#but it's not looking good for the home team

[woso-dreamzzz]

Helper:Christmas

Arsenal Women x Child!Reader

Summary: Christmas with Guppy

"I...I don't understand. What's...What's going on?"

"Just keeping holding it up," Codi whispers to Rosa, who looks like she's about to lower the tinsel that she's holding up.

"I don't get it. What's going on?"

"We're decorating the tree."

"No, I get that. But why are we holding it up in a line?"

On her other side, Leah huffs. "Because Lia's raising a kid who doesn't like mess and gets freaked out by Christmas trees. Ow! Lia!"

Lia's elbow, none too kindly, digs a bit further into Leah's ribs.

"Don't make fun of her!" She snaps, imaginary hackles raised in annoyance at Leah's dismissal before turning to Rosa to explain, much more kindly. "Guppy...She gets a bit overwhelmed about this kind of stuff and these cretins like to go overboard until the tree's a big mess. So, Guppy gets to pick the theme and then we all decorate. Leah's exaggerating."

"I'm just saying! Maybe exposure therapy will be good for her! I love her, Lia, I do. You know that. But you have to admit, this-"

Lia whips her beads at Leah in annoyance.

"Alrigh! Alright! I get it! Sorry!"

Lia's not finished though as she points to practically everyone in line in turn. "None of you are allowed to talk about that kind of stuff while y/n's in the room too, do you understand? She's sensitive and I'm not letting any of you make it worse!"

"I think they get it," Mario intervenes quickly," No one wants to make her feel bad."

Rosa's kind of glad that Mariona did. She's never seen Lia angry before. Annoyed, yes. Overtired, yes. But never angry. Not truly anyway but she's heard how protective Lia gets over you.

You're not really an oddball. You're not overwhelmingly weird either. But something that Rosa's noted is that you're very particular. She's never met a child so particular in her life. You like things done in a certain way.

You get all fidgety and anxious if you're not allowed to do things in the way you want and tend to start things over if it hasn't gone perfectly. You flick the lights on and off twice in whatever room you leave and you always knock on doors twice.

Rosa's seen you on the team bus, getting Lia to buckle and unbuckle your seatbelt twice over just before the bus sets off to whatever away match they need to get to.

You're just...

Different.

It's clear that Lia knows that too and a lot of her energy is put into making sure no one makes you think that you don't fit in.

"Alright!" Kim comes in holding your hand and from what Rosa strains to hear from Mario and Lia's conversation, this is normal too.

Kim helps you pick out the theme.

You both whisper together, Kim clearly going along with your childish wonder and happiness. She crouches down at your side as you look between Rosa and Kyra's tinsel.

Rosa's holding a red one and Kyra's holding a gold one.

Kyra wiggles it enticingly in your face but your features all scrunch up at once as you move away from Kim to take Rosa's hand and then to choose Codi and her matching green tinsel as well.

"Alright," Kim says," And what about baubles?"

"Er..." You look at the rest of the team and all the baubles they hold up to you, suddenly overwhelmed with choices.

You look at Leah's glittery baubles and shake your head.

"Not-Not glitter ones."

Then you catch sight of Lia and Mario, immediately breaking away from Kim to go crashing into them.

"Mummy!" You gasp," You bought the special beads from home!"

Wound around what looks to be an old piece of cardboard, is a long string of silver beads.

"I did," Lia says," Because our tree is too little for them this year. I thought we could use them on the Arsenal tree."

You nod, head bobbing up and down happily before you also take Mario's hand, dragging her into your little group of chosen people without even looking at the bauble in her hands.

"Nah!" Leah complains," This is so unfair! Why can't I be chosen?"

"Because you clearly didn't choose a good bauble this year," Beth teases," Not like me."

"Not Beth's bauble either," You say to Kim.

"Wait...What? Come on, come back!"

Decorating the tree is a team effort because while you may have been the one to make your selection, you're much too small to decorate it all by yourself and Rosa's found herself with you on her shoulders as you strain to put a candy cane onto the tree.

"Careful," Lia warns her," Keep straight or she'll fall."

"Rosa's doing fine," Steph says," And it's not like Guppy is going to start throwing herself around. She's very responsible."

"I am, Mummy!" You say," Very responsible! I helped Mrs Gina find the missing gluestick lid yesterday!"

So, Lia ends up worrying from a distance and insists on being the one to lift you up so you can put the star on the tree before letting you down and leading you from the room without any more preamble.

"What's happening now?" Rosa whispers as it looks like everyone starts sitting down on the floor in a little circle that she has no option but to join.

"Lia's been doing this since Guppy was born," Caitlin explains," We're getting presents now. It was pretty cute the first time, little gifts in baby y/n's hands. It was her handprint the year she was born and then it was like little keychains? She's old enough to give them out by herself now."

The present Rosa gets is kind of soft and squishy and it doesn't rattle or anything when she holds it up to her ear and shakes.

"No opening until Christmas!" You say once everything's been given out and everyone's attention is on you," Because that ruins the surprise! You can only open them on Christmas!"

The little Arsenal teddy bear you got her sits on Rosa's desk for the rest of the season.

[bunny-jpeg]

burnin' tire

max verstappen

cw: smut/pwp, masturbation, fantasies, mad!max, post-dutch gp, mechanic!reader

love the fic? leave a comment! really love the fic? suggest your own!!

second.

second was first place for losers. that was what he had been told his entire life. second, seconde, secondo, however he could slice it, it still looked bad. so when he stomped back into the paddock with fire in his heart and a storm cloud over his head, the mechanics scattered.

they even went as far as to push you, their newest addition in front of max so they could get a head start away from mad max.

he looked down at you, something in his gaze left you a little shaky at the knees. this was your first race with the team, and you couldn't secure a win for max. it was almost embarrassing.

"i'm sorry, mister verstappen!" you pouted, "i'm really sorry! we tried to move as fast as possible, but i guess we couldn't keep up to mclaren." you worried about your job! you had just started, you were far from home and this was your dream to work for, "i'm so sorry!"

you almost had tears in your eyes, which deflated the anger from max's stance. he dropped his arms and looked at you. he replied, "there's nothing to be sorry about, it happens." as if he hadn't been on a losing streak for some time now.

your bottom lip quivered and your eyes grew watery, "this was your home race. and i'm just so sorry! i just wanted to do good, i wanted you to win!" a few tears fell and max was dumbfounded.

he was used to tearing into the mechanics and the engineers. he was used to snapping his words and letting rage consume him. instead he reached out for you, "hey, it's okay! don't cry. it's alright.'" he even wiped your tears away as your lip wobbled.

you got into his arms and gave him a bit hug. you looked at him and said, "i promise we'll win the next one! i promise!" even in those baggy coveralls you looked cute. if not beautiful.

max felt the anger disappear in his gut and he smiled at you, almost warm, "yes... yes we will." and when he patted you on the head and turned away and out of the paddock.

the other mechanics were in as much shock as you were. and while max would've loved to continue holding you, even reassuring you about the race in monza the following week. max was painfully hard from your brief interaction. it was like all the anger went to his cock and he needed to get out of there before he caused a scene.

back in the red bull motor home, max thought he was going to burst a blood vessel in his head. it was a pain to get into his jeans after he got out of his racing clothes. everything felt like a live wire, to go without masturbating for that long felt painful. especially when the source of his erection was playing in his read.

you smell like motor oil and warm vanilla, your touch was soft when you hugged him and that pretty face. even with the smear of grease on your face and the red bull cap on your head.

"mister verstappen." your voice rang in his head and he didn't even make it to the bed before his cock was in his hand. his palm covered in his spit as he sat on the couch and stroked himself still clothed.

he knew that the team had hired a new mechanic, but to see you in action made his brain feel almost rotten from the lust he felt. he barely paid attention to who was working on the car during the race but he knew you weren't working alone. and yet, you still carried all the responsibility for the team on your shoulders.

you poor thing. he continued to stroke his cock and he panted heavily at the feeling. thoughts of you were in his head as he pleasured himself. he wished you were there to do it for him. even if you wore you coveralls and covered in grease, if you were on your knees in front of him, your mouth on his cock as you pleasured him.

he wondered if you had even done that before. if you had any partners, or even one at the moment. he tried not to let the jealousy curl in his gut. he wasn't even sure, but he wouldn't have been surprised. you were beautiful, and who didn't love a gentle soul. you wanted max to win and max in turn felt towards you that he felt towards no other mechanic. he wanted you to work on his car, but also taking you out to dinner. to show you the finer things in life.

he wondered what colour panties you wore, and what cut. he knew you weren't wearing a thong, no when you were lifting heavy tires all day. he imagined something red, maybe a boy short. something that moved with the curves of your hips and thighs. he thought excited him, it really turned him on. made his face as red as he hoped that your panties would be.

how they'd curve to your ass, when you ran around the pit stop. how you would lift tools around. the strength to you. max liked models, but there was something about you the captivated him. and you didn't even know. you were just a humble mechanic, and you drove max wild.

he continued to stroke his cock heavily. he panted heavily as he felt his dark t-shirt cling to his back. his pace was quick up against his cock, he even spat on his hand once more to just to get the right friction. it was a head rush. he was not immune to masturbation, max did it almost daily if he had the time.

but to picture you in your bra and panties made him excited. hungry like a dog as he fucked his hand. he wished it was your pussy. he wished that he could bully the tip of his cock against you. he wished he could bend you in half and fuck you with a vigor that there were no other words for.

he wondered if you were loud, if he'd have to silence you with your panties. if he's have to cover your mouth or gag you, or would you just burst into tears like you did in the garage. the wet eyes,staring at him, promising that you'd do better next time. it made max want to fuck you even more. he wanted you every way he could have you.

"shit." he groaned through grit teeth as he continued to stroke his cock. he could feel his heart beat in his ears as he continued to masturbate. you were just a little thing, even with your skills as a mechanic, you were still so small. max felt he need to protect you.

he wanted to make sure you needed for nothing. he wondered if you'd have him as your lover. as your partner. the thought made him shudder as he continued to stroke his cock. he felt the head rush it all, he panted heavily as he stroked his cock.

his pace continued and he let himself get lost in the feeling. when it got overwhelming, he finished all over himself. your words rang in his mind, the promises you made. next time will be better. he'd win next time! and as cum dribbled all over his hand, he panted heavily with the head rush. he panted heavily and felt a shudder through climax. he wondered if you were touching yourself tonight, which made his cock twitch in his hand.

he was covered in cum at the waist and he felt hot all over. he rubbed his face with his free hand and for a moment felt in the post-orgasm shame. but it didn't last long.

with the after shivers of euphoria, he knew he had to do something. he couldn't be jerking off in private anytime he saw you. max was a man of action so after he cleaned himself off, he texted horner,

"i was wondering if i could properly meet with our new mechanic, show her the ropes. i think things will be promising with her." he tried to sound as professional as possible, but as thoughts of your watery eyes filled his mind. he knew he'd have to get himself off again soon. <3

[enwoso]

FINISH THE... — leah williamson x reader

twelve days of christmas | day ten

i apologise for this being so late😅 day 11 will be out soon too🙃

based on this request

the lights were warm and bright as they glared at a couch which had been placed on the inside astro at the training ground.

the couch covered with tinsel and other christmas decorations as a large christmas tree was placed to the side of it adorned with arsenal-red baubles as it was surrounded with wrapped gifts and fake snow giving it a cozy glow.

you sitting on the couch beside your girlfriend leah as you both wore matching christmas sweaters that had been given to you, ironically they were christmas jumpers of each other.

yours having leah's face on it with big white block letters saying, 'merry christmas and a happy new leah' where as leah's was a one with your face on with reindeer ears and a red nose. 

"oh they could of used a better photo than that" you sulked as you saw the photo on leah's jumper, as a small chuckle came from her as she threw the camera operator a thumbs up signalling you were both ready to begin the filming.

leah leaned back, as she rested her elbows on the sofas armrest looking effortlessly relaxed — but you could already sense her competitive energy as it radiated off of her.

"welcome to the arsenal christmas challenge! i'm y/n l/n and she's leah williamson and we are going to go head to head in some classic christmas games" you smiled reading the lines in your head, you'd been asked to say before starting the filming.

"you ready?" you glanced over to leah who sat with a smirk plastered across her lips, you reaching over to grab the card off the producer. "oh baby i was born ready" leah quipped back as you scoffed. 

you rolled your eyes, grinning. "careful, williamson. confidence is a slippery slope." 

leah clapped her hands together, picking up the card which has the first game on it, "first up is christmas trivia, first one to answer gets the point. thats easy, right”

leah placed the card back down looking to the person behind the camera who was going to be telling you the questions, a look of determination flashing in her eyes as you nodded, "lets go!"

question one; 'what year was home alone released?'

"1990!" you blurted out slapping your hand over your mouth as you realised you went to early, a disapproving glare on leah's face, as you hadn't even gave her a chance to think about the question.

"how on earth did you- is someone telling you the answers?" leah asked as she looked around the team who was filming, as you shook your head giggling.

"no i'm just faster than you"

question two; 'what is the name of the grinch's dog?'

"max!" leah yelled out fast before the question had even ended, a small fist pumping up as small win, you now with the glare as you leant forward on the couch full concentration mode coming out. 

"it's on williamson!"

the trivia went back and forth, with leah's competitiveness driving her to blurt out answers faster and faster - the whole concept of a buzzer sound had gone out the window as you were both trying to answer the question before it had even been fully asked.  

when leah shouted “frosty!” in response to a question about rudolph you were gone and belly laughing for a good five minutes.

“le- not, not every answer is frosty” you got out through giggles as leah sat with a playful pout, “i’m just covering my bases” she whispered quietly.

leah won the trivia by a margin which in your opinion would say she slightly cheater that and the fact you didn’t want to boost the blondes ego any more by telling her she won fair and square.

the second game was guess the christmas song, the team would play ten seconds of a christmas song and you both would have buzzers and had to guess the title.

the first few notes of the song played both you sitting with fierce concentration faces, but out of no where leah smacked the buzzer with such force you were sure she could have smashed it.

“jingle bell rock!” she declared, rushing out the words it mumbled into one. you turning to look at the blonde wondering how she got it from the two notes that had played.

‘correct!’

“the poor buzzer” you teased, glancing at it with a pout as leah gave you pointed look as she shrugged. “it got me the point so i’m sure it’ll be okay”

the next song began and this time you were able to buzz in confidently — before leah. “last christmas!”

‘correct’

the game carried on and after getting the first couple right you got into a groove and were getting most right managing to secure the win over your determined girlfriend who was now sat with a deepened frown.

“you’ve been studying for this haven’t you” leah accused as you gasp playfully rolling your eyes, “i just know my christmas songs” you shrugged causally as you listened in to the tie breaker as the score was currently one:one.

the tie breaker was whoever could wrap the gift the fastest wins.

moving to a table where two identical gift-wrapping setups awaited. leah immediately moving the tape and wrapping paper closer to her reach.

“ay move it back williamson” you pointed as your grumbled moving it back to it’s original place in the middle of the table.

the team behind the cameras counted down and once the word go was said, leah’s movements were fast and frantic.

“slow and steady wins the race," you teased, carefully folding your wrapping paper as you glanced over to see the mess which had occurred on leah’s side of the table.

“yeah? let's see if slow and steady beats a winner's mindset love," leah shot back, sticking a piece of tape to her forehead in her rush. “can i have the scissors?” she asked as you were carefully using them to cut the wrapping paper.

“in a minute” you mumbled, your tongue sticking out as your were concentrating. you could go a little faster than you were but part of you was finding joy in slowing your girlfriend’s rush down.

“i’m gettin’ annoyed now” she grumbled as she reached over to grab the scissor which admittedly you did place furthest away from her.

“oh- sorry did you want them” you teased as she shot you warning glare as you giggled a little carrying on with your careful wrapping.

but somehow, despite her chaotic method, leah finished first—though her present looked like it had been wrapped by a toddler while yours actually looked worth opening so who was the real winner…

"done!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms up in victory.

the team behind the camera inspected both presents, laughing. "well, leah's is...creative, but technically she wins on speed."

leah fist-pumped again. "knew it!"

you shook your head, laughing. "fine, you win this time. but next year, it's on."

leah slung an arm around your shoulders, still grinning from ear to ear. "next year, i’ll win again. but you can keep pretending it'll be close darlin’."

the cameras cut, and as the crew began to pack up, leah leaned in close. "good game," she said softly, her competitiveness giving way to affection. as she placed a soft kiss to the side of your face.

"good game," you echoed, smiling. "even if your wrapping skills are atrocious."

"hey, at least i've got charm," she replied, bumping her shoulder against yours. “your lucky i love you” you smiled as you pecked her lips, as she carried your water bottle for you as you began to walk off set hand in hand

you couldn't help but think that the holidays were even better with leah by your side—even if she was a bit too competitive for her own good.

[sierrale8ne]

christmas eve aubrey griffin, ayanna patterson, paige bueckers 🎄

sfw // kissing, sexual innuendos, cute christmas fluff

kalena speakss 🪽! i recommend having this song on loop while reading, it really works wonders on the heart strings 🥹 merry (early) christmas eve and happy holidays to all my amazing followers and moots.

🏷️ @thaatdigitaldiary @bueckersbitch @pboogerswbb @xxloveralways14 @ohbueckers @rosemariiaa @bucketbueckers @janaelalfysblunt @tndaqlifwy

ayanna and kelli’s christmas eve 🎞️

“Lay your head on me, I got you baby.” justin bieber 2011

“I can’t believe you made me put these on.” Ayanna groans, walking down the stairwell of my parents home in plaid pajama pants and a red, ugly, Christmas sweater with gingerbread men on it.

She looks adorable, her skin glowing from the light of the fireplace and the television.

“I didn’t make you do anything. You have free will.” I shrug from my place on the couch. White fuzzy socks cover my feet as I tuck my legs up on the couch. It’s barely even chilly, but the holiday spirit makes me pile on all the layers.

“Kel, this shit is ugly.”

“You wanna take it off?” I comment, looking over at her suggestively.

“In your parent’s house? Nah, I’ll be aight.” Yanna looks at me astonished, pulling on the tight coil that falls over her forehead. She huffs, sitting next to me on the couch.

“That’s what I thought.” I reply, pressing play on the movie in front of us.

It’s Are We There Yet, which I refuse to accept as a Christmas movie, but since Yanna sucked it up and put on the matching outfit, I guess I can be a good girlfriend and watch her poor choice of a movie.

She pulls on the lever that makes the seat recline, giving me all the space to get comfortable in the space between us as we cuddle.

