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ninisdollie · 1 day ago

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brighter days - park sunghoon 𓈒ིུ ❤︎ ˖ ݁

✧˚⋆ ˖ ࣪ . Demigods series

Synopsis: Park Sunghoon, the forbidden son of Zeus, is admired and respected by everyone at halfblood camp, but he prefers to keep to himself and avoid the crowds. With his reserved and somewhat grumpy attitude, his peace is constantly interrupted by your relentless energy, the daughter of Apollo. Outgoing, cheerful, and full of life, you never miss an opportunity to approach Sunghoon, who knows you have a crush on him. However, his temper and desire to maintain his distance lead him to reject you time and time again. Despite his attempts to avoid you, Sunghoon begins to notice that, behind your spark and laughter, there is more than just a girl chasing him. As he struggles to maintain his wall of coldness, you, with your boundless light, are determined to break it, proving that even the coldest heart can be touched by the warmth of the sun.

Content: +18MDNI fem!reader x sunghoon, pjo au! zeus' son! sunghoon x apollos daughter! reader, grumpy x sunshine plot, smut, kind of enemies to lovers but not really, virgin! reader, fluffy ending, explicit sex.

hate comments will be deleted and blocked, like and reblogs are appreciated !!

The clang of metal echoed across the training arena, rhythmic and sharp, slicing through the warm afternoon air like thunder before a storm. Camp Half-Blood buzzed with life in the distance, shouts from capture the flag, laughter near the strawberry fields, but here, near the sparring dummies, stood Park Sunghoon.

Broad shoulders tense, dark brows furrowed, and golden light catching on the sweat along his jawline, he looked like he was carved from Olympus itself. Each movement was flawless. Precise, deadly. He swung his celestial silver sword with a controlled rage that made the ground beneath him feel electric.

You watched him from behind the archery pavilion, propping your chin on your hand as you ignored the bow resting in your lap. The way he moved, like the storm he carried in his veins, untouchable, unbothered, beautiful, had your heart doing all sorts of embarrassing things.

“He’s gonna catch you staring again,” Taki, your brother muttered, nudging you.

“I hope he does,” you grinned, unashamed. “Maybe this time he’ll finally realize it’s love.”

Everyone at camp knew you had a thing for the forbidden son of Zeus. How could you not? Sunghoon wasn’t just a demigod—he was the demigod. Taken in at five after monsters nearly tore him apart outside the safety of camp borders. Trained harder than anyone, rose higher than any other camper. And at eighteen, while most of you were still sneaking out for midnight snacks, he was off saving Olympus on a solo quest that made the gods themselves tremble, some swore Ares himself had a battle with him and turned out coming out wounded. Because he was that strong, that fierce, that powerful. Others said his power was actually a curse, because he could never leave camp for more than a few hours, every monster, every enemy was after him, they wanted the most dangerous Demigod dead. And even with that, Sunghoon walked around so relaxed, so confident, it was like he wasn’t scared of anything in the world, and you admired him so much because of that.

He was just a dream.

And you? You were the complete opposite. Apollo’s favorite daughter, according to literally everyone. You could shoot an arrow through the wings of a fly at fifty feet, compose a haiku in ten seconds flat. You had tons of friends from all cabins, and some swore the sunshine followed you wherever you moved, or even better, that you were the sunshine. Always happy, always smiling, always talking to much and laughing with your whole chest. You trained a lot, you really did, after all you were like every other demigod, you wished for glory and power too, but still, you had enough energy to flirt shamelessly with Sunghoon in front of the entire camp. A girl can have hobbies, right?

He’d rejected you so many times, you’d lost count. He scowled, rolled his eyes, muttered things under his breath and turned on his heel before you could finish half a sentence. He was never super mean to you though, he just wasn’t like that, and you knew he found you extremely annoying, but he never really said it, because you knew he was good, he had a good heart beneath that cold facade.

Still, you chased him. Not just because he was handsome (though gods, was he. With his dark hair and his perfect skin and his thick eyebrows and that damn mole you so wanted to kiss), but because every time you looked into his stormy eyes, you swore you saw something flicker. Like lightning trying to break free from thunderclouds.

So yeah, maybe everyone thought you were wasting your time.

But you were the sun. And even the coldest storms couldn’t outrun the morning light forever.

Your eyes trailed down the line of his arm as he twisted to strike again, the muscles beneath his skin rippling with each perfect swing. It was like watching war poetry in motion. And okay, maybe you should’ve been practicing too, but what was a daughter of Apollo if not a shameless admirer of beauty?

You sighed dramatically. “He’s just so—”

“Grumpy?” your sibling offered, not even looking up from their quiver. “Emotionally unavailable? Terrified of human connection?”

“Hot,” you finished with a dreamy smile.

He snorted. “Tragic.”

But then, just as you were mid-swoon, Sunghoon paused. Not dramatically, not like a movie, just the smallest hitch in movement. His shoulders stiffened, his grip faltered. And then, ever so slightly, he turned his head.

Your heart stopped.

For a split second, your eyes met.

Oh, gods.

His gaze was unreadable, intense, stormy, laced with the kind of quiet warning that made your skin prick. You blinked, heart stammering. His eyes dropped to your bow, then flicked back up to your face like he was mentally calculating how much time you’d spent staring instead of training.

Then—

He rolled his eyes, annoyed.

You squeaked. Like actually squeaked. Heat flooded your face as you slapped a hand over your mouth.

“Oh my gods,” you hissed under your breath. “He saw me. I looked like a total stalker.”

“You are a stalker,” Taki whispered with a grin.

You buried your face in your hands, groaning into your palms. “Why does he have to be so pretty when he’s annoyed?! That’s so unfair.”

When you dared peek through your fingers, Sunghoon had already turned away. Back to training. Back to pretending you didn’t exist.

But you saw it.

The tiniest twitch of his mouth.

A smirk.

And just like that, your day was made.

𖦹 ☼ ⋆｡˚⋆ฺ ♡

Sunghoon hated a lot of things.

He hated sunny days, because it was so hot and sweaty that he could barely stand being in his own skin. He hated dumb people. He hated loud music, because his ears were sensitive even if he was literally born from the god of lighting. He hated the camp t-shirt, because he also hated the color orange. He hated Ares children, because they were violent for literally no reason. He hated wars, hated problems, hated people hungry for power. Like every other demigod, like every other god. Like his own father.

Zeus.

The name sat like acid in his mouth. The god of gods. King of Olympus. The one whose power shook the skies. The one who should have been proud of him.

But he never was.

People at Camp Half-Blood whispered about Sunghoon like he was some kind of legend. The forbidden son. The lightning in human form. The boy who went on a solo quest at eighteen and returned with scars no one asked about. Everyone wanted to be around him, everyone respected and admired him, everyone looked at him as if he was the best warrior to ever exist, and probably he was, to the eyes of everybody.

But they didn’t know. They had no idea what that quest really was.

They thought it was glory, honor. A chance to prove himself.

But it wasn’t. It was a setup. A battlefield dressed up as a trial. Monsters he could handle—he’d been fighting them since he was five. But gods?

Even he couldn’t see that betrayal coming.

It was Zeus himself who tried to strike him down.

Not Cronus. Not some ancient titan rising from the depths.

His own father.

Because Sunghoon was too powerful, because thunder cracked when he screamed, because storms listened to him when he was angry, because the sky shook when he bled. Because he was born with a power not even himself could be able to control fully.

And gods didn’t like things they couldn’t control.

So Zeus tried to erase him. Sent him to die alone and made sure it looked like a test of strength. A rite of passage.

Sunghoon survived. Barely. He clinged onto life with blood and nails and teeth, and he ended up returning as a hero.

But something in him had died out there. Something soft. Something warm. The most painful and deadly betrayal he’d ever faced, permanent wounds that weren’t just physical, and the constant, eternal feeling of failure. For everyone else, he was a hero, but for himself, he was just the son that had a father who not only hadn't care about him his whole life, but also hated him. And that, that’s what truly killed every last drop of warm light inside of him.

Now all that was left was discipline, blade, and silence. He spent his days training, getting better, until his body physically couldn’t take it anymore, until the constant thoughts in his head went away. He enjoyed it, he really did. He liked his quiet life, and for most of the times, he could ignore he was the child of the storm.

Well, mostly. Because his quiet life was constantly interrupted by you.

Gods, you.

Y/N.

The golden girl. Apollo’s favorite. Laughter in human form. You were everything he didn’t understand, everything he didn’t trust.

Too bright. Too curious. Too persistent.

You talked too much. You asked too many questions. You walked around under the sunlight, bathing you like a second skin, you trained with a permanent smile in your lips, you joked around, you sang your favorite songs with your whole chest, you played the lyre with delicate fingers, you laughed too loud, you were shameless and energetic and annoying and…

And you smiled at him like he hadn’t been hardened by betrayal. Like you could fix him.

But you couldn’t. No one could.

Still…

Still, his eyes found your earlier today when you thought he wasn’t looking. Bow in hand, sunlight catching the highlights in your hair, that little furrow in your brow when you concentrated—

You were good. Insanely good. Your arrows moved like light itself—precise, fast, radiant.

You belonged to the sun. To music. To warmth. Everyone adored you, everyone liked you.

He had no business watching you the way he did.

But sometimes, he did anyway.

Until you opened your mouth.

Then it was over.

Because every word that came out of you was so… you. Bubbly, relentless, stubbornly optimistic. And he just didn’t know what to do with that kind of joy. Didn’t trust it. Didn’t understand how someone could be so untouched by the same kind of rot that lived inside him. How a daughter of a god could be like this, he even maybe felt envious.

So he rolled his eyes. He walked away. He told himself over and over that he couldn’t stand you.

But he still looked.

And that terrified him more than anything.

𖦹 ☼ ⋆｡˚⋆ฺ ♡

The first time you confessed to Sunghoon, you were ten.

It was a warm summer afternoon, and you were sweaty, grass-stained, hair messy and tangled, and absolutely, irrationally determined. Sunghoon, twelve years old and already taller than every other kid in the arena, was off by himself near the creek, sharpening a blade that was nearly the size of his torso. His face was serious. Focused. A tiny storm cloud in the body of a boy.

You marched up with a flower crown in your hand, one that you made with help from the Aprhodite girls, chest puffed out, heart thumping like a war drum.

“Hey!” you’d chirped, practically vibrating with excitement.

He glanced up, brows twitching just enough to show he was already tired of this conversation.

“What?” his tone was cold, too cold, but you still melted.

“I like you.” you just said, biting your lip, squirming in your heels.

There was a beat of silence. A frog croaked in the creek. Somewhere, a Hermes kid screamed about a beehive.

Sunghoon stared at you.

“...Okay?”

You beamed. Smiling widely, you handed him the flower crown, but he didn’t take it, just stared at it, for a few seconds, then your face, expression still very serious.

“Do you want to be my boyfriend?”

He blinked. Twice.

“No.”

You dropped your shoulders, your heart breaking just a little bit. But you weren’t done, he would be yours.

“Is it because I talk too much? I can shut up. Watch—” you slapped your hands over your mouth and made muffled noises of restraint.

He sighed, tired.

“It’s because i’m twelve.”

You lowered your hands, frowning. Then smiled again, the sunshine falling on your face.

“So you’re saying there’s a chance when you’re not twelve?”

Sunghoon stared at you like you were speaking Ancient Greek backwards. Then, without another word, he got up and walked away.

“Wait!” you’d called after him. “You forgot the flower crown!”

He didn’t look back.

But that night, when you snuck out to leave a daisy crown on his cabin doorstep, you swore you saw someone peek through the window.

𖦹 ☼ ⋆｡˚⋆ฺ ♡

The sun was at its peak, golden rays filtering through the trees, spreading warm light over Camp Half-Blood, it was a beautiful summer day. Sweat gleamed on your temple as you wiped your brow with the back of your hand, your hair braided falling over one of your shoulders, bow in your grip and a mischievous grin tugging at your lips.

Archery practice had officially ended fifteen minutes ago—but you were still there, refusing to leave until you landed the shot.

A single red apple rested delicately atop the training dummy’s helmet, mocking you like it wanted to be destroyed.

You squinted, lining up your shot. You were getting into that headspace again—where everything melted away and it was just you, your bow, and the sun humming beneath your skin like a second heartbeat.

Then you heard it.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

Boots on gravel.

Your heartbeat tripped. You didn’t have to look, You’d memorized that sound ages ago.

Sunghoon.

You could feel his presence before you saw him—like a crackle of static in the air, like the world holding its breath. Like a grey cloud covered the ray of sunshine. You glanced over your shoulder, trying to keep your expression casual, but your pulse was skipping like a pebble across water.

There he was.

Stormcloud incarnate.

He was walking past the range, jaw clenched, shirt sticking to his back from training, a sword strapped across his back. His hair a little messy, a little wet from the sweat, he cleaned a few drops falling from his forehead, clearly annoyed by the heated day. And gods, did he look incredibly good in the sunlight. Like something carved from marble, kissed by thunderstorms and arrogance.

You knew you had no business liking someone like him.

But you did.

And you were nothing if not bold.

“Hey, Zeus-boy!” you called, loud enough for half the camp to hear.

He stopped mid-step, like he was contemplating whether to respond or keep walking and pretend he didn’t hear you. But after a heartbeat, he turned, his expression already dipped in exhaustion.

You beamed at him.

“I bet I can shoot that apple blindfolded.”

His eyes flicked to the dummy. Then to your bow. Then to your very cocky stance. Sughoon sighed, deeply, and rolled his eyes in annoyance.

“You’ll miss,” he said flatly.

You tilted your head, smirking, confident.

“What’s the matter? Scared I might bruise that ego of yours?”

His eyes flicked, his posture straightened, his face completely serious, not a clue of even a little smile.

“Scared?” he scoffed. “More like dreading the noise you’ll make if you actually hit it.”

Your heart fluttered. Not that you’d ever admit that.

“So what you’re saying is… you don’t believe in me.”

“I believe you’ll shoot the dummy in the face.”

You suppressed a laugh, he was always like this, trying to underestimate you. Cocky boy.

“Harsh. But fair.” You grinned, already reaching into your quiver. “How about this—we make it interesting.”

His eyes narrowed.

“Define ‘interesting.’”

You looked at the sky, pretending to think, finger against your chin, and he breathed deep again, leg bouncing like he was losing his patience. Then, you smiled again, snapping your fingers.

“If I hit the apple, you admit I’m better than you at something. Just one thing. Anything. I don’t care if it’s archery or baking or making people laugh—your choice.”

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow.

“And if you miss?”

“I won’t talk to you for an entire week.”

He blinked. A few seconds passed, and your heart was still racing in your chest, he was thinking, of course, he would be happy of you leaving him alone for a few days, you weren’t that dumb to not know.

“…That’s the best offer I’ve heard all day.”

You smiled.

“Oh, so now you want me to miss.” You raised an eyebrow, your grin sharp. “But I won’t.”

He exhaled through his nose, looking up like he was praying for divine patience. Then, arms crossed over his chest, he said

“Fine. Hit the apple, sunshine. Impress me.”

Your heart leapt. Not because of the bet. Not even because you loved a challenge. But because he stayed. And he called you sunshine, even if it was obvious sarcasm, you still liked it.

You pulled the blindfold from your bag and slipped it over your eyes. The world went dark—but your body remembered everything: the position of the apple, the direction of the breeze, the way the sun pulsed on your skin like it was trying to guide you. You prayed to your father mentally, please, please dad, don’t let me miss this shot i promise you i will make you proud for the rest of my life…

You drew your arrow.

Breathed in deep.

Held, your bringes brushed the arch with a familiar force, you knew the movement, the position, the feeling by heart. It was running through your blood.

Released.

Crack.

A perfect, clean split. The apple burst apart in two pieces, toppling off the dummy’s helmet.

Someone nearby gasped. Someone else clapped. You tugged off the blindfold, a bright, victorious smile already on your lips.

You turned to Sunghoon.

He was staring. Not at the apple. At you.

His eyes were unreadable, but there was something in them. Not shock. Not irritation. Something softer. Like confusion wrapped in awe.

Just for a second.

And then—his face closed off. Same serious face as before.

“Lucky shot,” he said gruffly, turning away.

You blinked. Your smile faltered just a little.

“That wasn’t luck,” you said, trying to keep your voice light.

“You always think it’s skill until you miss,” he muttered.

You opened your mouth to respond—when someone bumped into your shoulder from behind, jostling your arm. The arrow in your hand slipped from your fingers and whipped through the air.

Thunk.

Right into the toe of Sunghoon’s boot.

Silence. A breeze rolled through the range. Your heart stopped beating in your chest, your whole face red with embarrasment, you begged to Hades to take you to the underworld in that exact moment. Of course you had to ruin it.

Sunghoon looked down slowly.

You froze, hands halfway raised like you could rewind time with enough desperation. Then he spoke, voice calm, low as always.

“…Are you trying to kill me?”

You widened your eyes, shaking your head.

“No! I—I swear that wasn’t my fault! I was bumped and—and—oh my gods, are you bleeding?!”

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? Because if I hit a toe vein or something I can totally fix it—”

“There’s no such thing as a toe vein.”

You moved closer before he could stop you, already kneeling to inspect the damage. He stepped back instinctively, and you almost fell on your face into the dirt.

“Y/N—”

“Hold still! Let me—oh. Okay. Yeah. That’s gonna bruise. You probably shouldn’t walk. Do you want me to carry you?”

He stared at you like you’d just asked him to marry you. You couldn’t even lift him anyway, he was much taller than you.

“I will ban you from this entire camp,” he said, voice tight.

You stood, brushing off your knees.

“Well, now you’re just being dramatic.”

He yanked the arrow from his boot and tossed it to the dirt with a low growl. Annoyed, a bit angry too, his brows frowned as he talked between his teeth.

“You’re lucky I don’t—”

“I’m always lucky,” you chirped. “It’s part of my charm.”

He shook his head, muttering something under his breath as he stalked away without another word.

You stood there, heart pounding in your chest.

He’d looked at you.

Just for a moment, he looked like he saw you.

You glanced down at the arrow in the dirt. Picked it up gently. Held it in your palm like it meant something.

Then you turned and walked the opposite direction—still smiling.

Even if he didn’t admit it, even if he rolled his eyes and glared and walked away like you were the most annoying thing on Earth…

You saw the flicker.

And gods help you—you were going to make it burn.

𖦹 ☼ ⋆｡˚⋆ฺ ♡

The locker room was empty, save for the steady drip of water echoing from the showers. Sunghoon sat on the bench near the back, shirt discarded, cleaning the scrape on his shoulder with practiced, irritated hands. The skin was already bruising—a light, angry red smeared with dirt and blood from where the arrow had nicked him.

Stupid.

He wasn’t even supposed to be near the archery range today. He had just finished a brutal solo sparring session and wandered there for some damn reason—and that reason was currently embedded in his skin.

He hissed as the antiseptic hit raw flesh.

Your voice echoed in his mind.

He could still see the way you looked at him—wide-eyed, half-laughing, half-panicked, your hand fluttering uselessly near your mouth like you could wave the accident away. And then you’d giggled. Like it was funny.

He clenched his jaw.

It wasn’t funny. It wasn’t cute. And it definitely wasn’t supposed to make his chest feel weird the way it did.

He threw the bloody cloth into the sink harder than necessary.

Why were you always there? Why did your voice carry across the training fields like it was trying to find him? Why did the other campers look at you like the sun walked when you did?

And why did he notice every damn time you smiled?

He didn’t even like you. Not really. You were loud, you talked too much, you stood too close. You said his name like it tasted sweet on your tongue, and he hated that he noticed the difference.

You were Apollo’s favorite. Everything about you was golden—your laugh, your smile, your damn aura.

Sunshine, he thought bitterly. All light and no sense of self-preservation. Not even sense of danger, it was like you went through life without realizing how dangerous it is for a demigod.

And yet… you could shoot with terrifying precision. You ran faster than half the Hermes cabin. You took hits without flinching. He’d watched you. Too many times.

More than he should have.

Pathetic, he told himself.

This wound wasn’t even that deep, and it didn’t hurt a lot either. He was used to the pain, to the blood, to the stings, his own father tried to kill him years ago.

He wasn’t mad about the arrow. Not really.

He was mad that the second he looked at you—just a glance, just one tiny slip—you’d smiled like it meant something. And worse, something in him had tightened. Not in fear, not in anger. But something softer.

He scrubbed at the wound harder, hissing through his teeth, his jaw hurting from how hard he was clenching it.

She’s a distraction.

Just like Zeus always said. “Distractions will ruin you. You were made to be more than human. So act like it.”

Sunghoon gritted his teeth. Wrapped the bandage tight. Stood up and grabbed his shirt again.

He didn’t need distractions. He didn’t need softness.

He needed distance. From you, from everyone.

But even as he walked out of the locker room, storm brewing in his chest, the faint echo of your laugh trailed behind him—sweet and sunny, like the warmth he swore he didn’t want.

And for a second—just one traitorous second—he wondered what it would be like to let it reach him.

𖦹 ☼ ⋆｡˚⋆ฺ ♡

The woods were quiet. Too quiet.

Birdsong had gone silent, wind stilled in the leaves. You and Sunghoon walked with an unspoken tension between you, your steps crunching over twigs and leaves as dusk swallowed the sky. You weren’t supposed to be out this far. But when Sunghoon snuck off with that stormy look in his eye, of course you followed.

Chiron had sent him to a little small quest just to check around camp, to see if there was any suspicious monster activity. And of course he’d say yes, always being so brave even though he knew the danger that would be waiting for him if he got outside for even 10 minutes.

You had just finished a small session of lyre practice, and your siblings wanted a few hours to rest, so you didn’t have much to do either, that’s why you went with him, even if he clearly was not very happy about that.

He didn’t even look back when he caught you trailing him. Just muttered, “You’re not supposed to be here.”

You grinned, softly.

“Neither are you.”

He rolled his eyes and kept walking.

It was almost funny—how predictable this little dance had become through the years. He brooded, you brightened. He snapped, you teased. He ran, you followed. It was like a little fun dynamic, one that you enjoyed, you liked his company even if he kept frowning his eyebrows and rolling his eyes and ignoring you. A little bit delusional, but you didn’t care.

But for some reason, tonight felt different. There was something electric in the air, like the sky was holding its breath.

You kept walking through the woods, the only sound being of your steps, your boots covered in mud, your arch clenched tight to your side. You weren’t scared, you had fought monsters before in small quests, but still, when the air turned colder, every hair in your body jumped, something was wrong.

And then it struck.

A blur of darkness. The smell of sulfur. The low, throaty growl of something ancient. You barely had time to register the hellhound before it lunged at Sunghoon from the trees. You widened your eyes, grabbing your arch, a small scream leaving your throat.

He moved fast—faster than anyone you’d ever seen. Blade drawn, lightning crackling at his knuckles. His first strike hit, but the second didn’t land. The beast was faster. Stronger. And it wanted him.

It slammed him into the ground with a sickening crack.

“Sunghoon!” you shouted, without thinking. And then you ran. Faster than you’d ever did before.

You were by his side in seconds, he was bleeding—his side torn open, breathing shallow. His sword lay feet away, knocked from his hand. The monster towered over him, muscles rippling, eyes glowing. It was ready to kill.

You didn’t hesitate.

Your arrow flew true—straight into its neck. It reeled back with a howl, giving you just enough time to get between it and Sunghoon. Bow discarded, you drew your dagger, heart pounding so hard it hurt. But you weren’t scared of the monster, you were scared of losing him.

“Get away from him,” you growled.

You fought like you were born to do it. Fast. Sharp. Precise. You moved around the monster with unrelenting speed, slashing, ducking, dodging, not stopping even when its claws grazed your arm. A gasp left your mouth, and you saw the blood starting to run, your delicate arm almost destroyed.

“You dirty ugly thing! That fucking hurt!” You screamed at it, and it responded with a loud growl that made the trees around you shake.

But you didn’t flinch, you passed your blade to your other arm and slammed it right into its face. Rage, because of the wound, because that thing was brave enough to touch him. And while you were alive, nobody had the right to hurt the man that you loved.

Sunghoon watched from the ground, stunned—more by you than the fight.

Because you weren’t just good.

You were exceptional.

And gods, you were furious. You didn’t stop until the hellhound collapsed, snarling, non-stopping, your hair sticking to your face as you moved around and fought with all your force.

One last strike before it dissolved into dust at your feet.

Your chest was heaving, your arm bleeding. But you were alive. The world felt a little hazy, your skin stang too much, the pain almost numbing.

But you didn’t care.

You turned to him immediately, dropping to your knees. “Sunghoon, are you okay? Are you—?”

He shoved your hand away as you reached for his wound. And you freezed, trying to smile like it was ok.

“I didn’t need your help.”

You blinked, breath catching.

“What?”

“I had it handled.”

“No, you didn’t.” You gestured to the ground. “You were on your back, unarmed—”

“I had it,” he snapped, voice sharp and cold. “I didn’t ask you to jump in.”

You couldn’t believe it. He was always annoyed by you, a lot. But this was another level, you just saved his life, you just killed a monster for him, you just showed him how much you cared.

And he still didn’t see it. Or refused to see it.

“I wasn’t going to let it kill you,” you said, louder now, trying to keep the shake out of your voice. “Gods, what is wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with you?” he snapped back. “You think because you shoot sunshine out of your damn fingertips you can just insert yourself into everything? I’m not some project you get to fix. I don’t need your stupid golden glow or your pity or—” he paused, eyes narrowing, “whatever this crush is you think you’ve got going.”

You stared at him, and suddenly the pain from your arm wasn’t that bad, because something in your chest was heavier. Your shoulders dropped.

He said it so easily. Like it meant nothing.

“I wasn’t saving you because I have a crush,” you said, voice tight. “I saved you because I care. Because I didn’t want to see you die. Is that really so horrible?”

He didn’t answer. He just stood—slowly, painfully, pressing a hand to his side.

And then, in a voice like thunder under pressure:

“Just stay the fuck away from me. I mean it, once and for all.”

You flinched, actually flinched. His words sliced deeper than any monster’s claws. And for the first time… you didn’t push back.

You didn’t joke. You didn’t smile. Because suddenly reality hit you like a train, he really didn’t like you, not ever, not after all this years, not after proving yourself for him.

You just stood there, eyes wide and shining in the dying light, and whispered, “Okay.”

And then you turned.

And walked.

And didn’t look back.

Sunghoon stood there in the wreckage—blood on his side, dirt on his face, and something breaking deep in his chest. He watched the sun disappear with you.

𖦹 ☼ ⋆｡˚⋆ฺ ♡

The lake shimmered under the afternoon sun, water glittering like it was mocking you. Like it knew.

You sat on the edge of the dock, feet dangling just above the surface, heels knocking softly against the worn wood. Around you, Camp Half-Blood was alive with summer noise—laughter echoing from the climbing wall, the thud of swords from the arena, the occasional burst of campfire song drifting on the breeze.

But you felt like you were somewhere else entirely. Somewhere quiet, somewhere hollow.

Your fingers twisted a daisy you’d picked, tearing it apart petal by petal.

“He loves me,” you mumbled, letting the petal float away on the water.

“He loves me not.”

Another petal.

“He loves me.”

Pause. Your throat tightened.

“He loves me not.”

You crushed the last petal between your fingers.

Why does it still hurt?

You hadn’t spoken to him in days. Not since the hellhound. Not since he bled on the forest floor and looked you in the eyes like you were the problem. Not since he told you to stay the fuck away like you hadn’t just saved his life.

And gods, you had. You did save him.

But he didn’t want saving.

Especially not from you.

And it wasn’t the rejection that stung — not really. You knew Sunghoon was all sharp edges and storm clouds, and you never expected softness from him. But what hurt was the way he acted like he didn’t want to be seen. Like your kindness was some kind of threat. Like he didn’t think he deserved to be helped, let alone loved.

You had your hand on his chest, pressing his wound, your fingers trembling and slick with his blood — and all he could say was I didn’t ask for this.”

You had laughed it off to everyone else. Joked like it didn’t matter. But now, alone with only the breeze and the lapping water to witness you—

“I don’t like him anymore,” you whispered, voice soft, uncertain.

Then louder.

“I don’t. I don’t like him. Not anymore.”

You swallowed hard and clenched your fists. “He doesn’t deserve it anyway. He’s mean. He’s impossible. He’s—he’s cold and rude and he hates when I talk and he probably hates when I breathe and—”

Your voice cracked.

And suddenly it was too much.

Your shoulders hunched forward, and the tears you’d been holding back for days slipped past your lashes, warm and silent. You pressed the heels of your palms to your eyes like that would stop them. Like you could push the ache back in. Like you could pretend you weren’t breaking.

But you were.

Not because he rejected you. You were used to that, he had rejected you many times before, since the first time you confessed. But because for a second—just a second—you really thought he saw you.

All of you.

Your spark, your fire, your light. Your strength, that you were actually more than just a girl with a stupid, embarrassing crush.

And you thought maybe he didn’t hate it.

