#every movement towards each other is a near miss

[agneslovestheinternet-blog]

FUCK YOU, don't leave me

Part Five: Thin Line THE FINAL PART (Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four)

Gally x Fem!Reader

There is a paper thin line between love and hate. You and Gally have been using that line as a proverbial jump rope for multiple passion-filled weeks. In the wake of your last argument with him, you both are pulled further towards the affectionate side of said line, much to both of your protests. 

Genre: enemies to lovers, light angst, smut scenes sprinkled throughout

Word Count: 6K Read Time:

Warnings & Info: movie version, arguing, lowk angry sex, betrayal??????

Author’s Note: IT’S DONE!!! Oh my god this has been so fun to write. I had no idea what this series was going to turn into when I started it and it has been a JOURNEY. Thanks to everyone who left a kind comment, reblog, or heart; y’all truly motivated me to keep going when I felt like giving up due to writer’s block lol. Thanks for everything and stay tuned for my next upcoming fics! I’ve got a new, super duper Hurt/No Comfort Teen Wolf series I’m dropping soon and a Maze Runner one shot that’s lowkey a crackfic???? Maybe??? So hope you enjoy those!

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Day 37

Gally feels as though a large rock has been dropped straight into his chest cavity. He wasn’t aware that emotional pain could manifest physically until this moment. He wonders how long he can lay here until his crew or his friends come knocking, starting up another slew of well-meaning questions that he might not be able to answer without bursting into tears again.

Fuck, I’m so pathetic. All those months spent preaching about how Glade girls are a distraction and here he is, letting his heart get practically ripped open by one. I’m so stupid. He pulls himself up to a sitting position, almost wincing in pain at the movement. She just wanted to fuck you, why’d you have to ruin it? He pulls his clothes on slowly, his limbs feeling significantly heavier today than any other day.

Day 39

You shouldn’t miss him. You know you don’t have any right to anxiously search for his face across The Glade. But every time you do catch a glimpse of his broad figure, doing manual labor under the hot sun or his bright blue eyes, crinkling with laughter while talking with his friends, or his calloused hands, holding a backhoe as he helps out in the garden, you feel like all of the breath has been sucked from your lungs in one fell swoop.

Despite the torture of your access being cut off from him, you still haven’t even begun to understand your feelings for him. Or how they had managed to blossom despite the thick layer of hatred you had fought hard to smother them with. 

Or maybe it wasn’t that at all. Maybe the hate wasn’t covering up the mushy feelings, but mixing themselves in, like an emotionally taxing cake batter. Love and hate coexisting within your frame drew you like a magnet towards Gally. Whether fighting or, (to put it indelicately), fucking, there’s something within you both that ignites everytime you two are near each other. You hope that that flame hasn’t been extinguished indefinitely.

Day 40

Gally opened his eyes this morning. He thought of you. He closed his eyes late tonight. He thought of you. His dreams aren’t even an escape, as you’ve become the only subject in them. They’re not sexual, like they were before you two hooked up for the first time. They’re embarrassingly soft.

You, nestling against his body in his bed. Your laugh, just ringing on repeat. You, patching up an injury of his in the Med-hut, smiling gently at him the whole time. You, holding his hand under the table in the dining hall as you eat. But the most captivating one by far is the one where your face slowly comes into focus out of a white void. You smile at him for a moment, then speak; “Gally…I love-

He awakens with a start, his bleary eyes wildly searching his darkened hut for anything that will bring him back to reality. When he finally does come to his senses, the ache in his chest starts afresh, fueled by your imaginary confession.

Day 41

“I don’t mean to pry. Just, checking in, I guess,” Thomas had whispered over breakfast this morning.

“You good?” Zart had asked with an uncharacteristically concerned look on his face this afternoon. 

“Seriously, if there’s something going on; you can tell me. I’m here for you, mate” Newt had stated softly this evening, before quickly leaving Gally to eat his dinner alone, as he could tell the Builder wasn’t in the mood for company.

Each display of concern had tightened Gally’s chest and made the air dissipate his lungs for just a moment. Each question sent a kaleidoscope of memories of you spinning through his head. He doesn’t know how to answer them; he doesn’t even know how to answer himself. Racing questions of love and feelings and hatred and lust have been swirling in his head since the moment he sent you away that night. He can’t seem to separate what he’s been telling himself to feel and what he actually feels. And would it even matter if he could?

If he could figure out how he felt about you, would it change the way you saw him?

Day 42

You watch Minho jog confidently back into The Glade after another evidently successful day of dodging death in the Maze. The setting sun casts a romantic backdrop behind him and you admire the swiftness of his gait, the angle of his jawline, the veins bulging in his hands and the way all of those things are getting closer to you as you’ve begun walking towards him as though entranced.