“I missed you so damn much, pretty. You don’t even know”

I’m taken aback by her sudden show of affection, but it makes me smile. And that pretty word nearly makes my cheek turn as read as the sweaters.

“Me too.” I nod, looking away from Nia Long on the screen and up at my girlfriend. “The team was getting too comfortable with my baby. Needed you to come back.”

Yanna laughs in between kissing my forehead. “I thought I was getting replaced by med school exams.” She says back.

I really didn’t realize just how much we’d been busy. UConn and Harvard weren’t too far away, the distance could’ve been worse. But from chasing a national championship and trying to become a doctor, her and I just had so much going on.

It’s really a Christmas miracle that I get her all to myself for a few days.

“Y’sure I can’t give you my gift tonight?” Yanna asks me. I laugh, pausing the movie that obviously neither one of us was paying attention to anymore.

“Girl, no!” I exclaimed.

“Please! I’ll give you another tomorrow.” She attempts to negotiate. I want to say no, knowing that if my mom were to hear that I’ve changed her very serious Christmas plans, she’d probably kill me.

But it’s Ayanna, and she looks so convincing with that pretty and perfect smile that I just can’t say no.

Which is exactly how I find myself with my legs crossed, giggling as she hands me the medium sized Tiffany & Co box. It isn’t wrapped, which lets me know she was planning on giving it to me when we were alone rather than when our families were around.

“NIL money getting you right?”

Yanna grins at me as she shrugs. Trying to look nonchalant about it, but I know her better than that.

“Something like that.”

I untied the white ribbon on the box, revealing the gold Tiffany Hardware Wrap Necklace that I had saved in my phone for months.

“Were you in my search history?” I ask, incredulously, looking at her astonished. “It’s beautiful.” I pout, tears rimming my cheeks from the gesture.

"I needed some inspiration for your gift because you always say you have everything you need and not what you want," Yanna explains, cutely rubbing the back of her neck.

"I do have everything I need and want," I smile. I put the lid back on the box, holding it close to my chest as I lean into her.

My arm wraps around her neck, inhaling the scent of her body wash. Her lips press to my clothed shoulder, hugging me back like any second I could evaporate into thin air.

"I have you," I mumble almost inaudibly, but knowing her she obviously hears me. I hear a small laugh escaping her lips, breathless nearly.

“You got me, baby.” She confirms, kissing that spot on my shoulder again. “Always.”

aubrey and shayne’s christmas eve 🍪

“You leave some cookies out I’ma eat ‘em all.” justin bieber 2011

“Stop it!” Shayne exclaims, swatting Aubrey’s hand away from the recently decorated sugar cookie she just placed down.

It was the couple’s second christmas together, and this time Shayne insisted that they had to decorate cookies on Christmas eve.

Making them was messy, flour and sugar all over the kitchen counter. Then as soon as they were out of the oven, Aubrey went out of her way to reach for a piping hot cookie, just to end up burning her finger and crying like a baby.

“I just wanna see your work!” Aubrey explains, pushing the girl off to the side by her hip. She looks at the cookie, a snowman with a big top hat, and she snickers. “Why are his eyes melting?”

Shayne rolls her eyes at the loud laugh that escapes her girlfriend. “Then you make one! Here.” She says, placing a similar cookie on a plate.

The two hum along to the christmas tune playing on the TV, sugar and cinnamon and vanilla shifts through the air, along with the occasional poking fun of each other’s cookies.

“See, mine looks good.” Aubrey says lifting her gingerbread man up towards her face.

Shayne pulls a face, and every bone in her body is telling her to tell the girl how ugly her cookie looks or something of that nature. But she was right, it actually looked cute.

“It does, baby. Hol’ on let me get a picture of it.” She digs in the pocket of her christmas tree pajamas for her phone. It took all of five seconds for Aubrey to take a giant bite of the head of the gingerbread man. “Are you serious?”

“It was too tempting.” Aubrey explains, crumbs fall from her mouth and green frosting decorates her lip.

“You could wait two more seconds?” Shayne laughs, snapping a photo of the girl’s off-guard face with her decapitated gingerbread man.

She shakes her head back and forth, the curls on her head moving with. “Shouldn’t have left me alone with these cookies.” Aubrey shrugs, eating the rest of it.

“C’mere.”

“What?”

Shayne drops the bag of colored frosting on the counter taking a step closer to her girlfriend. Aubrey had this glimmer in her brown eyes that made her knees knock. Tracing the slope of her nose with her eyes and the sharp line of Aubrey’s jaw.

Shayne’s hand meets Aubrey’s cheek before nudging the corner of her lip with her thumb. “You have frosting on you, dummy.” She sucks the bright green frosting off of her finger, before mushing Aubrey’s face to the side.

“Wait, wait.” Aubrey urged. Her hand reaching for her girlfriend’s wrist and pulling her back.

She slides her hand behind her neck and pulls Shayne into a kiss. Lips softly meshing together as her mouth sucks at Shayne’s bottom lip. They hum as they pull apart, frosting from Aubrey’s mouth staining their lips.

“I like spending Christmas with you, Shay.” Aubrey admits, kissing the girl’s temple.

The admission makes Shayne smile like a school girl and she snakes her arms around Aubrey’s waist, the material of her button up pjs riding up just barely.

“Same time next year?”

“Absolutely.” Aubrey nods eagerly, dipping her head to plant kisses across Shayne’s jaw. “Y’know what else I think?”

“What?” She sighs, slowly getting distracted by the feeling of her lips.

“You should let me eat another cookie before we go to bed. Know what I mean?”

Shayne snickers at the insinuation, pushing her hands to the athletes chest. “And this is when I walk away from you.”

“Shay, c’mon!”

paige and jolene’s christmas eve 🎄

“Kissing underneath the tree. I don’t need no presents girl, you’re everything I need.” justin bieber 2011

“Ma, c’mere!” I call out, stand in front of Jo and I’s tree with my hands on my hips. The pines were decorated in white lights and gold ornaments, Jolene put on some candy canes on it too.

She trudged into the room, her thick socks softly padding against the ground with each step she takes. She wears a plaid onesie, her recently straightened hair tumbling down her shoulders.

“Hmm?”

“I wanted to show you sum.” I reach my hand out for her and she takes it, stepping over the stack of our presents and over to me.

Confusion covers her face, I can assume she’s regretting leaving me alone in the living room with our tree. “Should I be nervous?” Jo laughs, pushing her hair behind her ear. “You know I don’t do surprises.”

“I know.” I nod. She hates surprises, mostly stemming from her hatred for being left out of the loop. “It’s not anything major, I just want to get all sappy and shit.”

She smiles that addicting smile of hers that makes my whole body feel like it’s on fire. I almost forget how long we’ve really been together when she looks at me like that, because every time it feels like I just met her when It’s really been years.

She drops our hands, instead wrapping an arm around my waist and leaning on my shoulder. “Show me.”

I reach behind the tree, looking for and spotting the sphere shaped ornament. It’s clear, a collage of images of the two of us filling the space.

Jolene lets out a gasp as she looks at it, and I remind myself to tap myself on the back for my unofficial gift to her.

“I’ve spent every Christmas with you since we were in eighth grade.” I say, letting the ornament spin on my finger for her to see every image. “It’s crazy, ‘cause we grown as hell now.”

She laughs, “yeah, super senior.”

“Chill out. I’m getting sentimental.”

“You’re right, my fault.”

I point a a random picture before looking at it. “This was my first Christmas in D.C. You flew all the way out there to see me, and I remember telling my dad that I thought our Christmas streak would be broken and then you showed up.”

“I’ll always show up.” She murmurs, following my finger with her eyes.

“Then there’s last year in Minnesota. When we got snowed in, but I swore I wasn’t gonna go without spending my day with you.” The memory flashes in my head of how hard she laughed when she opened her front door and saw my body completely engulfed in snow.

“You walked two and a half blocks for me.” She reminisces along with me before taking it into her own hands.

“I guess what I wanna say is that, I can’t imagine not spending the holidays with you, Jo. This ornament represents all the Christmases of the past, and I wanna keep doing it ‘til I’m fucking 90.”

“And what happens at 91?” She asks. Jolene takes it upon herself to hang it up on the perfect spot, conveniently right where there was a gap between the other ornaments.

“I might be able to go a few more years after that.” I shrug. “You’re my gift every year. Ion need shit else as long as I have you. You’re everything I need every single year.” I admit.

Her smile illuminates in the lighting of the Christmas tree and she cups my cheeks, pulling me down to her height and kissing me without any more words. There didn’t really need to be anymore words, everything that was left unsaid was understood.

It’s so damn tender, soft and sweet like I’ve never felt before. Even after nine years of being able to call her my girlfriend. She licks at my bottom lip, parting them before slipping it into my mouth.

“��M gonna marry you one day.” She mumbles into my mouth, and I nod, gripping her hips in an attempt to keep us both from falling into the tree.

I pull back, but not before placing another slow peck to her lips. “I love you, Jo.”

“I love you too, 5. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, mama.”

[psychohoneywhiskey]

What about Wade going to a different timelime requested by the TVA years after the Time Ripper. They told him the X-men and the anchor being of that universe were in danger and he needed to make sure they survived and he got rid of the problem for good.

So Wade goes alone to avoid his babygirl having to face the alternative versions of his dead team. He gets to the X mansion and explains them the situation, tells them he is Deadpool, a mercenary sent by a time organization to save them all and they believe him.

Everything was going surprisingly well until, well, it wasn't. And how could he have not thought to ask who the anchor being of that universe was? How could he not notice the absence of a very important person there? He is still surprised (after years of not seeing that amount of rage directed at him from his Logan) to see a younger Logan get to the mansion baring his teeth at him, unseathing his claws and preparing to pounce, seeing him as a threat.

And when he does he tries everything in his power not to hurt him, evading the punches, claws, and 300 pounds of feral Wolverine and not attacking him even once. Eventually, Logan stops confused about the man's playful attitude and the voices of the X-men asking him to calm down. When he asks Wade suspiciously 'why didn't you fight back bub?', Wade just laughs and answers in a tone so soft and sweet and foreign to him 'Well, if this had happened years ago I would have indulged in some fun, I always loved taming a feral Wolvie but I can't bear to hurt an alternative version of my husband now'.

Everything got so quiet he could have heard a pin drop but Wade was solely focused on Logan, watching the similarities to the love of his life who now had some more wrinkles around his eyes and cheeks, a soft healthy body, hair almost fully gray and a sweet smile almost all of the time around him, Laura, their friends, their family. Compared to this Logan who still looked so tense, wary, ready to run.

He stays with them for weeks waiting for the attackers to get there while spending time with this version of Logan. And as the time passes the man understands why other version of him would be head over heels for the mercenary, yeah the man is so damn weird and loud and fucking annoying at times but he has never found someone who could understand him and make him feel the way he does. He starts yearning, for a person, a place he will never have cause it already belongs to someone else and he dreads the moment Wade will leave and not come back ever again. And the X-men notice it, bewildered by Logan's behavior around Deadpool, how he seems to follow his lead as naturally as breathing, how they seem to get what the other is thinking or feeling just by seeing each other and they realize Logan has never been fully theirs cause he is just waiting for someone else to bring him home.

Inevitably when the time comes, and Dealpool saves them, he doesn't even have time to react and say goodbye to the merc cause a weird orange portal opens in the middle of the war field and a blue and yellow suited hand appears through it yanking Wade away, and Logan recognizes a voice so similar to his saying 'you've taken too long Mouth, our daughter's birthday is next week, and we all miss you at home'.

Logan knows all his life he's just been a stray longing for a place to settle but at least now he can hope there is a loud mouth, sarcastic, pretty, and soft mercenary with no filter waiting for him somewhere in his world to take him home.

I apologize for any mistake, I'm not a writer and English is not my first language but I just can't get enough of these men and any of their versions being soft with each other.

[almostempty]

right kind of dream (joel miller x f!reader) pt 1

WC: 12.5k |  Other fics | Rating: 18+ | read on ao3 | PART TWO

summary: rebuilding your life, chasing cans, and hitchin’ a ride to the rodeo with team roper joel

to my pedrostories secret santa recipient @katiexpunk: this was a challenge for ya gurl to be srs (and it’s not a tentacle gangbang, i lied in ur asks babe i’m srry) i hope i hit the mark on a handful of the prompts though, i had high hopes that i could really challenge myself and deliver some breeding kink cowboy but i fear it’s more of a creampie kink—i hope that still hits, i have horse knowledge, but only rodeo adjacent experience so if any rodeo queens find glaring mistakes pls forgive me — but happy holidays bb, i really hope you enjoy-- EDIT: I MADE IT TOO GIRTHY (or something?? sorry!!) and had to split it into two parts, the second part will be up and linked as asap as possible, and i'll add the full text to ao3 so it'll be in one spot

tags: modern cowboy joel au/ team roper joel and tommy, no sarah, enemies to lovers, dbf lite, choose your own age gap, small town romance, city girl returns to the country, miscommunication, guilty yearnful joel, horsegirl!joel, smut, ridin’ that cowboy bareback as the good lord intended, no beta–mistakes are my fault for writing at 4am 

thanks: to @syd-djarin, @auteurdelabre, @lovely-vamp-princess for support, eyes, ideas, etc.

The sun beats down on the gravel driveway as you pull your truck toward the old house. It looks almost the same as it did the summers you spent here as a kid when it was your grandparents–the peeling white paint on the porch railing, and the barn standing sturdy, but weathered further down the driveway. The fields stretched on as you rolled down the driveway, dotted with occasional wildflowers and critters dashing into the denser brush. 

The air blows warm through the window, same as you remember, but the weight of the memories feels different now. The summers used to feel endless here, the fields seemed endless, as did the sky. It all used to feel so liberating. It’s not an endless summer now. Everything looks smaller and more weathered. 

Except for the shiny white PVC fences on the other side of the driveway and the modern-looking house and barn built on the same soil you used to spend hours patrolling with your pony, Clover. She’d search for the best bits of grass as you laid across her back coming up with stories—some days you were an old-timey cowgirl traveling west or Clover was a wild horse you were training or you were on a quest to a magical kingdom together. 

But now it’s a new home for whoever bought up the parceled land your dad sold to cover the updates on the house when he inherited it. Someone with enough money for a fancy barn and shiny truck. You pull to a stop and hop out of the cab, still scanning the neighbor's property, making your first impression. 

Your dad emerges from the barn, wiping his hands on a faded rag. He gives you a smile and a nod. “About time you showed up,” he calls, his voice warm and teasing. “Thought maybe you had changed your mind.” 

You shake your head softly, rolling your eyes. “Nope. Nothing worth staying in that city for.” 

The gravel crunches under your boots as you round the bed to grab one of your boxes. All your belongings fit into a few boxes. At least, everything that mattered to you, everything that was still you. “Where do you want this?” You wonder how you’re going to manage living in the same house with your dad now that you’re an adult. 

“Just set it inside,” he said, gesturing to the house. “We’ll get you sorted after we have something to eat.” 

As you followed him toward the house, the outline of the neighbor's property loomed large. The barn caught your eye. It was close. A pair of horses stood in the near pasture, swishing their tails in the afternoon heat. The contrast was stark. Where your dad’s place still carried the scrapes and scuffs of decades–theirs looked new and polished. Smug even. Can a house be smug? 

“The neighbors are closer than I thought.” You cross the porch, the nostalgic screen door squeaking as your dad ushers you inside. 

“Don’t mind it. We look out for each other.” He points to the room you stayed in as a kid. “He damn near built the place by himself, and helped me with the new roof on this place.” 

You shoot him a sharp look. “You said you were gonna hire roofers instead of climbing around up there at your age.” He shrugs you off. Always stubborn. Convinced he can do it better and cheaper. Despite the toll on his body. 

“Paid him to help,” he argues, “wasn’t up there by myself. You don’t gotta worry about me like that.” 

You set your box down at the end of the twin-size bed, the room falling quiet for a moment. Your dad stays planted in the doorway, but his brows pinch and lips purse briefly before he lets out a breath. You scan the room, gaze landing on the floorboards, waiting. 

Instead of addressing the elephant in the room, he says, “You hungry?” 

You grin at that, letting out a shaky breath. Your father’s daughter, neither of you likes to dig into your feelings. He taught you to show love through actions, like keeping you fed, taking on hard labor jobs without a complaint, or changing your windshield wipers before the rainy season starts and you’re cursing yours out. 

“Yeah,” you say, brushing past the knot in your chest. “Starving.” 

The rumble of a diesel engine jolts you awake the next morning, the deep growly sound reverberating through the walls like thunder on an otherwise quiet morning. You groaned, stretching and blinking blearily at the pale light filtering in through the old curtains. It was barely dawn yet, which explains the dull headache you’ve got. 

Sleep had been restless. Tangled thoughts, ruminating on what you’d left behind. A failed engagement, the job you hated, the mix of excuses you had rehearsed for why you’d come back. You’d hoped coming here would ease the ache, but just when you were finally falling back asleep—the truck from hell pulled up to the house. 

The engine is already cut off, but now you can hear voices on the porch. Your dad’s, low and steady, just a hum, and another unfamiliar drawl. Whoever it is, they’re carrying on like the rest of the world wasn’t still trying to wake up. 

You drag yourself out of bed, wearing your soft sleep shorts and a thin shirt. The worn fabric clings to your body in places it shouldn’t, but you’re not thinking about being presentable, you aren’t really thinking at all yet. You drag your feet crossing to the kitchen to pour yourself coffee, for a brief moment you miss the coffee shop you used to stop at on the way to your old job, but the familiar roast your dad’s been loyal to has its charm. Like the free coffee at an AA meeting. It’s there and you need something to keep you going. 

You push past the squeaky screen door, stepping out onto the porch. Your dad sits on the worn bench, coffee in hand. Next to him, leaning casually against the railing is a man you don’t recognize. His black Stetson gives him a classic cowboy silhouette, the morning sun catches on the sharp cut of his jaw and the scruff on his cheeks. His plaid shirt stretches across his broad shoulders, his jeans are worn and dusty in a way that speaks to more than just appearances. 

He straightens when he sees you, pulling his hat off with one hand in a fluid, effortless motion. “Mornin’,” he says, voice low and rich. “You must be the daughter. Joel Miller.” 

You take a sip of your coffee. “Morning,” you mutter, voice still thick from sleep. “You always roll up this early, or is today special?” 

Your dad shoots a look at you, but Joel just chuckles softly. 

