod, attention suddenly on the floorboard and nothing else—nothing else to say.

Yeah. That's what friends do.

He doesn't make mention of it, but you've got the feeling that your SOS text must have interrupted another one of his dates. A pile of rose petals rests at your feet, scattered as if they've been swept off the seat in a hurry to make space. Caked in mud and the rainwater that tracked in from your shoes. Storebought, that much you know for sure.

Roses don't grow in Wabang.

The next time you see him, it's planned.

You have, for some reason, allowed yourself to become roped into the craze of Wabang's beloved Sugarbeet festival. Right smack dab in the middle of some old ranching land that the county bought some years back. It would have been a pleasant idea if the festival was hosted in spring or autumn and not in the blistering heat of summer. Not an ounce of shade to be found, nothing but cheap tents to protect you from the beating sun.

It's the kind of misery that makes the outdoors feel like a goddamn oven, and heading out to start your car is its own kind of devil. The air jammed in your AC blasts your face with the boiling winds of hell itself. So damn intense that if Rhett's truck weren't crawling down your driveway, you would have canceled and called it a day.

And you're so glad that you didn't, because good lord.

The last thing you expected was for Rhett to hop out in that unbuttoned flannel, broad chest on display for all to see. The sleeve falls just far enough from his shoulder that you can see the scar hiding below his left collarbone.

"Quite the festival outfit you've got," you chirp, dragging your eyes away from his bull tattoo and over to a nearby tree, feigning interest. The back of your throat is starting to tickle, lungs tight as you fend off the urge to cough. Not here, not here, not here.

He laughs, "What, y' don't think I look good like this?"

You do, but he doesn't need to know that. Not in the slightest.

"Its...certainly a choice," faking a grimace, you turn your attention back to your car, slowly but surely growing cooler the longer it runs. A pleasure that Rhett and his broken air conditioning unit haven't known since last summer.

You don't mind the idea of it staying broken if he keeps showing up at your house looking like this. Even if that does mean that you become his ride on the hotter days, fearing an onset of heat stroke.

The passenger door is silent as he opens it. No longer squealing due to whatever he and Royal did to it last weekend. Being friends with a family of DIY ranchers has its perks.

Thunk_

"Shit."

You blink. Was that...?

Yeah.

It was.

As if last time wasn't enough of a lesson, Rhett's got his knees pinned up against your glovebox, the seat too far forward for him and his big body to fit. Though this time, he isn't hurriedly pawing at the seat levers like he'll die if he doesn't get any more space. Instead, he's resigned to a frown. More annoyed with himself than anything.

"You alright there?"

Rhett's sigh is so heavy that his shoulders visibly deflate. "Yeah," reaching off to the side, pushing the seat back as far as it can go. "Humbled, but 'm alright."

It's toward the end of your drive that you notice the flower petals sitting on your dashboard. Roses, you think. It must be what you get for leaving your windows rolled down all morning, vulnerable to adventurous squirrels and other varmints that enjoy trespassing into property they don't own.

They're certainly not from you, and you would have asked Rhett if your destination hadn't come up so quickly. Fighting for a parking space in the withered grass is a bigger task than folks let on. Even with folks on the ground, pointing you to the perfect spot, someone will always try to steal it out from under you.

For a festival in such a small town, there is a hell of a lot going on inside of it. Food trucks, concession stands full of sweet treats, craft booths, and cheap knick-knacks bought offline to resell under the guise of being handmade locally. Apple bobbing, the duck pond, and ring toss. There's a precariously placed dragon roller coaster and a horse carousel that Rhett tries convincing you to get on.

Worse. There are so many people. Faces you recognize and those you've never seen before. Waiting in lines and shoving themselves between you and Rhett because the small gap between your shoulders looked like a good opening to get somewhere quicker.

"'s a lil crazy out here, don't ya think?" Rhett's asking through a laugh, once again stepping over to you. Two kids dart between you, their hands occupied with bags of fake goldfish.

Only took a decade for them to learn not to hand out live fish. You can still remember the three you and Rhett got when you were small. One didn't survive the drive back to his house, and the other two managed to stick around long enough to see New Year's.

Rest in peace, Goldie Junior and Patches.

"I think it's always been crazy," tilting your head to cough into your elbow, dislodging that goddamn tickling sensation—you look away before you can see what it is.

There's a girl off to the side, staring in your direction. Or rather, Rhett's direction. Long, wavy hair and a delicate sundress, the kind of woman who looks like she's walked right off the beach cover of a magazine. Her warm gaze has long since settled on Rhett; it's a look you've seen a million and one times at the rodeo. The one that gets him a little weak in the knees.

You look away as quickly as they flickered over there. If you don't make eye contact, maybe she won't come over to introduce herself.

"We weren't that bad, though," but then, pausing to look at you, concern lacing his narrowed gaze, "...right?"

Rose-tinted memories flicker through your mind. Rhett falling and breaking his wrist after taking you out on a green horse. Trespassing onto the Tillerson property to play with Luke and Billy, only to get hauled home in the back of a police cruiser, 'cause their momma didn't care much for you two. Getting busted, sneaking out your bedroom window to go spend the night with Rhett. All those times, you had to run through back alleys together because you'd been caught out after Wabang's curfew.

"I like to think we were relatively well-behaved," concluding after a moment. Though your families may have a vastly different opinion on that.

Laughter rumbles from you at the same time it does from Rhett, shoulders bumping together. Sends a little shock of warmth rippling through your bones, twisting around your heart like briars.

Maybe the conversation would have lasted longer if you didn't get distracted. Rhett lays eyes on a truck dedicated to a locally crafted beer, and the small frame of a self-serve station from the local candy shop catches your attention. It only makes sense that you would step aside and regroup in a few minutes. You're in desperate need of a breather before that girl works up the nerve to approach him and turns you into a third wheel.

There's more to this little station than what initially met the eye. It's shelves full of caramel apples, peanut brittle, fudges of every flavor you can imagine, covered pretzels, cookies, and hard candies galore. And here you thought that it would have been wiped clean by the folks who came early in the morning before the sun could reach mind-numbing temperatures. Even your favorite candy is here, the last box left on the shelf.

The price is a little steep, but the flavor of them on your tongue is enough to distract from the pained cries of your wallet. If Rhett knew these were here, then he absolutely would have skipped out on beer in favor of convincing you to split them together—the candy mooch.

But you must have taken too long to make your decision because you don't see Rhett. Not by the crudely decorated truck, and he said he would be waiting next to the old wooden bench under the oak tree, but it's entirely empty. Not a cowboy in sight. That stuffiness arises in your throat again.

Maybe he's...

"Hey!" A herd of kids are darting around you. Like a bunch of cats scrambling from the bang of a tractor. One slams into the side of your leg as she rushes past. It doesn't affect her in the slightest, but your feet stumble. Knocked off kilter. Your open container of candy threatens to spill onto the dirt.

But then another kid is bursting through the crowd, and this one...

You recognize this one.

"Amy?"

She doesn't need to say a damn thing. Her wide eyes tell all you need to know.

The crowd is too tall for her to see over it, but as she tugs you along behind her, you've got the feeling that she knows exactly where she's going. Navigating the festival based on terrain alone, over thinly spread gravel, and down a broad dirt path. Her hand clings to your wrist so tightly that her knuckles have gone white.

You don't know who she's bringing you to or what could have happened. But it has to be something. Perry could have fallen into another one of his rages. Rhett very well may be doing something dumber than getting a DUI on the back of a horse. Or, or—

It's both of them.

Perry's clawing at Trevor like a goddamn cat. His teeth bared like an animal. Crazed. Feral. Someone's got him by the collar. But it's not doing anything. He barks something incoherent. Jabbing a pointed finger at Trevor. Amy's shoulders jolt. Squeezing your wrist impossibly tighter.

Plaid shirts scuffle behind them. Cowboy boots and Prada sneakers kick up plumes of dirt. Two brick walls slamming into one another. Caught in a spiral until someone makes the first pull backward. Luke's fist connects with Rhett's jaw.

Flower petals burst into the air.

All of a sudden, Luke is jumping backward, his palms raised to the sky. A rare white flag. One that you didn't even know was in the Tillerson arsenal. "I'm sorry, man," is all he can say. Pale as a damn ghost.

Almost pale as the baby pink petals fluttering onto the dirt floor.

"Is that..." Amy's the one to break the silence, looking your way as if you hold all the answers. In a sense, maybe you do. "I thought it was a myth?"

Air catches in your windpipe. Feels like you're about to choke. "I did, too."

What the fight was over, you're not sure. It couldn't have been something serious; they've dropped the issue far too quickly for it to be something worth fighting over. There and gone within the blink of an eye. The Tillerson brothers are dispersing into the crowd without another foul word, Rhett's wordlessly pawing at the fresh red mark on his jaw, and Perry's barking something you don't care to hear.

Amy's long nails are biting into your skin, threatening to tear through and draw blood, but you can't ask her to loosen up or let go. The sting is half the reason you haven't unraveled like a loose ball of yarn. It isn't enough to stop your lower belly from twisting and turning, a bitterness rising in the back of your raw throat.

"Sorry," Rhett's voice comes so suddenly that you jolt.

"I leave you alone for five minutes." Your tone comes out blander than you intended, doesn't match the roll of your eyes, deliberately avoiding the sight of flowers lying in the dirt.

He must catch onto it because his frown deepens. But he doesn't say anything, and neither do you. Only offering a wave and a forced smile when Amy ultimately ventures off with Perry for another one of his ice cream apologies. Those seem to be happening more and more lately.

Hypothetically, someone should say something. Explain what the fight was about, how he got across the festival so damn fast. Was the beer any good? Want to share this candy before your jaw starts to ache like a bitch? The words are flickering through your head a million miles a minute, but not a syllable makes it to your tongue.

"It's over someone at the bar," Rhett's admission comes in the tune of a guilty child confessing to breaking a vase. Meek. Like he'll fall apart if pushed any harder. "If that's what y' were wanderin'."

Falling back into the character of annoying best friend is easy. All you've got to do is throw your weight into his side, not strong enough to deliver a playful shove. "So there really is another person stuck with that god awful tattoo," letting your mouth rise into a smile, almost thrilled to be pulling this off so well.

"Hey!" He's pushing you back, laughing, though he's careful not to knock you off your feet this time."'Least mine ain't a shoe."

Defiant, you raise your left arm, the tattoo on your wrist just as dark and bold as it was the day you were born. "It's a lucky horseshoe, thank you very much."

And just for a little bit, you can deceive yourself into thinking you can still breathe.

You never do put the passenger seat back into its place. It's so far back that you catch yourself thinking it's not there at all; more than once, you clamber into the vehicle and think someone has robbed you of it. A part of you wishes it would happen. That some ridiculous bandit would break in and take that seat.

It would be doing your dignity a favor; you're acting as if he's dead.

You passed his truck on the way over here, parked outside the Handsome Gambler. If you weren't worried about wrecking, you would have tried to get a glimpse through the open door to spot him with his shiny new soulmate.

A good friend would stop in and say hello; if she makes Rhett happy, then you should be happy. It should be on the forefront of your mind; you're three stores down from the bar, but your feeble heart jerks in your chest with a familiar sourness. Hand trembling, struggling to hang onto this little bag of chips.

A good friend would be happy for him.

But you're not a good friend.

And if this cashier doesn't hurry up, you might also become a horrible customer. Your stomach is twisting like you're about to puke, something bitter rising in the back of your throat. Damn near dropping the receipt when she hands it to you, shoving it into the bag, and darting out the open door.

You hardly make it to the edge of the sidewalk. Keeling over with a wretched noise.

But the only thing that comes up is the shit that's been lodged in your chest all afternoon, stubbornly sitting in your chest with the weight of a damn elephant. Refusing to move, restricting your airway until you crack, and confess your feelings to a man who was never meant for you.

"Hey!"

Bleary, your eyes peel open. Really hope they're not talking to you.

"I have your sidekick!" Sherrif Joy's voice cuts across the night air like a knife. Swift and straight to the point.

Turning your head might be the thing that puts you on the ground, vision spinning like your eyes have gone loose in your skull. Funny. You can almost deceive yourself into thinking that's Rhett she's towing along.

Maybe because it is him. Boots dragging against the sidewalk, shoulders so loose that they sway in the wind, eyes hardly open, simply led along by the hand Joy has on his bicep. You've got just enough time to paw at your mouth with your sleeve before she's close enough to notice that something may be off.

"I know he's not your responsibility," the glint in her eye suggests she's getting more amusement out of this than she should be. Probably because this wouldn't be the first, second, or third time that she's sought you out. "But he wouldn't shut his mouth when he saw you."

Rhett's grin is too bright for his flushed face. "Hi."

You don't need to look at your phone to know that it's too damn early for this, and yet, you can't seem to muster up the slightest bit of irritation as you ask. "How are you already drunk at eleven at night?"

"I—" Hiccup. "Been here all evenin'." Shreds of red rose petals cling to his lips, flaking off with the movement of his mouth and fluttering to the ground like rain.

Oh, Rhett.

"If you don't want him, I can bring him to the station," Joy always says this, the same damn line over and over, as if she doesn't know what you will ultimately say, "it's no big deal for me."

Looping your hand through the handle of your grocery bag, you reach out to take Rhett by the wrist. He comes to you easily, long arms reaching out to wrap around you, clinging like an oversized piece of velcro.

"I'll take him," feigning annoyance is impossible when he's smiling at you like that. Drunk but completely and utterly happy to be with you.

If only he looked at you this way when he's sober.

Getting him to the car might be the hardest part of this excursion; it takes you and Joy to get him into your passenger seat without banging his head on the roof like last time. But this isn't your first Drunk Rhett Rodeo; Lord knows it ain't Joy's either. It might even break your previous record of five and a half minutes. Not that you were counting.

"Where we goin'?" He chirps the moment you've clambered into the driver's seat.

"Home." It's the only response you've got. Not entirely sure if he's got the capacity to follow long sentences.

But his head cocks to the side like a goddamn puppy. "My home, or...home home?"

Ice forms in your wrist. Suddenly caught before you can turn the key in the ignition. Is he...? It's gotta be. What else would he be referring to?

"Home home?" More of a question than anything, but he's not sober enough to notice the difference. That grin simply grows a little bigger. His boots kicking against your floorboard, happy as a clam in high water.

It doesn't fade, either. Even as you get the car going, and he fusses about leaving his truck behind, he doesn't lose the excitement that bloomed the moment he laid eyes on you. Content to sit here and let you drive, looking out the window and commenting on whatever he sees. The crazy lady on Second Street has added more flamingos to her lawn hoard, and someone's mailbox has been knocked over. What does that sign say over there?

"So what's your soulmate like?" You ask, reaching to turn down the radio. "You haven't said anything about her."

Rhett's shoulders rise and fall with a shrug so subtle that you nearly miss it. "They're alright," pause. Then, a weary laugh. "I jus' wish they'd like me back."

Yeah. You understand the feeling.

He doesn't seem to notice the petals clinging to the lower strands of his hair and into his flannel, hanging off the edge of his pocket and accumulating in his lap. They're identical to the ones sitting on your dash, dry and shriveled from the sun, bouncing as your front tire hits a pothole.

Now that you give it some thought, you suppose that's why he's drunk.

"My throat hurts," he grumbles out of the blue, rattling you from the sanctuary of your thoughts.

You hum, not entirely there. "Getting sick?"

Quiet, he reaches into his flannel pocket, producing a small assortment of something green. Rose stems, their thorns stained with crimson. There's no way that he's...

Your tire smacks the edge of a curb. The steering wheel yanking out of your hands.

Shit.

Right. The road.

"You've been coughing those up?" Voice strained by your heart, sitting high in your esophagus. You're so damn lucky that was a concrete curb and not another car.

And yet, you dare to peer at him through your peripheral. Those stems still resting in his big palm, as if he doesn't have the strength to put them away again. You reckon he's not sober enough to have noticed your mistake. He would have commented on it by now, making fun of it as if he's any better of a driver.

"Fuckin' hurts," it comes out softly, a confession that his own ears are afraid of.

And it's the kind of statement that echoes throughout your car for the rest of the drive. Rattling between the pauses between songs and bubbling to the surface at every lull of the music. Clouded over by too many wonderings of how long he's been quietly dealing with the roses growing in his lungs. A condition so extreme that the stems are beginning to come up, too.

You would ask why he's never told you about this, but...

Rhett's head cracks against the window with a heavy thunk as you pull into the driveway. So sharp and sudden that you fear he's broken the glass. But the only wound to come out of it is the red spot on his forehead, the color already rising to the surface by the time you put the car in park.

"Did that hurt?" It's impossible to ward off the lightness in your tone; a smidgen amused.

"Nuh-uh," but he's rubbing at it like it does.

You shouldn't have believed him, either, because by the time you get him through the door, it's already begun to swell. Miniscule at first, but if you give it some time, it'll grow into a proper bump. One that he'll grimace at in the morning but will lie through his teeth when you ask if it's hurting him.

If he were sober, he would be nipping at your palm for daring to venture near his face; you can hear it now, the prematurely yelped "'m alright!" before you've even opened your mouth. But he's not sober. Has to put his hand on your waist to stabilize himself, not entirely aware of how you're curling your hands around his cheeks, holding him still.

You don't think this one will rise too horribly, but you've been wrong before. Like how you insisted the cut on your side was just a scratch and wound up needing more stitches than you knew how to count.

"Will you let me put ice on it?" You find yourself asking, your fingers drifting up to smooth over the bump.

Defiant, his head shakes.

"What if I order a pizza? Will you let me then?" Trying again. But even at the prospect of his favorite drunk snack, he's not interested.

"Ice cream?" No.

"A movie?" Wrong again.

"Two movies?" Nope.

"A promise to never speak of this again?" Nada.

Huffing, you let go of his face, throwing your hands in the air instead. "Is there anything I can bribe you with?"

His brows furrow. A thought flickers behind his eyes.

Slowly, he nods.

You've got a bad feeling about whatever this could be, but God, it's too late for you to care. "What is it?"

Even if he would have let you go on for the next century, you would have never guessed that he wanted this.

Here in the soft sanctuary of your cozy little unmade bed, nestled beneath the myriad of sheets and blankets that you swore you'd throw into the washer three mornings ago. There might be a few crumbs left over from your snack last night, too distracted by the video on your phone to notice the mess until it was too late.

The state of it all would bother you under normal circumstances, but you reckon you're getting contact drunk. Head spinning at the sight of this cowboy, snug as a bug in your bed, his cheek squished against the spare pillow. His arm has wound up draped over your side, over the sheets, and you can't remember when your hand drifted to his face, thumb swiping back and forth over his scruffy, unshaven jaw.

For once in your life, you can breathe.

You've started to forget what that was like.

He's so unnervingly close that you reckon he can hear the hammer of your heart rattling against your chest like a caged animal. Furious. Determined to burst through and spill its contents for him to see. The devil on your shoulder suggests that you should let it happen; chances are, he won't remember any of this come morning. But the soft, whiney voice of the angel reminds you.

Rhett's got a soulmate. And it isn't you.

"What made you ask for this, anyhow?" The sound of your voice comes as a surprise; one of those thoughts that have journeyed to your mouth, rather than staying up in your head.

Those sleepy blues peel open; maybe the slightest bit cross-eyed perfectly matches that crooked little grin. "'s like a sleepover."

There's a word you haven't thought of for a while. Probably hasn't surfaced in your vocabulary since your early teenage years, arising in arguments about how unfair it was that hitting puberty meant no more sleepovers. It was okay before, so why did it become a problem when your ages started ending in 'teen'?

Hesitant, your attention drifts to the tattoo on your wrist—that not-so-lucky horseshoe. A symbol that only became a problem in your second year of high school when your heart decided that it wanted your best friend over a soul mate. "Like the ones we're banned from?"

"Uhuh," his foot juts out to kick your ankle, "'cause we're too damn old."

You're kicking him back before you can think twice about it. Old habits be damned; you're not letting him get a shot in without getting one yourself. But he's already fighting back, socket feet smacking against yours. Tangling. Fighting to get one punch in over the other. His leg bangs against your knee. Your hands lightly shove against his chest.

All of a sudden, Rhett's lurching forward.

The room spins.

And you're lying on your back. Caged beneath the broad frame of a man proven to handle animals over a thousand pounds heavier than you. His hands planted on either side of your head, knees straddling your hips. Long hair strays into his face, slipping out from behind his ears, but it's not enough to block your eyes from locking.

You're itching to reach up and tuck it back into place. To drift your palms across the roughness of his cheeks and trail a thumb over those thin lips. They're bitten to all hell, but try as you might, you can't imagine they're anything other than soft.

Time itself might have stopped.

God. You can't breathe. Don't know if it's from the infestation building in your lungs or the overwhelming scent of alcohol on his tongue.

