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mortemoppetere · 30 days

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TIMING: shortly after what if...? LOCATION: just outside the jones house. PARTIES: @ariadnewhitlock & @mortemoppetere SUMMARY: not long after rhett leaves, emilio runs into ariadne. they both have a lot of big, complicated feelings. CONTENT: suicidal ideation, child death, parental death, sibling death

Wynne’s new house was amazing. It was everything that they deserved, and Ariadne couldn’t be happier for them. She also took great enjoyment in visiting them – the estate (she wasn’t sure what else to call it) that they lived on now was incredibly expansive and impressive. However, visiting them meant going near where Emilio was, and she was pretty positive he was still mad at her, even if Wynne had said that he wasn’t. She still worried that he’d tell them to break up with her, and even though Wynne was strong-willed and sure of themself, she worried they’d leave her.

But she was walking around the grounds, still, because being out and existing by herself was like, important or something. Crucial to not becoming someone who just lived in a house all the time and never came outside. The day was cold, but it didn’t bother her too much – if only in part because she was always cold, and so Ariadne had come to terms with that, at least somewhat.

Except — then she was walking and then there Emilio was, and she froze where she was standing, Juicy Fruit gum stuck to the roof of her mouth. “I – hi.” Ariadne began, “I was – out for a walk. Just – I can go. Now. If you want. Sorry to startle you.” She looked down at her feet.

To say that Emilio had been off since his conversation with Lucio would be one hell of an understatement. It had been jarring enough just to see his uncle alive after leaving him for dead in the streets years ago, but hearing what Lucio had to say? Listening to his retelling of the events leading up to the massacre, learning the truth about his mother and her intentions… Emilio’s already flimsy grasp on his mind had been slipping more and more, leaving him staring at the wall for hours or blinking morning into evening without being present for the hours in between.

Even now, he moved on autopilot. Wandering the grounds of Teddy’s house like a ghost, outside in the harsh Maine winter in a t-shirt and jeans despite his distaste for the cold. With how out of it he’d been, he figured it was a minor miracle that he’d remembered to put shoes on. It was the shiver down his spine of nearby undead that brought him back to himself, instincts forcing him to be present as a figure approached. His whole body tensed, teeth clenching so tightly that his jaw hurt. It took him a moment to recognize the blonde hair and soft features, took him a moment longer to force his body to relax.

His feelings towards Ariadne had been… complex since that factory. What happened wasn’t her fault, even if it had been done in her name. (There was something almost funny about the thought now. Could he say the same about the massacre? He found it hard to.) She hadn’t known about it, wouldn’t have wanted it if she had. But even so… he couldn’t stop his mind from going back there at the sight of her. Couldn’t get the stench of blood out of his nose, couldn’t shake the feeling of Rhett’s panic hanging over him. She was speaking, and it took him a moment to track what she was saying, took him a moment longer to translate it in his mind. He lifted a shoulder and dropped it listlessly. “It’s fine,” he said gruffly. “It’s — You don’t have to go anywhere. Didn’t startle, it’s okay.”

—

“I – okay. ‘Cause you can sense me, right? Is that why I didn’t startle you?” Ariadne couldn’t help but once again look down at her feet. The urge to reply with a ‘sorry’ was pressing against her lips, desperate to get out, but she did her best to swallow it back down. To focus on Wynne, just like how they’d talked about, how focusing on what they’d say in any given situation was a surefire way to help, to better things. They would’ve told her that she’d been invited here, because it was their home now too, and it was also healthy for her to go out on her own.

Except that she did still feel guilty – even though Inge and Siobhan’s actions were done of their own freewill, if she hadn’t gotten kidnapped and if she hadn’t made such a big deal about it, maybe they never would’ve done that. Except maybe she hadn’t even made that much of a big deal about it, given that’d she’d been actually kidnapped just for “funsies”, though she didn’t think that man – Him – Rhett – would ever use the word funsies. She made a face at the thought, before registering that she was still standing in front of Emilio. “Sorry, that face wasn’t for you. I was just thinking about… something else. Homework.” That should work, right? Not that she wanted to lie.

“I just wanted to go out for a walk.” She pulled the pack of Juicy Fruit from her pocket. “Do you want a piece? It’s – it’s just gum.” Ariadne sighed again, arguably one of the strangest habits for someone who was dead to have, given her lack of need to breathe, but still. It was what it was. “I’m still – sorry.” Maybe he’d know what she meant. “Did you also want fresh air?”

—

“Yeah,” he confirmed, “I can sense you.” He wondered what it must feel like from her perspective. Hunters’ ability to sense the things they were meant to kill was evolution’s way of giving them a leg up in an otherwise vastly uneven fight, he knew. Without it, the already short average lifespan of hunters would have likely been made even shorter. He’d never wondered how it must have felt to be sensed by a thing built to take you out, but he found himself thinking about it now. Most supernatural species didn’t have the same ability in reverse. Did they find it unjust? Uneven? Did he? Looking at Ariadne, Emilio couldn’t help but think on the question.

He didn’t know if it ached less to think about that instead of the factory or Mexico. There was a dull ache all over now, settling snugly into his bones like it was a part of him. It made it difficult to register if any one thing hurt more than another, made it hard to tell if this was better or worse than the mental image of Flora’s corpse against the wall or Rhett’s leg sitting a few feet from the rest of his body. Almost laughably, he was filled with the thought that he wasn’t doing it right, wasn’t grieving in a way he should have been grieving. Should he have been angrier? Should he have been yelling at Ariadne as a scapegoat, or apologizing for making her one? He felt empty, and he didn’t think he was supposed to.

She spoke, and it was difficult to hear her even though she was speaking at a normal volume. It was like there was radio static playing in the back of his mind, like he was half here, half somewhere else. She reached for her pocket and he tensed without meaning to, went taut like a rubber band moments from snapping despite the fact that he knew that the kid was unarmed, was harmless, didn’t want to hurt him. She pulled out a package, offered him something wrapped in yellow paper, and he stared at it for a moment before remembering that he was supposed to respond. “Don’t think I like gum,” he replied, wondering if there was something funny about the fact that he didn’t know for certain.

“I… yeah. I wanted fresh air. Having a hard time…” He trailed off, unsure how to describe it. Having a hard time existing lately. Having a hard time being a person. Having a hard time remembering when and where I am. Hey, do you see that dead kid in the corner? Not you, the other dead kid. The one that was mine. She’s right there, next to the leg your friends cut off my brother. He let out a quiet, strangled sound that wasn’t a laugh, but wasn’t anything else, either. “Sorry,” he said flatly. “Didn’t mean to bother your walk.” That wasn’t the word he wanted, was it? Not bother. Interrupt? Closer, but not quite. Ruin? Yeah. Yeah, that was probably it. He was good at that.

—

“Right, yeah. I remember. From when we first met.” Which wasn’t even a year ago, but still, it felt like forever ago and maybe more. Ariadne wasn’t sure how she was supposed to deal with being alive for forever when time was already way too confusing. But that also wasn’t a road she wanted to go down right now. Or ever! But especially not right now. She also still didn’t quite get how people could sense her. She didn’t wear overly strong perfume, though she knew it wasn’t that sort of sense. It was unnerving. She thought that she wasn’t supposed to get unnerved anymore. But as it turned out, dying and becoming a nightmare monster didn’t get rid of anxiety and, in fact, exacerbated it at times.

Ariadne could see Emilio go tense, and that alone made her want to shrink into the ground. Wanted to just not ever come back. But Wynne lived here now, and she was positive that she couldn’t physically possibly go much time at all without seeing them. So she steadied herself.

“Oh, well, it’s good, but that’s also valid. Chewing stuff and not swallowing isn’t what we’re, like, supposed to be used to, right?” She didn’t expect an answer – the question was rhetorical, born from Ariadne’s apparent need to fill the space with something. Which Emilio probably wasn’t the biggest fan of, maybe. Not that she knew him too well. Or much at all. But Wynne trusted him, and they were living with him now, so that had to mean something. She trusted Wynne more than anything (more than herself, most days), so she refocused her attention.

She couldn’t help but jump slightly at the sound he made. “I –” Ariadne began before she could help herself. “No – you – I – you didn’t bother my walk. This isn’t my home,” though with Wynne anywhere felt like home, “and it’s – you’re allowed to go wherever you want. It’s – I’m fine.” She scratched her head. “I’m sorry I bothered your walk. Your space. Can you – even – when I’m –” she stammered through nearly half a dozen false starts. “Do you sense me even when I’m over in Wynne’s house?”

—

He didn’t know how old he’d been when he’d learned how to swim. He remembered it in snippets, mostly. The rickety wooden rowboat his mother had loaded him onto, the way she’d taken him out into the middle of the lake far past where his feet could brush the bottom before tossing him overboard, the way she’d smacked him away with the oar when he’d tried, desperately, to climb back onto that rotting wooden salvation, the way she rowed away and left him there, expecting him to either make his way back to shore or die trying. He was good at it, the swimming. He picked it up quickly by necessity, made his way back to shore in a way that was effective even if it wasn’t graceful. His lungs had ached by the end of it, and he was sure he must have inhaled at least a little of the dirty water from the lake, but he felt victorious all the same. The next day, when she rowed him out and did it again, he was better. He was a good swimmer. He had to be. But he didn’t enjoy it much.

He hated the feeling of water closing in on him, the way it felt like some invisible pressure all around his body. Mostly, he hated how quickly treading water wore him out. It shouldn’t have, he thought, shouldn’t have been the kind of thing that exhausted you after only a few minutes, but it was. And it was infuriating. You did all that work just to stay afloat. And Emilio, he’d been treading water for days now, kicking his feet and moving his arms and just trying to stay afloat. He wasn’t as good at it as he used to be. He was looking at this kid, and she was blurry like he was staring at her from the bottom of that murky lake. She was talking, and he had to strain to hear her over the water in his ears. He was on dry land, and his lungs still ached like he was half-drowned. Was Ariadne a good swimmer? If she was dropped in the middle of that lake, would she have made it back to shore?

She was talking about the first time they met, and he had to struggle to remember it. It seemed funny, almost. He remembered the events of that massacre two years ago so vividly that they were playing out again in real time every time he closed his eyes, but meeting this kid less than a year ago seemed so fuzzy that he could scarcely recall it at all. “Right.” His voice was hoarse, his tone flat with the barest hint of uncertainty behind it. They met. He’d sensed her. They’d gone into the mines. That had happened, hadn’t it?

He stared at her hand as she held the gum, eyes unfocused. Chew it up, spit it out. What was the point of it, he wondered? What was it for? Chew it up, spit it out. Did it make you feel better, somehow? Make the world feel less suffocating, make it a little easier to tread water? Chew it up, spit it out. He kept trying to digest the process in his mind, jaw so tight it hurt. It was difficult to wrap his mind around it, but it was difficult to wrap his mind around anything, really.

She jumped, and he felt guilty. Sorry I scare you, he wanted to say. I scare me, too. I’m scared all the time. I’m scared right now, but I’m bad at it. It’s a funny thing to be bad at. I get scared the way a dog gets scared. You know? With teeth. I get scared in the kind of way that makes people think I ought to be put down. He wanted to say all of it, but he didn’t know how, couldn’t fit the words on his tongue. He wasn’t good enough in English to know how to use it to explain how he felt. He wasn’t even sure he could do it in Spanish. He didn’t have the words to describe the empty cavern that made up who he was. He wasn’t even sure the words existed.

“No,” he said. His eyes darted briefly to something behind her, something that wasn’t there. There were no corpses at Teddy’s house. He had to remind himself. The only corpses here were the two walking and talking right here, the sad dead girl and the ghost of a man with a deceptively beating heart. There was nothing else rotting. “I can’t feel you when you’re at Wynne’s house. Have to be closer. Not much of an alarm bell. More of a… uh… a…” He struggled to find the word to describe it. Confirmación? He wasn’t sure, so he just shrugged. “You didn’t bother me.” It wasn’t true, but it was. Her presence set him off, but when he was like this, most things did. If he hadn’t run into her, he’d have been put on edge by the way the wind blew, or the smell of the water on the beach near the house, or the chill in the air. If it wasn’t one thing, it was something else, but it was always something. Emilio was made up of a thousand switches he didn’t know how to trigger until someone did it. He could hardly blame anyone else for stepping on a trip wire.

—

She’d challenged Chance to dozens of races when they were kids. When he’d been more timid than she was, when she’d had to bribe him to do wild things. Not that Ariadne had ever been an especially wild child, but she had been more daring, and she had loved how running so fast changed her breathing pattern, how it made her breath more heavily, made her so acutely aware of the world around her and what immense power it had over her. It was beautiful, and it was weird, but weird in a good way.

Breath had no power over her now. Or was it that she had no power over breath? Either way, breath wasn’t something that was a part of her life any longer. Which was weird and unsettling, if she thought about it too much. So Ariadne didn’t. Think about it, that was. She had enough things to go about spiraling about, and she for sure didn’t need to add this to the list. She couldn’t breathe now, and that was terrifying, but she also didn’t need to breathe, which probably meant she could win underwater breathing contests if she wanted to. Which would be one heck of a way to make money, if she ever needed to.

Her parents had taught her basic common-sense survival skills when she was little. Not anything major, but she could change oil in a car when she was seven, and of course, there had been the embroidery business she “ran” and got very into. It was handy, being able to fix things, being able to mend things with items that you could only and easily fit into your pocket. Except, of course, there was the whole issue of how she couldn’t fix what she really wanted to. Ariadne also didn’t like to think about that too much.

Apparently there were quite a lot of things she didn’t like to think about. She wondered if she should start a list, but that would involve thinking about the same things that she didn’t want to think about, which cycled her all the way back to where she was at the start. Listing what you didn’t want to think about in order to not think about it certainly didn’t work, right? Though Ariadne wondered if it was worth exploring.

Not now, though. Maybe some other time.

Some other time when she wasn’t focused on making sure she gave a good impression to someone who was like a parent to Wynne and who could tell she was dead and whose brother had tried to murder her and who she had met in the mines.

“Yeah.” She replied to his Right. One word replies worked. Or they had to. Ariadne decided that. Not that her deciding that meant anything in the wide long term scheme of things, but it did prove that she could at least, on occasion, be semi-decisive.

She figured when she became a literal nightmare monster creature (though Wynne wouldn’t have liked her talking about herself that way) – when she died and now suddenly had the ability to cause nightmares, she should’ve stopped being so skittish, and yet if anything she couldn’t think of any time in her life when she’d been more skittish. Except, maybe, when she first started school and couldn’t understand why she couldn’t just hang out at the hardware store all day.