“Guessin’ you’re not a morning person?”

Your eyes are narrow, defensive. “I’m just fine in the mornings,” you say in a clipped tone that doesn’t support your statement. “Just not when I’m woken up by a jet engine at the asscrack of dawn.” The chill in the brisk morning air causes you to shiver for a moment somehow making you look more irritated. 

Joel glances at your dad with a faint smirk before tipping his hat to you. “Noted.” 

Your dad laughs. “Should’ve heard her when she was ten,” he says leaning back. “Wouldn’t let anyone tell her what to do. Still doesn’t take shit from anyone I guess.” 

“I’m right here,” you mutter, glaring at him.

“Just sayin’,” your dad replies, raising his mug in mock surrender. He turns back to Joel and they resume their conversation about fence posts or something equally riveting. You let your eyes roam as you wake up, drinking the rest of your coffee, tuning in and out of their conversation about their plans for the day. 

The easy camaraderie between the two of them was clear. Like a friendship forged through shared labor and quiet mornings. They flow between their plans for work and that subtle gossiping that men do–convinced it isn’t really gossip–as they share updates about other folks in town and a few of the local businesses. 

“What about you?” Joel asks, turning to you and pulling you out of the fog. “You’re back for a while then?”  

It’s an innocent question, but it grates at you anyway. You stiffen. “Yeah, just taking some time,” you say vaguely. 

Joel raises an eyebrow but doesn’t push for a real answer. You can feel the weight of his curiosity in the air between you. He looks to your dad, who doesn’t elaborate, letting something unspoken pass between them. 

“Well,” Joel drawls, “good timing. Lot of work to do this time of year. If you’re up for it.” 

The comment makes you pull a face. “I’m familiar with hard work,” you reply, your voice sharper than intended. 

Joel’s lips quirk again, into something like a smirk this time. “I’m sure you are,” he says with the faintest edge of a challenge. 

He takes a long swig from his stainless steel travel mug, trying to fix his eyes on the horizon. But damn, if it isn’t a challenge to see you standing there, looking every bit like you’d just rolled out of bed. In a shirt too damn thin for a morning like this, leaving too little to the imagination. 

He knew he shouldn’t be noticing something like that, shouldn’t look at you like that–especially not while you’re standing next to your dad. Hell, he shouldn’t want to look at all, but his eyes betray him. Darting for just a moment to your soft curves and the evidence of the chill in the air–the impression of your stiff nipples protruding in the soft fabric. 

Christ. He swallows hard, landing his eyes back on the scowl you wear on your face. You’re his friend's daughter. It just ain’t right. Sweet young thing like you. He battles the devil on his shoulder that reminds him you aren’t a kid. You’re a woman. A grown woman with your own life and clearly your share of grit, if the sharpness in your voice was anything to go by. 

He shifts on his feet, forcing his attention back to your dad who was still chuckling softly at something. Joel didn’t catch the joke, head too full of thoughts about you–or how to not think about you. He could feel the warmth creeping up his neck, unsettling him in front of your dad. 

You and him made loose plans for the day while Joel’s mind continued to wander. He shouldn’t have asked about why you were back. Your answer was vague, brushing him off like it was a privilege he hadn’t earned. For some reason that lodged it in his head further. He wanted to know more, even if he shouldn’t. 

Your dad stood up, stretching and declaring that all of you have work to do. You take that as your cue to head back inside, leaving the screen door swinging behind you. Joel lets out a low breath, shaking his head as he turns back to your dad. 

“She’s a spitfire,” Joel comments, keeping his tone neutral.  

“She is,” your dad agrees, adjusting his hat. “Good to have her back.”  

Joel huffs a small laugh, “S’pose we could use a strong woman around here. Keep us in line.” 

“No doubt she will,” your dad says, clapping him on the shoulder. The whole exchange stuck with Joel though. Something under that edge of yours, something unpolished that has him curious in a way he isn’t used to. He shakes his head knowing it isn’t his place to go digging. 

Your dad starts down the front steps. “Let’s get moving, then.” Joel moves mechanically, boots falling in line with your dad’s, but his mind is half on you—in that t-shirt, with that scowl on your face, and that faraway look that he’d like to unravel. 

You were used to hard work but your muscles weren’t exactly dialed in for the functional conditioning. It was humbling as you found yourself aching and exhausted by the end of the night. However, the fatigue did make it easier to fall asleep once your head hit the pillow instead of spiraling on about your failures until the birds started chirping. 

The next few days gave you a jump start into the rural routine. In bed early, up before the sun. Hot showers before dinner to wash away the layer of sweat and sweet-smelling dust from the pine shavings and hay. You found yourself looking forward to the strong coffee and the cool morning air before you started with your day. 

Your dad, and Joel, learned quickly to let you wake up rather than ask questions as they caught up on their plans before heading out together or splitting up. You didn’t mind listening, but you could feel Joel’s eyes lingering on you now and then. It made your spine straighten, determined to hide the sore muscles in your shoulders from him. If he was waiting to hear a complaint from you it was never gonna come. 

Despite getting more rest and having an endless list of labor to keep you moving–you often found yourself working solo and in silence during the day. A silence that your mind was more than happy to fill. You rehashed memories and dissected those little moments from your relationship with your ex-fiance that you wish you had seen more clearly at the time. 

You’re deep in one of those memories, mindlessly stacking bales of hay onto the trailer for a delivery your dad is making tomorrow when Joel enters the other end of the barn. He leans against the door, arms crossed loosely over his chest, just watching you work. The warm scent of hay fills the air, grounding and everpresent in his life. 

It wasn’t anything remarkable, just a common chore he’d do without thinking twice. But watching you was a whole different story. Your shirt was damp with sweat as you leaned into the work like you’d done it your whole life. You climb up a stack of bales and toss down some from the top of the next row, unaware of his presence. 

He is mesmerized by you. The sharp look on your face like you were mulling over an argument, the fluid movements as you worked, and the determination radiating off of you as you worked at an urgent pace. 

His gaze drifts lower as you climb down and bend to heave another bale onto the flatbed trailer. The muscles in his jaw tense as he lingers on the curve of your back as you bend to grab another. The way your legs shift as you work. The outline of your body in that shirt, the soft grunt you let out as you hoist another bale had him thinking indecent thoughts before he could stop himself. 

Joel drags his hand over his face, fingers brushing his scruffy jaw. Heat burning within him that has nothing to do with the Texas sun transforms into irritation. He was considering copping out and disappearing before you even noticed him when he was outed by the damn barn cats. 

The orange cat comes sprinting towards him, but it’s the black and white one meow-yelling at him down the aisle that catches your attention. A dull thud echoes through the barn as you drop another bale and watch as Joel squats down to give the cats the attention they demand. You watch, catching your breath. He’s gentle with them, murmuring something you can’t hear before he stands and strolls toward you. 

“Afternoon,” he greets you in his deep baritone voice. Joel grabs the two-string bale of hay in front of you and drops it on the trailer with ease, grabbing another before you can interject. 

“I can handle it.” You huff as you resume your task. 

“Never said you couldn’t,” he replies smoothly, setting another down. “Thought it’d go faster with two sets of hands.” 

“I wasn’t in a hurry.” You eye him warily for a moment before slipping into a coordinated dance like it was natural. Tossing the rest that needed to be loaded up into the aisle for him to grab. You work in silence, just the sounds of hay shifting and boots scuffing against the barn floor. 

You break the silence first. “Dad says you and your brother hit the rodeo circuit in the summer. That true?” 

Joel huffs a soft laugh. “True.”

“You compete?”

“Team roping,” he says, his voice warming slightly. “Me and Tommy hit most of the circuits within a day's drive from here. Keeps us outta trouble.”

You roll your eyes. “Hard to picture you in trouble, cowboy.”

Joel’s smirk returned, faint but there. “You’d be surprised, sweetheart.” He matches your playful tone. 

His words linger as you work, stirring something you don’t quite know what to do with. Your mind drifts to the idea of rodeoing, the adrenaline of it, the discipline it demands. You forgot how much you missed it, how much you gave up chasing a life that didn’t pan out the way you hoped. 

Joel shifts beside you, the faint scrape of his boots pulling you back to the present. You glance at him, catching the way his shirt clung slightly to his back, the easy strength in the way he moves.

For a moment, the quiet feels comfortable. Easy. The steady rhythm fills the space. But eventually, Joel speaks again. 

“Your dad said you used to spend summers out here,” he says, in a low and easy tone. 

“Yeah,” you say, a little out of breath from the exertion. “When I was a kid.”

Joel brushes some loose hay off of his shirt. “Guessin’ it’s different now.” 

“Everything’s different now,” you mutter, more to yourself than to him. 

His brow furrows slightly. “What brought you back?” 

You hesitate, not looking him in the eye. You’re searching for an answer in the dust particles caught in a beam of sunlight. “Just needed time to…rebuild.” It’s still vague. 

“You runnin’ from something?” 

You tense at that, before covering it in sarcasm. “I’m not an outlaw,” you jest, earning you a small smile. He doesn’t press further, but you feel his eyes on you, steady, and patient like he’s waiting in case you offer more. 

“It’s not as simple as people make it sound,” you say finally, the words slipping out before can stop them. “Starting over, that is.” You sit on a bale and pull your work gloves off, running the back of your hand over your forehead smearing sweat and dust in a most unsatisfying way. 

“No, it ain’t,” he adds quietly. 

Something in his tone makes your chest tighten, but you ignore the sensation. “What about you? How’d you end up here?” 

“Had to start over myself, I reckon,” he muses, dusting off his hands before sitting down next to you. The words hang in the air, heavier than you expected. He doesn’t look at you, instead, he watches the cats play with a piece of baling twine. “This place made it easier—focusing on getting the house built and getting the business running. Your dad helped too.” 

That catches you off guard. “My dad?” 

Joel nods, finally meeting your eyes. “Just seemed to understand, I guess.” 

You stare at him. You’re disarmed by the softness in his tone. Like there’s more beneath the surface if you ask for it. 

Joel feels the air thicken. He takes in the way your sweat-damp shirt clings to you, and the heavy rise and fall of your chest. For a split second, an image flashes in his mind—your chest heaving for a very different reason, your skin flushed and shining. His throat tightens, and he looks away quickly, cursing himself for letting his thoughts slip. 

The cats weave between your legs, easing the silence. But the air between you still feels charged. Your thighs are nearly touching. The proximity feels overwhelming for some reason and you're suddenly caught up in the details of his profile as he stares down at the floor. The lines at the corner of his eye, his nose, his lips.

He clears his throat and slaps a palm on his thigh. “Well,” he starts, standing up rather abruptly. “Just came by to check-in. See how you’re settling in.” 

“What?” You frown. You miss the grimace that flashes on his face, your eyes drawn to the cats darting away from the two of you. “How I’m settling in?” 

“Yeah, you know…” he gestures vaguely around the barn and your brows furrow and your eyes sharpen at him. Irritation flickers behind your eyes. 

“I told you I’m not afraid of hard work,” you snap, jumping to your feet in front of him. 

“That’s not what I meant,” he grumbles, like you’re misunderstanding him. 

“Did my dad send you to ‘check in’ on me? Or did you want to see if I could keep up?” 

“It ain’t like that.” He says lowly. 

“Right.” You cut, crossing your arms. You’re over this rollercoaster of a conversation. Your eyes catch on the deep crease between his brows and the glint in his dark eyes. Something flares in your chest. You can’t tell if it’s indignation or something else entirely. “Then what is it?”

His jaw tightens, gaze locked with yours. Something unspoken flickers in his expression. But instead of answering, he straightens, stepping back. “Doesn’t matter,” he says curtly. 

Your stomach twists at the coolness of his tone, the connection you just felt snapping like a wire. 

“This was a mistake,” Joel mutters to himself. 

“What was?” you asked, your voice deadly quiet. 

Joel only shakes his head before striding toward the far door. His boots echo on the floor and the cats follow after him like shadows, their tails swishing as they dart out into the sun. Joel pauses in the doorway, glancing back with a look you don’t understand. 

“Don’t work too hard now.” His voice carries easily before he stalks off.

Your thoughts have you spinning. “The fuck is his problem?” you wonder out loud, sharp in the warm air. In the space he left. 

But deep down, you can feel the edge of something else. Something more than frustration, curling low and unwelcome in your chest. The weight of his gaze was still lingering, and try as you might, you can’t ignore the way his presence had pressed into every corner of the barn, or the faint scent of leather and bourbon that still hangs in the air. 

Your routine locks into place, and the days begin to pass in a blur. Joel stops by for coffee and acts like the conversation you had in the barn never happened. The stoic, gruff cowboy thing works just fine with you. Except for the moments you catch him staring at you like he’s trying to find an answer to something he never asked.

If you’re honest, though, despite your hostility, you seem to catch yourself studying him with the same frequency and intensity. You’re loath to admit you catch yourself hung up on his obnoxiously broad shoulders, his arms sculpted from the physically demanding work, and that gravelly morning voice he has before he finishes his coffee.

Aside from whatever Joel’s problem with you is, everything else seems to be falling into place. You catch up on your dad’s list of projects. You pick up a part-time job at the feed store in town, keeping yourself too busy to have idle time and too tired to dwell on the past or the future. You get to know folks in the town while you work at the register.

The town seems smaller than it was when you were a kid, but there’s also a charm in the simplicity that you find comfort in. The regulars keep you up to date on the town gossip, and you’re laughing loudly with your boss, Linda, one day over a joke she’d never admit to teaching you when your neighbor struts up to you with a list in hand for a bulk feed order.

You’re cordial to him and the man at his side who gives you a flirty wink that has you raising your eyebrows in disbelief for a moment before you put it together. “You must be Tommy?”

He grins brightly and offers his hand. “And you must be the neighbor?” You give him your name and a polite smile. Your eyes flick to Joel, taking in his neutral expression. His hands rest in his pockets, but his posture is loose, his broad shoulders back in a way that draws your eye before you can stop yourself.

As you enter the details of their order into the prehistoric computer, Linda chats both of the men up, asking them about their horses and when their next rodeo is.

You give Joel his total and take his payment, trying not to roll your eyes when he doesn’t make eye contact with you. You’re ready for the interaction with him to be over when Linda puts you on the spot.

“This one’s been talking about looking for a project horse of her own.” She nods her head toward you. “You boys have any leads for her?”

You can feel your face heating up as they both look at you. It’s not like it was a secret, but you weren’t planning on making Joel privy to your plans. You still haven’t forgotten the way he said this was a mistake after having one conversation with you. Or the way he is always looking at you. Like you don’t belong here or something.

“I’ll do you one better,” Tommy says. “We’ve got a couple of colts just getting started under saddle. They could use the miles, and they’re real sweet-tempered if you wanna come by during the week.”

“Thanks, Tommy.” You give him a genuine smile. “I’m actually going to take a look at one that’s got potential this weekend. Marilyn from the post office said her cousin’s got a six-year-old quarter horse she’d sell for a steal.”

Joel lets out a dismissive laugh under his breath. “You mean that Hancock gelding? The blue roan?”

“Yeah.” You confirm, slowly growing more confused by the reactions on all of their faces. “Why?”

Linda’s mouth is hanging open like you said the devil was gonna sell you his horse. Tommy gives you a modest smile like you’ve told him two plus two equals eight, but he’s too polite to correct you. Joel’s expression remains unreadable, but the crease between his brows deepens.

“Am I missing something?” you ask, hoping for an explanation. You do not like feeling like you’re being played for a fool. 

“She’d sell that horse for a dime and a handshake,” Linda says. “Her cousin broke her jaw getting bucked off that horse. That’s why he’s been out to pasture ever since.”

You’re quiet for a beat before the familiar challenge and determination wrap around your heart. “Can’t hurt to look,” you say with a shrug.

“Hancocks are notoriously stubborn and broncy,” Joel adds, his tone low and edged with warning.

“They’re also incredibly smart, loyal, and full of try if you earn their trust and ask ‘em the right way,” you shoot back, meeting his eyes for just a moment too long. Why does it always feel like he thinks you’re out of your element? Does he think you’re incompetent? It only strengthens your desire to prove him wrong.

Joel’s mouth presses into a thin line, but his gaze doesn’t waver, and it stirs something uncomfortable low in your chest.

“So I’ve heard,” Tommy cuts the tension simmering between you and Joel. “Offer still stands if he doesn’t work out.”

“Thanks.” You pointedly direct your appreciation to Tommy, not looking back at Joel. “We’ll give you a call when the order’s in.”

They take that as their signal to move along. You think that would be the end of the drama for the day, but Linda’s got one more tidbit in store after the door closes behind the two men.

“God, those two are so hot it’s unbearable,” she sighs. It catches you off guard, and you blink at her. “Too bad they’re cowboy Casanovas.”

“What?” You give her a scrupulous look, shifting on your feet as she leans against the counter.

“Oh, yeah,” Linda says with a knowing smirk. “Every buckle bunny in a three-county radius knows those two. I hear they have a sign-up sheet at the trailer.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head, but the image comes unbidden—Joel, shirtless and panting, sweat glistening on his chest, his jeans slung low on his hips, every muscle taut as he leans over some woman. His gravelly drawl slides through your mind like warm honey as he murmurs something low and dirty, but you can’t make out the words. Your thought derails violently, and you scowl at yourself, heat rushing up your neck, but Linda’s still talking. 

“I’d stand in line for either of ‘em if I were single,” she adds with a shrug.

The image morphs into smug Joel tipping his hat, a self-satisfied grin on his face as some random woman climbs out of his bed. Your throat tightens unexpectedly, and you shove the thought away, scowling at the knot of irritation it leaves behind.

The trailer rocks faintly as you haul it slowly down the driveway toward the barn. Blue shifts inside, and the loud thud of him pawing at the floor, anxious to get out of the small space, echoes loudly in the driveway as you ease to a stop. You cut the engine and hop out of the cab, you can hear your dad’s boots on the porch steps before he’s striding toward you. “You actually brought him home, huh?” 

“You knew I would.” You grin. Your dad unlatches the trailer door and you slip past the divider to untie your new gelding and back him out of the trailer. Blue’s ears flick rapidly and he snorts like a dragon, wary of his unfamiliar surroundings, but you steady him with a calm voice and wait for him to drop his head before coaxing him backward. 

His hooves hit the solid ground and he blows out a sharp breath, shaking his neck to de-stress. “He’s gonna be perfect,” you say, running a hand along his neck. “Just needs someone who knows what they’re doing.” 