Or maybe...maybe it's because he's gradually growing closer. Minimizing the gap between your bodies, inch by debilitating inch. An image plucked right out of your own imagination, replayed a hundred and one times.

But this version of Rhett doesn't belong to you.

The one in your head didn't reek of whiskey and beer.

"Rhett..." You're whispering as if anything louder will shatter you like glass. But he's still...he's still leaning in, and, and— "Rhett. You're drunk."

He freezes. Stiff as a board. Eyes so wide that his irises look tiny.

"Shit," jerking away as if he's been burned, "sorry."

This time, when his back hits the bed, your belly doesn't fill with butterflies. It fills with something much, much worse.

It's the silence that eats at you the most. He's right next to you, and yet, not a word can leave your mouth. What if you hadn't stopped him? Did he confuse you for the pretty thing at the bar, wandering around with the same marking as him? Your heart lurches in your chest, tummy twisting sourly. God, why are you even entertaining this sort of thing?

He's your friend. Friends don't think of each other like this, especially when one of them has a soulmate waiting on them.

A funny feeling swells in the back of your throat, stomach gurgling so loudly that it's got Rhett tilting his head to look at you.

"Are y—"

You're getting up before he can finish talking. Darting for the bathroom for the umpteenth time today.

You wake to an empty bed.

Sunlight trickles through the cracks in the blinds, illuminating the freshly made sheets that Rhett once occupied, tucked in the best he could get it. He's been gone long enough for them to feel cool to the touch, but you can't hear him moseying around your house, either.

Your bare feet drift across the chilly, wooden floor, still frozen with midnight's temperature drop. Where Rhett would typically bump the thermostat up a couple of degrees, today, it sits the same as you left it.

"Rhett?" Voice a smidgen too fragile for the hammering of your heart.

All you receive is an echo, variants of your own tune. His boots are missing from where they once sat by the front door, and when you creep far enough to peer through the kitchen window into the backyard, you don't find him there, either. The ice pack has been resting in the freezer long enough to begin hardening again.

And your phone left sitting on the counter overnight, contains a notification from everything and everyone, except for one man. Still the same text messages from three days ago, no matter how many times you refresh the page. But the magnetic whiteboard on the side of your refrigerator has a new smiley face on it.

...and the marker is once again missing.

With a sigh, you reach for the phone, fingers tapping away at the keyboard.

You: Hey, cowboy, you've got something of mine. 09:47 PM

It's not until after you've got a morning drink in hand that you recognize the tire tracks in your front yard. The grass flattened in the corner of your driveway in a fashion that only Perry Abbott can pull off. No matter how many times he's driven here, he's always overshot the turn and ventured into the lawn.

Your phone is still quiet when you cruise through town a little after nine. Rhett's truck is missing from its place in front of the bar, the space now occupied by a vehicle that the Abbotts can't afford.

On its own, your heart lurches in your chest. The tail end of a blue pickup is poking out from a streetside parking spot just down the main drag, and that's got to be him. You know this town like the back of your hand. There aren't many trucks that look like Rhett's. If you catch him now, maybe you can smooth things over regarding last night. Before the dust begins to settle and erode away at your psyche—

But Rhett's truck doesn't have stickers.

This time, you don't make it to the bathroom before that damned sickness overtakes you. Spewing onto the side of the road at the only red light in town, right in front of the old cafe with its outdoor seating.

A hangover would be more dignifying. At least then, a little old lady wouldn't be tilting her head at you, her kind, wrinkled eyes soft as she offers you a smile. You understand that look more than you'd like to admit.

It's the same expression you carried when those petals burst from Rhett's mouth.

You: Hey, cowboy, you've got something of mine. Yesterday.

Odd. Usually he responds fairly quickly, at least when it comes to him hijacking one of your belongings, but maybe he's busy. Summer has never been kind to the Abbotts, between blistering heat and cattle who love to take down the southern fences to get at the neighbor's grasses. Judging by the forecaster rambling on the news, things aren't about to get easier, either.

You: Hey, cowboy, you've got something of mine. Two days ago.

You: I'll give you a hint. It writes in purple ink. 07:33 PM

No dice.

How are you meant to leave reminders in the kitchen when a rogue cowboy has pocketed your only marker? It's barely been three days, and you've already started to forget things. Today was laundry day, but now you're standing here, swaddled in Rhett's oversized shirt because it's the only clean thing you have left. Maybe there is a benefit to not returning his clothes. You were meant to go get a spice for this new recipe but didn't remember until you were halfway into working on it. Come to find out, that recipe really, really relied on it.

You can try to blame your lack of an appetite on your cold, unseasoned dinner all you want, but it only goes so far. Heart lurching in your chest, as the screen lights up with a text.

Autumn: Still coming with us Friday night? 👀 07:51 PM

You: Hey, cowboy, you've got something of mine. One week ago.

You: I'll give you a hint. It writes in purple ink. Five days ago.

You: I'm going to call a bounty hunter if you continue this hostage situation. Three days ago.

You're getting sick of feeling your heart twist every time you look at this damn screen. But that stupid son of a bitch still hasn't—

"Excuse me," a lady whispers, squeezing past you, "I'm sorry."

The entrance of Odessa's probably isn't the best place for you to be checking your phone, now that you think about it.

That's alright; you're already sliding the device into your back pocket, reaching to catch the door before it can close behind her. You've wasted enough time for your friends to have already secured a spot at the Handsome Gambler. It's a wonder nobody hasn't given you a ring to make sure you weren't nabbed off the street.

Stepping outside does nothing to ward off the drone of multiple shop televisions. All of them moan about how another wicked storm is due to ravage Wabang and every town around it. Same channel. Same woman talking. Same obnoxious blue background. It's a tale you've heard so many times that you can nearly quote it word for word.

There's a serious storm rolling in tonight. Tornadoes and hail are possible. Here's what to do in a tornado. Do not do these five things in a tornado. Download the news app to stay connected. Tune back in soon to find out if the forecast has miraculously gotten better or worse!

Looking overhead, you can already see the dark accumulation in the distance, a humid breeze tickling your neck as it drifts past. It feels just like the night you and Rhett rode out into the west pasture to watch the storm roll in.

Sitting in the grass, watching those dark gray clouds roll closer and closer whilst the horses relaxed behind you, their attentions focused solely on the greenery below. You can still hear the tune blaring from the speaker of his phone. He'd really thought he was clever, playing that Gary Allen song about how every storm runs out of rain. It wasn't so cute when the south pasture flooded.

A laugh cuts across the evening air. Sharp and pitchy enough to have your head tilting in the direction of it. Right behind you, on the corner of the block.

Maria Olivares. That's a face you haven't seen in a long while. Wasn't she off to medical school, a couple hours away from here? Who in the world could she possibly be...

You know that cowboy.

Puzzle pieces click into place. The darkened mark gracing her inner wrist. Too small for you to make out. How she giggles and batts her eyes up at Rhett, as he talks about something in that wonderfully deep voice of his.

Of course, Rhett's soulmate would be Maria. How could it not be? No wonder why he was so crazy about her in high school; they've got the same damn marking on their bodies.

As if to spite you, a muscle spasms in the juncture of your wrist. Sourness bubbles in the back of your mouth, but for once, you're able to swallow it down. Not here. Not when either of them can turn their heads and realize that you're standing in the middle of the sidewalk, staring like some kind of creep. Even coming from a childhood best friend, that would be weird.

"Are you in line?"

You jerk backward. Wide eyes landing on the wirey frame of some middle-aged man standing in front of you. He motions, with the brim of his hat, toward the door. The Handsome Gambler. Your destination.

"Distracted," you blurt, scurrying to grab the handle before he can, "sorry."

"There you are!" A glass of beer rises from the opposite end of the bar. Autumn. "I was fixin' to come looking for you!"

You have to wait until you're within earshot before you can respond to her, squeezing past the group of cowboys crowded at the corner, watching a PBR ride on someone's cellphone. "I was eavesdropping," You supply, can't keep a damn thing to yourself these days, "Maria Olivares must be Rhett's shiny new soulmate."

Autumn's jaw slackens, eyes so big they might comically burst out of her skull, "are you kidding?"

One of her friends, you forget her name, gives you a gentle nudge with her arm. You suppose Autumn has already filled her in about your situation. "How did you find out?" Her tone is gentle, nearly washed over by the music blaring from the stereo.

"Saw them laughing together in the street." There's more to that statement, context, and a reason behind why you've come to that conclusion, but Autumn is taking a brightly colored drink from the bartender, passing it your way.

The Handsome Gambler and mixed drinks do not go hand in hand; there's always too much or too little of something. But out of the corner of your eye, you can see the door opening, two familiar frames entering the bar, the happy new couples themselves.

Tonight, you don't give a damn what these things taste like. So long as it makes you forget the sour twist in your chest, lungs tightening as if all the air has been sucked from them. Without second thought, you bring the glass to your lips.

It doesn't leave until it's halfway empty, and that's only because the need for oxygen has grown superior.

The lady behind the bar lifts a freshly cleaned shot glass. You've got a feeling that she's overheard your ramblings. "Need something stronger?"

She doesn't need to say another word. "Absolutely."

One shot.

Fuck this town.

A second.

And fuck Rhett Abbott.

You're feeling delusional enough to ask for a third, but Autumn's nudging you a glass of water instead. It doesn't have the same bite, but it's equally unpleasant against the back of your throat, still raw and sore.

Next to you, Autumn and her two friends are already delving into a new conversation. Something about the oddities going on around town and how some old man says he walked into a cave and saw a mastodon. You suppose there must be some inside group dedicated to continuing the claim because it's a rumor you've heard every year.

A smile fights its way onto your face. You and Rhett used to gear up and go mastodon hunting up on the old trails behind the Abbott property. Royal loved to ask what y'all planned to do with it once you caught it, but you and Rhett never thought that far ahead.

Your gaze follows the bartender, ready to ask for something sweet, but she's on the other end, gathering a dozen beers for a party that just walked in. Someone leans onto the bar. His head blocking part of your view. But then he looks over, and—

Rhett's eyes widen at the sight of you. By the feel of it on your face, the expression is mutual.

At least, it is for a second. That sourness jumps into your throat. Lower gut churning with a fervor unlike ever before.

"I'm heading out back," you blurt, hand rising to cover your mouth, "you don't wanna follow."

The girls frown, but they're certainly not making the risk to stop you. Autumn's already reaching for your drink, accepting your nod as a sign that she can finish off what you've got left. A voice jumps across the blare of the music. Almost sounds like the call of your name. But you don't have the luxury of stopping and looking.

Your feet are barely falling into line. Rushing to push through the men gathered by the back exit. Past the blasting jukebox. There's that tightness in your lungs again. A thick sensation rising higher. Higher. Higher in your throat. There's the door. There's the door. Your hands are reaching out. Grappling at the handle.

Hinges squeal open. Shoes scuffing on the concrete.

Vivid purple petals burst past your lips like goddamn confetti. Stems and all. Ripping past your already battered windpipe and sticking to your tongue, little bits of purple carrying in the wind.

Those three-petalled flowers were pretty until they started growing in your lungs. You can't stand the sight of them, but you've got no choice but to cough more of them up. As if any amount of effort will make them disappear.

A bundle of them have caught in the back of your mouth, stubbornly thwarting your ability to breathe. Light as a feather, your head spins, feet stumbling as you scurry to one of the chairs, sitting against the wall. The plastic groans under your weight, so brittle that it ought to give away at any moment.

Lightning flickers as another wave of flowers rain to the floor, and it's a wonder you can get these out at all.

The back door opens with a screech. Music pours through the gap, an incoherent tune so loud that you can hardly hear the thunder rolling through town. Someone in boots stumbles out, keeling over.

A bloodstained rose tumbles to the ground, pink and red petals dancing behind it, landing amongst your mess of purple.

When you lift your head, you know what you're going to see. But that doesn't make the look in Rhett's eyes any easier to bear. Some kind of hellish cross between horror and bewilderment that manages to look akin to a wounded puppy.

Not a word leaves his mouth. Doesn't get the opportunity to, for that matter, another plume of petals forcing their way past his lips before he can do anything about it. Just the sight of them has that tickle building in the back of your throat, but for the time being, your tank is empty.

Thunder booms as Rhett falls into the chair opposite you. His hand dips into his flannel pocket, producing...

your marker.

"'m sorry," he mutters, sentence broken by a cough, "Didn't realize I stuck it behind my ear 'til you texted me."

"Which time?" You can't help the bitterness seeping into your tone, plucking the little writing utensil from his outstretched hand.

His eyes dart away.

The tension in the silence doesn't come from the storm. Wind howling around the corner of the building, rustling through the trees. Lightning flickers, illuminating the world around you for the briefest of moments, and just like that, rain begins to fall. Coming down in a thick sheet, so strong that even under the awning, it manages to reach you, mist tickling your skin and dampening your clothes.

Idle, your fingers twist the marker back and forth; it's still warm from where it rested in his pocket, snug against his chest. A part of you wonders if he always runs this hot or if your hands are just cold from the Wyoming air.

"So you and Maria, huh?" Even with the roar of the storm, your voice is too loud; a megaphone in the library would be more tolerable.

"Nah, I just ran into her 'bout a half hour ago." Rhett's head shakes, eyes on the floor. "We were both goin' to the same place, 'n that was about it."

"Damn, and here I thought she was your soulmate." You hate that a selfish part of you floods with relief. So overcome with it that you can feel the way your shoulders drop. "It would have made for the perfect story."

You could have been the perfect story, too.

"I don't know why I liked her in high school," he's continuing, running a hand through his hair, fingers visibly catching on a tangle, "'s like talkin' to a fuckin' wall."

Of all the things you've imagined him saying, that wasn't even close to making it on the list. Though, you can't say he's entirely wrong; ever since that time you got paired with Maria for a history presentation, you haven't been able to see what's so interesting about her, either. Nothing but one-word answers and giggling with her friends while you worked on the assignment by your lonesome.

It may be petty, but you're still bitter.

"I'm sorry, I..." Rhett's talking again, caving to the silence that you've unintentionally put between you two. His hands fall into his lap, clasping together. Then, break apart just as quickly, one of them reaching up to rub at his forehead. "I shouldn't have tried to kiss you the other night."

"It's alright—" your tongue pauses before the rest of your sentence can follow. I wanted you to. But you're looking down at your tattoo, and it's still the same horseshoe. It doesn't match Rhett's.

It will never match Rhett's.

Finding your voice is damn near impossible, but you do it anyway. "You've done stranger things while under the influence."

"Like gettin' a DUI on the back of a horse?" He says it so bluntly that you can't help but sputter.

It's easy. Dissolving into laughter. Peering at each other through smiling eyes. Yeah, getting a DUI on horseback is much, much worse than trying to steal a kiss. You've still got the voicemail from when Joy called you in the dead of night, asking you to come get Rhett and his horse.

White flashes. Lighting up the world for the briefest moment. An ear-splitting crackle erupts from above. So loud that the town lights flicker in unison like a bunch of candles nearly blown out by the squealing wind.

"'s gettin' pretty bad out here." The sound of Rhett's voice is nearly lost to the ringing in your ear.

"Tell me about it," you lean forward, peering over at the miniature river that runs down into the alleyway, carrying with it a parade of purple, pink, and red flower petals. "The road'll be flooded by the time Autumn decides she's ready to leave."

Rhett's head tilts to the side. "You didn't drive?"

"Couldn't." Shocker, you know. "I had a hot date with a shot of whisky."

"Two from what I saw," so he was watching you do that, huh?

You wink. "I would have made it three if I knew you were watching."

Something crackles in the distance. Maybe a tree struck by lightning, bits of bark falling like rain. A little too close for comfort, whatever it was.

That tickling rises in the back of your throat once more. Forces another cough out of you. The purple petals catch in the wind before they can hit the ground, soaring off like tiny planes. Rhett's eyes follow them until they're out of sight.

All of a sudden, he rises to his feet, spurs chiming with the motion. Must have forgotten to take those off again. "Need a ride?" Offering his hand.

You take it before you even realize what he's asking.

A part of you is beginning to suspect that Autumn can see into the future because she's hardly phased when she turns her head to see you meander back into the bar, hand in hand with Rhett. Her white teeth flash you with a smile, perhaps a little too interested in whatever Billy Tillerson is babbling into her other ear. With their hands intertwined, you can hardly tell that they've got timers imprinted on their wrists, bearing identical numbers.

Autumn doesn't need to ask when you hand her the twenty from your pocket; in the time you've known each other, you've proven to be a creature of habit. Instead, she offers you a wink, not a word said.

Rhett's already by the door, working his beat-up wallet back into his jeans before he can set it down and forget that it's there. "Y' ready to get wet?" He chirps once you're within earshot.

You're not, but there's no stopping the rain now that it's coming down. "Ready as I'll ever be."

The door creeks open. A gust of wind rushes in through the gap. Slams you with the force of a freight train. Damn near strong enough to knock you on your ass. But Rhett's grabbing hold of your wrist and him hauling you forward is the only thing keeping your feet from being swept out from under you.

Freezing rain splatters against your skin like a million tiny bullets. So sharp you think they might pierce through and come out the other side. A sheet of white blinds you. Forced to lower your head and prey Rhett's hauling you the right direction. The sidewalk is already flooded. Splashing up to lick your ankles. Soaking through your shoes.

You're moving. You know you're moving. But you might as well be on some hellish treadmill because it doesn't feel like you're going anywhere.

All of a sudden, Rhett's pulling you to the right. Toward the curb. Reaching for the handle. Yanking so hard you can hear it over the rain.

It opens. You're inside within the very same second. Clambering into the cloth passenger seat, pulling your legs in, just as Rhett slams the door shut. Through the blurry dash, he's only identifiable as a big blue splotch, travelling around the front of his truck. His door rips open just as quickly, the vehicle rocking as he all but throws himself inside.

"'s fuckin' cold!" He sputters, blindly jabbing the key at the ignition. Miss. Miss again. Another miss. He tilts his head. It slides home.

It's been a minute since the last time you heard this old truck roar to life. Even longer since you've last felt your skin go this numb. Shivering like a leaf, nerves so ruthlessly beaten by the elements that they're shot. There's a texture to this seat. You know there is, but you can't feel it.

A weary hand darts out. Wavering back and forth. Narrowly misses the little heat dial.

"Ain't got heat, remember?" Rhett almost sounds guilty, though you can't say for sure. It's hard to get a read of his face when he's focused on putting the truck into gear, looking straight ahead as he pulls onto the road. Though you're not entirely sure why, he's still got that old—

...no. His spare shirt is still sitting in your clothes hamper, next in line for a wash. Even if you had miraculously known to carry it with you tonight, there's no way it would have done you any good. Not with how soaked your clothes are, dripping like you've just gone for an impromptu swim in the coldest river you could find.

Your arms rise to wrap around yourself, clinging to what little body heat you've got left. A jacket. Why didn't you think to carry a jacket? Lightning flickers. Crackling so loudly that you can feel it travel through the ground; almost sounds as if it's laughing at you.

Even in the safe confines of this truck, the win threatens to wriggle in and get ahold of you. Screaming around the truck. Whipping past light posts. Rattling them so hard that they sway back and forth. Something is telling you that a power outage is in your near-to-distant future. With how you can look out the back window and see it ravaging the main part of town, there's no way it's not going to take out a power line. One little mess up is all it takes to plunge this little town into darkness.

There's already a tree down. Its long branches obstructing part of the road, forcing Rhett onto the other side to squeeze past.

"'m I over far enough?" He sounds like he's got a handle on it, head tilting back and forth, drawing the truck closer and closer to the edge of the road.

Your eyes squint. Struggling to see through the window. "I think so."

It's an obstacle easily overcome, but as you begin to pick up speed once more, a new problem arises. Those poor little windshield wipers can hardly keep up with the rain. Coming down in sheet after sheet, splattering against the glass quicker than it can be swept off. Driving in the ocean would have better visibility.

"Can't fuckin..." Rhett's talking to himself. You hope he's talking to himself because you can't hear him over the chatter of your teeth. Trembling like some kind of exaggerated cartoon character.

The truck gently veers to the right, off into some kind of gravel space on the side of the road, grinding to a halt.

"The— the wipers can't go any faster?" Tongue limp in your mouth. Impossible to move.

Rhett's head shakes. "No, they don't..."

His eyes lock onto yours. Even that might be enough to eat away some of the ice forming in your bones. His jaw softens. Eyelashes fluttering with an incoming thought.

Slow, his arm rises from his side, extending your direction. "C'mere."

Your breath catches. Is that...no, you....you shouldn't—

"Promise I won't kiss ya," his fingers tap your shoulder, "'m jus' gonna warm ya up."

Another bolt of lightning flashes.

You're scooting across the bench seat before thunder even has the chance to arise. Slipping beneath his outstretched arm, helpless to do anything but fall into his big chest, equally soaked as you are, but he's warm. A big furnace, wrapping around and squeezing you into him.

