#around here but that sounds like a challenge.

[soldateins]

⊹ ࣪ ˖ Arthur Morgan NSFW Headcanons (Mid Honour) ⟡ ݁₊ .

I wrote these to help with my writing, trying to figure out what Arthur's like, and I really liked these so I thought I'd share 'em! Go wild! Female!Reader btw ⁠♡ This has 18+ smut in it, mdni x

⟡ He's actually a bit of a challenge to turn on. He may be a bit touch-starved but he's controlled. He loves a bit of PDA and showing you off, but he isn't one to get hard instantly. He can deal with sultry glances and smirks from you, if anything it makes him chuckle to himself and shake his head.

⟡ In order to get a more pronounced reaction from him, you have to tease your underclothes or brush your ass against his hips as you make your way past him in camp. He's a lot more receptive to physicality. And sound, if you run up behind him, wrap your arms around his midriff, yank him down a bit and whisper in his ear, he's gone.

⟡ He tends to end up smothering you if you're smaller. Sometimes by accident, sometimes not.

⟡ He starts off more reserved but as he grows hotter, his language and sounds start to slip. A "Jesus..." here and a "Shit..." there. He'll start groaning, his nose scrunching, baring his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut. The majority of his sounds are heavy breaths, grunts, groans, the occasional growl. When he comes, he'll sometimes let out stuttering "Oh-"'s that get louder before melting into laboured panting.

⟡ But he'll also murmur silly, cheesy things in your ear through his ragged breaths. "You make me believe in Heaven." "I musta done somethin' right in life to have you fall in my lap."

⟡ He sweats like a pig. Post-orgasm, he's huffing and grabbing his shirt from where he threw it to wipe his face and neck.

⟡ He loves pleasuring his partner, and looooves eating women out. Kissing, sucking, lapping, making you squeal and whimper. He savours your sounds, wanting more and more. He'll keep at it until you're overstimulated and batting at his head, or until he has to come up for air, beard soaked. He'd happily drown in you.

⟡ And when you give him head? He's a little nervous having the focus be on him but once you start, he's sucking in shaky breaths, eyes fluttering shut, jaw slack, in heaven. He'll grab at the air a little, fingers twitching before he paws at your head gently. He'll cradle your face in his palms and moan when your dreamy gaze meets his whilst you lap at the underside of his cock. He'll thrust into your mouth nice and slow, his veins flooding with arousal and his muscles tingling with utter disbelief that he's lucked out so highly with you.

⟡ He's an ass man, but just loves your body in general. He loves gettin' a handful of you; Ass, hips, waist, thighs, breasts, all of you. "You're a first-rate stunner." He'll growl softly, a smirk curling his lips, his thick fingers dipping into your warm flesh, "My girl."

⟡ If he needs you to be quiet during sex, he'll shove his neckerchief in your mouth out of necessity. "Sh, shh, shhh, darlin'. Can't be wakin' up the whole camp with those pretty sounds of yours. Here now, open up."

⟡ If he's sans neckerchief, he lets you bite his shoulders or have you suck on his fingers. "You gotta keep quiet, sweetheart." He'll whisper against your skin as he cups the back of your head and brings your mouth to his shoulder or pushes two thick fingers into your mouth.

⟡ He'll instinctively support you; holding your hips, wrapping his arms around your waist, grabbing your shoulders to stabilise you. He loves being pressed against you, feeling your heart against his chest or back, relishing the connection.

⟡ He's also always checking that you're enjoying yourself, whether it be by asking you outright or watching you for signs of discomfort. "That feel good?" "Y'alright, darlin'?" "Looks like that feels good, hm?" "Yeah? Like that?"

⟡ He gets unsure about leaving marks on you via biting, sucking, spanking, not wanting to hurt you too much or mar your skin. You have to convince him you want it. He feels a bit guilty until he sees how much you enjoy it. And he can't deny the way the sounds you make when he does it strikes lightning through his loins. "You really are a little hellcat, ain'chya?"

⟡ He doesn't mind being marked himself though, not at all, doesn't matter. He's marked all over anyway, what's one more mark? Especially from you.

⟡ He love love loves kisses. All over him, all over you. If you pepper kisses about his face and chest, he'll very quickly flush a gorgeous crimson and look at you, dazed. He'll pull you into his lap and kiss you all over until you're laughing loudly.

⟡ He'll click his tongue at you gently like click click click "Sh, shh, shhh. Easy, girl, easy."

⟡ He'll also tut at you if you're being bratty or feeling overwhelmed. Tut, tut, "Now now, girly. Don't get shrewish with me." or tut, tut, "Oh, sweetheart. I know, I know, c'mon, sweetheart. Keep going, just a little longer."

⟡ He's a soft dom/switch mostly, but if you can get him aroused enough, he relaxes into being a little more dominating.

⟡ He occasionally enjoys being dominated but more so enjoys either a relatively equal sexual dynamic or he naturally falls into a soft dom, caring, cooing role.

⟡ He's not immune to losing himself in the moment, though. He'll breathlessly mutter a "God..." or his breath will hitch like he's been winded before his movements will become rougher, more desperate, like this blissful feeling will slip through his fingers if he doesn't grab you. "C'mere." "Gimme more, girly." "Un-unh, don'chu move now."

⟡ He naturally praises you, not giving it much thought other than wanting you to feel incredible. "That's it, darlin'." "Lookatchu." "Good girl." "Atta girl." "Ain'tchu a picture." "Pretty lady, takin' it all." "That's it, girly, keep on, keep on." "Yeah, more'a'that, baby. Oh, you're so good."

⟡ And when you praise him? Most of the time, he'll duck his head down and wince. "Naw, shut up." "Quit all that." Before trying to divert the focus back onto you by squeezing your ass or rubbing your waist.

⟡ But if he's lost in pleasure? It'll drive him mad. His grip will tighten on you and he'll hiss and huff. He won't respond to the praise verbally but he'll flush red and let out soft "Oh"'s as he holds onto you for dear life.

⟡ If you put his hat on, he will automatically want to have you ride him (But not before barking out a laugh). "Y'think y'can be a cowgirl without ridin', hm?" He'll say before spreading his legs and patting his thighs, "Giddy up, girly." He'll say with a sarcastic lilt, his eyes aflame with excitement.

⟡ If he's particularly tired, you can ride him hard enough to draw a whine from him. His head will fall back, his hands falling from you, his hips jerking into you messily. "Oh, darlin'."

Hope y'all enjoy! I love writing Arthur smut ✗♡✗♡

[bueckets]

The Hit List | 02

Pairing: fuckgirl!Paige x Mechi Student!reader

Masterlist (TBA) | Part One

Genre: romance, slow burn, enemies to lovers, kinda funny?, they fuck, n its hot n sweaty, cat n mouse

Description: What starts as a game of avoidance turns into something far more dangerous when old grudges and unfinished business crash headfirst into a truth neither of them are ready to face. Armed with a stubborn streak, a boyfriend you're trying too hard to believe in, and a simmering resentment that burns just as hot as desire, you swear you won’t let Paige win.

But when history keeps rewriting itself in glances, in touches, in words that cut too close—you start to wonder if you've had control of the game at all.

wc: 24k, yes, 24k

Authors Note: sorry this took forever, too many words so this is split into two parts

Chapter 2: The Problem with Paige Bueckers

The cold air hit like a slap as you and Riven stepped out of The Tavern, the double doors slamming shut behind you. The muffled bass of whatever trash pop remix they were playing inside still buzzed in your chest, but out here, the only sound was the occasional car rolling by and the crunch of Riven’s boots against the pavement.

“Okay,” she started, already wrapping her arms around herself like she hadn’t just spent the last hour insisting she wasn’t cold. “What the fuck was that?”

You tugged Nika’s warmup jacket closer around you. “What was what?”

“Oh, don’t even—” Riven whirled on you, walking backward now, eyes narrowed. “I had, like, a front-row seat to your little moment with Paige. You two looked like you were about five seconds away from—”

“From what?” you cut in, voice sharper than intended.

Riven’s smirk deepened. “From what, she says. Babe, I thought you were about to spontaneously combust. Paige definitely wanted to.”

You groaned, pushing past her. “You’re reading into things.”

“Am I?” She caught up easily, practically skipping now. “Because I watched a six-foot basketball legend—who, might I remind you, does not chase people—spend an entire game, a whole-ass four quarters, subtly showing off for you. Then she followed that up by pinning you to a bar with her eyes and making sure you knew she was looking.”

You kept walking. Focused on the sidewalk, on the way the streetlights flickered, on literally anything but what she was saying.

“And you?” Riven continued, undeterred. “You were eating it up.”

You stopped dead. “I was not—”

Riven held up a hand. “Babe. I love you. But you were.”

Her eyes softened then, shifting from teasing to something quieter. You hated that. Because if Riven wasn’t making fun of you, if she was actually serious, then it meant she thought there was something here.

You shook your head, exhaling hard. “I don’t even like her.”

Riven arched a brow. “No?”

“No.”

“And yet, you’re literally wearing her best friend’s jacket, which Paige has been glaring at all night like she was about to rip it off your body with her teeth.”

You rolled your eyes and started walking again. “Nika spilled coffee on me. She gave me the jacket.”

“Uh-huh.” Riven jogged to catch up. “And Paige definitely didn’t care about that at all. I’m sure that’s why she looked like she wanted to murder her best friend when she saw you in it.”

You ignored her.

She didn’t let up. “You know what I think?”

“No,” you deadpanned.

“I think Paige is used to being wanted. She is thee Golden Child after all.” Riven adjusted her tiny bag, the one you still didn’t believe could fit anything. “And you? You told her to fuck off. You didn’t fawn, didn’t trip over yourself to impress her, didn’t melt the second she so much as breathed in your direction.”

“I was just—”

“She likes it.”

You faltered. “What?”

“That’s why she’s been all over you.” Riven grinned like she’d cracked some unsolvable mystery. “You’re a challenge, babe. Paige loves a challenge.”

You let that sit between you for a moment. The idea that this was all just some game to her. Some chase, some conquest to check off her list.

It shouldn’t sting. But it did.

You kicked at a loose pebble, watching it skitter across the sidewalk. “Well, I’m not playing.”

Riven let out a low whistle. “And that is why she’s losing her mind over you.”

She looped her arm through yours, sighing dramatically. “I love this for you.”

You groaned. “There’s nothing to love. I’m not interested.”

Riven squeezed your arm. “Mhm. And yet, we’ve been talking about her this entire walk home.”

You scowled. She had a point.

The first thing you did when you woke up was groan, roll over, and aggressively smother yourself with your pillow in a last-ditch effort to erase the past twelve hours from existence.

The second thing you did was curse Riven’s name.

I love this for you. What the fuck did that even mean? What was there to love? There was nothing to love, nothing to even consider, and yet your brain had apparently decided to throw hands with your common sense and keep you trapped in this hell loop of overanalyzing.

You stayed like that for a solid ten minutes, letting the residual embarrassment simmer in the dark, trying to physically sweat out the memory of Paige fucking Bueckers pinning you in place with her eyes and her stupid, low-ass voice.

Nope. No. Absolutely not. You were not thinking about it. You had actual things to do.

You shoved the blanket off and sat up, only for your stomach to immediately drop as your gaze landed on Nika’s UConn warmup jacket.

Right. That.

You stared at it, like it was some foreign object that had somehow materialized in your room overnight. As if it hadn’t been on your body the entire night before. As if it hadn’t been the one thing Paige’s eyes lingered on every time she looked at you.

Okay. You exhaled sharply. Okay. You needed to get the fuck out of this room.

The engineering building smelled like burnt coffee and overworked students.

Someone had definitely been living in here for the past forty-eight hours—probably one of the electrical engineering kids judging by the faint, fried-plastic scent of a blown capacitor. A couple of jackets were draped over chairs, a half-eaten protein bar had been abandoned by the 3D printer, and the whiteboard by the entrance was filled with someone’s increasingly desperate attempts at debugging a circuit diagram.

Ah, yes. Your people.

You exhaled, shifting your backpack higher on your shoulder as you made your way toward the CAD lab. The familiar hum of computer fans filled the air, that gentle, artificial whir that meant someone, somewhere, was probably suffering through a last-minute deadline.

Not you, though. You were here to escape.

The lab was half-full, a quiet buzz of activity punctuated by the occasional sigh of frustration. A couple of upperclassmen were arguing over a simulation in the corner, their screen flashing red with failed stress tests. Someone else—definitely a freshman—was furiously Googling “why does SOLIDWORKS keep crashing???” like the software had personally wronged them.

You picked a station near the back, dropped your bag onto the floor, and cracked your knuckles.

Alright. Time to work.

You opened your laptop, pulled up your latest model—a sleek, mid-development turbine assembly—and tried to focus.

For the first few minutes, it actually worked. The soothing, mind-numbing repetition of part alignments, constraint settings, and torque calculations took over. You could feel your brain settling into that comfortable, hyper-focused haze.

And then—

“Jesus Christ, what is this?”

You didn’t even look up. “It’s a turbine.”

“That’s a turbine?”

The voice belonged to Mateo, one of the mechanical engineers who had, at some point, decided that annoying you was his life’s goal.

He dragged a chair over, plopping down beside you with his usual chaotic energy. His UConn hoodie was inside out, his curls were aggressively disheveled, and his glasses were smudged enough to qualify as a safety hazard.

“You’re staring at it like it personally offended you,” you muttered, rotating the model on your screen.

Mateo squinted. “Because it has personally offended me. Why the hell does it look like that?”

You turned, deadpan. “Would you like to rephrase that into something remotely helpful?”

He hummed, leaning in. “Maybe. Depends on how much caffeine you’ve had.”

You sighed, shoving your coffee cup toward him. He took one sip and immediately made a face.

“This is disgusting.”

You stole your coffee back. “It’s functional.”

“That’s what people say about Soviet-era aircrafts, and half of those are held together by sheer willpower and duct tape.”

You ignored him, going back to your model. “You’re still here. Please tell me why you’re still here?”

Mateo stretched, cracking his back like an eighty-year-old man. “Because I finished my project and now I’m bored.”

You arched a brow. “So this is what you do for fun? Bully me about my designs?”

“Absolutely.” He propped his chin on his hand, watching you work. “Also, because your roommate texted me last night saying you needed to ‘touch grass,’ which in Riven language means you’ve been weird lately.”

You froze.

Fucking Riven.

Mateo caught it immediately. His smirk widened. “Oh? So tell me what’s up?”

You shook your head, clicking aggressively through your model constraints. “Nothing.”

“Liar. Is it a boy?”

You snorted. “No.”

“A girl?”

You paused just long enough for his eyes to light up.

“Ohhh, it is a girl.” He grinned, leaning in like you’d just handed him the best gossip of his life. “Spill. Who is she?”

You shoved him. “Go away.”

Mateo cackled. “No chance. What’s her name? Is she hot? Do I know her?”

You shut your laptop. “Fuck off.”

Mateo, absolutely unbothered, just draped himself over the back of your chair. “C’mon. You never get weird about people, so this must be juicy.”

“It’s not,” you gritted out, standing up and grabbing your bag.

Mateo raised a brow. “Where are you going?”

“Anywhere that isn’t here.”

“You know running away only makes me more curious, right?”

You flipped him off over your shoulder as you left.

Mateo just laughed.

It was a flawless, textbook-perfect fucking setup. The one time you leave the lab, take a detour for some overpriced caffeine, and try to get some damn distance from this whole situation—and there she is.

Like a curse.

You saw her before she saw you. A rare, fleeting advantage, considering Paige had the court vision of a goddamn military drone.

She was standing near the library steps, mid-conversation with some girl you didn’t recognize.

And, of course, she was leaning. Paige Bueckers didn’t just stand like a normal person. No, she had to do the casual, just-effortless-enough tilt, one hand gripping the strap of her UConn backpack like she was seconds away from swinging it over her shoulder in slow-motion, Nike-ad perfection.

And she was smiling.

That smile—the one that had probably ruined lives– specifically, your life.. The practiced, easy, disarmingly charming one. The dangerous one.

Your stomach twisted.

You should keep walking. It would be so easy. Just turn left, duck into the coffee shop, pretend you never saw her.

But something in you hesitated.

Because Paige wasn’t just talking to anyone. She was talking to some other girl.

Fucking hell.

It was so stupid. So petty. So utterly beneath you. But for some reason, the sight of her standing there—effortlessly charismatic, completely at ease—was irritating.

And then it got worse.

Because right as you were about to turn away, Paige’s gaze lifted.

Locked directly onto you.

And something in her changed.

It was so quick, so minuscule that anyone else wouldn’t have noticed. But you did. Because you’d spent the past two days doing everything in your power not to notice her, and yet here you were, catching every fucking detail.

The slight shift in her posture.

The way her smirk faltered, just a fraction.

The way her grip on her bag tightened.

Your fingers curled around the strap of your own backpack, a reflexive, useless attempt at grounding yourself.

Walk away.

But you didn’t.

You stood there, frozen in this stupid fucking moment, as Paige’s attention flicked back to the girl she was talking to—only to immediately pull away.

And then she was moving.

Striding over like this was some kind of inevitable gravitational force. Like she knew you weren’t going to leave.

Your pulse kicked up, but you forced yourself to stay still, forced yourself to act bored when she finally stopped in front of you.

Her voice hit first, low and teasing, but with something else under it. “Didn’t know you were into weekend library runs.”

You exhaled sharply, shifting your weight. “Didn’t know you were into casual sidewalk flirting, or studying.”

Paige’s smirk deepened. “Why, jealous?”

Oh, you were going to strangle her.

“I literally do not care.”

She hummed, tilting her head slightly. “You sound like you care.”

You exhaled sharply through your nose, fixing her with a flat look. “Do you just walk around looking for people to harass, or am I just special?”

Paige took another step closer. You held your ground.

“I dunno,” she murmured. “You do seem pretty special.”

Your heart stuttered.

No. Nope. Fucking no.

You weren’t playing this game. You weren’t going to stand here and let her look at you like that—like she was trying to pick you apart, like she was actually intrigued.

You stepped back, shaking your head. “Enjoy your fan club, Bueckers.”

You turned to leave.

Paige’s voice followed. Low. Confident. Amused.

“You’re cute when you’re pissed.”

You didn’t stop walking. Didn’t look back. Didn’t let her see the way your entire fucking body was burning.

But you heard her chuckle.

And somehow, that was worse.

But that wasn’t the end of it.

You should have kept going. Walked straight to the coffee shop, ordered something completely overpriced, and buried yourself in caffeine and denial.

But you weren’t that lucky.

Because the second you stepped inside, the scent of espresso and baked goods barely had time to hit you before—

“Wow.”

You knew that voice.

You closed your eyes, inhaling deeply, willing the universe to smite you.

It did not.

Because when you opened them again, Paige was right behind you.

“What are you doing?” you muttered, stepping forward to put space between you.

Paige slid her hands into her hoodie pocket, exuding pure, infuriating amusement. “Getting coffee.”

You turned, narrowing your eyes. “You weren’t even going this way.”

She shrugged. “Changed my mind.”

Jesus Christ.

You groaned, turning back toward the counter. “Whatever.”

The barista—a slightly overwhelmed-looking sophomore named Jordan, who you’d spoken to maybe twice before—perked up at the sight of Paige.

“Oh, hey! I didn’t know you came here.”

You rolled your eyes. Of course.

Paige flashed her that same easy, heartbreaker smile. “Yeah, thought I’d try something new today.”

Her eyes flicked to you as she said it. You clenched your jaw, and ignored her.

Jordan, oblivious, beamed. “What can I get you?”

Paige didn’t even hesitate. “I’ll have whatever she’s having.”

Oh.

You turned, slowly.

Paige just looked back at you, smirk still in place.

“Fine,” you said, voice tight. “I’ll have your strongest black coffee.”

Jordan blinked. “Wait, really?”

You gave her a look. “Yes?”

She hesitated. “I mean… I just… you always get the caramel cold brew.”

Shit.

Paige grinned.

“Well,” you said, crossing your arms. “Maybe I wanted to try something new.”

Paige laughed.

Actually laughed.

Full, delighted, genuine amusement.

“Oh,” she said, still smirking, “I love this.”

You clenched your fists. “I hate you.”

“See, now that’s not true.”

You turned away, absolutely done with this interaction, already regretting ever leaving the lab.

You paid for your coffee, pointedly ignoring Paige as she paid for hers, and practically snatched the cup from Jordan when it was ready.

You had exactly two steps of peace before—

“So,” Paige said, matching your pace as you headed for the door, “should I be worried?”

You shot her a look. “About what?”

“The fact that you just ordered a black coffee.”

You exhaled sharply. “Maybe I just like black coffee.”

Paige hummed, taking a sip of her own. You watched her expression shift immediately.

“Oh, this is disgusting.”

You snorted, unable to stop it in time.

Paige, victorious, just smiled. “See? I knew you were full of shit.”

You shook your head, pushing the door open and stepping outside. Paige followed, still sipping at her awful coffee like she was suffering on purpose.

And then, finally, mercifully, she stopped walking.

“Alright,” she said. “I’ll let you go.”

You frowned. “What?”

Paige’s smirk returned. “I mean, unless you want me to keep following you.”

You scoffed. “Oh my God. Leave.”

Paige chuckled, stepping back, lifting her hands in mock surrender.

“Later, library girl.”

You didn’t look back.

But you felt her watching. And somehow, that was worse.

You had a plan.

It was simple.

Step 1: Bury yourself in engineering work.

Step 2: Avoid places where you might run into her.

Step 3: Erase all thoughts of Paige Bueckers from your mind.

Step 1 was going great. You were practically living in the engineering building, hammering through assignments, working ahead just for the hell of it. At this rate, you’d graduate two semesters early and have a job lined up at NASA before winter break.

Step 2, however, was failing miserably.

Because no matter how much you tried to avoid her, Paige Bueckers was everywhere.

In the hall, where you caught glimpses of her and her teammates from the corner of your eye.

In the student center, where people were casually talking about her like she was a campus landmark.

Even in your own goddamn dreams, which was the worst part because now, even when you were asleep, you weren’t free from this mess.

And it wasn’t like they were even good dreams. No steamy forbidden fantasies, no sweaty, tangled sheets, breathless, what the fuck are we doing? moments. No. You weren’t that lucky.

Instead, your brain kept feeding you annoying things. Paige standing too close. Paige smirking. Paige looking at you like she knew something you didn’t.

Which meant you were waking up pissed off for no reason, which meant Riven noticed, which meant—

“Let me set you up with someone.”

You blinked, looking up from your laptop. “What?”

Riven was sitting across from you in the student lounge, sipping on some overpriced, sugar-filled coffee monstrosity. “I said, let me set you up.”

You scoffed, going back to your screen. “Why?”

“Because you’re weird right now,” she said, gesturing vaguely at you. “All tense and broody. It’s stressing me out.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m literally just doing my work.”

“Exactly.” She leaned forward, squinting at your screen. “You’ve been too productive. It’s unnatural.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re avoiding Paige.”

Your fingers paused on the keyboard for half a second, but that was all she needed.

Riven grinned, victorious. “So let me set you up with someone.”

You sighed, shutting your laptop. “That’s the dumbest idea I’ve ever heard.”

“Or the smartest.”

“No.”

She ignored you, pulling out her phone. “I mean, you have options. There’s that guy from your statics class who’s obsessed with you—”

“Absolutely not.”

“Okay, what about Aisha? She’s cute, pre-med, has her life together—”

“She has a girlfriend.”

Riven waved a hand. “Okay, but, like, not a great one—”

“I cannot believe you right now.”

“Fine, fine.” She scrolled through her phone. “Oooh, what about Kevin?”

You gave her a flat look. “Kevin who works at the bookstore?”

“Yeah! He’s sweet. And tall.”

“He tried to sell me a book on manifesting your dream life when I asked for a fluid dynamics textbook.”

Riven paused. “Okay, yeah, that’s a little concerning.”

You shook your head, leaning back. “Why are you so determined to throw me at random people?”

She tilted her head. “Because it’s fun.”

You groaned.

“And,” she added, more carefully, “because it might help.”

You frowned. “Help what?”

She gave you a look. “Come on.”

You exhaled through your nose, staring down at your coffee.

Riven didn’t push. Just let the silence sit for a beat before nudging your knee under the table. “I’ll stop. For now.”

You looked up. “Thank you.”

She grinned. “But only if you come to this party with me on Saturday.”

You groaned. “Riven—”

“It’ll be fun. And guess who’s gonna be there?”

You already knew.

You closed your eyes. “I hate you.”

She sipped her drink. “Love you too, babe.”

You had approximately zero interest in going to this party.

It wasn’t that you were a hermit—you liked going out, sometimes, in controlled settings where you knew exactly what to expect. But parties like this? Loud, crowded, packed with people you barely knew and didn’t want to? No thanks.

And yet, here you were.

Still sitting on the edge of your bed, not getting ready, scrolling through your phone while your unread texts from Riven multiplied like fruit flies.

r u alive

do i need to come drag u by the hair

i will btw

wear something hot

but not like slutty hot like u just threw it on w/out trying hot

like effortless “oops i didn’t mean to be the hottest person here” hot

also ur wearing eyeliner

You groaned, dropping your phone onto your comforter.

A normal person would just say no. Would just text back not feeling it tonight and call it a day.

But Riven?

Riven would actually show up, bang on your door, and physically escort you to this goddamn party like a security detail on a mission.

So now you had a choice:

1. Give in and get ready.

2. Wait for Riven to bust in here like a one-woman SWAT team and drag you there herself.

Neither option was appealing, but at least the first one gave you some control.

You exhaled sharply, standing up. Fine. Fine. You’d go.