Maybe he even… liked it.

But he didn’t.

He hated it.

He hated you.

More tears fell, faster now, wetting your cheeks, dripping onto your knees. You hugged them to your chest and buried your face in your arms.

“I don’t like him,” you whispered again, broken this time. “I don’t. I don’t.”

But the lie didn’t hold. Not anymore.

𖦹 ☼ ⋆｡˚⋆ฺ ♡

The sun had set hours ago, but the clouds still hovered low, thick and heavy in the dark sky like they were waiting for a reason to break open.

Sunghoon sat on the slanted roof of the Hermes cabin, legs stretched out, back leaning against the chimney. The air was cool—cooler than usual—but he didn’t feel it. Not because he was used to the cold. But because he was too wrapped up in the tight pull in his chest and the lingering sting of words he couldn’t unsay.

You weren’t looking at him anymore.

Not in training. Not at meals. Not even in passing. You just trained, talked to your friends, then stayed inside your cabin all day.

The absence of your gaze—it should’ve been a victory.

It wasn’t.

His jaw tightened as he glanced down at the campgrounds. Everything looked… normal. Someone from Hephaestus cabin was still tending to the garden torches. The Aprhodite kids were still braiding each others hair under the dim light of the sunset. Apollo’s kids—your siblings—were singing around the fire like they always did.

And you weren’t there.

He hadn’t seen your laugh in five days. He hadn’t heard your humming while walking past him, or seen your stupid bright smile you always wore when you were about to say something too fast, too loud, too you.

You were quiet now.

And all because of him.

“Good,” he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. “That’s good. She’s finally listening.”

He should feel at peace. This was good, this is what he’d been wanting for years, just distance from you.

He didn’t.

Instead, he felt this… gnawing weight in his chest. Like guilt, but heavier. Like regret, but sharper. And under it all—fear.

The same fear that always haunted him.

Because this wasn’t just about you.

It never was.

It was about who he was. What he was. The son of Zeus.

The mistake.

The threat.

People called him a hero, a legend, a symbol. He was the boy who stopped Olympus from burning. The one who survived a solo quest against a Titan army. The one who stood under a blackened sky at eighteen and thought—for one second—he had done something worthy.

Until the sky turned against him.

Until he saw that lightning bolt twist in the clouds—not towards the enemy, but towards him.

He still remembered the sound it made. The sharp crack. The way the earth split just inches from where he stood. The voice that followed, low and cruel, echoing in the wind.

“You were never meant to live this long.”

He’d stood in the wreckage, skin burned, blood on his lips, and realized—

His father had sent the bolt.

His father wanted him gone.

Because he was too strong. Too unpredictable. Too much like a god.

Too dangerous.

Sunghoon blinked hard and looked up at the clouds. There was no thunder tonight, no sign of his father. Just the heavy stillness of a world that hadn’t changed. The world he so much hated, the world that he didn’t belong.

No one knew. Not the other campers. Not the counselors. Not even Chiron.

Sunghoon carried it alone.

And now? He’d hurt you.

You didn’t deserve that. You didn’t deserve to get dragged into his chaos. You were light, warmth, all the things he wasn’t—and being near you felt like standing in the sun after years in the dark. And before, when you saved him from the monster without hesitation, without thinking about you first, just about him, just about his life. He couldn’t believe how you were that selfless, that warm-hearted.

But that was the problem.

Because eventually, even the sun burns.

And he was tired of fire.

So he said things he didn’t mean, he pushed you away like you were the threat. Like you were the one who might ruin him, not the other way around.

He told himself it was safer this way. You couldn’t get too close if he kept building the wall. You couldn’t look at him with those soft, hopeful eyes. Couldn’t touch his arm like you wanted to stay. Couldn’t see the cracks in him if he never let you close enough to look.

But now?

You were gone.

And he hated how much he noticed.

How quiet the world felt without your voice, even if he used to love his quiet life. How training didn’t feel like an escape anymore. How his victories felt hollow. How every time he shut his eyes, your beautiful face was there—angry, hurt, distant.

He pressed his palms against his eyes, breathing out slow and heavy.

“I’m not him,” he whispered, barely audible.

But he didn’t believe it.

Not when he saw the way your shoulders trembled as she walked away. Not when he remembered the look in your pretty eyes—like he’d destroyed something you didn’t even know you were handing him.

I’m not him. I’m not my father.

But every time he pushed someone away… every time he chose silence over kindness… every time he used his power to isolate instead of protect—

He saw Zeus in the mirror.

𖦹 ☼ ⋆｡˚⋆ฺ ♡

The sky had been rentless for days.

Even without a prophecy, even without Chiron’s grim warnings, everyone felt it—that gut-wrenching tension in the air, like the gods themselves were holding their breath. The barrier at Camp Half-Blood had been flickering at the edges like a candle about to go out, and the atmosphere felt like it was pressing down on the campers’ chests. Tighter and tighter.

You had been quiet all day.

For once, not joking. Not smiling. Not chasing after a certain grumpy son of Zeus who hadn’t even looked in your direction since your last fight. Your body ached from training, but your heart ached more. And the silence in camp? It felt too heavy to carry alone.

You stood by the archery range, fingers gripping the polished wood of your bow, eyes scanning the shadows of the woods. Something was wrong, you could tell, but you didn’t quite put your finger on it.

The air felt different, heavy, like something really bad was about to happen. And the clouds were gray, the day so gloomy, about to rain.

You sighed before starting to walk towards your cabin, planning to stay in bed all day so you could avoid looking at Sunghoon.

But then—a snap.

A branch. Far too close. Far too intentional.

You turned just in time to see a ripple—like something slicing through the barrier. A tear. Then it broke. Ripped, as if by claws.

The air screamed. Your heart stopped in your chest, your eyes widened, your legs trembled.

A deafening roar shattered the silence, and then all at once, chaos descended.

Monsters. Not one. Dozens. Charging through the weakened barrier like hell had opened its gates. Hellhounds, cyclopes, dracaenae—dark, massive, frothing creatures spilling into camp like floodwater.

The storm broke overhead.

And it poured.

It was all too fast, all too blurry, like a nightmare come to life.

Campers screamed and scattered, grabbing weapons, dragging younger demigods to shelter. Magic flared through the sky—flashes of green, blue, orange—but the monsters were relentless. They came in waves, more than anyone had ever seen inside the borders.

You didn’t hesitate.

You sprinted towards the east ridge, losing arrows as you ran. Your eyes scanned for anyone injured, for anyone alone, for your siblings — but it was too fast. A hellhound lunged towards you, and you flipped out of its path, spinning mid-air to shoot an arrow clean through its eye.

Thud. Down. Another behind it. Then another.

It didn’t stop. They were too many, and you were running out of arrows, out of breath, but you kept going.

The ground was soaked with mud and blood, and you could barely see through the curtain of rain. You ducked as a spear flew past your head, rolled, and landed hard on your side.

That’s when you saw it.

A chimera. Twice the size of the one in the old training books. Foaming, frothing, fire curling from its lion mouth and venom dripping from its serpent tail. The demigod killer.

Your breath caught, panick starting to rise, but you didn’t let it take you over.

It charged.

You fired once, twice, three times—all hitting, but barely slowing it down. Your chest was heaving, the blood in your veins running fast. It barreled through a group of campers, swiping one aside like a rag doll.

And then its eyes locked onto you.

“Oh, no,” you breathed.

You tried to run—slipped, the grass was soaked.

The tail struck first, slicing across your side, sending you skidding across the wet ground. Your bow flew from your hands. Blood rushed from your ribs. Pain bloomed white-hot in her chest. You shut your eyes, screaming, your hands shaking against the open wound.

But you stood.

Gritting your teeth, clutching your side, you reached for a dagger and faced the monster head-on.

“I’m not done yet,” you whispered, even as your knees buckled.

It lunged, and you raised your blade, ready to strike.

But then—BOOM.

A thunderclap exploded above you, followed by a bolt of lightning that struck mere feet from the chimera. The impact sent the beast reeling.

From above, slicing through the rain like a blade, he came.

Sunghoon.

Drenched, furious, glowing with power. His sword flashed silver in the stormlight, and his eyes burned with a rage that seemed to come straight from the sky. He didn’t yell. He didn’t need to.

He moved.

His blade danced in arcs—calculated, violent, beautiful. The chimera snapped its jaws, tail lashing, but Sunghoon dodged every strike with impossible grace. He struck again, slicing across its shoulder, then spun, slamming his boot into its head and sending it crashing to the ground.

But it rose again, roaring fire toward him.

He raised his hand—and lightning answered.

It struck the chimera square in the chest, setting its fur ablaze. It screamed once, then dropped, twitching in the mud. Dead.

Silence followed. Deafening. Campers stared from the tree line, breathless.

Sunghoon stood over the corpse like a war god—untouched but seething. He proved once again why he was the strongest warrior to ever exist.

And then you spoke, voice weak because of the pain, from both your wounds and your broken heart.

“Of course,” you groaned from where she was still on the ground, soaked, bloodied. “Here comes Zeus Jr.”

His head snapped toward you. Eyes narrowing, that same damn expression you once loved but you were starting to get tired of.

“You’re bleeding,” he said.

“No kidding,” you muttered, struggling to sit up.

He took a step closer.

“You should’ve stayed back.”

“I was back,” you shot, dragging yourself upright with the help of a tree. “It found me. I didn’t ask for a knight in electro-shining armor.”

Sunghoon clenched his jaw, sword still on his hand.

“I didn’t do it for you.”

“Sure.”

The rain poured harder.

“Stop trying to be a hero,” you said, bitterly. For the first time talking to him in this tone “You’re not the only one who can fight.”

“I know,” he snapped.

You scoffed, but there was no fun in your face.

“Then why do you act like I’m weak?”

“I don’t.”

“Yes, you do!”

“Because you don’t belong in the middle of this!” he shouted suddenly, and you flinched, blinking. “Because if you get hurt, it’s not just about you anymore, it’s—fuck.”

He turned away, fists clenched, rain soaking his clothes, his dark hair, his beautiful face.

Your expression shifted.

“Then what is it about, Sunghoon?” you asked, stepping closer despite the blood dripping down your arm. “Why do you keep pushing me away like I’m the enemy? Why do you act like I’m something to be afraid of?”

He didn’t answer. And you were furious.

“Why do you think you’re not allowed to be loved?”

Crack. Thunder rolled like a growl, and you flinched again, the sky reflecting Sunghoon’s expression.

He turned, eyes blazing.

“Because I’m a monster too!” he shouted, voice breaking. “Because I was born cursed. Because my father—the king of the gods—tried to kill me. Because every time I care about someone, the gods take it away. Because I saved Olympus and he still looked at me like I was wrong!”

You froze. Lightning split the sky behind him. A knot built in your throat, you couldn’t speak. This confession, it finally made sense to you. Why he was like that, why he pushed people away, why he was so focused only in training. And you realized too, Sunghoon wasn’t just brave because he was Zeus’ son, he was because he had no choice. Because deep down, where nobody saw him, he was actually really scared.

Of himself, of his lineage, of everything that his life meant.

You swallowed, opening your mouth but the words just didn’t come.

“I push you away because I don’t know how not to, Y/N,” he said, quieter now, throat tight. “Because I see everything I want in you, and I know I can’t have it.”

Silence. The rain softened just a little.

He couldn’t look at you, his gaze was on the ground, but you saw him. Not Park Sunghoon, the forbidden son, the strongest warrior, the child of the storm.

Just Sunghoon, the little boy you’d been in love with since you were ten, the little boy who had a cold wall around him, and he never let anyone in. The little boy who grew up alone, scared, and the little boy who’s own father tried to kill.

Then, softly, you said.

“You already have me,” you whispered.

And without thinking, you reached for him. You could barely walk, but you did anyways, fast, your heart pounding in your chest, but for the first time it wasn’t just because of a stupid crush, but for the immense affection you had for this man.

He flinched—but didn’t move.

And when your arms wrapped around him, something broke.

Not the sky.

Not the storm.

But him.

His sword dropped. His head fell to your shoulder. He grabbed you tight, as if he never wanted to let you go, or never wanted you to let him go.

And he let himself be held. For the first time ever.

𖦹 ☼ ⋆｡˚⋆ฺ ♡

The storm had passed, but Camp Half-Blood still bore its scars.

The training fields were torn apart, trees splintered, the ground muddy and red. Campers moved in hushed voices, some bandaged, others limping, the weight of what had happened still lingering like a bruise beneath the skin.

No one died, thanks to the gods.

The golden glow of the Apollo cabin had always felt warm—comforting in a way that mirrored its occupants. Now, that same golden light bled through gauzy curtains and danced across your skin as you laid on your bed, propped up by a nest of pillows, half-wrapped in bandages. Your laughter, soft and airy, filled the space, a balm over the storm the camp had just endured.

Your siblings buzzed around you like hummingbirds, fussing over your hair, feeding you sweetened nectar, adjusting your blanket, whispering far too loudly about a certain brooding demigod who’d taken post at the far corner of the room.

“Is he still there?” Taki whispered—not quietly.

“He hasn’t blinked in twenty minutes,” another added, munching on a cracker.

“He literally dragged her out of a battlefield like some tragic hero in a war movie,” a third said dramatically, hand on heart.

You groaned, pressing the heel of your palm to your forehead. “You guys are so embarrassing.”

“And yet, you’re blushing,” your sister teased.

“I’m injured!”

“Yeah, but not blind. He’s still standing right there.”

And he was.

Park Sunghoon.

Leaning silently against the far wall, arms crossed, a bruise blooming on his jaw, dark hair damp from the rain that still drizzled outside. His shirt was torn at the shoulder, exposing a long scratch that was half-scabbed and half-healed. Despite every opportunity, he hadn’t left since you were brought in—just stood guard like he didn’t know how to do anything else.

You glanced at him from beneath your lashes, a teasing smile playing at your lips. That same feeling in your chest, in your heart, that you’d had for him. It never went away.

“What can I say?” you murmured to your siblings, dramatically pressing a hand to your heart. “I’m so lucky.”

Sunghoon’s eyes flicked toward you.

He rolled them—visibly—but there was the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. A ghost of something softer. Maybe amusement. Maybe relief.

But he still owed you a conversation.

“Okay, out,” you said, waving your siblings away. “Shoo. Give a girl some space to die tragically in peace.”

One by one, your siblings peeled away with dramatic groans and cheeky winks, until the cabin settled into a golden silence, filled only by the hum of cicadas outside and the steady beat of your heart.

He looked at you again, serious, as always, but there was something different in his eyes this time, something warm.

Sunghoon hesitated before walking over. His steps were quiet. Measured.

You shifted as he sat carefully on the edge of your bed, hands resting on his knees, posture rigid like he was still braced for a battle that hadn’t come yet.

“You stayed,” you said softly, eyes flicking to his face.

“You got hurt,” he replied, his voice low.

“I didn’t need you to come.”

“I came anyway.”

That silenced you. For a moment.

Your fingers picked at a loose thread on her blanket.

“You haven’t said anything since.”

“I didn’t know what to say.”

“Well, you could start with I’m glad you’re not dead,” you joked half-heartedly.

He didn’t smile. But his jaw worked, like the words were stuck somewhere between his throat and his chest.

“I am glad,” he said, quieter this time.

You blinked.

Something inside you—tight and aching—twisted. You thought about his words from before, how he crashed out as if he’d been carrying with the heavy weight of what happened for years, how he’d been suffering alone.

“…Sunghoon?”

He didn’t look at you.

Instead, he exhaled deeply, and then… he started speaking. Slowly. Like he was trying to figure out how to make himself real for the first time in years.

“When I was five, the monsters wouldn’t stop. My mom said it was like I had a target painted on me. They were relentless.” His voice was flat. Detached. “She brought me here to keep me alive. Dropped me off and i never saw her again.”

You didn’t move. You barely breathed. You just let him talk, a bulge starting to built inside your chest.

“When I turned eighteen, the gods sent me on a solo quest. Olympus was on the verge of war. I stopped it. Somehow.” He swallowed. “They called me a hero. Said I saved everything. But…”

He looked at you then.

And you saw it.

The storm that lived inside his eyes.

“…My father was there. Zeus. He watched. He… waited. And then he tried to kill me.”

Sunghoon’s voice shook for the first time. “He said I was too powerful. That I could become a threat. Said it would be easier to eliminate the possibility.”

Your eyes filled with tears. “Oh, gods…”

“No one knows.” He shook his head. “Not Chiron. Not the other gods. I never told anyone. What would it matter? I lived. That should be enough.”

“It’s not,” you whispered fiercely. “It’s not enough.”

He looked away again.

“After that, I stopped trying to feel. I train. I fight. I do what they ask. Because if even my own father thinks I’m dangerous… maybe he’s right. Maybe if I let my guard down for a second, I’ll turn into him.”

You reached forward, your hand trembling, and touched his fingers.

He let you hold them, not flinching, not avoiding you like all of these years, just letting himself be real with you, letting you give him of some of your warm.

“Sunghoon… you’re nothing like him.”

His eyes met yours. His voice cracked. “Then why do I hurt people?”

“You don’t mean to.”

“I hurt you.”

You smiled through your tears, a shaky laugh bubbling from your lips.

“Yeah. Well. I kinda deserved it. I’ve been annoying you since I was ten.”

His mouth twitched again. This time, for real. You saw him smile for the first time, and it was the most beautiful sight ever. Your heart fluttered inside of you.

“You haven’t changed.”

“And you’re still grumpy.”

You stared at each other for a long moment.

Then Sunghoon reached out, fingers brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. His touch lingered on your cheek, thumb catching a falling tear. Your skin jumped, his hand was cold, too cold, but it felt good, sweet, gentle and you leaned to his touch, his eyes sparkling.

“Don’t cry,” he murmured, voice almost pleading.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“Shut up.” You sniffled. “You just trauma-dumped on me, i have feelings.”

He laughed quietly. A little broken. A little healed. But it was the most gorgeous sound ever, you wanted it imprinted in your mind forever. You realized that, maybe you were in love fully of this man, nothing he’d do would ever make you hate him.

Not after he told you his deepest secret, not after he saved your life, not after he opened with you.

You looked at him again, in silence, and his gaze never left yours. It wasn’t a cold look anymore—it was warm and bright, like the first rays of sunlight after a storm. The kind of warmth you’d always believed lived somewhere inside him, hidden beneath layers of scars and silence. And now, it was there. Open. Soft. Yours.

The breath caught in your throat. Every moment that had led to this—every time you’d chased after him with a smile, every time he pushed you away with gritted teeth—suddenly made sense. It was all leading here. To this quiet, breathless second.

Then he leaned in.

And kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed, or greedy, or anything like the heat that had been simmering between you for so long. It was slow—almost reverent. Like he was tasting sunlight for the first time. Like he was terrified it might burn him, but he wanted it anyway. His lips were soft but certain, moving against yours with a quiet desperation he’d never let himself show. One hand cupped your cheek, thumb brushing against your skin as if grounding himself in the reality of you.

You melted into him, hands sliding up his chest, fingertips trembling. A soft noise escaped your throat, half a gasp, half a sob, and he responded with a deeper kiss, pulling you closer like he couldn’t get enough.

The room was quiet except for the soft sound of your breaths, quick and shallow, his heavier, more labored. Your bodies were still pressed close together, but everything had changed.

Sunghoon was hovering over you, eyes dark and searching. The way his fingers brushed across your skin was reverent, like he was afraid of breaking something if he moved too quickly. And yet, the way you smiled at him, your hands drifting over his chest, made him feel like everything about this was exactly what he needed.

You were still catching your breath, lips tingling, heart stammering in your chest. You searched his face—his storm-dark eyes, the way his jaw flexed like he was trying to hold back everything he felt. But you could see it now. He wasn’t hiding anymore.

You leaned in again, brushing your lips against his in a softer kiss this time, almost shy despite everything. And he chased it. His hand slid from your cheek to the back of your neck, anchoring you as his mouth moved with more intent. A low sound escaped from deep in his throat, and you felt it everywhere—your spine, your stomach, the tips of your fingers.

He pressed you gently back onto the bed, following you down, lips never leaving yours. Your hands found the edge of his shirt, fisting the fabric as you tugged him closer. There was no more hesitation now—only want, only need, and the comfort of finally being seen.

When you parted for air, you were breathless, cheeks flushed. “Sunghoon…”

And when you shifted, pulling him just a little closer, he froze.

“You’re still hurt,” he rasped, pulling back slightly, his hand flattening over your bandaged side.

“So are you,” you replied.

“That’s not the same.”

“I’m fine.”

“You almost died.”

“And you didn’t leave.”

His jaw tensed. You reached up and pressed your fingers to his cheek, drawing his attention back to you.

“I want this,” you said quietly, honestly. “I want you. Not just the hero. Not the demigod. Just you.”

His walls nearly went up again. You saw it—the flinch in his eyes, the way his shoulders stiffened like he was about to retreat. But then, slowly, he exhaled. Let himself be seen. Let your words settle into the softest part of him.

“…Stay still,” he murmured.

You blinked. “What?”

“I’m gonna kiss you again.”

Your heart stuttered. “Then what was—?”

He kissed you before you could finish. Gentle. Deeper. Slow like the sky opening after a long storm. His hands found your waist, easing you back into the pillows, careful of your wounds, but not afraid to touch touch now. You opened beneath him, heat sparking low in your belly, breath hitching as your bodies aligned, as your hands dragged across the slope of his shoulders, his back, his chest.

He kissed your collarbone, then lower, taking his time. Every touch, every kiss felt like a promise—not just of desire, but of something more. Something real. His fingertips grazed the hem of your shirt, and he paused again, looking up at you with something deeper than just want.

“Are you sure?”

You just nodded, biting your lip, your heart pounding with so much force.

“I’ve been waiting for this. I…I saved myself, for you.”

It took him a full second to register your words.

Then another to believe them.

And when they did, they hit like a tidal wave. His hands tightened in the sheets, his breath stalling in his throat as he stared down at you with something between awe and desperation.

“You…” he rasped, swallowing hard. “You can’t say shit like that to me.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m barely holding on here,” he growled, dragging a hand down his face. “Because if you keep saying things like that, I’m going to stop pretending I can control myself around you.”

You shifted beneath him, fingers sliding into the hair at the back of his neck.

“Then don’t.”

That undid him.

With a strained sound, he kissed you again—deeper this time. Like he was drowning in you. Like everything he’d kept buried for years had broken through the surface and surged forward with no intention of retreating. His body pressed closer, mouth warm and hungry on yours, the air between you thick with heat and emotion.

The air between you grew hotter, heavier. He groaned softly as your nails scratched lightly down his back, and you felt him shiver, his body flush against yours now, every hard line of him pressing into your softness. He lifted your shirt over your shoulders, carefully, his touch cold but gentle, and you whimpered when his hands trailed down your torso, slow, but needy. You were left in the lacy white fabric of your bra, and he looked at you like trying to memorise every inch, like he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

"You're so beautiful" his voice came in a weak whisper, and you bit your lip, blushing.

His touch wandered more freely now, fingers tracing the delicate lace before gently sliding the strap off your shoulder. He kissed the skin he revealed, soft and slow, and you shivered. Sunghoon’s hands finally found their way beneath the lace, warm palms cupping your breasts with a reverence that made you gasp. His thumbs brushed your nipples and your back arched off the mattress instinctively, pressing yourself harder into him, into his touch, into the heat that coiled between your legs.

“Fuck,” he breathed, the word a low growl against your skin as he kissed down your throat, teeth grazing gently. “You’re driving me insane.”

You couldn’t help the breathless laugh that escaped you.

“Told you I was dangerous.”

“Yeah?” He lifted his head, eyes dark with desire and something deeper—something raw. “You’ve been playing with fire since the day I met you.”

“And look at you,” you whispered, dragging your nails lightly over the taut muscles of his abdomen. “Finally letting yourself burn.”

He groaned, then kissed you again, no hesitation, no restraint. His mouth was hungry on yours, his tongue sliding against yours with a desperation that made your toes curl. His hips rolled against yours and you felt him—hard, needy—pressing right where you ached most.

“Sunghoon,” you gasped, legs falling open to cradle his hips.

He gritted his teeth, one hand sliding down your stomach and unbuttoning your jeans with one swift motion. You felt like you were dreaming, you had been thinking about this moment for years, and it was finally happening. It wasn't just lust, it was something more, something that you felt inside of you, like you belonged to him.

You helped him shove the denim down your legs, leaving you in nothing but your underwear, flushed and breathless beneath him. His hand brushed over the damp heat between your thighs and his breath caught.

“You’re soaked,” he murmured, voice wrecked. “Is that all for me?”

You bit your lip, teasing even now.

“Guess I have a type. Grumpy, sword-wielding sons of Zeus.”

He looked at you with disbelief, but then he laughed. His laugh was low, strained, as he hooked a finger in the side of your underwear and pulled it down slowly, watching the way you squirmed beneath his gaze.

“Keep joking like that and I’m not going to last.”

You smirked, a little shy, a little wrecked.

“Then maybe stop teasing me and do something about it.”

That was all it took.

He slid two fingers into you without warning, and your head fell back with a choked moan. His movements were slow but deep, curling just right, hitting that spot that made your thighs tremble. Your pussy clenched around his digits as if it had been waiting for this moment too, soaked walls pushing him in, and he bit his lip watching his fingers glisten with your arousal, thrusting them, still gentle, but with skill, wet sounds starting to build.

“You feel like heaven,” he whispered against your throat, pressing kisses to your collarbone, then lower, until his lips wrapped around your nipple and you gasped, his body grinding against yours. “So fucking perfect.”

“More,” you gasped, hips moving against his hand. “Please, Sunghoon—need you.”

He sucked your nipple softly, soaking it with his saliva, and he twitched his wrist, his movements becoming faster, more purposeful. The wet sound of his fingers thrusting into you filled the air between your ragged breaths, you clung to him like a lifeline, the heat blooming under your skin, spreading like wildfire.

Your fingers tangled in his dark hair as he moved between worship and hunger—his lips dragging from your chest to your neck, teeth grazing sensitive skin. Then his thumb found your clit, slow, torturing circles that made you whine and rock your hips against him again, as he curled his fingers and brushed your g-spot.

Then, with shaky hands, you found the hem of his shirt, and slid it out of his body, throwing it on the floor. Your gaze trailed with sparkly eyes, he was a real life god, you were sure about that. His pale, glistening skin, the line of his abs, the muscles on his arms, and the perfect v-line in his hips, you moaned again, because it was the most beautiful sight ever. You took your time touching him, your warm, delicate fingers running through his torso. You felt his muscles flex beneath your touch, each slight tremor in his body feeding the dizzy heat growing inside you. He was still working his fingers inside you, coaxing out every soft gasp and whimper from your lips, but now he was shaking too—not from exertion, but from holding back.

"You really are the man of my dreams." A small smile painted on your lips, and he smirked softly, kissing you again.

He kissed you like he was learning every part of you—the pace, the sighs, the way your mouth moved against his. His tongue swept gently along your lower lip before slipping inside, claiming you all over again.

You whimpered into his mouth as his free hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing just under your eye with surprising tenderness.

“You feel like you were made for me,” he murmured against your lips. “Every inch of you.”

Your hands moved lower, tracing the lines of his torso, the sharp dip of his waist, until they reached the waistband of his pants. You hesitated for a heartbeat, eyes flicking up to his.

He nodded once, barely, but his gaze was molten—like he was begging.

You pushed them down slowly, revealing more of him, inch by inch, your fingers brushing over the firm muscle of his thighs. He was trembling now, barely holding himself back. His breath came rough and shaky, and he watched your every movement like it was the most sacred thing he’d ever witnessed. His length was hard and throbbing under his boxers, and you wasted no time in stroking him with your palm, slow, but still needy, your mouth watered, and he hissed between his teeth, hips bucking against your touch.

“You’re perfect,” you said, voice shaking. “So perfect it scares me.”

Sunghoon leaned forward, resting his forehead against yours, his body still pressed against yours like he couldn’t bear to pull away.

Everything about him—his scent, his skin, the sound of his voice murmuring your name against your throat—was imprinting into your senses. You never wanted to forget a single second.

And when he finally slid his fingers out of you, slow and slick, you gasped again, your walls fluttering around nothing, and he brought them to his lips, eyes locked with yours as he tasted you. A low groan slipped from his throat.

“You taste like fucking heaven.”

You blushed, overwhelmed, by the pleasure, by the lust, but also by his gaze, he looked even more ruined than you. You turned your face to hide your blush, but he caught your chin gently, guiding you to look back at him.

“Don’t,” he whispered, voice low and hoarse. “Don’t look away.”

His words settled deep in your chest, and you felt it—how everything in this moment had shifted. It wasn’t just lust. It wasn’t just longing. It was years of tension, of biting words and lingering stares, soft smiles and silent hopes—finally unraveling.