He shifts the slightest bit, leaning against the door, opening himself up for you to properly squirm into his side. With such little space in this truck, it's a squeeze, but you fit nonetheless, cheek resting atop that old bucking bull tattoo, the scruff of his jaw tickling your forehead.

Another rumble rolls through, wind slamming into the side of the vehicle, rocking it back and forth like some kind of giant cradle. Rhett's legs shift, properly rising up onto the seat, knees knocking into yours as they settle. There's no way that you can feel his body, not with those thick jeans in the way, but a part of you swears that you can. So certain of it that you think the ice in your bones is beginning to thaw.

A big, warm hand runs up and down the expanse of your arm as if to create a little friction there. "Can y' still feel your hands?" He murmurs, voice rumbling against the top of your head, and you think that's the tip of his nose bumping into you.

You're wiggling your fingers, can see them moving in the darkness, but hardly any sensation comes of it. Feels as if you're operating a separate object and not a part of your own body. "I don't know."

He reaches down, both hands wrapping around yours, and immediately, it's as if you've been set ablaze. Fire burning in your frozen joints, sensitive to even the slightest change in temperature. Rhett's thumb swipes against yours, a rough glide, his skin weathered by a lifetime of labor on the ranch.

They're so much bigger, too, dwarfing yours in comparison, long and thick with muscle and built-up callouses. He must be noticing it as well because he's sliding his index finger down next to yours, and even in the dark, you can tell that he's at least twice the size. So big that you can hold just the four of his fingers, and not even need the rest of his hand.

You don't know why you're doing this or why he's letting you.

Careful, your gaze crawls upward, roaming over the wet fabric of his flannel, up his damp neck, and the dripping curls resting at his nape. And he's...

he's already looking at you. Half-lidded eyes fixated on your face, the corner of his lip twitching upward for the briefest moment. A tickle rises in the back of your throat. Nothing comes of it. Lightning lights up the world like a light switch flicked, but you don't hear the thunder that follows.

His nose bumps into yours. Breath fanning out against your skin.

This...you shouldn't...but...

Those blue eyes drop down to your lips. Then back up to you. His eyelashes flutter. You think yours might, too. He's so close. Can feel the stubble on his chin brush against you, a fleeting thing that you can somehow still feel, even after the contact breaks. A breath trickles out of your chest. The slightest little movement that brushes your bottom lip against his. And he's not moving away, he's—

An ear-splitting boom tears past the truck. Rattling it back and forth. Sends you and Rhett jumping. Your head bangs against the seat cushion. His elbow hits the horn.

"The hell..." he grumbles, with a shake of his head. "Was that s'pposed to be thunder?"

"Is that what it was?" Parroting him, looking toward the window as if that could possibly give you an answer.

The rain has slowed into a slow trickle that is easily swept away by the windshield wipers, unveiling the world around you once more. You recognize where you're at now, just two or three miles down from your house. So damn close, and yet...

"Let's get you home," Rhett's sitting up, and you've got no choice but to do so as well. The scoot to the passenger side is almost shameful, the cold, soaked seat squishing beneath you like a sponge.

A thick collection of petals swell in the back of your throat as Rhett's foot finds the gas pedal once more. Were you about to kiss him? What the hell were you thinking? That isn't how this works. You're not soulmates.

Somehow, the air has grown even colder without him wrapped around you, his very presence haunting you like a ghost. Lingering in the back of your mind so strongly that you can almost deceive yourself into believing that you're still snuggled into his side. But no matter how hard you focus, you can't force it to manifest into reality.

Cruel is what it is.

Even as the rain picks up once more, it's not enough to pull you over again, swept away from the windshield as quickly as it lands. There's another tree down, but it has barely made its way into the road, such a simple obstacle that only takes a second or two to get past. And just like that, your porch light is emerging in the distance. A golden glow that grows larger by the second, like a tiny sun rising to greet you.

The gravel driveway crackles beneath the tires; it's usually a pleasant sound, but today, all it does is cause your stomach to sink. Such a sour feeling that it rises, flower petals tickling the back of your throat until you cough. Little bits of purple scatter across your lap. Rhett's foot jumps to the brake pedal, a soft squeal emitting from beneath the vehicle as it comes to a stop.

You've never been so disappointed to see your front door.

"Thank you," barely a whisper as it leaves your mouth. Anything louder might break you.

He nods, eyes darting from your lap and up to your face. "Yeah."

The only sound in the truck is that of the frozen rain pitter-pattering on the metal roof. Nothing more. Nothing less. With a forced, tight-lipped smile, you reach for the door handle. It opens with a groan, creating just enough space for you to slip out, the oversaturated ground squelching beneath you. He doesn't say anything as you shut the door, so neither do you.

Resigned to silence, you trudge through the rain. Wind rips past, determined to lift you up off the ground and whisk you into the sky. But you don't lift off the ground. You don't even slip. Your feet find the front steps of your porch, hand fishing into your pocket and producing a set of drenched keys.

The confines of your home are so much warmer than it was outside, and yet, as you toe off your muddy shoes, you can't help but compare it to Rhett. Your heater may be strong, but it doesn't wrap around you the way his arms did. Big. Secure. The kind of thing you thought only existed in your daydreams.

Strange, you don't hear his truck pulling out of the driveway. You know he hasn't; that old GMC runs far too loudly for it to slip by unnoticed. Curious, you hook your finger into the blinds, pulling them down.

No, he hasn't moved at all.

...what's he doing out there? Even from here, you can tell that the storm is picking back up again, rustling through the trees, swaying them back and forth.

Nothing has fallen or otherwise obstructed the driveway, and something couldn't have gone wrong. Not that quickly. Unless he's suddenly developed the ability to hear your heart hammering against your chest, wordlessly begging him not to leave your driveway, there's no reason for him to still be parked.

The cab light flicks on. Then off again. All of a sudden, he's rounding the back of his truck. You're opening the door, socked feet stepping out onto the cold, wet porch. His spurs chime, boots thumping up one stair. Two. Three. Four. No, no, something must have happened. His eyes are wide, and his jaw is slack, looks half scared to death.

But he's not stopping.

"Rhett—"

"I forgot somethin'." One more step, and he's leaning down, and, and...

It's the simplest of things, merely pressing against each other for a long moment, but heaven itself cannot compare to the feeling of Rhett's lips against yours. His nose crushed uncomfortably against your cheek, big hands cradling your cheeks like you'll break if he doesn't.

Just as quickly, he draws away, soft blue eyes meeting with yours. Lightning flashes, but even the following slam of thunder cannot stop you from grabbing a fistful of his flannel and yanking him in once more. Lips crashing together, feet stumbling with the force of it. One of his arms is wrapping around your waist and your hands are sliding up into his hair. Bold. As if this is familiar, something you've done every day of your lives.

The press of his mouth and the stubble of his chin are so much more than your imagination ever could have crafted. Warm and scratching against you so deliciously that your head goes quiet. Soul mate markings be damned. This is where you're meant to be. Right here. Twisting your fingers through his unruly curls, gasping against him. Drowning as he kisses you again, and again, and again.

Your head is spinning. Stumbling blindly as he leans into you, forcing you backward. Your heel catches on the doorway. "Rhett—" But you don't fall. You can't. Not with that strong arm around you. "Cowboy!"

"You're the only one that's ever called me that." He breaks away, kicking at the door with his foot. There's no doubt a mud stain on the white frame now, but you've hardly got it in you to care.

"What?" Your nose bumps into his cheek. A little too close.

"Cowboy." He mutters, lips brushing against yours. So, so close.

A breath hitches in your throat. "Should I stop?"

"Never." And he's kissing you again.

Muffled thunder rumbles outside, and you're pretty sure the power has gone out, but you can't open your eyes to check. Helpless to do anything but tug on his hair, drinking in his deep grumble like you're starved. You should be embarrassed. Shouldn't be this desperate over a first kiss.

But Rhett's got it just as bad. Pushing you backward until you're bumping into the wall. His big, calloused hand is venturing beneath your soaked shirt. God, and you're letting him. Back arching as his fingertips trail up your spine, chest pressing into his. Gasping against his lips like you're trying to put on a show.

More. You want more. Reaching down to toy with the buttons on his shirt, undoing them one at a time, shaking fingers struggling to push them through the holes. Too eager to feel the expense of his chest beneath your palms.

"You're gonna have t' stop me," Rhett's speaking against your lips, batting your hands away. Makes no effort to finish your handiwork as he yanks the flannel off his shoulders, the final three buttons snapping off and scattering across the hardwood floor.

Before you can stop it, your hand drops to his belt, pulling him closer. Earns you an affectionate chuckle that echoes throughout the house. Those hips of his press forward, obnoxiously large buckle digging into your belly, not an inch of space left between your bodies.

"Why would I stop you?" It's too early for you to be reaching down to grab at the hem of your shirt, but you don't care. You want this damn thing off. The soaked fabric stubbornly clings to your frame, heavy as you drag it over your head. It hits the floor with a wet thunk, a mess for the future version of you to handle.

Those deep blue eyes might eat you alive. "Good point."

It's hard to tell who makes the next move. All you know is that you're leaning in to kiss him, noses crashing together, and his hands are appearing on your ass, squeezing until you get the hint to jump. It all happens so fast. The thunk of your back against the wall. His hips slotting between your thighs.

"Y' feel what you're doin' to me?" He grunts, and he doesn't need to specify for you to know what he's talking about—heavy bulge straining against his jeans, pressing perfectly against your core, igniting a familiar heat there.

"Uhuh," is all you're capable of. Greedy hands sliding across his chest and up his shoulders, feeling over all the little freckles and marks that have haunted your imagination. Fuck, and he just lets you. Too busy leaning in to steal a kiss off you. One. Two. Three. Before he shifts to the juncture of your jaw, stubble tickling as he kisses down your neck.

Your hips buck forward.

"Fuck," Rhett's voice tickles your ear, "shoulda let me kiss you earlier, sweetheart."

A shiver ripples down your spine. That's new.

Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. Finding your words is a task in of itself. Hard to do much of anything when his lips find the soft spot beneath your ear, sucking lightly.

"You were drunk," voice strained, wound too tight in your throat.

"Felt pretty sober in the moment," He hums, tongue poking out to wet your skin. Fuck, you wonder what that would feel like in other places, thighs squeezing impossibly tighter around his hips, works a groan right out of him.

Thunder booms outside, but it's not enough to stop your lips from crashing once more. Teeth clattering, hopelessly grinding down into him, and even these layers of clothing can't stop you from feeling the way he twitches.

It's all a blur.

One moment, you're up against the wall. The next, you're on the ground again, socks sliding against the floor as you stumble down the hall. Hands tangled in his hair. Gasping against his lips. Moving blindly, too focused on each other to spare even a second. You don't know you're in the bedroom until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the mattress, falling backward with a yelp.

Fuck, you shouldn't be doing this. There's no reason for you to be letting Rhett Abbott climb into bed with you and slot his big, warm body between your legs. He's your friend. You've known him since you could walk. And these tattoos. They don't match. You're not soulmates.

Rhett's hand rises, pinning yours to the mattress, fingers slotting together. Must know what you're thinking about. "Who gives a fuck 'bout soulmates," he whispers, leaning forward to bump his nose against yours, rubbing them back and forth. "A damn stranger ain't gonna make me as happy as you do."

And you don't...you don't know what to say.

Maybe you don't need to say anything because he kisses you like he's heard everything your heart has to tell him. Stealing your breath away, plucking every little flower from your lungs, so dizzying that your legs have to curl around him to keep from floating away. As if you could possibly escape the big, warm arms that have settled on either side of your head.

Slow, his weight settles on top of you. Bellies snug together. So close that you can hardly grind up into him, reduced to a needy squirm, whining high in your throat.

"Shh," he coos. A big hand curling around your cheek, thumb stroking the thin skin there. "I'll take care of you."

He's already making good on his promise, pulling away to kiss down your neck once more. Hot tongue poking past his lips, running over a vein, leaves behind a glistening trail as he makes his way to your collar. One of his hands dips behind your back, pinching the clasp of your bra, opens it so easily that it almost surprises you.

The last thing you expect is for him to gasp when he pulls it away. Awestruck by the sight of you, bare, for his eyes only. "So fuckin' pretty," whispering, as he kisses down your chest. Too eager to run his tongue down the swell of your breast, so content that his closed eyes seem to smile.

Oh, that's...

"Rhett..." Heat swells in your lower belly. The feeling of his tongue swirling around your nipple is...truly something...

Just as quickly, he's darting to the other one, all too excited to feel the little bud harden beneath his touch. Sensitive. Only takes the slightest bit of suction to make you jolt. But he must have noticed something even more enticing because he's pulling away from that one as well, a big hand rising to toy with it as his head dips down lower.

A delicate kiss presses to the scar on your left side.

Then another. And another. And another. Loving on the old wound, as if he can possibly reverse the damage if he gives it enough attention. Maybe just one more kiss will do it. If not, then surely the next one can make it happen.

"It was nobody's fault," you say softly, reaching to run your fingers through his hair once more. Truly, it wasn't. Nobody could have anticipated that shard of glass.

"I know," the rumble of his voice tickles, pausing to run his tongue up the expanse of the mark, "jus' wish it didn't hurt ya like it did."

Gradually, he draws himself away from your side. Kissing his way down your belly until he meets the thin, delicate band of your underwear. His eyes peer up at you with a silent question. Your answer comes in the form of lifted hips, allowing him to pull the material down your legs. Then, he reaches for his belt, pinching it open with mesmerizing ease.

One boot thunks against the floor. Then the other. You really hope he didn't track mud all over your hardwood.

"You and that obnoxious buckle," the comment slips off your tongue before you can stop it. Too busy watching him undress. It's unfair how well the fabric clings to his thighs, fitting him like a damn glove.

He laughs, kicking his jeans off his feet. "What, don't think it looks good on me?"

"If I answer that, your ego will go through the roof." Your eyes roll; the last thing you need to do is tell him that, yes, you do like it. Lord only knows he'll run himself through four more rodeo seasons, trying to score an even bigger buckle.

"Already has," he winks, hooking a thumb into the waistband of his boxers.

You don't know what he's got to be so confident about until...

"Jesus, Rhett."

"What?" He grins. Absolutely fucking obnoxious. But you can't formulate a single word. "What?"

Your thighs cinch together, hiding yourself from view. There is absolutely no reason why that should be springing up from its confines, so heavy that it smacks against his hip, unable to stand up against his belly. So wet that even in the dark you can see him glistening.

"Naw, y' don't gotta be shy," Rhett's hand travels up your knee, slipping between your closed legs, callouses dragging deliciously against your sensitive skin, "'s just me."

A little too easily, you fall apart once more, feeling a little too exposed as his hungry eyes rake down your body. Every imperfection and curve is on full display. An exhibit of the life you've lived. And Rhett just might be your biggest admirer, his warm frame slipping between your legs, big hands gliding up your sides, pressing lazy kisses as he settles on top of you.

"Rhett..." you don't know why you're saying his name, thighs curling around his sharp hips. His cock head bumps into the meet of your thigh, sends you jumping before you can realize what's happened.

"Ain't gonna hurt ya," uttering beneath his breath, a sentiment meant for your ears only. "I promise." He reaches between your bodies, gently guiding himself to—

Your head tilts back with a gasp. That's new. The delicate drag of Rhett's cock, gliding between your folds, the underside of him nudging at your clit. Hadn't realized you'd gotten this worked up until now, so wet that you can almost convince yourself that you don't need any lube at all. Not a hint of dryness to be found, sliding so, so easily against you.

But then you're gathering the courage to peer down between your legs, and even the darkness can't hide how big he is. Thicker than your daydreams have ever depicted, just a hair longer than any of the toys hiding beneath the bed.

"Bedside table," you blurt, heart fluttering in your chest. Walking is a privilege you'd like to keep.

An unforeseen positive to letting your best friend between your legs is the fact that he knows exactly what you're trying to say. No need for questions as Rhett reaches off to the side, hand disappearing into the drawer. Comes back with the bottle, then delves back in, producing some tiny, round hunks of plastic.

You don't recognize them until he flicks one on—the tiny, fake candles from a few Halloweens ago.

"How romantic," there's a strangeness to this that you didn't expect; oddly casual, even with this newfound situation.

"What?" He asks, innocent as can be, like you have a choice in the matter, already putting one flickering candle off to the side. Another, next to your hip, and he's still got four or five of them left to turn on. "Ain't in the mood for some mood lightin'?"

Lying to yourself is fruitless. The soft golden glow is a welcomed addition to this dark little bedroom. Highlights the room just enough for you to catch the way he drizzles the lube into his palm, reaching down to spread it over himself. That big hand almost tricks you into believing his cock is smaller than it really is, the flushed tip nudging at your cunt with every upward glide.

They say monsters hide in the dark, and you know you caught sight of one between his legs.

Two fingers press into you. No warning to be found, the thick digits easing in like they've done it a million and one times, crooking upward, dragging against your walls. There's the slightest hint of a stretch, a soft ache that—

You suck in a breath, a soft noise escaping past your lips.

Rhett's cock twitches against you. "'s that it?"

Weak, you nod. Don't trust yourself to speak. Not with him gradually beginning to move, shallowly pumping those long digits into you, never pulling out far enough to make you feel empty. But it's so hard to stay quiet when he continuously rubs up into those little nerves, nudging them on every pass over.

"Rhett..." hips writhing against the bed, not sure if you want to lean into it or squirm away.

That must be all that he's planning to give you because all of a sudden, he's drawing away. Wet fingers glisten in the candlelight as he reaches for his cock once more, guiding it back between your folds. Not entirely the same as what you had before, but the drag of his cock head against your clit is so, so worth the exchange.

His warm chest settles against yours once more, lips finding your cheek, scratchy jaw tickling the skin there. Sounds like he murmurs your name as he travels to the corner of your mouth, pressing another kiss there. Finally. Finally, he meets you for a proper kiss, almost immediately broken by the swivel of his hips, reformed just as quickly.

Your hands are on the move. One in his hair, the other on his naked shoulder, feeling the way his muscles flex and ripple beneath your fingertips. Strong from a decade of bull riding and all that time spent on the ranch, chiseled and perfect in every way you can imagine. Fuck, it's like he was built just for you and this. Rutting between your legs like he's in heat, dragging against your needy clit until your hips twitch off the mattress, pressing into him.

Swallowing down his groan is enough to put you up on cloud nine.

A pressure appears at your entrance—the soft nudge of his tip. Your antics must have caused him to wander a little too far down. But you're pushing down onto him like it was your intent all along, and by God, he's not trying to stop you.

Rhett stiffens. "You want me to...?" Muttering against your lips, unable to draw himself away any further.

"Yeah," it's the easiest thing you've said all night.

It's all the encouragement he needs, mouth meeting yours once more. Slow, that pressure between your legs begins to grow, his blunt tip spreading you wide. There's a part of you already beginning to wonder if you should have asked for more lube, but his incessant lips are so damn distracting. Tangling with yours, drawing you into a captivating dance, spinning your head round and round, drawing your mind away from the burn.

His head slips into you with a soft 'pop,' such an odd little feeling that has you gasping into his kiss, fingertips digging into his shoulder blades. Now you can really feel him. The delicate drag of his length gradually filling you, centimeter by debilitating centimeter. You'll be waddling come morning. You can already feel it.

There's no way you won't be. Not with how your pussy aches with the overwhelming stretch of him.

"Y' want me to stop?" Rhett's low voice rumbles against your bottom lip; when did the kiss break?

Thunder rumbles outside, your only reminder of the storm that looms just past the thin walls of your home. Even the memory of running with him in the rain feels like it was forever ago. There were flowers filling your lungs just a few hours prior, but as you draw in a breath, you can't feel a shred of evidence that they were ever there.

"Yeah," nodding, your nose bumping into his, "you're just...a lot."

God, you shouldn't have said that.

But it's too late. There's already a wild grin emerging onto his scruffy face, so pleased with your words that his eyes seem to sparkle. As if the sight of you struggling to take his cock wasn't enough of a boost to his ego.

"'s that it?" Speaking through his smile, still has the audacity to sink even further into you. "Ya never had anything big as me?"

Your eyes roll so hard that they might get stuck.

All at once, his hips are flush with yours, not an inch of space left, your legs tightening around him as if there's a risk of him pulling back out. But that's not happening. Not with the way he's blindly nuzzling his nose into you, so lost in the feeling of you wrapped around him that he can't hold his eyes open.

"Y' alright?" His eyelashes tickle your cheek as they flutter open.

"Uhuh" is the best that you've got at this given moment. It's so hard to speak when you're so full. Couldn't take another millimeter of him, even if he begged you to. "You can..." pausing for a breath, "you can move."