Your dad gives you a look that says he knows he couldn’t change your mind if he tried. His gaze flicks over Blue’s body, taking in his confirmation and conditioning, the scar on his back leg, the brand on his flank, and the stocky ranch horse build. “Linda said he’s got a bad reputation.” 

“Linda says a lot of things,” you shoot back, leading Blue toward the barn. “He was misunderstood. Had a rough start, that’s all. That girl who got bucked off never shoulda had him to begin with—not after he’d been out to pasture for so long. She was scared, and he felt it.” 

Your dad hums, the kind of sound that tells you he’s skeptical but not enough to argue. “Well, he’s in good hands now.” 

“And we both know I like a challenge,” you say with a steady voice, edged with something sharper. 

The sound of boots on gravel draws your attention and you glance back to see Joel strolling over from the direction of his property. His hat tipped low as his dark eyes flick between you and Blue. 

“Afternoon,” he calls, steady and smooth. 

Your dad turns and gives him a nod. “Joel.” 

“That the Hancock gelding?” 

“Yeah,” you reply shortly, adjusting Blue’s halter. 

Joel steps closer, his expression unreadable as he studies the gelding. Blue swishes his tail before shifting his weight, resting one back leg like he’s already starting to relax. Joel walks a circle around Blue, before pausing next to your dad. “Well-built,” he comments. “Is he sound?” 

You can barely hold back your eye-roll. “I had Barb meet me at the farm for a pre-purchase exam. Passed with flying colors.” You swallow down your irritation. Once again Joel thinks you’re a fool? That you’d go off and pick up a horse without a vet inspection? Before you give Joel a piece of your mind you take a steadying breath, grounding yourself and whispering into Blue’s ear. “He might doubt both of us but he’ll be eating his fuckin’ words real quick once you and I get started.” With that, you turn away and lead Blue to the barn. 

Joel watches the two of you walk off, resting his hand on his hip. “She got a death wish or somethin’?” he grumbles.

Your dad crosses his arms, both men still watching the barn door where the two of you disappeared. “She’s tougher than she looks. And she’s got more patience than the two of us combined—for animals that is. Lord knows she’ll let us have it just for looking at her sideways.” 

Joel grunts, ignoring the heat crawling up his neck at the thought of you telling him off. “Hope you’re right.” 

“It’ll be good for her to have her own project. Haven’t seen that light in her eyes since she got here. S’about time she started moving on.” Your dad’s words eat at Joel. He still wants to know what you’re trying to rebuild from, but he doesn’t ask. Letting the silence stretch before your dad continues. 

“Plus, she’s got the right touch for it,” your dad drawls, tone laced with pride. “Always drawn to the ones that seem a little rough around the edges.” 

Joel doesn’t respond right away. His eyes narrow on the horizon, but his gaze flicks back to where you walked off, the sway of your hips lingering longer than it should. The deeply twisted interpretation of your dad’s words messing with his mind. 

In the barn, Blue seems less concerned about getting the lay of the land now that there’s food in front of him. He munches greedily, tearing hay out of the net tied in the stall. You’re buzzing with a mix of emotions, already imagining the next steps for the two of you. 

Your thoughts fall back on Joel and your dad, their low voices carrying faintly in the warm air. You can picture Joel still standing there, one hand on his hip, eyes fixed on you, that infuriatingly unreadable look expression he always has. 

Your chest tightens, heat rising in your cheeks as you lean against the stall door. You hate how Joel looks at you like that. Like he’s waiting for you to fuck up. To prove him right. Like he’s already decided you’re in over your head. 

“He doesn’t know me,” you mutter under your breath, “doesn’t know you,” you tell Blue, “doesn’t know shit.” 

Blue snorts softly, and you take that as his agreement, a smile tugging at your lips. 

Days blur into a steady rhythm—early mornings with Blue, afternoons at the feed store, and long evenings under the arena lights. Each ride sharpens your connection with him, his turns growing tighter, his strides more confident. Progress comes in small, steady victories, each one lighting a spark of hope in your chest.

One afternoon, when the sun hangs low in the sky, painting the fields with warm hues of orange and gold. From his spot near the fence of his own property, Joel leans one arm against the top rail, his black felt Stetson shading his eyes. Across the way, you’re working with Blue in the makeshift round pen. 

Joel can tell from the way you hold yourself that you’re tired. Your shoulders seem stiff and your jaw tense. But you don’t stop. Your voice carries in the breeze, warm and steady as you encourage Blue to make another pass. 

The horse resists, throwing his head and stomping at the ground, but you don’t flinch. You give him the space to settle before asking again. Joel’s lips twitch, with a hint of a smile. You’ve got grit. 

He can’t shake the feeling that you’re working off more than just the horse’s rough edges. You move with purpose and focus, but with a weight that doesn’t seem entirely about Blue. 

From where Joel stands, he can’t make out every detail, but it doesn’t stop his eyes from lingering. You draw his attention with a pull that he can’t resist. Against his better judgment. He traces the line of your spine as you step forward, the way your hips shift when you pivot. He knows better than to look, knows it’s wrong, but he can’t stop himself. 

Blue gives in, his steps evening out as he settles into a steady rhythm circling you. Joel watches as you slow him to a halt. The tension in your posture releases and you reach out with ease and satisfaction to stroke Blue’s neck. 

That invisible pull between you draws your eyes to where Joel is standing. Your face hardens when you catch him observing your training session. He gives you a nod before pushing off the rail and heading into the barn. 

He catches glimpses of you working together in the mornings and evenings. He tries to stop himself from watching, but it’s useless. He catches himself inadvertently timing out his schedule to be able to keep an eye on you. Tells himself he wants to be sure someone’s keeping an eye on you in case something goes wrong. Or that he’s curious about your progress. 

He can admit he admires your perseverance and the skill you have. He would never admit the way he finds himself waking up hard and aching thinking about you and what it’d feel like to have your hips rocking on his lap instead of a saddle, your tits bouncing in his face, and your sweet blissed out smile. And when trudges up the steps of your porch in the mornings to see if your dad needs anything from town—he prays neither of you can see the remnants of his sins in his eyes. 

He can’t stop himself from trying to talk to you, though. One morning he asks straight up, “How’s the project horse coming along?” He tries to sound casual, averting his eyes as he sips his coffee. 

Your smile flickers, equal parts excitement and hesitation flashing across your face. “Good,” you say after a beat, sitting on the wooden bench. “He learns quick, got good stamina and drive.” 

Joel hums, tilting his head slightly. “He give you any trouble?” 

Your jaw tenses, though you try to hide it. “Nothing I can’t handle,” you reply, tightly. 

Joel nods. “Good,” he says simply, but he still looks at you, like there’s something else weighing on his mind. 

Your dad clears his throat, breaking the tension. “She’s got him started on the pattern already.” 

“You gonna run barrels?” Joel asks, curiosity sneaking into his eyes. 

“That’s the plan.” 

Joel hums, taking a long pause. “You wanna run him in a real arena? Bring him over to get some practice in with the right kind of footing and see what he’s really got for a motor?” 

Your eyes narrow and your shoulders tighten, straining with disbelief. A real arena? It’s like nothing you do is ever good enough for him. “We’re getting along just fine as is, thanks.” The words are dripping with venom as you slip back into the house letting the screendoor slam shut behind you. 

Joel’s brows furrow. “Didn’t mean no harm, by it,” he says to your dad. “My mistake,” he adds gruffly. 

Your dad looks a bit miffed at the sharpness of your rejection but gives Joel a shrug back. “She’s always gotta do it her own way.” 

The conversation with Joel sticks in your mind. You’re still chewing it over that evening as you run Blue through some drills, working on his lead changes and corners. When you finally bring him down to walk to cool down you hear the sound of hooves hitting the dirt across the field. Sharp and rhythmic. You walk Blue along the fence line. Pausing when you catch sight of Joel and Tommy in their outdoor arena. 

Their horses move like extensions of their bodies. You loosen the reins, letting Blue’s head sway with every step as you stay transfixed on the two men. Tommy’s bay gelding moves with a quick, snappy stride. His hindquarters tucked under him as he spins on a dime at Tommy’s commend. You can feel the thrill and see Tommy’s grin from where you sit. It’s infectious. You roll your eyes as he tosses his rope catching the dummy steer in a single fluid motion. 

You make another lap before you let yourself study Joel. 

He’s riding his big red mare, her muscles rippling in the sun as she powers forward at a lope. Joel’s hand is steady on the reins, his posture relaxed but exact. Every movement he makes is calculated, and deliberate, yet to an untrained eye seems completely natural and fluid. Like he and his horse were born to do it. He barely shifts to ask the mare to pivot. Her body arcs beautifully, bending around his leg as they make a sharp turn toward the roping dummy. 

You’ve seen good riders before, but there’s something different about the way works. He doesn’t just ride—he leads. Every muscle he moves is a quiet conversation between him and his horse. It’s seamless and controlled. And damn if it isn’t mesmerizing. 

He leans forward slightly, and your mouth goes dry watching his arm flexing as he tosses the rope with precision. His red mare halts instantly, kicking up dirt around her hooves. Joel adjusts his hat with a smooth motion, you can see the focus on his face. Serious and competitive.

You swallow hard as you change directions, still walking on a loose rein very aware that Blue’s sweat is long dried by now. You feel warmth burning in your core that has nothing to do with your tired muscles. He looks good out there. Too good. The kind of good that makes you think about things you shouldn’t be thinking about. Your eyes drift, taking in the way his jeans hug his thighs, the line of his back as he shifts in the saddle. You imagine his hands, thick, precise fingers. Something coils hot and tight within you. You shake your head at yourself. You are not having those thoughts about Joel Miller who thinks you don’t know your ass from your elbow. You swing your leg over the back of the saddle dropping to your feet. Loosening your cinch and still trying to shake your thoughts out of your mind when you hear Tommy hollering at you. 

“Watch and learn, neighbor!” Tommy calls, snapping you out of your thoughts. 

You glance up, cheeks burning as Tommy tips his hat your way with his charismatic grin. Joel follows his gaze, dark eyes locking on you for a moment. Tommy gives you a demonstration of his prowess with the rope–as if you hadn’t been watching–but, Joel says nothing before turning his mare and heading in the opposite direction. 

His cool look sends a shiver down your spine. 

You walk back to the barn, and the sound of their horses fades behind you, but that image of Joel sears into your mind. His commanding and maddeningly attractive exhibition just stoked a fire you’re desperate to ignore. 

You have the same stubborn streak as your father and you’d be damned if you’re gonna cave and ask Joel to use his facility. You find a summer barrel series in a nearby town with low entry fees that runs weekly. You start hauling Blue out to get some experience. At first, his runs are clumsy, but as you get your miles in, his turns get tighter, his confidence grows, and your times get quicker. And you quickly feel like the two of you are ready to enter your first rodeo. The air smells like dirt and livestock, as you unload your horse and tie him to the side of your trailer. There’s a hum from the generators, buzzing conversations, and the occasional whinny of a horse or thud as one paws at the dirt. You had made a point not to ask if Joel and Tommy would be attending, but you catch his familiar shoulders tapering to his slim waist, with one boot on the lowest rung of the fence a few yards ahead when you head toward the warmup pen before your division gets called. He isn’t even facing your direction but you instinctively square your shoulders and raise your chin. You wonder if he’s just here to see if you’re going to fail. Or maybe he’s just watching to earn some other woman’s favor. 

Something ugly simmers in your blood and your chest feels tight. You attribute it to irritation, refusing to acknowledge any alternate reasons. You’re going to prove him wrong. 

You’re still staring at him when he turns to say something to the man standing next to him. You grit your teeth. Superstitious–as every cowboy is–his usual salt and pepper scruff is neatly trimmed, he’s got on a pair of deep blue Wranglers–nicer than you figure he owned, and a crisp long-sleeve pearl snap. Dressed to earn Lady Luck’s favor. 

The devil on your shoulder whispers a thought in Linda’s teasing voice. He doesn’t need to do all that to get lucky. You take a deep breath and peel yourself away from the sight. You’re here to focus on Blue, not your asshole neighbor and his conquests. Despite trying to let go of your issues with Joel, a scowl stays plastered on your face throughout your warmup. Blue picks up on your distraction and he’s a little hot, as you head him toward the alleyway when it’s time for your run. Against your will, your eyes search for Joel. A wash of heat floods your veins when you find him already watching you. He mouths good luck at you and you can only manage a curt smile before you’re pushing Blue to a lope, making one tight circle before you cross the start. The sound of his hooves pounding into the dirt matches the blood pounding in your ears. The burst of adrenaline is instant. The run isn’t perfect. He breaks his stride around the second barrel and you lose time nudging him back into rhythm, but you finish the pattern without knocking anything over. The announcer calls your time as you slow to a trot, and you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. It’s such a blur you don’t think to look for Joel. You don’t think about him at all until you’re untacking Blue at your trailer, brushing sweat marks from his coat when movement near another horse trailer catches your eye. Joel stands close to a woman with long, shiny dark hair. She flashes a wide smile, leaning toward him and resting a hand lightly on his arm. The sight makes you grimace. You shove down the feeling. “None of our business,” you mutter to Blue as you keep brushing. But, your eyes flick back despite yourself. She tilts her head, laughing at something he says, or doesn’t say, you can’t tell. He stands stiffly, hands in his pockets. You can’t see his face from your angle.

The woman reaches to touch him again, and you feel a headache brewing in the back of your skull. Joel glances away from her, landing in your direction for the shortest moment, before his weight shifts and he takes a small step back. You scowl again, tossing your brush back into the tack room shelf with more force than necessary making Blue toss his head. Your heart thuds louder than it should and you run a hand over Blue’s cheek, murmuring softly to calm both him and yourself. When you glance back, the woman is still talking, but Joel’s looking at you again. His dark eyes are sharp under the brim of his hat. He nods, barely noticeable, before turning away from the woman entirely. You clench your jaw, forcing yourself to take another deep breath before loading Blue back into the trailer to head out. You weren’t sticking around to watch any of the other events. Especially not the team roping. 

You smile when you pull onto the highway though. You count the day as a success and feel ready to enter a bigger rodeo. The idea makes you glow. Finally feeling like you’re getting back to your true self. You feel like a new woman compared to the version of you that showed packed up her truck desperate to put miles between your ex-fiance and your corporate nightmare.

“It’s not that bad,” you argue, crossing your arms as your dad leans against the truck with a skeptical look. “The hell it’s not,” he replies, gesturing toward the trailer. “That’s floor is one step away from dropping your horse onto the damn highway.” You sigh, dragging a hand over your face. “I know,” you grumble lowly, disappointment sinking in your stomach. “I was just hoping you’d see something I didn’t.” “Sorry kid,” your dad says. “S’fine. I’ll figure something out. Or just eat the entry fees I paid.” “Or,” he says pointedly, “you could ask Joel.” You glare at him, fire burning in your chest. “I don’t need his charity.” “Ain’t charity,” he interrupts your sour attitude with a gruff tone. “He’s practically family. Don’t let your pride get in the way of your goals.” The words stick, heavy and uncomfortable. You’ve got half a mind to keep arguing. Joel might be your dad’s best friend, but he’s nothing like family to you. But before you can talk yourself out of it, you’re dragging yourself up the steps of Joel’s front porch. 

You realize as your boot hits the last step that you’ve never been to his place. He always offers to have you and your dad over for a whiskey or for a fire out back, but you always brush him off. You see why your dad takes him up on it though. It’s beautifully made with stunning wooden chairs and a bench for seating. You’d consider complimenting him on his craftsmanship if you weren’t already dreading what you’re about to say. Joel opens the door, his hat already in hand like he’d been expecting you. “Somethin’ wrong?” “Yeah,” you admit, trying not to hesitate. “Uh, trailer’s shot,” you point your thumb in the direction of your dad’s place. “Was wondering if you’d have room in your trailer to haul Blue with your horses.” 

The corner of Joel’s mouth twitches. The gleam in his eye makes you want to say never mind. You brace for a smart-ass remark. “‘Course,” he replies. You blink, caught off guard by the simplicity of it. “Of course?” 

He leans back into the house to grab something, then he’s handing you his keys. “Load your tack up tonight, and get your bags in the living quarters.” “No need,” you shake your head, leaving him holding the keys between you. “I’ve got the truck. And a tent.” 

Joel leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms. You pointedly avoid how his sleeves strain around his biceps. “You’re ridin’ with us. Not riskin’ that truck dyin’ on the highway.” You glare, lips pressed into a thin line. Of course, you’ve got a trailer with a busted floor and a truck with more miles than you’d like to admit on it—while, Joel, has a shiny truck from this decade and a horse trailer with a tack room and living quarters. Probably has AC and everything. You catch the glint in his eye, realizing you’re the one asking for a favor and you steel yourself, reminding yourself to bite your tongue.

“Fine,” you grit out, holding your hand out for the keys.

The truck hums beneath you, the steady vibration doing nothing to ease the thick tension in the cab. Tommy’s passed out in the back seat, his hat tipped low over his face, leaving you alone with Joel and the steady drone of the country ballad playing through the speakers.

“You always listen to this?” you ask, breaking the silence as you reach toward the radio.

Joel glances at you, one hand resting casually on the wheel. “Somethin’ wrong with it?”

“Didn’t know you were a ‘sad songs for sad cowboys’ kind of guy,” you mutter, flicking through stations before he can answer.

Joel doesn’t stop you, but when you pause on something irritatingly upbeat, his hand moves toward the knob just as yours does.

Your fingers brush his, and the contact jolts through you like a live wire.

You pull back instinctively, your breath catching as your heart slams against your ribs. Joel pauses for half a second before retreating, his knuckles tightening faintly on the wheel.

The silence that follows is suffocating.

Joel stares ahead, his jaw clenching as his thoughts spiral. He knew telling you to ride with him was playing with fire. But he can’t stay away from the heat. You glance out the window, pretending the spark you felt wasn’t real. It’s just Joel, always better than you, always an ass. The charged silence stretches on though, every shift of his hand on the wheel drawing your attention. Every shallow breath reminds you of his proximity. 

“This’ll do,” you say tightly. Joel huffs softly, but says nothing, keeping his eyes pointed straight ahead. Neither of you speaks again for the rest of the drive, but the weight of the accidental touch remains, thick and suffocating. The rodeo grounds are already alive with motion by the time you’re parked and unloading the horses. The evening sun casts an amber glow over the circus of trucks, tents, and trailers. You help get the portable fence set up and the horses settled before the three of you head off to check in at the visitor's tent and get your meal tickets. 