“Okay.” She wanted to know more about how his sense of her worked, but that wasn’t something to ask. Not now, and maybe-probably not ever. Which was yet another scary thought, and one that made her stomach twist and turn and made her spit her gum into its wrapper and stuff a few jelly beans (peach and pear flavored) into her mouth to quell the hunger that she suddenly felt. “Okay, okay, because if I do, like, y’know, set you off, you can tell me. It’s okay. I won’t – it’s okay.” She didn’t like to lie, and so Ariadne couldn’t genuinely say that she wouldn’t be hurt by it, but it was okay, because Emilio was allowed to feel however the heck he wanted about anything. Including her. Even if he was important to Wynne and Ariadne was worried (add that to the list) that if he didn’t like her, they’d eventually decide that she wasn’t worth much, or wasn’t good enough for them.

She was well aware that she wasn’t good enough for them, but she loved them more than she’d ever loved anyone, and they did say that they loved her too, and they also didn’t lie…

But still, it was hard and complicated and all too much.

“Do you walk out and about here often?”

—

Set you off. Something about the way she said it was funny. Or, as funny as Emilio was capable of finding anything right now, which was to say… not very funny at all. The smile he cracked at the words looked more like a grimace, the shuddered breath he drew his best attempt at a laugh. It wasn’t very hard to set him off these days, was it? Everything seemed to do it. Someone spoke in the wrong tone, or said the wrong thing, or looked at him the wrong way, and he was somewhere else. He was in a bloody living room and his hands were shaking. He was in an abandoned factory, and the stench of decay was everywhere. He was in a tiny shed, and the knife he held was too big for his small hands.

He wondered if Ariadne knew that her setting him off had so little to do with the sense in his head that told him her heart wasn’t beating. He wondered if she understood that she wasn’t the dead kid who was haunting him now, that there was another corpse, another ghost that set him off far more than she ever could.

He thought of Flora, as if he ever thought of anything else. He thought of Ariadne, too, and of Inge and Siobhan and Rhett and Lucio. He thought of the world they lived in where kids died and some came back to be locked in the backs of vans while others were buried by the same hands that held those keys. He’d spent the last two years avenging his daughter, and he still felt empty. Inge and Siobhan spent days carving pieces off his brother to avenge Ariadne. Did they feel empty, too? What could fill that space, he wondered? What existed that could ever hope to be enough to make the pit in his stomach less gaping?

It’s okay, Ariadne was saying, and that was funny-not-funny, too. It’s okay, she said, even though nothing was. Even though she was dead and Flora was dead and Emilio wasn’t. Even when he’d offered his life up in exchange for that of a man who’d hurt her, even when he’d made two people who he thought must have loved her promise not to avenge her again. It’s okay, it’s okay. The words stopped having any kind of meaning a long time ago.

“You didn’t do anything, you know.” Because she hadn’t. She hadn’t done anything to prompt Rhett to throw her into that van. Something had broken in his brother years ago, Emilio knew, before Mexico and before Flora, and Ariadne wasn’t responsible for it but she felt the effects the same way Emilio did, suffered the aftermath in a way she hadn’t earned. And she hadn’t done anything to bring about what happened in that factory, either. Siobhan and Inge chose to do what they did the same way Rhett chose to do what he did. It wasn’t Ariadne’s fault that vengeance was such a messy thing. He didn’t think it was something she’d have chosen, if she’d had any kind of a say.

She hadn’t done anything here, either. She was out, she was walking, and she was allowed to do that. She should be allowed. It wasn’t her who’d set him off, wasn’t her who’d caused the mess in his head even if seeing her exasperated it a little. The truth was, something had broken in Emilio years ago, too. Maybe it went back further than the massacre he couldn’t escape. Maybe whatever was wrong with him started with that kid in that shed, with a knife that was too big for him to hold with just one hand and a monster he hadn’t yet learned not to fear.

Her voice dragged him back to the present, though it took him a moment to understand the words. He furrowed his brow, translated them in his head despite the fact that he knew all of them, understood the context. Pain flared in his leg like a reminder, and his nostrils flared with an attempt to push it back down. “No.” No, that wasn’t right. “Yeah.” Maybe not that, either. “Sometimes.” Better, he thought. Closer. “Not good at it anymore. Walking. But it…” Helps? It didn’t, though. Not on nights like tonight, where nothing did. “Somebody said it was good for me, I don’t know.” He tried to remember if that was true or not, if someone had actually made that claim or if he’d made it up. Did it matter?

“Are you — Am I bothering you? Do I…” He trailed off, uncertain. Do I scare you? I probably should. I’m built to kill you, and my brother already tried it. I’m not a very good person, you know. Of course you know. You’ve seen it firsthand, haven’t you? In the van, when you thought I was there to kill you. Do you still think that? I’m sorry I’m like this. I scare me, too. If it makes you feel any better, I’m not supposed to be alive, either. I shouldn’t be. He couldn’t force it out, couldn’t make sense of the twisted thoughts in his head. What did he actually want to say? Did he even know? “Lo siento. I’m sorry. I was just… I’ll go back inside.”

—

She wasn’t supposed to be afraid. She wasn’t supposed to have her new default be to curl up and away from most of the world. She hadn’t been timid before, but now she figured that was the only half-decent way to describe herself. Ariadne wished that becoming a mare had made her stronger – she figured that was what success meant – but it only made her feel empty, hollow, and dead. Which she was. The latter of those three, at least. Dead but not dead. Like that cat. You didn’t know until you opened her up, and even then, it was a guess half the time. She knew that people like Wynne and Cass made her feel alive, and when she danced she felt more alive than dead, but she wasn’t alive and would never be alive again. There wasn’t a way to reverse what had happened to her. Not in the slightest.

If there were, there was very little she wouldn’t have done to get her humanity back. To be able to live a long life with Wynne, to grow old together.

Inge and Siobhan had gone after Emilio’s brother because of her.

Inge and Siobhan had all but killed someone because of her.

He’d hurt Inge too, and maybe also Siobhan, but if Ariadne hadn’t made such a big deal about being kidnapped then maybe nothing would’ve happened and Emilio wouldn’t be mad or sad or frustrated or disappointed in all that she was.

Or if He – if Rhett – had been successful in his stupid and bad science. She didn’t want to die (well, again), that much she knew without a single doubt in her mind, but if she’d just disappeared, then maybe things wouldn't have been quite as complicated in the way that they were. Maybe. Maybe maybe maybe.

It was all in shades of gray. So much of her life was now, whether or not she wanted that to be the case. Which, in most cases, was very much in the not category. As in, not wanting shades of gray. At least in terms of her life and the way she existed in the world. Not that she hadn’t been gray before, because what even were binaries, but it had been a more comforting gray. The gray now felt cold and hard. There were hardly any soft edges.

“What?” Her voice sounded sharper than she’d meant – maybe because she was the stuff of broken glass and knives and horror movie villains now – “sorry – what?” She adjusted her voice, making it more like what she was used to. What she was familiar with. What she usually went with. What her default was, when she wasn’t defensive and sharp and anxious. The first two were easy enough for her to not be, but anxious, not so much.

Since Emilio’s brother had thrown her in the van, she’d only gotten worse. It was only with a decent bit of pressure disguised as encouragement that she’d ended up being okay at all with wandering around at night. Which was supposed to be her time, and of course she preferred to spend the nights with Wynne, but she did like to look at the sky and watch the way the world behaved in shadow, at night. There was a beauty to it, as much as Ariadne was sometimes reluctant to believe that. She wondered if Emilio liked the dark, or if he preferred daytime. He probably preferred daytime, preferred when the world was softer and warm.

“Yeah. Walking’s supposed to do stuff.” A-plus on the words there, huh? Not that she thought of herself as especially eloquent, but usually she was far better at it than this. “It’s good to walk.” She got more joy out of dancing, but she also knew that she very much had to exist outside, at least sometimes, and a walk did wonders. It was terribly fun on her best days, to watch the flowers all around. Bugs and forest creatures and all other sorts of animals used to be a great joy, but now, given how scared they were of her, flowers and other flora were what she enjoyed most. At least they weren’t afraid of her.

“No! This is your house, right? It’s – no. You aren’t bothering me. Don’t go back inside.” Her breath tasted sour. “I mean, you don’t have to. Unless you want to. It’s fine.” Ariadne pressed her fingertips against her temple. She didn’t want to make Emilio do anything, and he’d done nothing but good things for her ever since they’d met. He could’ve killed her in the van, but instead let her out. He’d done so many good things. He was good. Wynne didn’t like bad people, she reminded herself. It was something she reminded herself of on the days when she felt the greatest amount of self-doubt. Wynne wouldn’t like her – wouldn’t love her, if she was bad.

“You can do whatever feels most right to you.”

—

He used to pray. He thought about it, sometimes, how strange it seemed. With all his mother’s harshness, with all the sharp edges she’d used to cut him into pieces and all the weapons she’d made extensions of her body, a person might not assume she was the religious type. But she had been. She’d believed in a higher power, believed that she had some duty towards it. She’d passed that duty off to him, to, to Emilio and his siblings. God chose them, she used to say. God chose their family to rid the world of evil, to cleanse it. They didn’t serve themselves with their stakes and their blades. They served something far bigger, something powerful.

There was a God, and He had great things in store for the Cortez bloodline. So Emilio used to pray. He used to get on his knees, used to fold his hands together so tightly they ached, used to mutter into his mattress and hope that God didn’t hate mumbling as much as his mother did. It was simple stuff at first. He prayed to be better, to learn easier, to stop fidgeting and pay more attention and make his mother proud. It shifted as time went on. He was twelve, and he was praying for God to send his brother back to him, for Him to change His mind about taking Victor away. He was eighteen, and he was pleading with God not to take Rosa while she bled out on the kitchen table, was begging for Edgar to be allowed to come home in one piece, was making deals with a higher power for what remained of his siblings to keep breathing. And then —

Then he was twenty-eight, and he was praying for the girl he loved to stay with him and never leave. He was promising God all sorts of things so long as it meant Juliana would stay in his bed, was pretending not to recognize that having her there without a ring on her finger was a sin. He bought the ring because he promised God he would, he put it on her finger because he had a deal with something bigger than himself. Then Juliana gave him something new to pray for, something with tiny hands and a tight grip.

So he prayed. He used to pray. He’d prayed during that massacre, had pleaded and begged and demanded and come home to blood and bodies on the floor anyway. He made deals with God, and it was God who broke them every time. It was God who turned His back, because Emilio never had. Emilio prayed. Emilio used to pray.

He’d done it again in that factory. It was hard not to think of it now, with Ariadne standing in front of him. Had she prayed in that van, he wondered? Had she asked God to deliver her from it, had she begged for retribution? Had what happened in that factory been the answer to someone’s prayer, even if it wasn’t his? How did God choose, he wondered, which prayers to answer and which to deny? How did He decide who to damn in order to save someone else?

(It probably wasn’t a particularly hard choice. Emilio had never been worth saving. Even his mother had known that.)

Still, even if Ariadne had prayed for what had happened to his brother, even if she’d celebrated it, how much could Emilio fault her? How could he be angry with her for wanting someone to slay the monster under her bed? The fact that he loved Rhett couldn’t excuse what had happened in that van. The fact that he sometimes felt that his brother was all he had left didn’t make Ariadne any less afraid of him. He couldn’t excuse what Rhett had done, couldn’t tell the kid in front of him now that she had no right to be afraid. He could tell stories, sure, but they wouldn’t change anything. Knowing that Rhett’s hands had once changed his daughter’s diapers when Emilio was too exhausted to do so himself wouldn’t make Ariadne remember them as anything more than the hands that had shoved her in a prison and left her there to rot.

And the inverse was true, too. Rhett could be a monster to Ariadne and a lifeline to Emilio. She could pray for him to suffer and he could pray for him to live and God could choose whose prayers to answer and whose to cast aside. Wasn’t that what it meant to be God, anyway?

“I just mean…” He trailed off, unsure how to finish. He didn’t know what he meant; he never did. He could blame it on the language barrier, but the truth of the matter was that even in his own head, Emilio’s intentions felt muddled sometimes. Why did he do the things he did? Sometimes, he had no idea. Sometimes, the world seemed to end at the smallest of inconveniences and his hands acted as if they were their own entity. They broke things that he didn’t want broken, they hit things he didn’t want to hit. Frustration bubbled, even now, though it was a distant thing. He wondered if it was better this way, if being cut off from what he felt was better than feeling it all too much. He wondered why rage and apathy were the only options afforded to him. “You didn’t do anything,” he said again. “You just — You’re just here. You were just there.” She didn’t deserve what Rhett had done to her, and that must have meant that Rhett had deserved what had been done to him. Even if Emilio had prayed for something else. Even if he still did.

“Right,” he agreed, and he still felt distant. Like he was somewhere else, or like she was. The world flickered. He was in the yard, he was in the factory, he was in the living room. He was always in the living room. He thought he must have been buried there. “I’m… I used to…” He swallowed, tapping a finger absently against his leg. “It hurts more than it used to. Walking. I can’t do it as much now.” He tried not to think of Rhett, who could hardly walk at all now and had still walked away from Emilio. It was hard to think of anything else, though.

He let out a hollow laugh, and it sounded far away, like it had come from someone else. “It’s not my house,” he replied. “It’s Teddy’s house. They let me stay.” He thought for now, but he didn’t say it. Ariadne, he thought, was the sort of person who would want to protest that, the kind who would insist that Teddy wanted him to stay for as long as he’d like. Emilio knew there was some truth to it. Teddy loved him; they wouldn’t lie about that. But Emilio was a hard man to love, a hard person to keep around. To love him was to watch as he destroyed himself, over and over again. To love him was to spend every goddamn morning peeling him off a living room floor that he hadn’t seen in years now. Anyone would tire of it eventually. “Nothing feels right to me,” he admitted, though he didn’t mean to. The words slipped out all their own, and he watched them go as if they were printed on the sky. “Everything’s fucked. You know? Nothing’s made sense in a long time. I can go if you need me to. I can stay if you want. But it’s not — Nothing feels right.”

—

Her mom’s mom was religious. Not in the oppressive sort of way, but she was. She’d read children’s books about Jesus and the other people in the Bible. She’d like the ones where women showed up, even if Ariadne herself didn’t care much about religion at all. Her parents had never made her go to church – though when they’d visited her mom’s parents she’d gone to church in France, and that had been cool, but she figured maybe it was because she liked stories and in reality, it was just another big book of stories. Going and getting hot chocolate after the service was just an added bonus.