In perfect synchrony, your attentions flicker down to where your bodies meet. A sight lit by the golden glow of the artificial candles, illuminating the slow withdrawal of Rhett's cock, where you're stretched so wide that you don't think your smaller toys will ever satisfy you again.

"Shit, look at that," there's no reason why Rhett, of all people, should be so mesmerized by this, but he is, and it makes you fucking dizzy. "'s fuckin' hot."

And then he's sinking back in and—

"Fuck," it's too early for you to be whimpering so high in your throat, but his blunt tip is dragging right against the sensitive nerves hidden within you, and it's so, so much.

This close, it's hard to miss the way Rhett's breath hitches, "'s that the spot, baby?"

All you can do is nod. Nails biting into his shoulders as he draws back once more, rubbing past that little spot once more. Toys don't normally get this sort of reaction out of you, but there's just something about it being Rhett that's getting to you. Your childhood best friend. The man that your weary heart has yearned for since high school. Eye candy at every rodeo he's ever set foot in.

His lips find yours, tangling lazily, humming all the while. A part of you wonders if he always demands this many kisses. If he makes a habit of smiling into them. The rest of you knows that he doesn't because otherwise, he'd know that the heavy thrust of his hips would send your teeth clattering together.

"Ow," he's jerking back as if he's not the main culprit behind it.

His cock head drives right up into those nerves. Sends your back arching up off the bed, pussy spasming around him, and you don't know which of you cry out louder.

"There, there, there," you're babbling like a fool, but he's already missing it again. Such a minuscule thing that every correction is an overshot.

Rhett's brows furrow, focusing so damn hard, and yet, "I can't...shit, that ain't it either."

But you've got an idea.

Without a word, you begin to lean up, foreheads bumping together as Rhett tries to follow along, his big blue eyes so wide that they glisten in the light. Slipping out of you entirely as he falls onto his haunches, looks like a big puppy when he's confused like this.

"On your back," your command is soft. It could easily be bent if he really wanted to, but he's already following through on it, twisting and falling back onto the bed without a fuss.

Settling into his lap is a feeling you've imagined a million and one times, and yet, somehow, it's unlike anything your mind has ever come up with. Warmth radiating off him like he's a damn heater, broad chest making your hand look impossibly tiny, as you lean on him for balance. He's already one step ahead of you, carefully guiding his cock back to your dripping cunt; all you've got to do is sink down and—

A pair of gasps tear through the room. Louder than the storm raging outside.

"Y' look so fuckin' beautiful on top of me, baby," Rhett sputters, peering up at you as if you've hung the moon and the stars in the sky.

Already, you're beginning to move. Knees digging into the mattress, palms firm against his chest as you lift yourself up. The curve of his length alone is enough to make your thighs shudder.

"You're not so bad yourself," you're breathless already, hips swiveling, searching for that deceptive little angle. Maybe if you...lean a little further forward...

There it is.

A tingle ripples up your spine, clamping down around Rhett's cock, and he must feel it because his head rolls to the side, lips parting with a groan that ought to make your head spin. Those big hands settle onto your thighs, gripping like he'll fall off the bed if he doesn't.

"Is that—oh fuck," his hips jerk up off the bed, leaking tip kissing those little nerves head on, "is that it?"

You can't answer. Palms shivering against his chest, already fighting to keep yourself upright. An ache blooming in your thighs with every rise and fall, head tilting back, a familiar heat beginning to bloom in your lower belly.

Rhett must be feeling it, too. There's no way he isn't. Head rolling from side to side, back arching off the bed, unable to keep himself still beneath you, a whiny mewl escaping his parted lips. And all it's doing is jostling his length inside of you, sporadically tapping against all those sensitive spots.

A calloused thumb appears on your clit. Not sure when he started reaching down, but it's damn near got you collapsing onto his chest, a tremble setting into your exhausted bones.

"Fuck, Rhett!" You're squealing, poorly built rhythm already beginning to fall apart.

Again, his hips snap upward, heavy balls smacking against your ass. "'m sorry, I'm not trying to buck my hips. I just..." he doesn't get to finish that because you're falling forward into his chest, face burying into his shoulder. It's too much. It's too much.

Big hands settle on your hips. Gripping tight as his knees bend, feet digging into the mattress to pump into you properly. Lewd smacks of skin on skin echoing through the room, artificial candles bouncing with his every motion.

"Anyone else ever fill your sweet pussy like this?" He rasps in some rumbling, guttural tone you've never heard before. "Hm?"

Your head shakes, but it takes a moment to realize that he can't see what you're doing. Not with you nuzzled up under his jaw. "N-no," whimpering right into his ear.

Those hands are moving again, gliding up your back, big arms securing themselves around you like a hug, the only damn thing that keeps you from bouncing further up the bed. Your forearms settle on either side of his head, shivering as you try to lift yourself up, but you can only go so far, barely able to meet his eyes.

Lips clash, so loose that it hardly even counts as a kiss. Drinking down Rhett's feeble whine. Makes your head spin so much more than the alcohol ever did. Heat pools between your legs, pussy tightening like a vice around his pistoning cock, thick tip rubbing into those nerves over and over and over.

You're close.

"I love you," it slips out of him so quietly that you nearly believe it's a figment of your imagination. "I love you, I love you, I love you."

One of your hands delves into his hair, noses colliding. Think you might be whispering it back, but you can't hear what's coming out of your mouth. Overridden by the blood rushing to your head and the slap of his skin against yours, and, and, and...

Spots appear in your vision. Body going taut as you cum around him without the slightest warning. Crying out high in your throat, forehead knocking against Rhett's, an invisible flame racing across your skin. Every thrust pushes your head higher into the clouds, could damn near float up to the ceiling if his arms weren't tightening around you, his hips stalling. A melody of whimpers bubbles out of his throat, orgasm washing over him like a tidal wave.

You think you can feel it. The spasm of his cock and the warmth of his cum painting you white, flooding your pussy so full that you think it's already beginning to pour out of you. His hips jerk up into you, punctuated by a sickening squelch and his own broken moan.

And yet, somehow, you've got the strength to meet his swollen lips, lazy tongues poking out to twist together like a greeting. Wet and messy as can be, saliva running down your chin, drooling like dogs in the summer sun. Rhett twists beneath you, and you're vaguely aware that the world around you is spinning, falling into the mattress beside him.

A tickle rises in the back of your throat, forcing a cough out of you. Two purple flowers dance out onto the bed, obnoxiously vibrant and dainty. They've always been small, nothing compared to the roses Rhett's been choking up, but they look even tinier in his sweaty palm.

"Spiderwort," he murmurs after a moment, running a fingertip over their petals. Bleary blues peer flicker up to you, half-lidded and turned upward by his dumb smile.

They've always been his favorite.

"So there was no girl at the bar?" You ask, hand wandering onto his cheek, curling around it like he's the most delicate thing on this planet.

His head shakes. "Never."

There's still a storm lurking outside, rattling the house, lightning and thunder striking the ground with an unmatched fury, but you hardly notice it. Too distracted by the warmth of a cowboy, his legs tangling with yours, uncaring of the mess you've made together. Kissing just for the hell of it, wandering across cheeks and peppering over old scars, musing about the memories attached.

When you fall asleep, you're not sure, but you wake snuggled into his naked chest, his big arm looped around you like a blanket. Sunshine peeks through the gap in the curtains, the shrill tune of a bird singing her song, and for once, it's dreamy rather than irritating.

On its own accord, your fingers drift across his sleeping face, warm and maybe the slightest bit flushed. Wandering over the scruff clinging to his jaw, finally at that length where it's grown soft to the touch. Drifting around the minuscule scar above his brow, the only remnant of the night you snuck out together and wrecked the four-wheeler.

As far as you're aware, Royal never did find out why it started making that funny noise.

...or maybe Rhett was never asleep to begin with because when you look back down, his eyes are open.

"Keep doin' that," he grumbles, voice deeper than the rumble of last night's thunder, leaning in to press his lips against your forehead. You don't need any further encouragement, trailing your fingertips across his face just for the hell of it.

There are things you should be saying. Discussions to be had about where this puts you and what you are to each other, but the upturn of his lips tells you a million and one words. Seriousness can wait. For now, all you want to think about is this next kiss he's planting on you.

And then another between your eyes, and another on your left cheek, one more on the tip of your nose. Slowly but surely sprawling across your face, peppering you with them so quickly that it feels like the wings of butterflies fluttering against your skin.

"Rhett!" You squeal, pushing at his jaw, but it's no use. He's rolling on top of you, and you're helpless to do anything but squirm and cry out, forced to endure all these kisses.

As quickly as they start, they stop.

You're half anticipating them to begin the moment your eyes peel open, but he's not even looking at you. Too focused on something next to his face, just past your wrist.

Or maybe...

"What?" You're not following.

He leans back, brows furrowed as he looks down at his arm.

You don't get it. What, was he expecting the tattoos to change overnight? It still looks the damn same to you—

...oh.

That's not the same marking that has marred your skin from birth. And Rhett's turning his arm to let you see, and it's—

It's the same. Rhett's old bucking bronc, your shoe flying behind its upturned feet. It was never meant to be identical; they were meant to complete each other's picture.

"Are you serious?" You're sputtering through the smile emerging onto your face, so wide that it shapes your eyes with it.

And Rhett's not doing much better. Red-cheeked. Grinning from ear to ear. "We just been wrong 'bout it the whole fuckin' time."

This time, when he leans down to kiss you, there isn't a single flower to be found in your lungs. No roses. No spiderwort. Just you and him collapsing into these messy sheets, tangled together as one, matching tattoos at all.

Separation is only temporary. Breaking apart just long enough to venture into the shower together, uncaring of the tight fit, so long as Rhett's hands are gliding along your body. Tangling together in the kitchen, waiting on the microwave to beep, feet knocking into each other beneath the table like you're five years old, and sharing breakfast at the Abbott house again.

He kisses you in the hallway while mopping up the mud he tracked in. Peppers them along the side of your neck when you stumble out onto the porch to find that a tree has fallen, blocking your driveway completely. Perry says he'll come by with a chainsaw tomorrow afternoon; he could be here within the hour, but you've got the feeling that he's already caught on to what's happened.

In the middle of summer, you begin to suspect that some familiar flowers are beginning to grow around your home. Vibrant little buds sprout from amidst the dewy grass, nestled against the foundation of your home and roaming out into the lawn, running rampant now that the storm has run out of rain.

Roses don't grow in Wabang. Unless, of course, they're accompanied by spiderwort.

A few kisses from a cowboy are all they've ever needed.

#rhett abbott #rhett abbott x reader #oneshot #afab reader #hanahaki disease #soulmate au #friends to lovers

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esamastation · 6 months

Text

Part forty-four of Shizuroth, aka, the SOLDIER General's Self Saving Shizun.

Ao3 link.

Previous parts: twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty, thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-three, thirty-four, thirty-five, thirty-six, thirty-seven, thirty-eight, thirty-nine, forty, forty-one, forty-two, forty-three

Observation log, 8th of October, 16:34.

Sephiroth spent most of the day redecorating the house before fixing up the yard to his liking. He's pretty particular about where everything goes. Hewley's fixed up a training field for him, and bedrooms for all of us. No idea who will be cooking. At a guess, it's not going to be either one of the SOLDIERs.

After poking around the house, they set up to practise outside. No sign of any usual energy activity from Sephiroth so far - just normal sword practice. Sephiroth seems to be teaching Hewley how to actually use his huge ass sword.

Seems like a good teacher.

Observation log, 8th of October, 18:45

Sword practice finished, no new developments to report. Sephiroth is teaching Hewley how to meditate. Apparently it's "good for your energies" to meditate after practice.

Rude finally decided to show up with our supplies. No fucking wonder it took him forever - the dumbass hauled the whole load in with a handcart. Still, got everything here alright, so, gotta hand it to him, man doesn't quit easy.

I guess I'm cooking tonight. Hope everyone likes chili!

Observation log, 8th of October, 21:13

Sephiroth is reading through all the writing left behind by the previous owner of the safehouse. I would like to note that there's no mention of him knowing Wutai language anywhere in his file. Hewley is checking the perimeter. Rude passed out after eating.

Chili was universally enjoyed by all! This ends the 8th of October log.

Observation log, 9th of October, 10:05

Well. It's safe to say that energy alignment work has begun.

After breakfast Sephiroth informed us that he'd be going to the training field and that he shouldn't be disturbed for any reason - that we're free to watch, but that's it, and even if his practice runs past dinner time, that was fine. Just let him do his thing.

The implication that if we got in his way, we'd go the way of the SOLDIER training room, was pretty clear.

He's been working on sword forms ever since, going on for three hours now. It doesn't look that different from the usual sword practice he does - but it feels different. Even before he started glowing. It feels like when someone is firing off a spell, that rushing, on fire, kinda electric feeling? It feels like that, like Sephiroth's firing off spells every which way, just, nonstop. But he isn't.

Hewley looks kinda like someone hit him over the head with a crowbar, so whatever he's sensing with his SOLDIER enhancements must be pretty wild.

Observation log, 9th of October, 13:45

Energy alignment is still going, with no change and no visible signs of exhaustion from Sephiroth.

Asked Hewley over lunch what he thought of the whole thing and what the alignment practice felt like to him.

Hewley: "Have you ever seen a natural Mako spring? I'm originally from the Mideel Islands, and there's a bunch of them - and the really old and active ones tend to have a buildup of Materia around them. They feel like nothing else - people use them for all kinds of health benefits."

Rude: "Sephiroth feels like a… healing spring?"

Hewley: "Kind of. One with a whirlpool in the middle… and maybe a thunderstorm looming overhead."

Observation log, 9th of October, 17:30

Sephiroth is still at it. He hasn't even taken a break to piss!

Observation log, 9th of October, 19:15

Sephiroth stopped the sword practice, finally, but it doesn't feel like it's over. He's still glowing, and now he's sitting in the middle of the field, meditating. He has one hand on his stomach, and Hewley is worried about another blood vomiting possibility. Like maybe what he's doing is making physical changes to his insides. Which is just such a lovely thought just before dinner!

We've decided not to disturb him - but Rude's making a plate for him, just in case he'll be done soon.

Observation log, 9th of October, 21:15

Sephiroth is still meditating. Guess that means seconds for the rest of us!

Observation log, 9th of October, 23:50

When is this asshole going to go to bed?!

Observation log, 10th of October, 02:05

Fucking finally! Sephiroth finally stopped, got up, had a wash and went to bed. This concludes the log for the 9th of October. Goddamn.

Observation log, 10th of October, 10:40

It's hard to say what, if anything, the previous day actually achieved. Sephiroth doesn't look or feel different, and he still acts the same. Reno can't tell if there's any difference either. He seems just as weird as before.

Hewley grilled him on the whole thing, but Sephiroth wasn't exactly forthcoming.

Exact transcript of Sephiroth's and Hewley's discussion:

Sephiroth: "Can you feel the MP inside you? I don't mean just when you use it, or when you're running low - everyone becomes more aware of the volume of their blood when they have anaemia, that's not what I mean. I mean right now - can you feel the MP you have? How about the Mako?"

Hewley: "I guess, sort of? I mean, I do feel different than I did before I had any treatments, and I know I have MP, but that's probably not what you mean?"

Sephiroth: "No, not exactly. I guess it doesn't actually matter."

Hewley: "Hey, no, you got me curious now. What does it feel like for you?"

Sephiroth: "It's like I have a concrete lump of… crude energy in my gut."

Hewley: "Crude?"

Sephiroth. "Raw, unprocessed, unrefined."

Hewley: "That's the Mako inside you?"

Sephiroth: "That too."

Hewley: "And with your energy alignment practice, you're… refining that?"

Sephiroth: "Something like it."

Hewley: "That's incredible. What will happen if you succeed?"

Sephiroth: "... Guess we'll see once I do."

Observer's note, I don't know what the hell that means, but the look on his face was fucking scary. Sephiroth knows exactly what it means. And he knows it will have some consequences going forward. And he definitely expects those consequences to be mostly bad. But he's still doing it!

So here's a question; does Sephiroth himself know why he's doing what he's doing? Does he have a plan, is this part of some scheme - or is he blindly following impulses he probably doesn't fully understand?

Sephiroth went back to work immediately after eating breakfast, and it looks like it's going to be another 12 hours of glowy sword swinging.

I should've brought a magazine or something.

Gonna be skipping some time in the next few parts.

#Fanfiction #ffvii #ff7 #Svsss #reno of the turks #sephiroth #shen qingqiu #shen yuan #angeal hewley #rude of the turks

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missmonsters2 · 1 year

Note

⚡ Scared of thunderstorms

🫂 Comforting hugs

With Tara>>>>

If you don't wanna that's okay but thank you😭

Pairing: Tara Carpenter x Fem!Reader/OFC

Warnings: hurt/comfort. exes trope. Tara is so slkdfjds. unbeta'd we die like ghostface.

Library Blog | AO3

Note: you saying it's okay if i don't wanna is so cute for some reason. I already did a thunderstorm & hug tara prompt, so I hope it's okay I made this hurt/comfort to change it up 😭

Count: 999 (🧍‍♀️)

Reminder there's no taglist but you can follow my library blog for notifications 💘

Please do not copy, repost, or translate my work anywhere else.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷🗡⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

You're in the middle of grocery shopping when your phone vibrates in your pocket, disrupting the music playing from your earbuds. You pull out your phone from your back pocket, looking at the screen before pursing your lip.

You debate whether to answer it or not, but the lingering anxiety under your skin doesn't allow you to ignore it.

With a puff of a quiet sigh, you answer. "Hey, Sam," you greet, slightly wary.

"Hey," Sam greets back, and through the phone, you can hear the rain outside, and you know she must be standing near a window. There's a rumble of thunder, and your heart drops, knowing why she's called. "Listen, I wouldn't call you unless it was—"

"The last resort?" You finish her sentence and hear a resigned sigh on the other end. "Sam, I can't keep doing this—not after everything Tara put me through."

"I know," the words are terse, and you can practically hear Sam swallowing. "But no one can calm her down. Please—" Sam's voice is pleading desperately. "The neighbors are going to complain, and the landlord isn't exactly thrilled with us."

You pinch the bridge of your nose, taking a deep breath. Thunder rumbles, and you hear noises in the background, sighing in resignation, abandoning your grocery-filled cart. "Fine, I'll be there in 15 minutes."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷🗡⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

You're mostly dry when Mindy lets you through the door as you bring an umbrella.

"Hey, stranger," Mindy greets you with a lopsided smile that seems sad. "Nice to see your face."

"Nice to see yours, too," you give a small smile back. It was good to see Mindy, you admit. Her witty and charming personality had been refreshing to be around. You grin. "Well, mostly."

"Fuck you," Mindy's smile turns amused. "My face could cure any ailment."

"Considering you got stabbed six months ago, I'll let you have that."

Mindy snorts as you walk through the apartment. You see Chad hanging by a bedroom door, and you give him a terse smile that he returns.

"Are they in there?" You ask, and Chad nods, looking reluctant to tell you.

"Yeah," Chad's jaw is clenched. "We've been trying to get her to sit down but she refuses."

You nod, running your hand through your hair nervously as you step past him, pushing the door open.

"Tara, please, just sit down. It's just a little thunder, is all," You see Sam immediately, and Tara's standing far from the window, pacing back and forth with tears running down her face as she cries, looking manic.

Sam notices you immediately, relief on her face, and you nod at her. She touches your shoulder, asking if you want to be alone.

Your first instinct is to say no, but you can't bear having Sam witness what's about to happen. So, you nod, trying to appear less tense. Sam notices, anyway, giving you an apologetic look before she exits the room.

Tara doesn't even notice you initially, and you feel rooted in where you stand. But then, a white flash fills the room, and Tara looks at the window terrified, and you know you only have seconds before she starts screaming.

"Tara," you say, forcing your voice to be louder than the rain. The sound of your voice snaps Tara's attention to you. Her eyes instantly well up at the sight of you as she rushes across the room toward you, throwing her arms around your waist as she holds you tightly.

Your arms automatically return her hold, embracing her tenaciously in a way you know makes her feel safe.

Her face is pressed into your neck, and you can feel the dampness of her eyes. Your name keeps falling from her lips repeatedly as she grasps at the back of your shirt.

"Tara," you whisper, and she can only hear it through the vibration against her temple. "Tara, it's okay. I'm here."

"I'm sorry," Tara chokes out. "I'm so, so sorry."

You swallow harshly, clenching your jaw as if it will ease the pain you feel in your chest. You know Tara's not apologizing for making you come here tonight. She's apologizing for the fact you're not here in the first place.

Tara's saying sorry for accusing you so harshly that you were Ghostface. There was a part of you that understood it and forgave her for it, knowing the circumstances of her life and the fact that you're never supposed to trust the love interest.

Tara's saying sorry for leaving you with a broken heart instead of letting you prove it wasn't you—and you would've done anything to prove it if you were given a chance.