But you weren’t doing this for fun. You were doing it to get Riven off your ass, to make an appearance, to grab a drink, stay for a reasonable amount of time, and then leave before you got roped into something stupid.

You shuffled over to your dresser, opening the top drawer without thinking—and then immediately stopped short.

Because sitting there, right on top, was Nika’s UConn warmup jacket.

The one Paige had glared holes into the last time you wore it.

Your fingers hovered over the fabric for a second. Just long enough for the memory to crawl back into your head—Paige, watching you from across the bar, her expression unreadable but sharp.

It’s just a jacket.

You shook your head, grabbed something else, and shoved the drawer shut.

You were not playing this game.

It was cold, but not cold enough to justify a full winter coat. Just that irritating in-between weather where the air had a bite to it, but not enough to make you commit to layers.

The sidewalks were slick from the rain earlier, puddles reflecting the glow of streetlights. Music spilled out from different houses, some of them throwing smaller, more manageable kickbacks. You briefly considered bailing and going to one of those instead—just slipping into a different party and texting Riven oops, wrong address—but she’d see right through that shit.

So you kept walking, arms crossed against the chill, running through worst-case scenarios in your head.

You’ll get there, it’ll be loud, it’ll be annoying, you’ll get stuck in some awful small talk with people you barely like—

“Hey.”

You startled, glancing up.

Some guy had fallen into step beside you, hands stuffed into his hoodie pockets.

You blinked. “Do I know you?”

He grinned, easy and unbothered. “Nah. But we’re both heading the same way, so I figured I’d say hi.”

You hesitated.

It wasn’t weird, exactly. People did this all the time—especially guys, who had that weird confidence of assuming you’d be fine with their company.

And maybe it wasn’t the worst thing. Maybe if you got caught up in conversation with literally anyone, it would keep you distracted from the nagging feeling in your gut about this whole night.

So you shrugged. “Alright. Hi.”

He laughed. “Wow, that was enthusiastic.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no actual bite behind it. “You always introduce yourself to strangers walking alone at night?”

“Only the hot ones.”

You huffed a laugh. Oh, Jesus.

There was something oddly comforting about this kind of flirting—the casual, throwaway kind. Not serious, not tangled in anything complicated. Just light, meaningless words tossed into the cold night air.

It was easy.

And easy was exactly what you needed.

“Are you always this smooth?” you asked, raising a brow.

He grinned, clearly enjoying himself. “You tell me.”

Before you could respond, a sudden beep cut through the night.

Your phone. Riven.

where r u

it’s been 7 min i am timing u

u better not be dragging ur feet

i swear 2 god if ur pulling a fast one on me

You sighed, tucking your phone back into your pocket. “I’m about to get yelled at.”

The guy laughed. “Friend blowing up your phone?”

“Something like that.”

“Guess that means I won’t have you all to myself, huh?”

You snorted. “I don’t even know your name.”

“Eli.” He shot you a sideways glance. “And now you do.”

You just shook your head, amused despite yourself.

Maybe this night wouldn’t be a total disaster.

The walk over is quiet. Not awkward, but not quite comfortable either. Eli’s hands are shoved into the pockets of his jacket, shoulders hunched slightly against the chill, his breath fogging in the dark as he keeps pace beside you.

The street is mostly empty, save for the distant sound of laughter and the faint hum of music seeping through the trees, growing louder with each step.

“So,” he finally says, tilting his head toward you. “You party much?”

You let out a dry laugh. “Not really.”

“Yeah, you don’t seem like the type.”

You raise a brow, glancing over at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Eli grins, kicking a loose rock down the sidewalk. “Dunno. You seem more like the… stay-at-home-and-watch-true-crime-docs type.”

You scoff. “That’s oddly specific.”

“Am I wrong?”

You don’t answer, but your silence is enough of one.

He laughs, shaking his head. “I knew it.”

The music swells as you round the corner, the UConn house coming into view. People are already spilling onto the lawn, drinks in hand, voices raised over the thumping bass. Someone’s perched on the hood of a car, cigarette dangling between their fingers, while a group is gathered around the porch, deep in some animated conversation that none of them will remember in the morning.

You exhale slowly, rolling your shoulders. The night stretches before you, unknown and electric, waiting.

“Welp,” Eli says, slowing his steps, his eyes scanning the crowd. “Guess this is us.”

You nod, barely glancing at him. “Yeah, guess so.”

And then you leave him.

You don’t say goodbye, don’t offer a parting glance. Just slip past the first cluster of people, stepping into the thick of the party, into the heat, into the house.

Inside, the air is thick—warm and suffocating, a mix of sweat and perfume and alcohol. The bass vibrates through the floorboards, through your ribs, as bodies move against each other, laughter and shouted conversations tangling together into a messy, chaotic hum.

You push forward, barely a few steps in when—

“There you are.”

A hand grabs your wrist, sharp nails digging into your skin just enough to make you wince before you’re being tugged to the side.

Riven.

She looks immaculate as always—makeup untouched by the humidity, dress clinging perfectly to her frame, her lips stained red from whatever drink she’s been nursing.

She eyes you, head tilting. “Took you long enough.”

“I wasn’t—” You hesitate. “I walked here.”

She snorts. “What, alone?”

“No. Some guy. Eli, I think.”

Riven’s expression flickers with interest. “Eli?”

“Yeah, tall, kinda awkward, basketball?” You shrug, not really caring.

“Huh.” She takes a sip of her drink, eyes scanning the crowd. “You just met him and he walked you here?”

“Guess so.”

She smirks. “Cute.”

You roll your eyes. “Didn’t exactly work out for him.”

Riven grins. “Ice cold.”

You open your mouth to respond, but she’s already linking her arm through yours, pulling you deeper into the house.

“Come on. You need a drink.”

The kitchen is a mess of half-empty bottles and red plastic cups, condensation pooling on the scratched wooden counter. The air is thick with the scent of spilled liquor and citrus, the sharp tang of tequila mingling with something fruity—jungle juice, probably, the kind that tastes like candy but hits like a train.

Riven slides in ahead of you, maneuvering through the crowd like she’s been here a hundred times, which, knowing her, she probably has. The confidence in the way she moves makes her impossible to lose, even in the crush of people.

“Alright,” she announces, scanning the counter like it’s a display case. “What’s your poison?”

You hesitate. You’re not much of a drinker—never have been—but tonight feels like it demands something stronger than your usual caution.

“Something not disgusting,” you say, eyeing the sticky countertop, where remnants of past spills glisten under the dim kitchen light.

Riven hums, reaching for a bottle of vodka and some kind of mixer you don’t recognize. “Not disgusting is subjective.” She pours with a practiced hand, tipping the cup toward you once she’s done. “Try this.”

You take a sip. It’s sweet, deceptively smooth, the alcohol buried just enough to be dangerous.

“Not bad,” you admit.

Riven smirks. “You’re welcome.”

The music shifts, the bass vibrating through the walls, through your ribs. People move in and out of the kitchen, laughing, shouting, their voices blending into a haze of noise. The heat of the room is different from the living room—more claustrophobic, the air saturated with liquor and sweat, with the sticky-sweet scent of someone’s perfume, too strong, too cloying.

You lean back against the counter, tipping your cup against your lips, letting the alcohol settle in, loosen something in your limbs.

And then you see her.

Paige.

She’s on the other side of the kitchen, leaning against the counter with the kind of effortless ease that makes your stomach clench. One hand curled around a drink, fingers loose, relaxed. Her other arm draped along the counter, casual but intentional.

The girl next to her is tucked into the space at her side, one hip pressed against the counter, her body angled in, close.

Too close.

Your grip tightens around your cup.

The lighting in the kitchen is dim, but it catches on Paige’s features just right, casting shadows across the sharp cut of her jaw, the slope of her nose. Her expression is unreadable, but her focus is locked.

She’s looking at the girl like she’s the only person in the room.

Something tightens in your chest.

You shouldn’t be watching. You shouldn’t care.

Yet, here you are. Doing exactly that.

The girl tilts her head, lips painted in something dark, teasing at the rim of her cup as she speaks, voice lost in the thrum of the party.

Paige listens, eyes half-lidded, her mouth curling just slightly at the edges. It’s a look you recognize, one you’ve seen before—lazy, amused, locked in. The kind of look that says I already know how this ends.

The kind of look that says I want you.

Your stomach flips.

The girl shifts, closing the space between them, fingers brushing against Paige’s wrist, trailing lightly, suggestively. Paige doesn’t move away.

If anything, she leans in.

The room is too hot. The air too thick, pressing in around you, suffocating.

You take a step back, but there’s nowhere to go. Your back is already against the counter, your drink clutched too tightly in your hand. You can still see them—Paige’s fingers curling loosely around the girl’s waist, the slight tilt of her head, the way her mouth parts, the way the girl smiles.

Like she knows she’s got her.

Like she knows Paige isn’t going anywhere.

A fresh wave of nausea rolls through you.

You should look away. You should walk away.

But you don’t. You never ddo.

You watch as the girl leans in, her lips brushing just shy of Paige’s jaw, as if testing the waters. Paige doesn’t pull back.

She just watches, lets it happen, lets the girl push closer, lets her fingers slide against the hem of her shirt, teasing at the space just beneath.

It makes you sick.

You can’t fucking breathe.

Something ugly claws its way up your throat, something you don’t want to name, something bitter and raw.

You turn sharply, reaching for the vodka, pouring more into your cup than is remotely reasonable. The liquid sloshes over the rim, drips onto your fingers, and you barely feel it.

“Whoa,” Riven says, raising a brow. “Thirsty?”

You don’t answer. Just mix it with whatever’s closest, something orange, something fizzy.

You down half of it in one go.

It burns, but not enough.

Nothing is enough.

Riven watches you, her gaze sharp, calculating. “You good?”

“Fine,” you say, too quickly.

“Uh-huh.” She doesn’t sound convinced.

But you don’t give her time to question it.

You grab her hand, pulling her toward the living room, toward the noise, toward the crowd, toward anything that isn’t Paige and that girl, locked in, locked together, about to—

No.

The liquor hums in your veins, warm and reckless, dulling the sharp edges of your thoughts. The music has taken over everything—the bass pounding through the floor, through your chest, drowning out the lingering echoes of Paige and that girl.

Fuck her.

Fuck all of it.

You let yourself sink into the crowd, into the tangle of bodies moving with the music, the heat, the chaos of it all. The world tilts slightly, but in a way that feels good, in a way that makes you feel untouchable, weightless.

Riven is right there beside you, her laughter bright, her hands tugging at your wrist, spinning you in circles, hyping you up like she lives for this. And maybe she does. Maybe this is her element, but right now, it’s yours too.

You throw your head back, let your hands lift into the air, let the rhythm take over, shaking loose every lingering thought.

Someone grabs your waist.

You don’t flinch, don’t tense—just let it happen, rolling with the movement, letting yourself press back into the warmth behind you.

She’s soft, her body moving fluidly against yours, her hands confident as they slide along your hips, fitting into the moment like she’s supposed to be there.

You don’t think.

You just move.

Her perfume is sweet, her breath warm as she leans in, murmuring something that you don’t hear, don’t need to hear. It’s all instinct, all impulse, all the heat of the night pulling you deeper.

Her fingers trace slow, teasing patterns over your stomach where your top rides up, and it’s easy, so fucking easy, to let her do it. To let her hands wander, to let her lips ghost along your jaw, to tilt your head just so, letting her pull you in.

And then you’re kissing her.

It’s messy, all teeth and liquor and heat, her hands tangled in your hair, yours gripping the back of her neck, nails scraping against skin.

You don’t know her name.

You don’t care.

She tastes like rum, like something syrupy sweet, and you let yourself get lost in it, let yourself drink it in like it’ll burn away everything else.

Like it’ll erase the image of Paige leaning against that counter, her head tilted, her mouth open just enough—

No.

You deepen the kiss, swallow down the thought, let the music swallow you whole.

You don’t know how long you stay like that, don’t know how many songs bleed together before you finally break apart, breathless and flushed, her lipstick smudged against your mouth, your fingers still curled in her shirt.

She leans in, murmurs something into your ear—maybe a name, maybe a suggestion—but you’re already pulling away, already laughing, already shaking your head.

"Bathroom," you say, your voice thick with liquor and heat.

She pouts but lets you go, her fingers lingering on your wrist before she disappears back into the crowd.

The second you step away, the world tilts again, and you brace yourself against the edge of the wall, blinking hard, forcing the party back into focus.

Shit. You really have to pee.

You push through the crowd, past the blur of faces, past the too-loud conversations, past the couples pressed into dark corners, whispering things meant only for each other.

The hallway leading to the bathroom is a little less chaotic, though someone’s already passed out against the wall, their head slumped forward, their drink tipped over onto the carpet.

You slip past them, knocking twice on the bathroom door.

Silence.

You try the handle.

It opens.

You stumble inside, shutting the door behind you with a quiet click.

The house is still shaking around you, but in here, it’s muffled, distant.

You catch sight of yourself in the mirror—flushed, lips a little swollen, pupils blown wide from the alcohol, from the dancing, from everything.

You look different.

Or maybe you just feel different.

You shake it off, stepping forward, gripping the sink to steady yourself before finally doing what you came in here to do.

You need a minute before you go back out there, before the night drags you under again.

You splash cold water on your face, blinking hard at your reflection, trying to ground yourself. The alcohol is still warm in your blood, making everything feel hazy at the edges, but at least the dizziness has settled. The bass rattles through the floor, muffled by the walls, and you press your palms against the counter, exhaling slowly.

You should go back out there.

Find Riven. Get another drink. Keep losing yourself in the night, in the bodies, in the heat, in anything that isn’t the thought of—

No.

You grab a paper towel, blotting your face, and then pull open the bathroom door, stepping back into the dimly lit hallway.

And promptly walk straight into someone’s chest.

“Watch it,” you mutter, barely glancing up, pushing past, your mind already elsewhere.

But the second you take a step, fingers wrap around your wrist—firm, but not rough—and you stiffen.

You know who it is before you even look

“Jesus, relax,” she drawls, her grip loosening but not quite letting go. “Didn’t know you were so touchy.”

You yank your arm free, scowling. “What do you want?”

She tilts her head, looking at you too closely, like she’s trying to read something off your skin. The hallway is dark, but not dark enough to miss the way her gaze flickers downward—your lips, your jaw, the smudges of lipstick that aren’t yours.

Her mouth curves slightly. “Have fun out there?”

Your stomach turns.

You don’t answer.

Her smirk deepens. “She looked pretty into it.”

You scoff, stepping back, ready to shove past her and end this entire conversation before it even begins, but—

She shifts, blocking your path.

“Move,” you snap.

She doesn’t.

Instead, she leans in, voice dropping, a lazy smirk still tugging at her lips. “What are you running from?”

You want to hit her.

Or kiss her.

Or throw your drink in her face.

You do none of those things.

Instead, you shove at her shoulder, forcing your way past, and for a second—just a second—you think you’ve won.

Then you feel her hand at your back.

Not grabbing, not pulling, just pressing. A guiding touch. A challenge.

And you don’t know how it happens—whether she pushes you, or you push her, or maybe you both move at the same time—but suddenly, you’re stumbling through a doorway, into a small, dimly lit room, and the door swings shut behind you.

Hard.

The click of the latch echoes.

You whirl around, already reaching for the handle, twisting—

It doesn’t budge.

You twist again.

Nothing.

Paige sighs behind you. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

You shoot her a glare over your shoulder. “You locked us in here?”

She crosses her arms, looking entirely too unbothered. “It was open when we walked in.”

You yank at the handle again, harder this time, but it doesn’t give.

Panic prickles at the edges of your thoughts.

You turn, scanning the room properly now. A washing machine, a dryer, shelves lined with detergent and fabric softener, a wire basket overflowing with mismatched socks. The UConn house laundry room.

And no windows.

“No, no, no—” You twist the handle again. “It can’t be locked.”

Paige makes a noise, unimpressed, and leans back against the dryer, pulling out her phone. “Guess we’re stuck.”

Your head snaps up.

“You have your phone?”

She smirks, tapping at the screen. “I do.”

You hold out your hand. “Give it to me.”

Her brows lift, amused. “You don’t even say please?”

You exhale sharply, patience hanging by a thread. “Paige.”

She tsks, slipping the phone into her palm, staring at the screen. “Hmm. So many unread messages…”

You take a step forward, holding out your hand again. “Just call someone and get us out.”

Paige’s smirk deepens. “Or…” She pushes off the dryer, stepping closer, holding her phone just out of reach, “…I could make you ask nicely.”

You stare at her.

Then, without thinking, you lunge.

Your fingers brush the edge of the phone, but she’s faster—because of course she is—and she lifts it, jerking it up, holding it above her head, just out of your reach.

Your jaw tightens.

She grins. “What’s wrong?”

You glare at her. “Give me the fucking phone.”

She raises it higher, tilting her head in mock sympathy. “Oh, is that too tall for you?”

Your blood boils.

You take another step forward, reaching again, but she moves too—effortless, smooth, stepping back just enough to keep you from grabbing it.

“You are such an asshole,” you seethe.

She chuckles, tucking her phone onto the tallest shelf beside her. “And yet, you’re the one who followed me in here.”

You groan, running a hand down your face. “I did not—”

“You did.”

“I was trying to leave.”

“And now you can’t.”

You close your eyes, inhaling deeply. Do not strangle her. You will go to jail. Focus.

When you look at her again, she’s still smirking, still so goddamn pleased with herself, like she hasn’t just trapped you in a room with her.

Like she isn’t the exact thing you were trying to avoid.

Like she doesn’t know exactly what she’s doing to you.

Fuck.

The air in the laundry room is thick. Too warm. Too close. The scent of detergent lingers beneath the musk of the party outside, a mix of something clean and something tainted—the ghosts of cheap vodka, sweat, and everything you don’t want to think about right now.

Paige leans against the dryer like she has nowhere better to be, arms crossed, expression lazy, infuriating. Her phone is still perched on the highest shelf, glowing faintly, unread messages stacking up.

You don’t look at it.

You look at her.

And that’s a mistake.

Because she’s watching you, waiting, and there’s something smug about the way she’s standing there, something that makes your pulse thrum harder than it should.

Your nails dig into your palm. “You gonna call someone, or are we just gonna sit here all night?”

She exhales, long-suffering, tilting her head. “I don’t know, you seem really worked up. Maybe I should let you cool off first.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, fuck off, Paige.”

Her smirk sharpens. “Touchy tonight.”

You scowl, turning away from her, pressing your hands against the washer, gripping the cool metal like it might steady you. It doesn’t.

“You’re the one who locked us in here,” you mutter, half to yourself.

She snorts. “I didn’t lock the fucking door.”

You don’t care. You don’t care about the door, about her stupid phone, about the way the heat of her body radiates behind you like she’s not even touching you but still somehow too close.

You care about what you saw in the kitchen.

The girl. The way Paige looked at her. The way Paige leaned in, just close enough—

Your fingers curl into a fist.

“Shouldn’t you be back out there?” Your voice is tight, sharp, dripping with something you don’t want to name. “Looked like you had plans.”

Paige doesn’t answer right away.

You don’t turn to look at her, but you can feel her reaction, feel the air shift, her smirk stretching, lazy and knowing.

“Ah,” she exhales, dragging out the sound. “So that’s what this is about.”

Your jaw tightens. “It’s not about anything.”

She hums, low and amused. “Mmhmm.”

She moves before you can brace for it, stepping into your space—not touching, but just enough to make you feel her there, the heat of her, the weight of her attention pressing against your skin.

Your breath catches.

You force yourself to focus on the washer, the wall, the tiny flickering light in the corner of the room. Anything but her.

Paige doesn’t let up.

“Didn’t know you were paying so much attention to me,” she murmurs.

You scoff, shaking your head. “Get over yourself.”

She clicks her tongue, still infuriatingly close. “You look pissed.”

“I’m no—”

“Oh, you are.”

Your breath stutters.

Because maybe you are.

And maybe she knows it.

Her voice drops, lower, rougher, like she’s savoring this. “What, you didn’t like seeing me with her?”

You close your eyes, exhaling sharply through your nose.

“Jesus, Paige.” You step forward, away from her, away from the heat of her, pacing to the opposite wall, running a hand through your hair. “You’re so fucking—”

You stop yourself.

Because the words clawing up your throat—angry and raw and desperate—aren’t the ones you want to say.

Paige doesn’t move. Doesn’t chase. Just lets the silence stretch, heavy and unbearable, waiting for you to crack.

And you do.

Because your mouth moves before your brain can catch up, before you can stop yourself from spilling the truth, from letting her have this.

“You looked at her like she was the only fucking person in the room.”

The words hang there, sharp and trembling.

Paige exhales, slow, measured, and when you finally force yourself to look at her, her smirk is gone.

She just watches you, her eyes darker now, unreadable.

Then—

“You’re right,” she says.

Your stomach twists.

She holds your gaze, steady and unwavering. “That’s how I look when I want something.”

Your throat tightens.

Because her voice is different now. Not teasing. Not amused. 

And then she takes a step forward. And another.

Until she’s right in front of you, until you can feel the heat of her breath against your lips, until your back is pressing into the wall and there’s nowhere left to go.

Paige tilts her head.

Slow. Measured. Like she’s giving you time. Like she’s waiting.

Your pulse hammers.

She lifts a hand, slow, deliberate, tracing the lightest touch of her fingers against your arm, up, up, featherlight against your shoulder.

You should push her away.

You should say something, anything, because this—this—is dangerous.

But you don’t.

You just stand there, breathing too fast, too hard, your fingers curling against the wall.

Paige watches you.

Then, so softly it almost doesn’t reach over the pounding of your heartbeat—

“I’m not thinking about her right now.”

Your breath hitches.

And that’s it.

That’s the moment everything fucking snaps.

You’re in her space before you even register moving, hands fisting the front of her hoodie, yanking her in so hard she stumbles. But she doesn’t care. She fucking growls against your mouth when you crash together, all heat and teeth and tongue, your lips parting for her automatically, letting her lick inside like she’s starving for it.

She kisses like she owns you. Like she’s already won.

But you’re not making this easy for her. You bite down on her bottom lip, tugging, dragging a sound out of her that’s more animal than human, and then suddenly her hands are on you—gripping your waist, yanking you forward, pushing you back, back, back until your spine collides with the wall.

The room spins. Or maybe it’s just you.

You barely get a second to breathe before she’s on you again, lips hot, demanding, her fingers digging into your hips like she wants to leave bruises, like she wants you to feel her tomorrow.

“You like this?” she mutters against your mouth, voice low and rough as she drags her hands up your sides, fingers slipping under the hem of your shirt. "Like being handled like this?"

You barely manage a nod before she lifts you.

Like it’s nothing.

Like you weigh nothing at all.

She hoists you up onto the washer, the cold metal shocking against your skin, her body immediately pressing between your thighs, caging you in.

Your breath shudders out of you, hands fisting in her hoodie, nails scraping against the fabric as she yanks your legs further apart.

Paige just watches you.

Her pupils are blown, her lips slick, her chest rising and falling too fast. Her hands flex against your thighs, gripping hard, her thumbs pressing into the softest part of your skin like she’s trying to brand you.

She doesn’t move.

Doesn’t say anything.

Just fucking stares at you like she’s deciding exactly how she’s going to tear you apart.

Your heart is slamming against your ribs. Your brain is screaming at you to stop, to think, to breathe, but then she licks her lips, and every ounce of hesitation shatters like glass.

You grab her by the collar and yank her in like she’s the only oxygen in the fucking room.

She groans as your mouths crash together again—harder, messier, hungrier. Her hands move, gripping your thighs, sliding up, up, until they’re under your shirt, pushing the fabric higher, fingertips teasing along the band of your bra.

"God, you’re fucking desperate," she mutters against your lips, her voice dripping with amusement.

You don’t even care.

Not when she’s right.

She breaks the kiss, panting, dragging her mouth along your jaw, your throat, sucking, biting, marking you, making sure you’ll feel her tomorrow, see her tomorrow.

Your head tips back, a whimper slipping out before you can stop it.

And Paige fucking laughs.

"Yeah," she breathes against your skin, her tongue swiping over the bruise she just left. "Anyone ever make you sound like this?"

You don’t answer.

Can’t.

Her hands slide higher, fingers curling around your tits, thumbs brushing over your nipples through the fabric.

"Didn’t think so," she mutters, rolling them between her fingers, making you arch, making you gasp. "Bet they don’t know what to do with you.”

She pinches harder, making you jerk.

"But that’s not what you want, is it?"

You shake your head, breathless, wrecked, desperate.

Paige just smirks.

"That’s what I thought."

Then, suddenly, she drops.

Drops to her knees.

Your breath stutters, your entire body going rigid as she grins up at you, lips parted, pupils dark, her fingers gripping your thighs like she dares you to move.

She drags her mouth over your inner thigh, biting down just hard enough to make you jolt. Then she licks over it, soothing, teasing, slow, slow, slow.

She presses a single kiss over the fabric of your jeans, right where you're already throbbing.

Then another.

And another.

Before she yanks the button open with her teeth.

You fucking moan.

She laughs—low and pleased—and then she’s peeling your jeans down your legs, dragging your panties with them, her fingers pressing against your inner thighs to spread you.

"God," she mutters, eyes dark, voice thick. "Look at you."

You’re fucking soaked. You know you are.

And she does, too.

She groans, her hands gripping your thighs even tighter as she leans in, her mouth hovering just above where you need her most, her breath hot and teasing.

You lift your hips slightly, already reaching for her hair, butthen—

Paige stops.

Completely.

She doesn’t move. Doesn’t say anything. Just exhales once, slow and deliberate, then pushes herself back up to her feet.

Your heart is still hammering against your ribs, your body still aching, still on fire, and you blink at her, dazed, confused.

“What—?”