She’d wondered briefly, when she’d died, if it was because of something she’d done. Something so bad that the only natural consequence was to die. Ariadne had wracked her brain then, trying to see if she could think of something she’d done that was so bad that she deserved death.

When she’d found out exactly what she was, she’d wondered what could be so awful that she’d be cursed to become a literal nightmare.

So, as it turned out, maybe she was a bit religious. At least more than she’d figured that she was. But still not strictly so. Just enough to make her think. Her parents weren’t, though they did take her to the local church’s pancake breakfast whenever they had one. That had been good, and it was warm and fun and when she was little, she’d gotten excited about dressing up in some sort of fancy dress (which always had to have a poofy skirt, obviously), even though the skirt had often ended up with pancake syrup (genuine, obviously) on it. But that was fun and her parents never minded.

Ariadne was well aware of how lucky she was, if nothing else. Her parents were perfect – or even if not perfect, they were perfect for her and they both seemed to really love her and there was nothing that she loved more than pure love. It was one of the most beautiful things in the world, and was also an additional reason why she hated what she was so very much. Because who loved nightmares?

Wynne, apparently, she answered herself. Except they loved one particular nightmare (her) rather than in general. They didn’t love nightmares. Distinctly didn’t love them, and that was one reason why Ariadne did her best to make sure they didn’t have them.

Which also made her wonder if and when they’d get scared of her, when they wouldn’t want her around anymore. Which was very much not helpful to think about around Emilio, of all people. Not that Ariadne held any negative feelings or ill will towards Emilio, but she knew how important he was to Wynne, and she was already so nervous about losing them.

Emilio was completely close to that man. The one who’d locked her up and hurt her and who Inge and Siobhan had hurt in turn, hurt because of her and she wasn’t sure how to contend with the fact that she didn’t feel completely awful about that happening. That she felt almost good, in the right light. At the right angle.

Which made her something of a monster, didn’t it?

To take any sort of pleasure in someone else’s pain, even if it was someone who had caused her some of the most intense pain that she’d had since becoming what she was (since becoming a monster) – except Inge and Leila didn’t want her to think that way, and Wynne, through some absolute miracle, didn’t see her as one, and so maybe she should focus on the actual conversation at hand, rather than the thousands of not-so-great thoughts that kept zooming around in her head.

“I’m here. Was there.” She echoed. Still wanting to walk on tiptoes around Emilio, still afraid that somehow disappointing him would lead to Wynne no longer being in her life and that was not a future that she could handle whatsoever.

At least for now, Ariadne chastised herself, because of course at some point Wynne wouldn’t be around anymore but she’d do whatever it took to keep them around for as long she possibly could. To keep them safe and protected and hope that things turned out alright. At least as alright as was possible now.

“I’m sorry you can’t walk so well now.” She looked at him with a look of sympathy that she hoped he knew was genuine. Because she didn’t hate him, and didn’t want to hate him – he had saved her when he’d had the very easy option to let her just wither away in that stupid (stupid) van, and he’d still saved her. Made sure she was okay. Which meant he had to be good. Wynne adored him, and she trusted them to like people who were trustworthy and so she had to chill out. Besides, she was in Emilio’s partner’s yard. Visiting her partner, but still. She was more out of place here, invasive species, or something.

“But it’s as good as your house.” She said, voice barely above a whisper. “If it’s theirs, and you are with them, and you stay here a lot…” Ariadne neglected to add that she knew Wynne’s home wasn’t equally hers, but that was different. She didn’t want to assume too much or take too much – greedy like a child taking too much candy. Which would only lead to a stomach ache, which was something very much unpleasant.

That was to say, something to be avoided at any cost possible.

“I don’t want to make you do anything. You should – you should get to decide what you do. I’m still sorry if I startled you, or set off extra feelings of things not being quite right.” Even if he’d said it was fine that she was here, she couldn’t help herself.

Ariadne bit her lip, “I don’t know if this is helpful at all, but basically nothing – except for Wynne and some of my friends – but especially Wynne – feels right. Wynne’s the only fully right thing in my life. Best part of my life, no contest.” She looked down at the ground, toed her foot against the dirt again. “So I can – we – whatever you want.”

—

She echoed his sentiment — that she was here now, that she’d been there before — and there was something almost funny about it. When he got like this (which was the only language he had to describe the way the world got hazy sometimes, the way it was hard to breathe for no reason, the way he jumped between past and present with the blink of an eye, the way it felt like a fight just to want to live), most things existed in some odd state of ‘almost funny.’ Everything seemed to somehow be both too small to matter and too big to overcome. He wanted to laugh at the way she echoed him, but he wanted to cry about it, too.

So he did what he always did, which was to say nothing at all. He stood, suspended somewhere between past and present, watching both play out at once. Ariadne stood in front of him, looking uncomfortable because he’d made her that way. Rhett was off to the side, bloody and half dead with his leg detached from his body. Ariadne echoed the words that he said, shifting her weight like she wasn’t sure what to do with the thing that was her body. Juliana rotted in a corner, reminding him firmly that she never would have ended up like this if not for him.

There was nothing alive in this yard, he realized with that same faint sense of almost-humor. Juliana was a ghost, Flora was a ghost, Ariadne was a ghost, Emilio was a ghost. They were all haunting or haunted or both, and it was a lot to juggle. She echoed him, her words cutting through the quiet, and Emilio took too long to respond. His eyes kept darting to the corpses that weren’t really there, his mind too stuck in the state of like this to break itself free of it.

She said something else, and it took him a moment to register that it was in response to him, a reply instead of an echo. The words seemed to float around, and he grabbed them out of order and arranged them into a sentence like he was working a puzzle. It took a moment for it to register, took another for him to translate it into something he could understand. When he finally digested it, he let out a strangled sound that might have been a laugh or a sob or some unholy combination of the two. “Is my own fault,” he replied in a murmur, because it was. Most things were, really.

It was a pretty easy conclusion to come to. His leg got fucked in the massacre. The massacre happened because of him. Someone loved him enough to burn the world down for him, and either it was his fault for making Lucio love him or it was his fault for making it necessary for the world to burn in order for him to survive but either way, the blame belonged solely on his shoulders. His knee was fucked. Even if he’d gotten proper medical care immediately after it happened, it would have never been the same. Because he’d avoided that medical care, because he’d known he hadn’t deserved it, the limb was worse off than it would have been. That was his fault, too. So his knee was fucked, his daughter was dead, his uncle loved him, Rhett had left, and all of those things were his fault. The blame belonged solely on his shoulders because there was no one left alive to help carry it. He was alone. He was always alone when he was like this.

There was more speaking, more words to grab and reorder and translate, and he was exhausted but he did it anyway. For Wynne, who loved Ariadne. For Ariadne, who had had terrible things happen to her that she hadn’t deserved. For the people he’d gotten killed in that massacre, who couldn’t hear anything at all anymore. Didn’t he owe it to them to listen? To carry every ounce of the weight they weren’t alive to share on his back? He was supposed to suffer. He knew that. He’d earned his suffering bit by bit. He couldn’t shrug it off now.

As good as your house. That was the gist of it, he thought. She said this house was as good as his, because it was Teddy’s and Teddy loved him. And Emilio thought, again, of the massacre that happened because someone loved him too much. He thought of Rhett’s leg rotting in a corner because someone loved Ariadne too much, too. He thought of how love wasn’t some great and righteous thing after all, about how most days, it was a prelude to something awful just waiting to be done in its name. Was it good, to be loved? In this moment, it didn’t feel like it. In this moment, he thought loving someone might be the worst thing you could do to them.

“I shouldn’t be here,” he mumbled. He didn’t know if he meant the yard or Teddy’s house or Wicked’s Rest or alive or all of them at once. Flora’s body flickered in his peripheral vision, twisted and broken and so goddamn small. He turned his head towards it, staring blankly at the spot for a moment. Her face shifted into Nora’s, into Wynne’s, into Ariadne’s, too. “I shouldn’t be here,” he said again. The body was Flora again. It always was, in the end.

He forced himself to turn his head back towards Ariadne, towards the dead girl who was here and talking to him instead of the one that was imagined and rotting in the corner. Ariadne was trying to help, and the feeling of funny-not-funny returned in a rush so intense that he let out a strangled laugh. Ariadne was trying to help him. His brother locked her in a van and tried to starve her to death, or to re-death, or to whatever you called a dead thing dying, and Ariadne was trying to help him. Was it selfish to stand here, to let her say kind things when he deserved so much less? He shouldn’t be here. The thought echoed again.

“I’m going to go,” he said, and his voice sounded like it belonged to someone else. He wasn’t there in the yard anymore, even if his body still haunted the space. “I’m going to go,” he repeated. “You can stay here. I’m going to go.” He turned to do just that, pain radiating through his leg. It made him snap back to himself a little, and he liked that. He put a little extra weight on it, stumbling as he stepped forward. The world went white for a moment, static at the edge of his vision, then fizzed back into color. “I’m sorry,” he told Ariadne. “Have a nice night. I’m sorry.” And then, he was off — not towards the house, but towards the road. He’d find something else to keep his mind occupied this evening. It was all he was capable of doing now.

#ariadnewhitlock #ariadne: a haunting #wickedswriting

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chemistryread · 2 years

Text

disclaimers/tags: female oc. written as a reader insert but reader has a lot of backstory. slowburn. angst. no fun spin on misogyny, just the bad one. implied domestic violence but nothing too graphic. minors dni.

a/n: the plot of the show is not relevant to this story, i’m just using the characters, who are likely ooc. i’m hoping to end it within 3-4 posts but like i said, it’s a bit of a slowburn. i pulled the wattpad tropes out for this one and i’m not sorry, it is cheesy. if you’ve seen the show, the boyfriend shares similarities with the tillerson boys. it’s purposefully ambiguous, up to you if it’s one of them or not. rhett is not a fuckboy in this, just a boy who fucks.

lmk your thoughts :)

part 2

right cowboy, wrong time

rhett abbott

summary: you’re not home and your boyfriend’s a dick. thankfully, not all cowboys are bad.

The humid air makes your nose itch, adapting to the change in weather. Your head is held high, however, trying not to look too out of place and dare draw any attention.

"You're not fooling anyone."

"Excuse me?"

He leans in by your side, arms crossing in front of him as he looks over his elbows, pretending something in the mud caught his eye.

"Most girls from the city who try to pass as locals at least dress up the part. You couldn't find any boots that fit your taste?"

Blue eyes squint at the pair of Vans perched on the wooden fence, matching your dark 'mom jeans'.

It was bold of this guy, you thought, to come up to you with so much snark after falling from a bull so badly the audience audibly winced. But there was something soft in his features, non malicious. You decide to risk being honest with him.

"The cowboy hat is a demand from my boyfriend. So is the push-up bra." You point to your pronounced chest with your chin, smiling when the stranger next to you follows the movement with a lazy gaze. "It's funny, he said something similar. He wants me to look more like the girls from around here."

The stranger finally looks you in the eye from under his own hat. Unfamiliar warmth fills your belly and you fight the urge to clear the hair away from his face.

"Why doesn't he just date them, then?"

A loud bitter laugh escapes from your lips right into his ears, and he straigtens up instantly, like a shock.

"Million dollar question, isn't it?" Thin lips reciprocate your smile. God, you thought you hated all cowboys. "Uhm, he says they bore him. He wants my brain, but their look. If you ask me the truth, I just think he went through all of them already, so he went looking for an idiot to appease him somewhere else. And he found me."

Amusement crosses his eyes despite the frown in display on his face.

"He sounds like an asshole."

Unkown nice cowboy has a lovely, deep voice.

You're about to lean a little closer and agree, when someone cuts you off.

"Who does?" Blinding white teeth bite into the cold night air, the strong arms of your boyfriend crushing your side into him, akin to a predator protecting his meal. "Abbott."

Your new friend acknowledges the tall blonde possessively separating you two with equal contempt in his words.

Suddenly, you're invisible. The nice boy leaves without so much as a glance.

These will be miserable months.

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

"So, Abbott, huh?"

Maybe you shouldn't have followed him into the grocery store, but it was hot outside.

"What, interested? We might have a name, but that name doesn't have much money attached to it anymore."

He doesn't look at you, simply puts what he needs in his basket and keeps walking. You trace his steps from a distance, enjoying the refreshing breeze from the AC.

"No danger of that. As you've seen, I'm taken."

His arm freezes above his head, shades of blue boring into you inquisitively, before he grabs a can of beans and checks the expiration date on it.

"I'm just looking for a friend. I'll hardly survive here if I don't have any of those."

"What about your guy? He won't like this friendship."

You shrug innocently, dusting the shelves with the tip of your fingers.

"It's his fault I can't have any girl friends in this town, seeing they are all his exes and consequently dislike me at once. Plus, who said I want you to be my friend? I'm just banking on the fact that your family is known around here, and you'd be an easy shortcut to meeting people."

"So you're using me." He speaks over his shoulder, walking to the freezer section.

"Sure am. But at least I'm honest about it."

His back is still turned to you when he speaks again.

"Is that a big thing for you, honesty?"

Your skin grows hot. This random cute boy can't read your mind, relax. He's trying to get to know you. It's small talk. Not everyone wants to hurt you.

"It is. Count on it."

Hopefully, how vulnerable it is to admit as much doesn't come across.

Abbott side-eyes you, with a genuine smirk. It forces you to look away, intimidated.

Maybe it was mistake to target him. You should leave.

Before a rude goodbye can leave your lips, the young man turns to you.

"Why are you here, if you don't know anyone?"

Short fingernails picking the label off cheap frozen veggies, you try to smile but it certainly doesn't reach your eyes.

"Taking some time off university."

How embarrassing. You have no problem poking and probing until they do it to you, and then you're avoiding eye contact and looking for an exit.

"What do you study?"

"English. In Boston. I'm a writer. Allegedly."

You can tell your joke entertains him from the small exhale that comes out of his nose.

"Do you like it?"

"I love it." The truth finally forces you to look up. You notice the confusion on his face, anticipating his question with a shrug. "My boyfriend. He wanted me to take a break."

Abbott looks disappointed, and, for whatever reason, it hurts. A silly desire for him to think highly of you.

"I don't mean to overstep, but I wouldn't peg you for the kind'f girl to go where a man tells her to."

A terrible habit, you cover the purple spot on your jaw with your hair, pretending to smooth non existent knots.

"It wasn't an easy choice, but it was for the best."

Thin brows furrow and dirty fingers brush the strands away, gently. Of course he would notice.

"I'll get out of your hair now, sorry to bother. I was really just trying to cool off. See you around!"

Trembling hands push the grocery store's doors, curse words mumbled under your breath. Great fucking job, idiot.