"It's okay," you rub her back soothingly to calm her down.

But it wasn't.

"That doesn't matter."

At least, right now, it didn't.

You walk with Tara in your arms, guiding her to her bed. She almost refuses to leave your arms, but you keep your hands on her as you climb into bed beside her. You lift your arm over her shoulder and pull her close as she rests her cheek against your collarbone.

Tara is still crying as she adjusts and rests on her side, pressed against you. Her eyes are closed from exhaustion, but she refuses to sleep. Her brain is running amuck between fear of the thunderstorm and fear of you being gone when she wakes up.

Tara knew it wasn't fair to you, but all she could do was think about how to keep you here and get you back.

"I'm sorry."

"I know."

"I miss you."

"Me too," you reluctantly admit with a sigh.

"I know it's my fault," Tara whispers, "but I don't want to be without you."

You lean your head back, telling yourself to forget everything for now and enjoy holding someone you still love, even if they broke your heart.

"Let's just talk after the thunderstorm, okay?"

Tara's hand moves to yours and grasp it, feeling better that you don't pull away. "Okay."

#tara carpenter x reader #jenna ortega x reader #tara carpenter imagine #jenna ortega imagine #jenna ortega angst #jenna ortega x fem reader #tara carpenter angst #tara carpenter fluff #tara carpenter #tara carpenter x fem reader #mm.drabble.tara #mm: my fics

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yaut-jaknowit · 6 months

Note

How bout something with a yautja and their partner (either human or yautja) gets hurt, like broken back level of hurt and the two just go through the ups and downs of recovery/healing together till the partner who has got hurt learns how to walk again and what not. How they get hurt up to you lol

When the Stars Align

Pairings: Gawtin (Female Yautja) x Reader

Word Count: 5942 (Whoops. A whopping ten pages)

Summary: For the year, you were closing up your cabin deep in the forest. It's done well and served its purpose during the warmth months but winter was coming. On the last night up there, you were walking the property only to come across a wounded animal.

Author Note: I hope it was okay to turn this a little different than you wanted it. If you want something else, let me know! I felt like this could be used as an excuse to finally reveal where reader met Gawtin originally. Little warning of blood, birth (not descriptive).

Part 2

Masterlist

Ao3

Around the cabin deep in the forest was miles and miles of forest barely occupied by any other people. A life you wished to enjoy longer before reality crashes back down on you. The cool crisp air attempted to bite through your jacket, almost nipping at your skin. Winter was coming soon. The poor little cabin situated far from civilization was unreachable during this time. Which meant, at this time, it was time to close it down.

Food and some drinks had to be retrieved. All the pipes had to be blown out so they didn’t freeze and burst open. Any clothing you wanted back home was to be packed into the extra bags you’ve brought. Windows had to be boarded up. Lastly, the power shut off.

Alone, you sat out by the large fire pit, observing the flickering flames. The warm it produced was enough for you to sit outside comfortably with just a simple jacket.

Up here, this far in, there was no cell service, not to even call for an emergency. If you were in trouble, you had to either solve the problem yourself or somehow get yourself into range. Both options were difficult to obtain in the middle of an emergency. When it came to survival, that’s what you had to do unfortunately.

A sketch book and pencil sat in your hands, used but forgotten about currently. Thoughts crowded your mind too much to think clearly. Coming up here was always a great stress reliever when life became too hectic. Wintertime sucked. Unable to escape reality for just a weekend and be stuck at a job that drains you or able to just come up to enjoy nature at its finest.

Softly, your eyes closed. The forest grew louder, ears picking up every little sound possible from your spot. The fire before you continuing to crackle and pop at times. A constant source of heat to fight off the chill of the beginning night. This was your last night up for the year. You’ll be back up in late April and early May to reopen it for the year and enjoy it all over again.

Warm air turned the cool air surrounding you into a steam for just a moment. You stood up and stretched out. The sketch book in your hand was placed to the side, pencil on top of it. If you couldn’t get out of your thoughts, you needed to clear them. There were only so few things possible to do so.

You walked up the short three steps on the deck and into the cabin. It was small, reliable though. For years, since the seventies or so, it has withstood a freak tornado, too many wildfires to begin to count, and many thunderstorms. The lightning was always a danger and caused you to panic at every strike heard or seen. It’s seen many people as your family has shared throughout lots of members.

The flashlight you were searching for was swiped off the counter. Out the door you went. With the light in hand, you started to make a path you’ve taken so many times before. A path you could probably walk blind on. Content as can be, you were alert and mindful but still enjoyed nature.

Water running would be heard at the edge of your hearing, barely there. The creek. A tiny river that ran through the acres of land you now owned. Just on the other side was a thick marsh you didn’t dare step into again. Last time, you lost a flip flop to its depths. You stayed on the safe side and on the path that buddies up with the creek until a certain point.

But you stop. Despite the quiet creek, the forest… it was dead silent. No bugs. No birds. Not a single sound to disrupt the unease in the air. Your entire body tenses, fear pumping into your veins. The flash in hand slowly swiveled around to survey the area only to come up empty handed. Your ears strained to heard something but it was like the forest suddenly died.

Throughout your years, you knew there was something out there. Something dangerous. All you had on you was a switch blade. No bigger than five inches. If a creature came after you, the thing would offer little to no help against a true predator. Your hand patted the spot it sat in your jacket pocket for double measure. Same place it was earlier.

From there, your steps were light, soft on the way back to the safety of the cabin. Not a predator hunting but prey surviving. Your heart was racing in your ears, almost drowning out the sound of the creek. This was a feeling you’ve never felt before up here. Never. Yes, there’s bears, wolves, and cougars but this was different. Your throat bobbed, eyes being vigilant.

Something you didn’t notice before was a liquid glowing bright in the dark atmosphere. Like a moth to a light, you stepped up to it. It truly glowed. A liquid, neon green. As if someone had broken a glow stick and drippled it along the forest floor… and left a handprint on the next to you. A massive handprint. It was smeared partial but could easily engulf your head.

Of course, the first thing to come to mind was Bigfoot. As stupid as it sounds, what else could’ve made a print that large?! Who else was out here this far? Nothing or no one you knew.

You swallowed your apprehension and diverted from the well-worn path. Away from the creek and further into the forest you grew up in. You stalked the trail of this glowing liquid. It stood out like a sore thumb in the growing night.

Labored, painful wheezing rasped in the silent forest, breaking the pause of sound. For just a heartbeat, you felt relief there was something creating noise out here only to realize the meaning. A creature, probably wounded, was causing this entire situation. Your shoulders sagged before you pushed forward.

Through the dense foliage, you saw a lump covered in the green goo and furrowed your brows. The light from your torch was pointed at it. Said lump shuttered.

Stunned into terror, you choked on a gasp at the sight of this… this humanoid monster on its side. Dark eyes were pinned on your trembling frame. With one of its arms, it weakly sits up as if it was going to crawl up to you. Its other arm lashed out. A guttural snarl releasing from its strange mouth. A wounded animal cornered is the first thing that came to mind at the sight of it.

The deep, bloody wounds that covered its body prevented it from moving much more. That didn’t stop it from creating noises of warning and unspoken threats. More green fluids gushed out. Blood. The glowing stuff was its blood. You shuffled through your knowledge to figure if anything had glowing blood like this. At least anything native to this area.

But nothing.

Tears were welled in its strange, inhuman colored eyes. Instantly, your heart ached at the sight of the poor thing in pain and writhing on the ground, coated in blood. You, yourself, made a saddened noise, brows furrowed in sorrow.

As your eyes scanned along its dark skin, they stopped on something that stunned you once more. Its belly was extended, rounded. You took notice at sharp bulge for a moment. A baby. A baby had just kicked. Shit.

If you were terrified or concern for not only your life but for its before, you were definitely now. A mother was someone to be afraid of. Mama bears were no joke. But the fact this thing looked like it could kill you like any other predator in this forest, you lost all color on your face. The only thing stopping you from turning tail and running was the wounds that downed it.

Consider it stupid, you lowered yourself down to your knees, hands clasped in front of you. At your movement, the thing hissed a deadly call. The flashlight pointed at the ground before the creature. This thing watched with intent, not letting you out of its sight for a moment, not even blinking.

Its breathing was ragged and wet sounding. Horrible to be in such a position as an upcoming mother and terribly wounded. You blink slowly, like you would do to a cat and slightly lowered you head, like a dog. “He-hey,” you tried, voice cracking involuntarily. You huffed at the sound. It stayed silent besides its breathing. “You’re injured.” At that point, you could’ve slapped yourself silly. As if it didn’t know it was wounded. It grunted, hand fisting the pine needle blanketed grounds.

“Sorry, that was stupid of me.” You sighed before introducing yourself to it. All the while you did this, you continued to keep your voice low and soft. Truly though, in its eyes, you couldn’t tell if it could understand you or was gathering the will to pounce on you.

“I would like to help you, if you let-“ The creature snarl, head bowed, chin tucked as its arm wrapped around its abdomen. You notice the way its extended belly contracted slightly on itself.

Not only was this an expecting mother, but a mother in labor. You gnawed at your lip to the point copper could be tasted on your buds. How were you going to salvage this? What could be done? Did this thing even understand what you’re saying?!

Its head whipped up, eyes back on you. You hadn’t moved. “You’re in labor. Fuck, you’re in labor. I-I can help, maybe,” you rambled and ran a hand through your hair. The action had it hissing at you. Instantly, you stopped and returned to your former position. “Sorry, just nervous.” You took a short pause to gather your thoughts again. “I don’t know why you’re hurt but those wounds need to be cleaned and bandaged. The fact you’re in labor doesn’t help.” It released a clicking, wet hiss.

Sometimes, you needed to learn to get to the point. Even in troubling times. “Okay, okay. I can help you to my cabin. It’s not too far from here. I can tend to your wounds. I don’t know much about birth but I can adapt quickly.” Hopefully. This was never a situation you thought was possible.

With a pause, you had a chance to fully look at it. To be honest, its face looked like if someone turned a crab into a human. You weren’t disgusted or concerned by the way it looked. Just something you’ve never even seen before.

The top of its head was a shaped like a dome. At the edges of said dome was strange parts that jutted out like a crest or crown. Similar to dreads, thick, long strands that looked like rubber fell from its head. The rest of its body was human enough looking. Just the face was nothing from here you’ve every seen or heard about before.

Her arm around its belly tightened as it seemed study, judge you from the safe distance between the two of you. You stayed exactly where you were, despite the way your legs protested. You had to gain her trust, even if it’s just the tiniest sliver for her to come to the cabin with you. Deep inside of your heart, you felt awful for what’s happened to her. If you were in a situation like this, you hoped someone had a kind enough heart to help you.

Slowly and deliberately, you raised both of your hands in the air, flashlight pointing up into the air. A sign to show her you are no threat. “Please, I just want to help you,” you pleaded, brows furrowed, and put all of your sincerity into your words. Deep, bone chilling bellowed shook the ground under your feet.

Like a stone wall crumbling, she sagged in her spot with a hefty groan. Her massive head bowed, eyes on the ground now.

Hope grew inside of you at the sight. Was she going to accept your offer? You’d feel awful leaving her out here like this. Even though you didn’t create the situation she was in. You continued to gnaw at you bottom lip as you let her take all the time in the word. You timidly rested your arms back on your legs, showing no signs of moving or aggression.

Barely noticeable, she dipped her head in confirmation. You had to stop yourself from cheering before the realization hit you. This unidentifiable creature understood you. She knew what you were saying. At least this made things possibly simpler for you.

First thing first: getting her on her feet and to the cabin. “I’m going to stand up now and walk over to you. Is that okay?” you stated and stayed where you were crouched until seeing her head bob. Relief bubbled in your system. You did exactly what you said. All of your movements were slow, timid, calculated in each step over to her. She hissed at first before quieting down.

Once close enough to her, you officially noticed the size of this creature. Massive. Entirely powerful and huge. This was just from looking down at her.

From here, you knelt down again to get to her level and access the damage up close now. You cringed at the sight of so many wounds but saw stitching a few healing marks. You tilted your head but didn’t bring it up. It was unknown if she could respond to you.

“Like I said, I have a cabin close by. Are you able to walk, or at least get to your feet so I can help you?” you questioned quietly, afraid to go any louder. The last thing you wanted was to enrage her somehow. Her eyes watched your every move carefully.

The moment her muscles twitched into movement, you leaped back, ready to bolt. She stopped immediately. Nervously, you laughed quietly and rubbed at the back of your neck. “Sorry,” you apologized and approached her again. One of your hands was outstretched for her to take. All she did was brush it off with a bellow and used a tree to struggle to her feet.

Your jaw dropped. She towered completely over you. If you thought of her as massive on the ground, this was totally different on her own two feet. Your eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. Fear consumed your emotions due to the fact you were frozen on your spot.

A guttural, pained groan snapped you from your thoughts. She still had an arm swaddling her abandoned, head temporarily bowed. You cleared your thought. “A-alright, we better get you to the cabin,” you broke the awkward silence and stared up at her. There was no chance to even try and carry her. Her weight alone could crush you like the bug you are compared to the creature.

Yet, at the sight of her, you knew she wouldn’t be able to walk on her own. Timidly, you inched towards her, observing her body language just in case. “You can use me as a crutch?” you offered and stopped once a foot away from her. She hissed out but made no move of aggression. You flinched at the noise, antsy. She did not like your suggestion.

The way she leaned against the tree gave you any idea though… Her making it back to the cabin on her own would either take far too long or she just wouldn’t make it anyhow. “Please. Take in all the issues against you, please,” you begged and shown within your eyes that all you meant was to help her.

She made a noise akin to an alligator. A tree was her support for the moment. She leaned forward to get closer to her face, careful of her wounds and belly. “I just want to help, okay?” you repeated, voice barely above a whisper. She released a snort that blew hot air into your face. A small part of your mind believed she was probably thinking on how you were going to withstand her weight. It was worth a try in your eyes.

When you didn’t back down, she reached out to place hand on your shoulder that engulfed it. The hand surely matched the print you saw earlier. You could see the fact her palm along would take up your entire face or simply snap your neck if she saw fit. A shaky breath released from your tense lungs.

More weight was shifted onto your fragile form as she left the tree. Neon blood smeared on the dark bark in her wake. She did her best to conceal her heavy, rasping breathing but this close to her, you heard the rattle in each inhale and exhale. Your heart ached at the sound, brows furrowed. What in the world could’ve done something like this?

Once the creature moved away from the tree, she nudged you forward. Like a cane, you let her use you to stable herself from tree to tree. Thankfully, this far into the forest, it was more wild, less groomed by your family. This meant more foliage and trees crowding each other. The creature swayed, stumbling behind you.

At one point, her legs nearly buckled. That caused what felt to be three hundred pounds to be shoved onto all at once. Thankfully, a tree had saved you from being crushed into a pancake. A tinge started in your back though. Great.

The pace both of you traveled at could’ve rivaled a snail. From the many breaks she had to take – not that you blamed her, to the fact she had to drag her feet. Making progress through the night was incredibly hard. The strain she put on you and lack of sleep were starting to catch up to you.

Your first yawn of the night began as you stepped into an all to familiar area around the cabin. It was part of the area that’s easily maintained. The trees here were sparser as you struggled to keep her up on her legs between the trunks. Your legs ached horribly after the unknown amount of time it has taken to get her this far.

Biting through the pain and yawns, you finally see the dark cabin through the foliage and felt the last bit of adrenaline enter your system. With this newfound energy, you marched on and got her to the steps of the front door. Once there, the creature switched her weight to lean on the porch’s support beam. You, yourself, rested against the cabin’s wall, breathing heavily. At least that’s over.

Sluggishly, you dragged yourself up the steps and opened the old door. For a moment, your eyes glanced around to find the best place for her to be. The bedroom is what came first. Sheets can either be washed and replaced. You glanced back at her with a sorrowful look. The poor thing was struggling to stay on her legs, still holding onto her stomach.

Her eyes narrowed. A low growl sounded in the back of her throat. You threw up your hands to show you’re still no threat to her. You gnawed again at your bottom lip while just standing there. All you could do was pray she understood you meant not ill intent towards her or her baby.

You stepped back from the door and made a grand sweeping motion. “This is my cabin.” The creature took a lungful of air, scenting the place. Slowly, she trudged up the three steps and onto the porch. It groaned and creaked underneath her massive size. Due to her size alone, she was unable to stand up completely, partially hunched over.

Green blood stained the wood, leaving behind a deadly trail in her wake. Instead of fretting over a small mess, you guided her into the place and over to the only bedroom. You opened the door and helped her inside. “I hope this is okay for you. The tub definitely wouldn’t have fit you and the living room probably wouldn't have been comfortable for you.” In all honesty, the cabin didn’t have much to offer besides the forest it was surrounded in. Not that you minded. But, in the moment…

Once she was sat down on the bed, you stepped away careful, hands partially raise. “Is-is this okay?” you asked and stood back to lean against the dresser behind you. Her eyes had yet to leave your exhausted form. But for the first time, they darted around the room before resting on you again. Her massive head dipped once, thick dreads shifting with the movement. You had to stop yourself from smiling brightly.

This wasn’t over. You pushed off of the dresser and walked over to the bathroom that was connected. There was a first aid kit somewhere in here.

It didn’t take long for you to return back to her side with the supplies. Carefully, you opened the box to show her the contents. “This is a first aid kit. It medical supplies so I-“ the box was swiped from your hands and into hers. You jerked your arms back and checked for any injuries. Nothing. You relaxed and watched as she dug through to find what she wanted.

With a sigh, you left again to get a bowl and some towels. Those wounds of her weren’t bleeding heavily anymore but they still needed to be cleaned up. You stepped back towards her timidly and showed off what you had. With a jerk of her head, she motioned for them to be set off to the side. You raised a brow but placed the bowl on the nightstand. The towels were tossed next to her.

The creature had its eyes on you again. Now, in the light of the cabin, you realized they were purple! A beautiful shade that easily caught your attention. But, you shook yourself free from your thoughts. She had lowered head, body tense, ready to lunge. Curses were forming in your brain as you stepped away from her, arms raised.

She followed your every move but never made one of herself. When you got to the door, she released a deadly snarl. Your first reaction was to slam the door closed. The cabin went quiet, besides the low crackling of the dying fire outside.

Okay then. You popped your lips and tried to piece the whole the situation together. What had you just done? All you could do was stare blankly at the closed door for a few long, unspeakable minutes. Then, you pulled yourself up by the bootstraps and trudged outside. The fire couldn’t be left out to burn all night.

By the fire again, you plopped down on a wooden bench and stared into the flickering flames. Next to you was the discarded sketch book and pencil. They felt heavier in your hands after picking them back up.

What had you done? Why was your heart so naïve to these things?! A wounded creature – or whatever that thing is – isn’t something you bring inside of your house? Cabin? Whatever. You groaned and cradled your head into your hands. “What am I going to do?” The things had kicked you out of your own cabin after you offered it shelter and medical supplies.

It’s a mother though, in labor. That thought pulled at your heart strings, making you feel horribly guilty. A hand ran through your locks of hair. Tomorrow is a new day. Could you even sleep while knowing that thing was in there with you? Was it hungry? You brought it water, though not drink.

Your mind was all over the place, trying to decipher the next course of action for the upcoming day. As you sat, alone, you felt eyes on you. Immediately, your head whipped up to find the window to the bedroom. There, in the dim light of the room, was the creature, watching you. Did it need something?

Both of your legs strained under your body but carried you to the bedroom door. Softly, your knuckles racked against the wood. “Are you okay? Do you need help?” Your voice was barely above a whisper, ear listening for movement.

Then, the door was ripped open. In a bout of terror, you reeled away, back slamming into the wall behind you and gasped harshly.

From many moments ago, the mother’s body was fairly cleaned up now. This allowed you to notice the fact she wore no shirt to cover her enlarged breasts. A squeak passed your lips. You shied your eyes away to look at the floor, stupid as it might be.

The creature huffed before making a clicking noise of sorts. Your eyes darted up to her face for only a second. She sighed once more. A warm, massive hand wrapped around your bicep and tugged you into the room. You released a yelp and squirmed in her hold. “Hey, wait! Please don’t hurt me,” you pleaded and did everything in your power to get free.

It took a fraction of her strength to push you back into a wall and effectively pinning you there. Instinctively, you bowed your head, body shaking like a left on a tree.

Nothing was done to you. Untensing a little, you glanced up at the towering figure as she peered down at you. Despite no words, her actions spoke loudly. She wasn’t going to hurt you. Your body relaxed, for the most part. “So, uh, what do you need?” you questioned and clutched your sketch book to your chest.

She stepped away from you and partially turned her back towards you. It was still a mess of wounds and glowing blood. “You want me to help you?” Stupid to ask as she was wanting you to already. Your nerves were getting the best of you.