The smell of barbecue wafts through the air and you get in line to fill your plate. Folks chat eagerly. Tommy strikes up an easy conversation with a group of riders near the picnic tables. You watch as some folks head back to their campsites, hesitating on whether you want to do the same or find a table. Joel passes you and sits at a nearby table and before you can debate any longer a voice interrupts your thoughts. “Long travel day?” the wiry cowboy drawls, tipping his hat and gesturing to the bench next to him. “Take a seat.” 

You give him a quizzical look, but you’re hungry enough to take the opportunity to sit and eat. 

“Name’s Cody.” He introduces himself while you eat. He tells you he’s a bull rider. Asks if you’re runnin’ barrels tomorrow. He’s chatty with a smooth and easy voice and a playful look on his youthful face. You answer his questions, politely, suddenly keenly aware of Joel’s gaze boring into the back of your head. It makes your spine prickle with something you can’t name. The heat of his stare burns into you, fierce and unwavering, making every laugh at Cody’s jokes feel like defiance. Cody continues on and you find it easy to listen to his stories, but you can’t help feeling compelled to glance over your shoulder betraying the distraction you’re trying to ignore. Cody points out some of the other riders he knows and invites you to come hang out at their campsite and have a drink. You’re still searching for the right words when you catch sight of Joel walking swiftly past your table. He mutters something to Tommy–who seems to be proving Linda’s rumors true with a woman wrapped around his arm and batting her lashes at him–and stalks off. Your stomach twists as you watch him go, irritation flaring hot and fast. “The fuck is his problem?” you mutter under your breath, turning back to your plate. Cody shrugs, clearly oblivious. “Who knows? Anyway—” But you’ve already tuned him out, your eyes following the path Joel struts down before he disappears.

You joined Cody and his friend for one drink, hoping it would ease your nerves. He had a kind group, a little rough around the edges, but tough as nails like you’d expect bull riders to be. They kept your mind distracted with their wild stories, but you decided to head back to the trailer before anyone got drunk and stupid. The walk back to the trailer feels longer than it should, every step weighed down by something stirring within you, something that has you on edge. You check on the horses before pulling the door open and climbing into the living quarters. The cool night air hasn’t soothed the heat that’s been simmering within you since dinner—or since that moment in the truck if you’re honest. You toe off your boots before looking up to see Joel, leaning against the wall, his jaw set tight, and his eyes sharp as they snap to yours.

“Where’s Tommy?” you ask, realizing it’s just the two of you in the small space. “Reckon he’ll be out til the sun's up,” Joel says in a quiet, low tone. “Alright,” you nod. Another point goes to Linda for that one, you figure. Joel’s jaw remains set in that infuriatingly unreadable way that seems to be his signature look. The dim light in the trailer casts sharp shadows across his face that darken his gaze. “You enjoy yourself? With your new friend?” he asks, his voice raw, edged with something you can’t place. You stop short, narrowing your eyes. “Excuse me?” He steps closer, reaching past you to hang his hat on the hook by the door. “Took your time gettin’ back.” He says, his eyes flick over you, dark and assessing. You’re acutely aware of the scent of the campfire on your shirt and beer on your lips. It swirls with his leather and bourbon musk like they were designed to enhance each other. His words sink in, cutting and daring. “What’s your point?” “Did you fuck him?” The bluntness of it knocks the breath out of you. Your mouth falls open. Shock and fury battling for control as you glare at him. “What did you just say to me?” “You heard me, sweetheart,” Joel says, his voice calm but razor-sharp. “Just wondering if that cowboy got what he was after.” It takes everything in you not to slap him across the face. “What the fuck,” you hiss, stepping closer, your fists clenched at your sides, “makes you think you’ve got the right to ask me that, Joel?” 

He shrugs his shoulders, but his expression remains cold. “Lookin’ out for you. Your dad’d kill me if I didn’t.” You laugh bitterly. “Bullshit.” His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t respond. Silence fanning the flames within you. “You aren’t my dad,” you snap, voice trembling with rage. “And you sure as hell don’t get to tell me who I can or can’t fuck.” Joel’s eyes narrow, his shoulders stiffening as he steps even closer. “That’s not what I—” “Save it,” you cut him off, word sharp as a whip. “I don’t know why you think I’m so weak or clueless all the time. Like I can’t handle myself. Like I’m some kid you’ve gotta babysit.” 

Joel’s expression hardens, his dark eyes flash with something that looks like hurt beneath his anger. “That’s what you think I see?” his words come out like a dangerous growl. “That’s how you’ve acted toward me since day one,” you fire back, stepping toe-to-toe with him. “If you don’t respect me, Joel, just stay out of my business.” His chest rises and falls sharply, his breath warm against your skin as the air between you thickens. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about,” he barks, voice tight with frustration. “Explain it to me then,” you challenge. Shaking with the force of everything you’ve been holding back. “Or stay away from me if I’m such a thorn in your side.” He works his jaw, and for a moment you’re glued to the corded muscle in his neck and the exposed golden brown skin of his chest. He glares at you, making no move to back off. His voice drops sinfully low and quiet. “You really wanna know?” “Yeah,” you breathe, heart pounding like it’s trying to break through your ribcage. “I do.” His hand moves fast, gripping your wrist—not rough, but firm enough to make your breath catch. “You drive me fuckin’ crazy,” he accuses in a rough and uneven voice. You blink. “What?” “You heard me,” he rumbles, dark eyes locked on yours. “From the first day, you showed up here, lookin’ at me like you had somethin’ to prove.” Anger burns in your veins. “How does that make me your problem?” His grip tightens, his body presses closer. “You ain’t my problem,” he mutters. Guilt twists into his words, “Shouldn’t even be lookin’ at you like this. S’wrong.” He swallows thickly, only sharpening the edge in his voice. “But I can’t stop thinkin’ about you, and it’s pissin’ me off.” His confession hits you like a brick over the head. The trailer is silent, but the sound of the blood rushing in your ears, and your ragged exhale seems deafening. 

“Then stop,” you challenge, voice trembling with defiance. “If it’s so wrong, just leave me alone.” Joel’s eyes darken, his other hand settles on your hip, fingers digging into you. “Can’t,” he says,  voice so thick with frustration, it sounds like it hurts. “Don’t think I want to.” 

Silence stretches and time feels thick and warped. Your ragged breaths fill the space. His eyes search for a reason to stop, but he finds none. 

You don’t get a chance to reply before he drops your wrist to wrap a large hand around your jaw, pulling you into a feverish kiss. Nothing gentle about it. It’s raw and desperate, equal parts frustration and hunger. Your fingers curl into his shirt as if you could pull him any closer, even as your teeth scrape over his bottom lip, in a sharp, biting challenge that makes him groan low in his throat. He angles your face so he can kiss you deeper, harder, until your knees feel like they might give out. Your mind goes blank, flashing white with anger and need. All you can process is the hot slip of his tongue against yours and the sharp bristle of his facial hair against your tender lips. Your back hits the cool metal wall of the trailer before you realize your feet had even moved. Joel’s hips press into yours, pinning you against his body–solid and unrelenting. His lips trail down your jaw to your neck, the edge of his teeth scraping at your skin. The rasp of his stubble sends sparks to your core, and you dig your fingers into the hair on the back of his head. Pulling him toward you, needing him in a way that verges on painful. He lifts his mouth, breathing hotly against your damp neck. “This what you want?” he says, his tone matching the burning desperation coursing through you. “You want me to fuck it outta you? Til you can’t keep runnin’ your mouth at me?” “Shut up,” you snap, but the way your body arches into him betrays the hostility in your voice and the subtle stretch makes you keenly aware of how wet and needy you are already. He makes a low, guttural noise in his throat that makes your cunt throb. His hand slides down to grip your thigh, hitching it around his waist as he grinds into you. The hard ridge of his cock pressing into you makes you gasp. The sound you make sends heat ripping through him like wildfire. We can’t, he thinks, but the words die on his tongue. The thought of how wrong this is flashes in his mind, but it’s drowned out by the way you’re looking at him. The way your nails dig into his shoulders as you pull him closer, your breath hot and shaky against his cheek. He can’t think. He can’t stop. He doesn’t want to. Not when you’re so soft and warm and furious beneath him. He’s helpless. His hand slips under your shirt, rough fingers brushing over soft skin, leaving a searing trail that grounds you as your mind spins. He pushes your shirt up, baring you to the dim light of the trailer. Time slips back into the warped, syrupy dimension as you absorb the unbidden lust and awe in his eyes. You’re the one exposed, but you feel like you’re seeing something just as naked in his face. Time catches up and you pull your shirt the rest of the way over your head, committing to sin wordlessly. You shiver at the sudden contrast between the heat radiating off of his body and the cool air hitting your flesh. “Joel,” you gasp, your head tipping back as his mouth closes over your nipple like a wet furnace. His teeth graze the sensitive skin causing you to spew breathy curses over the top of his head. They only spur him on. He sucks hard enough that you tug him off you by his hair, but he only switches to your breast, delivering the same delicious punishment as his fingers roll and pinch at the wet, puffy, flesh he abandons. 

It’s like he can predict your needs before your mind can, biting down harshly enough to pull you away from the angry, hissing thoughts and keep you desperate to stay lost in the physical sensations. He palms the full weight of your tits, gliding his thumbs over both, slick and shining with his saliva. He presses them together before releasing them. “Goddamn,” he murmurs, taken by the way they bounce more perfectly than he could’ve imagined. It’s wrong to have you topless and panting beneath him, but his name falls so sweetly from your lips that it doesn’t matter. The heavy-lidded look you have makes him feel confirmed. When you moan lowly as the pain melts into pleasure when he kneads your soft, slippery skin, his cock aches and weeps for you. He needs more. He needs everything. Needs to wreck you, to see you so fucked out the only thing you can say is his name. 

It’s an exquisite brand of torture. 

You hate how good this feels, how badly you want him to keep going. To show you every move he knows. To break you down with his hands and mouth. You should push him away, tell him to fuck off. But your body doesn’t want that. You don’t want that. You roll your hips against his, begging wordlessly for more, as you tug at his hair hard enough to pull a throaty groan from deep within him. The sound he makes nearly has you short-circuiting, but he doesn’t give you the respite to fall apart. His hands are everywhere, frenzied like he’s losing control. Hasn’t he already lost it? You wonder distantly. Slowly, you realize he’s littering dirty little threats and filthy promises into your warm flesh. You hate the way his words make you shiver, how much you crave every pledge he makes. “You’re gonna feel me for days, sweetheart,” he husks hotly, just behind your ear. It’s a commitment you unwittingly pray he keeps. Some part buried deep within you blooms at the idea of feeling every memory of his touch as you go about your day tomorrow. “Get to it then,” you snap, hands reaching for his belt with urgency. Joel doesn’t need any more encouragement. His hand slips between your legs, teasing you through the soaked fabric of your underwear, and the sound you make at the pressure—the breathless, needy, whimper—makes him forget how to breathe. All he knows is that he needs to hear it again while he fucks into your soft, warm cunt. 

He wrenches your jeans open and works them down your thighs as you tear at his shirt buttons. He’s barely able to let you go long enough to pull his shirt off; watching you kick your pants off the rest of the way makes him nearly trip over himself. 

The air between your naked chests is sticky and warm. He dips his hand beneath the hem of your underwear, fingertips gliding over the soft hair on your mound making his eyes roll back. 

The edges of your vision blurs when he prods two big fingers between your slick lips, but you’re glued to the way his dark eyes are nearly black now. He looks every bit possessed by a beast, and fuck if you aren’t driven by the sick desire to make him snap. 

“You like having me touch you like this, don’t you?” His voice drips with need underscored by the slick sounds coming from between your legs. 

“No.” You rasp, as you grind your clit against his palm. He pumps two fingers inside of you, curling them just right to make you moan. 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he drawls, thick like honey. You grip the muscle flexing in his arm to steady yourself. His concentration and competence makes your walls flutter around his fingers. 

“You’re gonna come for me, right here.” He declares. 

You shake your head. “I’m not—fuck—I won’t.” 

“You will,” he interrupts. Dark and calm. His pace quickens, fingers focused on the spot inside you that makes you a mindless wreck. His thumb draws circles around your clit. 

“Can feel how close you are.” Your hips rock and your muscles all pull taut. “If you’d quit fuckin’ fighting me.” He somehow crowds even closer to you. You feel like you’re about to snap when he pulls his hand away, leaving you feeling empty and ragged. “But you’re too fuckin’ stubborn, ain’t you?” 

“Joel,” you whine, angry and devastated. “I hate you.” 

You grip the back of his neck with one hand, and both of you watch as he finally takes himself out of his jeans. 

The view makes you salivate. 

Everything about Joel is rugged and masculine. The muscles carved into his arms and chest. The trail of dark hair leading down his stomach that thickens around his base. The deep flushed color of his thick cock. The ragged inhale he makes when he presses the blunt tip against the drenched fabric that clings to your swollen folds. 

“Say it,” he growls, rubbing along your barely clothed seam. 

“I hate you,” you whisper unconvincingly, digging your nails into the back of his neck and arching off of the wall. 

“Tell me you want it.” You can’t tell if it’s a remain or a plea. This strain in his voice and the muscles tensing across his broad frame make you tremble.

“I don’t.” You lie. You snake one hand down your body, peeling your ruined panties to the side so he can slot his tip at your dripping entrance. You tilt forward, impatiently, stretching around him just enough to override your filter. 

“Oh, fuck,” you start. Unable to stop the stream of whispered curses from rolling off your tongue. 

“Yeah,” Joel rasps, inching deeper inside of your tight, warm walls. He feeds himself into you slowly, the overwhelming fullness as you adjust makes your thighs shake. He pulls out and you whine, unable to say a word before he’s moving, dipping you onto the thin trailer mattress and slipping your underwear down your legs. 

“Gonna fuck you full,” he mutters. You spread your legs, making room for him to settle above you. He draws his cock back through your lips, coating himself in your arousal before driving into you with a powerful stroke. 

Your lips part, sucking in air as he sets a pace. He fills you deeper than you’ve ever felt, relentlessly making room for himself as he saws in and out of you. It’s powerful and primal, but refined by his athleticism. Fluid rolling hips and his strong core make you see stars as he fucks into you.

“That’s right,” he rasps above you, and you realize he’s responding to you. 

“So good,” you’re murmuring, “so full.” 

“Taking it like you were made for it,” he says to himself. The intensity of your tight, warm pussy coaxing him deeper makes him spill his thoughts. Unfiltered. 

He sets a pace, slow and deliberate at first, each stroke filling you completely before pulling back, leaving you desperate for more. The friction is maddening, plunging his length into your sensitive walls as he pins you beneath his hard body.   

“You feel that?” His breath is hot against your neck. “Feel how deep I am? How I’m splittin’ you open?”  

You nod frantically, your nails digging into his shoulders as you whimper his name.  

Joel’s control falters at the sound of it, his hips snapping harder, faster, as his desperation takes over. “Thought about this,” he rasps, his voice hoarse. “Fuckin’ hell, I’ve thought about this too damn much. But you’re better than I ever imagined.”  

His confession sends a jolt through you, but you’re too far gone to process it, your body tightening around him as pleasure builds again, sharper and hotter than before.  

“Joel, please.”  

“Fuck,” he chokes the word out, his pace faltering for a split second before he slams into you harder, deeper. “Say that again.”  

“Please,” you whisper, your voice breaking as your release breaks through you, leaving you gasping and cursing.  

Joel’s hips snap erratically, pinning you into the mattress with a tight grip, as he buries his cock as deep as he can inside of you. 

“Gonna fill you up,” he mutters, his voice ragged. “Every drop, sweetheart.” Make you mine, he barely keeps the last thought in his head. 

“Yes, yes, yes.” You chant as your body jolts with each collision with his. 

“Fuck,” Joel mutters, cock driving deeper and swelling at your words. “That’s it. Take it all, sweetheart.”  

Your release hits again, your body trembling violently. Or maybe it never stopped—he only drew it out of you in waves. 

Joel curses low, his hips slamming into yours one last time before you feel him pulsing inside of you, hot and thick. 

When he pulls back, his eyes linger on the mess between your thighs. “Look at that,” he mutters, his voice low and reverent. His wide hands slide up the back of your thighs, bending your knees to your chest so he can watch the mix of your releases glistening and dripping from you. 

He takes one hand and drags it through the mess, pushing it back up inside of you. You squirm, sensitive to the touch, but fixated on whatever is burning behind his eyes. 

You wait for him to say something characteristically Joel. To dismiss you as naive, to rub it in that he broke you down. That he had you crying his name. That you shouldn’t have done that. 

But it never comes. You’re convinced he was trying to put you in your place. To give you another reminder that he thinks you’re useless and clueless. You’re too wrapped up in the thoughts to speak or move. He doesn’t say anything at all which nearly makes it worse. Instead, he pins you under a heavy arm, holding you against him until you both doze off. Succumbing to exhaustion.

-> PART 2

dividers by @/saradika-graphics 🤠🤎

tagging the usual babes in case you want some cowboy!joel for christmas too:

@lovely-vamp-princess @gothcsz @auteurdelabre @adoreyouusugar

@swankyorange @itwasntimethatdidit40 @ivoryandflame @magneticecstasy

@indiegirlunited @syd-djarin @harriedandharassed @bbyanarchist

@94namkooksworld

[little-jana]

"Let's Be Alone Together"

Pairing: Spencer Reid x reader

Genre: fluff

Warnings: kissing, just two cuties

Words: 1.7k

Summary: Reader and Spencer escape reality together and spent Christmas together.

Christmas Eve in Quantico wasn’t exactly where I imagined spending the holiday, but the BAU didn’t really operate on a nine-to-five schedule. A last-minute case had pulled everyone into the office earlier that week, but thankfully, we’d wrapped it up just in time for the holidays.

Now, the bullpen was quiet, save for the faint hum of the fluorescent lights. Most of the team had already headed home, eager to spend Christmas with their families. I should’ve done the same, but somehow, I couldn’t bring myself to leave. The blinking cursor on my laptop screen had hypnotized me, or at least that’s the excuse I told myself.

The truth was, it wasn’t like I had anyone waiting for me at home. My plans consisted of takeout, bad Christmas movies, and falling asleep on the couch. Maybe a part of me had hoped that if I stayed long enough, I wouldn’t have to face that silence.

A familiar voice broke through my thoughts. “Still here?”

I glanced up to see Spencer Reid standing by his desk, looking equally as stranded. His cardigan was slightly askew, his tie loosened just enough to look almost relaxed.