She doesn’t answer.

She just smirks.

Then, without a word, she reaches for the shelf, grabs her phone, and slips it into her pocket.

Your stomach drops.

No.

She wouldn’t—

Paige takes a step back, rolling her shoulders, looking at you like she isn’t just leaving you on the edge of madness. Like she isn’t just walking the fuck away.

"Well,” she says, slow, lazy. “This was fun.”

Your brain short-circuits.

She turns toward the door.

Paige. Fucking. Bueckers.

Your breath is still uneven, your legs still wrapped around the washer, your skin still buzzing, burning.

And she’s just—leaving?

No.

No fucking way.

“Are you serious?” you snap, voice raw, breaking.

She glances at you over her shoulder, smirking like she just won the longest game of chess. “What? Didn’t you want to stop?”

Your nails dig into your palms.

You’re going to kill her.

You’re going to fucking kill her.

And then you’re going to kiss her again.

The second the door clicks shut behind her, you’re left sitting there—breathless, pissed, and still throbbing in a way that makes you want to scream.

Your legs are still spread around the washer, body still burning from where her hands had been, where her mouth had almost gone. Your jeans are still undone, your pulse still hammering against your ribs, and Paige fucking Bueckers just walked out.

You let out a sharp breath, shoving both hands through your hair, gripping tight at the roots, trying to will yourself back to normal.

It doesn’t work.

Your heart is still racing, your skin still tingling, your lips still swollen.

“Fucking bitch,” you mutter, slamming your hand against the washer.

Your voice is lost under the pulse of the music vibrating through the walls, but it doesn’t matter. It’s not like she’s here to hear it.

She left.

She fucking left.

And you hate how much it gets to you. How much it makes you want to chase after her, grab her by the hoodie, shove her against the wall and finish what she started.

But that’s what she wants.

She wants you to be thinking about her.

She wants you frustrated.

And you are.

Oh, you are.

You jump off the washer, legs a little shaky, but you force yourself to steady, to breathe. To pull yourself together because no way in hell are you giving her the satisfaction of knowing she just scrambled your brain like that.

Your hands tremble slightly as you fix your jeans, smoothing out your shirt, wiping the last of her touch from your skin.

It doesn’t work.

The scent of her is still clinging to you, faint but impossible to ignore—something clean, something subtle, something undeniably her.

You grip the edge of the counter, grounding yourself as the room tilts around you. You need a fucking drink—hell, you need five—but first, you need to get the fuck out of here. Taking a deep breath, you seize the handle, twist, and the door swings open. She didn’t lock you in. She could have. She would have if she really wanted to fuck with you. But, she didn’t.

She just left you there, knowing exactly what she’d done, knowing exactly how she’d fucked you up, knowing you’d be walking out of this room just as wrecked as if she’d finished what she started.

And that makes you want to find her even more.

You step back into the hallway, the party swallowing you whole again—music, voices, the chaotic heat of the house.

Your hands are still shaking.

You need a drink.

Or you need to find Paige.

And you don’t know which one you’re going to do first.

The laundry room is still warm, still thick with the scent of detergent and something else—something her.

Your fingers flex against the cool metal of the washer as you take a slow, measured breath, trying to steady yourself.

It doesn’t work.

Your skin still burns, your lips still tingling, your body still aching in a way that makes you want to scream.

Paige fucking Bueckers.

You inhale sharply through your nose, shaking your hands out, willing the frustration out of your body, then push off the washer and head for the door. You don’t hesitate this time, don’t pause to gather yourself.

You just leave.

The second you step back into the hallway, the chaos of the party crashes over you again—voices, music, bodies pressing past in a drunken blur.

You need to find Riven.

You need to do something before you lose your fucking mind.

The house feels bigger than it should, the heat of it pressing in around you, the music rattling through your skull. Your fingers twitch at your sides as you weave through the crowd, eyes scanning, searching.

Then—finally—

You spot her.

Riven is perched on the arm of a couch in the living room, a fresh drink in hand, laughing at something the girl beside her just said.

You push toward her, your body still buzzing, your head still spinning, but determined to pretend you haven’t just been left completely wrecked in a locked laundry room by the most insufferable person alive.

Riven clocks you immediately.

She tilts her head, eyes flickering over your face, sharp despite the liquor in her system.

“You look like you’ve been through some shit,” she comments, raising a brow.

You force a laugh, shaking your head. “Just trying to find you.”

“Well, you found me.” She grins, tipping her cup toward you. “And just in time. Thinking about hitting another party.”

You barely register what she’s saying.

Because in your peripherial, something catches your eye.

A glimpse of familiar blonde hair.

A hoodie.

A girl—not you—standing too close, fingers curled in Paige’s sweatshirt, voice low, her lips inches from Paige’s.

Your stomach lurches and your breath stutters.

You shouldn’t be looking.

You shouldn’t care.

Paige leans in, smirking, saying something in return. The girl pulls her toward the bedroom. The door clicks shut behind them.

And that’s it.

Your stomach churns, a sickening twist that rises up your throat, thick and acidic.

Riven is still talking, still watching you, but you can’t focus on the words, can’t focus on anything except the sudden, crushing weight in your chest, the way your throat feels tight, the way the party suddenly feels like it’s suffocating you.

“Hey.” Riven nudges you. “You good?”

You blink hard, exhaling through your nose, forcing yourself to keep it together. “Yeah,” you say, voice too thin, too unsteady.

She studies you, unconvinced.

“You wanna hit another party?”

She’s giving you an out.

A way to distract yourself. A way to drown this feeling in more liquor, more noise, more nothing.

But if you stay here any longer, you’re going to break.

So you shake your head, swallowing against the lump in your throat. “I think I’m gonna go.”

Riven frowns, but she doesn’t push. “Want me to come with?”

“No,” you say quickly, forcing a small smile. “I just—yeah. I think I’m done for the night.”

She nods slowly, watching you, like she knows you’re not saying everything. But she lets it go. “Text me when you get back.”

You nod. “Yeah.”

And then you’re leaving.

Pushing past the bodies, the voices, the heat. Stepping out into the night air, cold against your too-warm skin.

And then you’re walking.

Fast.

Like you can outrun it.

Like you can forget.

But the worst part is—you already know you won’t.

The night air is sharp against your skin, cutting through the lingering warmth of the house, through the haze of alcohol still pulsing in your veins. The sound of the party dulls behind you, muffled by distance, by the pounding in your ears.

You don’t know where you’re going—just that you need to be anywhere but here. Not in that room, not in this house, not with her still lingering in the air like a slow-burning cigarette. The scent of her skin clings to you, the ghost of her hands still warm against your body, her breath still searing against your lips. And that fucking smirk—it’s carved into your mind like a brand you can’t scrub away.

You swallow hard, the lump in your throat thick and stubborn. The sting behind your eyes threatens to spill over, but you grit your teeth, forcing it back down. You’re not going to cry over her. You refuse.

The cool night air rushes against your burning face as you round the corner of the house, stepping onto the damp grass, exhaling sharply like you can push her out of your system in one breath—

And then you see him.

Eli.

He’s leaning against the hood of a car, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, staring up at the sky like he’s waiting for something. The distant glow of a streetlight casts a halo of gold around his head, making his expression unreadable.

You hesitate.

Just for a second.

Then his gaze flickers down, catching on you, and something shifts.

He straightens slightly. “Hey.”

Your heart is still pounding, your skin still too hot, your chest still tight with the remnants of everything you just saw, everything you felt.

And suddenly, you don’t want to think about it anymore.

Suddenly, you want to forget.

You step closer, inhaling sharply through your nose. “What are you doing out here?”

Eli shrugs, a lazy half-smile curving his lips. “Needed a break.” He eyes you, tilting his head slightly. “What about you?”

You wet your lips, arms wrapping around yourself. “Needed to get out of there.”

He hums like he understands. Like maybe he does.

Your fingers twitch at your sides.

He’s looking at you like he’s curious. Like he’s waiting. Like he’s wondering what happened in there to make you walk out like you had somewhere to be, like you had someone to find.

But he doesn’t ask.

And you don’t tell him.

Instead, you step closer.

Slowly.

Testing.

His eyes flicker downward—your mouth, your throat, your hands where they clench into the hem of your shirt.

And something about that—about the way he sees you, about the way he doesn’t ask questions, about the way he’s just there—makes something snap inside you.

You want to feel something else.

Someone else.

So you step forward, closing the last bit of space between you.

Eli inhales, his shoulders tensing slightly. “What are you—”

You kiss him.

It’s impulsive. Reckless.

Your fingers grip at his jacket, pulling him in before you can second-guess it, before you can hear the voice in your head whispering that this isn’t her, this isn’t what you want, this isn’t who you want.

But he kisses you back.

His hands find your waist, hesitant at first, then firmer, fingers pressing into your sides. He tastes like beer and mint gum, like something unfamiliar, something that isn’t her.

And maybe that’s the point.

You deepen the kiss, tilting your head, swallowing down every thought, every memory, every feeling threatening to break through the surface.

Eli exhales against your mouth, the warmth of it sending a shiver down your spine as his hands slide lower, finding the small of your back and pulling you flush against him. You let him. You let yourself lean in, let yourself be kissed, let yourself drown in something—someone—that isn’t her.

Because right now, she can’t exist. She can’t be in your head, in your lungs, in the spaces between your ribs where she’s been living rent-free. If this is the only way to erase her, to rewrite the memory of her hands with someone else’s touch—then so be it.

The morning comes in hazy, dull, a slow drag of reality clawing its way back into your skull.

Your head pounds before you even open your eyes. The taste of stale liquor lingers on your tongue, thick and sour, a reminder of how recklessly you drank the night before.

A deep inhale, and—fuck.

Your body feels off. Too warm, too stiff, too aware.

And then it hits you.

A weight against your side. A slow, rhythmic inhale-exhale that isn’t yours.

You stiffen.

Open your eyes.

The ceiling above you is unfamiliar—somebody’s shitty off-campus house, a string of fairy lights flickering weakly in the daylight. The sheets beneath you smell like detergent and sweat, and the warmth at your side shifts slightly.

Eli.

His arm is draped lazily over your waist, his face half-buried in the pillow. His hair is messy, his breathing slow, peaceful.

Everything slams back into place at once—the party, the kitchen, the drinks, the laundry room. Paige. And then—Eli. Your stomach tightens, not in horror or fear, just realization. What you did. Why you did it. You swallow hard, staring up at the ceiling, willing your pulse to slow, waiting for the weight of it to settle in. But it doesn’t feel like anything. And it should. Shouldn’t it?

You were drunk, sure, but you weren’t gone. You remember his hands, the heat of his body, the way he pressed into you, the way you let him.

But now, in the harsh clarity of morning, all you can think is—

It wasn’t her.

It wasn’t her hands on you. It wasn’t her breath against your skin. It wasn’t her mouth whispering against your throat, sending shivers down your spine, making your stomach twist, making you burn, making you ache.

It was Eli.

And that makes you feel so much worse.

Your breath comes too shallow, your head pounding, your fingers twitching against the sheets. You need to get out of here.

Carefully, slowly, you shift out from under his arm, moving inch by inch until you’re free. He doesn’t stir.

You sit up. Your clothes are mostly intact—jeans unbuttoned but still on, your shirt twisted around you, but nothing that says bad decision in flashing neon lights.

Except the ache in your chest.

You press your hands against your face, inhale deep.

Move.

You slip out of bed, grabbing your shoes from where they’re haphazardly discarded near the door, your jacket thrown across the chair in the corner.

You don’t look back.  You don’t check to see if he’s waking up, if he’ll call after you, if he’ll ask what this was.

Because you don’t have an answer.

The house is quiet, but not silent. Somewhere down the hall, you hear faint voices, the sound of someone in the kitchen, cabinets opening and closing.

You don’t stop.

You walk, fast but not suspicious, through the living room, toward the front door. The air still smells like last night—beer, sweat, something burnt, like someone got hungry and forgot about a frozen pizza in the oven.

The sunlight is sharp when you step outside, stabbing straight into your skull.

You wince, pulling your jacket tighter around you, ignoring the way the world feels like it’s tilting slightly.

Your phone is dead. You exhale, slow, deliberate.

Then you walk.

Every step feels like weight pressing into your chest, like something clawing at the inside of your ribs, like the ghost of someone else’s hands gripping your hips, someone else’s lips dragging along your throat.

You don’t let yourself think about it.

Not yet.

You just focus on the pavement, on the sound of your own breathing, on getting the fuck out of here before the weight of last night really sinks in.

The walk back is slow. Not because you’re taking your time, but because your body is still heavy with last night—liquor humming in your bloodstream, regret pooling somewhere low in your stomach, the ache behind your eyes a dull reminder of every wrong decision that led you here.

Your breath fogs in the morning air. It’s colder than you expected. You pull your jacket tighter, shoving your hands deep into your pockets, head down as you step over cracked pavement, past empty sidewalks.

The streets are quiet.

The world is moving, but just barely—cars rolling by lazily, students in sweats shuffling across campus, people carrying coffee cups like lifelines. The remnants of Saturday night still linger in the air, the ghosts of parties scattered across front lawns—empty cans, forgotten hoodies, crushed solo cups.

It should feel normal. But everything feels off.

Because you know where she is.

Or at least, where she was.

You know what happened after she left you in that fucking laundry room, after she walked away, after she—

You inhale sharply through your nose, pushing the thought away.

It shouldn’t matter.

You made your own choices, didn’t you?

So why does it feel like something is rotting inside you?

Your steps slow as you reach your dorm. The building looms ahead, brick and glass, too familiar, too suffocating. You don’t want to go inside. You don’t want to be alone.

Not when the weight of last night is still pressing down on you, not when the silence is going to make it worse, not when every empty second is just another opportunity for your mind to drag you back.

But you don’t have a choice.

You tug the door open, step inside.

The lobby is quiet, the hallways dimly lit. Your shoes echo against the floor as you make your way to your room, heart thudding heavier with each step.

By the time you reach your door, your hands are shaking.

You tell yourself it’s the hangover.

It’s not.

The second you’re inside, you shut the door, lock it, press your back against the wood, squeezing your eyes shut.

Breathe.

The silence wraps around you, thick and oppressive, and now it hits.

Now the night comes crashing in.

You see it too clearly.

Paige, leaning against the counter, her drink in hand, her smirk lazy, her mouth parted just slightly—

Paige, dragging her fingers over the girl’s waist, letting her pull her in—

Paige, shoving you up onto the washer, her hands gripping your thighs, her breath hot against your lips—

Your eyes snap open.

You swallow hard, jaw tight, chest aching.

This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.

You slept with someone else. You made your choice.

So why does it feel like you lost?

You don’t move for a while.

Just stand there, back pressed against the door, staring at the floor, breath uneven, the silence pressing in from all sides. Your skin still feels too warm, like the heat of last night hasn’t entirely left your body.

Like her hands are still there.

You squeeze your eyes shut. Stop it.

You push off the door, moving toward your bed in slow, heavy steps. You don’t bother turning on the lights. The daylight spilling through the blinds is already too much, making the pounding in your skull even worse.

You collapse onto the mattress, face-first, pressing your cheek into the pillow. The sheets smell like you—just you. No trace of Eli, no hint of anything from last night, and for some reason, that makes you feel worse.

Maybe because it means it didn’t matter.

Or maybe because it means you’re still alone.

You exhale sharply, rolling onto your back, staring up at the ceiling. The ache in your chest hasn’t eased.

If anything, it’s getting worse.

You need a distraction.

You grab your phone from the nightstand, clicking it on. Dead.

Right.

You let it drop onto your stomach, staring blankly at the ceiling again, waiting for your body to settle, for the weight pressing down on your ribs to ease, but it doesn’t. It lingers. She lingers.

She’s everywhere.

Every time you close your eyes, she’s there. The smirk, the mouth, the way she looked at you in the laundry room, sharp and knowing, like she could see every thought running through your head before you even formed them.

You grit your teeth, turning onto your side, gripping the sheets. She is not in this bed. Stop thinking about her.

You don’t know if she ever left that room with that girl. You don’t know if she stayed the whole night. You don’t know if she fucked her.

You let out a slow, shaky breath.

You should sleep. Get up. Shower. Move on.

Instead, you lie there, still, silent, with nothing but the echoes of last night looping through your brain like a song you can’t turn off.

And no matter how hard you try, you can’t shake the feeling that Paige won.

You’re not even supposed to be here.

That’s what you tell yourself as you walk across campus, your fingers curled tight around the strap of your bag, your brain already buzzing with excuses, with reasons—with anything that makes this feel less like a trap.

It’s just an errand.

A professor had emailed you that morning—something about the dining hall on the athletic side of campus having an issue with one of the automated food warmers, something small, something engineering-adjacent. Apparently, it had been flagged last week, and since you’re one of the few undergrads competent enough to check it out, they’d passed it off to you.

You’d said yes before thinking.

Before realizing exactly where they were sending you.

Before remembering who eats here.

Now, standing outside the heavy double doors, the reality crashes into you like a brick to the chest.

This is their dining hall. The athletes. The basketball team. Her.

Your stomach clenches. You should turn around.

No one will notice if you stall for twenty minutes, send an email about how it was already fixed, make up some bullshit about it not being your area.

You swallow, exhale slowly, force yourself to move forward.

Inside, the air is warmer, filled with the scent of food, the sound of chatter, the low hum of conversations overlapping—easy, casual, the way people talk when they don’t have a thousand things clawing at the inside of their skulls.

You keep your head down, moving toward the back of the hall where the food warmers are lined up in sleek, stainless steel rows. The place is bigger than the regular student cafeteria—modern, high ceilings, bright windows. Everything designed for them.

Your pulse thrums in your ears as you slide behind the service counter, setting your bag down, trying to focus on what you came here for.

Focus.

You grab a screwdriver from your bag, crouching slightly, unscrewing the side panel of the warming unit. You barely register the conversations happening around you, just white noise in the background—

Until you hear her.

It’s distant at first. A voice blending in with the others. But your body reacts before your brain does—the immediate recognition, the sharp, visceral reaction, like every nerve in your body suddenly goes rigid.

You don’t look up.

You refuse to look up.

But you hear her.

That low, easy drawl, the teasing lilt in her words, the lazy confidence in the way she talks, like she owns any room she steps into.

And you hate—hate—how it makes your skin burn.

You move faster, working the screws loose, hoping, praying she doesn’t come this way.

But life isn’t that easy, is it?

Because then—closer now—

A voice. A teammate, maybe. Laughing. “Paige, I swear to God—”

And then—her.

Right there. Too close.

You don’t see her face at first, just the familiar joggers, the way they hang effortlessly off her frame. The pristine white sneakers, spotless as always, moving in smooth, practiced steps. And then she shifts, just slightly, and something in your gut twists. You know she sees you. You feel it. The way her stride falters for half a second, that barely-there pause in motion. The weight of her gaze presses against your skin, thick and unshakable, lingering like a hand on the back of your neck.

Your body locks up. The screwdriver in your grip suddenly feels foreign, like it doesn’t belong in your hand, like nothing in this moment belongs. Your fingers tighten around the handle, grounding yourself in something, anything, before it can slip.

And then—nothing.

No smirk. No teasing remark. No acknowledgment at all. She just keeps walking. Not a glance back, not even a twitch of amusement or recognition. Just passes right by you like you’re nothing.

Your chest constricts, the silence louder than anything she could have said. You don’t know if you feel relieved or if you want to fucking scream.

The weight of it slams into your ribs, hard and unexpected, a visceral, gut-deep feeling that you should not be feeling.

Because this is what you wanted, right?

To avoid her. To make this nothing. To erase the way she touched you, the way she looked at you in that laundry room like she knew exactly how to pull you apart and put you back together again.

So why does it feel like she just walked straight through you?

Your fingers curl tighter around the screwdriver, your breath short, uneven, the hum of the cafeteria suddenly too much, too loud, pressing in around you.

Her teammates are still talking, still laughing, moving past you like you’re background noise, like you don’t even register in their world.

And Paige?

She’s leading the charge.

Like she didn’t just see you. Like you aren’t even worth a second glance.

Like she doesn’t know.

Heat rushes up your neck, but it isn’t embarrassment. It’s something sharper, something angrier, something bitter curling its way up your throat.

You twist the screwdriver too hard, slipping, the metal clanging against the side of the food warmer. The noise barely registers over the buzz of conversation, but it jars you, snapping you back into focus.

Get it together.

You grit your teeth, force your hands to steady, force your breathing to even out.

Paige Bueckers is not going to get in your head.

Not now. Not like this.

You glance up, just once, just long enough to catch sight of her before she disappears around the corner.

She’s smiling at something her teammate said, her body loose, easy, the picture of someone without a single fucking care in the world.

And something about that—about the effortlessness of it, about how little she seems to be affected by anything—makes your chest go tight, your stomach coil.

You look back down at the warming unit, ignoring the way your hands shake.

It’s fine.

You don’t care.

You’ll finish this, you’ll leave, and you’ll keep avoiding her.

And if she wants to pretend that night never happened?

Fine.

You can pretend too.

The food warmer is fine.

It had never really been broken in the first place, just a misaligned panel, something so stupidly simple that you could’ve fixed it in thirty seconds if you hadn’t been thrown into a slow-motion car wreck the moment Paige walked in.

You tighten the last screw, slam the panel shut harder than necessary, and grab your bag, exhaling slowly.

Time to leave.

You sling the strap over your shoulder, stepping out from behind the counter, slipping back into the flow of students moving between tables, conversations buzzing, trays clattering.

Your mind is still on her.

Even though you told yourself you wouldn’t let it be.

Even though she’d just walked past you like you were no one.

Your jaw tightens. You have actual shit to deal with.

Like your group project in Systems Engineering that’s due next week.

Like the fact that your bank account is currently laughing at you because you spent too much on takeout last week and now you have to survive on black coffee and spite until your next paycheck.

Like the absolute nightmare of a midterm schedule that’s looming over you.

That’s what you should be thinking about.

Not Paige Bueckers.

Not the laundry room.

Not the way she touched you like she had all the time in the world, only to turn around and walk away without looking back.

You push through the doors, stepping into the cold.

The wind is sharp, biting against your cheeks, cutting through your jacket. A fresh reminder that you’re here, that life is still moving forward whether you’re ready or not.

You’re halfway across campus, your thoughts finally shifting toward something productive—namely, the ungodly amount of work you have waiting for you—when your phone buzzes in your pocket.

You pull it out, squinting against the brightness of the screen.

bitch where are you?

Riven. You huff out a laugh, thumbs moving before you even think.

somewhere worse than hell

Three dots appear immediately,

so. lecture? or did you run into someone who shall not be named?

Your stomach twists.

You type back, fast.

i hate you.

okay so definitely the second one

You groan, shoving your phone back into your pocket before she can keep going.

Because she’s right.

And the worst part is, she doesn’t even know the half of it.

She just knows you and Paige have always had this weird tension—this push and pull, this thing that was never serious but never quite nothing.

She doesn’t know what happened in the laundry room.

She doesn’t know that Paige did something to you that night.

That she changed something.

That you woke up the next morning with someone else’s hands on you and it still wasn’t enough to shake her.

You exhale, hard, pushing the thoughts down, stuffing them somewhere deep where they can’t touch you.

Time to focus.

Midterms. Projects. Surviving off ramen and caffeine for the next two weeks.

Paige Bueckers?

She’s officially off the list.

Continue Reading Part 2.5

[insidekatmind]

Under the table-Jobe Bellingham

Wearning: +18,smut,handjob.

You were sitting at the table in a familiar, cozy environment, at one of your closest friend's house. The soft light of the room and the laughter of the other guests created a relaxed and joyful atmosphere. Jobe was sitting next to you. He was so natural, his smile always genuine, and there was never a moment when you couldn’t feel his presence magnetically.

Everyone was busy chatting, laughing, and enjoying the meal, but you had other thoughts. With a small mischievous smile, you decided to spice up the evening a little. Without being noticed, you began to gently touch Jobe's leg under the table. Each movement was calm but full of intention. His reactions were immediate: first, a barely noticeable jolt, then a quick glance towards you, as if trying to figure out if you were really doing what he thought you were.

But you continued, determined not to stop. Your fingers moved with some certainty, and you could see that Jobe was trying to stay calm, but you could feel his focus drifting. The conversation around you seemed distant, while he tried to concentrate on the rest of the dinner, but your touch under the table was becoming almost irresistible.

With each new movement, his breath became heavier, and you could feel his body reacting to your game, a game that was becoming more fascinating by the second. Despite the lively atmosphere and the chaos of laughter, there was something intimate and secret between you, something only you and he could understand in that moment.

It was as if the rest of the world had disappeared, leaving only that little challenge, that secret touch that you enjoyed so much. It amused you because Jobe was very shy and reserved compared to you and had never experienced anything like this.

Without being noticed by your friends, you unbutton his trousers and take off his boxers. Jobe's reaction was immediate. He jerked a hand under the table to grab your hand. In his eyes, there was a mix of surprise, disbelief, and a hint of pleading. His breathing became more labored, and you could feel the tension in his touch.

He leaned in to whisper in your ear, trying not to attract the attention of the other guests. His voice was low, and you could sense the slight urgency in his tone."What are you doing?” he hissed.

You smile and kiss his cheek softly as you begin to move your hand up and down his cock without letting him notice. “Relax,” you whisper without being heard. Jobe's cheeks flushed red as he tried to keep his facial expression neutral. He bit his lip and took a deep, trembling breath. His voice was low and strained as he whispered back.

"You know I can’t relax when you’re doing stuff like this."He discreetly shifted in his seat, his body already reacting to your touch. He glanced around, almost unconsciously, making sure no one was paying attention to the two of you."We're not the only ones here," he whispered, his breath slightly shallow.