Despite looking like nothing from this world, she expressed a deadpanned look. “Okay, okay, sorry. Just wanted to make sure. Alright?” You held up your hands, one holding the book. She snorted airily before grunting, claws flexing.

You cleared your throat. “If you don’t mind me asking… how far along are you?” A coppery taste touched your buds the longer you worried at your lips. She took a momentary pause before pointing at the ground. For a second, it was hard to figure out what she was doing. “Oh! Now, now. Got it…” So, you were right.

Before you had a chance to move away from the wall, a deadly hand encased your throat and pinned you hard against. A threatening, bone chilling snarl ripped from her throat next to your ear. The warning loud and clear. Then, she backed away and sat down on the bed. Like nothing had happened.

After shoving your heart back into your chest from your throat, you shakily walked up to her. Her back was facing you, allowing you to see all the past scars and new wound decorating it. A part of you wanted to reach out and touch them but reframed from doing that.

Fairly enough, the sheets were barely contaminated by her blood. A part of you appreciated that. Less of a job to clean up later. The towels you’ve given her earlier were half used, soaked in neon green blood. You grabbed a clean one, dipped it in the semi dirty water, before reaching out towards her back. “I’m going to touch your back now, okay?” you stated and only moved when given permission to wipe off her back.

Stroke after delicate stroke, dried and wet blood was washed away. The hours of the night went on as you worked on stitching close any large cut. Glancing at one of the round wounds in her back, you noticed something lodged in it. Carefully, you plucked a pair of tweezers and let her know your intentions.

It was delicate work to pull the unknown object from her flesh. Finally, you were able to get a good grasp and tugged it free. More blood gushed out. You placed a clean towel with even pressure on the newly opened wound.

In the grasp of the tweezers… was a bullet. You dropped it by accident but froze up. Something had shot her. Fear battled anger. Who in the hell shot her?! That meant someone trespassed onto your property to injure her. Your hands shook from boiling rage as new light shined on the situation. Someone had shot a mother. A clearly pregnant mother!

Instead of letting yourself get distracted, you focused back on the task on hand. It wasn’t long before the wounds were cleaned and covered. You stepped away from the lumbering giant, hands and clothing soaked with her blood. A shower was desperately needed after this has passed. “How do you feel?”

She turned around to face you, legs hanging over the edge of the bed now. A deep breath filled her lungs. The creature carefully stretched out her muscles to test her ability. Once she seem satisfied, she nodded her head. Either in gratitude or acknowledgment, you didn’t know. “Are you hungry?” This made her stop to think for a moment then nodded again.

Okay, communication was achievable, thankfully. You pressed your lips together in thought. “So… what do you eat?” Downright, she looked to be a predator with the size of those teeth. No herbivore on this planet had teeth like that. “I’m guessing meat?” Another nod.

Meat was something you could do. Right as you were about to leave, a thought came to mind. “Raw or cooked?” You realized your mistake. “Raw?” A nod. Makes sense.

You dug through the fridge and pulled out meat you were thinking of cooking up tonight. Someone else was in dire need of it. So, you go back to the bedroom and offered it to you. “Does this work? It’s all I have.” She took it.

Like the meat eater she is, the mother tore into the packaging and consumed the meat quickly. In such a quick manner, you didn’t have time to even get a word out. Hopefully, that could tie her over for a while. But she was eating for two, soon to be one. That reminded you of the other dire situation occurring in her belly.

Nervously, you scratched at the back of your neck. “So, the baby? You said you were having it now… is there anything I could do to help?” She stared at you. If this was the answer you were getting, then that means nothing to you. You sighed and picked up the sketch book from the dresser. “Okay, I’ll just be in the living room if you need me.”

Just like you said, you returned to the living, book in hand. Despite the weariness in your bones trying to drag you to sleep, you sat on the couch, sketching. Your pencil danced across the paper with an easer to sometimes chance it.

A piercing roar rattled your cabin. You awoke with a jolt, head whipping up to figure what was happening. A pencil stuck to your face fell down into the open sketch.

Pained, wheezing gasps and growls sounded from the only bedroom. You flinched at the sound of torture in the room. No wonder why the birth rate was on a decline.

Against your better judgement, you stalked over to the opened door and peered around the corner. Next to the bed was the creature, standing two wobbling legs. One of her hands was gripping the headrest so hard it had left a handprint in the metal. Her other hand was tearing into the drywall. You swallowed, throat bobbing as you observed the laboring mother, unsure on how to help. Your first mistake was to take a breath in to speak.

Her head snapped over to you. Shit. A deafening roar shook the house to its foundation. The mother pushed off of the wall and marched over to you. Like the prey you are, you were frozen to your spot. This thing stop right in front of your trembling form and roar right in your face. Spit flying to land on your skin as she huffed and puffed with caged anger.

Deep in your chest, you find your voice timidly. “Wha-what can I-I do to, to help?” is all you can say for the life of you. The creature snarled threatening and took another step forward. Was this your demise? A lesson you weren’t going to learn from.

Her threatening display was done. She went over to the bed, knelt down, and rested her upper half on top of it. With a sigh, you left but only to return with your sketch book. You didn’t know if she wanted someone to be in the room with her as this went only. If you were in a situation like this, you would like to have some comfort, even if it was a stranger.

Due to the way she didn’t react, you guessed it was okay with her. More hours of the night went along until the morning sun rose in the dawn. It took all of your effort to stay away during the process.

Once the night became day, you heard a shrill, squeaky, loud cry. Your head shot up, knocking against the wall behind you. The pain was brushed off as you watched the new mother cradle a sticky, gross green blob in her arms and flop against the bed. She purred a low noise to the baby and clicked to it, mandibles twitching playfully.

A wide smile broke across your face at the endearing sight. The sketch book in hand was closed and set off to the side but you stayed where you were. This was a mother and baby moment, you weren’t going to disrupt that by moving. The poor mother had gone through enough within the last twenty-four hours. She didn’t need the stress of you moving around.

The mother turned her head over to you and locked eyes. You tensed, unsure of her intentions. To break the ice, you spoke up softly. “Quite a cutie?” you tried but a loud knocking scared you.

Immediately, the creature snarl and cradled her baby closer all the while attempting to stand. You need to sooth her rose. You put your hands out as if calming a wild animal. “Wait, wait! Don’t! Let me go check it out, okay? Stay here and quiet,” you said and walked out of the room after she didn’t make any more moves to get up.

All the living room curtains were closed still from the night. The curtain next to the front door was white and let you see the outline of someone. Shit. Fuck! Mentally, you cursed up a storm as you tried to think of a good reason on why any one would be out here. Then, the creature popped into your mind. The bullet holes. She was being hunted. And these people were the hunters.

Determination flooded your system. You marched back into the bedroom, bypassing the confused but protective look on the mother’s face, and went up to the nightstand. In there was a gun your father kept up here all the time. In case of an emergency. This was one. You pulled the weapon out and checked it out. It had bullets in it. You turned to the mother. “Stay in here, please. I’ll deal with them, alright?”

The window caught your attention. You rushed over and closed the curtain. Luck had to be on your side.

Please.

#yautja #predator #yautja x reader #yautja x you #alien vs predator #predator x reader #yautja x human #predator x you #predator x human #x reader #Gawtin

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naomihatake · 6 months

Text

In search of freedom (Ch. 5)

5. I've found heaven in hell

⠀⠀➺ fic masterlist

⠀⠀➺ Chapter 4 ; Chapter 5 ; Chapter 6

⠀⠀⠀⠀She's been searching for freedom her entire life and everytime she thought it was laying right in front of her eyes, she was mistaken. She was running around the East Blue, seeking herself and her dreams, meeting people she never forgot. No matter how much she traveled, she could only catch a glimpse of peace before realizing everything would crumble at her feet.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Maybe it was destiny that brought her on that ship with three strangers — foolishly, that's what she tried to believe when the moon shined beautifully and hope settled in her chest, squeezed by the same ribcage where feelings were blooming.

Pairing: female!reader x OPLA Zoro Roronoa

Warnings for this chapter: alcohol, angst, arguing, tension, tarot readings

Word count: 7,9 k

Theme song: fic spotify playlist (click on the link)

A/N: I genuinely hope this chapter is as good as I wanted it to be, but I'm not so sure about it. I tried my best, but I'm certainly proud of the last scene of this chapter. Yes, we finally got to Baratie and Zoro's fight with Mihawk. I'd be very happy to hear your opinions, so let me know what you think <33 Not proofread yet.

The reader is referred to as "Witch" because I have no intentions of using "Y/N".

One card fell from her tarot deck from the moment when she started shuffling it: Death.

Nope, she immediately thought to herself.

The witch let out a theatrical sigh and let the cards back in their place, half of her mind completely ignoring the meaning.

No way I'm occupying my mind with such trouble now of all times. I couldn't even sleep last night.

She could think about that later, after she gets a few hours of peace. They were lucky enough to escape from the Marines just a while ago. The answer she received after she came back to her room at the first hours in the morning — when she had just finished her night shift — was ambiguous enough. All she wanted was to breathe some fresh air.

The witch got up from the bed and was ready to leave the girls' room while pulling a large shirt over the tight tank top hugging her curves, leaving it unbuttoned. The hot weather made her choose some shorts in favor of the usually large pants she preferred. The low heels of her boots created a strong sound with each step on the Going Merry's floor.

"I still can't believe Luffy was the one to get us at this floating restaurant in the middle of the sea using his nose only," she chuckled at the navigator.

Nami was glancing one last time into a small rounded mirror she held between her fingers before closing it and shoving it into a bag.

"Add food to the equation and he could take over my role."

"Well, well, that's quite exaggerated. He might have an affinity for sniffling foods, but you can feel a thunderstorm. That's a big difference," the witch winked.

"You're flattering me," Nami grinned.

The witch opened the door of their room and they were instantly greeted with the rays of the sun. She squinted her eyes and walked on the deck with two knives and a gun sitting at her hips. Luffy was already on the dock of the restaurant created in the form of fish with an open mouth. Baratie was written in red neon lights on top of the suspended balcony of the restaurant.

"Do you think there are marines here?" Usopp asked as he leaned against the railing of The Going Merry.

"There are skulls on the flags of other ships. If marines are here, they're probably not for business. I wouldn't start yelling about it in the middle of a place filled with pirates," the witch commented.

Any other words died on top of her tongue when her eyes fell on the swordsman who just left the galley. Maybe the witch should've been more careful while staring so insistently, but gosh, wasn't he always a sight? The dark bluet-shirt clinging onto his chest for dear life, accentuating the muscle lines and — god fucking dammit — the jeans squeezing his legs made her gulp. The signature swords were secured against his left hip.

She averted her eyes before she could get caught ogling at the crewmate she grew fond of. It was a pleasure to blame it on the doses of alcohol in her veins, but it wasn't the case that time. She was wide awake and sober, so the nature of her thoughts was worrisome, to say the least.

She was still dealing with the possibility of feelings. A concerning topic for an inexperienced person in the domain of romance.

Another trouble she didn't want to think of. Maybe Zoro isn't that wrong for drinking with every occasion he gets.

What made it worse was the lack of attention he gave her, as if she was just a ghost.

Maybe she was overthinking it.

Truth be told, she wasn't exactly wrong. Zoro did intentionally look away so he could save himself from embarrassment. He turned away before he swallowed the lump in his throat, his fingers curling tighter around the hilt of his sword. He must've gotten insane to start avoiding people.

"Let's go! I feel like I could die from hunger," Luffy jumped from the ship straight on the dock.

The witch found the right thing to focus on: the restaurant looked amazing. Not only did it smell so divine her stomach learnt how to talk, but it was also splendid. For a second, the witch wondered if that was a place for pirates and not for some rich business people — they could certainly be found there. Dozens of tables and the constant chattering of people, waiters and waitresses walking around and rushing from one side to the other — it was so lively.

The fishman greeting the people coming in smiled warmly at them, even if a little strained — a habit he got from his job.

"You mean there's no free table for our captain, the soon to become King of the Pirates?" Usopp smiled proudly, pointing at Luffy.

She found it hard not to laugh or chuckle at the interaction between Luffy and the poor fishman who said twice already that there will be an available table in three weeks. When the witch saw Nami shove her hand in her pockets, it was obvious what tactic she'd use. Obviously, it worked, even if Luffy and Usopp were cheering, walking down the stairs ahead of them.

The witch looked around, wary of any possible threats or drunk people who would get mad about the smallest thing, like the way they looked. Everyone seemed so caught up in their own thing and it eased her mind, some anxiety leaving once her shoulders fell.

However, there were certain gazes following her silhouette. It was probably because of each confident step she made, the elegance she carried, the force she proved to have with every sharp glance she threw around. Her fingers twitched to grab a hold of her dagger. She figured out there were no imminent threats yet.

At the table, she found herself between Zoro and Nami. She was conscious the moment she intentionally sat a tad bit closer to the swordsman who comfortably spread his legs after he tried to fit his swords. Sometimes, when she'd shift in her seat, his knee would brush by hers and goosebumps would erupt on her skin. She allowed herself to enjoy the proximity, the way her gaze would linger on his figure when he talked, the low timbre of his voice soothing her soul.

She had to get used to that idea.

It ached. Her heart would thump painfully in between her ribs each time it felt like he was ignoring her. He didn't say much to her since morning and something inside of her was bleeding, despite the lack of crimson liquid tainting her clothes.

The witch hated him for every cold glance thrown her away or, worse, each time he didn't even look at her when she spoke. To protect herself, her lips got sealed for a long while.

Her attention was piqued by the fight between two marines who seemed unable to swallow up their pride, threatening each other with death, while a beautiful lady sat at the table, looking at them with fear visible on her expression.

The roll of her eyes and the exasperated exhale she let out spoke for her as the witch rested her elbows on the table and held her face with a hand.

"Do people always act like that over stupid things?" Usopp frowned.

"They act worse," the witch scoffed, amused. "The average pirates aren't any better either, you know."

"Bold of you to say that when you're a pirate yourself," Nami shook her head.

"I've never claimed I'm a lady, so," she shrugged.

A waiter with blonde hair dressed in a clean black suit appeared by the men's table. There was a specific customer-friendly smile plastered on his face while he tried to calm the waters.

One of the two men pulled his pistol out just to have his arm being hit by the waiter's feet. In a few seconds only, the other man received the same treatment, getting a strong blow right in the stomach. The blonde waiter rolled on his feet and right after his feet collided with the man's face, he prompted his hands on the table to pin the other pink-haired marine to the floor with a kick in the crown of his head.

"Good fighter," Luffy pointed out with excitement bouncing in his tone.

As if nothing ever happened, the man's fingers grabbed at the plate he abandoned on the table and smiled again.

"No cause for alarm, folks. Please enjoy your meals."

A normal occurrence, most probably.

The waiter came to their table with a few long steps. From up close, his handsome features washed away the obvious forced smile plastered on his thin lips.

"Hi, welcome to our shitty restaurant where the only thing worse than the ambiance is the food. My name is Sanji. What can I get for you?"

His voice was tinted with harshness and he was definitely in a bad mood, visible despite the professionalism he tried to stick to.

Luffy grabbed one of the small loaves of breasla on the plate the waiter just placed down in front of them.

"One of everything, please," their captain spoke with his mouth stuffed.

"What's wrong with the ambiance?" the witch asked, confused. "Not to flatter, but this place is splendid."

Something in that man's head misunderstood it as you're splendid, apparently, since his eyes shone like crystals when they settled on the witch's figure.

Maybe her mouth spoke before she had time to think it over. Bad decision.

"It became splendid the moment you walked in, perhaps," he smiled effortlessly, his voice dropping an octave.

Wait… what?

"Thank you?" she blinked owlishly.

It sounded more like a question. Not the first compliment she received and she also had to admit that most of the men who flirted with her were absolutely gross. This one was decent, even polite — hell, someone could've taken courtesy lessons from him.

The energy shifted. Or, better said, the man next to her shifted. Zoro just crossed his arms over his chest and fixed Sanji with a glare meant to send daggers through his face. The waiter didn't even bother to look at Zoro.

"Is there anything I could bring for these two beautiful ladies?" his smile widened visibly once he spotted Nami right next to the witch. "Would you care for an apéritif to start? Or perhaps some drinks, like one of our signature cocktails? Maybe a glass of Umeshu? You know, something sweet for someone sweet."

His wink was flawless and it would've been perfect if not for Nami's retort.

"Something wrong with your eye?"

Nami was frowning, taken aback by the comment and equally amused.

"Very good question," the witch nodded.

Nami tried her best to stifle a laugh when she realized she was backed up. Usopp was hardly holding back his laughter

"Forgive a man for being blinded by such beautiful ladies," he grinned as if he'd fallen in love not once, but twice in the same minute. "So?"

"Water, please," Nami answered.

"Still, sparkling, mineral? With ice or without? Cubed or crushed?"

"Regular water in a regular glass. Thanks."

"A beer for me."

Zoro's voice was threatening and low, sharp gaze still focused on Sanji.

"A beer for me. I usually have two, but…" Usopp didn't have enough time to continue as he's been interrupted by Luffy.

"A glass of milk for milk for me!" the straw hat said with his mouth still stuffed with bread.

Sanji's head turned towards the witch with a smile curling his lips.

"One of the special cocktails you mentioned, please."

The witch didn't intentionally use that kind voice. It was a habit whenever she talked to strangers to soften her tone and smile out of courtesy and politeness. Probably, her kind gesture has been misunderstood as flirtatious.

"Any preferences? We have plenty of options you can choose from."

His smile already reached his ears and she could feel a specific swordsman straightening his back by her side.

"Nothing too strong, if you may."

"Of course."

"Are you done yet?"

Zoro made all of them turn their attention to him and while usually he wouldn't like it, at that time he couldn't give a single fuck about it. All he did was arch his eyebrow at the waiter and telling him to fuck off as politely as he could, with no cuss words falling from his mouth yet. If Sanji continued to gravitate around their table with that flirtatious smile on his lips, the swordsman might burst a vein on his forehead sooner rather than later.

Sanji wasn't exactly satisfied to be rushed, but he turned on his heels and left. The witch was still looking at Zoro from the corner of her eye, trying her best to understand what just happened.

He seemed fine minutes ago. Not too talkative, definitely, but not… so mad either. What has been with that scowl on his face ever since Sanji appeared? He couldn't be enough of a man child to be jealous of someone's flirting—

I'm getting delusional lately, the witch cut off her own thought process.

"Mad about something, Zoro?" Nami smirked devilishly.

"Everything's fine."

Everything was, in fact, not fine.

The witch was engulfed by her thoughts, fingers pressing and rolling the fork between her fingers after their food was served. She had to admit she was hungry and was trying her best to savor the pieces of meat tickling her taste buds, but it was almost impossible to ignore the shallow sensation in her stomach.

"Was there anything wrong with your tarot?"

Nami, who was by her side, turned her head and offered the witch her entire attention. Maybe she's been playing with her food for long enough to get their attention.

"Not wrong, just something I would've rather not know," she said after swallowing.

"What did you see?"

She shook her head softly with a light chuckle leaving her lips.

"I pulled the Death card." Quickly enough, she realized she shouldn't have started with that.

"Who's dying?!" Usopp almost choked on his food.

"It's metaphorical death," she clarified. "The ending of a cycle and a new beginning, whatever that might mean this time," with a shrug, she proved her own uncertainty.

"Doesn't sound that bad," Zoro commented while he curled his fingers around his glass of beer.

The young woman still remembered each element of the first tarot card she saw before they left The Going Merry. The skeleton dressed in silver armor on the white horse, holding a flag with the number 'XIII' and the people kneeling in front of it, their clothes painted in golden, blue and white.

"It usually implies a hard step to take in order to advance. Change doesn't come unless you allow it and transformation is supposed to help you evolve, not regress. Each time, it doesn't come easily and it shakes up your reality first. Simply put, who the heck knows what might happen in the next few days," she clicked her tongue. "Anything is possible."

"What use do those readings have if you can't even find out what's really going on?" Nami arched her eyebrow.

Fate spoke for itself.

The witch's eyes fixed on hers, regret hanging around her heart.

"They give enough clues, I just have to figure them out."

She felt bad for keeping to herself the other two cards she pulled: the ten of swords and the four of pentacles — betrayal reasoned by protecting yourself. The witch knew who this was about and she didn't mutter a word about it, finding it improper to do so.

"And did you?"

"Not entirely yet," she bit at her bottom lip.

She knew her words were probably just passing by the ears of her friends. The witch was well aware they had no reason to believe in such things or listen to her. They could take her words into account or completely ignore them; it didn't really matter, as for her the reality remained the same.

What mattered was that she knew only half of the upcoming events. The other side was hidden somewhere in shadows and life lessons the cards decided she had to learn on her own.