Then he straightened just a bit, knees against the mattress of your small bed, and he slid his boxers down, a gasp left your throat, and you squirmed at the sight. His cock was thick, hard, veins popping under the skin, red tip leaking, glistening, and not being cheesy, but it really was the most beautiful, not that you'd seen a lot, anyways. The thought made you chuckle, and you covered your face again, he looked at you with an eyebrow raised.

"Are you seriously laughing right now?" his tone was something between annoyed, horny and amused, and you laughed again, biting your lip.

"I'm sorry, i'm sorry! I was just thinking that you have a really beautiful dick"

He blinked, clearly not expecting that, and for a moment, his expression was priceless—caught between pride and disbelief. Then, slowly, a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he leaned over you, arms braced on either side of your head. He grabbed your thigh, strong, but not violent, and wrapped it around his waist, spreading you just for him, and you felt it again, your needy, leaking pussy clenching around nothing. But not for so long, because he grabbed himself by the base, leaning against your entrance but not pulling in yet, just rubbing his tip against your soaked folds, and you whined, arching your back.

"Beautiful, huh?" he murmured, his voice low, teasing now, brushing his nose lightly against your cheek. "You’re unbelievable."

You gasped, cheeks flushed, your body burning with anticipation and need.

“Sunghoon…” you whispered, your voice shaking. “I’m yours.”

And the way he looked at you in that moment—like you were both his salvation and his undoing—told you that no matter what came next, he was already too far gone to turn back.

With that, he pushed into you slowly, inch by inch, until he was fully seated inside, and your breath hitched—eyes fluttering shut at the stretch, the burn, the overwhelming fullness.

You gasped when he filled you completely, the stretch stealing your breath, a rush of overwhelming sensation blooming deep in your core. He was so big, and your body trembled from the way he held you — so tightly, so completely, like he was afraid you'd disappear if he let go. And gods, he was warm — inside and out — melting away the ache that had lodged in your chest for years.

You blinked up at him, vision blurred with tears you hadn’t realized had welled in your eyes. Not from pain — no, not at all — but from everything. Every laugh you’d chased him down for, every time he’d brushed you off with that grumpy scowl, every moment you told yourself it didn’t matter that he didn’t want you… and now, here he was. Inside you. Holding you like you mattered. Looking at you like you were everything.

He groaned low and long, grabbing you by your hips with one hand and cupping your cheek with the other, kissing you, hot breath and spit and tongue, and you moaned against his lips when he thrusted just a little bit, holding himself back because he didn't want to hurt you, not anymore.

You gasped when he bottomed out, his hips flush with yours, his arms trembling from the effort of holding back.

“Breathe,” he whispered, brushing your hair from your face. His forehead pressed to yours. “Just feel me.”

You did. Gods, you felt everything.

The way he filled you, stretched you, moved with you. Every slow roll of his hips made your legs shake, made you cling tighter to him, every vein stimulating your sensitive walls, how he throbbed inside of you. You never imagined he could be this gentle, this attentive—like every part of him was focused solely on you, like you were the only thing anchoring him to the world.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, his voice rough but soft, one hand trailing down your side, soothing over your skin.

You shook your head quickly, biting your lip, blinking up at him with glassy eyes.

“No, just… full. So full.”

Sunghoon cursed under his breath, pulling out a fraction and thrusting back in. Your back arched and you whimpered, your thighs wrapping tighter around his waist. He was so deep, so thick inside of you, stretching you, the whole world around you disappeared, and the air was so hot, your heart pounding inside of your chest, your body full of pleasure.

“You’re so tight,” he murmured against your ear, voice filled with lust and affection “feels like you were made for me.”

The words hit you harder than they should’ve, and a helpless sound escaped your lips—somewhere between a sob and a moan. His rhythm faltered for a second.

“Are you crying?” he asked, panicked.

You laughed through the tears, arms still around him.

"This is like the climax of my crush ok, don't judge me."

Sunghoon groaned and kissed you again, this time deeper, tongue sweeping into your mouth and stealing your breath. His thrusts picked up speed, the heat between your bodies climbing, burning. He was fully fucking you now, still gentle, but needier, messier, his hips rolled into you with strength, making him go deep inside of you, and your walls swallowed his cock, wetness dripping between your legs until they soaked the sheets under you.

Your fingers slid through his hair, nails lightly raking across his scalp, and the way he groaned into your mouth made you moan in return. He was losing control — unraveling with you.

His thrusts deepened, and his hand found your clit, rubbing tight, perfect circles that sent you tumbling over the edge.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered against your lips, his movements growing more desperate, more erratic. “And I’m so fucking lucky you didn’t give up on me.”

“I never would,” you panted, your nails digging into his back as he fucked you deeper, harder. “I never could.”

He shifted, adjusting your hips, grabbing one of your thighs and pulling it over his shoulder, and suddenly he hit that spot—the one that made your eyes roll back, the one that made your legs tremble violently around him.

“There?” he asked, lips ghosting your throat.

“Yes,” you cried, breath hitching.

He kept his rhythm, each thrust precise and devastating. Your moans filled the room, blending with the sound of skin on skin, the ragged pull of your breaths. The pleasure built higher, stronger, until your body was strung so tight it was hard to think.

“I’m close,” you gasped, your fingers gripping his hair. “Sunghoon—please—”

“Let go,” he whispered, staring into your eyes like he could see right through you, forehead against yours, voice broken “Come for me.”

His hand slid between you, rubbing your clit fast, messy, and you cried out, clutching him tightly, your body shaking with the intensity of it — a blinding, all-consuming wave that crashed over you and didn’t let go. The orgasm hit you, and your walls clenched around him, pulling him with you, and he groaned against your shoulder as he followed you over the edge, shuddering with each deep pulse inside you.

Sunghoon’s breath hitched as your body tightened around him, and the sound of your moans—soft, breathless, utterly overwhelmed—pushed him over the edge. His hands gripped your hips, holding you flush against him as he spilled into you with a low, broken groan, the kind pulled from somewhere deep in his chest, warm seed filling you up so good. His whole body trembled with the release, muscles taut, jaw clenched, forehead still pressed to yours like he needed to feel every part of you as he unraveled.

It wasn’t just physical. It was everything he’d kept bottled up—every wall he’d built, every fear he’d buried. They all crumbled in that moment, coming out in the way he whispered your name against your skin, reverent and raw. His heartbeat thundered against yours, syncing with yours in the quiet aftermath, breathless and heavy.

He didn’t move right away. Just held you. As if he was afraid the moment would slip away, like it wasn’t real.

You brushed your hand through his damp hair, both of you still flushed and dazed, and for the first time in a long while, he felt something dangerously close to peace. Then, with a slow movement, he pulled out, and you whined softly, feeling his cum drip from your core.

But he stayed there, against your chest, just feeling your heartbeat.

“You okay?” he asked quietly, voice hoarse, like he didn’t know what to say but needed to say something.

You smiled, kissing his head.

“You mean aside from the fact that I’ve just lived every single fantasy I’ve had since I hit puberty? Yeah. I’m thriving.”

He groaned. “Gods, you really can’t help yourself, can you?”

“Nope,” you said, popping the ‘p’. “You knew what you were signing up for.”

Sunghoon chuckled under his breath—soft and rare—and pulled the blanket higher over your bodies.

“Remind me why I like you again?”

“Because I’m charming. And hot. And because I’m the best archer in camp.”

He exhaled sharply through his nose, clearly trying not to smile.

“Delusional.”

“Mm, and yet here we are,” you whispered, pressing a lazy kiss to his jaw. “You, in my arms after you confessed your tragic backstory and fucked me senseless.”

“You’re so fucking weird.”

And despite everything—his fears, his walls, the storm still brewing outside—Sunghoon held you close and let himself smile, because somehow, with you, the weight didn’t feel quite so heavy.

𖦹 ☼ ⋆｡˚⋆ฺ ♡

You weren’t training today. Just watching.

You stood at the edge of the sparring circle with your chin in your hands, resting your elbows on the wooden fence, eyes fixed on him.

Sunghoon.

Your boyfriend.

The son of Zeus, war hero of camp, and—more recently—absolute heart-stealer.

He was currently fighting two Ares kids at once like it was child’s play, sword glinting in the sun, movements precise and confident, like he didn’t even have to think. His dark hair was tied up messily, loose strands falling into his eyes, his jaw locked in concentration—but he wasn’t scowling anymore. There was something lighter about him now. The storm inside him had settled, quieted.

And gods, you were staring.

Again.

Just like that day weeks ago. The same spot. The same boy.

But everything had changed.

Someone nudged your arm.

“You’ve been watching him for like… fifteen minutes straight,” one of your Apollo siblings whispered beside you.

“I’m admiring my boyfriend,” you whispered back dramatically.

“He hasn’t even looked over here—wait—nope, there he goes.”

Your heart skipped.

Because it was true.

Sunghoon had just looked up mid-swing, knocked an Ares kid flat on his ass with his sword’s blunt end, and locked eyes with you. You expected the usual eye-roll. Maybe a sigh or a sarcastic shake of his head.

But instead, he smirked.

Smirked.

And then he called out across the sparring field with his deep, rough voice loud enough for half of Camp Half-Blood to hear:

“You gonna keep staring at me like that, or are you finally gonna come over here and kiss your boyfriend?”

You blinked.

The training field went silent for like two whole seconds before everyone exploded into chaos.

Teasing whistles. “Get it, Y/N!” someone from Hermes cabin yelled. Chiron turned around so fast it looked like he was rethinking letting you both stay in camp. Your siblings screamed like they were in the stands of the Hunger Games. Even the Ares kids were impressed.

You covered your face with your hands, heat rushing to your cheeks.

“Oh my gods.”

Sunghoon just stood there, smug and sweaty and stupidly hot, sword resting on his shoulder like the cocky menace he was.

And you?

You jumped the fence and ran to him.

When you crashed into his chest and kissed him—breathless, laughing, in front of everyone—he kissed you back with everything he had, arms wrapping tight around your waist, forehead pressed to yours afterward like it was just the two of you in the world.

“You’re so annoying,” you whispered, smiling.

“I learned from the best.”

“You love me.”

He looked at you like the storm had never touched him. “Yeah,” he murmured, lips brushing yours. “I really do.”

So yeah, maybe your annoying crush for the forbidden son of Zeus finally, finally was reciprocated.

thank you for reading as always <3 hope you guys liked it, i didn’t proofread so sorry for the possible mistakes, i’ll fix them later !!

taglist: @gulicore @bussolares @vixialuvs @berryloveseunghan @lilifiedeans @m1kkso @usuallyunlikelyfox @jayjw16enxp @starfallia @bellsjakesgf @zuwishii @cutehoons02 @immelissaaa @nyxtwixx @kayjiguki @emisluvr @k1ttyjwon @cherrymaria58 @koizekomi @crysieberry @add-this-to-that @ii-mimii @luumiinaa @firstclassjaylee @elicheel @vintaegegirl @petalsofink @mariegibeau @tunafishyfishylike @kristynaaah @stercul1a

#enhypen smut #enhypen x reader #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #enhypen sunghoon smut #enhypen sunghoon #park sunghoon #park sunghoon x reader #park sunghoon smut #enhypen hard headcanons #enhypen hard thoughts #enhypen hard hours #enhypen fic #demigods series x ninisdollie

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bougiebutchbinch · 3 days ago

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megatron/starscream - A darkly delicious toxic (or outright abusive) yaoi, nutty notes. These old war criminals are clanging hatefully and with murderous intent. Rich to the point of overpowering. You will need your stomach pumped.

megatron/optimus - Your go-to lovers-to-enemies vintage. The other old war criminals are clanging, and making it literally everyone's problem. A timeless classic that pairs well with red meats and polished oak furniture.

skyfire/starscream- The cloying sweetness of old true love layered over the vinegar of divorce. Irrevocable change and anguish add a tongue-tingling tannin bite to this bottle. Lingers in your mouth for days.

optimus/starscream - Good boy meets bad in this fruity and light wine, with notes of hope, redemption arcs, and lots and lots of cuddles. Deceptively intoxicating.

optimus/skyfire - You might presume this to be a little bland, but the tragic undertones add chocolate complexity. A stable and gentle second romance after loss, too sweet for my taste but with hidden depths.

megatron/skyfire - I don't know who would drink this, but I want to study them

#megastar #megaop #starop #skystar #tfp #transformers #maccadam #transformers prime #thinking about my favourite love square or whatever shape they have going on

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honeybunnyale · 7 hours ago

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Cucked l J.M. & T.M.

w.c.: 11.6k

t.w.: Dark-ish fic, Smut, Breeding/Pregnancy Kink, Pervy!Joel, Themes of cheating and infidelity, set in Jackson (after season 1), slight violence, Tommy! He's taking your wife!

a/n: Please read warnings for all of my works before reading. 18+ only!

Summary: You want a baby so bad you fail to realize how it might affect your marriage. Joel impresses with his skills as a father and you catch yourself imagining him in your husband’s stead.

Tommy had introduced you to Joel, he thought you two would get along well. He just didn't expect you to get along that well. The first time Joel had laid eyes on you his face brightened, he tipped his head down at you, shaking your hand for a second too long.

Then, Tommy wrapped his arms around your waist and Joel had swallowed so thickly his adams apple bobbed.

He was happy for his little brother, he had a partner. He had a safe home to live out the rest of his life if he wanted to. There was a whole community that cherished him. Depended on his knowledge.

Tommy had even shown him the ring he had found and later surprised you with in an abandoned shop, on a route you two would usually patrol.

He was happy for his little brother.

That was until you started popping up all the time. You’d knock at his door in the morning, asking him to accompany you to breakfast at the hall or the Tipsy Bison. You always asked Ellie too. But in those moments, as you leaned against the doorway with your arms crossed, in jeans that fit you perfectly and a gun holster at your hip, with a smug smile and a raised brow, he felt as if you were only speaking to him.

You wanted his company.

Joel had the urge to ask you if he could help around Jackson more, he's sure he could do what Tommy does, maybe even do it better. But since he's so new, they have him working around town, gauging his skill sets. You already knew he was destined to be a patrolman, maybe help with construction and expansion of the town in his free time.

You would see his similarities to Tommy, definitely. Respectful and yet demanding respect in return. Although you knew Tommy was capable of great violence, it seemed like Joel was more willing to submit to it.

His gruff and closed off personality served as a warning. He was warming up to the town though. You like to think you were a great help in that.

The clatter of plates and cutlery clang around the hall consistently. You pick at the eggs and sausage, chewing slowly and sipping from your mug of coffee as you listen to the conversations around you. Your mind was wandering.

Joel nudges your elbow resting on the table gently with his. You shrug and sigh.

"Tommy's busy in the mornings, either on patrol or helping build something."

He hums as a response, fighting the urge to bring mouthfuls of food into his mouth to eat it all quickly. Instead, he places his fork down and passes a hand over your shoulder empathetically.

“Well that’s… Tommy.” He struggles with finding the right words for people in need of emotional support. He’s more of a man of action. Of course, you would never expect to discuss negative details of your relationship to Joel. They were brothers.

His attempt did lighten up your mood though.

Ellie had no shame, she wasn't paying attention. You patted the back of her hand whenever you noticed her scarfing down her food.

"You'll get a stomachache, babe," you scold softly, a hint of a smile on your lips. Joel looked at you appreciatively when she slowed down. She never listens to him, unless it was serious. It seemed as if a gentler approach was needed. Something he didn't think he could provide either.

Ellie had just finished eating, so quickly you hadn't even finished your own plate. You watch as she drapes her coat over herself, practically bouncing with energy to meet up with her new friends. Joel's expression softens when he sees the way you stare at her, a knowing look on your face, an eyebrow raised.

"Be careful, don't go running around by the gates‐"

Ellie says nothing, pursing her lips and wincing as if she were ready to ask for leverage. Joel straightens up and gives her a pointed look. You were part of the council, along with Tommy. Technically, you had power to kick anyone out of the town. Everyone knew you would never do that.

Despite the friendliness, the authority stayed prominent in your role in town meetings, even among your council members, most notably with your husband.

Ellie sighs and responds in a bored tone. "I won't. Promise."

You hum, skeptical. You had seen her the other day, along with her group. They were always up to something, most of the time just causing slight annoyances to the townsfolk. They were good kids but had low survival instincts.

You worry about her, as if you were her own mother. Joel is taken back to the night you had come over for dinner, Tommy busy being part of the patrol that evening. Ellie had confessed to you first about her crush on a girl she met in school.

"She's so fucking cool. She has all these tattoos‐"

Joel was washing up the dishes, Ellie was showing you around her bedroom, explaining every detail and knick knack, having stopped to explain a sketch pinned to her cork board.

"You have a crush on her?" you had asked simply, accompanied by a teasing grin.

She was nervous to discuss this aspect of her life, admittedly. To express it openly, if at all. Her face fell, growing paler by the second. She didn’t know how to bring this up in a conversation, especially not with Joel.

"Don't tell him..." She winces as she says it. It felt awkward even thinking about it with you. You cross your arms and narrow your eyes as you hear a shift from outside the bedroom. Joel must have come up the stairs, used to being quiet in his steps.

It had broken his heart. An axe pressing down the side, twisting and pushing so hard he thought he couldn't breathe for a second.

"I won't," you reply, smiling softly at her.

The beating organ in his chest seemed to plummet to his stomach.

"But..." you had pushed her hair back, pulling her to your side, your hand squeezing her shoulder and arm reassuringly, "That man cares about you so much, he would rather die than make you feel as if he didn't."

Ellie had told him in passing a couple of days later, then asking how to ask girls out, her eyes flickering from where he stood and the hallway every few seconds.

Of course you were there, sipping from one of his mugs, enjoying the coffee he had offered to share with you. He smiled at you so gratefully you thought another man was staring at you. He’s sure if you hadn’t reassured Ellie she would have never mentioned a thing.

It was sweet, watching him try to explain how to impress a woman, turning to you for help but only being met with a shrug and a smirk. You liked watching them communicate, live, just be. He really did care about her like a father, a good one, even if he asked too many questions about this mystery girl named Kat.

You were starting to see her as a daughter too, although you don't think you'll ever confess that to anyone, not even Tommy. If anything the closest thing you could be with Ellie is her aunt.

You sigh when she leaves the dining hall in a rush now. You briefly glance down at your lap, feeling your disappointment flare in your mind once again at waking up to find out you were going through your cycle that month.

…

A month ago, Tommy had told him how you were trying. He finally felt safe enough and sure of the town's own wellbeing. He was starting to look towards settling down. With you.

Joel got quiet after that conversation, letting him talk on and on about how you two were reorganizing your home, gathering supplies for the baby or babies if you were lucky enough. Tommy had winked at that, a smirk firmly planted on his face mentioning offhandedly that he remembers their uncle having twins, as well as their grandparents having a pair as well.

Joel had excused himself afterwards and you had caught him at the door of your house just as he was stepping out.

"Hey, Joel," you had greeted, pulling him into a hug.

You wrapped your arms around him tightly, your hands sliding up his sides and onto his back, accidentally going under his jacket. Your chest was flush against his, he could feel your breasts squeeze and compress against him.

He reciprocated all too willingly, you gave a surprised chuckle as he squeezed you close. His chin rested against your head for a second, he caught a whiff of your aroma, a hint of lavender from the soap an old woman makes and sells at the butchers from animal fat and herbs.

Tommy must have bought you some. He swallowed thickly and kept you at an arm's length.

"Mrs. Miller."

You chuckle, he'd call you that and it would sound as if he himself had given you the name to keep. You vaguely remember the time a newcomer had asked where your husband was, Tommy sitting right next to you.

You gave them a weird look, then they clarified, "Where's Joel?"

Tommy had chuckled it off, ignoring your growing frown. It was funny to him, but it wasn't to you. He hadn't thought of the implications of the misconception like you had. It had become a running joke, one you didn’t really appreciate as much as the rest.

When you thought about it, you and Tommy are only ever together at night, when he is done with his day. Most of your activities now included fucking or sleeping. It felt as if you barely even spoke a full conversation nowadays.

You had glanced inside the house and a glimmer of hope filled you as you saw Tommy.

"How are you?" you ask, your attention visibly diverted elsewhere but at Joel. You glance back at him, in front of you, smiling politely at your brother in law, hoping he might leave soon.

Joel nods, pursing his lips, hating the way you had stepped back and your warmth left him, your hands resting on his forearms so that you could have a small courteous chat before he left.

"Good,” he purses his lips and sucks in his teeth. He had half a mind to tell you to mind your manners at your indifference.

“Heard you were thinkin' of adding a Miller to the family."

Your face scrunches in what looks to be embarrassment and some form of annoyance. Tommy loves to go around town and run his mouth, you glanced behind Joel to catch Tommy leaning against the doorway, you narrowed your eyes playfully before your face fell a little, seeing that he had his boots on along with his pack on his shoulder, ready to leave again.

You focus back on Joel.

"Yeah, hopefully. It's taking a bit."

You look down to the ground, trying to hide your disappointment. When he turned back, he could see Tommy's own look of slight despair. Your relationship was at a strain, despite himself, he started to find elation in his heart at the fact.

Especially when you started to talk to him about it.

…

"How are you?" Joel muttered, still sitting next to you at the hall, an hour after Ellie had left. A question was echoed back to you for once, since you always wanted to know about everyone else's day.

You nod, followed by a small "Good," which he didn't believe at all. He reaches a hand across the table, and he wonders how Tommy never understands why people mistake you and Joel for a couple. You flip your hand, slowly as if you were hesitant. Your fingers twist together with his tightly in confidence.

"Is it Tommy?"

You sigh, breathing out shakily and attempting to smile and brush off the sadness that envelopes you.

"It's not… he's working. I know I shouldn’t be selfish- it's just, I wish he would stop playing hero so much.”

You sigh.

“It just feels as if he's not here with me anymore."

Joel knew all too well how Tommy gets when he sets a goal. He came all the way to Wyoming from Boston all by himself for god's sake. He tends to leave his family behind. Joel would never. Especially not if he had a wife at home, ready to build a family with him in a prospering community.

You look around the room and find that only you and Joel were there. No food was being served at the moment, not until lunch. You finally let yourself break.

Your eyes fill with tears, your lips start to wobble and you try to hide your face with your hand.

"I just‐ I feel so lonely sometimes."

His arms go around your shoulders, you’re enveloped in his scent and warmth. Shivers go down your spine. When was the last time Tommy had held you this way? His head atop yours, squeezing you tightly and pressing you against his chest as he cradles your head. It's been too long.

"Hey, darlin'. I'm here, it's okay," he whispers. He pulls back to see you so broken, so beautiful and vulnerable. He hates the way his heart beats wildly at the hopeful way you look up at him with half lidded eyes.

"You're not alone, baby. I'm right here with you."

He looks into your eyes deeply, his hands cupping your face. It was wrong, he knew it was. It should be Tommy in his place, he shouldn’t have started leaning in, his eyes shouldn’t have flickered to your lips, prompting you to do the same.

Something desperate had built in your chest, aching to be released.

You grip him by the lapels of his thick jacket, pushing yourself to meet his lips with your own eagerly. He reciprocates with a deep groan, as if he had been holding it in since the day he met you.

You don’t stop when he has coaxed your mouth open, his tongue sliding past your lips and caressing your own. You don’t stop when you give a high whine, feeling your core pulse at the way his hands travelled to your waist, dipping into the denim of your jeans to grip the fat of your hips.

You don’t stop when your hands run over his hair, feeling the roots and lightly tugging. But you realize his hands were different, his lips and his hair weren't what you were used to.

You stop when you realize you weren't kissing Tommy. Your husband. The man you wear your ring for.

You push away quickly, leaving Joel leaning towards you as if he couldn't get enough. He genuinely couldn't, your taste was intoxicating, the feel of your body against his so intimately made his mind blur.

“Shit-Joel-“

He attempted to kiss you again, but you leaned further away, standing and shaking your head in shock. He watched you leave, rushing to put on your jacket, taking big strides.

You glanced at him one last time as you passed by the window, catching his stare, how his mouth hung open and he licked his lips when you had stopped slightly only to continue forward, flustered.

One thing was for sure, as he watched you go to the stables, shaking your hands vigorously and slamming the doors forcefully, you were like a drug to him.

…

You had acted as if nothing had happened, you hadn't gone to his house for dinner, you hadn't invited him to get breakfast with you and you haven't been alone with him since.

It was just a kiss, he thought. A kiss and he lost you for who knows how long. He watches you closely when Tommy invites him over for dinner, how you talk to Ellie most of the night, how you keep a hand on Tommy at all times like a message.

You were Tommy's and you wanted him.

He could see through the facade easily. He wonders if you think of the kiss often. If you imagine Joel instead of Tommy when he fucks you. He thinks of you often, almost every night when he jerks his cock in his fist, imagining your whines and whimpers, how wet you must get and how you crave touch so intensely.

He imagines you under the layers of clothes you wear, how he would peel them off slowly, make you squirm under his gaze. Some nights your stomach is as it normally is, soft and healthy, others it's swollen, so much so your breasts rest atop it like a shelf.

He likes those nights, when he imagines himself giving you the baby you wanted, which Tommy seems to be lacking on. He'd stave himself off, letting go of his cock or squeezing so tightly his orgasm is lost. He'd have a vision in his mind, your big puffy tits in his mouth, sucking at a constant rate to get your milk going down his throat and falling heavily into his stomach.

He wanted to be full of you, satiated by what you provide. He wanted you to be full of him. Fucking twins. You had told him the other day, before you had started avoiding him entirely, how twins run in your family.

Two beautiful babies. Healthy and chubby because you two would take care of them with so much love and care. Beautiful babies he would watch grow and become beautiful people.

He would hug you goodbye and it would make your skin crawl, in a good way, debating by the way your breath hitched and goosebumps would spread over your arms.

What really made him know you felt a thrill go down your spine was the fact that you smelled different.

Joel had dropped off a gift for you as an apology, soap. Milk and Honey. Tommy delivered it right to you after they had done a patrol together, not knowing its true intention. You even sent a half hearted note in thanks back to him, of course Tommy serving as the middleman.

You smelled so warm now, homely. Motherly.

…

You started feeling sick a couple months later and the next few months were filled with celebrations and gatherings all for the growing Miller family. He started seeing you more often, his desires increased tenfold. Each time he would see you, your belly would be slightly larger, your body softer but your eyes were starting to dull.

Tommy's appearance was becoming less and less prominent and you would be surrounded by mothers and parents, elderly and children, all trying to ensure that you were doing well.

Your eyes only ever brightened when Ellie was around, which wasn't often anymore. She was growing into a young adult and to be completely honest she didn't find anything worth talking about with you anymore, not since your condition had impeded you from riding on a horse comfortably, let alone help patrol or keep up at the stables.

It felt as if everyone was slowly starting to avoid you. At least the people you cared for. Tommy picks up any job and task he could get his hands on, and Ellie is off with her friends, worrying the whole town.

Recently, they had made their way out of Jackson, taking some of the horses from the stables without telling anyone. You remember the look on Joel's face when a patrolman found them out and drinking alcohol, he was so red and his brows were so furrowed deep he looked cartoonish.

Your heart had warmed at his sigh afterwards, shaking his head and most likely having counted to ten in his head to keep in his anger. A pat on the back is all he did, telling her to go to school and that when she came back they were going to discuss some things.

His eyes connected with yours afterwards, catching you staring and for the first time in a while you kept your gaze steady. Your hand had gone to the now prominent swell of your middle, wondering how Tommy would have reacted to the very same situation Ellie was in.

Would he shout and scream or would he collect himself and give a stern warning? Now that you thought of it, he didn’t really interact with children all that much. Joel was so patient with children, Tommy had told you about Sarah, how Joel had stepped up to be a single parent and was amazing at it.

Tommy talks to Ellie, you suppose, but that was because Joel would bring her around all the time. Would he even be a good father?

You stop yourself before you could think about it more. Thinking about wanting Tommy to be like Joel was mean. This was his first time being a dad, Joel had already done it before. It wasn't fair to judge so quickly, especially if the baby wasn't even in his arms yet.

But wouldn't it be nice... you imagine Joel with a baby in his arms, swaying ever so slightly, smiling down at the bundle of warmth. Then he would look at you, his eyes softening when you smiled softly at the scene.

In that moment, as Joel smiles at you and you smile sheepishly back, he took it as a sign that he could get close again.

Joel isn't the type of man to let an opportunity go to waste.

...

You waddle, you waddle now, and it was exhausting. There was no one to complain to, no one to even talk about these problems you have been dealing with because Tommy was tired too.

He would come back home, finding you half asleep with a book in hand on the rocking chair he had been able to get by trading with a grumpy old man arguing about which was worse, back pain or a seven pound baby weighing down on your hips. He had barely spoken a word before he went up to shower and ultimately go to bed for his morning shift.

He didn't hear how you shifted in bed, trying to find a comfortable position, how sometimes you would wake up nauseated and puke when he was still asleep. He wasn't even there when you felt the first kicks, when you had dropped your laundry basket to the floor and stood in shock when you had finally felt something shift.