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

He approaches you next.

You saw him earlier when you got to the bar, drinking with another guy, but kept your head down and continued walking next to your boyfriend and his friends.

It was going to be hard to get to you, since you weren't allowed to be alone unless you were going to the bathroom. Which is how he got you.

As soon as you step out to wash your hands, he's in the corridor, chewing on his bottom lip.

"Stranger." Eyes meet and you try to ignore the hair in the back of your neck standing up. You do your best to not get your sleeves wet without having to push them up too high. "Men's room occupied?"

He doesn't miss the suggestivenes on your tone, copying the smirk you're struggling to hide. For all you know, he might have some pretty blonde freshening up in there.

"You city folks and beating 'round the bush."

His voice rumbles through you, tongue busy tsking at your poor attempt at avoiding the elephant in the room.

You take him in through the mirror's reflection. Hands in his pockets, leaning on the plastic divider failing to pass as real wood. Looking determinedly at you.

If you said so, would he beat the shit out of your boyfriend and make sure he never calls again?

Tossing the crumpled handtowel in the trash, your back touches the soaked and sticky counter, commanding him to listen by returning his direct staring.

"Okay. This is not your problem to fix. I'm sorry about what you saw, it wasn't a signal or anything. I'm fine and you don't need to get involved. Good?"

He nods and you move to leave, stopped by an unsure hand grabbing your elbow. It quickly retracts to his side, wiping against his jeans.

"Do you need a job or something?"

"I thought your family didn't have much money."

A shy smile takes over his features, breaking the restraint that always seems to reign over. Another small chuckle escapes him, making his Adam's apple throb and your eyes drag not so subtly.

The smell of hard vodka hits your nose when he inches closer, stuttering.

"My brother, uhm, has a friend who owns a diner nearby. It's smack centre of town, busy enough that he always needs more help and most of the creeps avoid it. Probably not what a fancy writer from Boston dreams of but if you plan on sticking around, it'll help you get some of your own cash."

The promise of independence.

You give him a warm smile you haven't gifted anyone with in a while.

"Can I get the name of this magical place?"

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

It's early, too early, his head feels like it weighs three times its normal and all he wants is for his family to lower their voices.

Until your sweet ring, sharpened for customer service points, breaks through his morning suffering and drowns the sour taste in his mouth.

"Hello, beautiful people. What can I get you?" The apron is neatly tied with a bow on top of your stomach, clearly tightened around your back and then the front again, with more effort than he's ever seen in this diner. He can't help but scoff, and you finally look up from the old school notepad in your hands. "Oh, hi."

Everyone at the table shoots him a glare, assuming what they always did. One more girl they'll never learn the name of, and it's possibly better that way.

His mother, in particular, has a scowl on her face, looking out the window and avoiding dealing with whoever her son messes with.

"Happy to see you here."

The sun bothers his eyes, one of which is closed when he acknowledges you. He has no idea how his mom can have her head turned that way without wincing. Although she coughs, he's sure it's in response to what he had just said.

It was innocent, but she didn't know that.

"Wouldn't be if it wasn't for you." That gets his mother to look. "Thanks, by the way."

He puts his fist in front of his lips, elbows glued to the recently wiped table, a bit embarrassed of all the attention you dumped onto him.

"I didn't do nothing, Perry is the one who talked to his friend. You should thank him."

You throw a small smile at him, almost teasing, barely whispering an 'oh'. He sees very little of your teeth, rosy lips and dimples provoking him for a brief second before you redirect your kindness to his brother on the other side of the table.

"I am very grateful, you basically got me the job." Perry extends his hand for you to shake, and there's a little spark in his eyes that's been gone since Rebecca. Maybe it's your effect on people. "Let me return the favor and get you guys a good breakfast, what do you say?"

When you leave, he takes a page from his mom's book and stares at the brightness cascading down the trucks in the parking lot. His head hurts again but at least he's definitely not thinking about the lines around your eyes when you grin or the flowery smell you left behind.

"Who is she?"

"Drop it, ma." The question comes in a much more unpretentious manner than usual and it doesn't go unnoticed by him, even if he's not looking at her. "Some girl from outta town who needed help settling in. That's all."

At the last word, he tips his hat over his eyes and decides he's better off daydreaming about the attractive outsider committed to being nice to him than fending off his family's suspicions.

You leave them to it after serving their plates, and he misses your eyes on him but doesn't say anything.

When they're leaving, Amelia dettaches herself from her father's grip and pokes you in the leg as you're cleaning a different table close to the exit. He holds the door, intrigued by what on earth this kid is up to now.

"Uncle Rhett says you're from out of town." He almost knocks his forehead on the glass as he realizes he offered you a job but never a name. You nod at his niece, sending him a questioning look. "You're just as pretty as I thought they'd be."

He feels like bolting out of the diner and running home. What if you thought he told Amelia to say that to you? You'll think he's a fucking loser.

Not that he should care this much.

Instead, he's frozen in place watching another breathtaking smile blossom on your face as you think about how to react.

"Well," You sigh, and look straight into the little girl's eyes. "Takes one to know one."

With a wink, you exchange introductions and he might have to thank his niece later for that, because he never asked for your name either.

You go straight back to wiping the table so he walks away, but not without a weird feeling someone's watching as he climbs into the back of the truck.

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

It's a while before he sees you again.

He doesn't bother you at work, too shy despite his curiosity to go in alone and too hungover to wake up in time to follow his family for breakfast.

You don't go out much, or at all, apparently. He's at the bar every night, you're not.

He sees Maria though, stunning as ever. And like most nights, she makes him too nervous and he does nothing about it.

Perry calls in a favor and now he's parking the truck in the back of the diner with a couple of boxes of fresh produce on the passenger seat.

It's you who comes out to greet him.

You're awfully quiet and evasive, taking the boxes inside without making eye contact.

When you come back with the money, you accidentally skip a step, heel of your shoe sliding off the wood and causing you to land a little harsh on the concrete.

He's quick to steady you, ready to joke about your useless sneakers when he realizes the contorted look on your face and how you're grabbing at your left knee.

"Ok there?"

Like you remembered yourself, your back straightens up and you shove the money into his hands, pushing him away in the process. The distance is not enough that he doesn't see the tears welling up in your eyes.

"Fine. Here you go. Lenny says thanks."

Turning to climb back inside, as soon as your left leg rises, you audibly wince and stop.

He's not too sure of what do, until he hears shaky breaths.

"I'll take you to a hospital, let-"

"No hospitals, I can't."

It's an automatic response and he understands immediately.

"How bad is it?"

He can't really see through your jeans.

"He- I fell. I think it's just bruised, I don't know."

"My mom can take a look at it, she's had plenty of practice with my brother and I, she won't mind. Don't protest, just get in the car. I'll tell Lenny you're not feeling too good."

Before you can stop him, he's putting the money on Lenny's palm and stammering out an excuse. He's surprised by how fast he sprung into action too.

During the ride you don't cry, but stubborn hiccups give away that you're holding the tears back really hard. He wants to tell you it's okay, he doesn't care if you cry, but he's scared if he opens his mouth he'll end up saying something that'll make you more upset, choosing instead to white-knuckle his steering wheel.

His mother is washing the pans from lunch when he gets home, you following behind uncertain, making yourself small. It's a stark contrast from the day you followed him into the grocery store, mindlessly striking up conversation, and it bothers him.

She remembers you, surprisingly, but still asks menacingly what he thinks he's doing.

"She's hurt, and I thought you might help, Ma.”

You look so uncomfortable, ashamed to impose. He tells you to take a seat on the couch and moves to grab you a glass of water from the kitchen, stopping by his mother to put a hand on her shoulder and whisper who's your boyfriend.

A look of understanding quickly crosses her eyes, and instant compassion takes over, huffing as she crouches down to get the first aid kit under the sink.

The two women fall into comfortable silence. The knee is simply sore, the skin a little dark, but he knows you probably didn't give it any time to heal, waltzing around the diner for days without taking care of yourself.

You're given pain killers and he finally hands you the water, fingertips wet from nervously gripping the bottom of the glass, trying not to curse out the man responsible for your situation.

This kind of thing wasn't entirely unusual for smaller, conservative towns, but times have gladly changed. No one here likes to see it, the cuplrits are pointed out wherever they go, sometimes being denied service and shunted from the community. Still, no one's forward enough to put themselves in between 'husband and wife'.

It's a pity, he thinks. All you had to do was ask, and he would get his father and his brother to kick an entire generation of blonde little pricks out of their town.

Alas, you never did.

He thinks you don't want to ask, analyzing closely how apologetic you are to his mother, scared to sit back on the couch and take space that isn’t yours.

The older woman gets up, glancing between you and him.

"Don't worry, kid. I'm quite happy to meet you. I usually don't get to tell Rhett's girls they are welcome to stay."

She manages to be endearing to you and venomous to him in the same breath, and he chuckles lowly through gritted teeth, looking up at the ceiling. Of course she would say something like that.

Wondering what you're probably thinking of him at his mother's revelation, he finds you biting back a grin, dimples digging into your cheeks. Once more, he loses control of himself and returns - actually, no, gratuitously hands you a wide smile in a silver platter. His reaction is five times bigger than yours.

"His girls, plural, you say?" There's something infuriating about your energy towards him. You're fucking with him, no doubt about that, but it's not mean. Well, maybe a little bit because you seem to enjoy the way he changes his footing back and forth, blushing at his damn boots. Somehow, however, it fills him with giddiness. He has no reason to be so certain about it, but he knows it's lighthearted. If you had evil intent, maybe he would've already had you crammed into his truck and drooling around his cock. Unfortunately, seems like you were truthful that day at the store. You want a friend. "'Fraid I'm not of them, ma'am. I have my own guy to worry about."

You're looking back at the matriarch now, arms hanging on top of cushions, green blemishes hidden underneath your biceps.

"That's never stopped any of you before."

It's a test.

You're quicker than her.

"I don't think the size of a district interferes with someone's morals. I might've been raised by a big city, but I'm not and have never been that kind of girl."

His mother snaps back your way, spine straight, slowly breaking out a smile. You passed with flying colors. She likes folks who can stand up for themselves, means they think they're good enough to start a fight over, and that's good enough for her.

At that moment, Amelia bursts through the door, already rambling to her grandmother about something she learned in school that day.

When she sees you, she freezes in the middle of the kitchen, out of breath from all the talking. Fast hands roll your pant leg down before she can see anything.

Amy can barely contain her smile, fixing herself up and dropping her school bag on the floor. "What are you doing here?"

You brush off the older members of the family reprimanding her lack of manners.

"Paying a visit. On my way out, though, I should be getting back to work."

Trying to stand up without a fuss is a disaster, and he's right by your side in case you need to lean on someone. Of course you reject it, though.

"Are you okay?"

"Just fine. I slipped at work and your uncle offered to help, that's all."

Shooting the girl a reassuring smile, she betrays it with a suspicious laugh.

The two of you stare at her, confused.

"Yeah, Uncle Rhett is such a helping hand."

Sarcasm is dripping from her words and he knows immediately that you two will get along. Dangerously so.

Ignoring the brat, he turns to you, hand still hovering behind your back.

"It's late, there's like, what? Forty minutes left to your shift? Twenty after we finally get there? I'll just take you home."

Your eyes widen at the mention of home. Of course he, an Abbott, can't drop you off at your boyfriend's property, where he assumed you were staying.

"Wait, can I show you around before you go? I want you to see something."

Amelia butts in before he can signal that he understood and he'd give you a ride to town, at least. You nod at the smaller figure, letting her take your hand.

He's debating whether or not to follow you two, until you look back from the doorway.

"Aren't you coming? If we get lost, we might need your savior complex."

It's another dig at him. This time, he has a comeback at the tip of his tongue.

"I'll stop saving you when you stop needing me."

He knows his mother is smiling.

Whatever confident spirit possessed him, it pushes him out the door, chest grazing yours as he tips his hat your way, boots digging into the humid grass and whistling for one the dogs to accompany you.

He hears you laugh for the first time since he saw you at the rodeo. It's really, really nice.

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

You begin seeing each other more often after that day.

Rhett comes in at least three times a week, usually with Amelia, paying for her milkshake. They sit at the counter so they can talk to you when you're not attending to any tables.

You don't think much of it. Your boyfriend's the only one you go home to every night, no matter what. You have no intentions of changing that, for now.

Aside from the Abbotts, Danielle who works with you is the only other friend you've made. You like it that way. Lenny, not unlike the patrons at the diner, asks too many personal questions so you keep your conversations to a minimum.

Work, then to your boyfriend's mansion.

The house is usually quiet, so after being stuck for so long in a writer's block, it's a relief when you pick up your laptop and start something new. It could be worse.

On a slow Wednesday, Amelia convinces you to let her help wipe the tables.

Bending down to pick up an abandoned spoon on the floor, something strange nags at the pit of your stomach. Rhett is talking to a girl with long, dark hair.

It happens. But with her, you notice, his body language is much more insecure. Spilling his coffee accidentally.

"What am I looking at?"

Amelia barely spares them a glance before scoffing. "That's Maria. Uncle Rhett has had a dying crush on her since high school. That's what my dad says."

"She's beautiful."

She really is. When she leaves the diner, most pair of eyes, men and women, follow her.

"I guess. Too beautiful, my dad says, and that's why my uncle never does anything about it. It scares him."

What you wouldn't give to feel like that for a day.

Dating a man who is constantly requesting that you look different, like other people, is terribly exhausting. And some got to walk around effortlessly desirable to everyone. It's hardly fair.

With his credit card, you buy new clothes and more make up. It's a good few weeks for the two of you, best you've had in a while.

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

On a day off, you decide to tag along for the rodeo.

Maria is there too, with one of your boyfriend's brothers, which you find weird. In a sea of options, she can definitely do better. You'd tell her, but under his eagle eye you have no time to introduce yourself.

Rhett is riding one of the bulls, and you see how her eyes never leave him, even when he's standing in the sidelines waiting for his turn. She wrings her hands together when he mounts, and claps excitedly when he marks a good time despite the pointed looks from the boys.

Your hand is in a tight grip as you walk into the bar, and the minute you do, Maria frees herself with two strong strides. Your feet almost follow her, wondering if her group of girlfriends would let you sit with them and just listen.

She spends her night laughing, dancing, and talking to Rhett as the bartender serves her a new round. Yours is spent watching in envy.

A hand possessively squeezes around your thigh, drawing your attention away.

"Sorry. I need air."

Three minutes is all you get to yourself. Heavy boots make the wood creak, awkward step causing you to stifle a tipsy laugh.

He's not gonna forgive you for that.