"I won't need food for a year," Nami commented after she leaned back against the cushions, sighing.

"We should do a toast. Come on, grab your glasses."

The witch's fingers curled around her glass of cocktail with a soft smile.

"To the best crew sailing on the sea and to our victory!"

"No, I'm sorry," Nami furrowed her eyebrows. "What victory exactly?"

The witch didn't even get to bring the glass to her lips, Nami's question sinking deeply into her bones.

"I don't know how many naval battles you guys have been part of…"

"Two dozen, at least," Usopp interrupted her before taking one more sip from his beer.

"Plenty," the witch placed her untouched glass back on the table. "It was a disaster, I'm well aware of it. We could've died before reaching a day of sailing with The Going Merry."

"Then I suppose you agree we were unprepared and uncoordinated," Nami turned towards her.

There's never been such tension lingering around the navigator since the witch got to know her. The orange haired woman was easy going and talkative, she was skilled and was so strong. Someone used to the harsh world they lived in and yet she seemed absolutely stupefied by the mention of said victory.

Nami was tense and uncomfortable as she continued to shift in her seat, surprised wide eyes glaring at Luffy.

"You didn't think to mention your grandfather was a Marine? And not just any marine, a vice-admiral! I don't know about you, but I didn't sign up for that."

"You raided a marine base," Zoro spoke calmly. "Of course that'll make you a target."

The witch only let out a soft sigh and straightened her back with a frown. She was equally worried, but…

"I understand where you're coming from, Nami, but it wouldn't have helped us with anything to know about Luffy's relatives or their status. We're already haunted for merely having a map in our possession."

At their table Sanji appeared again, with a gray plate with a paper in between his fingers this time.

"Your bill, sir."

Luffy pulled his lips together and glanced at Nami before taking the pen and scribbling something.

"Thank you," he smiled up at the waiter.

Sanji took the plate and almost instantly, a mischievous grin splayed on his face.

"No, thank you," and with that, he walked away.

Whatever that was supposed to mean.

Luffy turned towards his friends once again, confident in his opinion.

"I'm not saying it's good that the Marines are on our tail, but we showed them that they can't just roll over us. This crew, our crew, can handle anything."

The witch gently smiled at him and leaned her elbows on the table again.

"We could use your optimism, Luffy, but it's harder than that. At any given time from now on, the simple fact that we're after One Piece is enough of a reason for a Warlord to come after us because right now, we're an easy target. Not to mention the relationship between the Marines and the Warlords. Remember that these seven pirates aren't anyone's toys and if we ever encounter them, it will not always have something to do with the Navy."

"What makes you talk about the Warlords?" the navigator gulped. "They'd be an ever bigger pain in our asses. Average pirates are merciless already—"

Nami stopped herself from talking and looked away. An unusual reaction met with silence from the witch.

"Luffy isn't the only one with relatives—"

"Who the hell is Monkey D. Luffy?" a hoarse voice boomed.

The witch could feel a headache appearing along with the old chef who was hobbling because of his wooden leg. She finally gulped the entire cocktail.

Why was Luffy always getting into trouble?

"I need a drink," Nami exhaustedly threw her head back.

"I need dozens of drinks," the witch sighed heavily.

•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈

Maybe it wasn't a camaraderie thing to do to their captain, but they were now occupying some seats on the terrace of the open fish mouth. The witch was in between Nami and Usopp on the large couch, with their backs facing the sea, meanwhile Zoro sat on a chair, at the other side of the table.

The witch had a whiskey bottle from which she poured herself shots once in a few minutes. Usopp had three straws in his mouth and he drank a sweet cocktail from a bowl. Zoro warned him with a chuckle, but he didn't listen.

Nami, on the other side, was silent as she stared into her empty glass for longer than expected. The witch found it worrisome — she was used to her own phases, but it hurt to watch her friend struggle with something she didn't entirely share. Nami's issue was known by them and yet there was something the witch just grasped onto, a tale told by her tarot.

"The next drink is on me," the navigator got up from her seat.

"Nami," the witch's fingers curled around her friend's.

She squeezed Nami's hand gently and looked up at her with concern in her eyes. The witch rubbed her fingers over her knuckles in a silent plea, her eyebrows knitted together.

You're not alone, her touch said. It's alright. We can make it alright.

Nami swallowed down hard and barely squeezed the hand who held her before slipping away from them.

The witch poured herself a shot and gulped it down quickly.

"Why are you in such a hurry as well?"

Zoro's voice made her chest burn worse than the alcohol.

"I'm not going anywhere. I'd just rather not talk," she mumbled as she rolled the small glass between her fingers.

"You know something that I don't," he concluded quickly.

Usopp, who sat like an obedient child and listened, blinked curiously.

"I know a lot of things that you don't, Zoro," she responded with sorrow.

Saying one single word about Nami while she was gone felt unfair.

When the orange haired woman came back to them with a bottle in her hand, her conversation with Zoro somehow turned into a guessing game. Usopp, who obviously didn't take the swordsman's warning into account, went to the dance ring and moved like a sea slug — or that's what Zoro said.

"Are you in?" Nami asked.

"I'd rather not," the witch lowered her gaze.

It was easy to admit she didn't want to share anything about herself. Still, she knew better than that; with some shots, her tongue would loosen up bit by bit.

Her eyelashes fluttered lazily and her gaze fell on the glass she held. The corners of her mouth were slightly curled downwards and she seemed aware of the effect alcohol would have on her. She will succumb into sorrow or happiness, depending on which one clouded her mind first. The lack of answers coming from someone who adored to share experiences and explain was strange.

Nami looked at her from the corner of her eye and accepted the situation as it was. She'll get the witch to talk one way or another. Something was fishy about her behavior — it was poking Nami's senses.

The witch leaned against the cushions and turned her head towards the sea, pushing reality out of her awareness. Zoro's and Nami's conversation sounded muffled from her perspective, caging herself willingly in her head.

Zoro was sitting right in front of her and the witch still thought of him. Her feelings were confusing and analyzing them was a full time job. Maybe it was time for her to accept her situation and deal with the heart aching for him. It was impossible not to think of him, especially when his deep voice sounded like a melody.

She swallowed a lump in her throat and blinked away the overwhelming sensation settling in her chest. Maybe the present could give her peace.

"You're unfair, Roronoa," she crooked a teasing grin and turned her head towards him.

"How's that so?"

His gaze burning holes into her shouldn't affect her as much as it did. Those black oceans shining shamelessly told her everything she had to know, it made hope bloom in the center of her soul.

Maybe there was a chance. A tiny little chance hidden in his mesmerizing eyes.

"She's telling you entire stories, but you don't even bother to elaborate."

He clenched his jaw and scoffed.

"That's not part of the game," the side of his mouth curled upwards.

"Now that I think about it, she's right," Nami smirked.

"Just drink."

With that, they raised their glasses and both glanced at the unusually silent witch.

"I didn't play the game," she excused herself.

"That's why you have to drink. You listened and didn't share," Nami arched her eyebrow. "Are you also unfair, Witch?"

It was Zoro the one who poured whiskey in her empty glass.

"You two are so sneaky," the witch laughed softly and complied.

The alcohol burnt her throat and it was the alcohol getting to her head that brought questionable curiosities in her head… How would his lips taste? Would he make her burn harder? A one single touch from him would both ruin and put her back together.

Alright, I have to find something else to think of.

Hastily, the witch who sat by Nami's side gulped down another shot of whiskey and got up from the cushions. An idea creeped in her mind when her attention fell on the group of four musicians whose music Usopp danced to.

"Where are you heading to?"

"Killing some time," she winked at Nami.

With light steps, she walked to the guitarist and asked for his instrument after he just finished playing. With a nod, he handed her the guitar and she grabbed a chair to sit on. Her legs crossed and she positioned the guitar in her lap easily, like second nature. Gentle fingers tapped the wooden object and her lips curled — it was perfect — before her grip on the neck of the guitar tightened. Her other hand was busy testing the chords, tingles running down her spine at the sensation.

She hasn't felt that in too long.

The alcohol was also a reason for her bold action, but the witch didn't care. The fingers of one hand pressed against the strings, while she played with the other hand, giving life to the guitar. Lively sounds rang through the air and the other musicians quickly picked up on the notes. A classic, an old shanty pirates would sing when drunk after victories, but it was more beautiful when she played it. Even her humming and the rare times when her lips would part to let sweet words fall from between them, it was alluring.

Zoro's attention never left her figure. Her eyes sparkled with freedom and the smile on her face was that of an angel. She was life itself, stuck under soft skin and hidden in her heart. The dim lights of the terrace — the open fish mouth — bathed her in white and warm gold. Her happy face, the smile lines, the crinkles of her eyes, the jovial energy surrounding her; all of these things charmed him over and over again. The longer he looked at her, the worse it got, because he didn't have the courage within himself to avert his gaze from her.

"You should just admit it," Nami said.

He didn't look at her when he let out a low "Hm?"

"Don't you think she's pretty?"

His head snapped towards her.

"What are you talking about?"

"Which one of us are you trying to fool, Zorol; me or yourself?"

Uncomfortably, the swordsman shifted in his seat, clenching his jaw.

"I think you're confused," he responded with fake confidence while he crossed his arms over his chest.

"No, you are confused," Nami scoffed. "You were jealous back then, when Sanji flirted with her."

"You're quick to jump to conclusions."

"If Usopp would be here, he'd agree."

"Unfortunately, he's too drunk to even walk straight, so I suppose he isn't here to support your theory."

"Speaking of him."

Nami just spotted Usopp who came back to their table with a man behind him. A strange man, judging by the hilt of the sword as tall as him — and he wasn't short by any means either.

"Which one of you is Monkey D. Luffy?"

Zoro turned his head lazily, arching his eyebrow.

"I don't recall such a name."

The witch's peace has been entirely destroyed by the new appearance, an unwelcome guest. She could spot him easily because of his big elegant hat with feathers and the sword with precious stones on the hilt.

It was her turn to stand proudly in front of a Warlord she's only heard about from her deceased father. Her back was straight and her chin up high, gaze sharp.

When the man turned his head to her, there was no mistake it was Dracule Mihawk, his golden irises shining with boredom. Even his perfect posture betrayed the obvious superiority he had in front of some mere children.

"I didn't know your father had raised a liar. He was honest, from what I recall."

The witch knew she was her father's splitting image, but how could he know—

The only thing that stopped her eyes from widening in surprise were the nails digging painfully into her palms.

"I don't know any Monkey D. Luffy and I certainly have no clue what you're talking about."

"I have business with your captain. If you know what's good for you, you'll hand him over."

"I don't know either," Nami responded from her seat. "Right, Zoro?"

"You're Dracule Mihawk."

The swordsman got up from his chair and for a moment, the witch wondered if he was insane or more delusional than her, because there's no other way he stood without a worry in the world in front of him.

In front of someone who could slice entire ships into pieces.

"Zoro?" the witch whispered, horrified.

The man in question stepped by Mihawk and walked slowly, steadily, as if the Warlord was his prey.

"It pains me to inform you that tomorrow… you're going to die."

Oh, Gods, please don't.

•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈

The witch was left speechless. She couldn't find strength in her legs and she had to sit on a chair when all of them gathered in the valley of their ship.

Zoro wasn't a sane man. He needed to be locked up or someone had to get that stick from up his ass before he had a chance to die out of stupidity.

She shook her head countless times while Zoro and Nami argued, rubbing her forehead with her fingertips and squeezing her eyes shut.

"Why do you even care?" the swordsman's cold tone rang in the air.

"Because you're my friend, you idiot."

Nami sounded close to losing it all.

The witch already lost it one hundred times. Her heart wasn't beating, her breath was shallow and she was pinching the bridge of her nose to hold back from saying or doing something rude, something she would later regret. The tension in the room weighed on her chest and she wished it was all just a nightmare.

"You said you don't have any friends," Zoro responded sharply.

The woman's eyes snapped open. He was more insane than she thought. She wanted to yell, but no raw sound filled with pain left her chapped lips. The witch could only remain rigid while Nami left the room with loud stomps.

"You're insane, Zoro," she muttered between gritted teeth.

The witch was tugging painfully at her own strands of her in order to stop the overwhelming feelings from spilling out of her like a tornado. Her shaking fingers curled into her hair and gripped, the burn on her scalp bringing her back to the cabin of their ship.

"This is a suicide mission."

"It's his dream," Luffy smiled, "we can't—"

"Zoro, you're gonna die!" she shouted out of the sudden after she snapped her head towards the swordsman.

She sank her nails into her palms until the sting was painful enough to keep herself stable. It was not to her liking to be pessimistic, to admit that someone wasn't able to do something, but what he wanted to do was not the most intelligent idea.

"This isn't good, this won't end well at all and you shall know it," the witch continued. "You can't seriously believe you'll get out of there better than half-alive."

The swordsman didn't need to respond in order to answer. His unmoving gaze and straightened back told enough: he wasn't going to change his mind at all, no matter what anyone said.

She knew it meant a lot for him to become the strongest swordsman in the world, but in his current state he wasn't able to defeat Mihawk. Out of all the people he could've dwelt with, Zoro chose him, that monster of a man.

"Did you not listen to me when I said 'He cuts entire ships with a mere flick of his wrist'?" she furrowed her eyebrows. "Did you suddenly forget when I clearly warned you all the warlords aren't some mere toys for the big guys in the system, they do whatever the fuck they want!"

She cussed herself for letting out so many emotions, but she seriously couldn't hold back anymore, no matter how worried Usopp seemed, or how confused Luffy was. They had no clue what Zoro was getting into—

"That's exactly why I'm dwelling with him and not someone else," the green-haired man spoke firmly.

"Oh, so your dream is to get cut in half by a sword taller than you?" her irritation slipped.

"Do you really think I trained my entire life to get cut without putting up a fight?"

Even if she didn't want to admit it to herself, one side of his heart was hurt. This entire time, every time they spoke, she openly told him she believes in him, that she trusts him even if it would be her downfall. It sounded like she's been lying this entire time.

"You know very well I never meant that you're weak, but you're not stronger than him! That's your idea of a swordsman? You can believe, you can even hope for the best to happen, but the happiest situation would be a quick death. And the worst? A torturous one."

"I didn't take you for someone who wouldn't understand what the pride of dying in a duel means."

"Fucking hell!"

The witch's tight fist hit the table placed in the middle of the cabin with a quick and hurried motion, her feelings indeed getting the best of her that time. It didn't come to mind the last time she ever acted so harshly.

He turned her words against herself and he was a professional at doing so. She knew what kind of pride swordsmen and pirates carry, she knew what they considered noble because she's spent years of her life listening to men and women talking about such things. Her father did the same, thought he could get out of any problem, until it brought him his death.

"Maybe you should have more faith," Usopp intervened in a small voice.

He was hesitant, the surprise obvious on his face — none of them expected that their most collected crewmate would lash out like that. Luffy was also silent, confused, obviously trying to find a way to get into the thick heads of his friends somehow. The argument escalated quickly and the tension wiped away any ounce of peace.

The witch's eyes were fixed on Zoro's and they burnt holes through his face. He's seen just as many emotions a night ago, when she told him about her past sailing experiences, about the life she left behind as she desperately tried to find freedom. And if freedom felt like that, he wondered if she really wanted it. He succumbed to the flames of hell in her eyes, but snapped himself out of it.

She was angry at him, he figured out quickly.

He didn't like that gaze. He'd do almost anything for her to stop looking at him that way, as if she wanted him away from her, as if his very presence brought her suffering. Almost anything.

"You see just what you want to see, Zoro. You're deliberately ignoring our worries, thinking we have something against you, thinking god-knows-what about how we're not your friends or whatever the fuck's going through your head—"

I'm worried for you, she swallowed a lump in her throat.

"Just because me and Nami are trying to stop you, it doesn't mean we're assholes keeping you away from your dream. We might be assholes, but we want you to be alive, not six feet under the ground!" her voice raised slightly at the end again, her breath shallow.

"You're worried about her, not about me. I don't need your worry."

"Zoro—" this time Luffy tried to intervene.

"You're impossible," she faintly spoke, like a ghost.

She gave up.

She buried her face into her own palms and sat on a chair, her elbows prompted on her knees. She had so much faith in Zoro, she could barely even point out how many feelings swirl in her heart when it comes to him, but she was aware he was mortal. He could die at any given time.

"Right, Zoro. Go die with pride filling you up the same way that man's sword will," she bitterly mumbled.

I hate you, Roronoa Zoro. You and your stupid pride, along with the fucked way I feel about you. I hate it all.

The poor woman was exhausted, her heartstrings twisting into knots, making it hard to ignore the pain running through her entire being. His name rolled on her tongue so many times in only a few minutes and it made her situation worse, that one word made of two syllables cutting through her chest.

The witch regretted her words immediately, but didn't say anything for a while.

Usopp nudged Luffy into leaving the other two alone and it was probably one of the few times when the straw hat understood subtleties without any questions.

"Take your time and clean your swords, Zoro, we'll be waiting outside," Luffy spoke.

The witch heard two pairs of steps that walked away, her face still buried in her palms. She gulped and took in a few deep breaths before she moved from her seat, straightening her back and moving to the window of the cabin, hands gripping at the edge of the wood.

She didn't throw a glance at Zoro. Silence stretched between them while the witch focused on the stars shining in the night sky.

I shouldn't have been here in the first place, she thought to herself, twisting the blade deeper into the wound. I shouldn't have accepted to come with you. I should've stayed in Syrup Village and left with another ship, to go somewhere far away from you. I should've known better that there's no way in hell I can grasp at the mere notion of freedom.

There's no place for me in heaven and there's no place for me in hell either. I'm stuck here, in this body, with these feelings and this swordsman in this galley.

I should've known. I should've known I was damned to die on my feet, with a bleeding heart and my back turned at you. I should've—

She gulped down harshly, blinking away the tears.

I want to stay with you all so badly.

"Zoro," she whispered his name again.

Tears stung in her eyes at the sound of his name. It felt like it was the last time she could hear his name repeatedly, the same name carved with silver on her heart.

"Be careful," she continued, her voice faint.

"Why do you care?" his bitter tone resounded in her eardrums. "Everyone seems deadly interested in my actions lately."

Only then she turned her head towards him and her ribcage protested when the prisoner that was her heart beat so harshly.

"I don't need a reason. I simply do. Please, Zoro."

Like the idiot that she was, she begged him to stay alive. A confession was hidden between her chapped lips — she picked at them with her nails and there was blood surfacing on top of the skin. Her tongue swiped over her bottom lip, the metallic flavor tickling her taste buds.

Judging on the way his jaw ticked with tension, he grasped onto enough of her words. Or maybe he refused to do so — who knows?

"Don't throw your life away. You'll never fulfill your promise if you die today. Be mindful. Don't rush when fighting, don't get angry if he pushes on your buttons and irritates you. Be wise, Zoro."

It was a lost fight on her side. There was nothing she could do to stop him, so at least she had to give him the best advice she thought of.

When he finally looked at her, her breath hitched. His brown eyes saw through her soul and she wondered if he could also feel how much she cared for him, the way she cared for him. She liked everyone on the ship equally, but her affection for him took a different path, one she's never walked on before.

He didn't say a word, letting everything sink in.

Maybe there is a chance he gets what I meant.

"Be careful."

This time, her voice trembled but she didn't look away. She stood there, staring at him as if it was the last time she saw his eyes open.

She turned towards the window again, nails digging into the wooden frame. She refused to look at him when she figured out tears could spill over her cheeks like a river if he continued staring at her, burying himself further into her soul. She only wanted him to be safe, because nothing was greater than that. If all of them could be kept away from harm's way, she would have days filled with peace.

Too bad such a thing was impossible in that unforgiving world.

Behind her, Zoro moved around and left the galley. After a few minutes, he came back with a bottle of oil for his swords. He dragged a chair and sat down at the table, more silent than usually. With utmost care, he took one of his black swords and unsheathed it, leaving the scabbard on the table. He poured some oil on the blade and used a piece of cloth to spread it even from tip to hilt.

The witch only dared to throw glances with an aching heart. She couldn't bring herself to leave, to stay away from him for too long now more than ever. She swallowed hard before making a tough decision.

Wordlessly, she moved from the window. Her heavy steps echoed in the room until they stopped right by Zoro's side.

"Can I help?"

Calm, just like she always tries to be, she spoke with fear clinging to every nerve in her body. She would blame herself for the rest of her life if they would part ways like that. More than her fears and worries, he mattered. He deserved all the pain she was capable of harboring inside her poor heart, he was worth the fight with her own self.

The swordsman didn't expect her gesture. He supposed she would storm out of the room, that she would scold him or try to stop him, just like before. He guessed she was more sane than him, even if he couldn't bring himself to care enough about that. Her reaction pained him in ways he couldn't explain.

His fingers pressed the piece of cloth against the blade of his words. He thought of being petty, shutting her down. Why couldn't she believe in him more? Was he that weak?