You smile and start to jerk him off, without being noticed, while you were talking to the girlfriend of one of Jobe's friends. Jobe's face betrayed the mixture of anticipation and panic he was feeling. His eyes were fixed on your face as you talked to the girl, his expression a mixture of need and worry about being found out. Whenever one of his friends asked him a question, he had to reply, trying to sound as normal as possible, but his voice shook ever so slightly.He was trying to keep a straight face, his mouth a tight line of both embarrassment and desire. He leaned a little forward, as if to hide his expression from the rest of the group.

You could feel his body tensing under your touch, the way his breath became more labored, and how he tried to mask his own reactions. Jobe was usually so controlled, but right now, he couldn’t help but give in to the sensations you were giving him.Each stroke was a carefully measured move, designed to push him to the brink without causing any suspicion. The table hid what you were doing, and everyone else was too engrossed in their own conversations to notice. But you could see the way he kept darting glances at you, trying to communicate without words.

Jobe’s breathing was becoming ragged, and the flush on his face was becoming more noticeable despite his efforts to hide it. He kept shifting in his seat, looking for any comfortable position to relieve the tension you were creating. A thin layer of sweat formed on his forehead as he gripped the edge of the table, doing his best to maintain composure.The conversation around you was still flowing, oblivious to the intimate battle being fought between you two under the table. Jobe's eyes were locked on yours, a mix of pleading and helplessness in them. He knew he was losing this game, and it was making him both nervous and excited. Jobe looked at you with a mix of pleading and helplessness in his eyes. He knew he was losing this game, and it was making him both nervous and unbearably turned on.

The conversation continued, and Jobe tried to keep his composure, but it was getting harder and harder. His responses to his friends were becoming more strained, his voice a little too shaky to be normal. He was fighting a battle he knew he couldn't win, and each moment was more torturous and delicious than the last. You smile and move closer to him, kissing his jaw while continuing to jerk him off. “You're doing good,” you whisper in his ear so no one can hear.

Jobe's body shivered at your words, his breath hitching in his throat. He leaned a little closer to you, as if seeking comfort in your presence. His expression was a mix of lust, desperation, and an odd vulnerability that was unique to him."You're driving me crazy," he whispered, his voice low and rough, filled with a mixture of need and desire. "Please..."

You smile and kiss his lips softly as you continue to jerk him off even faster under the table. He returned the kiss, trying to keep it soft and quiet so as not to draw any attention. His hand still gripped the edge of the table tightly, his knuckles turning white from the force of it. His breaths were coming in short, shallow gasps, mixed with a low, needy whimper that he couldn't stop from escaping his lips.The sensations you were creating were becoming too much for him to bear, and it was becoming harder and harder for him to keep his reactions from being noticed by the rest of the group.

He closed his eyes and leaned a little forward, as if trying to hide his expression. He was losing control, and it showed on his face, in the way he was biting his lip to keep himself from making any noise. The group continued talking as if nothing was happening, but you could see the strain on Jobe's face, the way his body was trembling ever so slightly."Please," he whispered again, his voice barely audible. "Please... I can't take this much longer."

You gently caress his face and then kiss him softly. “Come baby, I know you want to do this” you whisper softly. Jobe whimpered softly as your words struck a sensitive nerve within him. He leaned into your touch, his eyes closed and his face flushed with both embarrassment and desire."I… I do," he whispered, his voice cracking slightly. "But... here...? With everyone around?"

You smile and caress his cheek, nodding. “Go baby, cum on my hand” you whisper softly. He let out a soft noise, a mix of a gasp and a moan, his breath coming out in short, ragged pants. The need in his eyes was so obvious and raw, it took your breath away. He looked at you, almost as if seeking permission, his eyes filled with a mixture of desire and helplessness.His hands clenched into fists, his knuckles turning white as his body tensed. His breath came in short, shallow gasps, and his eyes never yours.

You kiss him softly jerking him off faster. “Be a good boy and come for me,” you whisper against his lips. “Yes,” he breathed, the word barely audible. “Yes, anything... for you, I'll be good. I'll be good, anything you want. Just, please…”He closed his eyes again, his face flushed. His body was trembling now, the sensations building to a pinnacle that he couldn't keep control over much longer. Your touches, your kisses, your whispered commands were his undoing, and he knew he was on the verge of losing himself completely.

Slowly, his breathing grew more ragged, the gasps and moans he couldn't control became a little louder, and he found his hand gripping your thigh- Jobe's breath was coming in short, ragged pants now. His eyes were closed, his face flushed and his body trembling under your ministrations. He bit his lip to stop himself from crying out loud, his fingers digging into your thigh.

Jobe's body jerked from the force of his orgasm, and your kiss muffled his groan. His fingers dug into your thigh even more, as if desperately holding onto something to keep himself grounded. When it was over, he collapsed against you, his body boneless and trembling, and he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

You wipe your hand with a tissue and then hug Jobe, comforting him from his orgasm. Jobe leaned into your embrace, his body trembling still, and his face buried in your neck. His breathing was still ragged, and you could feel the heat radiating off him. He was spent, vulnerable, and he held onto you as if you were his lifeline.

You stroke his hair softly as you whisper to him what a good boy he had been to you. Jobe let out a small, shaky sigh, his body still trembling a little from the intensity of his orgasm. He nuzzled closer to you, seeking comfort and reassurance in your embrace. Your soft words of praise made him shiver, and he clutched onto you a bit tighter.“Was I really… good?” he murmured against your neck, his voice still slightly hoarse. “Did I do what you asked me to?”

You stroke his hair. "Yes baby". Your friend smiles seeing you two so close. “You are a beautiful couple,” he says, smiling at the two of you. Jobe blushed a bit, his face still buried in your shoulder. He raised his head just a little to look at your friend, then returned his gaze to you, his eyes still slightly hazy.

"Thank you," he murmured, his voice quiet and a little embarrassed by the unexpected praise. You could feel him relaxes a little more as your fingers continued to stroke his hair.

The rest of the group kept chatting, seemingly unaware of the intimate moment you two had just shared. Jobe, still recovering from his recent orgasm, leaned more firmly into your touch, clearly seeking the physical reassurance he needed from you.

He was unusually quiet, a bit unusual to his confident self, but the intensity of his emotions was clear in his expression and the way he clung to you. The conversation around you droned on, but you could tell that Jobe was completely focused on you, his eyes occasionally flitting up to look at you with a mix of vulnerability and affection.

[hobby1008]

Actions for each other

If you use a translator, the sentences may be strange.

haewon x m reader

Tags: creampie,cheating

I went out to meet her, who I had been close with since school.

"Hey, oppa, here!"

"How are you?"

"Yeah, I've been doing well, right? How about you?"

She sighed at my words and said. "No… I'm a bit in a relationship with my boyfriend…"

"Why is something going on?"

"Yeah… I am."

She hesitated at my words and I was worried about her. "Why is something going on?"

She slowly opened her mouth and said. "My relationship with my boyfriend… No matter how much I tell him, he doesn't like it…"

I felt a sense of kinship with her words and started talking.

"You're the same, me too…"

She was startled by my words and said, "Oppa? Oppa, you're doing really well."

"I'm doing well, I'm fine with it too… But even when I set the mood, he doesn't like it…"

"Both of us… Really…"

She thought for a while and then started saying something surprising. “Then oppa.. Since neither of us can do it… Should we just do it ourselves?”

I was very surprised by her words and said. “What?.. The two of us? No… Then that would be cheating…”

“No,.,, It’s not cheating.. It’s people who help each other,,,”

I felt strangely drawn to her words.

“That’s right… It’s not our fault..”

“Right.. That’s right… Then should we go?”

She spoke in a low voice and looked at me, and I nodded to her words.

So we headed straight to the motel, and after taking a shower, we awkwardly sat on the bed.

“Oppa.. Can’t you be brave first?”

She begged me in a coquettish tone, and I collapsed at her beautiful appearance and coquettishness.

I immediately caressed her cheek and started kissing her.

She kissed me, tongues mixing, as if she had been waiting, and I immediately took off her shower gown and looked at her body. “Wow.. Haewon, your body is really pretty..”

“Thank you, oppa… Show me oppa too.”

I immediately took off my gown and showed her my erect cock. “Wow.. oppa, it’s big…” she said while stroking my cock, and a smile spread across her face.

Her eyes were filled with desire and challenge. Then, she took me into her mouth, and her lips were tightly wrapped around my head.

“Haewon..,” I moaned, and my hands grabbed her hair. She moaned, and the vibration sent shock waves through my body.

“Oppa, I’ll make it good for you..” She pulled me in deeper, and her throat was against my cock. I could feel the head of my cock hitting the back of her throat, and I moaned, and my hips pushed slightly.

My voice was thick with desire. "Haewon.. you're the best… this is the first time I've felt this way.."

She mumbled, and the sound vibrated against my cock, and I moaned, and my hips pushed deeper. She took it all in, her nose pressed against my stomach, and her throat touched my cock. I could feel her swallowing, the muscles in her throat squeezing my cock.

She quickly pulled my cock out of her mouth as if she was out of breath and looked at me. I caressed her cheek and said. "Haewon.. you're really the best, you're so good.."

"Oppa.. I want to do it with you.." I laid her down at her request, spread her legs, and went between her, and when my cock touched her entrance, I thought that I should wear a condom. "Wait a minute, condom.."

Then she grabbed my hand and said. “Don’t squeeze it in..”

Like that, I slowly inserted my dick into her vagina, and her place was heaven.

“Haewon.. you’re so tight.. good.”

“I like it too, oppa. Fill me up.”

“Now hurry up… do it quickly.”

I pushed into her, and her tight body wrapped around me. She was so wet, so ready. I moaned, and my cock throbbed.

“It feels so good.” My voice was tense. I started to move, and her moans filled the room.

“Ah.. I like it too, oppa.” She gasped. “Faster. Harder.. oppa.”

I complied, and my hips slammed into hers. She met my thrusts, and her nails dug into my back. I could feel her getting closer again, her muscles clenching around me.

"Oppa.. I feel so good I think I'm going to go…" She said breathlessly. "Oppa.. tell me you love me."

I felt a huge thrill at her words, and my cock twitched. "I love you Haewon… you're the best." I told her. She looked incredibly happy and started ejaculating on my dick.

She was panting and feeling the orgasm she had felt after a long time, and I didn't want to interrupt her time, so I just looked at her.

She quickly came out of her orgasm, and looked up at me with eyes that wanted me so much, and said. "Oppa, you're the best… now cum too…"

I nodded, and her eyes stared into mine. Her vagina was even tighter, but it went in easily because of the love juice, and I started to thrust into her vagina like that., “Oppa.. tell me you like it, I love you, and keep putting it in like that.”

“I love you, Haewon, I love you so much.. you’re the best.”

She was squeezing my cock with a happy face at my words, I could feel my orgasm rising, and her expression was pushing me to my limit, and she knew my situation and said. “Oppa, if you’re going to cum, fill me up. It’s a safe day..”

I was incredibly excited by her words and thrust into her vagina like that.

“Oh my god,” she gasped and shook her body. "Oh, it feels so good."

"Ah.. Haewon, I think I'm going to cum. I'm going to cum inside!! I love you Haewon!!" That's how I ejaculated a large amount of semen inside her, and she was sobbing and feeling happy with the flow of my semen.

"Oppa.. It was the best.. It's so good…"

I kissed her like that, and she caressed my cheek and said, "Oppa.. Should I go home today?"

"No."

"Then let's do more.. I want to do it again, with you."

"Okay.. Haewon, I want to do it again with you too."

That's how the two of us started to release all the desires we had built up on each other.

I painted her face, mouth, pussy, and everywhere with my semen, and Haewon felt an incredible sense of happiness at having her body painted with my semen.

[jollyhunter]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐚𝐝 𝐖𝐨𝐥𝐟 & 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐕𝐢𝐱𝐞𝐧

Puffy parted lips make way for a guttural moan. Hips roll up to meet you with languid motions, drawing out every thrust. Slow, deep and steady strokes. Thick swollen tip pushed in and out, pulled along your tight walls all the way up until he rams your cervix and back down until your tight muscles grip onto him.

Eyes flit across the ceiling and dive under your eyelids. Another, louder groan echoes through your bedroom at your family’s house.

“Shhh-“ Calloused fingers lock your jaw closed, choking back a whimper of yours. Dean's thumb pulls at the tip of your lower lip, his gravel voice low and yet enough to shaken your breath. “You’re so vocal, baby - but you gotta keep it down. I don’t wanna get a speech of your dad in the morning.”

Your lips chase his thumb as he draws it down your chin, catching it between your teeth and pulling it in like you’d just trapped your prey.

A low, dangerous growl rumbles in his chest when your lips tightly wrap around his knuckle joint and you start to lick and suck on his coarse digit.

The vibration travels down to your core, tingling, sending a shiver across your body. The growl is a warning as much as a grudging praise. Green orbs flash up at your cheeky smile. Like you’re testing his authority, poking the wolf.

And he fucking loves it.

You were playful. And dirty. You challenge him. And to him, you were deadly.

“C’mon my sweet little vixen.” He coos with a mock-innocent expression when he notices your depleting energy. “You can do one more for me, can’t ya?”

You nod, your eyes halfway hidden behind your heavy eyelids. You were somewhere caught in a state of lust and drowsiness. Your hips rock against his hardness that's buried deep within you, but you lack any rhythm.

And it wasn't really a surprise, seeing as Dean's fingers had just lured you out of your sleep not too long ago.

Parts of you wondered why you were even up here right now. Straddling your boyfriend’s hips in this ungodly hour. Would you have been more rational, you'd have never agreed to this. The knowledge of your parents sleeping two doors down the corridor, while you were riding him inside you? God no.

But it didn't take much incentive to coax - what Dean called your 'sweet little vixen' - out of you.

Fingertips had stroked you up and down, parting your folds, and a rough thumb had flicked across your sensitive bundle of nerves until his hand began to soak in your slick. His nose had brushed along your neck, inhaling the sweet scent of your shampoo. Meanwhile his teeth had skimmed your skin in ways that sent a dangerous shiver down your spine.

Your breath had quickly turned heavy and laced with soft, shy moans that slipped past your sleep. Moments later you found yourself on top of Dean's. Riding his bucking hips as well as you could in your drowsy state.

Another moan of yours gets muffled by Dean's thumb still jammed in your mouth. He had roughly snapped his hips up to coax those sweet sounds from your throat. But also, Dean had noticed how you were barely holding onto your wake mind.

Your hooded eyes keep rolling back with soft whimpers and your legs are shaking like they had been riding a bull for the past half an hour.

"C'mon little vixen, don't tap out on me now." He chuckles lowly, his lips quirked into a sly smirk as he watches you try to regain your balance on top of his bucking hips.

You slump forward and bring your hands down on his chest. And Dean's heart skips a beat when he could swear that he’d caught a glimpse of you narrowing your eyes at him, a smile flashing across your lips. And you did.

Long claws leave red marks in their wake as you rake them down Dean's chest. He hisses from the pain, his eyes narrowed at you with a warning glare. But this wolf couldn't fool you with his snarls, and you both knew it.

"Careful there," he adds in a verbal warning, his voice dropped an octave.

Your lips pull into a tired smile as you lean down to whisper something into his ear. And Dean lets out groan at your dirty sex talk.

To the world outside of this intimate act of yours, you were a shy, innocent girl. For strangers, an introverted pretty girl and for your family, the perfect, little angel.

But in his touch you turned into a sex-drunk, confident and bold woman. Kinky, naughty, and oh so willing to be taken any time by him. You were his clever, sassy, little vixen. Only his to take.

The thought of him being the only one allowed to see this side of yours... Knowing that he could coax that little vixen out of you. That you were nothing like you made the world believe, nothing close to the innocent image you had. That he was able to corrupt you in the most beautiful way possible. That you'd trust him enough to let him witness this downright sinful side of yours…

...It all turned him on, made him proud. Made his lips pull into a wolfish grin of satisfaction.

You were like a fox trapped in the jaws of a wolf. And you relished it. The knowledge that only he was the harbour of your beast. Only he held the key to get it out.

Only you held the privilege that he could snap you in half in a heartbeat - like anyone who'd just look at you the wrong way - but never would. Only you could be rest assured that he’d never bite you.

Only you could roll him over onto his back and have him whimper.

Dean pulls his thumb from your mouth, both his hands gripping onto your hips now in a merciless grip. When your eyes meet, he bucks his hips. His hard length gets slammed inside you, triggering a surprised whine from you that pulls his lips into a satisfied smug grin.

When your hips try to pull away, his large hands pull you down to meet his next thrust with your core flush against his pelvis and his tip bruising your cervix.

You whimper, buckle and fall forward. Your forehead comes to rest on the reddened marks on his chest while your fingers claw at his shoulder where you hold onto him.

Whimpers of yours mingle with his grunts and groans as he rides you both towards your climax. His fingers dig into your flesh when he notices you shaking, holding you close as your walls start to flutter around his cock. His tight grip was leaving you no chance for escape, leaving you completely at his mercy. And you loved it.

You could squirm in his jaws, knowing the fangs that surrounded you would never pierce you. Fangs that held you down but never back. Jaws that didn’t keep you in but others out.

You tamed the wolf that has seen through your innocence. The only man who’s allowed to tame your secret wild spirit.

A/N: A "BadWolf!Dean x SweetVixen!Reader" drabble I had to get out of my system ahhh I've been holding onto this thought for way too long. Idk yet where this is going or whether anybody else needed this lmao, but you're welcome if you did. Also I'm sorry I didn't get to proofread or anything I just typed this out on the way to work. I still have so much to catch up on with all your writings!! I hope I’ll get the time to reply, read and comment on them all on the weekend! <3

EDIT: Not me changing the head banner 'cuz that one image had to be edited

Dean tag list:

@aylacavebear @jc-winchester @ambiguous-avery @bettystonewell

[rafescvntyclubgf]

An very unedited sneak peak at my next Februrafey fic, very loosely inspired my Challengers 💕 (mostly just this scene inspired by the tennis match and the US Open party)

+18 <- swearing

Hockey!Rafe x Hockey!JJ x reader

The air at the rink was crisp, carrying the faint scent of ice and sweat. Rafe stands on the opposite side of the boards, hit helmet danging loose from the blade of his hockey stick. His eyes stay lock on the beautiful figure gliding effortlessly across the rink.

You move with grace, shifting like water; making everything else are him fade away. You leap, and bend, turning like a top–so fiercely athletic, leaving him in awe.

He couldn’t look away. Not even if he wanted to.

The sound of your blades carve into the ice, rhythmically, unlike his own. It wasn’t just your skill that had him in a daze. It was your sheer focus, the ease in which you did the effortful, effortlessly. It was the way you smiled to yourself when you landed a jump he couldn’t even begin to compute.

“Holy shit…”

“I know, right?” The words hit Rafe like a slap. He blinks his blue eyes as few times, his head snapping to the left. His teammate stands next to him, his chin resting lazily on the butt of his stick, staring at the same figure skater with addled eyes.

Rafe exhales, realizing he’s been holding his breathe. He drags his hand through his hair, taking a deep breath. “Fuck, man. She’s somethin’ else, huh?”

JJ doesn’t respond, too consumed with watching you. Your body turns in the air–a triple toe loop–executing it flawlessly. Rafe looks back at you, feeling a strange mix of admiration and the sting of something else as he catches onto JJ’s mutual desire for you.

“No way she goes here–” JJ mumbles dreamily.

“Nah, I haven’t seen her around campus,” Rafe replies, his voice a little tighter now. He follows your movements on the ice, eyes scanning the sheet, knowing that you’d been stepping off any second. His pulse quickens; hands clammy inside his gloves.

The door swings open beside them, a few their teammates spilling onto the ice before you could even get off. They lose you in the crowd, looking around big bodies as they move toward the door themselves.

When the boys fan out of the ice the skater is gone. Rafe’s eyes scan the arena, catching JJ search as well, making him a little more frantic. “Who are you lookin’ for, bud?” Rafe snips, making JJ scoff in disgust.

“Nobody,” JJ answers, letting his lips curl in a smirk.

“You’re such a bitch, dude,” Rafe cracks disgustedly, shoving JJ against the boards.

“I’m bitch…” He points his gloved hand at his chest, cocking an eyebrow at Rafe. “Comin’ from you that means shit,” Maybank laughs as he shakes his head.

“The fuck does that mean?” Rafe asks as he slashes him tauntingly with his stick making JJ throw a punch, nailing him in his arm.

“You know exactly what that means–” JJ voice trails off as he watches you round the arch of the rink, walking toward the two of them, skimming through your phone. You look up, smiling at the two of them.

Rafe opens his mouth to speak but the words get lost somewhere between his brain and his tongue. JJ steps forward, tripping slightly off his own skate guard, muttering a rushed, “Uh, hey,” before Rafe could get a word in.

“Hi,” you giggle and tilt your head slightly in amusement, looking up at the two men in passing.

Rafe clears his throat, forcing himself to recover, catching your attention. You look over your shoulder, meeting his eyes again. “That was… Umm. What you were doing out there was amazing,” he praises.

“Yeah, seriously,” JJ adds a little louder, not to be outdone. “Olympic level, shit. You’re probably the best skater I’ve ever see.”

“Yeah,” Rafe’s eyes narrow on JJ before turning back to you. “I couldn’t do that if I tried.”

You cheeks warm up at their sweet words. You turn toward them, taking a step closer, making them both blush. “Thank you–” You drag out the word, hoping they’ll fill in the blank with their names.

The names come out in a jumbled mess as the two boys speak over the top of each other. JJ slaps Rafe in the gut with his glove annoyedly, his eyes still lock on yours.

“Rafe Cameron,” Rafe repeats himself with a smile.

“I’m JJ,” he jumps in. “JJ Maybank. And you are?”

You introduce yourself, the sounds of you name leaving your lips seemingly making the burly boys swoon. Rafe’s pulse quickens as he watches you smile up at the blonde. “Do you skate here often?” He asks.

“No,” you shake you head and smile “I go to Harvard… They didn’t have any ice time–”

“Harvard?” JJ asks.

“Mhmm… Just borrowing your ice—”

“You busy tomorrow, sweetheart,” Rafe asks, making your breath catch in your chest. JJ’s lips tighten, brows furrowing as he looks over at his teammate, frustrated with the forwardness he wished he had in the moment. “We have a game if you want to come. I can put some tickets aside for you.”

“Your game?”

“Yeah,” they both say at the same time, causing them both to roll their eyes in frustration.

“It’d be awesome to have you there,” JJ smiles as he turns back on the charm.

Their coaches whistle rips through the area, making them both tense up. “Cameron; Maybank. Ice, now!”

“I’ll think about it,” you smile as you adjust your bag on your shoulder, still smittened despite their awkward delivery. You walk away from the two of them, your figure skating skirt teasing them with each step. The two boys stand back in a daze, watching you until you fall out of sight.

[donovankinard]

that's right, that's right, 911 fic recs are back! its been a pretty light month for reading for me; i travelled quite a bit earlier in the month and then school started back up, so i don't have a huge amount to link, but i wanted to share what i have read anyway! this month we've got buddie, bucktommy, tarlos, buck&chris, saltommy, teddie and louliver! a very mlm heavy month, but with hen wilson week coming up that should change for feb.

🔥 Back to Us || @kumiokosposts evan buckley/eddie diaz || 95k Buck, struggling with abandonment and feelings of being unworthy, is shaken when Chris calls, asking if he can live with Buck now that he’s no longer with Tommy. Still hurt and angry with Eddie, Chris refuses to tell his dad about wanting to live with Buck, leaving Buck caught in the middle, torn between protecting Chris and his loyalty to Eddie. Yet as Buck promises to help, he feels something shift—beneath all the self-doubt and pain, a quiet hope emerges. For the first time in what feels like forever, someone chose him, and maybe, just maybe, he’s not as unworthy of love as he’s always believed.

🔥 Time in a Bottle || @cjlouwho evan buckley/tommy kinard || 16.7k (so far) His heart began to race as the doors swung open and out. No light shined in, letting Tommy know it was still night. Then, a heavy step started down the staircase. Thud, thud, thud. Fifteen steps. Tommy counted each one. And suddenly, he wasn't alone anymore.

🔥 white shoe, black shoe || @hazeystar evan buckley/tommy kinard || 1.5k Tommy and Buck get married and somehow let Maddie and Eddie come up with the wedding games. Or: The wedding shoe game that ends with Eddie Diaz being a menace to society (really just Buck and Tommy)

🔥 You're Not Gone (You Can't Be Gone) || @theredrenard & @buck-up-buck evan buckley/eddie diaz || 5.2k “Eddie…?” Buck sways slightly, eyes wide. He’s paler than he should be and his voice sounds so, so fragile. His hand twitches at his side like he’s trying to reach for Eddie, but he can’t quite get his arm to move. In the time it takes Eddie to glance down, then back up to Buck’s face with dawning horror painted on his features, Buck’s legs give out and he collapses onto the concrete in slow motion.

🔥 a hundred times over || @fake-mouthstatic evan buckley/tommy kinard || 7.7k (so far) A collection of BuckTommy drabbles for the 118 Daily Drabble Challenge.

🔥 To Share, A little, A lot || DracaUponTheWings carlos reyes/tk strand, evan buckley/tommy kinard || 4.7k In Which the Author seized on the possible similarities in our couples and forced them to talk.