You're pressed against the wall, his arms trapping you as he snarls his complaints, hair flying into your mouth as you yell back. It's bad, and loud, but fuck it.

He talks about how boring you are, how the other girls don't mind growing their hair in the heat, their nails are still manicured, their asses still full despite not eating much. You talk about feeling overwhelmed and homesick, out of your element. It's not the same. It's not fucking fair.

The Abbott siblings walk out when he's calling you a stuck up bitch, your answer dying in your throat.

You're so fucking stupid. Incapable of controlling yourself. He notices the look you exchange with the younger brother, quietly crossing your arms and swallowing your tears, flustered cheeks pointing at the ground.

In no time, he's scoffing and turning towards the entrance.

"Abbott, you got something to tell me?"

Rolling your eyes, you push yourself to sound annoyed and confused, calling his name.

He shuts you up with a finger to your face.

"Don't play dumb." Looking between the pair of you, the lewdness in his next sentence makes you nauseous. "I can't let your whore ass out of my sight, can I?"

Rhett steps forward and you know this is not going to end well.

They're talking over each other and your attempt to be heard is pathetic, trying nonetheless, pulling by his shirt and begging him to let it go.

Knowing exactly how to put a stop to this nonsense, you put your body in between the men and, reactively, an elbow makes contact with your mouth. The blood is still not as sickening as your boyfriend's remarks.

It doesn't take much to assure you it was him. Perry and Rhett are more careful than that, probably raised well by their mama (in a brief moment of dizziness, a smile comes to your bloody lips). But he stopped yelling, and moving. Throwing scared glances between the people outside.

People knew, but to deal with it man to man was different.

Spitting out the dark liquid, you look up at your boyfriend. "Can we go home now?"

Cursing under his breath, he shoulders past the other boys and walks away to wait for you by the truck.

If you stop to breathe, you might crumble. So you turn and walk back inside, poignantly avoiding the two pairs of eyes bugging out at you.

Determined steps take you to the table you were sitting at minutes ago. If you had just kept your emotions under- nevermind that.

The girls, Maria especially, are terrified to see your red teeth. Her eyes question something behind you, and you assume Rhett followed you inside.

Anticipating his hand on the small of your back, you take a step closer to the table, fully under the white light hanging above. The boys are unphased by your state.

"Keys." Met with a wave of grunts at the thought of losing their friend this early in the night. "He wants to go."

A blonde head pokes out, challenging. Drunk out of his mind, slurring his words. "C'mon, I thought it was your job to, howtoputit, mellow him out? Did you even try? Let me look down your throat, say 'Ah'."

A couple people laugh. Rhett growls behind you, and before he can make things worse, you square your shoulders, then shrug.

"Why do you think he wants to go?" You could puke right then and there. Instead, you extend your hand. "Keys."

You bump Rhett on the shoulder on your way out, just like your boyfriend. The regret and the image of those crooked repulsive smiles at the table cause you to throw up as soon as your shoes hit the dirt. Perry looks away, respectfully, until you're climbing inside the truck.

part 2 is finished and will come out soon :)

#rhett abbott #rhett abbott x reader #reader insert #i havent written in a while im nervous asaaaaaahhhhaggg

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divinemare · 1 year

Text

-ˏˋ⋆ 𝔄 𝔠 𝔬 𝔲 𝔯 𝔱 𝔬 𝔣 𝔤 𝔬 𝔡 𝔰 𝔞 𝔫 𝔡 𝔪 𝔬 𝔫 𝔰 𝔱 𝔢 𝔯 𝔰 ⋆ˊˎ-

└──» ✎ 。 Azriel x Oc

part seven

┊✧*｡ ✯┊☪︎⋆✧*｡ ┊

Things just had gotten worse and worse. Now she only received visits from Cassian, and very, very occasionally; from Mor. Azriel had been taken to Court, since his shadowsinger abilities were useful to the High Lord, Rhys was off with his own company, and Mor was also at Court, and off fighting. Cassian had been the only one left at the Illyrian camps, often having to fly away, but still, her only company.

It had also been months since she had seen Alhena and Valeria. But, just about two weeks ago, before things got even more complicated when some of the Courts —including the Night Court—, had decided to free their slaves and fight alongside humans, she had met Tamlin.

Rhysand had come up to her and said it was safe, that he trusted Tamlin to keep it a secret, and so he took her to the forest way past the war camp, where her brother was already waiting for them.

At first, it had been so damn awkward she had wanted to turn back and forget it had ever happened, but then, when he saw the genuine curiosity in his eyes, she decided to stay.

“You don’t look like my sister,” had been the first thing either of them had said, and they had both laughed off their nerves.

They really didn’t had much physical resemblance, only for the deep green eyes flecked with gold. He was much bigger than her, even tho he was younger, with golden blond hair in comparison with her rich brown hair. His skin was also paler than hers, while hers was mixed. He looked disturbingly way too much like his brothers and father, while she could only guess she had taken after her mother, with the exception of her eyes.

Their meeting had been brief, since Rhys had to get back to Court, and so did Tamlin, but they promised to continue to communicate with each other through Rhys. Mareena was very glad that Rhysand had been right; Tamlin was not like the rest of his family.

She hadn’t stoped thinking about their interaction, and they had been sending each other notes with a bit of magic Rhys had taught her, getting to know each other a little bit. Things weren’t as bad as they could be, at least, she had her writing, Cassian, and…

The door bursted open with so much force it startled her. Rhysand entered the cabin in a hurry, his face pale and panting and a look of absolute terror.

“Rhys, what’s-”

She didn’t got time to finish her question, he hurried to her, grabbing her by the arm and almost dragging her with him.

“We have to go, he found out, he found out you’re here, he’s pissed, very, very pissed, and I can’t protect you from him, Mor will take you with Drakon, he’s a friend of mine, Seraphim, so he’s out of our law and-“

“Rhys!” She yanked her arm and stoped him in his tracks, looking at him completely confused.

“Slow down, please, what are you talking about? Did my father…?” She couldn’t finish her sentence, her heart was pounding so heart in her chest she felt in in her ears.

“No, not yours, mine. He found the scripts you gave my mom and Valeria and manipulated Valeria until she accidentally told him. He’s surely on his way right now, we have to go, I’ll explain everything else to you later, just trust-“

“Please, son, why don’t you explain everything right now.”

A voice so deep and malevolent sounded behind her back, making every hair in her body stand on end. She saw Rhys’s face drain of color and in his eyes flashed a kernel of fear before he quickly hide it. His grasp on her tightening to the level she felt it hurt, but said nothing, as she knew he was desperate to try to keep her with him.

But then, she turned around, and right at the opened door, stood the most imposing male she had ever seen in her life. Rhett, if she remembered correctly, was his name, High Lord of the Night Court, and Rhys’s terrifying father.

They shared the same violet eyes, the same raven black hair, but that was it. This male in front of her had not a single but of the gentleness and charming demeanor of his son. This male right here was rough and imposing and even slightly terrifying.

She remembered the feeling that now was cursing through her veins; she had felt that same fear the day she met the King of Hybern. Yet another male that looked like he could absolutely destroy even the her soul. She added him to the already existing list.

“Father,” Rhys’ voice had never sounded so cold, and she had to remind herself who she had behind her to not feel a much bigger tuck of fear.

“Now, I’m waiting for the delightful explanation,” the older male looked between his son and her, and Mareena wondered just how many he had looked like that before killing them.

“Father, she’s-“

“No, no, son, I know exactly who she is, what I do not know, is why she is here.”

He got a step closer to her, and all that crippling fear that triggered the raw power inside her shot through her body.

But no, she had to get a hold on herself, she couldn’t let that power out, the fear to make it explode.

“She’s a friend, Father, my friend, and she’s under my protection,” Rhysand’s neck was so tensed, she feared a vein would pop, his face so cold and serious, but his eyes so troubled, she felt a lump on her chest for him.

Rhett bursted a cold laugh that chilled Mareena’s bones and made her want to back away, but she did not move an inch, she felt as if she was frozen in place.

“Under your protection? And what does your protection mean, boy?”

He got closer again, and Mareena’s panic was rising by the second those hard, cruel eyes stared into hers. She felt it, felt the need to let that thing inside her free and make the male back away, but she couldn’t put herself at risk like that, she couldn’t put Rhys at risk like that. And so she swallow it, and did not look down.

“Your father has been looking for you, child, and he’s been a pain in the ass to everyone about it.”

“He’s not my father,” her tone had been harsher than intended, and when the male raised an eyebrow at her, she cleared her throat with fear clinging at her stomach. “He’s not my father, sire. He’s the man that stole my life away.”

“Sounds like Jalus,” he nodded, and Mareena tensed at her father’s name. She hadn’t heard it since she left the Spring Manor all those years ago.

“Father, you won’t have to deal with her, I’ll take care of her, she’ll go with the Seraphim and you won’t have to deal with the High Lord of Spring,” Rhett looked at his son as if he was a stupid little boy.

“Take her away? I don’t think so, son. I want to know why Jalus was so secretive about you, what is so special about you that he moved heavens and earth to find you. Tell me, child, what is it that you posses that makes you so important to him?”

This time, he advanced two steps towards her, and Rhysand, sensing her terror, tried to pull her away, but Rhett was not about to allow her to go anywhere, and grabbed her other arm with so much force she moaned in pain.

“You don’t even look that much like him, so you’re obviously a bastard, not a common one, for sure, he wouldn’t have cared if you died or lived in that case, but he went mad looking for you, what. are. you.”

He squeezed harder, making her moan again.

“Father, please,” Rhys tried to intervine, but the male pushed his son with a flick of power to the other side of her room.

“What. Are. You,” he screamed this time, squeezing even harder.

Mareena’s fear was too much to control then, the pain in her arm and the panic in her veins made it too hard to control the outburst of power that bursted from her.

In a wave of pure white light, she made the ground at their feet shake, and the man in front of her to feel as powerless as she felt terrified.

She cried and clutched her eyes shot, pressing her palms to her ears while the painful wave of power seemed to talk to her, telling her to let go.

She was at her knees before she knew it, and started hearing a scream in her mind that she recognize as Rhysand’s desperate voice.

A pair of arms wrapped around her and winced at the contact, her skin was burning hot while the white power still poured off her. But when she felt Rhys’s sweet whispers, and his powers on her mind helping her calm down, her cries died down and she stoped slowly feeling the burning.

Minutes passed between her ragged breaths and Rhysand’s. He stroked with gentleness her hair and murmured that he was not going to let go of her.

“Interesting,” a voice sounded far, yet near her.

When she raised her head, she saw the High Lord of the Night Court standing from the floor with the wall’s help. His eyes were hungry, impressed, and even more terrifying.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she muttered with shaky breaths.

“Father, please don’t hurt her,” Rhysand wasn’t letting go of her, holding her while his father approach them with a predatory ease.

“She’s dangerous, son, and I can’t let her go back to her father, he’s going to use it as a weapon to all of us,” he was getting closer and closer, and with each step, Mareena felt that her death, too, was getting closer.

“She won’t go back, he will not find her, I’ll make sure of it.”

“Please, sire, I’ll do anything,” she murmured, looking up at him again.

She wasn’t about to die at the hands of another awful male like him, she hadn’t escaped from her father for things to end like this.

“Anything?” The male raised an eyebrow, cruelty flashing in his violet eyes.

She nodded, and heard Rhys’ loud gulp.

“Then how about a bargain, Miss Mareena.”

#a court of gods and monsters #azriel fanfic #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x oc #mareena x azriel #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acotar oc #acomaf #acosf #acowar #acotar fanfic #acotar fanfiction #night court #rhysand #rhys acotar #rhysands father

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apparentlynotreallyfinnish · 2 years

Note

prompt: hair/haircut

Thanks for the prompt, lovely anon! With this one I decided to do something different. It happened to match a lil with a story I've been turning around in my head for some time now. It's something I might write for Christmas and it's inspired by Taylor Swift's song 'tis the damn season. So, here's a lil sneak peak! (This is an AU.)

---

The bell above Link’s salon door jingled and frigid winter air rushed into Link’s small salon, raising the skin of his arms into goosebumps. It had been snowing all day and every new customer dragged in melting snow that Link kept having to mop before it sank into the cracks of the flooring and made it warp and bubble. It was late afternoon and despite loving his chosen vocation, Link was tired and ready to wrap up for the holidays. There was only one more customer left, a new one, someone who'd used the online booking on Link’s website, something his regulars never did. Link was keeping his fingers crossed for a quick, and especially quiet, appointment. He plastered on his famously charming customer service smile and turned to greet the stranger.

The hello got stuck in his throat as soon as his brain caught up with his heart that had already picked up speed, making Link feel a bit faint. A mess of blonde curls, tall lanky frame and intense green eyes waited for him at the doorway. The man was holding his bright red toboggan with both of his large hands, worrying its edge with his fingers. His hair was longer, but he’d trimmed his beard since the last time Link saw him in person. Not that he didn’t see him on the TV and in the newsstands what seemed like every other day. And online, even more photos and videos awaited. But those Link tried not to seek out and look. Tried being the operative word.

His smile fell and he crossed his arms over his chest.

“You’re not Tom Johnson,” he said, his voice flat. Rhett gave him a sheepish smile and shrugged off snow from his shoulders. There was already a puddle forming under his boots. Link chose to stare at the offending slush rather than look at the achingly gorgeous man.

“No, I’m not,” Rhett agreed, his voice low and cloying. The familiar sweet tang of it filled Link’s chest with longing so deep and raw he almost had to sit down to bear it. Stubbornly, he wrapped his arms tighter around himself and kept his eyes on the floor, watching as the puddle grew, meeting the edge of the shaggy pink rug decorating the small sitting area next to the entrance.

“Sorry about the alias,” Rhett continued when Link said nothing. “But it felt like the only way to get you to see me.”

Link dragged his gaze from the floor and raised one eyebrow. “You ever heard of these newfangled things? What are they called again? I think the kids these days call ‘em tellyphones.” His voice was higher than he liked, but snarky enough to hopefully hide it.

Rhett’s apologetic expression faltered and Link watched guilt and pain flash across his handsome features. Link hated the fact that his gut reaction was to go to Rhett. He hated his stupid heart for wanting to soothe the man. His head knew better, but his heart ached to wrap Rhett in his arms and wipe away the hurt—either with his words or with his mouth, whichever Rhett would accept this time.

But there would be no such foolishness this year. Link planted his feet firmly on the floor and glowered at Rhett. After last Christmas, he’d made a promise to himself. No more. Enough was enough. This year, he was going to be strong and stay away from Rhett McLaughlin's arms—and even further away from his bed.