The event was announced in passing, a comment about having felt the baby, and it was shrugged off, a passing hand at your shoulders and a peck to your lips before he left.

It was disheartening and disappointing. Things were so good before, then you had asked to build a family with him and you regret it now. You had just gotten married and you were so desperate for how things were before the outbreak that you didn't realize how hard things would be to even get ready for such a monumental step in your life.

Tommy wanted you to be as safe as possible. He wanted the baby to be as safe as possible. According to him, the only person tasked with being able to complete those goals was him. He was taking the lead in patrols, taking the lead in council meetings and interventions, oftentimes taking your place and not even calling you in for a hearing.

‘You’re pregnant, you can't be walkin’ much. The stress will hurt the baby, let me take care of it.’

You were hoping to talk about it in the evening when you knew Tommy would be home. He had taken a morning and night shift, having midday to rest. You hope it meant you would see him more, to stop thinking about other men in his stead.

A bell from the door startled you, and when your head turned sharply to the clock by the wall your heart started pumping with joy. The door opened and Tommy was met with a bright smile.

The hug had made him take a step back, almost losing his balance from how you threw your whole body in his arms. He held you as tight as he could, slightly swaying and sighing from the way your head fell almost perfectly into the warm junction of his neck and shoulder.

Your bodies radiate happiness, your minds turning blank at each other's touch. His hands gripped yours tightly when you had started roaming, your lips already working over his exposed neck after a few seconds of inhaling his deep musk.

It's been months since you've been this close and your body needed some release. You were already wet, your pussy clenching at the thought of him taking his jacket and flannel off and exposing his broad chest and shoulders in the tight thermos you knew he wore all the time to keep from the winter's cold.

You held in a moan at the taste of his skin, your tongue peeking from your lips teasingly and your hand moving to the front of his pants that you felt slowly becoming firmer with each passing second.

You groaned in frustration when he had stopped you, pulling back to look in your eyes, his brown orbs full of playfulness and slight disappointment.

"Joel and Ellie are going to stay awhile, we can't right now, honey."

It took a minute, you were licking your lips, shifting uncomfortably as he stepped back and let go of you. Then a couple feet from your front porch Joel Miller comes striding in, a small, soft smile on his face as he trudges up the steps, carrying a pack with him.

"Mrs. Miller," he greets, humor in his voice. Your eyes narrow at his confidence as if you hadn't made every move to not be in his presence alone for the past few months.

Tommy's hand caresses up and down on your arm, trying to soothe the mounting disappointment and discomfort at his arrival. His hand gently sweeps over your belly as he kisses the side of your head.

"The generator doesn't work, tried to fix it, but looks like something's off with the wiring."

You eye Joel and Tommy, squinting between the both of them in disbelief.

"I- I know I haven't asked the woman of the house yet." He chuckles nervously, expecting you to chuckle with him. You just stare, his face falls slightly, "But I had already offered them the guest rooms and a Miller always keeps their promises."

...

Tommy learned how to cook for you. It was rough the first few times, when he would give you either burnt food or half cooked and raw meats but with each dinner he had gotten better. Staring at his back, you watch him gathering ingredients from cupboards, turning to ask if you knew where certain things were and smiling when you just motioned with your head in annoyance.

You stand with your back against the kitchen island, sighing loudly from the company. You remember the night he proposed, he pulled his hair in a bun, like he did now to cook, and wore an old dress shirt. He found a record player, brought it home and played some slow songs. His eyes looked so deep into yours that night, it felt like you fell in love all over again.

Tommy turns to you, crossing his arms and giving you that gigawatt smile and it feels as if your chest was starting to combust, the memory of that night suddenly coming to fruition again.

He doesn’t want you to be upset at him. He misses you too. So much. He takes a step towards you, his hand reaching out-

"Can I?"

Joel's chest blocks your view, you stand up straighter. He didn't ask again when you looked up at him in confusion, his hands already at your stomach, roaming. His fingers prod at the end of your shirt- Tommy's shirt, and pulls up to reveal a sliver of the skin of your stomach.

"Your niece has been growing," Tommy adds after a few seconds, going back to focusing on the stove. He was oblivious to the way you shifted on your feet uncomfortably.

"Niece? You think it's a girl,” Joel asks, looking down at you, his brow quirked.

"Know so, I can feel it," Tommy responds.

Joel smiles softly when you do, glancing behind his shoulder, to look Tommy with a lovestruck look. Tommy deserves a good life; he just hates that it had to be with you. Maybe if you weren't already together when he arrived, he would have swooped in and taken you first.

Maybe then he would be the one telling Tommy that his niece was growing in your belly instead of the other way around. He turns to you.

"Have you gotten any cravings yet?"

He stares down at you, his eyes moving to your lips and staying there. Tommy couldn't see the glint in his eye, the way his thumb moves in circles on the skin of your belly, slightly pushing up your shirt further.

"No, not yet,” you respond quietly.

You swallow thickly when he hums, it vibrates from his chest to yours, you throb at the feel of his warm palm, riding up your stomach, the smirk of his lips widens.

"It'll happen soon enough, makes you crazy I think, especially now when you can't have what you really want."

The shake of your head makes him chuckle, you glare at his shoulder.

"I'll give her whatever she likes, she's never been without, not with me around."

You purse your lips, quickly finding the irony in your husband’s words. Joel barely turns his head when speaking back to him. He hums again, considering his words.

"You sure?"

Tommy glances back for a second, confused, not quite catching on, still focused on the pieces of steak on the stove. Joel's hands start to drag down lower, moving to your hips, his thumb at your hip bone and digging closer into the front zipper of your jeans, held together with a hair tie.

"What cravings we talkin' about?" Tommy’s voice was unsure, as if he had caught onto something suspicious. Your breath stutters, Tommy's head turns from where he was cooking at the pan.

"I don't know Tommy, maybe I'll want some ice cream."

You interrupt, seeing Joel's eyes squint and his mouth purse.You weren't sure he was going to say what he wanted to, but you knew it was on the tip of his tongue. He was bold and it made you anxious.

"Maybe some pickles with the ice cream,” you reiterate, attempting to lead the conversation to a lighthearted end.

Tommy laughs and Joel frowns when you step away, moving to get a glass of water from the water jar on the kitchen counter. With a kiss to your head, his hands still busy on the sizzling pan and wooden spoon, Tommy chuckles.

"I'll get you all the pickles you want, darlin'."

He winks and swats your ass gently, you scoff, swatting his arm. What concerned you was the fact that Joel had scoffed along with you. Tommy laughs, pointing at Joel with his spoon.

"Sorry, can't take my hands off my lady, maybe you'll get what I mean soon, since you got all them women pecking at your feet."

You expect the conversation to end there, you almost sigh in relief at the seconds of silence afterwards.

"I got my eyes on someone, I'm sure you'll like her Tommy."

"Oh really?"

"Yep."

"Can I meet the lucky gal?"

"I'm sure you already know her since y'know, you've been here longer and it's a pretty small town."

Tommy smiles. He was happy for his older brother, finally settling in. He glances at you beside him, knowing that you had a big part in assimilating him into the town. You glance behind you as if you knew something he didn’t.

His heart swells at your close friendship. He had hoped his brother would have accepted you and the other way around, especially with the stories he had told you about his past.

You knew everything about Joel and he had told Joel everything about you.

"I'm sure I do,” he responds seconds later, arching his brow in your direction.

Your ears burn hot, you don't dare turn around, knowing Joel was grinning right at you.

Lunch was awkward, Tommy had sent you both to set up the table and you had tried to hide your displeasure despite the way Joel's hand on the small of your back made you want to jump out of your skin.

It wasn't horrible, it was a good feeling, especially when he had made you sit down while Tommy finished up, massaging your shoulders, then moving down to your lower back, his fingers grazing over the top of your ass.

A moan had escaped you accidentally, making him stop his movements momentarily and continue with more vigor over the stiffness of your muscles.

"Such pretty sounds coming from a pretty mama," he mutters.

"Joel-“

“It’s ready!”

You shift away a little too quickly, standing and facing Tommy at the doorway. Your hiss from the ache in your back, the sudden weight pulling you down. Tommy immediately goes to your side, urging you to sit back down, barely noticing how close Joel had been seconds before. You eat in relative silence, the dinner lasting longer when Ellie had come in, just coming from her friend’s house.

You only had a few moments with Tommy the rest of the evening, he held you, swaying in the middle of your bedroom, about to put on his boots to leave for patrol. It was always nerve racking, watching him leave now, especially since you used to accompany him all of the time before and now you physically couldn’t. At least he had Maria looking after him. But the worry was still ever present.

“Just a few days and we’ll have the house to ourselves.”

You nod against his chest, gripping his waist tightly. He cups your cheek, feeling your hands shake, trying to keep yourself from crying.

“Hey, I’ll come back, I always do, yeah?”

You nod again and he frowns at your lack of eye contact. His lips soften you some, coaxing your mouth open, making your legs turn to jello at the feel of his hands gliding over your body and pushing you to sit on bed. Your shirt comes off quickly, and he stares in amazement, for the first time in a while seeing your breasts bare.

“They’re bigger, honey.”

You huff a short laugh, watching his hands hesitantly cup them, squeezing and making your nipple bulge from between his fingertips. You moan, your lips parting, your thighs shifting. He looks mesmerized, his tongue flicking outward, his knees shifting closer to you. You spread your legs, already unbuttoning the front of your makeshift maternity jeans, his torso already slotting against the insides of your thighs.

You smell good, he’s been able to get some scented oils for you, mostly for your growing body, to help soften your skin. The things that he’s given up to make sure you were well off. It made him miss these moments with you. He was still amazed at how much the baby had grown.

Then his eyes started flickering, moving to the side as his eyes narrowed. The clock was glaring at him, making him groan in irritation and startling you. He stands, picking up your shirt and helping you put it on.

“Gotta go…”

You barely reciprocate the kiss before he leaves.

…

The stomach makes things more complicated. Your balance is off, you could barely see your toes and you weren't as flexible as before. Your arm had to curve to even reach your pussy, which normally shouldn't have been a problem since you had Tommy around. But you were aching, you barely had any time alone with him and considering Joel's generator had decided to stop working entirely when your schedules were finally aligned you don't think you ever will.

You groan in frustration, your head pressed against the pillows and your eyes closed shut to imagine his scent, his taste, the softness of his hair. You move your hips, imagining his thrusts, your hands running down his bare chest and counting all of the freckles and marks on his skin whenever you rode him. You missed his cock, uncut, thick, hard.

You moan even without touching yourself, imagining him on top of you, his lips at your throat, his teeth biting at the skin of your neck. You didn’t think to lock the door, or pay attention to the way the wood creaks.

"So beautiful…”

You stop your movement, not being able to sit up quick enough and cursing yourself when all you could do was cover yourself with a thin blanket from the side. You stare at him, standing by the door, watching and walking in slowly only to close to the door. The bed dips when his knee connects to the mattress, crawling towards you in your shock.

“He doesn’t take care of you does he?”

You scowl, glancing at him and the door.

“Joel, what are you doing?” you hissed.

His hands reach to cup your face.

“Let me. Please.”

Your eyes were swollen in unshed tears of frustration, your hands were shaking in nerves. He imagines he’s in his home, and you were laying on his bed, naked and so damn horny you could cry. He kisses you softly, cupping your face unexpectedly and dipping you to lay down again. You lean into it helplessly, feeling your hands grasp onto his shirt and grip so tightly it twists. You were the one to take it further, to make sure he stood still when your tongue started dipping in between his lips.

You were so desperate for touch, for any sort of skin on skin that you had momentarily lost yourself, moaning into his mouth, swallowing his groans down and pressing your hands wherever you could to feel him against you. Your hormones were going insane, raging through your body in pulses of pleasure when you sat up again only to push him down and straddle his lap.

His hand runs over your stomach, pressing slightly on the newly formed firmness.

“He hasn’t touched me, not since…”

You motion to your stomach and press further into his chest.

“He’s depriving you, needy thing. You needa cock in you every night, don’t ya. Need cum to fill you to the brim.”

Your hands grip onto his shirt tightly, unbuttoning the front and revealing a white undershirt. You make him groan, teeth nipping harshly at his bottom lip and grazing down his jaw and throat.

“You make me feel good, Joel,” you whispered. Your body was a mess of hormones, you were already dripping by the time his fingers pressed your underwear to the side, making you gasp onto his neck.

There was barely any resistance at his cock, entering you quickly in a thrust. The mattress creaks with each press of your hips, your belly kissing his with each undulation. Your breasts bounce and for a moment his eyes are stuck on the movement, your head thrown back and your hands tightening over his shoulders as you raise your thighs and slap them down again. His hand cradles your belly, his thumb running over your folds and grazing your swollen clit.

He’s amazed by the growth of your stomach, each time. He pretends it’s his, you do too, even if for a moment.

“You're so full of me, sweetheart.”

His cock was stuffing you repeatedly, stretching you wide every time you bounced and your cunt met the base of his shaft. You arch your back, your hands leaning back on his thighs. His head leans forward and his mouth reaches the peaks of your breasts, tongue flicking your nubs in time with his suckles.

“Does Tommy fuck you like this?” He murmurs against your skin.

Your eyes widen, you gasp when he bites down lightly. You clench tightly, the thought of your husband finding you fucking his own brother made your body stiffen and tremble.

“N-not anymore.”

Your wetness covered his lap, smothering the insides of your thighs in slick. His hands grip your hips tightly, lifting you and pressing you harder than your pace. Your body stiffens, your head filling with a pleasant and euphoric fuzz.

“So fuckin' tight, so wet-“ he groans, “how could he resist you, mama?”

Your back hits the mattress, despite the initial discomfort of having your legs spread to either side of your chest, your knees meeting the sides of your breasts, the press of his hips against yours makes your body turn soft and pliant.

The bed creaks, the frames slamming against the wall. Your breath leaves you in puffs, his body over you and his lips attached to your neck, leaving a thick trail of spit from your chest to lips. His hands entangled in yours, his groans next to your ear. You couldn’t think of anything else but him, anything but the way his cock slid into you, making your slick squelch against each slap of skin.

“Tommy doesn’t know the first thing about taking care of a family,” he groans.

He stills, making you whine, your pussy tightening and your hands gripping over his strongly. His head lifts, staring deeply into your eyes, one of his hands cupping your stomach, his thumb smoothing over the gravid swell soothingly. He whispers promises on your lips.

“I’m going to take care of you. You and the baby.”

His thumb presses hard against your clit. You whimper, closing your eyes tightly, nodding lightly.

“Gonna give you more, as much as you can give me.”

He gets lost in your face, brows furrowed in pleasure, lips wide open in ecstasy. His hips move slowly, the tip of his shaft meeting your lips and sinking in, building you further into your climax. He closes his eyes, grinding his pelvis against yours, feeling your legs start to shake, your moans getting higher in pitch. Louder.

You gargle a scream when you lose yourself, making him groan against your chest, holding in a growl at how tight and wet you had gotten. His cum spurts inside you, you groan from the feeling, missing the heat that warms you. You pant, delirious and wiping at your forehead as your legs start to relax, almost cramping from the position he had put you in. His arms wound themselves around you, mouth open in exertion.

You chuckle, almost forgetting how much older he was compared to you. His chest is in sync with yours, his hands roam around your belly when you turn towards him, leaning your heavy stomach against his soft one. The pressure on your back is relieved and you sigh deeply, head burying into his shoulder.

He chuckles, pressing his lips on the side of your head and for a second you thought Tommy was beside you, caressing your stomach in circles, breathing in the scent of your hair. Your finger had stopped tracing patterns on his chest when you had felt a mole on his collarbone, pausing at the unfamiliarity.

Then your heart leapt from your chest, you felt as if you couldn’t breathe. You sit up quickly, tears already springing in your eyes at the man beneath you, sitting up with you to hold your face in his hands.

“What’s wrong?”

You almost scoffed, but you shake your head instead. Your heart drops, Ellie, the bed was banging against the damn walls, you had screamed for god’s sakes.

“Oh god- Ellie- she must have heard everything-“

“She’s not here, she’s with a friend tonight.”

That didn’t stop the tears from falling. You had deceived your husband, you fucked his brother. You were disgusted with yourself, your actions, the thoughts you had been fighting for months now.

He grips your face tightly, hearing you mutter Tommy’s name over and over again in a quiet whisper, trying to push yourself away from him. He surprises you with his lips against yours, he swallows your gasp, pulling you impossibly closer. Your lungs burned, your head cradled in his hands, his eyes closed tightly willing you to stay put.

You hate how you reciprocated, feeling your heart thump quickly in affection, something you used to only feel with Tommy.

…

Joel was with you every night, waiting until Tommy had left, when Ellie was in deep sleep or gone off with a friend. Sometimes he would take you in the morning, which was becoming an even more common occurrence.

You smile more often, you haven’t felt so doted on in what felt like a year. You didn’t need Tommy anymore, not when Joel was always with you, taking jobs around town now, mostly at the stables and with the cattle where you were usually set to supervise.

His presence was accepted by you again, you were practically at the hip, Ellie tagging along every now and then, sometimes giving you a strange look when he would sit too close and his hands would twitch to yours when you were walking.You’d always ignored it. All of Tommy’s time was at work, and when he didn’t have anything to do it would be spent with Joel.

Your sudden indifference to his attention made him worried. It was wrong, wanting your wife to be miserable when you were gone, but so was he. Tommy hated every minute apart from you and now that he saw you so content with the situation, a complete change from your sad looks and tired but grateful gazes whenever he came home to you, he knew something must have happened.

He confides in Maria and she gives him hours off, reassuring him that the whole community was willing to help him and his wife raise their child. And that meant keeping them safe from whatever was outside Jackson’s walls.

She felt pity for you both but Tommy was one stubborn man, he didn’t want anyone else’s help, claiming it was unfair to the other members of the commune. She could see the strain, how most of your pregnancy was spent alone.

“There’s an event… tonight…”

Maria raises a brow, eyes full of mirth. She turns to him with a small smile on her lips.

“Everyone will be there, I’m sure you could surprise her there.”

He nods slowly, his eyes flickering as if already imagining how he would swoop you off of your feet. A smile rises on his face, his chest fills with excitement.

“Dancing?”

Maria chuckles. She gives him a look.

“What kind of monsters do you think we are? Of course there’ll be dancing.”

He smiles so wide his teeth seem to glimmer in the moonlight.

“Shower before, I doubt she’ll be too happy about your stench.”

He scoffs, his horse trotting ahead to make it to the settlement quicker. She watches on, his slumped shoulders now straightened and his chest puffed. He glances behind him gesturing for her to hurry it up.

…

You and Tommy used to attend these things all the time. There was cause for community celebrations all of the time. Even if the same songs would keep playing, and at times there was the same foods and beverages being served, Tommy had always managed to bring you out to dance. It was always exciting.

Now you’re here with Joel and Ellie, Joel nursing a beer, and Ellie talking your ear off. His hand was on your thigh under the table, occasionally moving over your belly and rubbing. Your hand would caress over his forearm, fiddling with his sleeve, tightening whenever you had caught yourself throwing your head back in laughter.

You lay your head against his shoulder, chuckling along to whatever comment he had responded with before sipping his beer smugly. Ellie had been bothering him about his love life, commenting on how much of a loner he is, hanging around a fifteen year old and a heavily pregnant and married woman. He had eyed you, a smirk in place. You shoved your elbow into his ribs and he winced.

The door had opened to the hall and he turned, minding the way you laid your head against his shoulder, your nose pressing against the fabric of his long sleeve shirt. His face fell, and his hand patted your thigh, caressing over your stomach one last time before shifting away. He wasn’t hiding anything for himself, if anything he wouldn’t mind the whole world knowing you were his, but you would.

You still loved Tommy, the yearning was still there and when he saw him standing at the doorway, his eyes roaming around the hall, he knew you would go to him. You turn to where Joel’s gaze was directed, your eyes brightening. Tommy shouldn’t be in town. His shift should have ended in a couple hours more.

“Tommy,” you whisper.

Joel’s hand meets your back when you attempt to stand, taking in a sharp inhale from the sudden exertion. You were wearing a maternity dress Tommy had found during one of his patrols. It was early in your pregnancy and you had joked about dreading the day it would actually fit.

You wave him over, and his face brightens in a smile, striding over to the table quickly. His hands move to your waist, his body slightly hunched to lift you against him as he hugs you tightly. Your head buries itself in the curls kissing his neck, your hands landing on his back.

“Hey darlin’, missed me?”

You had pulled him down for a kiss and those around you had fawned over quietly at the scene. You two were the success story. You were the model for a new life in Jackson. Everyone knew of the two council members who would shamelessly flirt with each other, who had developed their relationship among the work of helping the community.

The rest of the night he was clinged to you and in turn you to him. He had asked you to dance and Joel had protested, saying you shouldn’t be on your feet too much, and you would only get achy. It had only stopped Tommy momentarily, until you had dragged him to the floor in a slow song.

Joel helped you off of the bench, his hands on your lower back and Tommy’s hand on yours. Their eyes connected, and he threw a look of confusion in Joel’s direction, especially when he noted his barely hidden scowl.

You lightly sway, Tommy’s hand holding yours over his heart.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he whispered against your ear.

His eyes were filled with ardor, one of his palms roaming to the curve of your ass. His head buried itself next to yours. You only slapped his shoulder, kissing his cheek when he groaned playfully.

Your head lays against him, you inhale his scent. The song was slow, enough so that you didn’t have to leave the interlocking of your bodies, looking as if you were just standing in a hug. Your arms move under his pits and over his wide back, his arm wraps over your waist, a hand over your bump protectively.

Members of the community stare at you both, some smiling in his direction, others nodding. They could see how much happier you are, how you smile so pleasantly against his chest. It brought Tommy pride, showing off his pregnant wife. He did that. He put that baby in you. You were his beautiful wife. He was so lucky and he had been so close to losing everything.

“I’m sorry.”

Your head rises, looking up with brows arched in surprise.

“What?-“

“I know I haven’t been here, for you, for the baby.”

His eyes well with tears, he looks down on you with a sad smile.

“Maria gave me some time off- well not some- a lot.”

He cups your face, your eyes widening at the affection. This is what you wanted, for the longest and now you have it.

Why do you feel your heart sink? Not at the fact that he was going to be around longer but at the fact that you had to let Joel go. You glance in his direction, he was turned away, Ellie still talking to him about something passionately judging by the way her hands move frantically.

He would be fine, you thought, he had his own family.

You smile brightly, the brightest you have in a while and Tommy’s heart expands. It was almost as if Joel could sense your eyes from a second before. His heart plummets to the floor, you were stomping all over it, you and Tommy. He watches Tommy kiss you delicately, your hands gliding up to the back of his neck to keep him there. You moan against his lips, deep and throaty from the way his tongue swiped over your bottom lip.

“Missed you, baby.”

You rest your forehead against his, feeling his warmth closer than ever. You hold him tighter, resting your head against his shoulder when you pull yourself up against his chest.

“Missed you too,” you mutter.

The last thing you see before being dragged away, your coat being placed over you in a rush, was Joel’s deep frown, staring until you had made it out the door.

You ignored it.

…

Your legs shake, thighs jiggling with each shift. Tommy was underneath you, his lips smacking, savoring your taste and his hands on either side of your hips helping you stay up and balanced against his face.

“Mmmh fuck baby, haven’t been taking care of this pussy in months. She’s so goddamn needy.”

Your hands tighten over the headboard. You nod, moaning out his name when his tongue flicks up to your clit. Then his hands tighten over you, pressing you against his face, not letting you up. His head swivels from side to side, his tongue out and his nose rubbing against you relentlessly. He makes you grind on him, and you lose yourself.

“Joel,” you moan.

His hand loosens slightly, your body freezes for a moment, and for a second your heart stops, beating wildly afterwards when he had continued with more fervor.

You had forced your mind to blank, focusing on the way his tongue flicked over your clit repeatedly, tonguing your slit afterwards and pressing his nose up to pull your hood from your sensitive nerves. You think of the way his cock is probably throbbing, aching in his jeans, straining against the zipper. He rubs almost too harshly against you, and you cum with a surprised yelp.

He licks up the mess slowly, helping you come down in waves. He lifts you gently and when you try to reach for his crotch, wanting to palm him he stops you. He helps you lay down afterwards, minding your shaking thighs and your sweat soaked skin. He stares for a moment, getting lost in your state. You give him a questioning look.

“Did you-“

He’s at a loss for words. He swallows thickly and tries again.

“Did you say someone else’s name- just now?”

You pause, you stop breathing for a moment. You had hoped he missed that, that he would dismiss it quickly.

“You said Joel.”

You shake your head slowly, wiping at your forehead, flicking the sweat from your brows.

“I said oh.”

It was said so confidentially, it sounded genuine and his eyes immediately softened in guilt. How could he accuse you of such a thing?The bulge that was at the front of his pants was now gone. You sigh.

“I’m sorry if I ruined the mood-“

“No. No, it’s fine, I just uh- I shouldn’t have been thinkin’ of my brother when I was between such pretty legs.”

You chuckle, your face warming but not at the vulgarity of his words or his try at a joke but at the fact that he had been so close to the truth and you were such a great actress. You feel a great shame when he joins you for a bath, helping you lean back against his chest and caressing over your skin with a sponge. As if he could wash away the past weeks when you used his brother to feel good about yourself.

You cling onto him, and he savors it, not knowing that your over affections came from guilt.

Coincidentally, the same week Tommy had managed to fix Joel’s generator, now having enough time to look it over. Joel and Ellie were now gone. Now you and Tommy could finally have some time alone despite them coming over every so often, Joel more than Ellie.

…

“Gonna give you more, look so pretty like this, stretched out on my cock and swollen with my baby.”

Sometimes Joel would invite you over for breakfast, he could afford the food now, especially since he’s taken some shifts for patrol lately and the pay was always good. He loved having his meals with you, especially before Tommy’s shift ended and his began. His belt buckle clinks loudly with each thrust, his hands fisting your dress tightly.

The breath is pushed out of your lungs each time his cock plunges into you. You moan wantonly, head lolling between your shoulders. Your palms almost slide off the kitchen island, your legs spread wide from where you stood. You whine when he slows, closing your eyes tightly, honing in on his grunts and the sound of your ass meeting his pelvis.

He grunts loudly and his warmth fills you. His head meets your shoulder, his breath wet and hot on your exposed skin. His hand moves to grope over your breast, you lean back against his body, breathing heavily, cunt still throbbing from your loss of release.

“Fuck, baby, made me finish early, got you squeezing my cock so tight.”

He slips out of you and you groan, his spend sliding down your thighs. His fingers place your panties back, tapping against your mound and pulling his hands away when you buckle forward only to smooth down the skirt of your dress.

“I could take care of you another way, sweetheart.”

He pulls you against him, his arms wrapping around your waist, cupping your belly and holding the weight in his hands. You relax further against his hold, sighing in slight relief. Your eyes wander around the room, and your back straightens, you gasp, eyeing the clock.

“Tommy’s almost home.”

“Jus’ a few minutes, promise.”

“Joel-“

He turns you in his arms, his hands roaming over your sides.

“One more taste, please.”

You lick your lips in contemplation and before you knew it he was guiding you to sit at the dining room table.

He was kneeling, hidden under your long summer dress. Your breasts had looked amazing in them, you were developing a bigger cleavage and you had decided to show it off. You looked so pretty sitting down in the recreational area, smiling during conversation, a hand on your bump, running circles over the soft fabric of your dress.

You lean back on the chair, you could see his head from beneath, a lump at your front and with the lacy ends of your skirt delicately splayed on his broad back. He was going slow, taking his time, hovering his mouth over you so that you would squirm in impatience.

“Joel, please.”

How could he ignore your whines, the way your hips twitch to his mouth. He eats like a man starved, ever since he first arrived he ate as if his meal would be swiped from under his nose at any second. He feels that way with you, waiting for Tommy to take you away, only having you when he was gone. He yearns to keep you, to just cup your face and kiss you at any given moment and not in the confines of a locked room.

He still didn’t understand why you didn’t let him, he was obviously a better choice for you, he could be a better father than his brother, a better husband. Your back arches, your palm smoothing over the head covered in fabric. His nose nudges your clit repeatedly, his tongue laying flat against your slit, the tip running over the insides of your cunt. He could barely breathe but he didn’t care.

He drags you forward, the back of your shoulders meeting the back of the chair. You stare up at the ceiling, trying to keep your breaths in line. He kisses up the insides of your thighs, shifting on his knees every so often. He was deliberate in taking his time and you chuckle when he continues again, slurping and licking to his heart’s content.

You glance out the window, mouth wide open, sweat collecting on your brow and eyes so hooded it looked as if you were on the cusp of a moan.

There he is. Your husband, watching with cold eyes, his pack on one shoulder and a rifle on the other. He always comes in from the backyard. How could you forget?

Your eyes widened, you slapped the head between your legs and the chair scratches against the floor from how quickly you shifted away.