🔥 when fate cries || @theghostofashton carlos reyes/tk strand || 67.8k An ACL tear, the statement posted a couple days later had read. Carlos would need immediate surgery, and obviously – he would not compete for the USA in London. TK, still coming off the thrill of being named to the team himself, hadn’t been sure how to feel. Carlos had always trained in Texas, and he in New York, so they rarely crossed paths outside of competitions. That’s why he was looking forward to being on the team with him, so sure it was guaranteed. It was practically a given among every coach he talked to. Carlos was a lock. It felt weird to celebrate. Wrong, almost. Carlos should have been with him. They’d both been working for this their entire lives. three years later, the road to rio brings with it far more than redemption

🔥 Come Back... Be Here || @911varietyposts evan buckley & christopher diaz || 1.1k Buck still hadn’t gone back to work, even though Maddie was pushing him to just so he could have something to distract his mind from everything going on around him. He just couldn’t bring himself to go back yet; not to the job that had claimed the love of his life. OR: Buck and Chris navigate the emotions after Eddie's death

🔥 just give hope a chance to float up || @judymarch15 sal deluca/tommy kinard || 23.4k Sal Deluca's marriage falls apart on national television. He and his daughter Sophia move back to his hometown of Smithville, Texas to live with his mom Loretta. He works on picking up the pieces of his life, grows closer to his family, and reconnects with old classmate and football teammate Tommy Kinard.

🔥 Louliver Road Trip || @writerdot lou ferrigno jr/oliver stark || 2.5k Oliver isn't alone on his road trip.

🔥 sonnet || @athenaeumsfic evan buckley/tommy kinard || 30.5k It wasn’t supposed to still feel this raw after so long. Every time Tommy passes him by, his cologne lingers in the air for a moment and Buck is transported back to this time last year when they were getting to the stage of really, properly knowing each other. He’d never been happier. A few times, Tommy swipes his back as he moves around him – the garden is crowded with three separate firehouses hanging around – and it feels like an electric shock every time. All he wants is to reach behind him, grab his hand and pull Tommy close. aka the one where Buck and Tommy have broken up but agree to a weekend in Vegas with Eddie and Chimney. Chaos ensues.

🔥 i'm broken (tell you i'm fine) || @hazeystar evan buckley/tommy kinard || 1.9k Two weeks after the breakup, Buck misses Tommy. He also loves him, did you know?

🔥 Tiny Heartbeats || @sunnywithachanceofbi evan buckley/tommy kinard || 9.9k Tommy and Buck's daughter, Edie, faces a life-threatening heart surgery at two weeks old, pushing them to confront their deepest fears while waiting in the hospital.

🔥 There's Gotta Be Some Butterflies Somewhere || Tea_gremlin evan buckley/eddie diaz || 34.7k Eddie joins the 118 after Buck is permanently disabled by an explosion at a call. Despite initial tensions, they learn just how important they can be to one another.

🔥 say what you wanna say (and let the words fall out) || @nephilimeq evan buckley/tommy kinard || 6.3k “You all saw me sad and upset over Tommy breaking up with me—but instead of asking me what went wrong or what you could do to help, all of you stopped me from reaching out to him!” Buck spat out, feeling his irritation rise at seeing his friends looking confused, but he didn’t care. Instead, he kept on talking, saying, “You kept me from reaching out to him by playing ‘keep away’ with my phone like a bunch of middle schoolers! Did it ever occur to any of you that I didn’t want the breakup to happen?” (...aka, the story where Buck and Tommy secretly get back together and then Buck finally stands up for himself against his 118 family, finally saying what he's been wanting to say for a long while, dragging all the dirt out into the open)

🔥 playing (playing with the boy) || @thatmexisaurusrex eddie diaz/tommy kinard || 5.2k Tommy. Snorted. Cute. Why was that cute?

🔥 shelter (feels like home) || @fake-mouthstatic evan buckley/tommy kinard || 1.9k Tommy wakes with a start to the sound of ringing and it takes him a few bleary eyed moments to realise it's his phone, loud even over the pounding of the rain outside. He frowns at the bright light as he picks it up, worry immediately catching in his throat when he sees Evan's name on the screen; it's close to 3am and from experience he knows that's rarely when people call with good news. "Hey babe, are you okay?" he says as he answers, rubbing his eyes as he sits up in bed. "The storm," Evan says, and Tommy's heart wrenches in his chest when he realises he's crying. "There wasn't supposed to be a storm."

🔥 John Doe|| @thatmexisaurusrex evan buckley/tommy kinard || 5.8k He was tanned. Not too tanned, but he definitely tanned more than burned in the sun. He had an aquiline nose, distinct cheekbones, and a cleft. He had curly hair; curly, chestnut brown hair. He was banged up from the hit and run. Cuts and bruises, though, the swelling was going down and the fresh red-purple was seeping into a yellow. Had three casts and almost lost his spleen. Dry lips from a week and a half asleep. He was breathing, though. Breathing steadily. He was Tara Kaplan’s first John Doe. And no one was sure if they would ever figure out who he was before he woke up.

🔥 want you more than a melody || @alchemistc evan buckley/tommy kinard || 2.5k “What are you looking for?” Tommy asks, and doesn’t linger at all on how at home Evan looks, just rifling through his things. He’d caught him sorting Tommy’s mail, last weekend, nothing overly curious, just piles of junk mail sorted away from the bills and the single postcard from his nephew, fingers drifting over the stocky block letters of Tommy’s name before he realized he’d been caught out, lips squeezing in like a kid tasting his first lemon. “The key to your china cabinet,” Evan tells him, still sorting, keys chiming merrily against each other. “Second drawer to the left of the fridge, little brass thing. It’s where I keep my ring cutter,” Tommy tells him, expanding heart and weak joints and all, as Evan grins at the joke and stalks halfway across the room in two wide, long-legged steps.

STATS: # of fics: 19 # of authors: 16 # of words read: 306.3k

[jennaispunk]

More than Friends

Summary: Some time away from your best friend forces you to confront your feelings.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader

Rating: T

Word Count: 3.5k

Tags/Warnings: fluff, idiots in love, best friends to lovers, Frankie is a mechanic post TF (that’s my head canon for him), slightly non-canon (no lady, no baby), reader is able bodied and shorter than Frankie, no other physical description of reader is given. The photos in the moodboard are for aesthetic only.

A/N: Here it is. My contribution to the lovely @jolapeno Dear-uary challenge. I was given the task of creating something for my favorite guy, which also happens to be her favorite guy too. (No pressure right? lol). I hope you enjoy this little slice of fluff. Thank you to @maggiemayhemnj for giving this a once over.

P.S. No shade to the city of Minneapolis. I’ve only been to Minneapolis once but it is a very nice city. Reader is only a little unhappy about being there because she doesn’t like the cold.

Moodboard, dividers and banner by me.

Frankie’s texts in bold, readers texts in italics.

Your bag hits the floor with a dull thud. Seven days in Minnesota, in the fall, is not your idea of fun. It was your job to get the Minneapolis office on board with the new changes within the company, so here you are. At least it wasn’t snowing, that was something to be grateful for.

The last conversation you had with Frankie keeps replaying in your head. He said he’d miss you. It wasn’t only the words that had you thinking; it was the look in his eyes, the tone of his voice…it just felt different. Why did it always seem like he was trying to tell you something when everyone else was around, never when the the two of you were alone?

The two of you had been best friends for years. All the guys teased both of you about the way you flirted with each other, but that’s all it was. That’s what you tell yourself, anyway. But lately, it had felt like more, and it was getting harder to ignore.

Tuesday 4:41 pm

Made it to the hotel, safe and sound.

The city view is spread out before you. The skyscrapers jut into the clear, cerulean sky and you can see the Mississippi River and a clock tower that reminds of Big Ben from your window.

You miss your condo and your bed already. You miss Frankie, too. Was he missing you the same way you were missing him?

Frankie hears the chirp of his phone and wipes the grease from his hands, smiling when he sees your name on the screen. He’s been waiting for your text to know you made it safely.

He hasn’t been able to stop thinking about you since you said goodbye last night. The way your eyes sparkled in the moonlight on your deck almost made him confess everything to you. He came so close to telling you that he was falling for you and he wanted to be more than friends, but the words got stuck in his throat. He was always so tongue tied when it came to you. The cold, hard truth was that he was a coward, and he was afraid of losing your friendship. He’d rather have you this way than not at all.

There’s my girl! Glad you made it safe

The way he calls you ‘his girl’ makes you smile. Of course he would call you that now. You’re a thousand miles away and you can’t make him have a serious conversation about it.

It’s too cold here. I miss the Florida heat.

Frankie laughs out loud then looks around to make sure he’s alone. You were always cold, always borrowing a flannel or a hoodie from him.

What’s the temperature there?

55 degrees. Brrrrrrrr. I should have stolen one of your hoodies and packed it in my suitcase.

Frankie shakes his head. He’s honestly surprised that you didn’t steal one of his shirts. You did that all the time. The only reason he let you get away with it was because they smelled like you when he got them back.

That’s not so bad. You’ll survive.

He was right, you knew that. You packed a few different blazers and light sweaters. It wouldn’t be too bad, but you still missed the weather back home.

It could be worse, but I miss the palm trees and the beach already.

This week will go by fast, Clover. You’ll see.

You know he’s right. Work will keep you busy enough and there’s got to be something fun to do in this city. You have a weekend to yourself to explore but exploring isn’t as fun when you’re alone.

I know. I’m just complaining to complain.

You? Complain? Never lol

You stick your tongue out at your phone even though he can’t see you.

Shut up lol

You haul your suitcase onto the bed and start unpacking. Most of the clothes you brought needed to be hung up and the last thing you wanted to do was spend time ironing in the morning.

Your phone chirps again from where you left it on the bed.

What are you doing on your first night in Minneapolis? Besides missing me.

I’m having dinner with the management team here. The manager called and invited me.

Have a good time and try to act normal, okay? Don’t snort if anyone makes you laugh.

The sound of your laughter carries over the television you have on for background noise. He was the only one who could make you laugh like that.

Thanks, jerk. Talk to you later.

The first few days flew by as quickly as you hoped they would. The team here seems to have their shit together and it’s been a fairly seamless transition in getting them onboard so far.

Daily conversations were a normal thing for you and Frankie, but the distance between you only makes you miss him that much more. Every time he says something flirty; you just want to reach through the phone and shake him.

The two of you have been skirting around the truth for months. It’s just as much your fault as his. You don’t want to ruin your friendship if things go wrong. Maybe you’re reading too much into all this. Maybe you’re the only one with feelings here.

8:12 pm

Are you at Will’s?

Just got here, but maybe I should have stayed home. I’m missing my good luck charm so if I lose big tonight, it’s your fault.

If you were home, you’d be at Will’s too. You’d be hanging out with the guys and their girlfriends, having a few drinks.

The last time the girls were allowed over for poker night, Benny had teased Frankie about calling you Clover. He dared you to sit on Frankie’s lap for the last hand to prove that you were good luck. You saw the bob of his Adam’s Apple, heard the slight stutter of his chuckle; but Frankie, the well trained solider that he is, kept his composure and won the hand.

He whispered in your ear that you had always been his good luck charm. That’s when you knew for certain something had changed, at least for you. This was more than just harmless flirting. When you tried to question him about it, he tried brushing you off, but you hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it.

Would it help if I wished you good luck?

It’s worth a shot

Good Luck!!

Thanks, Clover.

The hot tub was calling your name, a perfect way to relax after a long day. The bathing suit you packed was the one Frankie liked most…how ironic.

Soaking in the hot water was just what you needed. Your muscles relaxed under the heat and pressure of the jets. Thoughts of Frankie kept your mind from relaxing. The two of you were more than friends, that fact was clearer to you than ever. If only you could say it out loud.

Safely back in your hotel room, and freshly showered you check your phone. Frankie should be heading home from Will’s anytime. You should go to bed, but you can’t…at least not yet.

11:36 pm

Did you clean the boys out tonight?

Not exactly lol

Sorry. Maybe next week.

You’ll be home so my luck will change.

The three bubbles danced on Frankie’s screen. Did he say something wrong? His tongue darted out to wet his lips as he waited. There was so much he wanted to tell you, but he didn’t know how. It was so easy to flirt and joke with you but when it came to a serious conversation, any words he had didn’t feel like enough. He didn’t want to ruin your friendship. You’d been there for him in ways that no one else had. He couldn’t lose you.

I’ll be there next week. I think I’m going to turn in early. The time change is messing with me.

That was a slight exaggeration, but what else could you say? You couldn’t tell him that you were tired of pretending there wasn’t something between you, at least not over text.

Frankie’s free hand went under his hat to scratch his head. It wasn’t like you to cut a conversation short. Something was off with you; he could feel it. He wanted to call you out on it, but he was afraid of what you’d say.

I should get to bed too. I’ve got a big shot with a ’78 Camaro coming to the shop that needs some work done. Good night.

Good night

You drop onto your bed and close your eyes. Today made up for all the previous days with no issues. Everything that could go wrong did go wrong, and now you were exhausted. You thank the universe that you only have two more days to get through.

Tonight was going to be about wine, comfort food and cheesy movies. Pepperoni pizza with extra cheese was calling your name.

You shower and change into your sweats while you wait for your pizza. Frankie is all you can think of. He’s the one you want to talk to after a rough day.

Frankie had looked at his phone so many times today that Will had threatened to break it. He tried to assure himself that you were just busy, but it wasn’t like you not to at least send a quick text or two throughout the day.

After grabbing a quick bite to eat, Frankie couldn’t take it anymore. He picked up his phone and typed out a quick text. He had to know you were fine.

6:36 pm

Is my girl okay?

The ping of your phone made you jump. You’d been so busy that you hadn’t texted Frankie all day.

I’m okay. Today was a rough one.

Wanna talk about it?

Its just work bullshit. You know how it goes.

Frankie smirked. He could picture you now, sitting cross-legged on the bed with one hand rubbing the back of your neck. You always did that when you were tense.

Yeah, I get it. Pepperoni pizza and wine tonight?

You rolled your eyes and smiled. He knew you so well. You took a sip of wine.

Pizza is on its way

The two of you chatted more while you waited for the food. The wine was going down good…too good and it was making you feel brave.

What are you up to tonight?

I’m just hanging out at home.

You move the pizza box to the desk and stretch out on the bed. The movie in the background was all but forgotten.

Are you watching Bridesmaids right now? That movie always cracks you up.

Yeah, I’ve got it on.

Good. I wish I was there to cheer you up. I’d do anything to make you feel better.

Three bubbles dance on your screen.

I miss you

You clamp your eyes shut. You can’t do this anymore. You can’t pretend like the two of you are just friends.

Before you can stop yourself, your fingers are furiously typing a response.

Why do you always do that?

Do what?

This could blow up in your face, but you couldn’t take it back. You opened this door, and now you had to walk through it.

Drop these little hints. You only tell me the truth when you think I won’t hear it.

The silence stretches as you watch the bubbles dance on your screen then disappear and reappear again. It wasn’t something you should have said over text, but you couldn’t help yourself. It was way past time the two of you had this talk.

Frankie almost dropped his phone in his lap. He knew exactly what you meant. He thought he was doing a good job of keeping his feelings hidden. He didn’t want to risk your friendship. You were his best friend.

What is that supposed to mean?

All these little comments, the way you look at me like I’m the only one in the room. I’m tired of dancing around the truth.

Frankie swallowed hard. This was the last thing he expected you to say. How could he tell you how he felt?

What truth would that be?

The truth that we’re more than just friends. There is something more between us.

Again, those three little bubbles dance on your screen. Your heart hammers in your chest. Either he was going to tell you the truth or you lost a friend forever.

Can we talk about this when you get home? I promise we’ll have an honest conversation then.

Yeah, this isn’t something we should talk about over text anyway. We’ll talk when I get home.

You toss your phone onto the bed. You shouldn’t have said anything over text. Now both of you were going to freak out until then. Slamming your fist into the bed, you clamp your eyes closed. The feeling that you just ruined everything sits on your chest like an elephant.

You didn’t text Frankie again, what else could you say now? Acting like everything was okay wasn’t possible. Staring out at the city lights, all you could do was let the silence sit between you and hope that it would all work out the way it was meant to.

You toss your bag in your bedroom and start going through your mail. Thankfully, it was mostly junk and nothing urgent that you needed to worry about.

Frankie stood outside your door. Everything was about to change, and his heart hammered in his chest. He raised a trembling hand and knocked. He’d promised you a serious conversation when you got home, and he was keeping that promise.

“Frankie, what are you doing here?”

“I, um, promised you we’d talk… so here I am.”

The corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled. His heart pounded in his ears as he stepped through the door.

This was it. It was now or never. Every stolen glance, every touch that lasted too long to just be friendly had led to this. He grabbed you and pressed his lips to yours without another word. He kissed you like he needed your lips to breathe, pouring everything he couldn’t put into words into that one action.

The need for air was the only thing that broke you apart. You stood foreheads pressed together, panting and inhaling each other.

“What was that?”

“The truth.” he answered.

You blink several times. That kiss had stolen everything you wanted to say.

Frankie looks at you. The sweat collects at his brow. This is what you wanted, wasn’t it? Maybe he shouldn’t have come on so strong. Maybe it was too much, too soon.

“Say something…please.” He whispers.

His soft, brown eyes plead with you to not leave him hanging. The silence between you is deafening as you try to find your words.

“When the pressure’s on, you really jump in with both feet, huh?”

The corners of his eyes wrinkle as he smiles. You love that smile, live for that smile. There is something almost boyish about his grin and it always leaves you weak in the knees.

“Was it too much?” he stammers. “It was too much.”

The light in his mocha brown eyes begins to fade. He should have taken it slower, maybe asked you out on a date before he crammed his tongue in your mouth. He could never think straight around you.

Your brow furrows as you watch him, seeing the look of defeat mar his features.

“It was perfect.” You whisper.

He cocks a brow at you as the sparkle returns to his eyes.

“Really?”

You nod your head. He was always perfect in your eyes, even when he was being an idiot.

“Yes, really. I think I should put pressure on you more often if it will make you kiss me like that.” you tease.

A rush of air caresses your face as he exhales. His throaty chuckle reaches your ears, and he pulls you closer.

“I don’t think my heart could handle that, querida.”

You lean in and brush your lips against his. This kiss isn’t headed and passionate, it’s slow and honest. It’s a kiss to make up for all the time the two of you spent denying what was in front of you the whole time.

The need for air is the only thing that makes you break apart. You stand together, foreheads touching under the bill of his hat, your breath mixing together.

Frankie swallows hard. He’s never been more scared in his life. Any mission, any tour overseas was a cakewalk compared to this moment. He had to do this right. He had to make this work. He couldn’t lose you.

“I want to take you out on a date.” He panted softly. “A real date with flowers, opening doors for you…the whole thing.”

Your soft laugh flitters through the air. You shouldn’t have expected anything less from him. When Frankie finally made a decision, he was all in.

“You want to take me on a date? Seriously?”

The corner of his mouth raised into a half smile.

“Yeah. I want to take you out. I want to do this right; treat you like you deserve. I want to make up for lost time.”

You can’t stop smiling. Why did you wait so long to confront your feelings? You wasted so much time.

“I’d love to go on a date with you.”

This time you get Frankie’s genuine smile, the one where his eyes practically disappear and the lines around his eyes are so pronounced.

“Good.”

He tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear. You are the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, and he will always kick himself for waiting so long to tell you how he felt.

“I know you just got home and haven’t even had a chance to unpack, but how about tonight? I’ll pick you up and we can have dinner.”

You blink a few times and smile. This is really happening; the two of you are finally going to give each other the chance you were always too scared to take.

“Tonight works for me.”

The corner of his mouth lifts in a crooked grin. A small part of him was worried you’d say no; that all those things you said to him while you were gone were just a moment of weakness. His heart pounds in his chest as he looks at you.

“Yeah?”

His voice is barely audible as he pulls you even closer. His scent invades your nostrils: fresh and woodsy with a faint hint of motor oil. It’s a smell that’s uniquely him and one you will always associate with comfort and protection.

“Will you wear that purple sundress?” he whispers as he brushes his nose against yours. “The one you wore to that barbecue at Will’s this summer.”

You raise your brow. Your chest grows warm as you stand together, locked in each other’s arms.

“You remember that dress?”

Frankie chuckles softly. He remembers a lot of things about you; your favorite color, the way your tongue sticks out a little bit when you're concentrating really hard…he’s memorized so many details.

“Hell yeah. You looked so pretty in that damn dress; I almost dropped my beer when you walked in.”

You opened your mouth to speak but the opening notes to “Enter Sandman” blare from his back pocket.

“Shit.”

He grins sheepishly and relaxes his grip on you before putting the phone to his ear. Now that he’s got you in his arms, he’s not letting go.

“You have impeccable timing, Benjamin. What’s up?”

You rest your head on Frankie’s shoulder. The vibrations of his chest as he talks to Ben tickle your cheek. Being in his arms feels even better than you ever could have imagined. Frankie had always been home to you, but now home took on a brand new meaning.

“That sucks, man.” Frankie sighs. “Have the tow truck take it to the shop. I’ll meet you there and we’ll get it fixed.”

You lift your head as Frankie disconnects the call. Your nose wrinkles as he sighs.

“Sorry, querida. I gotta go. Benny busted a tie rod on his truck, and he needs some help getting it fixed.”

Leave it Benny to get himself in a jam. At least he’s not hurt or in jail.

You smile and raise up on tiptoes to give Frankie a quick peck on the lips. He would do anything to help a friend, and that’s one of the things you love so much about him.

“Go help Benny. He needs you more than I do right now.”

Frankie squeezes you and kisses your forehead. If he kisses your lips again, he’d be too tempted to leave Benny hanging. This will have to be enough for now.

“I’ll text you later.”

“You better.” you tease.

He finally pulls away and you miss his arms around you already.

“Frankie.”

You call out to him as he reaches the front door. He turns back to look at you with his hand still on the knob.

“Make sure you wear your cowboy boots and that ball cap tonight.”

He chuckles and shakes his head.

“Yes, ma’am.”

[inspireartnotwar]

Art. Can. Die.

This is my battle cry in the face of the silent extinguishing of an entire generation of artists by AI.

And you know what? We can't let that happen. It's not about fighting the future, it's about shaping it on our terms. If you think this is worth fighting for, please share this post. Let's make this debate go viral - because we need to take action NOW.

Remember that even in the darkest of times, creativity always finds a way.

To unleash our true potential, we need first to dive deep into our darkest fears.

So let's do this together:

By the end of 2025, most traditional artist jobs will be gone, replaced by a handful of AI-augmented art directors. Right now, around 5 out of 6 concept art jobs are being eliminated, and it's even more brutal for illustrators. This isn't speculation: it's happening right now, in real-time, across studios worldwide.

At this point, dogmatic thinking is our worst enemy. If we want to survive the AI tsunami of 2025, we need to prepare for a brutal cyberpunk reality that isn’t waiting for permission to arrive. This isn't sci-fi or catastrophism. This is a clear-eyed recognition of the exponential impact AI will have on society, hitting a hockey stick inflection point around April-May this year. By July, February will already feel like a decade ago. This also means that we have a narrow window to adapt, to evolve, and to build something new.

Let me make five predictions for the end of 2025 to nail this out:

Every major film company will have its first 100% AI-generated blockbuster in production or on screen.

Next-gen smartphones will run GPT-4o-level reasoning AI locally.

The first full AI game engine will generate infinite, custom-made worlds tailored to individual profiles and desires.

Unique art objects will reach industrial scale: entire production chains will mass-produce one-of-a-kind pieces. Uniqueness will be the new mass market.

Synthetic AI-generated data will exceed the sum total of all epistemic data (true knowledge) created by humanity throughout recorded history. We will be drowning in a sea of artificial ‘truths’.

For us artists, this means a stark choice: adapt to real-world craftsmanship or high-level creative thinking roles, because mid-level art skills will be replaced by cheaper, AI-augmented computing power.

But this is not the end. This is just another challenge to tackle.

Many will say we need legal solutions. They're not wrong, but they're missing the bigger picture: Do you think China, Pakistan, or North Korea will suddenly play nice with Western copyright laws? Will a "legal" dataset somehow magically protect our jobs? And most crucially, what happens when AI becomes just another tool of control?

Here's the thing - boycotting AI feels right, I get it. But it sounds like punks refusing to learn power chords because guitars are electrified by corporations. The systemic shift at stake doesn't care if we stay "pure", it will only change if we hack it.

Now, the empowerment part: artists have always been hackers of narratives.

This is what we do best: we break into the symbolic fabric of the world, weaving meaning from signs, emotions, and ideas. We've always taken tools never meant for art and turned them into instruments of creativity. We've always found ways to carve out meaning in systems designed to erase it.

This isn't just about survival. This is about hacking the future itself.

We, artists, are the pirates of the collective imaginary. It’s time to set sail and raise the black flag.

I don't come with a ready-made solution.

I don't come with a FOR or AGAINST. That would be like being against the wood axe because it can crush skulls.

I come with a battle cry: let’s flood the internet with debate, creative thinking, and unconventional wisdom. Let’s dream impossible futures. Let’s build stories of resilience - where humanity remains free from the technological guardianship of AI or synthetic superintelligence. Let’s hack the very fabric of what is deemed ‘possible’. And let’s do it together.

It is time to fight back.

Let us be the HumaNet.

Let’s show tech enthusiasts, engineers, and investors that we are not just assets, but the neurons of the most powerful superintelligence ever created: the artist community.

Let's outsmart the machine.

Stéphane Wootha Richard

P.S: This isn't just a message to read and forget. This is a memetic payload that needs to spread.

Send this to every artist in your network.

Copy/paste the full text anywhere you can.

Spread it across your social channels.

Start conversations in your creative communities.

No social platform? Great! That's exactly why this needs to spread through every possible channel, official and underground.

Let's flood the datasphere with our collective debate.

[resident-idiot-simp]

More Hades and Persephone Deadclaws

(x)

@shy-canadian-snowflake thank him for the idea for Al

People are desperate to not have Wade on the surface. He only causes issues. Logan is as pleased as for me though cuddled up to him purring contently.