“You’re still here too,” I countered, offering him a small smile.

He shrugged, shuffling a few papers on his desk. “I thought I’d finish up some reading before heading out. What about you?”

I gestured to my screen. “Pretending to be productive.”

Spencer chuckled softly, his smile growing. “It’s Christmas Eve. You’re allowed to take a break, you know.”

“I could say the same to you, genius,” I teased. “What is it this time? A thesis on the psychological implications of holiday traditions?”

He gave me a sheepish smile. “Actually, it’s a collection of Christmas short stories. Charles Dickens, O. Henry...”

“Fiction?,” I said surprised.

“I do enjoy a good academic paper,” he admitted with a grin. “But sometimes… fiction feels like a better escape.”

I leaned back in my chair, studying him. “So, you’re avoiding reality too, huh?”

Spencer hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. I guess I am.”

There was something vulnerable in the way he said it, something that made my chest ache. Spencer wasn’t exactly the most open person when it came to his feelings, but I’d learned to read between the lines.

“You know,” I said, standing and crossing the room toward him, “we could avoid reality together. I’ve got leftover cookies and a terrible collection of Christmas movies. What do you say?”

He blinked, startled. “You mean… tonight? With you?”

“No, Spencer, I meant with the ghost of Christmas past,” I teased, rolling my eyes.

He laughed softly, shaking his head. “I don’t want to impose—”

“Spence,” I interrupted, my tone gentle but firm. “It’s not imposing if I’m inviting you. Come on. It’ll be fun.”

He looked at me for a long moment, his eyes searching mine, before finally nodding. “Okay. I’d like that.”

---

An hour later, we were sitting on my couch, surrounded by the warm glow of twinkling Christmas lights. A tin of cookies rested between us, along with two steaming mugs of hot chocolate. Spencer had insisted on helping me carry everything up from my car earlier, and now he was inspecting one of the sugar cookies with a level of scrutiny that made me laugh.

“It’s just a cookie, Spence,” I said, nudging him playfully.

“Actually, there’s a fascinating history behind sugar cookies,” he began, his face lighting up. “They originated in Pennsylvania in the 1700s—”

I held up a hand, laughing. “Let me stop you right there. No cookie history tonight. We’re watching Rudolph, and that’s final.”

He sighed dramatically but didn’t argue. “Fine. But if I’m going to sit through stop-motion reindeer, I expect at least one scientific inaccuracy to discuss.”

We settled into the couch, the opening credits of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer playing softly in the background. Spencer was surprisingly into it, occasionally pointing out character dynamics or chuckling at the outdated animation.

By the time the movie ended, I felt a warmth in my chest that had nothing to do with the hot chocolate. Spencer had relaxed completely, his usual guarded demeanor replaced by something softer, something sweeter.

“You know,” he said quietly, breaking the comfortable silence, “this is the first Christmas Eve I haven’t spent alone in… a long time.”

His words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken emotion. I turned to him, my heart aching at the vulnerability in his voice.

“You’re not alone now,” I said softly.

He looked at me, his eyes searching mine. “Thank you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “For this. For… everything.”

I smiled, reaching out to place my hand over his. “You don’t have to thank me, Spence. I’m just glad you’re here.”

For a moment, we just sat there, the silence between us filled with something unspoken but deeply understood.

“You know,” he said, his voice hesitant, “I’ve always found it hard to connect with people. But with you… it’s different. It’s easy.”

My breath caught at the sincerity in his voice. “It’s easy with you too, Spencer,” I admitted, my voice barely audible.

He hesitated, then took a small, tentative step closer. “Can I tell you something?”

“Of course.”

“I… I think this might be the best Christmas Eve I’ve ever had,” he said, his cheeks flushing slightly.

I felt my heart swell at his words, and before I could overthink it, I leaned in and kissed his cheek, letting my lips linger for just a moment. His skin was warm, and I felt him freeze slightly before relaxing under the soft touch.

When I pulled back, he was staring at me, his eyes wide and filled with something I couldn’t quite name.

“Sorry,” I said quickly, suddenly self-conscious. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t apologize,” he said, his voice soft but firm.

Before I could say anything else, he leaned forward, closing the small distance between us, and pressed his lips gently against mine. The kiss was soft and sweet, a perfect mix of shyness and intent.

When he finally pulled back, his cheeks were bright red, but there was a small, shy smile on his lips.

“Merry Christmas,” he said quietly, his voice full of warmth.

“Merry Christmas, Spencer,” I replied, my heart feeling lighter than it had in years.

And as we sat there, the glow of the Christmas tree wrapping us in its warmth, I couldn’t help but think that this—being here with him—was exactly what Christmas was supposed to feel like.

a/n: I wish you all a Merry Christmas and a peaceful holiday season.

[starguardianniom]

Harumasa, Asaboo, Miyaboo and Soukaboo

EVERYONE HARUMASA DID IT HE FREAKING COMMISSIONNED HIS BANGBOO FORM FROM VIRTUAL REVENGE AND ALSO HAD ONE MADE OF MIYABI AND SOUKAKU THIS IS NOT A DRILL THIS IS FREAKING CANON AND REAL!!!!

Ok so I just did his latest trust event and boy was I not prepared for it. He legit paid to have Asaboo made, then had Miyaboo and Soukaboo made as well, and they are named that way because he's the one who named them.

THIS IS REAL PEOPLE!!!!!!!!

I FUCKING TOOK THE PICTURES AND IT GETS BETTER!!!!

This is how this whole thing starts, he made them as souvenirs. We cannot thank you enough for doing God's work, I love you so much. <3 <3 <3

Miyaboo speaking like Miyabi.

Soukaboo is hungry like Soukaku.

Asaboo is also lazy and just wants to relax, thankfully with Harumasa it will be able to do just that. T_T <3 <3 <3 My heart!

You tell me buddy, that's some well spent money, I bet these would be extremely popular if they ever reached the market, I just want to have them too, Hoyo, if you can make Section 6 have bangboos of themselves we the players should totally get them as well, no? I feel these 3 will be in the shop in the future, cause while they have the models, why not? I hope that we'll get to see these 3 after chapter 5, would be hilarious. Harumasa chilling at home with his cat and bangboo, Miyabi, her bangboo and her dad, who will probably laugh his head off when seeing it while also cooing at it for 5 hours straight, and Tsukishiro using Soukaboo to help her with Soukaku, though this tend to switch between Soukaku helping her with Soukaboo and Soukaboo helping her with Soukaku, when they team up, she is in for double the trouble. Unfortunatly no Yanaboo but oh well, since Tsukishiro and Soukaku lives together it's fine.

Yes they are~ <3 <3 <3 I want Asaboo and Miyaboo as plushies this size your honor take my wallet please and thank you very much~

Yeah your bangboo self was named Harumasaboo back in Virtual Revenge but I guess you changed it to your last name because it's less of a mouthful and also that you're too lazy for this long name so Asaboo it is, not to worry, both names are fine and canon now!

Brief resume of Virtual Revenge, and it looks like Harumasa is still traumatized by it, can't blame him, he's the one who was stuck as a bangboo the longest so he was the first on the brain dead list, given he is already terminally ill I can imagine he really didn't like being put in a similar situation in simulation. My poor baby.

And we are eternally grateful that you did my king~ It explains why they say those lines as well, it's really wholesome. <3 Also he calls himself, Miyabi and Soukaku their parents, my heart! So cute!

Yes. I just hope Tsukishiro won't kill you for it, though she did say she loved his bangboo form, and since they are in the likehood of Miyabi and Soukaku she probably won't get mad, let's hope.

Yes and I will do it in every filter as well~

A proud father and his 3 kids~ I bet in the future he will be asked to babysitts the other 2 alongside his. XD

With these cute faces there's no way there can be a bad photo!

Oh yeah?

Hey, no one is judging you in how you deal with the bad memories, if it works for you, who I am to tell you to not do it? Not the method I would use but to each their own.

And there it is, an offer you couldn't refuse. Good choice, I wouldn't have said no either~

Gonna have to skip to after the end because I'm only allowed 30 pictures but the girls keeps the bangboos and Harumasa keeps Asaboo like planned, I'll let you discover yourself how they reacted to them.

Hint: considering they take them home it went well~

Harumasa Triads~

Miyabi Triads~

I swear Harumasa keeps going after my heart I love him so much my heart!!!

[dronningreid]

Between the bitter reality and a sweet ending.

After Reid's visit to his mother and his conversation with Cat Adams, you notice how what seemed to be the best news of their lives receives a reality check.

Between letters: Part 1 (it is not necessary read the first part to understand this, but I recommend it)

who? Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

category: angst/fluff

warnings: pregnant reader, reid is again pessimistic, overthinking (poor thing) and isolates himself, mentions of alzheimer's and schizophrenia, mention of cat adams 💀 english is not my first language and this is a two-part story.

word count: 2.1K

a/n: Thanks to everyone who gave so much love to the first part of this, it really made my horrible days more beautiful. Well, I made this somewhat based on entropy (11x11) and christmas (it's soon!) because that episode always gave me a lot of that vibe. (Spoilers below) But I did this in particular because we talk enough about how Spencer would be the best dad in the UNIVERSE, but where is his fear that his children will have the mental illnesses that he so afraid of? we don't talk about that enough.

It is said that after the storm comes the calm. So what do you do when after the calm comes another storm? Much stronger, more devastating.

"Marry me." After kissing you he got on his knees.

You laughed nervously. "Nooo, yet."

He looked at you with those beautiful puppy eyes. "Please..." Reid leave a kiss on the back of your hand.

You caressed his cheek and he rubbed his face against your palm. "Happiness is what speaks. I don't want you proposing to me five minutes after finding out I'm pregnant with your baby."

"One hour?" You denied. "Two?" You denied again. "One day?" He tilted his head to the side.

"Get up, everyone is looking at us strangely." You insist.

He snort before obeying, he was a good boy. "Fine. But I'm still waiting for an answer, you have two options: yes or of course."

"I'm not going to marry you just because i'm pregnant." It hurt you to see his look of disappointment. "And of course I want to marry you, but not like that. I don't want you see this an obligation because it isn't."

"Men of the 19th century think differently." He did a small joke. "But this isn't an obligation for me, still I understand and I will wait... a year?"

"But I want a nice ring or I will say no." You decided to push his buttons a little.

He of course got your joke. "Anything for the mother of my baby." He gave you a kiss on the cheek.

∗⋅✧⋅∗

A couple of months passed, your belly was growing every day even though it still was small. Spencer was always there to praise and pamper you and his baby.

It was a heavenly, beautiful, perfect couple of months, proof that perfection can exist. But there is entropy, things break down, wear out and if they are ordered, sooner or later it return to their natural chaotic state.

You had only been without Spencer for a couple of days but you already missed him so badly, like you needed his presence to breathe easier. Sometimes you hated how much you needed him.

"I want to go with you."

He left his suitcase at the door just to go and leave a sweet kiss on your forehead. "I'm just going to check on my mum, it's better for you and the baby to stay here, safe."

Even when he was gone, you could still feel the sensation of his lips on your forehead. Like the ghost of a kiss...

When Spencer came back home there was something different on him. Something he wasn't telling you.

You were barely able to talk to him, as the team was very busy working on the strategy to end the network of online hitmen that threatened Garcia.

You were with Garcia when Reid came down the stairs, adjusting his tie.

You focus your attention on him. "I don't like you being the bait." Translation: I don't like you look so handsome for another woman, especially if she's a psychopath.

"I'm the closest in age." He explained again.

"I know, but that doesn't make me feel better." You helped him adjust his tie. "Especially if your alibi is wanting to pay to kill your pregnant wife."

He shifted his eyes to the small lump on your belly. "Is this some kind of revenge for me not agreeing to marry you?" You joked.

That didn't go at all the way you wanted, because both of you gained Penelope's attention and he didn't laugh, not even a smile. He just brought his hand to your belly before placing a kiss.

"I don't like my alibi either, but the point is to irritate her." He sounded so terrifyingly serious. Something was definitely wrong and you couldn't rest easy until you figured out what it was.

"Spencer-"

"I have something!" Penelope said as she typed something into the computer.

Reid simply walked past you and paid attention to what Penelope had discovered.

You didn't even hear what your friend had discovered, it was like it was just background noise. Well, all your attention was revolving around a single unknown, there was only one thing you wanted to discover.

∗⋅✧⋅∗

You wish that after dismantling a network of hitmen things would be better, but that was all it was: just a wish.

Everything that happened at Harry & Glenn's Grill and Bar tested your ability to not die of a heart attack. First the bomb, then that Cat Adams pointing a gun at your boyfriend. Luckily the BAU won, but it didn't quite feel like a complete victory, at least not for Reid so it doesn't feel like victory for you either.

It didn't help that Spencer had a mysterious conversation with Cat after he arrested her. If he was already acting weird with everyone (especially you) this new variable did not help your situation.

But at least now you had hope that everything would get better, it was Christmas Eve dinner. Everything was supposed to get better, right?

"Do you think anyone will make turkey? The baby wants turkey."

Reid opened the car door for you. "JJ maybe. Penelope definitely not and Rossi might make his famous pasta."

∗⋅✧⋅∗

The car ride was unpleasantly quiet. Usually you'd enjoy the silence with Spencer, it used to be comfortable. But now, now it was fucking torture.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" You sounded more aggressive than you intended. Bad idea, because he looked away from the road to look at you with a frown.

"Excuse me?" His harsh tone was like a punch. He didn't usually talk to you like that, never.

You laughed nervously, he of course doesn't. "Sorry." You looked at your hands in your lap. You couldn't stand his gaze, it burned.

And this is where he would ask what you meant, using a calmer tone of course. But that didn't happen, he just left you with a lump in your throat and a headache.

The ride continued in silence, a deathly silence.

At least when you got to the Rossi house, sorry, Rossi mansion you were able to relax a little with the girls. Although there was definitely still that little thorn that didn't leave you in peace and it was called: what the hell is wrong with Spencer Reid?

It was almost Christmas, you didn't want things with him to be like this, complicated.

After going down the stairs you returned to the dining room where the others were. "Hey guys, has anyone seen Spence?"

Everyone looked at each other, but only one knew the answer. "I saw him go to the back garden." Morgan said.

You just nodded before putting on your coat and walking outside. Immediately a light gust of cold wind brushed your cheek.

You saw him there standing in front of the pool, just thinking. Something common with him, always, but at least before he used to share that throughs with you.

You approached, putting a hand on his shoulder to get his attention. "Morgan told me you were here."

"I just needed to get some air." He didn't even bother to look at you, because his gaze was lost in a place you couldn't reach.

Silence soon filled the air between you two, turning what was once warm into something frigid. You meditated on what would be the best thing to say, you searched for magic words that would make him speak. But there was nothing.

"I'm mad at you." That came out before you could stop the words.

At least this time you had his attention, but it hurt to see how his eyes betrayed the pain that his mouth could not express. Still he remained silent, waiting for you to say something more.

"I can forgive you, of course." You rushed to say something that would make the guilt in your chest go far away. "But it hurt how you first told a criminal what's happening with your mother. I guess that's what's been bothering you these days, but if there's anything else, Spencer, I need you to tell me."

He ran a hand over his face before sighing in frustration. "It's not like I told her because I wanted to." he said defensively.

"I know, I know or maybe you did because you needed to vent and tell someone. But I would have preferred that person to be me..." Your voice broke.

He was starting to feel like the biggest idiot in the world. Spencer immediately sought comfort in your hand and you didn't stop him.

"I hate it when you walk away and retreat into yourself, like you're the only person you can trust. And I say, I understand that you do that with others, but with me?" Every word that came out of your mouth began to weigh on his chest.

"I know I can trust you, but it's hard to just stop doing something I've been doing all my life." He brushed the back of your hand with his thumb.

You looked at his hand. "At least try..." You hated that that sounded like a plea. "Maybe if we share the load, it will be easier for you."

He nodded and took a deep breath, but it took him a few more minutes to speak again. "It's no secret that I'm afraid..." He took another deep breath and you gave his hand a gentle squeeze to encourage him to continue. "I'm afraid I might have schizophrenia like my mother, and when I turned thirty I thought I'd dodged a bullet. But now dementia and alzheimer's are on the list."

You stayed silent, waiting for him to continue telling you what had been hurting him lately.

"Anyway, if it's only about me I can live with that." It wasn't like that, it obviously affected him more than he wanted to admit. But then his gaze fell on your belly. "But I can't live with the idea that I've been selfish for so long...

You frowned. “Selfish?”

"Yes. Because I have wanted children for a long time without thinking that they could be like my mother or like me..." His voice broke. "And now it's too late, because I've already ruined everything, I've already got you pregnant and this baby could have schizophrenia, dementia, Alzheimer's or all three." Breathing began to become difficult. "And I feel like the worst father and boyfriend in the world, because it would only be my fault if the baby is like that and you would have to pay the price for my mistakes."

"Enough, enough." You placed your hands on either side of his face. "We don't even know if it will happen and even if it did, this is not your fault, Spencer."

He placed his hands on your wrists, holding you there. "And who is the blame?" That bad habit of always wanting to find someone to blame.

You forced yourself to shut your mouth, you didn't have an answer for that.

"I don't know..." The guilt in his eyes was hard to see. "I just know it's not your fault. And it's done, the baby could be like you, like your mother or like me and all those things are okay, because I know that I will love it no matter what and I know you'll love it too." You brushed his cheekbones with your thumbs.

"But I don't want the baby to hate me if it inherited some of that, its life will be difficult and I don't want that..." He whispered.

"The baby won't hate you for it and me neither." You gave him a kiss on the tip of his nose.

"You say that now." He swallowed. "But in a couple of years we may not have much time left and I won't be able to recognize you, the love of my life. I will not remember that I love you and then you will hate me." How could he say such beautiful words like the love of my life, I love you and still say the most devastating thing in the world?

"But that may not happen." You preferred to remain optimistic.

"But the odds-" Then you put a finger on his lips, you rarely wished he would shut up.

"I don't care about the odds, even if in a couple of years you don't know who I am, I will know who you are. And no mental illness in the world can ever change how much I love you." You continued to caress his cheek and that, combined with your words, made him feel calmer. "I will stay, until the end."

He immediately wrapped you tightly in his arms, burying his head in the crook of your neck. "I don't deserve you." He whispered against your skin.

You caressed his hair while your free hand caressed his back. "If you didn't, I wouldn't be here."

Only time would tell if Reid's fears would come true, but one thing was certain: He always have you by his side. That and the daughter you and him had together was enough for have his happy ending.