Time seems to slow for you, you refused to answer any of Joel’s questions, your body already shaking and tears falling down the sides of your face. You stare at the floor, hearing the doorbell resound around the house. Joel ignored it, his eyes frantically roaming over your face.

“Did I hurt you? What-what happened?”

The walls shake from how hard Tommy pounds at the door. You seem to collapse over yourself, standing quickly and lifting up your underwear after taking a breath.

The knocks continue, each time getting louder. He calls out your name, yelling at you to open.

“Open this goddamn door!”

Your breath catches in your throat, you choke on a sob as Joel stands, opening the door hard enough for it to slam inside.

You could briefly catch the hint of betrayal in his eyes. He stares at Joel for a few moments, his mouth open in shock. Then his face changes to a look of realization. All of these months wondering about the looks, the sudden happiness while he was gone.

Deep down he felt shameful. Was he not enough for you? Was his older brother better than him? His face twists in indignation. It makes your stomach turn. You’ve only seen him like this once before. On a patrol where you had confronted a hoard of infected.

One was on top of you, your knife having been skidded across the floor from a fall moments before. In the span of a second, you could have been bitten, your neck ripped to shreds.

He thought he lost you. He wanted to rip the world apart. It felt that way too now.

Tommy’s hands make it to the lapels of Joel’s jacket before you could even push past the doorway, pulling him out to the porch and down the steps.

Their faces were inches away, practically snarling and snapping like bulldogs. You watch, your legs stiff, as Tommy pushes him on the chest, screaming in his face and glancing in your direction every so often. Joel barely reacts. Tommy directs a dirty look towards you and your heart sinks.

“Is that even my baby? How long has she been spreadin’ her legs for you?”

You gasp, hands pressing to your bump protectively. Joel finally reacts, his own hands pressing against Tommy’s chest and pushing him back a couple feet. He points an accusing finger.

“You watch your tongue, boy, I won’t let you talk about her that way.”

Tommy scoffs, voice rising.

“You’re sleepin’ with my wife!”

“Someone has to!”

You rush down the steps when Tommy swings, already having straddled him on the ground by the time you reach their wrestling forms. He slams a fist down Joel’s face. You yell out.

“Tommy, stop it!”

He grunts, ignoring your yells. He was reaching for the rifle now dropped across the ground and covered in snow.

“Tommy stop-“

You reached for his shoulder, Joel’s face was already split, his teeth covered in his own blood. Tommy pushes you away and you fall on your ass, yelping and slipping from the snow. He stops almost immediately and Joel pushes him away, crawling towards you. The fabric of your dress was getting wet, your legs starting to sting and numb from the cold.

You weakly push the rifle away and it thunks against the wooden fence, far away from either man.

You sit up with a groan, the impact of the ground making your hips ache. You keep your head down when you stand with Joel’s help, neighbors having come out of their homes from the commotion. Tommy stares as if he wanted to help, his hands twitching in your direction.

“Get inside.”

“Joel-“

“I said get inside.”

You follow his command, but not before lifting your head to catch Tommy’s stare, his eyes narrowed and flickering from your stomach to your face. Joel spits red on the snow inches away from Tommy’s boots. You couldn’t hear what they were saying, but you kept your gaze out of the window, catching Tommy’s eyes moving to the house every so often. He leaves with a scowl and Joel’s heads inside with his shoulders slumped.

You tend to his face, his hand at your bump, not leaving it even when you had made him stand to make him take a bath. You fall into his arms that night, staying in his room and sobbing the rest of the day, knowing that you had just lost someone you loved.

…

"The baby's yours..."

His eyes flickered to his hand tightly fisted at the table and back to you, sitting down in front of him, scared out of your wits and rubbing small frantic circles over your stomach.

"That's not‐ I know."

He ignores the tears falling from your eyes, he sighs.

“I know she’s mine. I do, sweetheart.”

His softness made you sob, your palms covering your eyes and your lips quivering to keep in the sounds of your cries.

“I’m sorry, Tommy.”

You sit in silence, until you catch your breath. It’s been a few days and you had decided to go back home, alone. Joel didn’t even know you were there. He didn’t want you to see Tommy anymore, claiming he didn’t deserve you and that he could raise the baby all fine with you. You still wanted Tommy in your life, in your child’s life.

“I think it will be best if you move over to Joel’s for now, I… I need time.”

You wanted to cry again, to heave yourself off to bed and just collapse into the mattress. You just nod solemnly.

“When the time comes, I’ll be there for her, for you. I love you, and I don’t think I’ll ever stop.”

He chuckles sadly, his eyes watering and threatening to spill. He reaches for your hand, standing and kneeling to kiss the side of your head one last time before he went to work, leaving you to pack up.

“I love you too,” you murmur.

He hums, nodding against you before inevitably letting go.

…

"So... you and Joel."

Small town gossip doesn't escape anyone, even in the post apocalypse. If the teenagers somehow knew, you don't doubt the adults did too. You stay quiet, festering in your guilt and embarrassment. She was going to find out eventually, you’ve been staying over for a few days now, you were sitting on the porch to their backyard at the moment.

"I mean, you could move in with us... he's kind of already like a dad..." To me, she might have added, she's not quite sure she'd ever specifically call him that outwardly though.

"Might as well complete the nuclear family, two kids and two parents. Could get a dog too..."

You fight a chuckle, she's been on and on about wanting a dog recently. Even in a serious conversation she brings it up. What really piqued your interest was the fact that she had included you in her nuclear family, the other parent.

It tore your heart in two and stitched it back up again. She saw you as a mother figure, maybe even your unborn child as a brother or sister. Your face falls, thinking of Tommy, how he had told you he needed time. You have doubts on whether or not he would love the child, it's not like there were any paternity tests anymore. He might think Joel was the biological father. Why would he believe a cheater anyway? Why would Joel even care about the kid either, knowing the truth of their paternity?

"The kid's not his..."

"I'm not either," she snaps at you. But he still cares about me like his own. You could see it in her eyes, she was stern, not wanting to leave any doubts in her argument. You sigh not wanting to intrude in anything, not wanting to get into a family when you didn’t know the outcomes of the one you had just put in pause.

She rests her head against your shoulder, watching as Joel works on the small garage she was going to call home soon. Joel wanted to get the baby’s room ready. Ellie offered to move out. He was excited.

You didn’t have the heart to tell him about the conversation you had with his brother.

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

Taglist: @aurorawritestoescape @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler-pascal @mirandablue1

Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs help motivate me and other authors! FYI ☺ Cucked is one of my favs but I think I kind of want to leave it as a one-shot. Let me know what y'all think.

-Alejandra ��🐇

#joel miller fanfiction #tommy miller fanfic #joel miller x reader #tommy miller x reader #joel miller x you #tommy miller x you #joel miller smut #tommy miller smut #tlou fanfiction #joel miller fic #tommy miller fanfiction #ale's fics <3

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loveinhawkins · 1 day ago

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school day coda

ao3 Written for @steddiemicrofic April 2025 prompt, “score,” 351 words. Rated G, Missing Scene, pre season 3

Steve wants no part in this. He just wants to hand in his damn essay and go home. But Eddie Munson has detention after school, and somehow he’s making it Steve’s problem too.

“Dude. You’re gonna get caught.”

“Relax, Harrington, I know the score. O’Donnell’s in the teachers’ lounge, I’ve got five minutes easy.”

The teachers’ lounge is barely two minutes away. If Steve cranes his neck out into the hall he can see the door, dangerously within earshot.

Eddie, on his third attempt at prising O’Donnell’s drawer open, suddenly succeeds—with the loudest clang. Steve covers it up with an apparent coughing fit.

Eddie does a double take. “Holy shit, was that fake? We’ll make a Drama Club kid outta you yet, Harrington.”

“You’ve got two months.”

It’s meant to be a joke, but a resigned envy flickers in Eddie’s eyes.

“Miracles can happen,” he says. As if to demonstrate his point, he dives into the drawer and brings out a battered notebook.

“Oh, thank God,” Steve says flatly, “I’m glad that was all for something really important.”

“Screw you!” Eddie hugs the notebook to his chest as if shielding it from criticism. “This is sacred.”

“I believe you,” Steve says—anyone who’s ever shared a class with Eddie knows he guards that notebook with his life.

Watching him flick through it, Steve notices questions marks littering each page; it seems whatever Eddie does with Hellfire, he’s thinking up some of it on the fly. There’s no way Dustin will tolerate that. The thought curbs the wistfulness that usually greets him when he thinks of the kids heading to high school; instead he pictures Dustin telling Eddie disdainfully, I just don’t think you’ve considered the mechanics.

“Uh, why are you smiling?”

“No reason,” Steve says, deliberately cryptic. Cherish your simple life, Eddie Munson, you’ve got no idea what’s coming. “Close the drawer, genius. Unless you want a giant arrow pointing at you.”

Eddie snorts just as O’Donnell returns. Steve buys him time to hide his notebook with a ‘sneeze’; his parting look is Eddie appearing faintly impressed under his act of innocence.

#steddie microfic #steddiemicroficapril #pre steddie #steddie ficlet #steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #steve and dustin #steve harrington ficlet

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maevawrites · 2 days ago

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'silent orders' . . . jack abbott

✦ disclaimers/warnings: medical inaccuracies, swearing, mentions of blood, oneshot, age gap but not clearly specified, jack abbott x f!resident, the use of y/n & y/l/n, fluff, like a smidge of angst, possible spelling/grammatical errors, probably more but yk the drill.

✦ note: feel free to listen to the song linked! (or don't, idrc) i kinda just add them for myself cus i'll just listen to a certain song on repeat while writing a piece. helps me get in the zone.

✦ word count: 1.1k

the case came rolling in.

a psych hold with a long history of violent episodes.

the patient—a large agitated man, was restless, and resisting in restraint. he seemed almost impossible to deescalate.

you were leading the case, trying to stay calm while throwing out orders to the rest of the team in the room.

"someone get psych down here, stat!" you called, a sense of urgency lacing your voice. you were determined to get things under control.

in situations like this, dr. jack abbott would already have things handled but he was tied up in the operating room and you were the oldest resident on the floor available.

so you had to step up.

with all the thrashing the man had been doing, he had managed to make one of his leg restraints go loose. you acted quickly, leaning in to fasten it back, but he jerked his leg suddenly, using a great amount of strength to knock you back, causing you to crash into the cart behind you.

"oh shit-" you say as you hit the cart with a loud clang! you managed to get back up, attempting to regain your balance. with the amount of shock and adrenaline coursing through you, you hadn't realized there was a gash on your arm. nothing huge or life threatening, but it was there, apparent, and deep—stinging.

"woah, you okay y/l/n?" one of the nurses asked, coming to your side to help you steady yourself.

"yeah—yeah, i'm fine. let's just get the man sedated." you say with an unevenness in your voice.

of course with your luck, jack magically came rushing in, snapping a pair of gloves on as he entered. he scanned the room like he was on a mission. assessing the situation, his eyes eventually landing on you.

he took in the chaos, the half wrestled patient and the single drip of blood on your arm.

"what happened here?" he asked, more like demand than a question.

"we're good dr. abbott. just a restless patient." you say as you brush yourself off, making your way to the side of the mans gurney. you were determined to contain the situation. you wanted, needed to get things under control. something in you felt the need to prove to abbott that you could handle cases like this. though he was your attending and there to help and take the lead if need be, you knew you couldn't always rely on him.

jack eyed you down. you were half shaken, and the gash that was now on your arm had done something to him. he was supposed to keep you safe. you were his resident. his responsibility.

"you're hurt." his voice dropped, sharp and unreadable.

"it's nothing," you deflected, you weren't going to let some little gash stop you from treating a patient. "we were just trying to sedate him-"

"i can see that." he clipped. he looked at the patient, now held down by two nurses and a security guard. he immediately took over with ease. "diaz, get a second dose ready. we'll try another IM injection—he's too agitated for IV access."

you hovered, waiting for him to tell you what to do next—you still wanted to help the patient.

"take twenty in the break room, dr. y/l/n." abbott said, tending to the man, not even sparing you a glance.

"i said i'm fine." you didn't mean for it to come out so sharp—but it did. you just wanted to stay. to prove you weren't just some resident that could get knocked off their feet (quite literally) and not be able to get back up and continue.

but jack turned to you then, and gave you that look. not exactly angry, not scolding, just... unwavering.

it was like his eyes were speaking silent orders.

he didn't have to say anything for you to understand that.

you froze.

the look he gave was the kind that pierced through the soul. the kind that made any med student at the pitt stand up straighter.

you suppressed the urge to roll your eyes and turned on your heel. "i'll be in the break room," you muttered, throwing out your gloves, and clutching your stinging arm as you went.

you sat slumped against the break room couch, the oddly calming silence was heavy. the gash on your arm had been cleaned up and bandaged, it still stung but it was manageable.

head leaned back, eyes closed, you let yourself breathe for the first time in what felt like hours. just a few minutes of silence would help you find some tranquility from the chaos and tension that had ensued moments ago.

the door creaked open, but you didn't open your eyes. you had a good feeling it was jack.

"how's the arm?" he tilted his head, like he was trying to assess you. more than just your arm.

you opened one eye to peer at him, "i'm fine, like i said before." you muttered.

he slowly made his way over and sat beside you.

"you know," he started, and you sat up a little, turning to look at him, "I didn't want to push you out like that but i had to."

"why though?" you asked, your voice quieter, more curious than defensive like before.

jack leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, fingers laced. his gaze stayed on the floor for a moment, like he was trying to find the right words to say.

"because seeing you hurt-" he paused, jaw flexing, "it threw me off."

you blinked, unsure if you had heard him correctly.

he went on, "you're my resident, my job is to teach you, guide you, and back you up. not watch you bleed in the middle of a serious case."

you were silent at his words. then you finally spoke, "but i could've handled it. i was trying to handle it."

"i know you were," he finally turned to look at you, eyes locking. "but you don't have to prove that to me y/n, not at the cost of yourself."

something flickered in his eyes, protectiveness, guilt, maybe. you couldn't quite tell. but his words hung heavily between you.

"you're a good doctor y/n." he added, "a damn good one, but you're also mine to look after."

those words made your breath hitch. the way he said 'mine' lingered in your ears.

"so i'm your favorite, huh?" you teased, trying to ease the tension.

jack laughed, like actually laughed, "something like that." he said shaking his head.

"we should probably get back out there doc." he says. "duty calls."

you nod your head, gently smiling. you were ready to go back out and continue working. now knowing that jack had only snapped at you because he was trying to protect you made your heart pitter-patter. the silent protectiveness jack had over you made you feel a little more confident when walking back out to the busy emergency room.

✦ maeva’s thoughts: ahhhh thank y'all sm for +100 notes on my last post!! seems like dr. abbott is a fan favorite rn so i thought i'd deliver some more.

#dr jack abbott #jack abbott #jack abbott x reader #the pitt #x reader #tension #slow burn #yearning #fluff #light angst #Spotify

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leiyanzyves · 3 days ago

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—IMAGINE VI FUCKING YOU IN PRISON CELL

╰┈➤ Vi x f!reader

⊹ ࣪ ˖Tw: Fingering, oral (f!receiving), semi-public, dom!vi, teasing, dirty talk, face-sitting, handcuffs, brat-taming, reader-in-prison-too, rough but affectionate, possessive.

The door slams shut behind you with that same metallic finality you’re sick of hearing. Clang. Lock. You’re tossed inside, wrists cuffed, lips split from the fight that landed you here. Again.

The cell’s not empty.

She’s already there—leaning against the far wall, long legs stretched out, arms crossed over her chest. Pink hair messy. Knuckles still bruised. Eyes locked on you like she’s been waiting.

Vi.

You blink. Breathe heavy. She doesn’t say anything right away—just watches you. Head tilted. Then—

"Look what the warden dragged in," she murmurs, voice gravel and heat. "Told 'em you'd end up back in here."

You scoff, but it’s half breathless. “Don’t flatter yourself. Maybe I just missed you.”

Vi’s smirk widens. Her boots drag across the floor as she moves toward you—slow, deliberate, like a predator circling something that's already caught.

She steps in close. The heat from her body hits you first. Her voice lowers. “Wanna tell me why you’re bleeding?”

You shrug, but she grabs your chin between her fingers, tilting your face up. She inspects the split lip, the scrape on your cheek, and her brows twitch just slightly—concern hidden under cocky bravado.

"Tsk. Always running that mouth, huh?"

You narrow your eyes. “Gonna do something about it?”

She doesn’t answer. Just shoves you gently—enough that your back hits the concrete wall, cold and jarring. Then her fingers hook the chain of your cuffs, dragging your arms up over your head, pinning them to the wall with one hand.

You’re trapped. On display. Breathing fast.

And Vi grins like she’s won.

"You always talk like you’re ready to fight me," she mutters, stepping into your space. "But I know what you really want."

Her free hand travels down your body—rough knuckles grazing your ribs, your waist, your hips. She touches you like she owns you, like she already knows how wet you are through the thin prison-issued shorts.

When her fingers press against you—lightly, not even pushing yet—you gasp. Her grin grows.

"Yeah. That’s what I thought."

She drops to her knees like it’s nothing, like she’s done it a hundred times. Your wrists are still pinned above your head, your breathing uneven, but she just looks up at you from between your thighs—hungry.

Then she pulls your shorts down slow. Like she wants to see you beg.

And god, you’re soaked.

She lets out a low whistle, fingers spreading you gently. Her thumb ghosts over your clit, and the jolt of pleasure makes your knees almost give out.

"You’re fucking dripping for me," she mutters, like it’s a sin. Like it’s your fault. “Pathetic.”

But then her mouth is on you.

Hot tongue, slow at first, dragging through your folds. She moans against you—deep and possessive—like the taste alone makes her high. One hand still holds your wrists pinned, while the other wraps around your thigh to keep you open.

She doesn’t rush.

She works you open with her tongue like she’s savoring it. Long, slow strokes. Gentle flicks against your clit that build and build. Your thighs tremble. Your breath hitches. Your hips start to move, chasing the friction.

"Needy little thing," she groans against you. "Didn’t even have to ask.”

Your fingers curl uselessly in their cuffs. You want to grab her hair, ride her face, scream. But she’s got you locked down and spread out, and she’s devouring you like she doesn’t care if the guards hear.

Her tongue moves faster now, circling your clit while her fingers press into your entrance—one, then two, slow and thick and curling just right. The stretch is perfect, and you whimper, body twitching against the wall.

Vi’s watching you come apart.

Eyes locked on your face like she wants to memorize the exact moment you break.

"C’mon," she murmurs, "Give it to me. I wanna see how good I make you cum."

And you do.

The pressure coils tighter, heat flooding your gut, your thighs shaking, and when she sucks your clit and crooks her fingers just right—you explode. Hard. Back arching off the wall, cry half-screamed, half-moaned as your orgasm crashes over you.

She doesn’t stop.

Licks you through it, fingers still moving, pushing you higher, overstimulating, until you’re gasping her name and begging—

"Vi—fuck—Vi please—"

Finally, she pulls back. Fingers slip free. Her mouth leaves you soaked. Her grin is slick and triumphant.

And then she stands.

Her hand comes to your cheek—thumb brushing under your eye, soft again. She unlocks your cuffs, catching you before your legs give. You collapse into her chest, still trembling, heart racing.

She holds you there.

"You good?"she murmurs, voice low and rough.

You nod, weakly. Your voice is wrecked. “Yeah. Fuck. Yeah.”

Vi chuckles—low and warm. She presses a kiss to your temple. “Good girl.”

#vi x reader #vi x oc #league of legends vi #violet arcane #vi league of legends #vi x y/n #vi x you #vi x fem reader #vi fanfic #vi fic #vi from arcane #vi smut #wlw smut #wlw lesbian #wlw nsft #lesbian #sapphic #vi x caitlyn #Yanzi

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greenxgloss · 2 days ago

Text

Sickly Sweet - Jeon Jungkook (1)

Just fluff and introductions in this part

Summary: Y/N, a shy book-lover who runs a quiet bookstore, spends her day helping a string of sweet, memorable customers. Just before closing, Jungkook walks in—mysterious, leather-clad, and nothing like her usual visitors. He’s looking for a book for his mom, and though flustered by his charm, Y/N helps him. Despite her awkwardness, he checks out books and signs up for a library card. After he leaves, Y/N can’t stop thinking about him—confused by how someone so bold could be so soft-spoken, and why he made her heart flutter.

Word Count: 2.1k

UNEDITED

Y/n - Ms By alt-J Jungkook - Rosemary By Deftones

February 3rd

Jungkook is Brooding in the way he wears his dark clothes. Enigmatic in the way his silver rings clanged on a wooden top counter. Effortlessly suave in the sultry he allowed when he buttered up a pretty girl out on the corner of 4th outside the club at the end of the night with a half-smoked cigarette pinched between the knuckles of his index and middle finger.

He drew the attention of just about anyone walking by. Glistening leather jacket, straight cut black jeans held up by a faux leather belt and a steel belt buckle that twinkled in the light it caught or rubbed up on his motorcycle when he propped his feet on the pedals and leaned forward to catch the wind.

He'd be easy to find at night. Miss him in the day. The complete opposite of little ol' you.

You liked your messy, super shaggy, curly hair—the kind that did whatever it wanted no matter how hard you tried to tame it, and honestly, you liked it better that way. Your wardrobe consisted mostly of oversized, knitted grandma cardigans that hung off your shoulders like a comforting hug, and your beloved, absolutely ripped to shreds knock-off Ugg boots that had seen too many winters but still kept your feet warm. Clubs? Heavens no. The pounding music, sweaty crowds, and flashing lights made your skin crawl.

No, you could be found—if one looked hard enough—in the back corner of your favorite bookstore-library where you worked, nestled between tall shelves and forgotten titles. It was your sanctuary. One leg was usually crossed over the other, a heavy hardcover balanced on your knee as you read in silence, the words pulling you deep into worlds far from your own. One hand held the book open, fingers curled gently around the pages, while the other absentmindedly toyed with the edge of your cardigan or tugged at your bottom lip as you focused, eyes flicking left to right.

It was always quiet here. Dust floated lazily through rays of sunlight, the air smelled like old paper and vanilla tea, and you could spend hours lost in thought without a single soul interrupting. You liked it that way. Safe, familiar, and far away from anything—or anyone—that might stir up something too loud, too new, too unfamiliar.

No one ever really came in here other than the regulars who liked to sit in the isles dimmed by the tall shelves and drink their- usually- tea or hot chocolate which you only knew because you enjoyed the sweet smell over the common bitter black coffee.

Today, in particular, business was booming- well, if you could call five back-to-back customers booming. The first, an older gentleman purchasing a book of love poems for his wife. You cooed as he pulled the door open to leave, the bell on the door chiming through the shop. He mentioned it was a Valentine's Day gift. His granddaughter advised him it would be perfect because his wife loves to read and loves romance just as much, to which you agreed and sent him off with the senior's discount.

The second, a much younger girl. school girl. asking about high school novels because she was in her final year of elementary school and was nervous for the impending first year of secondary school in just five months. It warmed your heart to watch her rub her clammy hands together and nervously ask you what your high school years were like, more importantly, freshman year. You briefly stated. "I was just as nervous as you," you endearingly poked her nose, to which she began blushing, and her aloof expression turned into a soft smile, and she looked away bashfully.

"But I held my head high and smiled at everyone who smiled at me." You nodded as you bagged her book, slipping in a bookmark right after it. You often liked to gift a bookmark here and there with an illustration that suits the customer best; this one a pretty purple river daisy stood confidently as a butterfly kissed it.

"to which you hummed and nodded. "i want you to step through the doors of school and take a deep breath when you've place both feet on the ground. smile at everyone you see and you'll notice how everyone just opens up."

"You'll open up," you handed her the bag with a smile. "Like a flower. Don't be a stranger, hey? Come back sometime, even if just to Say hello." The girl smiled and nodded before spinning on her heel and walking out the door. She reminded you an awful lot of yourself, and maybe that's why you took the time to listen intently and patiently checked her items out as opposed to your usual focused scowl.

Your third customer was a woman just a few years older than you, searching for text books to borrow. she looked a gracfull mess and you could tell she was clumsy with her patch work linen pants, drawstring there just for decoration and over worked converse that seemed to beg for a break. You giggled quietly as she rushed through the store, nearly bumping into a few shelves with a sticky note in her hand.

"sooo over exam season." she chuckled, slipper her back pack off to reach for her wallet, you presume while you scanned her books. "been there, dropped out." you giggled. "my dad would have me in a grave, that's for sure." she huffed and handed you her library card. "love your earrings by the way." she pointed as you handed back her card and she began putting her bag back on. You smiled and bowed your head. "love your pants."

customer number four was a doosy. Newly married man looking for a book of baby names and a few books on parenting. you escorted the nervous looking man to the shelf of baby books and handed him what you felt was essential. "in all honestly a book of baby names is a waste of money. if you don't mind the baby name being impersonal then sure just borrow the book but I implore you to look over family names or my personal favourite; combine you and your wife's name." you smiled, handing him a popular parenting book. he nodded and took a much needed deep breath. "have kids of your own?" he asked, following you back to the front counter where his wife stood, likely following him into the store later. "well no but I'm the oldest in a baby making family." you giggled and bowed towards his wife who had a bright, equally as nervous smile on her face. "congratulations by the way."

Last customer of the day, walking into the shop nearly at closing time. He smelled strongly of tobacco and a cologne that you knew based off your previous boutique job was Bleu De Chanel. you perked up and looked him over, taking in the heavy thump of his combat boots, quietly jingling belt buckle and hands buried in his pockets as he approached you.

"hey uh.. im looking for something really specific for my mom. hmm," he glanced around before looking at you again. "uh she likes-" he cleared his throat. "she likes cooking but I'm not really sure if I should get her a cook book because she also really likes cowboy stories." he huffed in near defeat. his fingers tapped the counter. "like broke back mountain stuff?" you asked as you rounded the counter. "broke back mountain?" he asked and now you're wondering why you thought he'd know the movie. "mm its a romantic, kinda toxic story of two cowboys."

"oh like- yeah she's not the biggest fan of gay romance." he chuckled, low. sounded like a good red wine that reddened the very tips of your ears and you thanked your decision to wear your hair down today. you smiled however before you led him to the shelf. "I've never actually touched this genre, not gonna lie. ummm but I think maybe Riders of the Purple Sage? go old or go home, you know." you smiled, handing him the book.

"its got mormonism, polygamy, horse-theft, gunfights. all that kinda stuff so no queerness in sight." you reached your hands together behind your back before quickly pushing your glasses up. He looked down at the book then up at you, eyes quickly trailing your features and grinned. "cool um. ill still take a look around for myself."

"oh is that- would you-" you cleared your throat and blushed at your own stuttering, wondering why you were suddenly so flustered but worried that maybe this wasn't a good enough recommendation.

"is this not uh what you're looking for? i could totally show you our best recipe books." your posture straightened as his grin grew and you pointed over your shoulder even though the cooking isle was only an isle over to the left. "no- I mean it is I just wanna look for something i'd like to read." passing the book between his hands. "I know I don't look like the type to read." he chuckled. Your eyes widened and your face turned a frightening shade of tomato red as you shook your head. "no no sorry that's not what I meant at all, you know what? ill just go wait at the register." you laughed nervously, passing him slowly and backing out of the isle. "let me know if you need anything else, we also rent out books."

The man nodded with an amused smile on his face before looking back down at the book you handed him and wandered off to another isle.

Fuck why are you so awkward? he probably thought you were so weird. he is never coming back here. You wouldn't be surprised if he put the book back and fled the store in terror.

of course you were overthinking. you picked at your cuticles as you mentally beat yourself up for being so flustered like you'd never spoken to a man your age before. You pictured a breezeblock falling on your head and killing you right there but your thoughts were interrupted right before it hit your head.

"i'd like to borrow this book." The customer gently put the two books on the counter, the book you recommended and Misery by steven king. You hummed as you scanned the books. "horror novel hey?" you smiled up at him. "yeah a friend recommended a steven king book back in college and I guess I became a fan." he smiled.

"have you read carrie? thats by far my favourite." you pulled out the forms for a library card. He nodded. "way better and honestly more vivid than any of the film adaptations could be." His eyes lit up, chuckling and you nodded in agreement.

"so um you just have to fill these out and show me any form of ID with your date of birth and address on it and you'll have your library card." you placed a pen next to the forms and you began bagging the books as he pulled out his ID.

Jeon Jeongguk. only a year older than you. You smiled while handing back his ID and began registering the information to the system.

In full transparency you were surprised he'd want to come back here after the little awkward conversation earlier let alone register a card with the place, forever solidifying himself as a regular.

"cool heres your card. And uhh," you checked your monitor. "this needs to be returned oh! February 15th. you can always extend the date if you come in and let whoever behind the counter know but you can only extend the return once." you nodded, eyes darting around as you recited the terms from memory and like he knew-

"great memory." he smiled and took the bag and shoved his wallet into his back pocket. "thank you. i wrote those terms myself and yet somehow still have trouble with it." you giggled, pushing your glasses up again. "whats your name by the way?" he asked and once again you were blushing. "oh I'm y/n."