“Hey Minho,” you call out when you’re several paces away from him and he looks up with a smile.

“Hey Y/N; how was your day?” he asks, quickly breaking from the group of his friends forming around him in favor of walking in step with you.

“Fine. Listen; do you wanna go out with me?” you blurt out, surprising yourself with the question as much as him. 

Minho blushes and shock causes the smile to fall from his face unceremoniously. His mouth feels dry all of the sudden and he has a hard time hearing his own response over the pounding of his heart in his ears.

“Um…yeah? Are you-are you asking me out?” he croaks out quietly, feeling as though this moment might just be too good to be true.

“Yeah…” you nod, as if pondering the question yourself. “Yeah I am,” You’re not quite sure why this is the coping mechanism you’ve decided to employ, but you once heard Ariana mutter a crude phrase to Gia when she got left high and dry by a Builder and you’ve always wondered if it’s true; “The best way to get over one guy is to get under another,”

Day 43

Gally was usually in bed at this hour, but he realized he left his jacket sitting on a pile of lumber at the construction site and it was almost certainly going to rain tonight. So he dragged himself out of bed to go and get it and that’s when he heard the telltale pitch of your voice cut through the otherwise silent Glade.

“Minho…” your muffled moan rings out clearly, in a tone of voice Gally is all too familiar with. It’s coming from the Keeper of the Runner’s hut and the soft grunts and garbled compliments in the lower voice that accompanies yours, are no doubt coming from him.

Gally stops dead in his tracks, the cool breeze of night whistling the tall grass around him. The bitter drip of betrayal floods his veins like a deadly poison that effectively stops his heart for a moment. He should be furious, as that’s his time-tested reaction to almost any wrongdoing done to him. He’s territorial and aggressive and certainly not above ripping Minho’s door off its hinges and confronting the both of you for this unexpected menage a trois. He doesn’t, though, as he can’t bring himself to move, let alone cause substantial property damage.

He stands motionless in the field, his jacket balled up in a two-handed, white-knuckle grip, and he waits for the familiar heat of his anger to rush to his temples. But it doesn’t go there. Or to his fists, to prepare him to punch. Instead, it pools gently behind his eye sockets, squeezing his tear ducts until hot tears are streaming down his face for the second time this week.

Gally lets the humiliation wash over him like a gentle wave. He’s used to pushing away feelings like these, trying to remain strong no matter what obstacle he’s faced with. But right now, his resolve weakens and crumbles, like an eroding sand castle. He lets the tears fall without protest and the pain in his chest spreads outward until every fiber of his body seems to ache slowly for you.

Only for a minute though. Just a few moments of weakness. Of letting himself be a boy with a broken heart and nothing more. And then that minute passes. He wipes his tears, he starts back towards his hut, he forces his body to move from its leaden stupor.

It isn’t until he’s laying in his bed several minutes later that the anger finally starts to replace the pain. He comes back to himself, letting his fury cover up the sadness beneath it like the sun eclipsing the moon.

Day 44

The med-hut can often feel like a thatched-roof prison, but today it seems to be the opposite. It is a fortress, shielding you from the litany of awkward encounters that might occur, should you step outside of its boundaries. You move through your to-do list of mundane tasks, your hands completing them easily as your mind wanders elsewhere. 

As you restock the supply closet, it plays the memories of your spontaneous tryst with Minho last night as clear as if you were watching a recording of them. The sound of his gruff voice, the sight of his shoulders glistening with sweat above you, the feeling of his body colliding with yours over and over; these images dance intoxicatingly on your consciousness. You tried to keep your mind on the Runner for most of the morning, thinking of how easily your conversations with him went, how he just seemed to fit into your life without you needing to move anything around to accommodate the space he takes up. 

It also helps that he’s clearly very into you, and probably has been for a while. But no matter how many pros you could come up with for Minho, there was always one, glaring con burning in the back of your mind.

He’s not Gally.

Which is a ridiculous thought because Gally is an infuriatingly difficult person to be around, let alone pursue romantically . He’s an arrogant asshole most of the time. He’s exceedingly angry and decided to hate you the moment he met you. He called you a slut in front of everyone. He’s coarse and prickly and generally unhelpful. He’s nothing like Minho, with his heart on his sleeve and a helpful attitude.

Having sex with Minho felt like what you assumed sex should feel like before you had it; good, but slightly awkward and then over entirely too soon. But sex with Gally felt like something almost indescribable. When he’s with you, he doesn’t just make the world seem better; he makes it melt away entirely. There’s a passion that sizzles beneath every encounter like two live wires intersecting. 