[oaksgrove]

A Captain for Christmas

pairing: John Price x Reader

synopsis: You’ve been Kyle “Gaz” Garrick’s best friend for years, but this Christmas, he’s determined to play matchmaker. From mistletoe ambushes to not-so-subtle hints, he won’t rest until you and Captain Price have a holiday romance for the books.

word count: 1085

warnings: None, just fluff, holiday cheer, and meddling best friends!

a/n: It's almost christmas so thats my gift for y'all. Merry Christmas mates! <3

The invitation came out of nowhere.

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” Gaz said, waving the 141’s Christmas dinner invite in front of you like a golden ticket. “Good food, good company… You’re not going to sit at home eating instant noodles again, are you?”

You shot him a flat look. “It was once, Kyle. And I was tired.”

“Whatever you say,” he teased, grinning as he dropped onto the couch beside you. “But you’re coming. No arguments.”

You sighed, already sensing you weren’t going to win this one. And maybe, just maybe, a small part of you didn’t want to.

That’s how you ended up at the 141’s Christmas dinner party, clutching a mug of mulled wine and feeling entirely out of place. The room was warm and lively, filled with laughter and the soft clinking of glasses. But you couldn’t shake the nerves curling in your stomach like an unwelcome guest.

The team was kind, welcoming in their own way, but it was obvious they shared a bond you couldn’t quite touch. You watched the way they bantered, teased, and laughed—years of trust woven into every word. It made you ache for something you couldn’t quite name.

“Relax,” Gaz whispered beside you, leaning in with a nudge. “They’re just people.”

“Intimidating people,” you muttered, your eyes flicking toward Captain John Price at the head of the table.

He had an air about him—quiet, commanding, the kind of presence that filled a room without trying. Yet, when he caught Soap’s wild hand gestures and chuckled under his breath, there was something so… human about him.

“Don’t let the beard fool you,” Gaz said with a smirk. “He’s not as grumpy as he looks.”

Before you could respond, Price’s deep voice cut through the din. “Kyle, aren’t you going to introduce us to your guest?”

Your cheeks flushed as all eyes turned toward you.

“This,” Gaz said, clapping a hand on your shoulder, “is my best mate. Been through thick and thin together.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Price said, his tone polite but curious as his eyes settled on you. He extended a hand, and you shook it, your palm warm against his.

“Likewise,” you managed, though the butterflies in your stomach were threatening to take flight.

The night carried on, and you started to relax—or at least fake it well enough. Soap’s loud laughter and over-the-top stories were impossible not to enjoy, and the food was something out of a holiday dream.

Still, your gaze kept drifting to Price. The way his eyes softened when he spoke to his team, the quiet authority in his posture. But it wasn’t just that. It was the way he looked at you—noticing when your glass was empty, offering a subtle smile when you caught him glancing your way.

And those glances… they made your heart stutter.

Gaz, ever the sharp-eyed friend, leaned in close. “You’re smitten,” he said, his voice low and teasing.

“Am not,” you shot back, glaring at him.

He grinned, leaning back smugly. “You’re terrible at lying.”

You wanted to argue, but the truth lodged itself in your throat. Because the fact was, you were smitten. And you hated how obvious it was.

As the night moved to gift exchanges and drinks in the sitting room, you noticed Gaz was acting… strange. Disappearing and reappearing with that mischievous glint in his eye that meant trouble. You didn’t think much of it until Soap’s exaggerated gasp drew everyone’s attention.

“Oi, what’s this?”

You turned to see him pointing at the doorway, where a sprig of mistletoe dangled conspicuously.

“Who put that there?” Soap asked, his grin wide enough to split his face.

Gaz raised his hand nonchalantly. “Festive spirit, mate. Thought it’d add to the ambiance.”

Your stomach dropped. You shot him a look that promised retribution, but before you could say a word, you noticed Price looking at the mistletoe. Then at you.

For a moment, he hesitated, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he stepped forward, his movements deliberate but gentle.

“Tradition’s tradition,” he said softly, holding out his hand.

Your heart raced as you placed yours in his. The world seemed to hold its breath as he leaned in, pressing a warm, fleeting kiss to your cheek.

“Merry Christmas,” he murmured, his breath brushing your skin.

Your cheeks burned, and you couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “Merry Christmas, Captain.”

The room erupted into cheers and whistles, Soap’s voice loudest of all. “Get in there, Price!”

But you barely heard them, too caught up in the way Price’s blue eyes lingered on yours, like he was seeing something he wasn’t quite ready to let go of.

Later, when the room had quieted and you’d stepped out onto the porch for some air, you replayed the moment in your mind. Your hand drifted to your cheek, the warmth of his kiss still lingering there.

The door creaked open behind you, and you turned to see Price stepping out, his coat slung over his arm.

“Thought I’d find you here,” he said, his voice calm and steady as always.

You smiled faintly. “Needed some air.”

He nodded, leaning against the railing beside you. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the quiet hum of the night wrapping around you like a blanket.

“Gaz… he’s been meddling, hasn’t he?” Price asked, his lips twitching into a small smile.

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “He’s not exactly subtle.”

“No, he’s not,” Price agreed, the amusement in his voice unmistakable.

Silence settled again, but this time it felt different—heavier, more charged. You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, taking in the way the soft glow of the porch light caught the edges of his beard.

“For what it’s worth,” he said finally, his voice low and sincere, “I’m glad he did.”

Your breath caught in your throat, your heart pounding so loud you were sure he could hear it.

“If you’re free,” he continued, his gaze meeting yours, steady and warm, “I’d like to take you out. Properly. No meddling sergeants involved.”

You blinked, the words sinking in slowly. Then, a smile broke across your face—soft, nervous, but genuine.

“Alright, Captain,” you said, your voice teasing but light. “You’ve got yourself a date.”

And as the two of you stepped back inside, Gaz’s smug grin waiting for you, you couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this Christmas was the start of something far greater than you ever imagined.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Leaving: Christmas

Alexia Putellas x Teen!Reader

Summary: Christmas with Menor

It's not often that Eli gets to have all three of you in the same place, not with you off travelling the world for your tennis, practically in a different country every month.

But the winter months is one that she can almost guarantee you'll be home for.

You finish your tennis season on a high, lifting the trophy at the WTA Finals before you spend a few more weeks in Poland with your training team coming up with a rough schedule of what you want to compete in next year.

But you're home now which means that Eli has all three of her daughters in the same country. Which also means mandatory days out together on the run up to Christmas.

It's easier to get you sorted than Alexia - still playing football every week - and Alba, still teaching as the schools haven't gone on holiday yet.

You're back in your childhood bedroom and seem to delight in sleeping the day away and only getting up around two in the afternoon to migrate from your bed to the sofa.

Occasionally, you roll out of bed early in the morning to take part in some sponsorship commitments.

Your tennis season has been nothing short of extraordinary this year and you've somehow become Nike Tennis' golden girl along the way with all of your tennis gear bar your racket being supplied by them.

Like how now, you and Alexia are wearing the exact same Nike shoes as you all walk through the Christmas market together.

"Mami!" You complain over the noise of the crowd," Mami, make them stop!"

Somewhere between the stall making handmade Santas and the stall with fresh paella, Alexia has gotten you into a headlock and is none too kindly ruffling your hair while Alba pinches your cheek between two fingers.

"She started it!" Alexia yells back.

"Alexia," Eli says with a sigh," You are thirty years old-"

"Yeah, Alexia!" You butt in," You're old."

"No, y/n, that's not what I meant," Eli tries to correct you but she's interrupted yet again.

"Yeah, older than you!" Alexia says," Which means you're meant to do what I say! Listen to your elders!"

"Oh? So you're elderly now? Maybe you should sit down, Ale, and rest your old back!"

You shove her off of you, stamping on her foot before taking off down the street.

"Hey! Get back here!" Alexia yells, taking off after you as she forces her way through the crowd.

Alba shakes her head in mock disapproval. "You know, Mami-"

"No, Alba," Eli says," I will not only buy you stuff tonight. Stop trying to get your sisters in trouble."

Alba shrugs. "It was worth a shot."

By the time Eli and Alba catch up, you and Alexia have forgotten whatever argument you've been having in favour of nosing around some of the stalls together.

Somehow in the time it's taken for Eli and Alba to return, you've both gotten cups of hot chocolate with caramel sauce and marshmallows along with little Christmas ornaments to hang on the tree.

"Must you two spend so much money?" Alba complains as she points at the little paper bags that Eli hadn't even noticed.

"It's not our fault that we've got a lot of it saved up."

Alba rolls her eyes. "It's exactly your fault! You don't have to keep winning so much in prize money."

You shrug. "It's not my fault I'm good at what I do."

"It's your fault you're not spending it on me," Alba says, tongue poking out of her mouth.

"If I buy you stuff, will I get sister points?"

Alba doesn't even have to think about it. "Yes."

You grin. "What do you want?"

Eli sighs. "Alba, please stop exploiting your little sister's goodwill."

"Yeah Alba," Alexia butts in, her own tongue sticking out," Don't exploit our little sister."

"You do it all the time!"

"I'm allowed to!"

"Girls," Eli says wearily," Please stop exploiting each other."

It's a weak request, one that Eli knows will be ignored but she has to at least attempt it, if only to look like a good mother in a crowd of strangers.

She easily tunes out the bickering of the three of you as she turns to the hot chocolate stall and buys herself a cup of it.

You and Alexia have good taste, she can give you that because it's delightfully creamy and Eli takes a long gulp before turning back around.

She's not surprised that the three of you have disappeared.

In all honesty, she's surprised you all stuck around for so long.

Usually, the three of you go off by yourselves the moment you step into a market. Eli's kind of been a bit antsy for you to all disappear. She does her best Christmas shopping when none of you are around.

"Alexia!" You complain," Hurry up! Alba's saving us a spot in line."

"But..." Alexia pretends to stumble, making herself seem suddenly weak and weary. "I...I don't know if I can go on! You know, with my old bones!"

"Alexia, you're so dramatic!"

She grins. "Yes."

"Come on!" You say," I want to go on the drop ride!"

"You always want to go on the drop ride!"

"Exactly," You say, pulling her more forcefully than before," Because it's tradition! Don't ruin tradition!"

Alexia laughs, finally having stopped digging her heels in to throw her arm over your shoulder.

"You know I'll never break tradition."

[zexapher]

I Wish Schnee a Merry Christmas

Of course, I wish thee a merry Christmas, too. Happy holidays, everyone! I thought I’d put together something new and festive to celebrate with you all, and I’m quite happy with how it turned out.

A nice, gripping story to pull at the heart strings; Weiss’s once cheerful home with Old Nick, the sad times with her family under Jacques, then finding a welcoming new home among her friends, and going on to build happy holiday memories with her new family. Of course, given a little more time, I think I’d have added a few moments of Klein and Winter sneaking a few gifts in during Weiss’s childhood. I definitely see them breaking Jacques’s rules a little to give Weiss a few more happy moments.

This is pretty much how I headcanon holiday celebrations for the Schnees. Nicholas was a big ol’ Santa Claus, Jacques doesn’t care about family celebrations and leaves it all to corporate events, and then a big welcoming friend’s party from the teams that Weiss isn’t used to, only for Weiss to then fully embrace it and be super into the holiday spirit and very involved with her new family’s celebrations.

As for editing, I had a good bit of fun recreating Jacques’s and Willow’s legs, adding in a reflection for them, and pulling all the color out of the Christmas tree to make it a very Schnee blue. Feels good to see the progress in my editing skills since I started brushing up on them last year. I can do a lot more and a lot faster now, this whole thing was just some on and off work over the past week. Like changing Zwei’s black fur to that rusty red-brown, that’s something quick and easy to do now, and looks good.

Anyway, happy holidays again, hope you enjoy the season and this edit as much as I do! It’s my present to all of you!

[lostintransist]

Chiseled Heart | Part 2

CW: Suspisions of stalking

AO3

You liked the look of the big man at the gym. He never stared at you and offered help only when you really needed it. When you had last seen him blood had run down your arm from your smashed finger. The trip to the Instacare, thankfully, had not led to stitches but did require steri-strips, and the doctor advised you to take a week off from the gym as the swelling in your hand reduced.

It gave you time to clean the handkerchief the man had let you borrow. Honestly, you didn’t even know people still carried them around. The fabric, soft and clean against your fingers, doesn’t smell like him. Such a shame, you imagine he is a man who smells good. Mentally smacking yourself from the daydreams starting to stir you tuck the handkerchief into the top of your gym bag and go about getting ready for work.

Work involved being an actuary for an insurance firm. Yes, you often felt like the devil shat on your flesh when you left work but you had to survive capitalism somehow. Stumbling into the profession had been a stroke of luck. A job fair at your college campus in the early days of your general ed classes had sat between the two buildings where your classes were held. You had always been good, comfortable, and confident in math, and a job that would always be needed somewhere that let you dink around in Excel all day? Well, there were worse things to direct your life toward. You refused to work for health insurance companies. You needed to survive, but you didn’t need to be the reason someone died.

Audiobooks and your favorite forty-six-hour playlist (that did grow nearly every time you found a new song or band to obsess over) kept you company as you toiled away your minutes at the overly light computer. No matter how many times you flicked off the overhead lights your boss would turn them back on with every chat. It reached the point you were sure he was fucking with you. He didn’t work in the small office flooded with natural light. No, he worked across the building. You would hate him if that didn’t require giving any emotional energy toward the vampire.

Being the only non-man on the team led to some interesting reactions from people who floated by the office or dropped by to confirm the numbers on a file that had been sent out. They all filtered to you first. Every. Last. Visitor. It got so bad that you had taped a 62-point font two-page spread to the back of your monitor that read “NOT IN CHARGE ASK HIM” with an arrow pointing to your supervisor’s desk. It helped a little.

The gym between the office and your apartment had become a refuge from the corporate curve to your spine and the ache in your ass from your chair. It never seemed to fade no matter how many hours you switched from sitting to standing. Hip exercises though? Now those aches faded and left you fitting better in your slacks.

Staring at your frozen lunch in the microwave at eye level you toy with the waiting plastic fork at your lips. Mind drifting with the monotonous spin you find yourself thinking of him again. The man who wore a mask no matter how sweat through his top might be, who never stared, and walked with the slightest of limps. He had been kind, if a bit reluctant the few times you had interacted. Maybe reserved would be a better word for his actions. Nothing about his help had been reluctant toward you; more as if he battled within himself before deciding.

Maybe you should offer him a cupcake from the local bakery? Or take him to coffee as a thank you? Somehow the idea of his large hands hiding a paper cup as the heat seeped from it didn’t appeal. He couldn’t drink anything warm with a mask firmly in place. Doubt crept along your shoulders. You needed to say thank you. Handing the clean folded piece of cloth and your sincerest words didn’t satisfy the need ingrained from childhood.

Settling on offering to buy him a take-home dessert or a takeout of his choice you nod once to yourself. If he declined the offer at least you had put the effort in to truly articulate your thanks for his help. Today being Monday you set the goal of asking him when you returned his belongings. The rest of the day slips by easily; reports are completed on time and fired off by email. You didn’t even forget to add an attachment today.

When you are leaving the parking lot you notice it, that car that always leaves at the same time as you. It’s not terribly unusual. Building management did try and stagger off times to avoid parking lot traffic but the same car for the past three weeks had been pulling out directly behind you every time you left. The blue peeking through the rust of the bug started to give you Dahmer vibes. It had been a concern on your radar. Your panic didn’t increase until tonight. Instead of taking a turn before you got to your destination, the bug followed you today, parking at the back of the gym parking lot. You were able to snag an opening under a light pole and close to the entrance.

Scurrying from your car you sneak through the front door as the clock shifts to eight and they lock behind you. Heaving a sigh of relief you lift your bag further up your shoulder and head for the locker room. It isn’t hard to spot the man you are looking for when you let your eyes drift across the gym. He has headphones on today as he does squats. Man had a flat ass but he sure as hell never skipped leg day.

Dressing, you mentally run through the steps of your Monday routine. Stairmaster is first, then after you are warmed up today you would focus on back and chest. The man who helped you, damn you really needed to get his name today, didn’t notice you until you were nearly done with your last exercise. He often arrived before you and left after. When your eyes caught in the mirror that spanned the length of the gym he nodded once at you before continuing to put away his current weights.

Finishing your last set you speed through putting your own weights away and slipping into the dressing room to grab the handkerchief you needed to return. You are able to corner him in what everyone refers to as the stretching corner. Feet spread wide, head down he slowly walks his hands from one leg to the other. You do your best not to drool over the stretch and bulge of muscles as he does this. Chewing on your lip you wait patiently for his movements to be finished.

When his hands reach the middle he drops one knee and then the other, pulling both beneath him as he prepares to stand. He looks up after getting one foot on the ground. You are startled at the blue eyes that peer out at you.

“Ja?”

You blink a few times before offering his item back with both hands.

“I wanted to say thank you for your help and offer to buy you take out one of these days,” your words are nearly not understandable with how they all rush over each other to get out of your mouth. Taking a deep breath you give your name before noticing you are still holding on to the handkerchief.

Letting go you give him a wincing smile and step back a smidge.

Your eyes trail up with him as he stands, he is tall. You weren’t short for a woman by any means but you didn’t quite crack six feet. He had to be well over that number.

“I know you wear a mask so I would also be happy to get you a gift card. This isn’t me trying to pry or force you in any way I just thought a thank you wasn’t really enough you know?”

Now you are rambling. You shut your mouth with a slight click, barely managing to get your tongue out of the way before you crushed it. You stare at him as he stares at you.

“König,” he offers a hand.

You take it and shake it before tucking your hands behind your back to keep from embarrassing yourself further.

“I will decline the food offer, but danke,” he inclines his head with this thanks.

“You’re welcome, I didn’t think you would but I would feel bad if I didn’t at least offer.” Shrugging once you can feel this conversation coming to an end. Stepping back once more you can’t figure out the best way to end this interaction. “Thanks again, for the help.”

He nods once and you skitter away to the locker room for your bag. You studiously avoid looking for him as you head toward the front doors. The sight of the stalkerish car still sat in the same stall in the back of the lot. Turning to look at the front desk you only see two young women chatting away. Can’t ask them, they would be in just as much danger.

Cursing the bastard that was maybe stalking you under your breath you make your way back to the stretching corner. You wait again for König to take notice of you. When he does he lifts a brow in question.