"jungkook, you probably saw on my ID. I'll see you around." he smiled as he backed out of the shop leaving you with a warm fluttery feeling in your stomach.

and of course the rest of the day at work you thought about the handsome boy you met.

Instead of reading or doing paper work you wondered for hours through your shift why a man who- based on appearance- you'd describe as a womanizer could be so smoothly soft spoken and seemingly well read.

why are you thinking about him so much and why were you so flustered talking to him?

➽ Yoongi Masterlist ➽ Main Masterlist ➽ Taglist Form ➽ G-Dragon Masterlist ➽ Kpop Masterlist ➽ Buy Me a Coffee Through Ko-fi

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dinodaweeb · 2 days ago

Note

grrrrrr write more genshin content !!!!

a/n: FINE, MOM. JEEZ WHAT IF I WANNA WRITE CHAINSAW INSGEQD!PPP

Is This A Fight or Fu-

Ajax x Gn!Reader

summary: during a spar the two fo you get side tracked..!

The sun’s just beginning to dip, casting long shadows across the sparring ring, when Childe tosses you a practice blade and flashes that too-sharp grin.

“Don’t hold back on me,” he says, eyes glinting like the ocean before a storm. “Unless you wanna end up on your ass again.”

You arch a brow. “That a promise?”

He chuckles, already stepping into stance. “Sweetheart, that’s a threat.”

The match begins.

Your blades meet with a satisfying clang, the force of it singing up your arms. Childe’s fast—annoyingly fast—but you’ve sparred with him enough times to know his rhythm. The cocky spin of his heel, the almost lazy arc of his first swing—he’s baiting you. Always baiting.

So you don’t take the opening. Instead, you shift your weight and knock him back with a sharp shoulder. He grunts, surprised.

“Oh,” he breathes. “You’re learning.”

You smirk. “I’m adapting.”

Childe’s laugh is breathless now, the kind that sparks heat low in your gut. He lunges again, this time with speed that makes your bones scream. You parry, duck, roll—feet sliding in the sand as your pulse kicks up.

“You sure you’re not trying to kill me?” you gasp, barely blocking his next blow.

“If I were trying,” he pants, grinning wide, “you’d be dead already.”

And then he pins you.

You don’t even see the move—just the flicker of his knee, the twist of his wrist—and suddenly, you’re flat on your back, wrists caged in his hands, body pressed down by the weight of him.

“Gotcha,” he whispers, breath hot against your cheek.

You glare up at him. “You cheat.”

“You’re slow,” he counters, and yet he doesn’t move.

His hands tighten slightly, fingers wrapped snug around your wrists. You realize then just how close he is—straddling your hips, hair messy from the fight, cheeks flushed and freckled and stupidly pretty in the golden light.

He should’ve let go by now.

But he doesn’t.

And you should’ve shoved him off.

But you don’t.

Instead, your breathing slows. The air between you thickens. His eyes flick to your lips.

Your voice comes out lower than intended. “Are we still fighting?”

His smile tilts. Crooked. Dangerous. “Do you want to be?”

There’s heat in his tone. Not the battle kind. The other kind—the kind that’s had you rolling your eyes and biting your tongue every time he smirks after training, every time he brushes your hand “accidentally,” every time he calls you by some ridiculous pet name and looks at you like he could eat you alive.

You swallow. “I don’t know what this is.”

He leans down, the tip of his nose brushing yours. “Then let me make it very clear.”

His lips don’t touch yours. Not yet. Just hover. Just enough to make your heart stutter.

And then he says, low and smug, “Unless you’d rather keep sparring.”

You don’t answer with words.

You buck your hips.

It’s instinctual, maybe. Desperate. Or maybe just bold enough to say what your mouth can’t. But the way his breath catches? The way his hands tighten again around your wrists?

He got the message.

“Dangerous move,” he murmurs.

“Scared?”

His eyes flicker, dark and hot. “Not of you.”

And then—finally—he kisses you.

It’s not sweet. It’s not gentle.

It’s war.

He kisses like he fights—teeth, tongue, tension. You kiss him back just as hard, and he moans, low and broken, like he wasn’t expecting you to match his fire. His grip on your wrists softens slightly, enough for you to pull one free and curl your fingers into his hair.

He groans at that, grinding down just enough to make your breath hitch.

“Still think I’m slow?” you breathe.

“Only in admitting you wanted this,” he growls.

You tilt your head. “And you didn’t?”

“I’ve wanted to pin you like this for weeks.”

“Liar. You’ve wanted this since the first time I knocked you on your ass.”

Childe’s grin widens against your lips. “Guilty.”

He kisses you again—deeper, slower this time. A dragging sort of heat, one that promises more. The kind that lingers behind your teeth and curls your toes in your boots.

His hand slides from your wrist to your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek like he suddenly remembered he should be gentle, too. But his other hand stays braced beside your head, keeping you trapped beneath him. A deliberate contrast. A threat wrapped in comfort.

He pulls back just enough to see your face.

“You gonna let me win next time?” he asks, breathless.

You scoff. “Not a chance.”

He laughs, and the sound is everything—relieved, wild, wanting.

“Then we better keep practicing,” he murmurs.

The look in his eyes is dangerous.

And you hope he means it.

#x reader #gender neutral reader #:3 #genshin x reader #gender neutral y/n #genshin impact x you #genshin x gender neutral reader #genshin impact x reader #x male reader #female reader #gender nuetral reader #childe x reader #childe x y/n #childe x you #ajax x reader #tartaglia x reader #tartaglia x you

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starpains · 2 days ago

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For the kiss game 😌

What about “we shouldn’t be doing this” kiss that still happens anyway—and keeps happening." 😇💕

Thank you for this prompt! I secretely hoped someone would choose it because I just love the desperation of this setting 😏. So here are our bloodied, mud-soaked generals, fresh off the battlefield:

The grip on his arms came sudden and hard—fingers catching the edge of his armor, spinning him with practiced strength into the dark. His back hit the cold wall with a dull clang, breath jolted from his lungs. For a split second, Obi-Wan reached for his lightsaber—

—but then lips crashed into his, hungry and familiar, and the fight melted out of him at once.

He didn’t need to see. He knew that mouth. Knew the taste of battlefield sweat, iron and dust, knew the particular bite of grief buried under adrenaline. He knew who this was.

Anakin.

Obi-Wan’s hands closed reflexively around the edges of Anakin’s cuirass, dragged him closer, kissed him back with equal heat. No hesitation. No space between them. The kiss was frantic—tongue and teeth and panting breath, bodies colliding like gravity had never let them part.

Anakin made a low sound against his mouth. Obi-Wan swallowed it.

This was how it always happened.

Fresh from the front lines, boots still caked in mud, blood still drying on armor seams. Emotions raw and unspoken, too tangled to name. They never said anything. Just did—found each other in the shadows between shifts, between orders, between lives they were forced to live.

It never happened in their quarters. Never somewhere private, never anywhere with a bed or a door that locked. That would have made it different. More intimate. And that could lead to more.

Obi-Wan wasn’t sure what more would even include.

So it stayed as it was—desperate, hungry kisses in hidden corners, just as it had been since the first time.

He remembered it vividly. Anakin had been pacing the hangar deck like a caged animal, fury in his limbs, grief in his breath. Another failed mission. Another squad lost. His hands were shaking, mouth a snarl of rage and heartbreak, and Obi-Wan had stepped in—words of comfort offered with a gentleness that only ever seemed to infuriate him more.

Anakin spun on him, chest heaving, wild-eyed. Obi-Wan braced for the explosion.

But it never came.

Instead, Anakin surged forward, grabbed Obi-Wan by the front of his tunic, and slammed him back into the wall with a force that rattled through his spine.

Then—he kissed him.

Hard. Unrelenting. Desperate.

It wasn’t soft, wasn’t hesitant. It was raw. Teeth clashed. Breath caught. Tongues slid and scraped and fought. Anakin kissed him like violence, like survival, like it was the only way to keep breathing.

And Obi-Wan let it happen. Let it take him. Met him, matched him, gave back just as much.

There had been no thinking. No deciding.

Only yes.

He had stopped counting after the first twenty-two—one kiss for each year Anakin had spent in this galaxy of theirs. He remembered that number like a sacred marker, a way to hold the chaos still for a moment, to give it form. But time wore it down. They kept kissing, kept finding corners and excuses and reasons. And eventually, Obi-Wan lost count. Somewhere between battlefield forty-three and some moon he couldn't name.

He stopped counting when he stopped fearing it would end.

When he started to believe it was theirs now. A rhythm. A ritual. Something to reach for when the world turned cruel. A reward for survival. A balm after bloodshed. A promise, if not a spoken one.

But still—sometimes. In the stillness after, when breath came ragged and his spine ached from the angle of some storage alcove, the old voice would whisper at the edge of his mind. The voice that had shaped him, molded him, kept him alive through discipline and denial.

What are we doing?

Sometimes it would rise so sharply it caught behind his teeth, nearly spoke itself into the air—we shouldn’t...

But he never said it. Never found the will.

Because whatever this was, he needed it. Just as much as Anakin did.

The feel of Anakin’s tongue was familiar now. The taste—something like home. The motion of their mouths had become a language of its own. Well-practiced. Precise. Theirs.

Anakin's hands slid from his arm plates to his neck, then higher—one cradled the back of Obi-Wan’s neck, the other rose to cup his jaw with a pressure that had turned gentle over time. The kiss shifted. Slowed. Deepened. Their tongues met like they’d done this a hundred times before, because they had. It was a rhythm worn into muscle memory, a familiar beat.

And still, it changed.

The desperation didn’t vanish—it softened, diffused. The urgency burned lower but no less fierce, curling inward instead of out. One of Anakin’s thumbs traced the edge of Obi-Wan’s cheekbone, his touch absurdly tender for someone who had dragged him into a wall only moments ago.

It had morphed with time. What once burned fast and wild now lingered at the edges, a slower heat that drew itself out like breath through parted lips. The kisses stretched longer. Grew gentler near the end. The desperation never left, but it shifted—refined into something more tangible. More permanent. More like exactly the shape of the hole he’d carried in his heart since he was a teen.

It fit perfectly. Made to measure. As though it had only ever waited for Anakin to find it, to press into it, to make him whole again.

They kept kissing. Again. And again.

And again.

#obikin #starpains writing #tumblr-exclusive

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lucius-i-ran · 3 days ago

Text

The first time it happened, it was with a whack; at least, it was the first time it happened in Will's eye-action radar. It was with a whack! Blunt and short, wet.

Practice's like that. Playtime's like that. Camp Half-Blood is the place where you're not even safe at lunch. You must keep an eye open at the back of your head at all times, shielded and ready for flying fruit salads and javelins. And the games. Brutal, violent, almost sadistic. Some didn't understand the appeal, and rightfully so. Demigod life was already a mess, so some frowned upon getting ready once a month - or whenever, really - in full war gear, with battle cries and sticky paint, to fight brothers and sisters. It was nasty and reminiscing, two things that at least one quarter of the CHB population absolutely loathed.

Not this demigod, though; Will had gotten used to it by now. Nico di Angelo seemed more keen than others on eating dirt in fistfights and moving coldblooded through his peers, spilling warmth, theirs. Will had offered him time and time again oranges and ironfilled meat but no. Mud and teeth-chipping gravel it is. Strategy, betrayal, drama, brutal tendencies; Will had gotten used to the notion that their flag games were Nico di Angelo's natural habitat.

Will himself wasn't too much of a fan, though. Adrenaline rushed enough in his blood already, pumping his heart full and gold on a daily basis, and he wasn't exactly trying to add "myocardial infarction" on his christmas list. He usually waited for one, two, three hours for horns to blow victory, when the sun was brushing its teeth on the hill's grass to get ready for bed, for floods of friends to get stiched up, some frowning, some snickering, some just content to have just scraped a knee. Will would gladly comply, scolding some deeper wounds until supper was plated and ready.

Kayla, medic on field, the one in charge to keep an eye out during the games, strongest and fastest, with enough medical knowledge for someone not to die and even feel better, had been a victim to her own beloved tragedy. Bone snaped and fully out; no games for at least two months and a half. Guess who was the next in line to succession, heir of the sadistic kingdom, crown prince to keep his peers alive? And Will was certainly not as fast or graceful as Kayla and he was much better with a gun rather than a bow but years of thrushing teenagers punching and yelling had made him strong enough to easily pin an Ares kid down; besides, Will definitely knew his way around a scalpel and how different could it have been from a dagger?

Will had a habit of not singing for victory until the prize was won, even if it was secured; it was a matter of superstition and his usual bad luck. If he dared to even think anything mildly positive about situations and shenanigans still playing out, sideways wouldn't even begin to describe the direction it would go. Completely diagonal, down a slippery slope, covered in gasoline, and lit on fire was more like it. And listen, Will was a science man, but would you really recommend a witness of the most ridiculous curses, not to be superstitious?

So: the pawns are placed, the battlefield is ready, and the game is almost over.

Will's heart gave itself the chance to stop the backflips competition every time he heard a scream, a cry, a hit, or a clang. He observed in the slight blue tint of the forest, the sun already waving goodbye, figures running up the hill, a hand already tensed farward and ready to grab the wooden flagstaff. It was bony, olived and almost glistening silver in the summer shine of the evening. Dew gently sliding from Nico's back, moving with every sway of the elegant legs, and Will, too lost in the sight of his Very Own Prince, sighed; he sang a song of victory.

It played out fast, like a gasp. Sleepy muscles awoke to steal the staff of victory, a lone cheer just waiting to be joined and a wet whack! Nobody had time to assess if it had been a sore loser or a hit meant to come just one second earlier. Will didn't even register the reasons or the implications; all that mattered was the tumble, the heavy head, split open like the dark pit of hell in his stomach and the blood. So much blood, gushing, and staining. Nico's head was turned sideways, and his hair getting all dusty and grimy, bathed in the forest's soil. His eyelashes were dark and coated, drenched, catching every drop they could, and when they failed, it dripped down onto his nose, tinting his lips, tasting his teeth like metal.

A groan, angry and hurt.

Alive.

Will ran, legs crushing the soil like a madman, and his steps never so calculated. He felt the pockets and, where the fuck was his needle. Knees now planted in front of the resting angel; they scraped on the dry grass and a pointy rock. He scrambled, all over the place. The first step was now long gone in the lump in his throat, the sting in his eyes, the deep ends of his mind. A scratch from the back of his voice escaped, failing to reach the trusted fannypack under the bronze armour. Everything was taking too much time, and the blood just kept pooling. The knitting needles of the fates hammered into his temples, and he wept, like the wound, red and tender.

His beloved rose, more panicked than puzzled and Will stared, in the same awe that washed over the lucky witnesses of Lazarus' walk.

His scarred hand rushed to stop the flow and the winch that cramped Nico's face added guilt to the dreadful panic cocktail stirring in the acid of Will's stomach.

"Lee--" it came out, apology stained.

"Hey sunshine," whisper of reassurance brushed over, and then Nico commanded, "Look."

Will complied. He followed dutifully the pale hand, pulling the hair out of they way of the cut. Will observed and studied and suddenly it was small.

Suddenly, the blood wasn't pooling but trickling, at best, down Nico's reddened skin.

Suddenly, the blood wasn't Lee's anymore.

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envy-is-dead · 1 day ago

Text

CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG YEEEOOOOUUUUCCHH

well

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muffinsin · 1 day ago

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Ferocity

Entry #6- the forgery

Brat! Cassandra Dimitrescu x Dominant! female OC "Verena"

Masterlists

The forge crackles with heat and rage, the air hot and stuffy almost when Cassandra moves towards it. Too warm for another's liking, certainly, though she finds herself visiting it more and more often. Of course, this is mainly due to whose workshop it is.

Sparks leap from the anvil, and she shivers and bites her lip to hide the smirk forming there as she sees the heavy hammer swing down on it over, and over, and over again, prompting more firefly-like sparks. Her wife's- she scowls in distain at the title- arms flex with every swing of it, veins bulging, muscles straining against the cheap, beige linen shirt sticking to her, her sweat running in slow, teasing droplets from her neck and down her back, tracing scars and muscle Cassandra knows is there.

She licks her lips at the thought, her golden eyes flickering to the woman's covered back. With the shirt sticking to her so tightly she manages to make out the muscles beneath and already feels herself shivering in desire despite the heat the large room has adapted.

She stalks into the workshop quietly, her flies, normally buzzing at least a little, now silent as though the woman was nothing but unsuspecting prey. Both, not entirely correct.

The huntress walks with the grace of a cat in heat; feral, smug, and set on deeply annoying her darling wife as a part of what has to be her favorite game. She leans against the shut door first, her arms folded and mouth curled into a satisfied smirk she knows will eventually get her in trouble with the blacksmith. Ah, but how the brat loves getting in trouble.

She drops her gloves to the ground, her fingers flexing in the warm heat of the room, the sound easily drowned out by the angry smacks of hammer against anvil.

"My, my. Someone's being productive today", she drawls out, her voice thick with sarcasm, her eyes lidded and lips curled to a sinful smirk. "What's that iron done to you, dog?", she teases, then hums when the woman merely shakes her head at her words. She chuckles lowly, practically seeing her disturbed frown, even as she has not yet turned to her.

"Is it more interesting than me?", she teases, then hums, as though struck by an idea. "Or just less difficult to work with?"

Her wife doesn't answer, not yet. She just keeps hammering, her fingers tightening a little around the hammer's handle.

But that's fine. Cassandra wants to push, after all.

She moves from the door with a hum, crossing the room with a slow strut and swaying hips. Her black heels echo on the stony ground and, now that her presence has been announced, her flies buzz lightly in anticipation and mischief.

She stops only once she stands right behind the broader woman, allowing her fingers to trail up her back, dipping against the linen shirt just hard enough to feel the hard, muscular spine beneath. She isn't gentle, her touch teasing and scratching, her claw-like nails digging into the shirt and ripping slightly, as though tasting for weakness.

As though she was the predator.

As though she didn't like how her wife can make her feel like prey, instead.

"Honestly", Cassandra sighs, her nails digging in a little more before she moves her hand to the woman's sleeve, her fingers and touch cool against the heated skin of the blacksmith when the linen sleeve stops at her elbow and her muscular arm is left bare. "You could at least pretend to notice me. I'm sure another would", she teases, smirking when she hears the woman's heartbeat pick up a little, anger and possessiveness coursing through her.

She knows, Cassandra loves nothing more than to push and pull, to get on her nerves, to snarl and bite and claw at her, to tease her in any way she can until she is made to pay the price for it. She refuses to make it this easy for her, now, even as she knows she hears and feels her body's reaction to her words.

The hammer slams down harder, a dangerous clang echoing through the room that only fuels the sadist and masochist's raw excitement.

Pushing herself closer, the brunette leans up to the woman's ear, her sharp, claw-like nails sinking into her arm and side as though to help her steady herself. If the more muscular woman was not so angry at her brat for distracting her while working yet again, she might find it adorable and tease the Dimitrescu for it, guaranteed to get at the very least a sweet, embarrassed blush in return.

"You're sweating", Cassandra whispers against her ear, her breath hot, but her lips- bloodied from her latest catch- slick and cool against heated flesh.

She inhales subtly, her golden eyes flashing with want as she picks up the woman's scent- iron, blood, the woods, coal, fire. Her favorites, she has to annoyingly admit to herself.

Her wife finally speaks, then, her voice low and thick with warning as she brings down the hammer again, acting nonchalant despite the shivers now running down her spine; "Geh weg, Cassandra. Ich arbeite"

Go away, Cassandra. I'm working.

Of course, this does nothing to deter the sadist. She only grins wider, her lips curling against her ear again, her sharp nails digging in a little deeper and daring to tear the thin shirt again- something she has already been punished for not once, but twice.

"Oh, German. Are we at that level of frustration already, pet?", she teases. Smirking again, she leans in as much as she can given their clear height and size difference, her lips grazing her wife's shoulder, just enough to provoke again. "What if I don't go away? Don't you know, dog? I'm your superior. Think you get to tell me what to do?"

The hammer drops with a heavy thunk, and Cassandra bites at her lip to hide her grin, even as her flies buzz with excitement and anticipation.

The woman turns, big, broad shouldered, her jaw clenched and fingers curled into fists, her dark eyes set on the Dimitrescu. Just the way she likes it. She straightens slightly, instinct kicking in, but she doesn't back down. "Yes, dog? Come to bite at the hand that feeds you?"

She almost flinches when the woman's hand raises, excitement pooling in her eyes at the mere thought of rough fingers grabbing at her jaw or hair, but instead she only watches as the woman raises it to her own face, wiping sweat from her brow.

"You're trying to piss me off, Kleine", she snarls, her voice an annoying mixture of frustration and calmness, still. Cassandra does her best not to let her see just how excited she is, a scowl on her face. She reminds herself harshly; she is not here for her. Only for what she can do for her. Then, the woman speaks again, and she finds herself annoyingly drawn in by the low sound of her deep voice. "But all you're doing is making me want to shut that brat mouth of yours, Süße"

Cassandra scoffs, cheeks a little pink, snarling a little as she speaks; "Oh please. I'm not here for you. I'm just bored. And you're loud"

The woman chuckles at the words, and just briefly Cassandra could curse herself for allowing her breath to hitch at the sound, her nipples so hard they push against the fabric of her dress already.

"Oh? You're bored?"

She steps forward, and the sadist suddenly becomes very aware of how much taller and stronger the woman is- physically- and just how easily she can fold her in half if she wanted to- and she allowed it. Her thighs push together harshly, her mind flooded with the memory of gripping the headboard for dear life, her hips held tight, her ass cheeks jiggling with every harsh thrust of the woman's strap inside of her.

Feeling the woman step forward, she snaps out of it and instinctively takes a step back, then another and another as the woman begins crowding her. She knows, she could put an end to this, could swipe at her with the intent to kill, could kill the annoyingly hot woman. Instead, she indulges her and the little game shared between them and allows her to back her up until her shoulders hit the wall, her breath ragged and pulse hammering in her throat. Her flies buzz loudly, some biting into the woman's arm.

"Bored, hm? Is that so, Cassie?", the blacksmith chuckles lowly, laughing when her hand shoots out to help her lean against the wall and she catches how it has her favorite brat gasp. Not from surprise, certainly- no, it takes more than that to surprise the huntress- but from want. She leans a little closer, her body heavy against Cassandra's more petite frame.

"You've been rubbing yourself on me like a needy little stray", she practically growls, her lips pulling back to snarl back and show sharp teeth off when the Dimitrescu hisses at her at the words. "You've been sniffing me like a needy little bitch in heat, and now you're gonna pretend you get to command me around?", she snarls, fingers flexing against the wooden wall.

Cassandra snarls at her, her eyes sharp and angry. "I'm not a bitch in-"

But already she catches the hand moving again, strong fingers at last snapping to her face. She pushes her thighs together sharply as she feels her grab her jaw, thumb pressing hard enough into her cheek for her to snarl and moan in pain.

"Auf die Knie"

On your knees.

A simple command, and one the brat understands by now, even without having studied the woman's mother tongue.

She snarls, instead, her pussy aching and clit pulsing against the tight thong-like panties she tries to convince her she did not put on just for her. She feels hot already, feels how every push and prod of the thumb against her face has her knees feel weak, knowing no other would dare touch the strong, dangerous, mighty Cassandra Dimitrescu like this.

No other would dare disrespect her like this.

This one? She has no such qualms.

"I said", she repeats, dragging her thumb down to Cassandra's bloodied lips and forcing her to taste the iron and sweat sticking to it. "on your knees. You want my attention, Kleine? Then be a good wife and help me let off some steam"

At this, Cassandra snarls angrily, her thighs clenching, her nails shooting up to bite into the woman's muscular arm.

Her wife. How she hates it. How she hates being called her good little wife.

How she hates how good the humiliation and hate makes her feel.

And still, feeling the thumb slowly force its way to her tongue, she eventually hisses again, but drops.

The dirty floor is rough beneath her knees, her dress and stockings offering little protection to the near-noble. The scent of metal, smoke and arousal hangs thick between them, now even more so than before. She watches as the blacksmith roughly unfastens her belt with a slow, deliberate click, the leather easily slipping through the loops. Looking up, Cassandra feels her cheeks burn and pussy ache at the bite marks still visible in the leather.

How long has it been? She can't recall, but does not bother trying to, either.

"You're going to use that mouth", the woman hums, her voice low and just cruel enough to make Cassandra squirm with want, even as her golden eyes look up with a mixture of raw want and hatred, too. She snarls as she feels the woman's large hand set to her cheek, mocking, almost sweet, almost as if she was a good wife, as if Cassandra was not stuck despising and needing her.

"You're not going to stop until I say you can. Understand, brat?"

She looks up at her through her lashes, flushed, furious, undeniably needy, a state only she can get her in these days- much to the Dimitrescu's annoyance.

"I hate you", she snarls.

But her wife only smirks down at her, her hand sliding up and tangling in beautiful, brunette strands of hair. "Good. Now open up, Schätzchen. Let me see that sharp tongue put to better use than your constant bratting"

And- as much as she hates and loves it at the same time- Cassandra obeys.

Burning with rage and want, cursing herself and loving every second of it, she does lean forward and yank away the black underwear in her path. Her nose first brushes against dark, trimmed pubic hair and she growls quietly, her flies buzzing loudly, her pussy drooling against the panties at the scent of utter arousal greeting her. She's certain, as much as she glares up at her, her wife is perfectly capable of picking up the scent of her arousal, too.

She snarls against her inner thigh, sharp, fang-like teeth dragging too close to tender skin, but she does not bite down, this time. Instead, she leans in, her tongue broadly licking between the woman's folds. She moans hotly into her, feeling her hair be tugged sharply, her mouth watering as her wife's taste coats her tongue.

The taller woman watches through heavy eyes, her stomach curling tight as she feels the brat's sharp tongue drag through her folds again, then push inside of her hungrily. She watches her hips roll seductively, no doubt growing relentless from only eating and feeling the tight, black panties stick to her wet pussy.

She seems almost perfectly behaved this way, moaning between thick thighs, groaning whenever her hair is tugged and she's forced closer or in a different angle, her hips rolling and sharp nails hooked into the back of her wife's thighs, drawing thick blood from her.

"Gutes Mädchen"; the taller woman growls, her deep voice just a little huskier and breathier as her hips rock against Cassandra's face. She groans every time her clit brushes up against her nose, moans as she feels the woman's tongue ravage her insides and snarls angrily and in pain when she feels sharp, claw-like nails curl into the back of her thighs.

Of course, her brat could not go to be good without pain.

Of course, her wife would never deny her this.

Not when- unlike others- she can handle the big, bad Cassandra Dimitrescu, and all the pain and pleasure that comes with her.

"What was that, Schatz? Thought you weren't interested, Süße?", she laughs breathlessly, her dark eyes dropping shut, her fingers curling and forcing the brunette to stay in place when she feels her snarl muffled complains about the petnames against her pussy. "Sshh, keep going. I already told you what to use your mouth for, Cassandra", she scolds.

Oh, the sadist hates her. Hates this.

Ah...but she loves it.

She needs it.

And both of them know it.

Both know the rules of their game, both know the blacksmith would never seek out another, utterly obsessed with the unruly, bratty, spoiled huntress.

Both know Cassandra would never- could never- find another to satisfy her and keep up with her and this game of theirs.

She moans hotly as she's tugged back momentarily, made to look up and present her soaked lips and chin. Her eyes are blown wide, leaving only a slim ring of gold in them now, and immediately find the blood smeared from her lips onto the woman's soaked and puffy pussy and clit. She snarls when the woman coos breathlessly above her.

"Such a mess..."

Her sharp nails twist inside, drawing groans of pain that are met with needy moans and gasps. This time, the sadist does not need to be reminded to keep going, her head immediately diving back between thick, bloodied thighs the moment the woman's grip on her hair loosens a little.

"H-Ha! Good...-girl...!"

Cassandra moans, furious, soaked, her sharp teeth grazing soft southern lips, her tongue sharp against a sensitive clit.

She digs her nails in again, smears more blood against hard, muscular skin, acting as though she still has some power left aside from the secret, but deep down obvious and shared knowledge that she could end the other woman.

Perhaps, knowing so makes her submission even sweeter.

She swallows all she is given, growling and moaning hotly, her mouth hot and wet and tongue alternating between swiping against her wife's clit and digging deep inside of her. She groans as the back of her head is grabbed and held there, moans as she is made to stay still until she sucks and licks harder, shaking with rage and arousal, her panties soaked through and inner thighs wet from her leaking, but unattended pussy.

She tries to tell herself, she only does it for her own enjoyment. That she doesn't get such satisfaction from being forced on her knees and held in placed, from being held there and made to eat the woman she trusts and despises out, to help her out like a good wife.

It's only after a final, rough grind of her hips and a loud, broken groan from above that her head is released again, wet juices flooding her mouth. She gasps and groans, her lips slick with cum rather than blood, now, her chin shining and chest heaving with want and fury.