#Appa writes fic #rhink #rhink fic #Damn season AU #sneak peak #I am kinda excited about this one #lots of pining and angst #and smutty smut smut lit by christmas lights

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petrockadventure · 5 months

Text

It's morning. You wake up and are startled. For Shayne is looking right at you. He blushes.

"Hey there," he says shyly. What is happening?

"You sure are a very… hard… piece of granite. I feel like we've known each other for a long time, and, frankly, I've fallen for you. For only you, my rock, are harder than my rock-hard biceps. You will forever be my fitspiration."

As the morning light falls on his hair, seemingly igniting it in a blonde fire, Shane picks you up. He looks at you intently, slowly brings you to his pink lips, and carefully places a kiss on your form…

Now you wake up forreal.

You take a peak at the bed, and Shayne just woke up as well. He dresses, absent-mindedly picks you up and puts you into his front pocket.

He drives you two to the Smosh office. He winks and flirts with everyone he meets. They all blush profusely and whisper to each other once you pass them.

"What is happening? Has Shayne finally found his mojo?"

As Shayne passes the editing area, a man stands up. He has a face graced by laugh-wrinkles and a twinkle in his eye. His dark, long hair a ferocious wave of masculinity.

"Hi Matt!"

"Shayne…"

"You look extra handsome today, did you do something with your hair?"

"I could ask you the same, blondie. Why don't you come over here and give me a kiss!"

Shayne laughs and kisses Matt's nose.

"Goofball," Matt protests.

Shayne ruffles Matt's beautiful locks and makes his way into the dining area.

"Shayneyyy!" Damien puts a hand on Shayne's shoulder. "Wow, you have been working out!"

"You know it."

"Shayne, our talk last night really helped me figure things out. Check it!"

Damien shows Shayne his phone. He has made a dating app account.

"Good for you!" Shayne laughs. He is happy that his friend is making moves to connect with people. "You're hot, I'm sure you will find a partner like, immediately."

"Do you think I look hot?" Damien bats his eyes in jest.

"Of course," Shayne says as he grabs Damien's hand and rubs it with his thumb.

Their moment is interrupted by Courtney, who looks like they are up to something.

"What's up, Court?"

"Shayne, you will never guess this. But my good friend watched Smosh for the first time, after I finally convinced her! And she is sooo into you! So I am here on behalf of her, to ask you out on a date! She's really cute, I can vouch for that!"

Shayne and Damien chuckled.

"I guess the old fashion way still does the trick as well!" Damien said, beaming at his best friend.

"Hi guys, look at you! You're glowing!"

"You've been glowing for weeks now, boss!"

"Ew, don't call me boss…"

"But you are…"

"Shut up."

"Okay, boss."

Everyone gathers around Ian and he does a little happy hippity hop. "Hey, everyone!"

As Ian delivers a speech, Rhett and Link arrive, and then another person appears.

"Whoa."

Anthony Padilla, co-founder of Smosh, walks into the room. He passes Shayne and picks you right out of his front pocket, like he knew you were sitting there. Shayne looks at him in awe.

Anthony puts you in his jeans pocket, and stands right beside Ian.

"We bought Smosh!"

continue...

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jungle-angel · 2 years

Text

Out in the Middle: Part 3 (Rhett x Reader)

Summary: While the kids are running wild around the ranch, the grown ups get some much needed time to themselves

The grown ups rode along the trail, the horses carrying them on their backs through the trail that was littered with autumn leaves and foliage that made it look more like a postcard from New England. The air had grown crisp and cool, perfect for harvest season that would soon be imminent. Wes, Nora and their band of brats had joined them later the previous day, adding to the little group that now occupied the Dutton Ranch.

“You think the kids are tearin the place up?” Rhett chuckled as he and Rip went ahead of the others.

“Oh probably,” Rip answered. “I heard Teeter gave’em hell for whacking each other’s asses with sticks.”

Rhett laughed. “Remember all the stupid shit we used to do as kids?”

“Don’t even bring that up,” Rip told him.

“It was us, Wes and the other ranch and reservation brats all beatin the shit outta each other,” Rhett reminisced.

“You probably wouldn’t remember it,” Beth said to the both of them, loud enough for everyone to hear “But remember that time we were all playing leapfrog with the fences?”

There was a collective groan throughout the group. “Beth c’mon,” Kayce groaned. “I still have PTSD from that.”

“The hell did you do?” you asked.

“Ya’ll never heard this story, (y/n)?” Beth asked you.

“Rhett’s told me many things, but not about this,” you chuckled.

“Ok so,” Beth began, trying not to laugh. “Whenever numbnuts up there would come and visit, we’d always play leapfrog by jumping over the fences instead of each other. Well, us being the dumb-as-shit kids we were, we all decide to see if we can jump over a chain link fence.....”

“Beth don’t you tell her!!” Kayce said loudly.

“And Kayce was at the very back end of the group......”

“I’M WARING YOU!!!”

“He runs at full speed,” Beth continued, ignoring her brother completely. “Leaps over the fens, rips a giant hole in the back of his jeans and then lands and skids in a wet mud puddle so it looked like he shit himself. Dad was laughing for hours after that.”

Kayce groaned and pitched the bridge of his nose, but you were snickering at the thought of a long haired, little blonde cowboy running home with a giant hole in his pants.

“Remember the time we all went up to Flathead Lake and had that monster rager party?” Rip said.

“Bro, we were stoned the whole fuckin time!” Wes exclaimed. “You honestly think we’d remember that?”

“I do,” Kayce laughed. “The Flathead Lake party was I caught my first boob.”

You, Monica and Beth rolled your eyes. The three of you had thought most of the guys would have embarrassing stories about each other, but as the three of you knew all too well.....men would be men.

Your little group crossed through the river and wended on over the trails, crossing over onto the Broken Rock Land. You and Rhett felt strange crossing over the river and seeing the sign, almost as though you had all stepped into another world.

“Haven’t been here in years,” Wes said.

“You have family who lived here?” Rip asked him.

“My grandma lived here for years before she got married,” Wes told him. “Then she moved to Wyoming after my grandfather got back from his tour in the Pacific.”

“She a war bride?” Beth asked him.

“Yep,” Wes answered. “Great lady though. Ornery as hell, but a good woman.”

“She taught us all the plants, all the animals,” Rhett added. “God, I swear that woman was a horse whisperer.”

“Remember Grandpa though?”

“Oh God,” Rhett chuckled.

“Oh another story?” you chortled.

“Darlin had ya’ll met Wes’s grandfather you would’ve shit yourself,” Rhett half laughed.

“That’s a story for another day though,” Wes said.

Over the hills and through the forest you went, occasionally stopping to take a few pictures and to take in the view. There was no doubt in your minds that in these two places, hard work met equally hard living.

Rhett soon began to notice a look in his best friend’s eyes, one that spoke of longing for the two most important people in his life. “You gonna dance for’em next week?”

“Hell yeah I am,” Wes answered. “And I’m gonna win that damn relay for’em too.”

Rhett gripped his friend’s shoulder assuringly before Wes made the Sign of the Eagle, giving it to the wind in the hopes that wherever his grandparents were, they would be with him. When everybody turned their horses back towards home, you and Rhett lingered behind a little longer.

“You ready for next week?” you said, scratching his stubbly chin.

“Ready as we’ll ever be,” Rhett said before leaning over to kiss your cheek. “We’ve got a hell of a year ahead of us.”

#outer range #yellowstone #rhett abbott #rhett abbott x reader #rip wheeler #beth dutton #beth x rip #kayce dutton #monica dutton #kayce x monica #wes redwood (oc)#outer range yellowstone crossover

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gracie-and-tori · 1 year

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Coffee

Hello! This is Gracie! This one shot includes a few OCs of mine. If you would like to look into their aesthetics, you can find that here!! ⚠️If you find themes of violence, car crashes, poverty, drunk individuals, or hints of kidnapping too much for you right now, feel free to keep scrolling!! Otherwise, enjoy! :)

Stepping outside of her rundown apartment, Camilla already felt her thin, spaghetti strap tank top begin to stick to her skin. The humidity was always rough, and now that she was outside, her numerous fans inside of her home, which currently had a broken AC, couldn't save her from it. It was just another mid-July day in Memphis, Tennessee. Despite the heat, she kept her focus on her one task, which was grabbing her usual cup of coffee. If she was quick enough, she could avoid any trouble on the streets.

Camilla didn't live in the safest part of Memphis. Something new happened practically every day, and good news was severely infrequent. She wished on every star to just make it through college so she could finally afford something better. However, she still had two years before she received her degree. For now, she kept to herself and stayed out of conflict.

The coffee shop she frequented was only three blocks away. She kept one earbud in her ear and continued down the sidewalk. Looking around, everything was bustling as usual. This time of day was the busiest, but Camilla found it easy to hide within the crowds of people. She didn't really have many acquaintances here, nor did she want to have them. She liked things as they were. Just her, her plethora of books, and her orange tabby cat named Theo.

Finally, she rounded the last corner and set foot in Kyle's Coffee. She felt relieved as she escaped the heat for a moment. From her investigation, she found that not only did this place have the smallest rush hour population around, but also the best coffee. The way it worked was weird. However, it was perfect for the employee that usually took her order every day. He was a scrawny, curly-headed blonde with thin-framed glasses, a shy smile, and a quiet voice.

"Hey, Camilla," he greeted, already grabbing the size cup she always ordered. "Good afternoon, Emmett," she greeted in return. "I'll just have what I usually do," she said with a smile, placing $5.45 on the counter. "Coming right up!" He replied, calmly creating her large iced caramel macchiato. She gazed out the large window, wondering how her mother was doing by herself all the way in North Carolina.

She thanked Emmett for her coffee once more, before making a mental note to call her mom later. Rush hour was still at full throttle. People were everywhere and Camilla just wanted to get home to her cat. She crossed the street with her coffee in hand, safely making it to the other side. Suddenly, she heard the piercing screech of a car horn.

Following that noise, came another. She looked over to find a motorcycle completely mangled by a car. Frantically, she searched for the victims. "What did I tell you, Logan?!" A man exclaimed. A few feet in front of her, in the middle of the street, stood two men. One was in a black, leather jacket and had long hair that was tightly pulled back. He happened to be shouting at the other one, who had brown, scraggly hair and a large cut on his arm.

"Rhett, you were the one drinking! If it weren't for me, you would've been rigjt in the middle of that collision!" The guy named Logan shouted back, backing away from the other man. Rhett picked up a large piece of glass from the wreck. Malice laced his eyes. Camilla's heart raced, adrenaline racing through her veins. A woman's voice groaned from the pile of metal.

If this fight wasn't stopped and an ambulance wasn't called, someone may die, if they weren't already dead. Camilla couldn't feel anything else besides the pounding in her chest. Before she knew it, her feet left the pavement and landed on black asphalt. Her coffee flew through the air and collided against the heavily intoxicated Rhett, who dropped the shard of glass. It shattered violently against the street. Logan took this opportunity to launch his fist across Rhett's pale face.

Rhett fell limply on the hot asphalt. Camilla looked at Logan. She stood frozen. Anxiety quickly took the place of her adrenaline. Logan wiped the sweat from his forehead with the collar of his gray, sleeveless shirt. He muttered out a quick 'thank you', before sprinting toward the sidewalk and disappearing down an alleyway.

Camilla pulled out her phone and dialed 911. That's when she noticed a shiny artifact laying halfway between her and the sidewalk. While explaining the situation to the operator, she walked over to the object and picked it up. It was an old compass with a date, time, and location carved into the brass.

The rain was relentless, as were the thoughts in Camilla's mind. No matter how many times she explained what happened to her cat, yesterday's events continued to play out over and over again in her head. She kept telling herself that she did the right thing. Whether that was true or not, she would never know. Even though she had performed the bravest act she's ever done, she continued to feel like it wasn't her place to get involved at all. However, she knew she wouldn't have been able to stop herself even if she tried.

Now, she had this compass in her possession. She should've handed it in to the police, but she couldn't bring herself to. What did it mean? Did Logan drop it? The date matched today. The time read 11:30pm. The location wasn't far from her apartment. As a matter of fact, it was only two street corners away.

She had been battling whether or not she should leave it alone all day. She knew it was trouble. After all, she did live in the roughest part of Memphis. However, her soul ached to go. She felt as though she was supposed to go. Maybe she could help someone else. Maybe she could feel that same adrenaline from yesterday.

She craved it like she never thought she could. It was a new feeling, and she couldn't decide if she hated it or loved it. It was already nine at night. She had spent all day trying to study, but the events from yesterday refused to leave her alone. Theo pushed his head against Camilla's arm before stretching lazily across her open textbook. "I'm going to do it," she decided. Theo yawned with disinterest.

Two hours later, Camilla stepped outside of her apartment once more with a black coat, jeans, and boots. She didn't know what to expect, but she was going to investigate anyway. The rain stopped, leaving behind huge puddles along the dark pavement. The streetlights and lights from various buildings illuminated the sidewalk. She walked slowly and constantly checked her surroundings.

She quickly realized that walking around at night by herself wasn't something she had a fondness for. It was eerily silent. She had never seen Memphis this quiet. The many wishes she made on stars seemed to diminish in the darkness of the streets. Maybe she should turn back.

Already halfway there, she shoved all of her thoughts away and continued. Her many days of high school track practices would come in handy if she needed them, she thought. It didn't take long to spot the store that was messily engraved into the compass. She crossed the street from the store and found a street corner to hide in. She sat down on the pavement, watching intently.

Five minutes passed until she spotted three men in dark clothing walking up to the store. One was counting money, one was looking around, and the other spoke into a phone. It didn't take long to spot one more person. Camilla would never forget him. She easily identified Logan as he approached the group with his hands in his pockets.

The person counting money spoke to Logan first. The interaction seemed like it was going well. After a few minutes, Logan pulled a sheathed dagger from his pocket. He handed it to the man as they exchanged the money for the dagger. Camilla relaxed as she realized nothing dangerous was happening. Clearly she had overreacted about the whole situation. She stood to her feet, ready to finally go to bed. She suddenly regretted not staying home to study for her test first thing in the morning.

Before she could take the first step, she felt immense pressure on her stomach as she was jolted backwards. Her back slammed into someone else's chest. Cold metal grazed her neck. Camilla felt her body turn cold. The burning sensation in her chest was suddenly released as she screamed into the night air. It didn't last long before a wad of cloth was stuck in her mouth. She tried to spit it out, but she could barely move her jaw.