The other gods don't understand how Logan can deal with it.

Victor gets so pissed Wade is around but wtf can he do? He's not nearly as powerful as Wade.

*Wade appearing in the garden*

"Oh Logan ~"

Logan appearing from nowhere to bowl him over in a hug "Wade Wade Wade fuck I missed you." He muttered into the others neck

Wade just chuckles and wraps himself around the other. Unbeknownst to them the grass around them is decaying.

Wade is kissing him obnoxiously and Logan is smiling so widely. "I didn't think I'd see you for months." He muttered into the others lips.

"Do you really think I could pry myself away from you for that long?" Wade asks him and Logan can't help the obnoxious smile that spreads across his face.

Victor snarls as he appears from around a bush and Wade just glares at him in challenge.

"You're not supposed to be here." Creed snarls at him.

Wade shrugged, "The stipulation was Logan has to be here not that I also can't be here." Wade tells him smugly.

Victor just growls

Victor absolutely calls some other god to get Wade out of the garden but Wade's right. He can be here if you want, but they can't stop him. It's also the happiest they'd seen Logan since he was brought back.

Wade doesn't stay all the time but he pops up at least once a week. He gets in Victors nerves (Wade has a whole plan to make keeping Logan up here half the time is more trouble than it's worth)

Every other god:......please no)

(Wade: If he can't be with me I'll be with him

When Logan goes back with Wade he's beyond ecstatic. He gets to go back to a domain he feels welcome with the man he loves.

Logan gets pampered and treated like royalty with l which he is Wades has to remind him. He gets black silken robes and all the riches he could ever want.

The underworld's inhabitants are much happier when Logan is around since Wade is much nicer when he is. Logan tempers him in a way that is new and welcoming.

The underworld's inhabitants grow to love Logan and he quickly learns how to rule with Wade.

Al is a mortal who Wade was just fascinated by and now she's pretty much his sounding board and best friend. She lives in the palace and is a form of seer and can sometimes predict the future.

She calls Wade and Logan disgusting but she's secretly really happy Wade is finally not as lonely.

When Wade visits Logan on the surface he gets kind of sad that he doesn't get to see Al as well.

Mary is Cerberus

[mysterious-adventurer]

Tequila (Baby I Still See Ya) - Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw

A/N: I actually wrote this piece a few years ago, right around the height of Top Gun Summer. So, you might notice it's a little bit different than my other writing. At the time, I wrote it just for me and I never though I'd actually publish it, but here we are (if you like this you have @ij-brian-quinn-enthusiast to thank for convincing me to publish it). That being said, even after edits it's not the most inclusive piece in the world, and for that I apologize. Other writing posted on my blog in the future will be much more inclusive. This piece was actually loosely inspired by @sunlightmurdock's oneshot For Old Times' Sake so make sure to check that out!

Summary: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Mitchell! Reader. Bradley and Y/N Mitchell share a romantic moment over a bottle of tequila at her mom's wedding but lose touch after Maverick pulls Bradley's application to the naval academy. Years later, after a chance encounter Rooster tells Phoenix all about it. Loosely based on the song Tequila by Dan + Shay.

Word Count: 4.5K

Trigger Warnings: Alcohol is a central theme in this piece and will be mentioned throughout, including an underage drinking scene. Lots of teenage awkwardness. Bare minimum use of y/n.

            'Clack!' The sound of pool balls colliding resonated throughout The Hard Deck as Rooster watched Phoenix take a shot in a game against Hangman. It was a quiet evening, the bar was almost empty, but then again it was only six o'clock. Maybe it was the heat, or the persistent blowing of the Santa Ana Winds, but something seemed to make the quiet evening stretch on and on with no ending in sight. The group of aviators had finally resorted to heading to the bar much earlier than usual just to try and kill the time. Much to their disappointment, other than the regular old timers who liked to sit around telling stories about Vietnam or Korea or, they were the only ones there. They had claimed a pool table in the corner and Hangman had wasted no time challenging Phoenix to game with fifty dollars on the line. 

        Phoenix smiled triumphantly as she lined up her next shot and on the other side of the table Hangman was frowning. His brows furrowed in concentration, silently begging for Phoenix to miss. 'Clack!' The sound reverberates through the bar again, louder this time, followed by the 'thump' as the 8-ball sinks into its pocket. 

        "Damn it!" Hangman reaches to retrieve his wallet from his back pocket

        "That's right Bagman, fork it over" Phoenix howls, drinking in her victory. 

        "Rooster" Penny puts a hand on his shoulder, her sudden presence causing both him and Bob to nearly jump out of their skin. She has a mischievous smile on her face and a shot of something golden in her hand. "The lady sends her regards-" Penny nods across the bar "and tequila." She presses the shot into Rooster's hand before returning to her post behind the bar. The entire group pauses to look over at the bar where she is sitting at the counter, her (y/h/l) hair falling in messy waves around her face as she shoots a brilliant smile at Rooster. He's still processing her presence when she raises her own shot of tequila in a silent toast, knocking it back and shooting him a wink. Just as he's about to return the gesture, a tall curly haired blonde, in a white t-shirt and leather jacket, saunters up to the bar and puts his arm around her. Then just as suddenly as she seemed to appear, she's leaving with the other guy. The aviators stare across the room quizzically for a few moments before their attention seems to wane. 

        "Alright Trace, double or nothing?" Hangman proposes. 

        "At least try to hang onto your cash Seresin, find someone a little more on your skill level."

        Phoenix abandons her pool cue at the table and saunters over to trade spots with Bob, as he claims her abandoned cue and she takes his seat beside Rooster. He looks pale, like he's seen a ghost, and he's still gripping the slowly warming shot of tequila in his hand. 

        "You going to drink that, or am I?"

        Rooster brings the shot to his lips, throws his head back, and then slams the empty glass down on the table. 

        "All right then." Phoenix notes how quiet he's being, knowing he'd normally have a smart ass remark for her. "So, who was that? And don't just say someone that you used to know, I need details."

        "Maverick's daughter."

        "I didn't know Mav had a kid."

        "Yeah, (y/n) Blackwell, her mom was a civilian Top Gun instructor, when my dad and Maverick were students, they started seeing each other then, but things didn't last very long between them after he graduated"

        "You'd think he'd mention her every once in a while."

        "He used to not shut up about her, she would come out and stay with him over the summers, but it felt like she was there all the time the way he talked about her."

        "Ahhh, so there it is" Phoenix nudged him in the ribs "you two grew up together...and I'm guessing there's some history there." 

        "No, not really," Rooster shrugs.

        "First of all, you are a terrible liar Bradshaw" Phoenix gives him a pointed glare "second of all I need details, because that girl has you looking like you've been hit by a Mack Truck and I have never seen any other girl so much as phase you. So, what happened?"

        "There's really not that much to tell. When we were kids, she was like an annoying little sister who was always kind of in the way and getting into trouble. And it wasn't just like we only had to deal with each other during the summer either, my mom was friends with hers and so we saw each other all the time, basically any time school was out. We drove each other crazy; we could hardly stand to be in the same room together for ten minutes." A small smile crosses his face as Rooster shakes his head "Mom always used to say that as much as we fought it was basically guaranteed we'd end up married."

        "I bet that drove you insane," Phoenix smiles

        "I'd get so mad at her; I think now she just did it because she thought it was funny"

        "Ohhhh, she definitely did" Phoenix takes a swig of her beer "anyway, continue."

        "Eventually, I kind of outgrew the childish bickering and basically just started ignoring her to hang out with the adults, and I guess that's around the same time that she developed a massive crush on me. Everyone could tell and I was mortified by it"

        "Let me guess, you were awful and just continued to completely ignore her."

        "Yeah, pretty much."

        "You can be such an ass sometimes."

        "I was a kid!" 

        "Doesn't matter, it's still a dick move."

        "Do you want me to finish this story, or do you want to spend the rest of the night playing pool with Bagman over there?" Rooster gestures back over to the pool table, where Hangman and Bob are still playing. With Bob unfortunately losing. 

        "Fine, fine. I'll shut up, please continue" 

        "All right, where was I, right she had a massive crush on me, and I was ignoring her like my life depended on it. Things stayed pretty much the same, until one summer she came out to California, I guess she was around sixteen and I was around seventeen, and I was just expecting things to be the same as they had been every summer. She shows up and it was like she was a completely different person, she'd gotten taller, thinner, her clothes were different, she had a different boy calling her every night, and she couldn't be bothered to give the time of day"

        "I'm assuming this is the part where you suddenly realized how gorgeous she was and fell head over heels in love with her or whatever?"

        "Something like that I guess" he chuckles

        "Works every time"

        "What are you talking about?"

        "You guys can be so oblivious." Rooster raises an eyebrow at Phoenix "If a girl chases a guy, most of the time she can do anything she wants, she can bring him the moon and he still won't be interested in her. But the second that she starts ignoring him and casually flaunting the fact that other guys are interested boom she's got him."

        "So, you're saying that she did it on purpose" 

        "Yes, and that you totally deserved it" she takes another drink and bumps her knee against Rooster's. He looks down at the ground and chuckles.

        "You're probably right"

        "Probably?" Phoenix shoots him a glare "No, no, no, you and I have established this I am always right." A smug look settles on her face. 

        "Oh really," Rooster raises an eyebrow "what about the time you said you could outdrink Hangman? Because the way I remember it, you passed out and I had to drag your drunk ass home, while Seresin was still going strong." The smug look falls from Phoenix's face, and a scowl replaces it.

        "Shut up and finish the rest of your stupid story" 

        "Well, I spent the rest of the summer kind of watching miserably as she went out with lord knows how many different guys. Mav didn't notice, he was too busy trying to figure out how to scare off all of her dates. I remember he called her mom, Charlie, freaking out over what exactly he was supposed to do."

        "That's hilarious, what did she tell him?"

        "Knowing Charlie, there's absolutely no telling what she said to him, but it must have been something along the lines of 'now you know how every man with a daughter in a 100-mile radius of you has felt'." 

        "Definitely how Penny's dad must have felt." The two laugh until they're both doubled over with tears in their eyes, just as they recover, Penny gives them a confused look, and they dissolve into another fit of laughter.

        "Okay," Phoenix, wipes the tears from her eyes, still trying to catch her breath "I still really want to hear how this ends"

        "Okay, okay, so my mom made fun of me that whole summer, she actually called me a lovesick puppy"

        "I can see it"

        Rooster shoots her a glare, before continuing " She and Charlie were pretty close friends. They met when Charlie and Mav were dating and stayed friends after they broke up. I actually remember mom giving Mav hell, when it happened. She told him that he'd just let the love of his life walk out the door. But, I mean, I guess it worked out for the best, at least for Charlie, because she ended up meeting Robert a couple of years later, and then they decided to get married, and Charlie invited mom and I to the wedding." Rooster pauses, staring out one of the bar windows overlooking the beach. 

        "Okay..." Phoenix says gently, noticing the dramatic shift in Rooster's mood "so what happened at the wedding?"

        "It was in mid-April, and I was still waiting to get decision letters, back from the schools I had applied to, of course the only one I really cared about was the one from the Naval Academy, and I didn't want to go to the wedding. Mom made me, so we flew out to Colorado. Robert's family has a really nice mountain chalet out there, so that's where they decided to have the wedding"

        "Were you nervous about going?" Phoenix interrupts. Rooster's eyebrows furrow in confusion. 

        "Why would I be nervous about going to a wedding in Colorado?"

        "Because you were going to see her, and you'd spent the entire summer before pining over her?

        "Oh, yeah" he chuckles "I think I was too busy worrying about acceptance letters to even think about it until we got there"

        "Yeah?"

        "Yeah, but it definitely hit me when I saw her at the ceremony" he smiles "her mom had asked her to be her maid of honor, so she was right up front with the rest of the bridal party for the whole ceremony. She was wearing this pink dress, and her hair was up in some kind of complicated braid crown with flowers in it, and she looked absolutely gorgeous." Phoenix rolls her eyes and mimics gagging. 

        "You had it bad" she teases. 

        "You asked for details; I'm just giving you what you asked for."

        "Fine, fine, so did you decide to make a move or what?"

        "Something like that" Rooster's voice trails back 

The Wedding Reception

                "Y'know, the maid of honor shouldn't be sitting alone in a corner, while everyone else is up dancing" Bradley smiles as he sits down beside y/n. 

        "Yeah, well when there's a forty-year age difference between the maid of honor and the best man, it's more weird if she actually is up there dancing with everyone else" 

        "Well, what about if the maid of honor danced with the son of her dad's lifelong best friend instead"

        "I guess that wouldn't be quite as weird," she cranes her neck looking around the room "if only I knew where he was." Bradley rolls his eyes, before standing and holding his hand out to her. 

        "You're funny Mitchell, real funny." 

        She shrugs as she as she takes his hand "I try." 

        Bradley leads her out onto the dance floor, guiding her hands around his neck, and then placing his own at her waist as they begin to sway to the music the band is playing. 

        "I'm surprised your mom didn't let you bring a date with you," he's trying to be subtle, to ask without asking if she' seeing anyone "or does she not like prom-date Josh?"

        "You have no idea," she snorts. "Anyway, I could've brought anyone I wanted, there just wasn't anyone that seemed right to bring to my mom's wedding"

        "Are you and Robert getting along any better now, or is it still weird?"

        She pauses for a moment, the question catching her off guard. Then she smiles, a small chuckle passing her lips. 

        "What?" Bradley asks 

        "You asked me to dance, then not so subtly asked if I was single, to which I not so subtly told you I was, and now you're asking me about my stepdad?"

        "Yeah, I guess I am" he grins sheepishly, realizing how silly it must seem. 

        "Well, it's not as bad as it was, but it's still a little weird, especially now that he's my stepdad" she glances over Bradley's shoulder to where her mother and stepfather are sitting at the head table, too busy talking to each other to notice her and Bradley together on the dance floor "I guess I just always picture Mom with someone a little more…fun."

        "I didn't realize he was such a stick in the mud."

        "Have you seen this party?" Y/n gestures to corner where the band sits. "They hired a string quartet to play the entire reception, you don't get much more boring than that."

        "When you're right, you're right." A comfortable silence overtakes the couple, and for a few minutes they just sway to the music. A devilish grin crosses Bradley's face as he leads her in turn. "I bet that you and I could make this party a little more interesting."

        "And, how exactly, do you propose we do that Bradshaw?"

        He leans down whispering in her ear "You, Me, and a bottle of tequila, what do you say"

        "I say, how in the world are we gonna do that?" 

        "Well, Robert paid for an open bar, didn't he?"

        "Doesn't change the fact that we're both underage."

        "That's true, but..." he trails off looking in the direction of the bartenders "I bet if the maid of honor made a scene, about something being wrong, that they would be distracted enough that they wouldn't notice me slipping off with a bottle."

        She grins up at them, their height difference, becoming more apparent the closer they get. 

        "Aren't you a troublemaker, are they really going to put up with that at the Naval Academy?"

        "Are you in or not Mitchell?"

        She shoots him a wicked grin as she drops his hands, and saunters away, leaving him alone on the dance floor. He stares for a moment, his mouth falling open in shock as he watches her walk away. He regains his composure as soon as he realizes that she's headed straight for the bar. As she marches right up to the bar tender, he disappears to the edges of the room to work his way around the back of the bar, dodging slightly tipsy wedding guests and his mother. All the while silently praying that whatever distraction she comes up with will keep the bartender distracted long enough for him to slip in and out without being noticed. 

        "The groom specifically requested for there to be a bottle of blue absinthe set aside for him and the bride!" the expression on her face is somewhere between angry and distraught. If he didn't know better Bradley would believe every word coming out of her mouth. 

        "Blue absinthe?" The bartender is looking under the counter and across the room to where Charlie and Robert are sitting frantically "I haven't seen any, I would've had to have it special ordered, no one told me."

        "No one told you?" She turns just slightly as if looking away in frustration "I swear those groom's men are useless" she turns to the side, placing her hand on the bar, and looking up to ceiling in thought. Suddenly she whirls back around. "Well, is there at least any regular absinthe behind the bar?" 

        "No, it's a pretty odd request, we usually don't stock it for weddings" the bartender looks down in defeat. That's when Bradley makes his move, slipping behind the counter and grabbing the full bottle of top shelf tequila he had noticed earlier and slipping back out, before the bartender even looks back up.

        "You know what" she looks over her shoulder, a strand of hair floating out of her braid crown " I don't think it's going to be a problem; they're so caught up in each other that I don't think they'd notice if The Pope walked in" 

        "Are you sure?" the bartender still look on edge

        "Positive, our little secret" she steps away from the bar, and glances around the room looking for Bradley. She walks a few steps in the direction Bradley went. Just as she starts to wonder if he took off to have the prize all to himself, she feels a hand on her wrist pulling her into a quiet, secluded hallway. 

        "I was beginning to think you'd taken off without me" she accuses. He dramatically places a hand on his chest feigning hurt. 

        "You really think I'd do that to you," he stumbles back a few steps "I’m wounded, really wounded" 

        "Stop being such a drama queen." 

        "Says the girl who thought I'd abandoned her, after I'd only been out of her sight for two minutes," he said, a mischievous twinkle filling his eyes. "Besides it's not like you and I could sit out in the middle of the party and drink this," he pauses before his tone changes "our mommies might see us." The two break into fits of laughter, clutching their sides. She slides down the wall to sit on the floor and Bradley follows, a fake plant obscuring them from view of the main ballroom. Bradley opens the bottle with a loud crack and takes a long drink before passing it to her. 

        "So um, from what you said earlier, I'm taking it things didn't exactly work out with prom date Josh?" Bradley asks as she takes a drink from the bottle. 

        "You have no idea," she snorts as she puts the bottle down on the floor between them, "he actually told me that we couldn't hang out after it ended, because he promised some other girl he'd be her date to somebody's after party." 

        "You're kidding" Bradley picks up the bottle again 

        "I wish I was."

        "What an asshole" he passes her the bottle again and she notices a drop of liquor still lingering at the corner of his mouth. 

        "Sometimes I swear you're the only decent guy I know Bradley."

        "Me?"

        "Yeah. You're always trying to look out for me when I'm at Dad's, you invite me out to do things with your friends, you bust me out of the house when Dad and I get into arguments, and you've even rescued me from boredom at my Mom's wedding" she takes another drink out of the bottle "besides, you're just a really nice guy, always complimenting people, always keeping your promises, you try not to be late even though you're always at least a five minutes late to everything and-" suddenly she trails off. "I'm so sorry I'm just rambling like a lunatic"

        "No, no" he reaches over and tucks a strand of hair that's fallen out of her braid behind her ear "I like it." She giggles a little bit, the alcohol already going to her head. 

        "I bet you do, considering I'm sitting here rambling on and on about how great of a guy you are" 

        "It wouldn't mean half as much coming from anyone other than you y/n" he whispers, realizing the alcohol is starting to affect him too as soon as the words leave his mouth. 

        "What?" she looks at him confused, setting the bottle down between them again. 

        "I said, it wouldn't mean half as much coming from anyone other than you" he repeats louder this time. 

        "What's that supposed to-" she's cut off as Bradley places a hand on her cheek and pulls her lips against his. The kiss is gentle, almost hesitant, and he pulls away just breaths later, trying to gauge her reaction.  A few seconds pass in silence, and Bradley's head begins to clear, making him suddenly self-conscious. 

        "I'm sorry I shouldn't have-" he starts

        "Shut up and kiss me again" she cuts him off, pulling him towards her, his lips finding hers again. 

        They stay like that for what feels like hours, tangled up on the floor, kissing each other breathless. Only breaking apart to giggle drunkenly at each other and to pass the bottle of tequila between them. The wedding reception in the ballroom behind them long forgotten as they get lost in each other. 

        "Oh my god, there you are" another one of Charlie's bridesmaids barges into the hallway, causing the two to jump apart. She takes one look at them, noting the lip gloss smeared across Bradley's face and the bottle of tequila between them "you have got to be kidding me." She pinches the bridge of her nose, shaking her head slightly "If your mother ever finds out, that you were getting drunk and making out with some boy at her wedding she's going to kill both of us."

        "Relax Jackie," she giggles, stumbling as Jackie helps her to her feet "it's not some boy, not like Josh, it's Bradley" 

        "Regardless of who he is, it's time for the big send off and you need to be there," Jackie says as she starts guiding her back towards the main ballroom "and try to act sober." Jackie is practically begging, but it's clear the Maid of Honor isn't paying any attention, as she drags her feet and looks over her shoulder, to where Bradley is now standing against the wall, lip gloss still smeared all over his face. 

        "Bye" she says waving back at him.

        "Bye" he calls in response. The word doesn't hold any finality for either of them, in fact it holds the promise of something that is just beginning. Neither of them having the slightest idea that they won't see each other again for years.

Present Day

        "You made-out with Maverick's daughter, at her mom's wedding?!" Phoenix exclaims looking at Rooster in shock. 

        "Yeah" his voice trails off hesitantly. 

        "So, what happened after that?" Phoenix's eyes are lit up, now even more invested in the story, than when Rooster started telling it. 

        "Nothing" 

        "Nothing? What do you mean nothing"

        "I mean after that, Mav pulled my papers from the academy, so I stopped speaking to him, then my mom passed a few months later, and we didn't see each other again." Rooster tries to keep the tone of his voice even, but Phoenix can tell how difficult it is for him to talk about Maverick's betrayal and his mom's passing. 

        "You've got to be kidding me, you just stopped talking to her, because you were mad at her dad?"

        "I mean, at first yeah. I was so mad at him, I couldn't even think about talking to her but then," he pauses taking a deep breath "after a while, I wanted to talk to her, I just didn't know how to explain why I had just dropped off the face of the Earth for months. What was I even supposed to say?"

        "Uh, I don't know, how about 'hey I'm really sorry I was being a dick and stopped talking to you because I was mad at your dad, I hope you can forgive me'" Phoenix deadpans, giving Rooster a look that reveals just how stupid she thinks he is.

        "Yeah, well I didn't have you back then to coach me through everything" he fiddles with the shot glass he still has clutched in his hand before setting it down on the table. 

        "Do you still have her number" Phoenix asks, grabbing his phone out of the chest pocket of his Hawaiian shirt, and scrolling through his contacts "of course you do, who am I kidding, your phone is like a time capsule of everyone you've ever known." She opens the contact she's been looking for and shoves the phone back into Rooster's hand, "You have to call her."

        "She's with somebody else, or did you not see that blonde guy she left with" Rooster argues. 

        " It’s been literal years since she last saw you and she sent you a shot of tequila, which is a call back to what happened at the wedding, and winked at you, that doesn't exactly scream 'I'm in a happy committed relationship to me.'"

        "Well, her number could've changed, what if I call and it's not her." He's trying to talk himself out of calling, but by the way he's staring at her number on his phone screen, that he wants to.

        "Then you say, 'sorry wrong number' and forget it ever happened, no big deal" Phoenix shrugs. 

        "What if it is her" Rooster finally asks the questions that is really eating at him " what do I say?"

        "Just that it was good to see her and that you'd love to catch up" Phoenix positions herself so that she's making direct eye contact with him "You're not proclaiming your undying love for her Romeo, you're just opening the door to catching up." 

        "Right, just casual" Rooster looks more nervous than Phoenix has ever seen him, shifting in his seat as he stares down at his phone. 

        "Exactly, just call her."

        It's the final push that Rooster needs to hit dial. The phone rings once, twice, three times, Rooster looks over at Phoenix who's watching him intently, four times. Finally it turns over to voicemail. 

        "Hey, sorry I can't get to the phone, leave me a message."

        Rooster's muscles visibly relax when he hears her voice on the other end of the line. The phone lets out a long beeping sound, signaling that it's recording. 

        "Uh, hey it's Bradley. It was really great seeing you this evening, I'm gonna be in town for a while and I'd love to catch up, um call me back when you get the chance." Rooster puts the phone down with a sigh, his heart still racing. 

        "Now what?" Phoenix asks. 

        "Now we wait, I guess." A moment of silence passes between the two friends as they both take in the events of the evening. 

        Their reverie is suddenly interrupted as cheering comes from the pool table where Fanboy is clapping Bob on the back and Hangman is scowling as he hands over his second fifty-dollar bill of the night. 

        "Hey Bagman! I thought I told you to play someone more your speed and hold onto your money" Phoenix calls as she stands and walks back over to the pool table, as Rooster stares at his phone, still lost in the memories of a Colorado wedding and the taste of tequila.

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A/N: I hope you liked it! I did actually write a sequel to this piece and I'm planning to post in about a month or so. But, if this post reaches 10 reblogs or someone guesses what song I used to write the sequel (Hint: it's a Taylor Swift Song) I'll go ahead and post it early.

[violetregrets1837]

Just tossing this into the open. Basically the Chain gain another Link, and this guy is vaguely modern era

(BTW this was written as like a platonic reader insert, but there's no use of Y/N or (Name) here :>)

Sky must admit that this journey really has been an interesting one so far. Secrets are slowly revealed, and brothers-in-arms find comfort from nightmares in the dead of the night. Fighting with such a big group was a learning curve too, but they were all if not willing to adapt to new challenges.

Which brings his thoughts to their newest member.

"How has that pencil not snapped yet?" Wind asked to no one in particular, squinting in the direction of their newest addition.

They were all sitting around camp, in a clearing that Wild had found while scouting ahead. The new hero was sitting a bit farther away, having politely asked not to be disturbed for an hour or so earlier. Only Four was allowed to stick with them because he was silently reading away. And they were furiously writing down on a large writing pad, only taking a few precious seconds to think or to flex the wrist on their dominant hand. The sound of graphite on paper was audible, even with the distance put between them...