It can’t be replicated with anyone else. So as sweet as you knew the Runner would be to you, something tells you that you’d never be fully satisfied with him. The Builder is the only option for you.

Day 45

Gally moves through the slow-moving dinner line as if in a daze. Once his plate is full, he scans the dinner hall for the emptiest table he can find, until he catches a glimpse of his friends, animatedly talking at a table in the direct center of the room. He feels a pang of guilt reverberate through his chest as it dawns on him that he’s been essentially ignoring them for days now.

As he walks over to their table, he starts to pick up on bits and pieces of their conversation and it becomes increasingly clear that his original path was the correct one to take.

“...believe you got lucky, you dog,” Zart hisses, barely concealing his jealousy. Minho grins knowingly.

“I know. And she’s…” he trails off and widens his eyes, “good,”

“Like she’s done it before?” Newt asks with raised eyebrows.

“Yeah. But who could she-” Minho starts but his sentence is cut through with a barking order, courtesy of Gally.

“Are you talking about Y/N?” He’s standing with his feet spread apart, his dinner tray in one hand, the other balled into a fist. He looks like he’s ready for a fight, and Minho’s never seen that stance directed towards him. The Runner feels his heart rate spike and the heat drain from his cheeks as he struggles to come up with an answer.

“Gally…I ...yes but-,” Minho manages to stammer out but it doesn’t seem to matter much. Gally swiftly pivots on his heel and storms out of the hall in a huff, resigning to eat his dinner in livid silence in the comfort of his own hut.

“What the hell was that?” Zart blurts out as soon as Gally is out of earshot.

“Why’s he so angry?” Thomas asks genuinely.

“I thought you said Y/N and him made up,” Newt says earnestly, searching Minho’s face for answers.

“I thought they did,” Minho whispers quietly, trying to keep the shiver of fear from creeping down his back. He finally gets with you and now Gally’s going to kill him? Great.

“Guess they didn’t,” Zart shrugs, “You might as well start planning your funeral now, Minho,”

Day 46

You had almost jumped out of your skin when Gally had leaned in close and told you to meet him in his hut at nine. He’d said it in your ear as he passed you to get into the meeting room for one of Alby’s “town hall” meetings, as he called them. Just as quickly as he had gotten next to you, he had disappeared to the other side of the room, and had seemed determined to avoid your eye contact for the entire meeting.

You had half a mind to think that this might be some kind of cruel joke as you walked obediently to his abode as soon as it hit nine. But it didn’t matter. You wanted to see him so badly you didn’t care how this could end.

You slink through his door in your familiar way and stand to face him. His expression is unreadable and his body is tense. There’s a strange energy in this room that you haven’t felt all the other times you’ve been here. You open your mouth to greet him but he cuts you off with a coarse command.

“Get on your knees,” It’s not an aggressive statement, just firm. You’re taken aback by his directness, but then become intrigued as a smile pulls at your lips.

“Is that any way to talk to me?” you tease. Gally stiffens and holds firm.

“It’s a fine way to talk to you. Do it,” he repeats in the same monotone.

You comply wordlessly and he makes his way over to you, undoing his belt as he walks. He stands in front of you and lets you do all the work of pulling down his pants, then his boxers, then taking his hard cock in your hands and eventually, your mouth.

He lets his head lull back and his hands find a firm grip in your hair as he tries to lose himself in the pleasure of your tongue swirling around his tip. He tugs on your strands sharply, extracting a strained whimper from that Gally tries to ignore. Everytime he gets close to his mind going blank, a worry manages to slip through the cracks. 

Did she do this for Minho? When they…was he better than me? Did she miss me? Like, at all? Did I miss her? Do I love her? And if I do, what the hell am I doing treating her like this? 

Though you’re growing wetter by the second and determined to make your companion feel good, your mind is far from at ease as well. Guilt rattles your chest at the memory of your tryst with Minho that failed to smother your feelings for the Builder then anger at said Builde’s forcefulness replaces it then a deep pining overtakes that feeling and then your brain finally circles back around to raw sexual attraction.

Both parties can feel that the other is in vacillation between an array of conflicting emotions and it reads plainly in your body language. Gally’s hips are taught and his breathing is shallow and your hands are gripping the backs of his thighs with desperation, as if terrified he might walk away at any moment.

The sexual encounter continues robotically, as if you two are just carrying out a complicated program of instructions given to you by software developers. Clothes come off, lips meet, hands travel downwards, cores pulse with heat but the spark is dead and buried

Gally’s eyes laze out of focus as his hips thrust themselves into you. Your soft moans and the sounds of skin chafing against each other fills the warm air in his hut. He can feel the emergence of an orgasm unraveling his core and pants with pleasure as he plunges deeper inside you, but neither sensation can stifle the mounting dread he feels.