“Sorry I know I’m awkward and probably annoying at this point but is there any chance you could walk me to my car?” You point over your shoulder as if he doesn’t know where the parking lot is. “There is this weird car I have been seeing over the last few weeks and they followed me here tonight and they are still in the lot.”

He nods and stands, walking by your side before holding open both the inner and outer doors for you.

“Will be back,” he says to the front desk gals in passing. They nod and thank him for the heads up.

The fresh air and trickle of water from the creek that runs next to the building are refreshing after the slight sweat-tinged air of the gym. The engine of the little blue bug starts up as you appear. It proceeds to peel out when they notice the mountain of a man at your side. König keeps pace with you, his silence is comforting as you breathe a sigh of relief.

Reaching your car you drop your duffle bag in the back seat and turn to look up at him as you lean back on the door.

“Okay, now I really do owe you dinner. Will you be here Wednesday? I’ll bring a gift card since I doubt you would like to have dinner with me and my socially incompetent self.”

“Nien, no need,” he waves a hand between you as if the help he provided is nothing. “I am also…awkward.”

“Well, nothing you say will prevent me from buying you a gift card.” You smile up at him, grin wide and bright. “Thanks König. I’ll see you Wednesday.”

With that you climb into your car, shutting and locking the door before driving off into the night. König waves to you as you stop before pulling onto the road. You wave back despite knowing he can’t see you in the dark.

Chiseled Masterlist | Masterlist

[bones4thecats]

┗ They're Mine; TFA! Cons × GN! S/O ┛

Characters: Megatron, Starscream, and Shockwave (Transformers Animated) *characters aren't shipped together A/N: This was actually fun to write, I made the idea while ago but never had any energy to write it out. Thank goodness I did, though. I love this, by far one of my most enjoyable pieces to write. ⇘ Summary: After returning from a mission with Shockwave on Cybertron, you attract the attention of Lord Megatron and his second-in-command, Starscream. But, after becoming more comfortable around the Decepticon team, they're shocked by the realization of your status with your spy-partner.

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👑💫 Having one of these mechs on your aft is hard enough. But having both of them? Oh, I feel bad for you.

👑 Megatron doesn't hesitate to show his disdain for any of his fellow Cybertronians, or really anything in general. But, because of this quality, it's easy to tell when you likes you around. Examples of this is Shockwave.

💫 Starscream on the other hand is the exact opposite. He never really shows he likes anyone. Probably because he doesn't, but I regress.

👑💫 However, when you came around, these two changed their actions almost fully. They're still just as unstable as before, but they do try to tone it down when you're nearby. Starscream does this better than the anger-issues having warlord.

👑💫 You were terrified when you met the warlord. You may have been a Decepticon who followed him for many years through the war back home, but actually seeing him face-to-face was totally different.

🧪 During Shockwave's time on Cybertron, you were right by his side. You managed a lot of the background parts, you made sure there were records of a Longarm and Hillcrest being created and being raised on the planet. Longarm being Shockwave's alias and Hillcrest being yours.

👑🧪 When you both were revealed as traitors, you fled to Lord Megatron as quickly as possible. He wasn't happy you both failed, but the way you somehow managed to go that long and get quite a bit of information, did please him.

👑🧪 You stared up at the mech as he looked blankly at you. Shockwave looked back at you with his singular optic, before motioning for you to come closer to him. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders and introduced you to your shared boss.

"Lord Megatron, I am pleased to introduce you to Y/N. They've been my right-hand during my time on Cybertron. Their knowledge almost surpasses my own, it's quite jarring."

"My Lord." You bowed, nervously staring at the ground as Megatron stared down at you.

"Rise." He demanded, to which you obliged and looked at him with slightly-widened optics.

"So," he began circling around you as he spoke. "You're the infamous Hillcrest Prime, leader of the Cybertronian Defense. Impressive work weakening their defenses on the inside without Ultra Magnus discovering."

"I-uh, thank you, my Lord. Though, Shockwave did do quite a bit of work himself with that." You chuckled.

"Oh, I'm sure he did." He purred, making your cheeks flare with a slight blue tint.

💫 Your first time meeting Starscream was far different. You actually knew him from before the war. He was one of your best friends as you aged. Starscream enjoyed being around you because you helped feed into his ever-growing ego.

💫 He always said you were adorable when you were young, but seeing you and how you aged was shocking. You stood alongside Shockwave, trying to put a few things together before Lugnut began to spout off about Megatron once again.

💫 You looked at Lugnut and blinked annoyingly, a scowl on your face as he kept rambling. He was pissing you off and both Starscream and Shockwave knew this, but didn't bother trying to stop you. They both understood your anger far to well.

"Lugnut. Please be quiet. Shockwave and I must continue our research into the ship and getting information out of Arcee."

"Are you saying you don't want to hear about our glorious leader, Lord Megatron?! How dare you insult him in such a menner?! Why-"

💫 Your optic twitched as you, without hesitation, stomped on Lugnut's ped, kicked him on the side of his face, and pushed him out of the room.

"And if you don't want to listen, stay out!" You yelled, slamming the doors shut.

👑 Megatron heard the noise and went to the room, only to find Lugnut pouting outside of the room.

"Lugnut? What caused that loud boom?" Megatron asked.

👑 The green and purple Decepticon stood up abruptly and bowed to the stoic mech before telling him the story. Only for you to yell back that you heard him and he should stop acting like a sparkling unless he wanted you to come out and throw him out the nearest exit.

👑 Megatron was slightly surprised. When you first arrived, you were on the shy-side, not really speaking unless necessary. But, perhaps that was how Hillcrest acted around people of authority and not Y/N? Most likely.

👑💫 Megatron entered and looked at Starscream, only to see the mech talking to you like he knew you for eons. Of course he did, but the warlord couldn't give a scrap. His second-in-command really knows how to make Megatron want to cut each cable in his system, doesn't he?

"Y/N, can you grab some supplies from the back?" Shockwave asked.

"...Huh? Oh- yeah. What do you need?"

"Just some lubricants and extra cords." He answered, antennae moving around as you smiled and nodded.

👑💫 Megatron and Starscream glared at one another, but they looked at you as you whipped off your servos and laid a cloth down for Shockwave to do the same later on. Come to think of it, the only Cybertronian they saw you always positively and freely interact with was the scientist...

👑💫🧪 Just as they began to go through the few memories they shared with you in the team, you stepped up slightly and pecked the scientist on the side of his helm. His antennae moved slightly upwards as he leaned his helm on yours for a slight second before you left to grab the materials he wanted.

"Did that just... happen?" Starscream mumbled, Lugnut beside him with his jaw dropped open.

"Uh- Shockwave." Megatron called.

👑💫🧪 Shockwave looked at his leader and hummed, wordlessly asking for the larger mech to continue.

"Are you and Y/N a... couple?" He strained out.

"We started acting lovingly while undercover in Cybertron's ranks, those small actions are practically in our average movements now." He replied.

"That doesn't answer the question!" Starscream yelled, servo balled in a fist as he yelled.

"To sum it up...

They're mine."

[fumiscripts]

✦ BIRTHDAY PRINCESS

✦ one shot ,, michael kaiser x gn!reader

✦ content:: coming back from an overseas match, kaiser didn't expect to find you literally slide towards him to greet him for his birthday

fluff/crack, 1580 words

additional:: reader has ZERO shame, affectionate asf reader, slight suggestive joke but it's so corny we js ignore it, loving kaiser so hard he almost freaks out but the keyword is almost, author did not know what she was doing, semi-rushed ending but that's because author wanted to clutch this for his birthday, swearing warning though I believe people are already used to that

You had a card up your sleeve.

No, seriously. You had a card up your sleeve at the moment. Not a playing card, though. It was a birthday card. For who? Your not-so-lovely boyfriend: Michael Kaiser. Well, now that you think of it, you did have another card up your sleeve. You planned to be a little devious. Just a little. You swear you won't be a public nuisance by doing this.

It's December 24th, a few minutes before midnight. You were in a private lobby of an airport, equipped with a portable speaker and a semi-charged phone, waiting for Kaiser— who was returning from an overseas match— just so you could drive him back home and make him your passenger prince, as a sign of affection, of course.

You kept looking around, staring at the signs that showed flights, waiting for his flight's status to turn to ‘arrived’. It's been a good few hours of waiting, already. You swore you got here right when the sun finished setting. This shit is taking forever. Then again, it was the holidays, so it's to be expected that places like the airport were bustling with people and fully booked flights, which might be the cause of delays.

Right as you thought you might crash out from waiting, they finally announced the planet's arrival. You ascended in joy, proceeding to basically cheer to the heavens above inwardly. You burnt holes into the door of the lobby with just your gaze, going back to your plan of totally not embarrassing both of you in front of the team.

The entrance handle twisted, and the door opened. You see the iconic blond and blue locks as he walks through, and you're filled with familiarity. On cue, you press the play button on your phone, making his eyes snap to you as the audio plays obnoxiously loud through the room.

You catch a brief glimpse of a judgemental expression on Kaiser's face. He barely had any time to ask you what in the actual hell you were doing, before you were already sliding to him on your knees, in sync with the lyrics from the song that blasted from the speakers connected to your phone

“THERE GOES MY BABYYYY.”

“What the fuck–?” his curse was cut off by you making contact with him. He was utterly flabbergasted, and you were just calmly latching onto his torso, just like the clip of this trend you were referencing. Kaiser suddenly grows aware of what was going on, as well as his surroundings, and he suddenly felt like hissing and thrashing away from you like an angry cat that did not want to be picked up.

You were not letting go, though.

With your arms wrapped around his waist, you were completely content with staying like that beside him. He was comfortable to hold, anyway.

Yes, you were just completely ignoring the way he was attempting to peel you off of him like you were some disgusting tick that clung to him. You could tell some of his teammates in the room were staring at you two, too, but you could care less. Hey! At least you didn't do this in public public, right?

You acquired a minor bruise on your side because of that little stunt.

Kaiser accidentally kicked you while trying to shake you off of him. But you could say it was worth it. You wanted to try the trend on him, but he didn't agree like the killjoy he was, saying that ‘he wasn't gonna entertain any of your fantasies about being able to hold him like that, even though that desperate display might be amusing.’ This was the only opportunity you could think of. You definitely had no other choice, so fuck it, you went ball and did it.

Now, he was staring at you— practically scolding you silently. You smiled it off because you were just a chill guy. “I have another card up my sleeve,” you remarked. That sentence alone had him debating whether to question how he was into you or to play along. Kaiser decided to do both, with the former being to himself, and the latter being what he did to you.

“Don't you dare pull some weird shit,” he muttered under his breath, sounding a bit exasperated, before sighing and replying more forwardly. “And that is?” Kaiser prompted, waiting for you to reveal whatever you wanted to show him now. He watches you reach into your sleeve, pulling out an actual card. You took his hand, planting the parchment into his palm— facing down— before retracting your arms, wearing an innocent smile in your face that just screamed mischief.

He looked back and forth between you and the letter in his hands, like you just handed him a ticking bomb. “It's a card for you. Open it,” you urged, and Kaiser could notice how enthusiastic you were, eager to see him read whatever was written. He hesitantly turned his gaze back down at it, unfolding and reading it, purposefully not out loud because he just knows it’s some bizzare freak.

Happy Birth ay!

I’ll give you the d later. ;)

These words were bolded. Kaiser’s eyes went back to you— still smiling with faux innocence— and stared at you disapprovingly, as if you were some abnormality. “...What the fuck?” he asks, making you grin wider in your successful tomfoolery. It was too late for this— or rather, too early. It's already 12 in the morning.

“Isn’t it amazing?” you comment, being met with the card being thrown to you, lightly making contact with your face. You gasped in overdramatic offence, easily catching the piece of paper. “Wow, you have no taste in absolute art,” you remark, leading to Kaiser sneering at you.

“I do. You're the one who doesn't,” he replied, heading away from you and to the exit of the airport, acting like he doesn't know you once passing by a more crowded area. He wasn't gonna associate with your weirdness. 

You went after him with the straightest face you could muster. You were nonchalant like that.

Going to his car, he raised an eyebrow when you led him towards the side where the passenger seat was. He was skeptical about you driving. Who can blame him? He rarely sees you drive, plus it's late at night— though he figures you were less tired than him for still being this energetic. He can trust you with not crashing the car this one time, maybe.

You opened the door for him, really putting in effort into making sure he had full service. Inside the vehicle, the first thing he sees is a bouquet of blue roses on the seat. Then, he notices the little crocheted dog plushie beside it. He turns to look at you, a smirk etching on his face, but you could tell it almost resembled a genuine smile. “You've outdone yourself, huh? I'll give you an A for actually pulling this off.”

“How generous of you,” you say in return, gently closing the car door after him. Once you were in the car, yourself, you started the engine, doing all the necessary safety shit like buckling in your seatbelt and whatnot.

When you turned over to where Kaiser was, he was staring at you. Not in the cute affectionate way, more like he was observing you. “Don’t crash,” he instructs after a short, silent staring contest. You simply smile innocently in return— you've been doing that a lot for a while now— and look back to the steering wheel, putting your hand on it and stepping on the pedal.

How fortunate. You can actually drive decently. Enough to bring you two safely from one point to another.

The plush and flowers were placed on his lap, and he found himself fiddling with the blue petals. Usually, he hates surprises. As well as presents. But coming from you, he supposes it's an exception. It might even be endearing. But perhaps that was just his personal bias due to being your boyfriend.

Kaiser leans on the car window, feeling the cool glass against his skin. You could almost feel those azure eyes watching you while you navigate through the streets, but you kept your own on the road. You could see how his gaze is almost soft, and how the mask of confidence and self-assurance he refused to not wear around others wasn't plastered on his face. You could tell that it was a sight that only you had the privilege of seeing.

It was nice to see him be like this— genuine without hiding behind a constructed facade. It might be cheesy, but you’d forever cherish the way he willingly lets his guard down around you. You could say that that's one of the reasons you like to do things for him.

And to him, having you— someone he found himself genuinely trusting— around was alike to having found a solace. Like a place of refuge. Whenever it was just you and him, he didn't have to be Kaiser: the German prodigy, a football star. He could just be Michael.

Plus, though he might never admit it to you nor himself, he's found himself starting to like the way you give him affection. He's been deprived of it for too long, and you're willing and ready to give it to him with warmth. 

Maybe he could get used to gifts— especially when it's coming from you.

(a/n):: I can't do this I love him sm ANW happy birthday Kaiser ml my pretty wife <33 and Merry Christmas to those who celebrate!!

taglist: @shrii-kk, @tired-xyra-urstruly, @fishii28, @yui2aku

@lakeside-paradise

© fumiscripts 2024. don't steal, repost, translate or modify my works without my permission.

[thebigbadbatswife]

Beneath The Mistletoe

Pairing - Bruce Wayne x F!Reader x Selina Kyle

Summary - Selina and Bruce corner you beneath the mistletoe.

Warnings - Public Displays of Affection, Christmas Fluff, Suggestive Themes, Humour, Bisexual!Reader

Word Count - 800

Wayne Manor was cast in a golden glow from the various twinkling lights that currently decorated the place. Along with the lights were the decorations that you would expect to see in a billionaire’s home. Gold, silver, red. Nothing overly gaudy, but still screamed rich. And there was the tree in the entrance hall. Its size completely surreal and was decorated in a very orderly and traditional way. A similar one was set up within the main ballroom as well.

It was all for show. Something for the “official” Bruce Wayne Christmas party that was thrown each and every year without fail.

The real decorations were deeper within the manor. Set up in one of the lounges. A tree decorated by the boys. It was messy and chaotic and perfect. All at once. A fake pine garland along the top of the mantle of a fireplace that had a low flame flickering within it. And none of those gaudy hanging decorations are anywhere to be seen. 

The lounge wasn’t filled with strangers either. Friends and family only. This was the real Christmas party. One that wasn’t going to end up in every magazine and news website across the planet. Where everyone was made jealous of the luxury that came from a billionaire’s bank account.

There was no need to dress fancy either. Though ugly Christmas jumpers were mandatory, per Dick’s request. Which was fine by everyone, but Bruce. Who looked grumpy and kept pulling at the neck, scratching his skin, where it was irritating him. Though, in true Bruce fashion, it was a Batman themed one. He likely wasn’t hating this as much as he was making out he was.

Seeing everyone in one room together made you smile. With all the near disasters that kept almost befalling the planet and the city you called home, it was hard to get everyone in the same room.

You sipped on the eggnog in your snifter glass, humming softly. It was thicky and creamy and delicious. One of these days you were going to have to beg Alfred to tell you the recipe.

“Well, what do we have here?” Selina asked as she approached you. She was wearing a sweater that had the image of a cat tangled in christmas lights. It was very her. 

You raised an eyebrow at her. What was she on about? 

She smiled, amused at your confusion. Her eyes looked above you before returning to your own. You looked above you and chuckled when you saw it. Mistletoe. Dammit. You had been doing a good job all night avoiding it. Now Selina had you cornered. She took a step forward. You attempted to take a step backwards (it was all part of the game), but your back came into contact with a solid chest, which stopped you in your tracks. There was no need for you to turn around to see who it was. You already knew. 

Bruce. 

They were teaming up against you.

“You know, mistletoe can be deadly if you eat,” he said. Both of his hands came to rest on your hips and pulled you against him. 

She hummed and stepped into your space. “Yes, but a kiss can be even deadlier, if you mean it.”

Your cheeks felt impossible hot. They were going to be the death of you. You were sure of it. Bruce’s lips brushed against your ear, sending a shiver up your spine.

“It’s just a couple of kisses. Then we’ll let you go.”

But it never was a “couple of kisses”. Two would turn into four and four would turn into eight. Before you knew it they would have you wrapped up in the silk sheets of the custom bed Bruce had had built for the three of you. Not that you ever complained. You trusted them completely.

“Fine,” you replied, accepting your fate and surrendering yourself to your lovers.

Selina kissed your first. It was far more sensual than a kiss beneath the mistletoe should be. You sighed softly when she pulled away. Your lips weren’t left alone for long. Bruce turned your head to him and kissed you. Even going as far as to push his tongue into your mouth, caressing your tongue with his own. Your moan was barely audible. Only Selina and Bruce were able to hear it. 

“Get a room you three!” Hal called out. There were a few chuckles and laughs that followed. If it was possible for your cheeks to get even hotter, they definitely did.

And Bruce decided to make it so much worse.

“I think Hal’s right for once. Perhaps we should go up to our room.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, they were immediately followed by the sounds of Dick and Jason fake gagging and retching.