"20 rupees that it snaps?" Legend asked Warriors with a smirk. Even if the veteran hadn't fully warmed up to the newest hero, he was more than willing to have a little bit of fun.

"Double that, and it's a deal." Warriors replied, smirking back with a hand on his hip, ready to rob one of his brothers blind.

"Actually, I think they're a proper student like I was, so I doubt they'll let it break on them," Sky added, thinking back to the events that led to the Chain welcoming their newest member.

Those memories were still pretty fresh in his mind, and no doubt everyone else's. The new hero had come rushing into the battle, throwing a heavy backpack at a black blooded monster and successfully knocking it onto it's back before quickly taking out their own sword and properly finishing the job with a powerful stab right into the monster's chest. A bit of a bizarre technique, but not the most. They would probably fit right in, actually.

"50 rupees that it stays in tact." Sky simply smiled back at his brothers, happy to remind them that he was as much of a gremlin as any other Link in the Chain.

"50 rupees from you and Warriors that it breaks, then it's a deal." Legend narrowed his eyes at Sky and crossed his arms over his chest. If he were to win this bet, he better be getting as much as possible.

"Only if you give the same amount to both me and Sky here, veteran. It's only fair." Warriors smirked as he bargained with the prickly hero, happy to get even more out of him.

"So, deal?"

"Deal! I'll be swimming in rupees that you two will be losing soon!"

"Oh, dream on, Legend! Those 50 rupees are ours!"

So those three waited, watching with bated breath. (And maybe with slight concern considering how long they continued to write for.)

Everytime that they had paused in their writing, Sky and Warriors had narrowed their eyes and smiled at Legend, who was only continously letting a nervous frown crawl onto his face as luck was not on his side.

Eventually, the newest member huffed out a sigh and put down their pencil. They flexed their wrist and straightened their back as Wild and Twillight decided to approach.

"Oh, hey guys." They waved as the two walked closer.

"Hey, what were you writing just now?" Wild asked, leaning down with his hands on his knees as he squinted at the paper. He raised an eyebrow as he recognised a few familiar symbols here and there.

Trying to understand every era's written language and writing system was a hard task, and really, only Four, Legend, and himself seemed to take immediate interest in it.

"Just studying for school, if I get back to my own era in time for tests. Sure, it's completely self-inflicted torture which sucks, but I need the practice." They explained, jokingly rolling their eyes at comparing studying to torture. Maybe, taking advanced literature was a mistake but they'll be damned if they quit now.

"Interesting, but maybe you should take a break now. You've been at it for quite some time. Stretch your body a bit." Twillight suggested, raising an eyebrow their way.

He's seen how dedicated to study people like that can be, how they run themselves into the ground before ever considering taking a rest. He's had to pull Shad away from his books more than a couple of times.

"Ehh, maybe. It's just, I got into such a good flow, I don't really want to lose it now." They shrug noncommittedly while reasoning back, their eyes glancing down at the work that they've finished so far as they think the offer over.

"You should at least have some water. Don't let yourself get dehydrated, otherwise you won't be able to concentrate later." Four suggested, putting a bookmark onto the last read page before closing it, his eyes reflecting unnatural hues of purple and red.

He knew all about how a certain someone in this system of theirs would always be eager to learn more, and how another would have to remind him to take care of himself while reading away.

"Mmm, true... I'll at least let myself have some water. I don't want to deal with any headaches later on." They finally concede, putting their things away and into their backpack.

And as they packed their things with the rest of the camp to their back, a certain someone grumbled as he passed on 100 rupees to his brothers. Damn it all, the gods have it out for him.

"Yeah, come on! Join the rest of us over by the fire." Twillight smiled, perking a thumb over his shoulder to the rest of the group.

He was honestly just relieved that they would be taking a break. He knew how stubborn any of them, including himself could be. Maybe it was a hero's spirit thing.

Once they all moved to join the rest by the campfire, Hyrule and Time waved to them, revealing colourful stains on their hands. Inside of a medium sized wooden bowl in between the two of them was a multitude of berries. The colours of the berries varied from a deep purple, almost black, to a light pinkish-red.

"Hi. Uh, I just finished foraging for berries. Do you want some?" Hyrule asked, still a little awkward around their newest member.

It was always a process, but after knowing the rest of the Chain, his brothers, he was willing to give this new one a chance.

"Don't worry, they're all safe." Time nodded, reassuring them after seeing the small hesitance in their face.

"Thank you." They smiled at the two of them, kneeling down in the grass and reaching for a berry. They popped one into their mouth, and hummed in satisfaction at the sweetness that flooded their mouth.

"That's really good! Thank you! Ah- again." They excitedly smiled towards Hyrule, happy to be here. They grabbed two more berries from the bowl and savoured the flavour in their mouth.

So maybe, they could settle into this new group. And try not to worry about trivial matters back home until they returned to their own era. They had a feeling that this would be an interesting journey.

[spiriteddreams]

what it means to love...

part one with: neuvillette, kaedehara kazuha & al-haitham notes: smidges of angst with happy endings tagging! @pixelcafe-network wc: 0.9k total

…someone who holds justice to the highest standard and yet neuvillette carves time away from work to spend time with you. despite his tendency to overwork himself, he’s gotten into a better habit of taking time off for himself. whether that’s to enjoy a cup of fresh water with you in his office or to take a stroll with you during his break, he’s content to spend as much time as he can by your side. he’s seen how beautiful justice is in the courtroom, but he also knows how cruel she is, carved from centuries of suffering that strikes with no remorse. so when doubt begins to seep into his thoughts, he finds the skies darkening, questioning his own position as the iudex. but you tear him from these drowning thoughts, placing one hand over his as you trace over his gloved fingers, swirling shapes and patterns unique with every soft touch until you lace your fingers with his.

“my dear, the clouds are beginning to gather,” you say softly during one of his breaks with you, moving to stand in front of him as your other hand raises to cup his face, thumb running across his cheek as if brushing away invisible tears.

“come on, let’s enjoy the sunny days ahead.” he can feel the weight on his shoulders slip away, captivated by that understanding smile on your lips. he sets aside the work clouding his mind, for justice can be saved for the grand spectacle that is the courtroom. outside, with your arm wrapped around his, he basks in the warmth found in both the sun and you.

…someone who knows grief all too well and yet kaedehara kazuha copes with it the best he can. he puts pen to paper and closes his eyes, asking the wind to grace him with temporary companionship. he sits alone in his room, asking to be disturbed by none as he lets himself sink into memory and silence. but he doesn’t realize how long he can become caught up in his labyrinth of words until he hears soft knocks on his door. it’s only when he straightens up that he feels the ache from hunching over. the paper in front of him is scribbled with a mix of stanzas and smudged ink, a reflection of his mind.

“you’ve been cooped up in here all day,” your voice draws him from his lingering thoughts. you wonder how long he’s been sitting like this, hand cramping around his pen and hair growing messier with each time he runs his hands through it in frustration. kazuha offers you a smile that doesn’t quite meet his eyes and it’s clear that he’s still half-caught in the memory of thunder striking before his eyes.

you gently run your hand across his shoulders, “come on, let’s go take a walk.” kazuha nods silently as he stands, gathering his items to be stacked neatly on his desk. you wait patiently, listening only to the sounds of suffering papers and kazuha’s occasional hums. and when he finally turns to face you, ready to walk through the city, he already looks more relaxed with his eyes less clouded and his smile more genuine.

“thank you, my dear.”

…someone who values rationality above (most) else and yet al-haitham knows that there are times when he must set aside his own pride. he will hold onto it for as long as he can, silent gaze challenging you across the room, chin held high, unwavering eyes refusing to back down first. you’re just as stubborn as he is, unwilling to let his words slide by. you understand that being acting grand sage is hard work, but it’s no excuse for his snippy attitude to come tearing through your home when he walks in. the silence that stretches across your home threatens to tear at both of your resolves, the picture-frame covered walls waiting with baited breath to see who breaks first. he blames his exhaustion for prompting him to move first, walking past you and heading to your shared room. he runs a hand over his face and sighs loudly, already feeling regret sink into his bones. he hears the front door slam shut and he feels like crumbling.

“you’re here?” al-haitham’s voice sounds cracked and dry as approaches you. you sit at the dining table, alone, fiddling with something in your hands. you hide it away before he can get a glimpse of what it might be and turn to face him.

“why wouldn’t i be here?” you ask softly. he hates that you offer him such kindness when he hasn’t even apologized yet, but he sinks into your words, relieved to find that you still choose to be here. “look, i understand you’re stressed and—“

“it’s no excuse, i’m sorry, my love,” he takes a hesitant step forward. you don’t move to send him away so he moves again until he’s in front of you and sinks down to his knees. your eyes widen in surprise, but he takes your hands in his before you can protest and presses a kiss to your knuckles. you think he’s about to wax poetic about how much he adores you (which of course always comes sincerely from him), but you can see a hint of mischief in his eyes that makes you hesitate as he tries to joke, “next time, throw me out first instead, okay?”

reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated! note: so much work to do and yet here i am...... back again.....

[bussyyeukie]

an unhealthy obsession

stalker!konig x reader: sure this happens, but you never thought it'd be you, I mean, you didn't do anything...you didn't even talk to that many strangers, sure you were nice just not overly, and yeah you were attractive but not to the degree of being obsessed over, you didn't even have that much money for someone to obsess over! God why'd you always get the short end of the stick...

You were being haunted. You were sure of it. Maybe not by a ghost or demon (although you'd debated that), but by something.

As silly as it sounded, but your brain was more ok with that than the thought of someone stalking you. At this point you were more sick of it than scared, your clothes went missing just to turn up a week later smelling weird, your soaps and lotions would run out quicker than ever-and they were expensive. Your dirty glasses would wind up on the counter when you'd get back from work, new lips marks on them on-top of your old ones, especially if you'd worn lipstick. It would stop for a few months, or weeks at a time and just when you thought it was finally done for, it would start up again. One time after 5 months of nothing happening, you'd woken up and went to the bathroom, only to find it covered in piss. Like, covered, you had nearly moved at that point. Your window (which you'd close and lock at night) would be cracked when you woke up. The trees outside your window would insistently tap at the glass, and you'd come home sometimes to weird 'gifts' on your counters or in your fridge. One time you came home to a bottle of wine and a back of condoms on your living room table. You stayed at a friends house that night. Didn't even put your work bag down before you decided "nope, not staying here tonight. Not dealing with that."

You tried the police, but you didn't have any real evidence, and you hadn't seen the man (or ghost), had no idea who it could be, and you hadn't been physically attacked...yet. So they didn't do shit, only said to call them if it progressed. Which it did, and they still didn't help.

You'd even taken all the stickers off your car to try to make it less, recognizable. Not that it really helped, but, you didn't know that. Even if you got a whole new car it wouldn't help any.

The first time you met him was in the dead of winter when you'd stopped off at that grocery store for some cleaning supplies. There were odd stains in your clothes that would not come out, no matter how much you'd wash them.

The basket tucked in the crook of your arm pinched at your skin, even under the thick sweater and jacket you wore, weighed down with a bottle of bleach and some fabric cleaner-the spot treatment kind, and a bag of coffee grounds.

You adjusted it as you reached up on the shelf for a bottle of "stubborn stain remover". Seemed overkill but the stains were so common recently that you were willing to try anything. Even mixing chemicals. Normally you'd just throw the item out, but this was your all time favorite shirt, and you wanted to give it a fighting change.

Your basket was posing a challenge though, every time you'd reach up for the tall shelf the items would shift and knock around, pinching your further or just making it tough to hold the basket. You'd opted for setting it down next to your feet with a huff. Before looking back at your item, which you still found challenging to reach. It was on the very top shelf, and seemed to be pushed back. Which was odd that it would be in suck an inconvenient place.

"Ugh," you sighed, straining your reach to grasp at it, fingers trying to nudge it closer to you uselessly, "Come on..."

You tucked your chin down to you chest in hopes that would be the extra inch you needed. But after your side started cramping you just gave up. Settling back down onto your heels as you rubbed your forehead, thoroughly annoyed.

A shuffling at the end of the isle caught your attention, glancing over-which turned into whipping your whole head to look. A shocked look on your face, lips pressed tight and eyes wide as you looked at the man at the other end of the isle, holding a basket in his hand and reading the label of a bottle.

He was...huge. Beyond huge. This mans head was easily looking over the top of the shelves and the basket in his hand looked like a child's toy basket.

Your eyes raked up and down his body, he looked...suspicious to say the least. Wearing dark clothing and lots of layers, big boots and a ballcap that was tugged down his face. A mask covering the lower half.

Pulling your gaze back to the items in front of you, you felt a weird feeling of unease rack up your spine, rolling around your ribs and getting lodged in your throat.

Sighing, minorly upset you were judging this stranger so hard but, considering the stress you'd been under recently it wasn't a surprise.

You'd been shorter with people lately, and didn't talk to strangers as much as you did before. You also stopped going to new places pretty much all together.

As you tucked your hair behind your ear you rubbed the back of your neck, looking up at the item you needed. Quickly picking up on the heavy sound of footsteps approaching you. Glancing out of the corner of your eye to see the man walking closer, looking at the shelves as he passed.

As he got closer you tucked your backset closer to yourself, and further out of his way. Trying to eliminate any points of talking or interaction with the man before it happened.

Clenching your jaw as you chanted 'please just keep walking, keep walking, keep walking' as he grew closer. The music playing through the crackled speakers in the grocery store putting you even more on edge.

"Ex-kyoos me?"

You cursed to yourself and looked next to you, a tight smile on your lips as you craned your neck to look up at him. His voice was higher than you expected it to be, and he had a thick German accent.

"Um, yeah?"

You looked at his face, smile faltering a little at the look in his eye. It was...unsettling, he looked excited. From the skin you could see it was pale and had thick dark eyebrows, his eyes were pretty blue, even under the shadowing of the cap. He had almost a pleading look to him.

"I don't mean to in-trood, but," he chuckled a little, gesturing up over your head to the shelf, "I no-ticed you strug-gling a lit-tle bit."

His words sounded a bit clipped with his accent, and you felt your face flush as you looked off to the side.

"Um, yeah it's," you looked up to the shelf, "A little high for me, I was ab out to start climbing the shelf honestly."

You chuckled a little at your joke, and the man let out a sharp laugh and nodded.

"Ah ja, I vas vondering if you vere going to," he locked his eyes to you, holding an uncomfortable amount of eye contact, "However, I vould be more than happy to help if, ah you don't feel like clim-bing."

You shrugged, looking at the shelf and smiling kindly, "Yeah I'd be happy for the help, thank you."

As you were about to step off to the side, clear out of the mans way, he stepped forward, nearly trapping you against the shelf. Reaching up and grabbing the stain remover easily. Your eyes were wide as you were nearly nose to chest with the man.

Blinking owlishly as you looked up to his face, brows pinched together tighty.

"Um..."

He smelled of, old sweat, and something mildly familiar. But not enough to place. He also smelled of smoke, like wood smoke, or a old campfire or something along those lines.

He stepped back with the item and his eyes were crinkled like he was grinning happily under his mask.

"Heer you are bärchen!"

He held the bottle out to you, you hesitated to grab it, hand reaching out impishly to grab it, placing it into your basket. Eyeing the man up and down.

"Thank you?" your pitch peaked at the end, licking your lips nervously as you bit them.

"Of course," his tone was cheerful and he didn't back up any more, still far too close for comfort, "Vy else be zis tall if not to help, ja?"

You chuckled quietly with him, glancing down at his basket, and to his large, sturdy boots. There was mud caked on them, almost to the point it was flaking off.

"Yeah that's a good point there," you nodded, putting your hands into pockets.

"A lot of clee-ning sup-plies, yes?" the man gestured down to your basket.

You looked down to yours, sighing out, "oh yeah, my clothes just won't stay clean recently, not sure how they're getting so dirty."

You regretted saying it the moment it came out of your mouth.

"Ah, den zis vill help. My mutter used to use lemon to clean grass stains out of my clothing as a mäuschen," the man laughed, crossing his arms over his chest.

The man was a bout as wide as he was tall, your brain kicking into fight or flight as you looked at his arms, You swore you saw muscle moving even under all the clothing. His legs as well, they were obviously solid, about as thick as your torso.

"Oh, I'll try that one," you nodded along, then looked down at his basket. Almost upset that you noticed a handful of your favorite items, and your favorite brands.

That weird feeling made its way back with a vengeance. Nearly making you dizzy by how suffocated you felt being towered over by this man.

"I've actually," you grabbed your basket, lugging it into the crook of your arm, smiling sweetly at the man, but anyone could see how the corners of your mouth twitched and how tight your face looked, "I've really gotta get going, thank you very much though! It was very sweet..."

"Of course bärchen, any time."

You backed away, praying to any god out there that the man just let you leave. Quickly making your way out of the isle when he made no move to stop you, but he watched you intently the entire time until you were out of sight. Even then you felt like he was looking over the shelves to watch you. You must've broken a record with how fast you checked out and got to your car. Sighing heavily as you locked the doors. Smacking your head against the headrest.

The drive home was uneventful, but you'd taken a strange route just because you couldn't shake the nagging feeling that you were still being watching. Whipping around at a red light to look in the back seat of your car, finding nothing. Groaning to yourself and rubbing your face aggressively at how crazy you were acting. Really thinking someone tucked themselves into the back of your car-much less that 6'7" mountain from the grocery store.

"Christ, I'm loosing it."

When you got home your door was locked, and nothing was out of place inside. Putting your items away, and tossing your bag onto your couch. Feeling a wave of relief wash over you until you made it into your bedroom.

Where you found a package of your favorite chocolates on your pillow, and a pair of your missing underwear placed delicately by the chocolate, a pretty lacey bow tied around them.

You shouted loudly, throwing your heavy jacket down onto the floor, hair wild as you put your hands raked into it.

"God-damnit!"

[echoingbirdsofprey]

Back Forty View (On Our Piece Of Ground)

7 - You're What My World Spins Around

Pairings: Tyler Owens x OFC Georgia Tennley-Owens, Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x OFC Samantha Kazansky

Rating: EXPLICIT (MDNI!)

Warnings: Birth of a child, Mentions of death, swearing as every other chapter I don't even put it anymore hahah

A/N: I feel like this chapter is kinda crap? Idk, but anyway we are finally here, it's time for baby Jaycen to be born! Total disclaimer, I tried to do my research but I don't know shit about pregnancy or babies or any of that so I did my best with details. No, I did not go into full details of the labor and all that just kind of glanced over it. I just felt this this was a huge plot point that's been looming for so long that I need to just get it down. As always comments, reblogs, likes, and feedback is always appreciate 100%. Thank y'all for continuing reading! Pics from pinterests! Gifs by @kaizsche I hope you enjoy this one.

Tags: @mrsevans90 @djs8891 @gpsmississippihippie @dizzybee03 @coloraturadiva @kmc1989

Tyler and Jake were born in the very early morning and gave their mother hell. Well, Jake did more so than Tyler, but altogether her labor had been nearly forty hours. Tyler came into the word silent as the night and Jake came screeching like a fighter jet, his attempt to break the sound barrier at the first try. The joke became, as the boys got older that Tyler snuck into the world and Jake came in like he'd been left behind by Tyler, and that he was pissed about it. Their father, Randall Owens, was the proudest man on earth, and the most supportive too. He took as much time off as he could when Jeanie had the boys. He spent as much time as her, if not more sometimes, with the boys, getting to know their individual personalities and their quirks. In most ways the boys were the same, but in some they were totally opposite.

For a long time after Randall died, Jeanie was devastated. She didn’t know how to go on without him, but she figured it out. She raised up two wild little boys who were always getting in trouble, and always just like their father in the one way that carried them through life. Both of Jeanie Owens' boys had compassion for others. 

Both of her boys were lovers and fighters. She’d taught them to always give people a chance, but to be adamant when they wanted something and to not settle. She taught them to go after their dreams. That’s why Tyler worked his ass off becoming the best bull rider he could. That’s why Jake got top of his class at the Naval Academy and got into the Top Gun program. That’s why both boys were both book smart and street smart. That’s why both of Jeanie’s boys, when they wanted something, they went after it and didn’t give up until they got it. 

Nothing was handed to Tyler and Jake. Jeanie didn’t bend when it came to rules. She made them do chores from a young age to learn responsibility. She made them care for all the horses. They were driving before they were supposed to be. And when Jeanie met Kenneth Seresin, those boys gave him hell. The boys were respectful of course, but that didn’t mean they didn’t challenge Kenny. What they remembered of Randall was how he had been with Jeanie. Always gentle with her, always supportive, and even though at their young ages they didn’t quite understand all of it, they remembered it later in life. There had been so much love in the little ranch in Dardanelle, Arkansas and until Kenny showed them the same level of reverence for their mother, those boys gave him a run for his money.

Kenny did everything with Tyler and Jake that he could. It was as if he was trying to make up for lost time and the loss of their father. He tried to be the best replacement to Randall that he could. He took them to roping events and the high school rodeos to compete. He took them up in military helicopters and on base before he was honorably discharged due to an injury, He helped them fix old beat up trucks that the boys had bought with their own savings. He taught them that no matter when you meet a person, you can love them as if you’ve always loved them their entire life. Tyler and Jake knew he wasn't their father by blood, but because of how he was with them, they treated him all the same in the end. And Kenny was damn proud to call those boys his sons.

🌪️ 🛩️🛻⚓

Tyler and Dustin took turns caring for Ducati, but not without Georgia right there, on the outside of the pen. By Tyler’s rules, until Jaycen was born, she wasn’t allowed in the pen with the horse, just in case he spooked or charged at her. However, the mustang was proving more trustworthy each day. Each time Dustin went in, whether it was to scrub his waters and refill them, pick out his poop, give him hay, or throw him grain, Ducati followed him just like the puppies. When Tyler went in to do the same chores, Ducati only wanted Tyler to love on him. Tyler would rub the mustang’s forehead, and then his neck, and he’d even offer his belly and his back for scratches. After a week, Tyler was able to touch the horse all over. After two, he was able to pick up each of his feet, without a halter, and after three...well Georgia wanted Tyler to try and throw a saddle pad over his back.

“Gee, I don’t know. Seems kinda fast.” Tyler said, as Ducati pushed his neck toward Tyler, begging to be scratched. Tyler obliged readily and then he glanced at Georgia, who had thrown the saddle pad over the top bar of the panels.

“He trusts you. I trust you. Just give it a try.” Georgia said softly, reaching out to rub Ducati’s nose. Tyler slowly took the saddle pad from the top bar and held it out for the gelding to sniff. He was uninterested and just pushed his neck toward Tyler again. Tyler raised a brow and then touched the gelding with it. Again, uninterested. Tyler tilted his head and then gingerly placed the pad on Ducati’s back. The gelding glanced at him and licked his lips.

“She said he’d had a saddle on.” Georgia said, sneaking a piece of carrot from her pocket to the gelding’s awaiting mouth. He churches happily on it and then turned his nose toward Tyler. 

“Got nothin’ bud, sorry. Just a silly saddle pad.” Tyler chuckled as Ducati poked his nose toward Georgia’s belly. She smiled and Tyler spoke again. “He’s smart that’s for sure. I figured since she said he had been buckin’, he wouldn’t be too keen on the saddle pad at all.”

“I think he doesn’t care much about the equipment. She didn’t give us the full story. I’d put money on him spookin’ at somethin’ while she was ridin’ and he bucked, bolted, and got her off. She was too scared to get back on so he’s probably squirrelly under saddle, not on the ground. I think he was how he was at her place because she never got rid of any of that anxiety. She just left it in there. Here, he didn’t feel like he needed any anxiety because we were gentle and calm from the start. And you’re not afraid of anythin’ so.” Georgia explained, as Tyler’s gaze settled on Ducati. The gelding swished his tail and cocked a hip. 

“Can you get Jake?” He asked and Georgia nodded, going back into the barn. Jake had been helping to muck out the stalls and Georgia had put Sam in charge of brushing horses. Georgia was determined at some point to get Sam on one of their horses and see if she remembered how to ride. 

“Hey Jake, Tyler needs you.” Georgia said, just as Jake was pushing the wheelbarrow out of the stall he had been cleaning. He closed the door behind him and pushed the wheelbarrow out the front so that he could dump it after. Tyler, being ever ingenuitive, had come up with a dump trailer and manure spreader to use for the back fields, effectively fertilizing them so that when the summer came around, the horses would have beautiful grass to go out on.  

“Can you grab my saddle?” Tyler asked as Jake stepped out of the barn. He immediately doubled back and Georgia inhaled a sharp breath.

“Okay, now who’s pushing it?” She asked, as she hung her arms over the rail. Ducati once again, placed his nose gently at her belly. Jaycen kicked hard then and Georgia closed her eyes and groaned softly. 

“Did he just talk back for me ?” Tyler smirked, as he placed his hand on her belly.

“I think so. That hurt a bit.” She said and Tyler chuckled as Jake reappeared, Tyler’s huge roping saddle easily slung over one arm. 

“Seems like Jaycen wants his horse ready for when he comes out.” Tyler joked and Jake threw the saddle over the panel so Tyler could pull it down. Georgia kept her eyes on Ducati the whole time and the mustang barely moved. In fact, he looked bored. 

“Okay buddy, let’s try somethin’ huh?” Tyler said, stepping over to Ducati with the saddle. He gave an out loud count of one, two, three and then swung the saddle up and onto the horse’s back. Ducati flinched a little at the weight, but his expression stayed the same and he licked his lips again. Tyler reached under to grab the cinch and secure it, then the back cinch. He pulled the breastplate around and buckled that before stepping back. Ducati simply followed Tyler, seeming to not even notice the saddle that had been put on him.