"Don't even think about trying anything." The voice obviously belonged to a woman. Camilla didn't know what to do, and she was quickly running out of options. "Ashlynn! Stop! She's with me," said a man's voice. All of the sudden, the knife was removed from Camilla's neck, and she was roughly shoved to the ground. She quickly got rid of the cloth in her mouth and coughed a few times.

"Then why was she watching from across the street?" Ashlynn questioned wearily. Camilla rubbed her neck and looked up. There Logan was, lying for her. But why? "I told her to. I didn't want that guy to pull anything shady. If he did, she was going to cause a distraction," Logan explained. "Why don't you go home? I can take care of this," he continued.

He didn't have to say another word. In just a few moments, Ashlynn disappeared into the shadows. "What are you doing?" He suddenly asked. "I was curious," Camilla explained, standing up. "Well, has anyone ever told you to mind your business? You have no idea what you're getting yourself into," Logan scolded. Camilla shrugged.

"Maybe don't leave information on the ground then," she stated. "So you did find the compass. I guessed you had. I couldn't find it after I left," he replied. Camilla felt the weight of today on her shoulders as she grew tired. Despite his better judgment, Logan knew he wanted to see her again. "So, are you up for coffee?" He asked, catching her entirely by surprise.

Her eyes snapped up to meet his brown ones. "When and where?" She asked in return. She couldn't tell if it was the heat outside or just her, but she could feel her skin heat up. "Kyle's at two on Saturday?" She couldn't believe this was happening. "It's a date," she agreed.

That's a wrap!! Thanks for reading this one shot. If you want to read more scenarios involving these characters, feel free to comment! If you are interested in reading more one shots or short stories written by me or Tori (or both), here is our masterlist! Have a good day/night! ♡♡

#oneshots #writing #oc oneshot #Coffee #Romance #Lovers #Young love #Fall in love #love #Oc x oc

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link-sans-specs · 3 years

Text

Our first sacrifice.

Mythical IGTV

Getting Away From It All

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lallyloo · 3 years

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Jealousy

(So @imincognitohere and I were talking about EB recs, and porn, and how Link’s entire porn collection would consist of a dark haired guy with glasses and a John Mayer lookalike. Then we imagined Rhett finding Link’s JM porn collection and crying, and then just railing Link. And now we’re here.)

He’s not really supposed to be on Link’s laptop, but Link’s running behind and Rhett really needs the May 2022 Ear Biscuits schedule now.

He silently curses himself for not keeping the schedule on his own laptop, or even his phone, but Link’s the one who types during planning sessions and they’re always together, so it’s never mattered before.

But today Link’s stuck in traffic on the way to the creative house, and Stevie’s trying to book their first guest in nearly two years, and Rhett needs the info now.

And they have each other’s passwords for this very reason.

So Rhett waits for the sign-in screen to appear, and he types Link’s password.

RaisinCRUNCH1984!

And he’s in.

The desktop is just a line of neatly organized folders against a backdrop of some douche playing guitar.

Rhett stares at the douche for a second.

He knows his name is John Mayer.

But in Rhett’s mind he’s just ‘douche’.

Link’s crazy about his music but Rhett’s not, and the guy seems like a tool anyway.

And why does Link need him on his desktop? Why not Christy? Or the kids? Or hell, why not him and Rhett? Would that be too much? No.

And sure, Rhett’s desktop is a silhouetted photo of himself in Death Valley, but that’s neither here nor there. It was a great trip, and it’s a great photo, and it’s not just some random musician guy.

Rhett tears his gaze away from the background and scans the labels on the desktop folders, stopping when his eyes hit one called ‘May’. It seems to be the most obvious choice, likely full of schedule info, brainstorming, personal appointment times, etc.

To Rhett’s surprise, the files inside seem to have much more random names than the desktop folders.

It doesn’t seem like Link at all, and Rhett is a bit flummoxed as he reads down the list of random letters and numbers jumbled together.

He settles on a file called 324_eB_32_MMdrmfanta.

He’s in such a hurry he doesn’t pay attention to the file type, and Rhett realizes it’s a mistake as soon as he clicks it.

It’s not a list of dates or information. It’s not a schedule.

It’s a video.

And it looks like porn.

There’s a room. An office maybe? The camera pans and there’s a desk and a chair and a window.. and a bed. Yep, it’s porn.

The camera pans to socked feet, and up bare legs, over a little red speedo, to a bare chest, up to the face of someone who looks a bit like a younger Link.

Dark hair, blue eyes, glasses.

There’s a knocking sound in the video, someone at the door, and Rhett is curious to see who might walk in. It’ll be a blonde woman, he assumes. A Christy lookalike.

“Link you dirty dog..”

He’s invested now, curious to see what kind of fantasies Link is into. He knows Link and Christy’s relationship has its ups and downs, and Link’s blue balls have been an ongoing joke for years, and maybe he’s invading their privacy a bit by watching this video.. But it’s not actually Link and Christy. It’s just porn. Just a fantasy Link has. And they’ve talked about fantasies before. Hell, Rhett told him about the first time he ever jerked off. Watching a little porn video is nothing.

The guy with the glasses heads for the door and Rhett is enraptured as the scene unfolds – slipping off the chain lock, a hand on the doorknob, turning it slowly. Rhett wonders what the woman’s going to be wearing. What she’s going to say. What they’re going to do. How they’re going to fuck.

On screen, the door opens and Rhett pulls back a bit, surprised, when he realizes there’s a man on the other side of it. Another brunette, with longer hair – not as long as Rhett’s, but longer than Link’s. And flowy. The guy’s kinda pretty.

Huh. Maybe it’s a threesome video? Two guys and a girl? The guy with the glasses looks surprised but pleased, and Rhett stares at the screen, wondering when the girl will show up.

The other guy says something Rhett doesn’t register, and then he steps into the room, wraps the glasses guy up in his arms, and shoves his tongue down his throat.

The unmistakable sound of a porn sax overdub echoes through Link’s office, and Rhett pulls himself out of it. He clicks through the video, skipping ahead, his eyes growing wide as he gets quick glimpses of erections, blow jobs, sloppy kisses, a finger in a butthole, AND IS THAT HIS TONGUE?? And fucking, so much fucking, fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. Rhett skips to the end to see the long-haired guy trailing his tongue over the glasses guy’s dick, licking up every messy drop of cum.

And. Oh.

The girl never showed up.

Rhett closes the video.

So Link watches porn. Gay porn.

And he’s never told him.

Rhett can’t help but feel a little confused. And a little jealous.

Why hasn’t Link told him? Why haven’t they talked about it?

Does Link like guys?

Rhett’s never been into guys. Not once, like ever.

Well, sure, he’s thought about Link once in awhile. What it might be like to touch him. Kiss him. Maybe more.

But that doesn’t count. Because it’s Link.

It’s Link!

Rhett’s not into guys. Link doesn’t count.

And if Link is into guys he clearly doesn’t want to tell Rhett yet. And that’s fine.

Isn’t it?

Rhett is a little hurt, but he’s alright with letting Link tell him in his own time. That’s what best friends are for. They’re cool and they’re understanding and they’re patient. And Rhett is all of those things.

He closes the folder, and his eyes fall to the desktop again.

To that douche.

With the familiar face.

Why does he suddenly seem so familiar?

Rhett stares at him for a moment and his blood runs cold.

The video.

The guy at the door with the stupid floppy hair.

Rhett quickly opens the folder again, choosing another file at random.

Cheesy porn music starts and Rhett watches another slightly geeky dark-haired guy with glasses flirt with a dark-haired flop. Rhett skips ahead quickly. There are blowjobs, and the flop is lifting the cute geeky guy, kissing him, spreading his cheeks as the glasses guy gasps–

Rhett closes that video, and clicks another one, and moans fill Link’s office as the video starts right in the middle of a fucking scene. Two guys. Another cute eyeglassed guy with dark hair, and some long-haired jerk. As Rhett watches, he catches sight of a guitar in the background and his face burns hot.

“Rhett?”

Rhett fumbles with the laptop, slamming it closed, but the video keeps playing and the moans of two guys echo through the room as Rhett turns towards the door.

“Link!”

Link looks furious.

“Dude, what’re you doing??”

“I was just looking for– ”

“You’re snooping on my laptop??” Link pushes past him and opens his computer, typing in his password.

“No! I wasn’t! I was just– ”

Link clicks the little x in the top corner of the video and the room falls quiet as he turns back to Rhett.

“That’s my private stuff.”

“I was looking for the Ear Biscuits schedule!”

“And you thought you’d just watch some of my porn while you were in there?”

“It said May! I thought it meant the month!”

“Well it doesn’t mean that!”

“I know that now!”

Link looks at him for a moment and then rolls his eyes. “It’s a stupid name. I’ll.. rename it.. and hide it, I guess.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“What if you need somethin’ else in the future?”

“Well I’ll know not to look in the John Mayer folder.”

Link makes a sound, something akin to a squawk. “What??”

“That’s what it is, right?”

“It’s– I mean, it’s..” Link stutters, unable to look at him. “NO.”

“Oh, come on.”

“It’s not.”

Rhett gestures to the laptop, which still sits open on the desk. “You’re tellin’ me all those dudes with the long hair don’t make you think of… him?”

Link doesn’t answer the question, he just frowns. “I should’a called it something else.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. PORN maybe?? THIS IS MY PORN RHETT DON’T LOOK AT IT?? Does it need to be that obvious?”

Rhett can’t help but laugh, “That wouldn’t help at all. You know it’d only make me more curious.”

“True.” Link says, and he’s smiling now at least. “So fine, I’ll call it something you won’t care about.”

“Like what?”

“Well I’m not gonna tell you, ya dummy.”

Rhett raises his hands in defeat, “fine, fine.”

The room is quiet for a moment as they look at each other, and Rhett can’t help it when his gaze moves from Link’s face down to the idiot on the screen.

He’s so smug. So full of himself. He writes stupid lyrics and people just swoon over him. Link swoons over him.

But Rhett writes lyrics too. And he sings. What’s wrong with his songs?

“What’s John Mayer got that I ain’t got?”

Link’s eyes nearly bug out of his head. “WHAT?”

“I didn’t even know you liked guys,” Rhett says quietly, “and now you’re into HIM of all people.”

“What’s wrong with HIM?”

“Well, for starters, he’s a– ” Rhett stops himself from calling the guy a name. Yeah he’s a stupid dumb idiot who steals the affection of certain best friends, but Rhett doesn’t need to say that to Link. He doesn’t need to make him more upset. “He’s not.. ”

“I know you think he’s not cool,” Link rolls his eyes again. “I don’t care.”

“It’s not that.”

“Well what is it??”

“He’s not.. me.” Rhett can feel his face start to burn the moment the words are out of his mouth. It’s stupid. He’s stupid. What is this? What’s he even doing?

“Not you??” Link laughs. “Dude, don’t tell me you’re jealous of John Mayer now too.”

“Well, I wasn’t,” Rhett says, and Link shoots him a skeptical look. “I mean, maybe just a bit. But now...”

“Now what?”

“After I saw those videos..” Rhett chokes out. “Link, why’re you thinkin’ about him and not me?”

“Rhett, you’re not into guys!”

“And you are??” Rhett can’t seem to help the hysterical tone in his voice.

“Well, yeah, man.”

“Since when??”

“Since.. always, I think.”

“What about Christy?”

“Christy knows,” Link shrugs, “she’s okay with it.”

“Oh.”

Rhett thinks of his own wife and how she’d react if it were him.

Lately Jessie’s been more open-minded than anyone, more willing to learn and explore and grow. Would she be okay if he were.. if he liked..

And he already knows the answer – has heard her say a hundred times, a hundred ways, ‘we’re not who we used to be.. so whatever that means for you and Link, that’s fine by me. The four of us can figure it out.’

Rhett hadn’t questioned her at the time. Hadn’t realized what she meant.

“So, look, you found my porn,” Link is saying, “but I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do about this whole jealousy thing you’ve got going on. I’m not gonna stop watching it just because your feelings are hurt.”

“But..”

“But what??” Link asks, exasperated.

“I want you to think of me.”

“Look,” Link sighs and takes off his glasses, rubbing a hand over his eyes, “I used to think of you..”

“When??”

Link shrugs. “Awhile ago. Years.”

“Why’d you stop??”

“Rhett, listen, I knew it was never gonna happen with you so I made myself stop.”

“And it’s gonna happen with John Mayer??”

“No,” Link laughs, “it’s just a.. just a stupid fantasy.”

“So let me be your fantasy.” Rhett hates himself the moment it’s out of his mouth – he’s never said anything more embarrassing – and Link just gives him an odd look.

“Dude..”

Rhett cringes, “I know.”

“I’m not gonna fantasize about my straight best friend.”

“But I want..”

“Rhett, WHAT.”

“I’m not into guys,” Rhett tries to explain, feeling like an idiot, “but I’m into you.”

“Well, I’m a guy.”

“I know, but you’re – ”

Link steps forward, and before Rhett can say anything more Link leans in and kisses him. It seems to be a test at first, gentle, and then Link slips his tongue out, pressing against Rhett’s lips, encouraging Rhett to open for him.

And Rhett does. He doesn’t even question it. His brain just screams, yes! Finally! And he’s kissing Link, soft and wet, and an ache shoots through his body, straight to his dick.

When Link pulls away, Rhett’s still got his eyes closed, his head tilted, with a smile plastered to his mouth.

“Did you like that?” Link asks.

“Yeahhh,” Rhett sighs dreamily.

“Then you’re into guys, you dummy. The percentage don’t matter.”

Rhett’s eyes snap open. “Okay, I’m into guys.”

Link looks at him, wide-eyed, and smiles. “So kiss me again then.”

Rhett does, taking hold of Link’s face and kissing him, and he knows he’s supposed to be doing something else. He came in this room for a reason. A file or something.

But none of that matters because he’s kissing Link and Link’s kissing him back, and as Rhett pushes Link up against the desk they bump the cable on Link’s laptop and it beeps to notify them that it’s come unplugged.

“Hold on,” Link mumbles, pulling away to plug the cable back in, and Rhett’s eyes are fixed to the photo on the desktop.

Stupid John Mayer douche.

He’ll never have Link.

“What’re you lookin’ at?”

Rhett glances up to find Link watching him curiously.

“What?”

“You’re staring at my laptop like you wanna murder it.”

“What,” Rhett sputters, “no I’m not.”

“You really are jealous, huh?”

“No.”

“You sure?”

“Link, I’m fine.”

“Guess I’ll just leave it open then,” Link smirks. “Since it’s not botherin’ you.”

Rhett reaches past him and slams the laptop shut. “No.”

Link laughs. “You’re like a jealous girlfriend.”