"You're insufferable", she snarls, but there is little heat behind her words, now, her voice far too breathy and needy, her thighs shaking, her knees weak against the harsh floor, now. And when the muscular woman turns back to her, easily grabs at her upper arm and hauls her up? She can only moan, her back hitting the wall again as the woman fixes her trousers back around her hips.

She's tugged with her wife as she walks, her legs unsteady and flies loud, but pussy and body yearning for every harsh treatment and tug she receives until, at last, she finds herself slammed against one of the thick wooden support beams. She hugs it tightly, groaning hotly when her thighs are grabbed and yanked apart. Her dress is yanked up next, tugged up until it pools around her waist. She's lifted just enough to make her arch and squirm, her heels almost slipping from her. Her pussy squelches as her thighs are forced apart and just for a moment she whines, utterly familiar with the position by now.

She almost pouts, wishing she had brought her favorite strap for the woman to step into.

Another time, maybe.

"Get to it you bru-A-AH! Ngn!", she snarls, cut off by the sharp slap to her ass. Another follows, sharp, loud, and she groans as she feels a large hand cup the stinging cheek after.

"Did you forget your manners already, Kleine? Du gehörst mir, also verhalt' dich so! You wanted my attention. You've got it, Süße", the woman groans, her hand sliding between spread thighs and ruthlessly tearing away tight, black panties.

"For me? You shouldn't have", she chuckles, though Cassandra shivers at the clear want and desire in her voice, her breath catching in her throat when she feels the woman cup her soaked pussy easily in her large, callused palm.

"You're dripping", the woman teases, laughing darkly, easily cutting her brat's useless little threats off when she squeezes her soaked mound in her hand, her palm dragging against her clit momentarily and making her legs tremble.

She hates her.

And her hips involuntarily press back against her and into her touch, still.

"F-Fuck...you...!", she hisses, her mind fuzzy, her pussy throbbing and drooling right into the woman's palm.

Again though, her wife only chuckles confidently. "That's the idea, sugar"

The stretch when her fingers do push into her is- brutal, almost, enough. No warning, no mercy, only sheer power capable of making the masochist melt as she feels three fingers slam inside of her, forcing a broken cry and sinful moan from her throat as her nails rake across the beam.

Briefly she wonders whether the woman planned this, whether this is why she hasn't entered her in the past days, allowing her body to heal up completely and pussy to grow stupidly tight again, her slit tight, then forced apart by strong, large fingers.

She bites back a scream, not willing to give her the satisfaction, but her shaking hips, trembling thighs and hot moans and cries are enough, she's sure. She feels her pussy cling tight to the fingers slamming into her, her inner walls tight and clinging to them like a second skin, her pussy drooling precum and juices like honey for her wife.

She hates her.

She loves this.

"That's it, that's what I like to see...", the woman groans, curling her fingers deep inside. Feeling her thrust hard, each coming word matching a slam of her fingers deep inside, Cassandra can only moan and sob sweetly for her as she commands; "Take it like the good little wife you are"

She hates her.

She hates that word. That title.

Oh, but her body obeys, her pussy tight and quelching around her, clinging to her for life, her thighs trembling, her hips pushing back into her, her heels uselessly kicking against the ground when she's lifted a little, the new angle at last tearing a hot, loud groan and scream-like squeal from her.

Every thrust hits deep, angled perfectly to make her legs shake and bring her close, a thumb set against her clit, a hand lifting her by her hip. Her face is smeared against the pillar, her thighs tremble helplessly for her wife.

For her.

Oh, she hates it.

But she keeps coming back for more, and they both know it.

She feels the woman lean over her, feels her kiss her shoulders and back, her cheek, anything she can reach, her touches sharp, rough, her commands mean enough to make her melt, but her kisses gentle, hot, obsessive.

"You brat so well...", the woman groans, tugging her closer by her hip still. "But you break even better. Is that why you really came? Weil meine süße Kleine mich brauchte?"

Cassandra can only snarl weakly, unsure what the words mean, but certain they're the kind of sweet to make her blood boil.

She hates her.

Her wife. Stupidly hot, annoyingly full of herself! She snarls again, but it melts into a breathy moan far too easily.

"Say it", the woman demands, equally breathless. Her arm and fingers ache, but she doesn't let up. She never does. "Say it, Schatz. Tell me who you belong to, honey", she almost coos, so full of herself it makes the DImitrescu's blood boil and pussy grip her tighter.

She shakes her head weakly, groaning hotly as her clit is rubbed faster. She's close, so close, so close...!

She won't beg, and they both know it.

Not yet, anyway.

And when her wife draws back, her fingers slipping from her completely and hand smacking broadly across her soaked pussy, she squeals in pain and shock alike, breathless, needy, furious.

"Maybe you will have an answer for me later, Süße. Think on it, Cassandra"

"You-...bitch...!", she snarls breathlessly, her hips bucking back instinctively as though chasing the friction and fullness from only a moment ago. But she receives nothing, no pleasure, no reward, only the feeling of her wife's hand sliding up between her legs and joining the other at her hip.

She feels her hot breath by her ear, feels her hand squeeze her hip, then leave it again, the other holding her tight and in place.

"I told you, sweetheart", the woman whispers, chuckling only when the petname is met with a weak, angry snarl. "You wanted attention. I'm giving it to you"

At this, another sharp, stinging slap comes against Cassandra's ass, harsh enough to make her flinch and jolt against the beam, her fang-like teeth flashing in a hissed cry. Another follows, and another, and another, each spank hitting harder than the first, echoing through the large forge. She groans and moans with every one, her cheeks burning from embarrassment and want when one lands between her thighs and makes her squeal, her pussy drooling and aching even when the palm leaves her again.

Her ass, her skin previously pale, now stands out with an almost cute, pink-red hue to it, her cheeks sore after only a few harsh slaps of the woman, her strength enough to make the Dimitrescu cry out and moan. She knows, she is not applying all of her strength, knows she holds back in the way Cassandra even holds back, just enough to not cross the line between pain and torment, just enough to stick to pleasure.

She hates her.

She hates how she trusts her.

And she can trust her.

And she knows it.

And she keeps on returning to her for it, and for so much more.

She feels her thighs tremble, feels her cheeks heat up as she clings to the beam and grinds back helplessly, chasing every little touch like a needy maid.

"You don't get to cum", her wife only laughs. "You get to learn, brat. Maybe then you will have manners later, when I'm done working"

"I hate you!-", Cassandra snarls, trying her best to sound powerful and squirm away, though her struggles are only met with fingers curling tighter at her hip and another, harder slap to her ass that nearly makes her legs give out.

"You love this", the insufferable woman purrs at her, her body hard behind her. "You just hate being made to admit it, meine Süße"

And then, just like that, it stopped again, and Cassandra is left growling weakly and attempting to stand again as her wife steps away from her, eying her hungrily and smirking as the dress slips back down, drawing a sharp hiss from the huntress when the fabric slides over her sore, pink ass cheeks.

Just the way she likes it.

Just the way only she can make her feel.

She blinks at her, still trying to catch her breath, when she spots the woman curl her panties into a ball in her fist, then stuff them into the back pockets of her trousers. She lunges for them instinctively, growling loudly even with wobbling legs- all for her cheeks to burn and body to yearn for more as her wrist is caught mid-air and strong fingers wrap around it.

"Ah, ah", her wife warns, wearing that stupid smirk that makes the huntress hiss at her again. "Don't even think about it, Schatz"

"Give them back!", the Dimitrescu demands, humiliation burning bright within her. By any rights she knows she should just get them back, should overpower her like they both know she could, should swarm and just grab her underwear. But she doesn't. Instead, she leans more into this game of theirs, tries to weakly tug her wrist free to no avail at all, and only moans when it has the woman grab her jaw and tug her closer.

"You'll get them back if you're a good girl for me, later. If you prove to me that you can learn, Kleine. And, maybe, even a reward"

Cassandra glares at her, her golden eyes burning with rage, her lips trembling from denial and pure need alike. She feels her pussy drool against her inner thighs, feels so sensitive. Perhaps even more so without the panties, now. She snarls as she's pulled closer, hissing against bitten, dry lips as she's kissed. She feels her pat her cheek mockingly after and hates how it has her clit ache and cheeks heat up even more.

"Now, sei ein gutes Mädchen and let me get back to work. Your mother expects this done by the end of the day"

#cassandra dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #bela dimitrescu #resident evil village #oc verena #cassandra dimitrescu x verena

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itwasntimethatdidit40 · 3 days ago

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First line tag game

Thank you for the tag babies @milla-frenchy and @sizzlingcloudmentality 🌺

Rules: share the first lines of ten of your most recent fanfics and tag ten people.

Not the real deal FIL!Joel Miller x f!reader

You're straddling Joel with your panties on.

Punish me Boss!Joel Miller x f!reader

"Mr Miller wants to see you in his office at 3" When Pam called you to say that a shiver ran down your spine.

Through his eyes Joel Miller x gn!reader

It's strange to see yourself through his eyes.

I want to smell like you FIL!Joel Miller x f!reader

These walls are so thin.

Happy to help Joel Miller x gn!reader

You're in a cafe, sitting on a comfy chair, sipping on your favorite warm drink and scrolling down your phone.

Irreversible Professor Reed Richards x f!reader

You love the way you broke him.

Big Boy Clint Flood x f!reader

Your idiot boyfriend broke up with you six months ago and you haven't seen a cock since.

Teaching is hard work Tess Servopoulos x f!reader

"So you want me to teach you how to pleasure a woman?"

Extra cream and sugar Barista!Frankie Morales x f!reader

Frankie had been noticing you for weeks.

A Quiet neighborhood - chapter 2 Dave York x f!reader

Coming out of the bathroom everything feels too loud, ringing voice of people, music, clanging of glasses, it's all too much to bear with when all you need right now is silence to make up with your overwhelming feelings spinning in your head like a carousel gone wild.

npt: @baronessvonglitter @aurorawritestoescape @thundermartini @mushgloomz @mandaloriankait @maiamore @probablyreadinsmut @cuppajoel @nonbinairyboi @letsgobarbs and whoever wants to do this because fuck the rules, consider yourself tagged and play!

#tag game #first line tag

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hailthegodsong · 2 days ago

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Announcement || Masterlist || Taglist

HIGH RIFT PLAINS: Chapter 1

Word Count: 10.4k+

𓄀 A/N: Well! Here it is! This first chapter is maybe a little boring for some but I promise the next chapter it picks up with some smut and drama and stuff. I was suuuuuper nervous to post this so I hope you like my rendition of sexy cowboy jake

𓄀 Content Warnings: Mentions of loneliness, petty theft, mentions of deceased family, depictions of prostitution, thats about it folks!

Somewhere in Montana, May 1875

𓄀

The sun hung low in the vast, cloudless sky, casting a burnt orange glow over the rolling plains that reached far into the distance, vanishing softly into the horizon. Jake adjusted his hat, pulling the brim lower to shield his eyes from the glare and his skin from the sun.

His horse, a bay mare named Bessie, moved at a slow, steady pace beneath him, hooves crunching against the dry, dusty trail. The wind was a mere whisper, stirring up occasional flurries of dust, but otherwise, the world around him was eerily still.

He'd been riding for hours, and his hips and legs ached against the steady rhythm of the saddle. In the distance, there was no sign of life and no movement apart from the sway of grass, and it had been like that since he’d set off from the last town.

But Jake liked it that way. He wasn’t in a hurry. There was no reason to be, not out there. As a traveller and a salesman, he was used to days like this, where the journey seemed endless, and towns were few and far between.

He patted the side of his saddlebag, feeling the weight of his goods, pistols, gun parts, tools, and the gun oil that he always managed to sell to the more gullible folk.

“Folks never know what they need 'til you show 'em what they can’t live without,” he muttered under his breath, the words from his father a familiar mantra.

Bessie huffed softly, as if in agreement, her ears twitching at the sound of his voice. Jake gave her a light squeeze with his heels, and she picked up the pace just a little. Somewhere out there was another town, a handful of ranches maybe, people he could talk to and trade with. He knew he was bound to find something soon, even if it was just a place to rest his head for the night.

𓄀

Finally, after what felt like days, but was only a few more eventless hours, Bessie reached a crest in the plains, revealing the faint outlines of buildings in the distance. A town, he realised and his lips curled into a half smile at the sight.

He loosened his grip on the reins, giving Bessie the signal to descend the slope at a leisurely pace, her hooves kicking up large gusting clouds of dust as they neared the town’s edge.

As the beaten track slowly turned into a recognisable gravel road, he looked around, wondering if this town was a quiet, unassuming place, just like all the others he’d passed through.

But that was just how he liked it— a town so small that folks relied on his services to maintain their inventory. He always liked to see how isolation had changed a town, letting them develop their own perks and customs different to the last.

As he neared the main street though, the town slowly came to life. Wooden buildings with sagging porches lined the road, their paint faded and cracked. A blacksmith’s shop clanged with the sound of hammer on iron, while a handful of vendors peddled their goods from stalls.

Women in bonnets hurried along the boardwalks, baskets full of vegetables or cloth, their eyes darting to him for a moment before they returned to their business. Men leaned against posts or sat outside shopfronts, nursing afternoon beers, their conversations fading to murmurs as they watched him pass.

His gaze swept the scene as he took in every detail, watching as the roughened hands of local shopkeepers sorted through their wooden artefacts, neatly setting them up to attract potential buyers.

There was opportunity here, he could tell. These were people who worked hard and needed the things he had to sell. If he played his cards right, he could sell them just about everything he had.

Intrigued, he continued down the trodden path and further into what looked like the farmers markets, perched high on his horse as he peered down at the locals.

Some men sold crops, grain and other farmed materials, while others sold their metal trinkets, varying from fire pokers to long rusted chimney pipes. There were women who held their own stalls too, mostly all selling cloth, bedsheets, and intricately embroidered materials.

One woman though, he noted, was perched by a stall that seemed to be selling just about everything. Wild rags, fresh vegetables, leather riding boots, broad brimmed hats, jars upon jars of milk, and more that he couldn't see past the mess of the stall beside her.

You were speaking to a frequent buyer when he noticed you, giving him the allusion that you didn't know he was there. But you had been watching him since he approached the markets, immediately recognising that he was not from around these parts, and kept a wary eye out for him in suspicion.

He only paused for a moment to eye you and your products, briefly inspecting the variety of jams you had stacked by the floor, but did not linger for too long before he gently tapped Bessies side with his foot, continuing his walk onward.

Once he reached the first saloon he could find, Jake swung off his horse, quick to stretch out the tightness in his thighs, and he stroked away the flies that clung to Bessie's side, her skin twitching at the feeling. He wandered around her, taking her by the reins and eyeing the dirty area down for a hitching rail.

He felt anxious tying her up by the other horses, not yet comfortable enough with the locals to trust that they wouldn’t steal her. He had done his research though, and this state, like many others, outlawed horse stealing as a crime punishable by death. But he was smart enough to know that the law didn't stop many.

Alas, he tied her up reluctantly, just like he always did, muttering a quiet prayer under his breath to keep her safe. He used the knot his father had taught him, one that most people did not know how to undo. Jake knew Bessie was a loyal girl anyway, a loud girl too, and if anyone tried to take her, he would know.

An old man with wild, wiry, white hair and an auburn leather hat over his head sat on the steps outside the saloon, watching him as he left the bay. Jake noted the leather chaps on his thighs, and the orange dust that coated his face from a day of riding. Jake gave him a nod, the kind that was polite but not too familiar, and although recognising his gesture, the older man looked away.

Ignoring the disrespect and returning his attention to the saloon, Jake listened as the tune of a piano filtered out the swinging doors. As he stepped in, he let his senses overwhelm him, glasses clinked in cheers and loud conversation echoed in the acoustics of the room. Further down, men sat perched at the bar, swaying in their drunken haze despite the early hours of the afternoon.

This was the kind of place where the townsmen gathered after a long day to let loose— and to loosen their purse strings in the process. He'd ply his relationships here first, getting to know the men and making a name for himself, and set out into the marketplace in the morrow.

Slipping onto one of the wooden barstools, Jake hailed down the bartender, ordering a whisky neat and sliding the coins over the table, the movements done so often that they had become automatic.

“M’names Raymond,” the man beside him introduced, a slur accompanying his unmistakable accent, “But you can call me Ray.”

He outstretched his dirt covered hand, indicating he'd had a long day on a ranch somewhere, and Jake took it politely, shaking firm.

“Jacob,” he replied, keeping his hat tipped low as he sipped at the drink before him. “S’ nice to meet ‘chu.”

“Likewise. You new to town? I aint seen you ‘round here ‘fore,” he questioned, nursing his beer in his thick hands, thumb swiping at the condensation that had gathered on the glass.

“Yes sir. Only stayin’ for a couple’a months. Here to sell some tools and such,” Jake explained, hoping to get his market into discussion amongst the local men.

“Ah, a nomad then?”

Jake tilted his head at the label, “Of sorts.”

He grunted, “And where’re you finding a pillow to rest your head?” As Jake's gaze travelled high in thought, Ray spoke again, “You know… we’ve got some lovely ladies in town that’d keep you for a night at not too bad a price,” he advised, gesturing to the back corner of the bar.

Jake leaned forward only slightly, peering into the dark corner of the bar, only illuminated by a single kerosene lamp, where a man sat by the piano, his fingers dancing over the keys in a fluid motion.

Ray was clearly not referring to the pianist though, as Jake's eyes assessed the scarcely dressed women who flaunted themselves upon the men who sat nearby.

Jake barked out a laugh, “Careful, you’re sounding much like a procurer.”

But when Jaked looked back at Ray, he found that his eyes were lust taken as the ladies bent over, necks exposed as they threw their heads back in laughter, showing off the deep crevice between their breasts.

Jake ticked his tongue, “Don’t be fooled by women o’ such, Ray,” he patted his back, “They just want their pretty penny by the end of the night.”

Ray turned back to Jake, grunting as he swung back the rest of his beer and shouted at the bartender to pour him another. Jake took his chance, knowing that Ray was on the cusp of being too drunk to be coherent, and drunk enough to fall for the temptations of gullibility.

Maybe it was wrong, immoral, but Jake didn’t care. Everyone knew that the truth only got you so far.

“Say, you have much use for guns, Ray?” Jake asked, leaning slightly closer to him.

“O’course I do. I’m a farmer.”

As Jake opened his mouth to make a proposition, and perhaps his first sale in town, Ray spoke again.

“But I won’t have any need for any if ye’r tryna’ sell me some. Could’n’ afford it. I can barely make my way as is. Hardly made a dollars profit this season,” he explained, and Jake frowned in sympathy. “But I’ll be sure to spread your name, Jacob. No use in the two of us scraping by.”

Jake briefly mourned the loss of the potential customer, but was reassured by his promise. Word of mouth truly was the best form of advertisement.

“Why’s that? Farm and what not’s good out here, aint it?” Jake asked, abandoning his sales approach completely.

“Usually, yes. But some’fin happened last season and none o’ ma crops made it through the summer. Er’one else's did, so I dunno what the shit happened to mine. ‘S turned me into a filthy criminal, it has,” he barked out a laugh, though Jake could tell he was far from happy, only masking the pain and stress of financial struggles beneath his humour and booze.

Filthy criminal? Jake thought, not quite understanding the meaning behind Ray's insinuation, but mostly attributed his incoherency to the alcohol pooling in his gut.

“Well, I wish you the best of luck Raymond, I truly do,” Jake patted his back in sympathy. “Now, where can I find a place to sleep ‘round here? ‘Part from the beds of those fine ladies, ‘course,” Jake asked, smirking.

“Well, this old place ain't just a saloon, it’s a tavern too. S’ got beds upstairs for travellers like yourself,” he explained, and Jake peered up at the ceiling and pursed his lips.

“Should do for a coupl’a nights ‘til I find a place more permanent. I’m hopin’ I can help around a ranch or some’fin like that in exchange for a place to stay,” Jake explained.

“Well I wish you luck too then. Not too many people ‘round these parts would be willin’ to let some cowboy shack up in their place.”

Jake tipped back the rest of his drink and stood from his seat, “Well it’s a good thing I aint a cowboy, then isn't it?” he said with a smirk.

Once Jake had left the saloon and untied Bessie from the wooden post, he settled into her saddle and spent the rest of the day exploring the new town. The leather saddle creaked under him as he adjusted his weight, feeling the familiar comfort of the practice despite the long hours.

As they ambled through the streets, Jake marvelled at the town’s size. It was bigger than any he had come across before. The perimeters stretched out far beyond what he was used to, with sprawling neighbourhoods and a network of roads that hinted at a prosperous community.

He travelled across those dirt paths to explore the ranches nearby, assessing the homes and wealth of the locals. Every market, shop and farm he had come across seemed abundant in supplies, thriving in their economy.

His thoughts turned to his own business, and he hoped that amidst the prosperity, the town might be lacking in gun makers, an opportunity he could potentially exploit. The thought gave him a small thrill, imagining the possibilities if he could tap into a market where his skills were in high demand.

By nightfall, Jake made his way back to the tavern where he had decided to stay. He paid for two nights’ accommodation, hoping that in the morning he might find a more permanent place to rest. The tavern was cosy, with the warm glow of lanterns casting a welcoming light over the wooden interior. Jake felt a sense of satisfaction as he settled in for the night, the day's adventures already weaving their way into his thoughts.

For dinner, he enjoyed a hearty steak served by a small front next door. Afterward, he tended to Bessie, making sure she was settled in a nearby stable with plenty of feed and water. And then he got some well needed rest.

𓄀

The next day, Jake spent his time scouring for customers, hopping off Bessie to speak with men on the streets who looked like the kind he usually struck deals with. The sun was already climbing high in the sky, beating down relentlessly, but Jake didn’t seem to mind. His eyes scanned every passerby with sharp focus, weighing his options. He knew his clientele well, their hardened faces, the way they glanced over their shoulders, or the worn leather of their holsters were often all he needed to know he’d found a potential buyer.

Throughout the day, he managed to score three sales, each one giving him a surge of satisfaction. Most were trades— spare parts, bits of hardware that were hard to come by in areas like this— but he took particular pride in his bartering, always able to coax a better deal out of his customers.

Still, there was one transaction in particular that stuck with him. He’d sold a shiny new Samuel Colt pistol for fourteen dollars, one he’d only bought a week ago for far less. The gleam of the gun had been an easy selling point, its craftsmanship speaking for itself, but Jake’s way with words sealed the deal. The man had been eager to take it, and Jake had walked away with his pockets a little heavier, a satisfied grin tugging at the corner of his lips.

By the time the sun began to lower, casting long shadows over the street, Jake was feeling good about the day’s success. He wiped a bead of sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, the cool breeze that had begun to stir offering a much needed reprieve from the heat. He patted Bessie’s side, tying her up in a shaded spot near a saloon where she’d be safe, before turning his attention back to the town around him.

The noise picked up increasingly as Jake made his way deeper into the market, the hum of voices and the clang of metal and wood surrounding him. Stalls were bustling with people, haggling over prices and inspecting goods with careful eyes.

He scoffed when he passed one particular booth, its shelves lined with second-hand boots. Everyone knew wearing someone's old boots was a sure way to invite bad luck into your life, and Jake wasn’t about to tempt fate, especially not with something as personal as someone's shoes. They held the miles of another man's journey, the hardships, and the wear. Better to leave those stories to someone else.

As he moved on, something shiny caught his eye. A flash of silver among a sea of worn leather and dusty trinkets. His pace slowed, and his curiosity got the better of him. He neared the stall, his gaze locking onto the object that had drawn his attention: a silver belt buckle, gleaming in the light. The craftsmanship was intricate, far more refined than the other items scattered around it.

Jake reached out, taking the buckle between his fingers, the cool metal sending a slight chill through his skin. He rubbed the front of it with the pad of his thumb, feeling the smooth surface give way to the detailed engravings. The buckle was flat and rectangular, but its simplicity was offset by the fine, almost mesmerising, designs etched into it. Patterns swirled along the edges, delicate and precise, and at its centre, the maker had carved a scene of a horse and rider, frozen in mid gallop.

He looked up at the seller, who was sitting by a table, etching illustrations into pieces of metal by lightly knocking a thin chisel with a hammer.

“Excuse me?” he called out, and the worker paused to look at him.

“What is it, boy?” he asked, and Jake shifted at the name, noting that the man owning the store looked only a mere few years older than he.

“How much for this buckle?” Jake asked, holding the piece up to show him.

The owner squinted at the piece, “Ah, that one goes for two dollars.”

Pricy, Jake thought. “Can you do a dollar fifty?”

The man narrowed his eyes at Jake, “A dollar and three quarters,” he corrected.

“I’ll take it,” Jake decided, shoving his hand deep into the denim of his pockets and retrieving the currency. “Thank you kind sir,” Jake said as he took the buckle, slipping it into the pocket of his jacket.

The man tipped his hat at him, taking the money and returning to his carving work.

Though he wouldn't admit it, Jake's pace quickened when the hardware appliances began to morph into fruits, vegetables and domestic items, as his eyes began to scan the markets in search for one stall in particular.

Women called out to him from where they stood, offering their goods with a flutter of their lashes, and Jake merely smiled and moved on, no longer falling for flirtation as a lure to empty his money belt.

His thumbs hooked into the folds of his pockets as he listened to the lively sounds of chattering and banter. The scent of fresh bread and dried herbs mingled with the tang of leather and livestock, and Jake tried his best to shake away the feeling of comfort and nostalgia this town gave him.

He found your stall easily, the voluminous selection of goods you were selling standing out against every other item being sold in the markets. He approached the stall, this time able to stop and assess your produce, assess you.

But to his confusion, you were nowhere to be seen, and your abundance of inventory seemed to be left completely unattended.

He let his eyes scan over everything you had to sell, from the domestic goods like linens, bed sheets and socks, to the vast amount of produce you were selling. Rich colours of vegetables stood out amongst your market table, paper sacks of lentils below.

As Jake walked around the sides of your shop, he eyed the leather straps and metal horse bits you sold, all seemingly new and handmade. By the back of the stall, baked loaves of bread were perched on wooden slabs, along with jars upon jars of jam. Multi coloured bandanas were strewn along the table cloth around the perimeter of the shop, and Jake's brows shot up in astonishment of your inventory.

Curiously, he looked around the area in search of you, only just remembering what your face looked like from his brief look the day before. He spotted the head of your long hair from beneath and behind the counter. He wearily leaned over in confusion, and found you bare footed and crouched on the dirt, washing tomatoes in a bucket of clear water.

He smirked at the sight and cleared his throat to get your attention, “S’cuse me Ma’am?” he added, gaining your attention from below. You dropped the tomatoes into the bucket of water and stood, meeting your customer at eye level while you smoothed your creased dress with your wet hands.

“How can I help you?” you asked.

Jake grabbed a random kerchief from your table, “How much for a wild rag?” he asked with a smile.

“Ten cents each.”

Surprise graced his features at how cheap you were selling them for. To his dismay, you quickly returned to your work, not sparing him another moment before picking up the tomatoes from the bucket below and bringing them to a wooden workbench where you dried them with a cotton dish rag.

Not used to receiving such little attention, Jake called for you again, his voice carrying hints of nerves and uncertainty.

“When were these harvested?” he asked, lifting up the first vegetable he could see, which happened to be a zucchini.

You merely glanced at him and the vegetable before answering, “‘Bout a week ago.”

Jake frowned as you refocused on your work. He had never been denied the attention of a lady like this, especially not one who was selling to him. He was suddenly a young boy again, fighting for the attention of the prettiest girl in town.

Huffing, he watched as you worked away, consumed by your task and occasionally tucking hair from your fringe behind your ears.

You were a very fair lady, Jake thought, and maybe that was why you didn't care much for his attention. Maybe you were too used to being proposed to by local suitors and were numbed to the repetitive form of flirtations they administered. Or maybe you were already married.

In desperation, he found himself eagerly trying to spot a ring on your finger, even nearly outright asking you of your status as your hands moved too quickly for him to see. He reprimanded himself at the thought, reminding himself of what he was truly here for.

He wasn't here to get distracted, he needed to focus on making money, selling parts, and getting out of town, the weight of his goods replaced by gold.

Deciding it was time to go, and to stop lingering by your store like a pervert, Jake bought two zucchinis and a dark brown wild rag from you, happily sliding his fare across the table in your direction before he made his return to the tavern.

𓄀

The next day, Jake was restless, flying through his meetings with gun buyers in hopes to make connections, but unable to stop thinking about you.

It bothered him so that you paid him close to no mind, and he had found himself tossing and turning all night at the plaguing thought.

Once he deemed his day of work done, he hastily returned to the markets, this time with much more fervour.

Once he made out your silhouette in the distance, again standing by your workbench and wiping vegetables down with a cloth, he straightened his shoulders and fixed his hair. He made sure his hat was on straight and his collar was flat against his chest before slowing his pace to a leisurely walk.