He nodded. Like the stupid man that he was, with no need for spoken words, he accepted her help. He watched her blank face, devoid of any life, as she took another sword from the table, following his exact steps.

Except, her hold on the white sword was gentle like a feather. A careful grip, so it wouldn't slip from her hand, but gentle nonetheless. He stopped whatever he was doing, focusing on the woman who rested her hips against the table, close to him, so close, but, oh, so far away. Zoro watched her unsheathe his Wado Ichimoji and place it on the table. Her hand reached out for the bottle of oil and her other one took advantage of the opportunity, taking the piece of cloth from his own hold.

Their fingers touched. Hers were cold, but they still burnt his skin. Electric shocks traveled through his body and his chest tightened.

She poured some oil on the material and then left the bottle on the table, gripping at the hilt of the sword again. She moved the piece of cloth over the blade carefully, as if she's done it before countless times. Left, right, left, right. Everytime she exhaled, her breath was trembling, despite the slow pace of her gestures.

He paid more attention to the hands holding his sword: they were shaking when she placed the sword on the table. She poured some more oil on the cloth and dipped the tip of her index finger in the same spot. With the same finger, she drew on the blade a symbol Zoro didn't recognize.

With each stroke of her fingertip, she traced lines and connected them in a barely visible symbol: an arrow pointed upwards.

"It's a rune meant for protection," she explained softly as she sheathed the sword. "It's associated with strength and honor. It doesn't matter if you don't believe in it, because I do and that's enough."

It was true: he didn't believe in such things and never did. The swordsman never found it reasonable nor did he ever try to figure it out. It didn't mean he denied her beliefs — no, but he was indifferent towards it.

However, he couldn't act indifferent towards the witch, which he found at that point to be straight up painful. It was painful to look at her and see torment in her deep eyes, it hurt to see sorrow painted on her angelic features when none of them was dead.

The witch did the same gesture with the other two swords, carefully holding each one of them, as if they were her own treasures, not his.

"Come back alive," she whispered.

If he wouldn't have been so close to her, her voice would've sounded like a breath.

"That's all I ask of you. If you wish so, then no sword will cut through you. Blades can cut steel, but nothing can cut will."

What was she mourning when she said those things? Who did she think of? he wondered.

May the gods protect you tomorrow, she hoped. They've taken so many away from me along the way.

Tag list: @emelia07 @dimplewonie @tfamidoingwithmylife @murnsondock @the-skys-musical-echo @conspiracy-crows @hallow33nz @ramae17 @gaslysainz @bunntsu @katt58 @katiemrty @hopefulrascalstatesmantoad @freyademartel @boofy1998 @ponyboys-sunsets @melsunshine @loveyluv7 @waddlingwanderer @untoldshortsofthefandoms @mizzy-pop

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unclewaynemunson · 10 months

Text

There is thunder in our hearts

Eddie used to love thunderstorms. He loved it when he could feel the heavy electric tension in the air, when the skies got that dark shade of gray expanding over the horizon; he loved the anticipation of what was about to come. But most of all, he loved it when the clouds burst: the moment the skies broke open and the pouring rain, accompanied by the rolling thunder far away but swiftly coming closer, would sound like the opening chords to his favorite song. He loved running outside, standing in the dirt with his arms spread out wide, the taste of the water on his tongue and the rain washing away everything that didn't matter. He'd see other people sprinting from their cars to their houses and he would quietly laugh at them because they were missing out on the single most magical thing that nature had to offer.

Eddie used to love thunderstorms. Until that one time when the skies went gray and the thunder started roaring and all he could think about were bats crowding the air above him, long tails wrapping around his neck, claws and teeth tearing into his flesh, tears in Dustin's eyes...

He ran outside like he always did, hoping that the feeling would pass, hoping that the rain against his skin would remind him of exactly how alive he was; but no such thing happened. Wayne had to follow him into the storm and carry him back inside. He wrapped him in a blanket and made him a cup of hot cocoa and it took Eddie twenty minutes until he managed to stop crying and almost two days before he felt like himself again.

Ever since that happened, he stopped going outside during thunderstorms. Instead, he curls into himself now, as far away from the windows as possible. He plays his music at the loudest possible volume to not have to hear the thunder and he closes his eyes to not have to see the lightning. Sometimes, Wayne is there with him. He never asks, never pries; he simply keeps him company and hands him a blanket in case he feels the need to hide himself further away. He does what Wayne does best: letting Eddie know that he is safe by merely existing next to him, a quiet and calming presence who tells him stories in an attempt to distract him, his soft voice barely drowning out the sounds of the storm.

But Wayne isn't always there when a storm hits. He's often at the plant, or Eddie himself is at work, or with his friends. And it's fine. It isn't like that first time anymore, when he collapsed in the middle of a big muddy pool in front of the trailer and could see nothing but red skies or hear Dustin's screams ringing through his ears, the scent of decay filling up his nose until Wayne got to him and pulled him back into the present. It's not that intense anymore; he can blink those memories away and focus on the music or the voices around him instead. Even though it may still speed up his heartbeat and make his breathing uneven, he can keep functioning.

Or that's what he thought. Until he's in the car with Steve and a storm takes them by surprise and there's nowhere to hide; no way to get away from the window, to bury himself underneath a blanket under the pretense that he's cold, to do anything to take his attention away from it all. And maybe it's also because Steve is sitting right next to him: Steve, whose arms carried Eddie out of the Upside Down, the same arms that are now folded in front of his chest in the passenger seat of Eddie's van.

It's just heavy rain, at first; Eddie can handle rain, he's not a complete coward. But then he hears the rumbling thunder in the distance and his fists clench around the steering wheel and he almost forgets how to breathe. He starts pushing random buttons on the broken radio in the hope that it'll magically have repaired itself and start blasting Judas Priest to save him. Nothing happens, though. Of course not. And the rain only gets louder.

'Eddie,' says Steve, letting his name dance off his tongue in the last echoes of the thunder. Only a few months earlier, Eddie would've loved the sound of that, would have wanted to record the melody and play it on repeat forever.

'Hm?'

'Are you okay?'

Before Eddie can even start to answer that question, another deep rumble echoes through the skies while the rain starts beating even harder against the roof and the windows of his van.

'Eddie,' Steve repeats, more urgent this time. 'I need you stop driving. Right now.'

And Eddie immediately obeys.

'What's happening?' Steve asks as soon as they're standing still. His soft brown eyes wander over Eddie's face, attentive and worried.

'It's the goddamn storm, man,' Eddie explains in a choked voice.

Understanding dawns over Steve's features right away.

'Want me to drive you home?' he asks without missing a beat.

But Eddie shakes his head. 'I can't - can't get out. Of the car.' His mind takes him back to that moment when he collapsed in the middle of the trailer park - he can't do that again. Not anywhere, but certainly not here. With Steve.

'Okay, well, there's no way we're gonna keep driving like this,' says Steve. 'Let's wait it out, alright?' He doesn't talk to Eddie any differently, still seems practical as ever. Probably what years of experience with the craziest fucking supernatural shit does to a person, Eddie supposes. It's Steve at his core: act first, think later. Make sure everybody is – or feels – as safe as can be, the rest is secondary.

The thunder has come closer and a forked bolt of lightning flashes through the gray expanse of the sky. Eddie can't help but flinch at it.

Steve unbuckles his seatbelt and promptly starts climbing between the two front seats towards the back of the van. If Eddie was in any better mindset, he would probably have appreciated the view he is given much more.

'C'mon,' Steve says when he's sat on the ground, offering a hand through the two front seats. 'This seems like a good place to hide.'

Eddie has no choice but to take it. He ends up right next to Steve in the small space in front of the backseats, crouched down in a slightly uncomfortable position. Steve reaches further to the back to get the ratty old blanket that lies there and wraps it over both of them.

'Does this feel safer?'

Honestly, Eddie doesn't know. 'A little bit, I guess,' he mumbles, because that sort of feels like what the correct answer should be.

'You wanna talk about it?'

'Not really,' he admits.

'That's fine too,' Steve answers with a slight shrug. 'We can just sit here. Or do you want me to distract you?'

'I dunno.' It sounds quiet, with the way the big raindrops keep clattering onto the van. 'Wayne tells me stories, sometimes.'

''Bout what?'

'The olden days.' Eddie tries to use one of his dramatic voices, get things back to normal again, but the delivery doesn't land all too well. 'Shit he and my dad used to do. How my grandpa would get mad at them.' He pauses for a moment. 'Apparently my grandpa was scared of storms, too. And my dad. It runs in the family; that tends to happen when you're a farmer and a whole year worth of income can be destroyed by one single storm.'

'When I was younger,' Steve starts to tell, 'I was scared as shit of storms, too. I'd always make those huge pillow forts in the living room, put as many layers between me and the storm as I could.'

Eddie can picture it clear as day: a little version of the guy sitting next to him, with chubby cheeks and shorter hair, hauling a whole bunch of cushions and blankets around to make himself feel safe. It helps him take his mind off what's happening on the outside of the van.

'Sometimes my dad would crawl in there with me,' Steve continues. 'And he would wrap his arms all around me – like this – one more layer, y'know.' He shuffles to haul Eddie into his arms. They're warm against Eddie's own skin, and it is indeed comforting, so Eddie doesn't complain.

'Try to relax, okay?' Steve says. 'I'm right here, and I'll stay here with you for as long as you need. I won't let anything happen to you.' He tightens his grip and urges Eddie to let himself fall against Steve's chest. Eddie has no choice but to sway the way Steve wants him to and lands with his head right on top of Steve's heart. The fabric of his dark green polo is soft against Eddie's cheek and the sound of his heartbeat gets added to the symphony of the storm. He tries to focus solely on that heartbeat, complemented by Steve's breathing, Steve's voice – it makes it easier to drown out the sounds of the storm.

'I hate that this had to happen,' Eddie quietly admits. 'It used to be one of my favorite things in the world, standing outside in the pouring rain. Made me feel alive more than anything else.'

'It sucks,' Steve agrees. He raises one hand to put it on Eddie's head, softly stroking over his hair like he's a cat. 'After the first time we fought it,' he continues, 'when we, you know, pieced together what must've happened to Barb... I couldn't swim anymore. I was terrified of my own backyard. Nance helped me get through it, told me I should face my fears head on. She went to the library and got a whole bunch of books about phobias and traumas and kept talking to me about “exposure therapy.” I was skeptical about it at first, but it actually helped.'

Eddie chuckles darkly. 'Wanna know what happened when I tried to face this shit head on?'

'What?'

'I fucking lost it, man. Went out into the storm like I always did, and just – it was like I was back there. I lost my goddamned mind and Uncle Wayne had to pick up the pieces.'

Steve hand keeps stroking over Eddie's hair while he wraps the other one around Eddie's nervously fumbling fingers.

'We can try it together,' he says. 'We don't have to do it right now. Just... whenever you're ready. If you want to.'

Eddie nods. He isn't sure if he'll ever be ready, but at least doing it with Steve seems less daunting than doing it alone.

Another thunderclap, louder than any of the previous ones and accompanied by a bright flash of lightning, makes Eddie jump in Steve's arms.

'Try not to pay attention to it,' Steve says. 'It's gonna be over before you know it.' And then he starts humming. He even starts rocking Eddie in his arms. It should make him feel embarrassed, Eddie thinks, like he's a fucking child. But it doesn't. It helps him to let the sounds of the raging storm fade to background noise, finally taken over by the symphony that is Steve.

By the time the storm dies down, Eddie is pretty sure he must have fallen asleep at some point, because somehow he imagines that Steve presses a gentle kiss against his temple.

#this has been sitting in my drafts for literal months #and i finally managed to kill off this part that i loved but was too out of place #so i have extremely mixed feelings about this :')#tw ptsd #don't mind me rambling about stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #fruity ficlet

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reputationmunson · 1 year

Text

In This Together | Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Summary: The beginning of your journey through parenthood with Eddie

Content: pregnancy fic (reader finds out she’s pregnant), mentions of nausea and throwing up, fluff, use of y/n

Word Count: 1.9K

a/n: so this is the first part “series” and if you have any requests/things you would like to read for this please let me know and i will be more than happy to oblige!

For the past week, life has been throwing you punches left and right.

On your way home from work one night, your car decided that in the middle of a thunderstorm would be the perfect time to break down. Luckily, your mechanic husband came to the rescue. Unluckily, he ordered chinese takeout for dinner to cheer you up, which led to you getting food poisoning.

You’ve had to call off of work for the past five days due to being ill. Somehow, Eddie must’ve skipped on the side dish of foodborne illness because he never ended up getting sick.

Eddie has been picking up a few extra shifts this week because you were so stressed about missing work and the effect that would have on your paycheck. Honestly, money hasn’t been much of an issue lately, but he insisted on working so his chance for a promotion would increase.

You’ve been an emotional wreck without him lately. Every time he leaves you feel like he’s going off to war and you have no idea when he’ll return. He thinks it’s adorable while you think you’re going insane. Sometimes throughout the day you’ll spray his cologne, even though the scent has been making you a bit queasy for some reason.

You haven’t been able to keep any food down, so you decided to give your mom a call and ask for her special soup recipe. She always made it when a friend or family member was sick and you swear it has healing powers.

“Hi, mom. it’s me” you say, voice hoarse from all the throwing up.

“Hi, sweetie. you sound awful, is everything okay?”

Tears immediately fill your eyes when she asks. Your period must be coming soon because your emotions have been all over the place.

“Not really. I’ve had food poisoning and I can’t keep anything down, so I just wanted the recipe for your soup”

“Oh, honey. Is Eddie there to make it for you?”

“N-no. he’s working like all the time recently because he’s up for a promotion and I just miss him so much that I think I'm losing my mind and I'm also starving but the thought of eating anything makes me want to puke '' you sob.

“y/n, are you pregnant?”

“what? no i’m not preg-” your voice drifts as realization hits you. You missed your period last month, but chalked it up to stress and this month is halfway over and you still haven’t gotten it.

“y/n? are you there?”

“y-yeah i’m here. I just, um, I think I need to sit down.”

“I’m coming over, honey. don’t worry everything will be okay”

In shock, you hang up the phone without saying another word. Could you really be pregnant? I mean, let’s be honest you and Eddie go at it like rabbits, so it shouldn’t be a surprise, but it is.

You and Eddie have discussed having kids on many occasions, but you both agreed to wait until the time was right. You wanted to move into a bigger house, nothing too fancy that you’d be paying off for the rest of your lives, but one big enough for your little rascals to run around. All you ever both wanted was a house filled with love and laughter, no matter how big or small.

After anxiously sitting in silence, your mom walks through the door with handfuls of grocery bags and she looks just about as frazzled as you do.

“yep. you’re pregnant.” is the first thing she says and you groan. “how do you know? Are you secretly psychic or something?”

“all mothers are psychic, you’ll find that out very soon. So, I bought all the fixins for my soup, three pregnancy tests, and a gallon of water. Drink up, i’ll start cooking”

You pour yourself a glass of water and chug until there isn’t a drop left in the cup.

“I can’t believe I’m gonna be a grandma! Between Eddie’s hair and your eyes, this baby is going to be beautiful.”

“Alright, I’ll go take the tests but please don’t get your hopes up”

In reality, you had your hopes up too. The thought of having a baby that was a mix of you and Eddie was the most amazing thing you could ever think of. You hoped they’d have his eyes, which if your kid is anything like their dad, they will use those big, brown eyes against you.

Maybe this hypothetical baby will even have a passion for music and Eddie can teach them how to play guitar. You can see it now. Your baby wouldn’t even be a year old before Eddie tried to form a family band.

“Don’t look at the first test until you take the other two!” your mother shouts as you disappear into the bathroom.

You take a deep breath to calm yourself after you're done and the anticipation is killing you. This plastic stick is holding the answer to your future and you still had two more to take before you could find out.

Almost a gallon of water and three pregnancy tests later, the pink sticks lay face down on the bathroom sink counter.

“Will you look for me? I can’t do it”

“Let’s do it together, okay? This is a wonderful experience” your mom squeezes your hand and you try to gather yourself.

On the count of three, you each pick one up and you gasp when you turn it around.

Two pink lines

Two. Pink. Lines

“It’s positive!” you shriek, anxiety replaced with glee. “Are they all positive?” you scan over all three and they show the same result.

You start to cry again, but this time it’s happy tears. Like the tears you cried when Eddie told you he loved you for the first time, then again when he got down on one knee, and also when he vowed to love you for the rest of his life no matter what, a promise he’s yet to break and you are confident he never will.

Your mom also begins to cry tears of joy while giving a hug. She was right, this is a wonderful experience.

When the thought crossed your mind during the phone call earlier, you were horrified. Now, you realize there’s nothing to be scared of. You’re having a baby with the man you love more than anything.

“When are you going to tell him? I don’t know how long I can keep this in!” she exclaims

“I’m telling him tonight I don’t think I can wait longer than that. But, please don’t say anything to anyone until we’re ready”

“I won’t. Now, tell me how you’re gonna tell him!”

Once your mom left, you decided to make yourself more presentable and set up a nice dinner for when Eddie got home. He would be home any minute and you were oozing with excitement.

The table was set, soup was on the stove, and you had put the tests in a gift bag with some tissue paper.

You had no worries about Eddie reacting badly to this news and not only did that soothe your nerves, it also reaffirmed that being with him was the best decision you ever made.

You hear his vehicle pull into the driveway and you scurry over to the door, ready to greet him the second he walks in.

“Eddie!” you squeal, throwing your arms around his neck right when he comes inside. “hey, baby” he arms wrap around your waist and pulls you into him. “How are you feeling?” he pulls back slightly to put his hand on your forehead to check if you have a temperature.

“So much better now that you’re home” you nuzzle into him and bask in the feeling of his presence. “Sweetheart, you didn’t have to make dinner. you’re sick” he pouts and you can’t resist the urge to kiss him. He tastes like spearmint gum with a hint of the chapstick you force him to wear because his lips are too pretty to be chapped.

“My mom came over and made it, actually. she says hi, by the way” you lead him over to the couch and sit down. “Her special soup? fuck yeah” he says and you giggle at the enthusiasm.

“So, I was gonna wait until dinner but I have a present for you” you say, giddily. “A present for lil ol’ me? oh you didn’t have to, darlin’” he says in a fake southern accent. “Stay here, you goof”

You return to the living room, gift bag in hand and a big smile on your face. Eddie hasn’t seen your smile much since you got “food poisoning” and it’s the best present he can think of. For now, at least.

“Don’t just stare at me! Open it!” you excitedly demand as you stand in front of him where he’s sat on the couch.

“you’re just so goddamn pretty. i missed that smile” fuck, you love him so much. If you weren’t so nauseous and in anticipation for him to find out you're pregnant you’d take him to the bedroom and show him just how much you appreciate him.

“Eddie, I love you, but if you don’t open it right now I’ll make sure to never smile again” you threaten and try not to smile, but you can’t help it. After all these years, you still feel the same way you did on your first date with him. Absolutely lovesick.

“Jeez, no need for threats, Mrs. Munson” he teases and you playfully roll your eyes.

He tears through the tissue paper like it’s christmas morning and stops in his tracks once he looks in the bag.

“Is this?” He pulls out each test and stares intently at each one. “Are you?” He looks up at you with wide eyes and apparently he’s lost the ability to form a sentence. “yeah. we’re having a baby” and here come the waterworks again. Damn hormones.

His hand rests on your stomach and you cover his hand with your own. “Are you okay with that?” you whisper and he stands up, hand still on your belly. “I’m - fuck- I thought I’d be scared shitless when this day came, but I’m not. Are you okay with this?”

“I’m a little scared when I think of things like how we’re gonna have to move eventually and ya know, the whole childbirth part that’s probably gonna rip me to shreds, but I’m happy. Really happy”

“Me too and I think I’m gonna get that promotion to manager, which comes with a huge raise. We’ve been saving up for this since we got married, babe. We’re gonna be fine, okay?”

“I’m gonna get huge” you whine and he chuckles then presses a kiss to your forehead.

“I know. think about how big your tits are gonna get” he jokes. “Eddie! this is supposed to be sentimental!” you chide with a laugh. “But, seriously. Are you still gonna love me when I'm all swollen and grumpy? or when I make you get me ice cream at two in the morning?”

“First of all, you already make me get you ice cream at two in the morning. Second, you’re carrying our baby. If anything, I'm going to love you even more” he promises and pulls you into a loving hug.

“Is it okay that I’m somewhat terrified?” you ask, words a little muffled from your face being buried in his chest.

“I am too, but we’re in this together, yeah?” he assures you.

“yeah. together”

my baby fever has been through the roof lately i can’t wait to write more of these :)))

#eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #dad!eddie munson #dad!eddie x mom!reader #eddie munson fic #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson #stranger things fic

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