“Boyfriend.”

“Oh, you’re my boyfriend now?”

“Maybe,” Rhett says, and he’s dying. Literally dying. Link’s never going to let him live this down.

But Link kisses him again and suddenly Rhett doesn’t care. They’re kissing and Link is touching him. Link’s hands move down to unbutton his shirt, so Rhett grabs hold of Link’s shirt and tugs it up and over his head.

“What ones did you watch?”

“What what?”

“The videos, which ones.”

Rhett nearly chokes, looking away, and Link takes him by the chin and pulls his gaze back.

“You can tell me.”

“I don’t know,” Rhett admits, “I just skimmed a few.”

“Well what’d they do in them?”

“Blowjobs,” Rhett says, replaying the scenes in his mind, “lots of fingers everywhere. Fucking.”

“Fucking?”

“Yeah, tons of it.”

Link’s fingers slide down Rhett’s belly, stopping at his belt, and the buckle clinks as Link undoes it. “You wanna act it out?”

“Act it out??” Rhett feels like he might actually scream.

“Yeah.”

“DO I HAVE TO BE JOHN MAYER?”

“No!” Link laughs and shuts him up with another kiss. “Just be you, dummy.”

“You want me to– ” Rhett stammers, speaking against Link’s lips, “Want me to go to the door?”

“The door? Why?”

“To knock? Like in the video?”

Link laughs again, and at least Rhett’s managed that. If nothing else, he can always make Link laugh.

“You watched the dorm fantasy video?”

“I don’t know.”

“Guy studying? Red speedo?”

“Ohh, yeah, that one.”

“And how’d it end?”

Rhett’s eyes go wide. “Fucking.”

“Right,” Link says, smiling back at him. “So you wanna just skip to that?”

Rhett’s died. He’s a corpse.

But he manages to breathe out, “Yes.”

Link opens a drawer and tosses a bottle of lube on his desk, and he’s saying “come on, come on,” and Rhett’s brain finally returns to him, because if there’s one thing he’s good at it’s using his dick.

He’s not quite sure of the next step because he’s never done THIS. But Link walks him through the lube and the prep, and god, his ass is beautiful, and now Rhett gets to fuck it, and when Link’s hand slips over Rhett’s dick, slicking him up good, Rhett’s knees nearly give out.

Then Link’s turning away, still talking to him, teasing, asking, “You gonna fuck me better than John Mayer would?” and Rhett grips his hips and slides in slow, easing in deep, gasping at how tight Link is around him.

And Link groans,“Oh god.. fuck, you’re in..

And moans, “Rhett, do it.”

And Rhett does.

He fucks the hell out of Link.

Plows him into the desk.

Tries to fuck John Mayer right out of his mind.

Just rails him.

And Link keeps gasping, “Yeah, like that, yeah, Rhett, fuck me like that,” and when he breathes out “better than John Mayer ever could..” Rhett stops and grabs hold of him, turning him around, needing to see him, wanting Link to see who’s fucking him and giving it to him so good.

Link goes easily, seemingly happy about it, and when Link is bare-assed on the desk with his dick in his hand, Rhett hooks his arms under his knees and fucks in again.

“Tell me,” Rhett sputters as he fucks with everything he’s got.

“Tell you what?” Link is looking up at him, dazed, and they both know Link’s teasing.

“Tell me I’m better.”

“Better than who?”

“You know who,” Rhett grits out, and he’s going to come. Soon. Real soon. And he needs to hear it so bad. “HIM.”

“Oh..” Link grins, and his voice catches in his throat as he says, “John Mayer?”

Rhett can only nod, silently begging Link to give him what he needs.

“You’re better,” Link smiles up at him, his breath stuttering, and Rhett can feel him tighten around his cock. “You’re so good, Rhett, fuck, you fuck me better than anyone.”

“Yeah,” Rhett gasps, pulling Link’s knees up higher, fucking in tighter, harder, faster, and he nearly folds Link in half when he leans in to kiss him again.

And Link breathes against Rhett’s mouth, “No one fucks me like you..” and he comes, shooting hot between them, and Rhett groans and stills, coming hard inside Link.

“Fuck, yeah, so much better than him,” Link sighs, “You’re bigger too.”

And Rhett’s pretty sure he passes out.

When he comes to, he’s still holding onto Link, and he lets go slowly, easing his legs down.

“You alright?” Link’s asking, with a little worried expression on his face.

“Yeah,” Rhett says, “was I out long?”

“You were out??” Link sits up quickly, getting a better look at him.

“I think so,” Rhett shrugs, “I dunno. Maybe it was just too good.”

Link laughs, “Dude, stop.”

Rhett stares down at him, looking hurt.

“What, you’re sayin’ it wasn’t good?”

“Rhett– ”

And Rhett knows he’s teasing again, and he knows it was good, but Rhett pushes against his chest anyway, encouraging Link to lie back down on the desk.

And Rhett leans over and licks up every messy drop of cum from Link’s chest, and sucks his dick clean too.

He’s clearly better than John Mayer.

And he definitely likes guys. Especially Link.

#rhink #fic #rhink fic #my fic #jealous rhett #i apologize for the formatting #tumblr hates when i post from my laptop

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hugespace · 3 years

Note

Prompt: van, thunderstorm, link is scared and rhett is there for him and gives him hugs and kisses

Thanks love 😘

There you go! 🥰 I ended up writing some high school Rhink - lots of fluff with a dash of angst. Hope you’ll enjoy it!

*** (~2k words) ***

"How the crap did you miss that, Rhett?!" Link rapidly turned his whole body in the passenger seat, making his bleached blonde locks flap around on the top of his head. "How are we even out of gas-? Didn't you just say, like yesterday, that you'd fill it up?!" he threw his hands in the air, staring with disbelief at his friend who sat quietly behind the wheel.

Rhett muttered something in response, his head downturned and eyes focused on his own lap.

"Rhett!" Link exclaimed impatiently, not having gotten a clear answer out of the other boy.

"I thought we'd make it, okay?! I was gonna buy gas with some of the money we'd get after the gig!" Rhett repeated his explanation in a raised voice this time, finally looking his friend in the eyes and shrugging in the process.

Link only returned the look with wide eyes.

"Are you serious-? You're so irresponsible!" he answered even louder after a few short seconds of processing Rhett's words. "You're telling me you wanted to buy gas with the money we won't even get now because we won't get to the damn concert- because. You didn't. Get. Gas. In the first place?!" Link continued thought clenched teeth. "What the crap, Rhett?!"

The taller boy felt his face grow warm. Sure, perhaps Link was right, it wasn't the smartest decision of his life, or even of just that day, probably – electing to risk not reaching their destination in a borrowed van full of equipment for the two of them and the other members of Wax Paper Dogz just to be able to spend the last of his cash for the week on snacks. But he certainly wasn't going to give the other boy that, or the full reason for getting them stranded in the middle of a road on the way to the farm they were supposed to play at, for that matter. Truth was, Rhett didn't do well with criticism. Not even when it was earned.

He opened his mouth and got ready to match Link's tone, when a powerful crash of thunder resounded directly above them all of a sudden, immediately preventing the shouting match that was surely about to ensue.

"What was that-?" When Link's voice reverberated to Rhett's right again, it was remarkably smaller and less filled with anger than just seconds ago.

"Shit" was the only response the older boy could muster as the sky opened up, letting thick and heavy drops of rain fall onto the world around them, drumming angrily against the van's roof.

"At least we don't gotta worry about the gig-?" Rhett tried for a reassuring smile after a few beats of silence between them ticked by, interrupted only by blaring sounds of the summer storm they’d apparently gotten caught in. "It ain't gonna happen now with that rain-" he conceded, hoping it won't anger Link any further.

The younger boy was silent, the unexpected arrival of thunder seemed to have not only taken away his temper, but his voice as well.

"Link?"

A pair of blue eyes, still wide open, met Rhett's. The fire that burned in them just moments before the first loud crash fizzled out completely, giving way to a cold shade of fear, and the face they belonged to quickly became visibly paler, taking on a greyish colour only intensified by the sudden lack of sunlight.

"I don't like this-" Link whispered, clutching the edges of his seat with such force that his knuckles soon matched the paleness of his face.

Now, Link didn't exactly suffer from a deadly fear of thunder, not to Rhett's knowledge at least, which after more than a decade of being best friends meant it could as well be equalled to a fact. On the other hand, he wasn't especially keen on those either, and the aspect of being trapped in a metal can in the middle of a country road with absolutely nowhere to go to seek refuge only added another dimension to that.

Instinctively, Rhett reached out a hand and rubbed the other boy's shoulder soothingly.

"Hey- Hey, look at me. Link-?" he leaned forward trying to catch his friend’s eyes again and grasp his attention, temporarily directed towards the sky where bright flashes of lightning cut through the dark graphite clouds one after another. "Hey"

Link finally directed his attention back to Rhett, gulping loudly, almost comically, if it weren't for the entire situation. "We're gonna be fine. The car's safe, we're better off here than anywhere outside probably, just don’t touch the doors. We'll wait till the rain passes a bit and then I'll go get us gas, okay? The station's not that far. We'll be good." Rhett added in a calm voice, still keeping his right hand on Link and gently rubbing his upper back.

"Okay" the boy replied, still in a weak voice, and drew in a deep breath, only to be startled by another instance of rumbling thunder and hastily clasp Rhett's other hand.

"Sorry..." he cleared his throat and tried to compose himself once the sound of thunderclap died down, leaving them only with the deafening banging of raindrops against the van. Link went to retract his hand but was stopped by Rhett's before the taller boy could think about it.

"Ssh, don't. S’okay, brother."

The split-second decision to comfort Link and hold him like he hasn't since they were kids came from the feeling of guilt for getting them in that situation in the first place, he told himself. And sure, he did feel responsible for making Link endure the storm in a car stuck in the middle of nowhere all because of his stupid idea. But it wasn't just guilt; the vulnerable look on his friend's pale face combined with the fear in his big glassy eyes made him look like the boy he was when they were still in grade school - small and innocent, and it tugged at Rhett's heart in a way he didn't fully comprehend, awakening an instinct to protect Link no matter what.

"Do you... Maybe we'd- Should we...?" Yes, Rhett did make a decision but was suddenly struggling to articulate it. The scared boy next to him wasn't really listening anyway, his whole attention focused on the sky again and his free hand grasping Rhett's sleeve and trembling. Rhett cleared his throat and tried again. "We should move to the back."

"Whaa...?" Link started but was cut off by his friend gently removing his fingers from the fabric of his shirt and swiftly moving to the row of seats behind them.

"C'mon. It's gonna be more comfortable. The stick's poking my leg when I lean over like that." the older boy offered from the expanse of the middle row, gesticulating to the gap between Link and the now empty driver's seat.

If Link was hesitant to join him, another growl of thunder must have been enough to persuade him because suddenly, he was clambering to join Rhett, inadvertently nudging his thighs and elbowing him in the process.

"Auch! Okay, okay- Com'ere" The older boy grabbed the other's shoulders once he was situated next to him and moved his body even closer, encircling it with his long lanky arms and squeezing hard, making Link's head fall onto his chest.

To his surprise, his best friend didn't protest, he only burrowed his face deeper in the front or Rhett's bunched up flannel and breathed in deeply, obviously trying to relax.

"Good, good" Rhett praised absent-mindedly and slowly stroked Link's smooth hair, temporarily stunned by the feeling of warmth and peace holding the other boy so close gave him. After a couple of minutes of stillness, he felt Link's arms move, too, and wriggle in between the backrest of the seat and Rhett's lower back, finally hugging him back around the waist. It made the taller boy instinctively seek even more contact, and he lowered his head, positioning his face on Link's hair and eventually, before he could rethink it, leaving a kiss on top of it

Link froze and tensed up again, though this time there was no crash of thunder or flash of lightning to blame it on.

Oh no. Rhett's action caught up to him. This was weird. He was being weird. They never kissed each other, not even like that, not even when they were kids. His heart sped up from embarrassment and he was sure his friend could feel it, with the way he was still clinging to his chest. But he wasn’t letting go- In fact, he seemed to hug Rhett even tighter now, nuzzling his face into his body, left cheek smushed against his sternum.

Shyly, Rhett risked another smooch to Link's head, this time as close to his forehead as he could reach in the position they were in.

In response, the boy let out what sounded like an appreciative hum, or maybe even a tiny whimper, and a warm breath against Rhett’s skin, making his heart pick up the pace again. Continuing the pattern of acting before we could talk himself out of it, Rhett gathered his friend and tried to pull him even closer, not even sure if it was possible at that point, and was rewarded with Link landing almost entirely in his lap.

The face of his best friend was now nearly level with his. It was blushed, he realised, the earlier sickly tone of his complexion gone almost completely. His hair, equally blonde as Rhett's though significantly longer, was dishevelled. The sight was endearing, there was no other word to describe it, and the look in Link's eyes, blue as ever and soft now – not as filled with fear anymore, only made the effect it had on Rhett more intense.

Blinded by the affection that flooded him all of a sudden, he leaned in again, now able to kiss Link's forehead, and left another peck there, keeping his lips pressed to it for a bit longer. Before Rhett could really get used to the new sensation, Link straightened his back, making himself taller in Rhett's lap and as a result, bringing his own lips to the same hight his friend mouth was at.

The taller boy flinched slightly and almost recoiled on instinct, seeing how there were no more than two inches of tense air filled with petrichor separating their faces, and nothing else.

Almost.

Instead, he gathered all of his courage and closed that gap, planting his lips square on Link's.

They were incredibly soft, almost cushiony, and oh so warm. And they were moving against his! He realised, stunned, as the other boy's hand reached up to his face and gently cupped his jaw.

Rett felt his own lips form an involuntary smile, soon matched by the lips he was kissing. As they started to separate, both beaming and searching each other’s faces with sparkly eyes, he took in the near silence that surrounded them.

The rain stopped, there was no banging on the roof of their van and no rumbling of thunder above. It was like the clouds dissipated the moment they kissed, giving way to sun again, Rhett thought not caring about how silly and romantic at the same time that idea was.

Divine intervention or a simple coincidence, he didn't care. The sky was clear now and so was the fact that he just shared a kiss with the person he loved most in the entire world. How he hadn't realised that earlier was unimportant. It might have taken being stranded in the middle of a road, surrounded by nothing but trees and crops and a thunderstorm worse than any other time that summer to get there, but they did, in the end - that was all that mattered.

And with that thought, Rhett embraced Link trying to put all of his love into it, and went to kiss him again.

#Rhink #rhink fic #my writing #jonesy84 #thank you so much for the prompt Lovely!

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