He sauntered up to your station, making brief eye contact with you, and frowning when you paid him no mind, once again.

“Hello, again,” he greeted, a charming smile on his face.

You peered up at him, squinting as the late sun shone from behind him, “I’m sorry, I don’t believe we’ve met.” You tried not to smile at the look of offence on his face, of course you remembered him.

He cleared his throat and raised his chin, “Yes I… bought a wild rag and some zucchinis from you yesterday,” he explained, trying to rejog your memory, cheeks reddening in embarrassment as the obscure purchase left his lips.

“Oh yes, that’s right,” you said simply, before leaving him to return to your work of cutting square pieces of fabric to place over your jam lids.

Shaking off the rejection like an annoying fly, he moved around the edge of the table, finding a position closer to you, trying his best to insert himself into your line of sight. His eyes flew over the cabbages you had on this table, and he leant his hip against the wooden slab casually.

“Would you mind not leaning on that? The table is very fragile,” you advised, watching as it shook under the weight of his hip.

He quickly pulled himself off and rubbed the heel of his palm against his brow, “Yes, sorry.” He wiped an invisible layer of dust off the table to keep his hands occupied, sucking in a deep breath.

Jake's resolve was getting worse with every word you spoke to him, giving him mere breadcrumbs as he shamelessly begged for your attention.

“Well uh, you’ve got quite the selection here… you make all this by yourself, or you got someone back home helpin’ you out?” he asked smugly, biting his lip as he awaited a response.

You weren't stupid, and you could tell that this was his attempt at wooing you, first scoping your status to ensure you weren't married before he flirted with you. As if he hadn’t already been doing so.

“No, only me,” you explained, eyes trained on your task as Jake hummed at your response.

Movement caught your eye from behind him, and you glanced up to see a man shovelling tomatoes from your table into a sack, clearly intent on not paying his fare.

“Hey!” you shouted.

Jake turned and spotted the man at the same time you did, who was now spinning on his heel to run, realising he had been caught. Without a moment's hesitation, Jake’s feet sprang into action, and he bolted after the man, kicking up dust as he sprinted through the street.

You watched him go, hearing the faint jingle of his necklaces and other small trinkets bouncing and clattering as he ran. The sight of him giving it everything, all to catch a tomato thief of all things, brought a small laugh to your lips.

It was hard not to find it amusing. This man, with all his intensity, was chasing after someone who’d managed to swipe only a handful of tomatoes. It wasn’t as if it would put you out of business.

You knew it, and he likely did too. Still, something in him wouldn’t let it go.

Jake’s long strides ate up the ground beneath him, his muscles coiled tight as adrenaline surged through his veins. His focus was unbreakable, his eyes locked on the back of the man’s jacket, watching him weave and dart between the townsfolk.

Every step seemed heavier than the last as his boots thudded against the dirt street, dust flying up with every pounding footfall. His breath came through clenched teeth, harsh and rhythmic, fueling his pursuit.

The commotion began to stir the crowd. People exclaimed in surprise as they whizzed by, a blur of frantic energy cutting through the town. Conversations halted, and baskets were dropped as a makeshift path opened up for the chase, townspeople scrambling to get out of the way, nobody wanting to get caught up in the chaos.

The thief, quick as he was, couldn’t shake Jake. His frantic, erratic movements only seemed to fuel Jake's determination.

Jake’s breath came in short bursts, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he closed the distance. His heartbeat drummed in his ears, blocking out everything but the sight of the man just inches ahead of him.

Finally, Jake lunged, his outstretched hand catching the thief’s left shoulder. The impact sent both of them crashing to the ground in a heap, dust rising in a cloud around them.

Jake hit the dirt hard, rolling onto his back with a low grunt, struggling to catch his breath. He lay there for a moment, his thumb pressed into his sternum as he tried to force the air back into his lungs, the wind having been completely knocked out of him.

As his breath finally returned in ragged gasps, he let his hand fall away from his chest, only to grimace at the sight that greeted him. A tomato had been squashed between him and the ground during the fall, leaving a wide, red stain smeared across the front of his white cotton shirt. He sighed, lazily wiping at the mess, chunks of tomato peeling off him and falling onto the ground like sad little remnants of the chase.

The thief, clearly deciding it wasn’t worth the trouble, scrambled to his feet, abandoning the sack of stolen goods in his haste. He threw one last look over his shoulder, a mix of disbelief and fear on his face, as if Jake had lost his mind for caring so much about a few tomatoes. Without another word, the thief disappeared into the crowd, vanishing between stalls and onlookers.

Jake groaned as he slowly pushed himself up, dusting off his pants with one hand while the other scooped up the abandoned sack. The orange dirt clung to his clothes, and as much as he tried to wipe it off, it seemed permanent as an attestment to his fall.

His body felt heavy with the effort, each step back toward you a little slower, a little more laboured.

The townspeople, who had been watching the whole affair, now stared at him with a mixture of judgement and curiosity. Jake pressed his lips together into a thin line, the heat rising in his cheeks, but he kept his head high. He tipped his hat at a few of the more bold onlookers, silently daring them to say something. They didn’t.

But all of it, the run, the fall, the ruined shirt, was worth it when he spotted you standing at your stall, watching him with amusement dancing in your eyes, biting your lip to hold back your laughter.

His heart lifted a little despite himself, and he felt a flush creep up his neck as he approached, still clutching the sack. With a sheepish grin, he tipped the small bag of tomatoes onto your table. He hadn’t realised how few there were until that moment. Just two sad-looking tomatoes looked back up at you both.

Jake rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous laugh escaping him. “Well, it would’a been three if one of ‘em hadn’t burst on my shirt,” he joked, glancing down at the red stain spreading across his front.

You giggled at the sight of him, his proud form now covered in tomato juice, and gave him a grateful smile. "Well, thank you for your effort nonetheless. Whether it’s two tomatoes or ten, I sure do appreciate it."

He straightened up a little, puffing out his chest. "Well, it’s poor taste to steal from a lady,” he said proudly, though there was a teasing glint in his eyes.

You raised an eyebrow at him, folding your arms over your chest. "Oh? But you’d steal from a man, would ya?"

Jake cocked his head to the side, a slow smile spreading across his face as he licked his lips. “Well, I didn’t say that, now did I?”

You bit your cheek to stop from smiling too wide, your intrigue growing with each word he spoke. There was something about this man, with his easy charm and recklessness, that had a way of pulling you in. And you couldn’t quite shake the feeling that you wanted to see what else there was to discover beneath that dusty exterior.

“Nightfall is near, so I’m due to close up. If you follow me back to my ranch I can get your shirt cleaned up,” you offered, feeling indebted to him for his efforts.

“And who says I can’t clean it myself?” he challenged, testing your intentions.

“As far as I’m aware, there ain't no running water inside that ol’ tavern,” you rebutted, beginning to pack away your things into baskets and sacks, before placing them onto your wooden supply cart.

“Is that so? And what makes you think I’m staying at the tavern tonight?” he questioned, following you around the edge of the table.

You kept your eyes trained to your produce as you spoke, “Word travels fast ‘round these parts, Jacob.”

Startled, Jake smiled with intrigue. His ears heated at the fact that you knew his name, and something else heated at the sound of you saying it.

“Well, you can call me Jake, if you like. It’s nice to meet you,” he introduced, removing his leather hat and pressing it against his chest politely. You looked up at him with a small smile, and returned the gesture by introducing yourself.

Jake repeated your name, as if to see how the word tasted on his tongue.

“That’s a beautiful name,” he complimented. “I might just take you up on your offer, d’you need a hand packing anything away?” he asked.

“Yes actually, if you could lift the sacks of lentils on the cart, they’re a bit too heavy for me.”

A comfortable silence fell between the two of you as Jake got to work lugging the heavier items onto your cart, leaving you to wrap up everything else in the meantime. With two sets of hands, the pack up was far quicker than expected, and soon you were both walking to retrieve your horses from the hitching rail.

“You have a beautiful mare,” you complimented, watching as he skillfully untied her ropes from the fencepost.

“Thank you, her name is Bessie. She’s a good girl,” he said, giving her a firm pat on her behind. She huffed and leaned her head down and to the side, directly beside his. He began to stroke her nose and she blew through her nose in affection.

“This is Buck,” you said, unlooping his rope and walking him over to Jake, and you stifled a laugh when Buck's hoofs kicked up dirt onto Jake's boots.

Jake took in the sight of him. He was slightly smaller than Bessie, and his red dun coat shone in the last lights of the day.

“He’s gorgeous,” Jake admired. “I like what you’ve done here,” he complimented, waving his hand over the braids you had weaved into his brown mane.

“Thank you,” you replied as you both walked your horses by their ropes away from the hitching rail and back towards your stall, “He is a good boy too, but he can get a bit anxious at times. Calms him down when I play with his hair," you explained.

You attached the rear saddle straps onto the wagon and buckled the belts tightly, tying them in knots for good measure.

“Alright,” you stated, clutching onto the horn of the saddle and slipping your food into the left stirrup. Bracing yourself, you heaved your body up with a groan, swinging your leg over Buck's back and plopping onto the saddle. The leather creaked under your weight, and you adjusted your position, making sure you were secure before giving Buck a gentle nudge.

Jake did the same, but with much more ease and fluidity. His movements were smooth and practised, a stark contrast to your own somewhat awkward effort despite the fact that you rode every day. You attributed your disadvantage to the layers of skirts you wore. He swung up onto his saddle with a natural grace that spoke of a lifetime spent on the horse. Once settled, he followed you as you walked off, your horses’ hooves crunching softly on the packed dirt road.

The ride was mostly silent, a comfortable quiet that stretched between you, punctuated only by the occasional rustle of leaves or distant call of a bird. You could feel Jake’s gaze occasionally shifting toward you from your right, but you kept your gaze forward, focusing on the path ahead. There was something about his attention that made you feel self conscious, though you couldn’t quite place why.

The sun was dipping lower in the sky now, casting a warm, golden light that made the world seem to glow. Your shadows grew longer, stretching out in front of you and bobbing with you as you bounced each step your stallion took. You sighed contentedly, savouring the feeling of the warmth on your back. It was a pleasant end to the day, the kind of simple pleasure that made the long hours worth it.

As you approached the ranch, Jake’s eyes scanned the area, taking in the sights with a careful look. His gaze swept over the landscape, noting the sprawling cropland and the various outbuildings that marked your home. It was clear that he was observing everything with a keen interest, absorbing the surroundings as if they might offer some insight into your life here.

Ahead, he could see your home. A subtle, but respectable building, made mostly out of wood and stone. After your fathers passing, you had decorated its exterior with lush herbs and flowers, often harvesting them to season your meals or add to tea. They took over your windowsills in a flourish, travelling down onto the stone bottom of your home that met the ground, spreading out onto the small garden out front.

Wrapped around you were flat plains of grass, one hundred acres of land to be exact. A quarter of that land had been dedicated to agriculture. Fields of wheat, cotton, corn could be seen in the distance and your cattle munched on the grass beside the fence posts you passed by, watching Jake and his horse curiously.

You had also dedicated your agriculture to vast vegetable gardens, growing freely and mingling amongst one another in a mess of cabbage, lettuce, cucumbers, tomatoes, broccoli, and other vegetables that you couldn't even name, their seeds passed on to you by trusted travellers before.

Beside your home was a small set of stables, enough to house your horse and any visitors you may have. Your pony, the only other horse you owned, aggressively preferred to stay in the fields with the cows, and was prone to bucking if you encouraged it to do otherwise.

A clothing line with skirts, bedsheets and other fabrics hung across the front garen, washed in the sun's afterthoughts, and looking so beautiful amongst the rest of your home.

Although a little run down, Jake thought as he noticed half of your front fence collapsing, your home was beautiful. As you both declined the shallow hill to enter your land, you pointed Jake towards the stables, a place where he could tie up Bessie safely, and where she could munch on some hay with Buck.

You threw a sheet over the trailer of goods you were selling at the markets, keeping it protected from thieving animals in the night, strapping it down with long leather belts for extra security.

Jake was mostly silent as he took in the exterior of your home, and you were too, fearing his judgement and hoping you hadn't left anything too embarrassing out on the clothing line or on your kitchen worktop as you showed Jake the way inside.

Your home glowed in gold, as the sun shone through the windows and onto the wood, turning it a warm orange. You made your way inside, heading straight for the kitchen to fetch a bar of soap and a bucket, but when you turned around you realised that the room was empty.

You wandered back to the front of the house, and found Jake standing warily by the doorway, peering in cautiously.

“You can come in!” you assured, “Just take your boots off, you can leave ‘em by the door.”

Jake smiled at you timidly, his cocky demeanour long gone now that he was under someone else's roof. Slipping his dirt ridden boots off and perching them by the front door as you said, he hesitantly followed you back through the house and into the kitchen. Dried herbs were hung from high wooden cabinets, and their aroma settled his qualms.

As you continued to gather soaps in preparation, Jake looked out from your kitchen window at the ranch, where he could see your cows basking in the sun.

Chickens ran around beside a small coop close to the house, and Jake could hear them clucking amongst the sound of birds singing in the nearby trees. A strong feeling of calm washed over him, warmer than the sun had been on his back earlier, but he was quick to brush it off.

In and out, he repeated in his head, reminding himself not to get too comfortable. He was here to sell his goods, make a couple of bucks and move on.

“Okay, hand over your shirt, I should only be a minute,” you instructed, looking back over at him with a polite smile on your face.

He stared at you wordlessly for a moment, as if processing what you had said, and was only snapped out of his daze when you cleared your throat.

“Oh, right. Sorry,” he blurted, his fingers nimble as they made to unbutton his shirt. A task so simple, so mundane, and so repetitive, had somehow never felt harder.

Unknowing of his apparent nerves, you waited patiently until he unbuttoned it all the way, which wasn't far seeing as he only had the bottom few done up anyways. You tried not to stare at his tanned chest as he slipped the material completely off his body.

You took it from his hands and carried it with you as you left the kitchen and walked to the porch, the padding of his feet on the floorboards the only indication that he was following you.

“Please, sit,” you gestured to a wooden chair with white cushions on it, the one you always chose to sit on when you needed to decompress for the day.

You crouched on the ground, and stretched his shirt out before you, assessing where the tomato stain was, amongst the rest of the dirt that had been smeared on it during his fall and submerged the shirt under the soapy water.

You peered up at Jake through your fringe and watched as he sat awkwardly. He was feeling wildly uncomfortable at the impropriety of being alone in the presence of a lady, especially while shirtless.

Jake took off his hat, and rested it on his lap against his front, giving him some reprieve from the feeling of his upper half being completely naked. He watched silently as you scrubbed the spot on his shirt with a bristly wooden tool soaked in water and soap.

Soon, the sun warmed his skin, and he leaned back into the chair, sighing at the softness of the cushions and listening intently to the sloshing sound of soapy water, slowly being overcome by the sound of your gentle voice, humming a simple tune.

Once you were finished, you stood from your spot, and Jake watched you with careful eyes as you stepped off the porch, your bare feet making contact with the soft grass below. You rung the shirt of most of its wetness as you moved toward clothing line. He stared as you rose to the tips of your toes to reach the line, pegging the shirt on neatly so that it didn't crease and was in direct exposure to the last light's of the sun.

“There we go,” you said, wiping your hands on your skirts and returning to Jake on the porch, “Hopefully it dries by nightfall, ‘s a dry day today, not much wetness in the air.”

Jake hummed, “Thank you very much. It’s very kind o’ you, to do that.”

You smiled, “‘Course. Can I fetch you some tea?” you offered and he agreed politely, thanking you again.

Jake stared out at the ranch as you fixed each of you a cup of tea, letting his mind wander to other things, memories of his past escapades.

Never would he have guessed he would end up in a place like this. He was used to sleeping on the floor most nights to find his way, and never found himself being served a cup of tea by a beautiful woman. The same woman who had just washed his clothes for him at that.

“Here ya’ go,” you said, placing his cup into his hands gently, before taking your place in a soft seat beside him, looking out at the same view he had been watching before.

Jake thanked you again and took a sip, brows rising in surprise at the rich flavour, “Can’t say I’ve e’er had this ‘fore. What is it?”

“It’s called wild rose hip tea. One of the local natives gave me a branch of the dried herbs, told me it stops you from gettin’ sick. And I must say, I ain't been sick since I started drinkin’ it,” you explained, sipping the warm liquid and humming at the tangy fruity taste.

He nodded his head with his bottom lip jutted out in admiration for your story, “‘S good.”

You both sat in silence for a few beats, listening to your chickens cluck as they wandered freely around your garden.

“So, traveller,” you started, and Jake raised a brow. “How long do you plan to stay here in town?”

He sighed, “Well, I ain't got enough to stay at the inn for another night, so I’m to find a new bed to hold me for a couple’a months as soon as I may.”

“And what about tonight?” you asked in concern.

He smiled, “Guess I’ll just have to find a warm tree to settle under. Bessie’ll keep me company.”

You sat with yourself in deep thought for a few moments. You knew better than to invite a stranger into your home, let alone a dodgy traveller. But from the limited time you had spent with him, you felt no disparity towards his genuinity.

You usually had a good judgement for things like this, and your gut hadn’t turned at the thought of offering him the spare bedroom.

“It gets cold ‘round here at night. I have a spare room you can take for the next while,” you offered. His eyes shot up in surprise at your offer. He shuffled in his seat, his eyes softening for a moment as he glanced toward the house. He shook his head.

"I appreciate the offer, Ma'am, but I can’t impose on you like that. This is your home, your space. I ain’t meant to be in the way."

"You wouldn’t be in the way at all. The house is big enough for the both of us. I’m sure you’ve been travelling for days, you could do with a proper bed."

He looked away, a small smile tugging at his lips, though there was a flicker of hesitation in his eyes.

"I’m fine out here, really. Don’t need to make no fuss on my account. A man gets used to the sky after a while."

You crossed your arms, feeling the cool night air press against your skin as the sun began to set behind the horizon.

"How about the couch, then? It's comfortable enough, and I won’t bother you."

Jake scratched the back of his neck, shifting again and clearly uneasy with the idea. "Couch still feels too close, Miss. I ain’t one for overstayin’ my welcome, especially not under the roof of a lady."

You sighed softly, realising he was too proud, or maybe too respectful to accept anything that felt too intimate.

"Well, if you’re that set on it, I’ve got a small bed in the barn. It ain’t much, but it’s better than sleeping outside."

You watched him carefully as he took in the sound of your offer, “Part of my fence is collapsing, you could fix it as payment for your stay,” you added, hoping it would sway his decision.

Why you had become so insistent on him staying was beyond you.

Jake’s eyebrows lifted, and you caught the glint of relief in his eyes, though he tried to hide it. "Now that sounds more like it. I reckon I could take you up on that,” he agreed, flashing a charming grin your way.

You nodded, though a small tug of guilt pulled at your chest. The barn got cold at night, nowhere near as warm as the house, but he seemed so determined to keep his distance.

Sensing your discomfort, Jake tried to lessen your woes, "You’ve been more than kind, thank you for all your help. The barn suits me just fine, promise. A roof over my head’s more than I’m used to these days."

You nodded slowly, still feeling a bit uneasy, but you respected his choice nonetheless.

“I can start on your fence first thing in the morrow, I saw it on our way in, so you don’t gotta show me the way.”

You blushed at the thought of him seeing how poorly maintained you had kept your land after your fathers passing, “That bad?”

He cocked his head and clicked his tongue, “I’ve seen worse. Nothing to worry ‘bout Ma’am, I’ll have it sorted for you in no time.”

Jake stood from his seat with a sigh, hooking his thumbs into his belt loops.

“I best tend to Bessie soon, she gets restless when it comes to her dinner,” he laughed lightly, and you stood too.

“Yes, you’re right, Buck’ll be needing some dinner by now too.”

You hopped off the porch and over to the clothing line, taking his shirt and rubbing your fingers over the now white spot that the tomato had stained.

“Only slightly damp by now,” you said, offering his shirt back to him.

He thanked you, expression softening with gratitude as he slipped his shirt back over his body, buttoning the bottom few up.

“You have a lovely home here,” Jake complimented, as you wandered back to the stables, carrying buckets full with a mixture of hay, grain and water.

“Thank you.” A weight in your stomach sunk in at his complement, as you knew your time on this homestead was limited. You shook away the thought quickly, knowing that there was nothing worse than to brood over things that couldn’t be changed.

“I don’t think Bessies had a meal as good as this in a long time,” Jake laughed as you reached your horses, dropping their dinners in front of them.

You took a dandy brush off the wall and got to work grooming Buck as he ate, the rhythmic strokes of the brush calming both him and you. His coat, matted with dust and flecks of dirt, resisted at first, but soon enough, the shine began to return.

Jake, standing a few feet away, patted Bessie’s side affectionately, his rough hands moving over her sleek coat. You couldn't help but be a little envious of the way she had maintained the smoothness of her coat throughout the day, even after the long ride. Unlike Buck, who had somehow managed to collect dust and dirt despite spending most of the day tethered to a hitch, Bessie looked as if she had barely been touched by the elements.

Jake gave Bessie a satisfied nod, his voice low. "She always keeps herself clean, no matter what we get into." His hand lingered on her neck, rubbing circles into the spot where she liked it best. You glanced over, watching how she leaned into his touch, her contented snorts mixing with the soft sounds of the barn.

"You’re lucky," you muttered with a half smile, running the brush over Buck’s side with a little more vigour. "Buck ‘ere’s like a magnet for everything. Dust, mud, you name it. He’ll find it."

Jake chuckled, his eyes crinkling with amusement. "Maybe he just likes keepin’ you busy."

You laughed, “Seems like it.”

The barn was quiet again, save for the sound of the horses munching on their dinner, the occasional stomp of a hoof or swish of a tail. The smell of hay and leather filled the air, mingling with the earthy scent of the horses. Darkness had begun to creep in, and you could barely make out Jake's face in the dim light. It felt peaceful here, a small, shared moment of stillness after a long day.

"You got a way with him, though," Jake started again, breaking the silence you had created, glancing over as he leaned against Bessie. "Takes a good hand to get a horse lookin’ as calm as he does now."

You felt a warmth in your chest at the compliment. "Well, he’s a good boy when he wants to be," you replied, scratching Buck’s ears, "Just has a mind of his own sometimes."

He chuckled, but remained mostly quiet.

“So, where have you travelled from, Jacob?” you asked, keeping your voice light, though the question held a deeper curiosity you couldn’t quite shake.

He sighed through his nose, a sound that seemed to carry the weight of miles and years. Before responding, he glanced away, the lines in his face tightening for a moment as though he was trying to remember.

“I wish I could tell you, to be honest. I came east, but I never stay long enough to learn a town's name.” His voice was low, almost distant, like he was speaking more to himself than to you.

A flicker of sadness crept over his soft features, the edges of his usually guarded expression loosening as the words escaped. It was brief, just a moment, but you caught it. A vulnerability that vanished just as quickly as it appeared.

He straightened his posture slightly and shifted his gaze to Bessie. The way he looked at her, you wondered if he found solace in the simplicity of her presence. A horse didn’t ask questions about where you’d been or what you’d lost.

You frowned, your brow creasing as his answer weighed on you more than you expected. “Do you like it like that?”

Your words were gentle but pressing, trying to understand why someone would choose a life of such constant wandering. The thought of never having roots, never knowing the names of the places you passed through, seemed lonely.

He hesitated, his mouth opening slightly as if he had something to say but wasn’t quite ready to speak it. His jaw tightened, and you could see the battle going on inside him, between what he wanted to admit and what he felt he needed to keep to himself. He was quiet for so long that you thought he might not answer at all.

Finally, he exhaled, his voice rougher this time, like gravel shifting underfoot. “Sometimes I think I do.” He paused, his thumb tracing the brim of his hat, still not meeting your eyes. “There's a freedom in it. Never being tied to one place, getting to do whatever the shit I wanna,” he chucked dryly. “ But…” he trailed off, as if unsure whether to finish the thought.

“But?” you prompted softly, taking a step closer, still brushing Bucks coat to maintain a level of casual appearance despite your curiosity.

His gaze flicked to you briefly before he looked away again, back to Bessie. “But sometimes, it’d be nice to stay. To stop wondering where the next road leads, where I’m to end up the next day… where I’m gonna sleep for the night. Even if just for a little while.”

The words hung between you, heavy with the weight of what wasn’t being said. You could see it now, the weariness behind his eyes, the kind that comes from being a man always in motion but never really going anywhere.

It was the kind of tiredness that wasn’t just about lack of sleep. It was the kind that came from being alone, even when surrounded by others.

You wanted to ask him more, to dig deeper into the layers of his past, but something about the way his shoulders tensed told you to hold back. Instead, you gave him a small, understanding smile. “Well, you’ve got a place here for as long as you like, even if you only decide to stay for a little while.”

Jake didn’t say anything right away, but his posture softened just a bit, and for a moment, you thought you saw the corners of his mouth lift, barely, but it was hard to see in the dark. It wasn’t much, but it was something, acknowledgement, maybe even a little gratitude.

“Alright Buck, that’s enough,” you laughed softly as he began licking the inside of the bucket, big teeth nibbling at the wood in search for more.

You lifted the food bucket, earning a frustrated stomp from Buck.

“Oh you big sook, I think you’ll survive.” You patted his neck and opened the stable door to leave.

“I’m going to prepare your bed place in the barn, do you know where to find me once Bessies finished eating?” you asked Jake, who stared at you from across the room in admiration.

“Yes, I believe so. Are you sure you aren’t in any need of help?” he asked.

“Yes, I’ll manage. Thank you,” you praised, “Would you like to join me for dinner afterward?” you offered, waiting in anticipation as he thought your request over.

“No, I couldn't possibly take more from you than I already have.”

“What will you do for supper then?”

Jake patted a small satchel he had brought in with him, “Got some leftover travellin’ food right here.”

Unsure if he just preferred spending his time alone, or if he was trying his best to maintain his gentlemanly honour, you respected his wishes, muttering an ‘alright’ and taking one last look at the three of them before stepping out of the stables.

The walk to the barn was cool, and eerie. The moon had taken stark replacement for the sun in the sky, casting your ranch with a dim, cool glow. You took a kerosene lamp and a box of matches alongside fresh bed sheets from inside your home, lighting the lamp while you walked to the barn and setting it on the floor when you arrived.

The barn was a bit worse for wear, no longer housing the family of pigs that it did many years ago, and the silence was unsettling.

Shaking the feeling, you bunched up your skirts and crouched to the floor where a small, thin mattress sat against bales of hay. You looked around in search for something to frame the mattress on, feeling too guilty to let Jake effectively sleep on the floor.

You lumbered wooden crates across the floor of the barn, dragging up tufts of dirt and hay in the process, before you settled it in the corner, throwing the light mattress on top.

Shaking out the folded sheets, you breathed in the smell of clean laundry and tucked them over the bed properly. You wouldn't admit how much you struggled to fit the cover over the feather duvet, almost getting lost in the darkness as your head was consumed by the bedsheets.

Alas, you managed, and tucked the end of the sheets in to keep any warmth from escaping.

You stood back, hands on your hips as you blew a stray piece of hair from your face and took in your work. It would have to make do.

Jake's footsteps fell heavily outside, and you wondered if they were to warn you of his approach, afraid to creep up and scare you in the otherwise silent night.

“Wow,” he appraised, taking in your domestic work as he stepped into the dimly lit area. “This’s far nicer than I was expecting.”

You wondered if he was joking as you looked back at the measly setup, but when you looked back over at him, the look of gratitude in his eyes was unmistakably genuine.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it, then. When you freeze half to death in the night, my couch’ll still be empty if you need it,” you offered, voice soft under your nerves, brewing from his burning gaze.

As you moved to walk past him, he gently stopped you with a soft hand on your arm, the roughness of his skin shocking in contrast to the smoothness of your own.

"Thank you, Ma'am, for your hospitality. I won’t forget your kindness."

“It’s no bother, truly… It um, gets a bit lonely ‘round here too sometimes,” you expressed, rather shyly.

His eyes held empathy for you, unbearing understanding of how you felt. He could only imagine how you struggled, living day by day to come home to an empty home. How you worked endlessly, and for what?

Jake didn't need to say anything to show how he understood, to show how he truly heard you. Instead he nodded, eyes boring into yours in silent communication.

With one last look, you turned and walked in the dark back to the house, hugging your torso in the cold.

You ate supper alone, hoping Jake wasn’t as cold as you felt, and wondering if you would be crossing a line if you returned with heavier blankets to warm him up in the night. Deciding against your pressing thoughts, you washed your dishes and went straight to bed.

Meanwhile, Jake lay awake, munching on the chewy chunk of stale bread he was sure he bought over a month ago. He stared up at the high ceiling in thought, recapping his stay here, which had seemed much different so far from any other town, and it was all because of you.

He rolled over and put out the kerosene lamp, pulling the covers up to his neck and letting the distant sound of your cattle wandering and mooing lull him to sleep.

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