“Do I dare?” Tyler asked, glancing at Georgia, then Jake.

“If you’re gettin’ on, I’m takin’ a video for Tiktok, you dumb sonofabitch.” Jake laughed and held up his phone. “Dumb ways to die!” He sung, which made Tyler laugh, but not Georgia. She glared at him.

“ Don’t be stupid, Tyler. ” She said. Tyler patted Ducati and then turned to Georgia with a small smile.

“Oh let me have a little fun, darlin’.” He mused as he reached over the gate to grab the rope halter they had been using for the gelding. It was old and tattered, but still solid. Ducati walked over, placing his nose through the halter and letting Tyler secure it. He rubbed the horse’s neck and then brought him to the middle of the pen. “Any advice before I ruin this horse, Peach?”

“If you get on and he bucks you off...well...you’re fixin’ it later, Arkansas .” Her tone was well on the way to annoyed. Tyler placed his foot in the stirrup, bouncing a few times and paying attention to the horse’s ears. They flicked back and forth and he blinked a few times, but stood remarkably still. Tyler jumped up and laid across the saddle, then hopped back down. He repeated this step a few times before finally swinging his leg over the other side. He felt Ducati go round and suck up his belly underneath the saddle. Tyler grabbed the horn and the back of his saddle, ready for whatever was about to happen. Everyone held their breath, except Tyler. He took a deep breath and as if he was back in the chute, he blew the breath out at the same time as Ducati exploded into the air.

He vaguely heard Georgia yell at him, he heard Jake whoop and shout and he saw Sam and Dustin run out of the barn from the corner of his eye. Tyler pulled himself tight to the saddle and as Ducati quite literally bronced underneath him, Tyler fought the urge to move his legs in a spurring motion like he used to do when he rode bulls. Even though it had been years, it was hard to quell something that had been so ingrained in his brain as a habit.

They made it about two times around the round pen before Ducati lost his balance and hit Tyler’s leg on the panel, scaring himself and making Tyler yelp. Georgia turned away, the nauseous dread creeping up from the pit of her stomach. She couldn’t watch. Jake was still filming and both Sam and Dustin’s mouths were ajar in awe as Tyler too lost his balance, lost his grip on the cheyenne roll on the back of the saddle, and scared Ducati even more as he tumbled from the mustang’s back onto the dirt. He landed with a loud thud, on his ass and Ducati immediately froze. 

“TYLER!” Georgia nearly screamed, knowing he’d fallen. The wind had been knocked out of him, but when she heard him laughing, she sighed heavily, relieved. “You fuckin’ idiot! I say it out of love and because you scared me, but you’re a dumb ass!”

“Ah, I never thought I’d be so turned on havin’ my pregnant wife reprimand me.” He chuckled and coughed, then shot her a flirty glance as he stood stiffly and rubbed his ass. If looks could kill, Tyler would be a dead man walking up to kiss his wife. She brushed the dust off of him and glanced around him. Ducati had walked up behind him, apologetically. Tyler rubbed the gelding’s nose. “Bud, not your fault. I pushed ya. I also fell off. Bad ridin’ on my part.”

“Well, now you have to do it again.” Georgia said, tugging at his shirt. He leaned down and kissed her again and then smirked. Jake was doubled over, laughing his ass off, and Sam smacked him gently. Jake stood and took a deep breath before leaning back on the panels.

“Yes ma’am. Anythin’ I could do different?” Tyler asked, as he was ready to mount up again. He was a little shaky and his hips were stiff, but he knew if he didn’t get back on it would be bad for both of them. Tyler had dissociated during the bucking fit, trying to block out any sort of fear or anxiety he had, although it didn’t feel the same as it did with the bulls. He felt like he could trust Ducati. He knew he couldn’t trust the bulls. And, he lost his balance and fell because he started thinking. He figured if he stayed on this time, Ducati might quit bucking on his own, knowing that his rider could stick it out and not be afraid.

“Just don’t fall off again. You’re gonna be sore as hell tomorrow.” Georgia said softly, placing her head on her hands on the panel rail. She blew out a long breath as Tyler climbed aboard again.

“That the first time you been bucked off since your accident?” Jake asked and Tyler nodded.

“Wasn’t that bad, He’s not trying to get me off, he’s just scared shitless. If I can stick it, he’ll quit.” Tyler said, looking to Georgia for guidance. He picked up the rope and not feeling Ducati ball up this time, he asked him to turn left. Ducati obliged, moving off softly. Tyler asked for a little more speed, clicking his tongue to get the horse to trot. He wiggled his legs a little as well, unsure of how much education the horse had. Ducati scooted forward and when Tyler didn’t tense up, the horse took a breath and let it out. 

Tyler asked for a little more again, urging the horse to canter. As soon as he stepped into it, Ducati became overwhelmed with worry and went to bucking again. He folded in two and Tyler quickly grabbed for the saddle. The bucking fit was shorter this time and Tyler stayed on successfully, letting Ducati come down to a trot again. He asked for canter, got a few crow hops, then Ducati slowed down. The little horse had a comfortable trot and an even canter that Tyler asked for once more. There was no broncing this time and as Ducati cantered around a little, Tyler realized what he had just done. He let Ducati come to a full halt, right by Georgia.

“How’d I do?” He asked, rubbing the horse all over, just making sure he was okay with everything that was going on. Georgia nodded.

“Not bad, Arkansas. You might get good at this if you keep at it.’ Georgia teased and Tyler leaned over the panels to kiss her. He dismounted and immediately removed the tack and handed it all to Jake to take back in the barn. Georgia turned and began to walk back into the barn, satisfied with her husband’s stupidity that actually worked out in the end. She threw a lascivious grin his way and waved as she spoke. “You might even get a surprise later on.”

Tyler’s eyes widened and he smiled. He glanced at Dustin, who pursed his lips and motioned for him to go follow Georgia. Jake and Sam had headed back into the barn to finish up what they had been doing. Tyler knew he'd be sore for a few days but it was worth it if he helped Ducati feel a little better, and made less work for Georgia once she could get back on and put some more time into him.

🌪️ 🛩️🛻⚓

Jake had taken to doing extra sessions with the puppies and he even helped Tyler with their dogs. Ryker had imparted upon Jake that it was imperative to be consistent with the dogs, so while down in Oklahoma, Jake spent at least two hours each day with each dog. One in the morning and one at night if he could, going through every aspect of training that he had learned so far. Sam spent about an hour with each dog as well, usually taking them as a group for a walk. They wanted the dogs well rounded in a pack and as individuals so doing this would only help and it made the bond between the three dogs stronger too. Jake had even taught Sam everything in the short amount of time that they’d been there. 

Ballast exceeded every expectation that Ryker had for the pup. Jake never had any, so Ballast surprised him at every turn. At just over eight months old, the dog was essentially a lanky, mini version of what he would be as an adult. The bite work was where Ballast really shined. Jake already had a competition ready focus heel available at any moment. Jake could out Ballast from any bite with just his voice command. And Ballast would take down anyone for Jake. A true protection dog in the making. Jake noticed something else though and that was that Ballast was also fiercely loyal to Samantha. That was ultimately what Jake wanted, so that when he wasn’t around, Samantha wouldn't have to worry about a thing. He knew Rocco would give his life for Sam, but Ballast would back him up and avenge that death if he had to, tenfold.

Muster on the other hand, was not what they expected. She excelled in all the obedience and protection work. Her bite work was great and she was a powerful little fur missile in her own right, but Muster wanted much more than anything to cuddle and hang out with Sam. Muster was absolutely Sam’s dog and while she liked Jake, she found solace in Samantha’s company. Muster also knew that Georgia was pregnant and if the cattle dogs and Ballast got too rambunctious around her, Muster would break it up. The female dog knew the importance of rest and recuperation for everyone. She wasn’t exactly a party pooper, but she did like her peace and quiet. She was a calming presence for the other dogs and that was an excellent thing to have with such a high drive, high energy pack.

Jake had even taken to teaching Rocco some of the obedience training. Rocco actually took to it pretty well too, considering his breed. Dachshunds tended to be stubborn and difficult to work with if you didn’t know how to motivate them. Jake figured out that Rocco’s motivation was simply pleasing Samantha so any time he worked with Rocco, he made sure that Sam was there and she was ready to praise him. Jake had never thought he’d grow to love the little dog as much as he did, but there was a special spot in his heart for Rocco. One that he thought would be empty from Dixie forever, but he was certain that the little red dog might be able to fill that hole with his big, courageous personality. 

🌪️ 🛩️🛻⚓

Georgia firmly believed that just like the calves and foals that her father used to raise, it wasn't up to mom when the baby came. It was all up to when that baby wanted out. And at exactly nine months to the day, Jaycen Alexander Owens decided he was ready to see the world for the first time.

Georgia had been laying down for the majority of the day, not feeling particularly well. She’d been somewhat nauseous all day. She picked at the lunch that Tyler had made and when she decided she couldn’t lay down any longer, she elected to take a walk outside, ending up in the barn, which she had come to expect. She’d felt some pressure in her pelvis just after lunch. She mentioned it to Tyler and he’d been concerned, checking in on her every hour or so after that. She’d also felt like when she went back out around dinner time, that she was waddling like a penguin. Her steps felt particularly heavy the longer she stayed out there and she was nearly done feeding the horses. She just had to drop grain but she had an overwhelming feeling that something wasn’t right.

Tyler had been working on his truck, had gone in for a shower because he had oil and soot everywhere, and had come back out to help Georgia finish feeding the horses dinner. He’d assumed that was where she was when he didn’t find her in their bedroom or on the couch. Jake hadn’t noticed her step out either. When he walked into the barn, Georgia was standing frozen, looking down at the barn floor. Her water had broken and it was time.

“Gee? You okay?” Tyler placed a hand on her back, feeling her shaking.

“Tyler...we have to go to the hospital. Like now.” She said, glancing at him and he could see fear in her eyes, wide as she tried to breathe evenly.

“Wait why...oh..oh shit...baby's comin?” Tyler's eyes widened too and he took her hand and began to lead her to the front of the barn.

“Very much yes!” She exclaimed as they crossed the threshold of the barn.

“Got it hold on! I'll be back in a sec!” He said, letting her lean on the door frame. He called the dogs and swung the front door open, yelling to his brother.

“Jake! Start my truck! Gotta get to the hospital. Dogs! Inside!” Tyler yelled as he burst through the door, all six dogs bounding through the open space, nearly knocking him over in the process.

“Baby time?” Jake asked excitedly, leaping from the couch and grabbing his boots. Sam, who had been sitting next to him, got the dogs settled, and then grabbed her shoes as well.

“Baby time!” Tyler exclaimed, turning on his heels to go help Georgia the rest of the way to the truck. 

“Woohoo! I'm aboutta be an uncle! And you’re gonna be an aunt!” Jake hugged Sam, then kissed her hard, making her giggle as they headed out the door. Once they were all settled in the truck, they were off.

Tyler made the drive short, nearly getting pulled over, but the cop recognized them and knowing that Georgia was pregnant, realized why Tyler Owens, the Tornado Wrangler,  was speeding down Interstate 177. They took Georgia to a room immediately and got her prepped. Tyler helped her change into a hospital gown, his hands gentle as they then guided her into the open space of the room. Dr. Ginnie Halstead was going to be helping deliver, and she was the one they'd been seeing throughout all of their appointments, so they were comfortable with her. Then the waiting began.

Jake had made sure that the bag in the back of Tyler’s truck with everything that Georgia needed, including some extra clothes for them both, some of the onesies they’d gotten for Christmas, extra toiletries, and some snacks among other things, had made its way into the room. He and Sam were going to stay until Georgia was actively giving birth, then they would step out and let her and Tyler be with each other. 

“Tyler, this is too early.” Georgia said, as she paced back and forth. Her contractions were getting closer together, slowly but surely. 

“Doc said it’s fine. Everything’s been good so far. Sometimes they come a little early. We wanted this.” He said, finally sitting down after having followed her back and forth for the past thirty minutes. 

“I know but it feels too early .” She said softly, glancing over at Jake and Sam. They were curled on the small couch that was situated in the corner of the room. The room itself was nice, a little larger than a normal single bed, plenty of space to move around, a spot for the baby and a full bathroom with a shower. The lighting was softer than a normal hospital suite and it put Georgia at ease, slightly. 

“It feels too early because we were both freaking out about this like a month ago and now we're here. It’s actually happening.” Tyler said, reaching for her, stopping her. 

“Why are you so calm right now?” Georgia asked, pausing her pacing.

“Well one of us has to be and it sure as shit ain’t you. Respectfully darlin’, you’re supposed to be a little scared.” Tyler’s eyes were soft as he watched her from his seat on the bed. His hand lingered at her side and as soon as the next contraction came, she was off again, walking back and forth. She breathed in and out, slowly and carefully. They subsided and her eyes met his.

“You’re not scared?” She asked. Tyler stood, walking toward her slowly. He pulled her into his arms, his hands careful around her waist. 

“I’m terrified but I’m holding it together for you.” He admitted readily. This stirred Jake’s attention, just as Georgia began walking again. Even though Jake knew how to be with Sam, he was still taking notes from his brother. 

Several hours later, and lots of pacing, Georgia’s legs were starting to shake. She had been walking and pausing endlessly. She feared for when she needed to be still and that time was coming rapidly. Dr. Halstead had come in a few times to check on her and see how her pain was. They’d decided she was going to have an epidural as close as possible to when she needed to push, as sometimes the epidural could slow down the process.

Tyler had pulled her onto the bed, putting a halt to her pacing that was becoming slightly frantic. He situated her between his legs and began to massage her shoulders.

“Just breathe, mama. You got this.” He whispered, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. She leaned back against him and grinned. He'd removed his boots so that he could be on the bed with her, so for the past hour or so he'd been sliding around in his socks.

“At least your feet don't stink.” She murmured, taking a deep breath as another contraction steamrolled over her. He felt her shudder as she grabbed for his legs and leaned forward. His lips turned up as they met the back of her neck. 

“No, darlin’ they don't.” He chuckled softly as the doctor came in to let them know that the anesthesiologist would be along shortly to administer her epidural, so Tyler would have to scoot out from behind her, but he took up until the last second that he could to stay there. He had taken to massaging down her back and her sides until he had to get up. He took a hold of one of her hands and gently pressed his lips to her knuckles. “Gettin’ about that time. You ready?” He asked. She nodded and squeezed his hand as she felt pressure at her back where the doctor positioned the needle and administered the medication. It only took about twenty minutes for Georgia to feel some relief. 

Sam and Jake elected to leave the room then. Jake shook his brother's hand, hugged him, and kissed Georgia gently on the top of her head. Sam hugged Tyler and she rubbed her hand up and down Georgia's arm a few times. 

“Good luck!” Jake said as he and Sam marched out of the room and headed to the waiting area. The doctor and another nurse came in and prepared everything for the next stage. Georgia grabbed for Tyler then, nearly crushing his hand.

“Tyler. Don't go anywhere. Please.” She said, her eyes darting to his. He leaned down and kissed her on the forehead. He knew she was scared shitless right now. 

“No need to worry. I'm gonna be right here the whole time. No matter what.” He said softly. He stood to the side of the bed, as close as he could to her, his arm around her shoulders. Their doctor smiled as her and the nurse readied everything they needed in the event of complications. They had discussed what could go wrong and what they would do if something did happen, but they were hoping for an easy birth. 

“If it will help and you're comfortable with it, Tyler can sit behind you like he was earlier. I find especially with first time mothers, the more encouraging their birth partner is, the smoother it goes.” The doctor explained and without hesitation, Georgia scooted forward so that he could climb in behind her again. He locked her in with his legs on either side of her and placed his hands on her shoulders. He kissed her cheek, then rested the side of his head against hers. Georgia shifted uncomfortably, and Dr. Halstead reassured her that everything looked good so far.

“Okay, Georgia, you're gonna push on my count, ready? One, two, three, push!” Dr. Halstead's voice was calm but somehow excited. Georgia bared down, and as she did her grip on Tyler's thighs tightened. He'd probably have bruises there, but it would all be worth it in the end. 

At 3:01 AM, on February 28th, Jaycen Alexander Owens was born quietly, giving his parents the single most terrifying reason to hold their breaths...and a million reasons to finally let them out in relief. 

Jaycen didn't cry at first. Just like his father, the boy was reserved from the moment his eyes opened and took his first breath. Georgia feared for the worst, but in hearing her son's little whine, she was overcome with emotion. She was exhausted, panting, sweating bullets but she was so relieved and tears streamed down her cheeks as she watched the nurse take him and clean him up. 

Tyler was also crying. He wiped his tears on her shoulder as he waited for the nurse to bring their son to them. Now, it was all real. His dream had come true. After the nurse had dried him off, she wrapped Jaycen loosely in the blanket they brought, a sky blue one that was extra soft, and handed the little bundle to Georgia. She held him  gently to her chest, the first skin to skin contact sending a wave of happiness through her. He was slightly cooler than she'd anticipated, but Dr. Halstead reminded her that she just went through labor with nothing more than the epidural. Her body temperature and heart rate was up like she’d run a marathon from the incredible feat she’d accomplished.

Tyler stayed seated behind her and peered over her shoulder at the seven pounds, three ounces with sparse sandy brown hair atop his head. He looked tiny in Georgia's arms and Tyler was sure he'd look even smaller in his own. He reached around and ran a single finger over the soft hair on Jaycen's head. 

“That's our son, Gee. I'm so fuckin' proud of you, Peach.” He whispered, making her smile. She let out a sigh of relief as everyone else cleared the room. Dr. Halstead was going to let Jake and Sam know that Jaycen had arrived, but that Georgia needed to rest for a bit before they could go in and see her and the baby. The doctor gave Georgia a crash course on breastfeeding and helped her with the first time. When Jaycen took to it no problem, Dr. Halstead sighed.

“If only they could all be this easy!” She said and Tyler smirked.

“He’s an Owens. He’ll give us plenty of trouble later on.” He said and Dr. Halstead nodded. In order to make everything easiest for Georgia, they let her stay in the room she’d been in. As long as Jaycen remained healthy, they could take him home in the next couple of days, but for now, Tyler and Georgia would be staying there. 

After resting for a bit, Tyler asked Jake and Sam to enter the room. Jaycen was sleeping comfortably in Georgia’s arms so they were quiet. Jake actually cried. They were, of course, happy tears, congratulating his brother with a bear hug. Georgia offered for him to hold Jaycen and he readily accepted. Jake was so careful taking his nephew. Tyler, trying to not immediately be a helicopter parent in any sense of the word, left Jake to hold Jaycen, knowing his brother was more than responsible enough to hold a baby. Especially his own nephew. Sam was careful as she brushed her fingertips over Jaycen's little hairy head. She smiled wide and glanced up at Jake.

“You look pretty good with a baby in your arms.” She mused and Jake chuckled. 

“This is gonna be all I can think about, Sam.” He said softly, leaning over and pressing a kiss to her forehead. 

Over those couple of days, there had been an influx of people. Tyler and Jake’s parents were the first to show up, excited to meet their grandson with two legs. Then came all the Wranglers. Boone and Lily couldn’t wait to see the little bundle of joy. Javi came bearing gifts, some more clothes for Jaycen and he snuck away before Kate and Scott appeared. Kate was ecstatic, hugging Georgia and giving Tyler a punch on the arm. Scott was quiet and he simply congratulated them, but when Kate asked to hold Jaycen, it stirred something in Scott. Seeing the girl he’d developed feelings for with a baby in her arms, sent his mind to a far off place and he had no idea how to get his life there, or how to even begin the conversation he wanted to have with her. He wondered if it was even in his future. But that was all for another time. Dexter and Dani had popped in last, bringing some snacks for Tyler and Georgia and a little stuffed pony for Jaycen. 

Tyler and Georgia couldn’t wait to bring Jaycen home to meet the dogs and the horses. God knows especially Ducati would be waiting for him.

[mya-valentine]

February 2nd - Because I Love You by Halle - Kento Nanami x Toxic!Reader

The bar was alive with music, laughter, and clinking glasses. People danced without care, enjoying the dim ambiance and vibrant energy of the evening. You had chosen this bar specifically for its chaotic vibe, knowing it didn’t quite fit Kento Nanami’s calm and collected nature. That’s exactly why you brought him here. You loved watching him squirm in environments like this, out of his element, trying to balance his reserved demeanor with your impulsiveness.

Your fingers wrapped around the second drink of the night—a fruity cocktail that barely masked the alcohol. The burn felt satisfying as it slid down your throat. Nanami sat across the small table, wearing his usual neutral expression. He hadn’t even touched his drink yet, opting to sip water instead. His presence was a stark contrast to the flashing neon lights and rowdy crowd around him.

“You look stiff,” you teased, leaning forward and resting your chin on your hand, gazing at him through half-lidded eyes. “Relax, Kento. It’s a party.”

“I’m relaxed,” he replied flatly, though the slight crease in his brow said otherwise.

“No, you’re not,” you said with a smirk, leaning closer. Your fingers trailed over the rim of your glass before pointing them at him accusingly. “You’re babysitting me again.”

Nanami sighed, tilting his head slightly as he folded his arms. “I wouldn’t need to babysit if you didn’t insist on drinking so much.”

“Oh, don’t be such a killjoy,” you laughed, taking another sip of your drink before setting it down a little harder than intended. “I’m just having fun. You should try it sometime.”

Two more drinks in, and the bar felt like a carnival. The colors seemed brighter, the music louder, and the people blurrier. You couldn’t sit still anymore, the alcohol buzzing in your veins like electricity. You stood abruptly, nearly toppling your chair, and grabbed Nanami’s hand.

“Come on,” you said, tugging him toward the dance floor.

He resisted, his weight making it impossible to move him even an inch. “I don’t dance,” he stated firmly.

“You do tonight!” you countered, pulling harder. “Live a little, Kento. Just this once.”

He sighed again, the sound full of exasperation, but let you drag him into the throng of bodies swaying to the music. You threw your arms around his neck, pressing close, your movements fluid and reckless as the beat pulsed through your body. Nanami, stiff and awkward, kept his hands firmly on your waist, his eyes scanning the crowd like he was waiting for something—anything—to give him an excuse to leave.

But you didn’t care about his discomfort. Not right now. You loved the way his jaw clenched when you pressed yourself against him, the way his eyes darted to yours when your hands slid down his chest. He was so careful, so controlled, and you lived to unravel him, to watch him wrestle with the part of himself that wanted to give in to your chaos.

You didn’t miss the sharp look he gave the man who brushed past you a little too closely. The way his grip on your waist tightened, anchoring you to him, made your lips curve into a smug grin. “You like this, don’t you?” you whispered, your voice low and teasing. “Having to keep me out of trouble. Being the responsible one.”

“Someone has to be,” he replied, his tone as even as ever, though his hands betrayed him, holding you just a little closer.

Four drinks in, and the reckless part of you was in full control. You’d climbed onto one of the low tables near the edge of the dance floor, laughing as you threw your arms in the air, drawing attention from everyone around you. You didn’t care about the stares or the murmurs. You lived for moments like this, where you could be unapologetically wild.

“Get down,” Nanami said, his voice cutting through the noise like a knife. He was at your side in an instant, his hands reaching up to steady you.

“Why?” you challenged, leaning down to meet his gaze, your grin playful. “Afraid I’ll embarrass you?”

“Because you’ll hurt yourself,” he said simply, his hands firm on your hips as he guided you down.

You huffed, but let him help you, your heels clicking against the floor as you landed. “You’re no fun,” you muttered, though you couldn’t deny the flutter in your chest at the way he looked at you—frustrated, protective, and something softer that he rarely let show.

“Let’s go,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You pouted but allowed him to lead you out of the bar, his hand never leaving yours as he guided you through the crowd. The cool night air hit you like a splash of water, sobering you slightly as you stumbled against him. He caught you easily, his arm wrapping around your waist to steady you.

“You’re too serious,” you mumbled, your words slurring. “You should’ve just let me have fun.”

“This isn’t fun,” he replied, unlocking his car and opening the passenger door for you. “Not when you’re like this.”

You rolled your eyes but climbed into the seat, leaning back with a dramatic sigh. As he fastened your seatbelt, you tugged on his tie, pulling him closer. “Admit it,” you whispered, your lips curling into a mischievous smile. “You like it when I’m like this. Reckless, wild… needing you to save me.”

Nanami froze for a moment, his face so close to yours that you could see the flicker of emotion in his eyes. He exhaled slowly, brushing a strand of hair from your face before pulling away. “Get some rest,” he said, his voice softer now, almost gentle.

The drive home was quiet, the hum of the engine filling the silence as you rested your head against the window. The alcohol buzz was wearing off, leaving behind a dull ache in your chest. You glanced at Nanami, his profile illuminated by the soft glow of the dashboard lights.

“Why do you put up with me?” you asked suddenly, your voice small.

He didn’t answer right away, his hands gripping the wheel tightly. Finally, he said, “Because I love you.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, raw and honest. You didn’t deserve him, not really. He was too good, too patient, too steady for someone like you. And yet, here he was, always pulling you back from the edge, always putting you first.

You reached for his hand, your fingers brushing against his as he drove. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, the weight of your actions settling in your chest.

He glanced at you briefly, his expression softening. “Just… try to take better care of yourself,” he said. “For both of us.”

The rest of the drive was quiet, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. When you reached your apartment, he walked you to the door, his hand resting on the small of your back.

As you turned to face him, you felt a pang of guilt mixed with gratitude. “Thank you,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

He cupped your face gently, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “Get some rest,” he said again, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before turning to leave.

As you watched him walk away, a lump formed in your throat. You didn’t deserve him, but you loved him. God, you loved him. And maybe, just maybe, that love would be enough to make you better. For him. For both of you.

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