He then ceases his movement abruptly, causing your mind to reel from the sudden lack of friction.

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” he mutters softly, more trying to convince himself than you.

“What?” you murmur breathlessly, pulling your neck upwards to look him in the eyes.

“I said I don’t want to do this anymore,” he repeats louder, still not meeting your eye line. He pulls out of you and gets off the bed, leaving you in place.

“Wait…what? Gally what the hell are you talking about?” you accuse, pulling your once aroused body up into a sitting position.

“This was a mistake. I never should’ve invited you here. Get dressed,” he rasps, aggression growing in his tone. You scoff with indignation but follow his instructions.

“I’m sorry, what about this was a mistake?” your voice queries, venom filling your tone, “Starting this in the first place or ignoring me for like, two weeks and then suddenly inviting me back?” you continue, your hands fumbling for your underwear as Gally pulls his on in front of you. His back is still towards you, conveying a level of coldness that plants an ache deep in your chest.

“Does it fucking matter Y/N?! I don’t wanna do this, can you please just leave?” he snaps angrily, wheeling around to face you as he pulls his shirt over his head.

“Yes it does fucking matter! Why is your first fucking instinct always to tell me to leave?! We never talked about what happened two weeks ago and now you just wanna avoid discussing whatever the hell is happening now?” your voice rises to a screech as you clip your bra together in the front and spin it around so it’s on correctly.

“What’s there to discuss? If I send you away now you’ll probably just jump on Minho’s dick again so what’s the issue?!” he bellows, stepping closer to you and abandoning all attempts at dressing further. You recoil in shock, a sharp inhale piercing your lungs.

“How the fuck did you know that?” you question desperately, all vitriol lost to bewilderment.

“I heard you, shank. You weren’t exactly being quiet,” Gally mentions, his voice staying cold as ice while his heart burns at the memory of your betrayal.

“You’re fucking insane! Are you jealous of Minho?” you rant, feeling the distance between your words and your feelings grow larger with each passing remark.

“No, I’m not jealous!” Gally snaps, the lie almost burning his throat on its way to his lips, “I just didn’t sign up to fuck a girl that gets passed around to every guy in the Glade!” he yanks the door to his hut open, jabbing the air violently with the back of his hand, clearly motioning for you to leave.

“‘Passed around’?? I have sex with two guys, one of which is a massive prick,” you shoot an acidic glare into Gally’s steely blue eyes as you stomp towards his position at the open door, “and that counts as being ‘passed around’?”

“Well it does count as something that I don’t want to deal with; can you please just fucking leave?!” Gally snaps, his patience running thin, all positive emotions now buried under the burning hatred for you that simmers underneath his skin.

“NO!” you snap, crossing your arms and planting yourself firmly in place in front of the open door. If you two keep yelling like this in your underwear, eventually someone will hear and come over. But you can’t bring yourself to muster anything but apathy for that prospect.

“What do you mean no?!” Gally scoffs, releasing his hold on the door with his right hand and now assuming a defensive stance in front of you, his shoulders rolled back and chest puffed out.

“I mean; no,” you repeat, instinctively taking a step backwards. You are officially out of his hut, meaning you are standing in the grass wearing nothing but your bra and underwear. “I am so sick of all this back and forth, Gally. First I’m a slut, then I’m the girl you lost your virginity to, then you cry in front of me for whatever fucking reason, we stop talking, you invite me back, now I’m a slut again?? Your opinion on me flip flops like, every other day. What the fuck am I supposed to do with that? What the fuck is this? Why are we even doing this at all??” you rant, slightly stumbling over your own feet as the Builder keeps advancing menacingly towards you.

“We did this because we got drunk and horny one night; you’re the one trying to put words in my mouth and make this something it’s not. And I’m sorry I don’t lie down and worship the ground you walk on! If that’s something you want, princess,” he spits the nickname at you like a slur, “then why don’t you just find Minho?” Your voices ring through the clear night like alarm bells and you both can hear footsteps approaching from afar.

“Gally you are so full of shit. I see the way you look at me,” you snarl and the Builder’s face goes white, “If you want to lie to your friends or yourself then go right ahead but you can’t lie to me!”

“Oh, and you aren’t obsessed with me too?” Gally retorts and now it’s your turn to be taken aback with shock, “‘Gally, you’re so smart and strong. Gally I’m glad I can do this for you’,” he mocks in a high-pitched voice.

“I’m not obsessed with you!” you lie, “If you’re actually stupid enough to believe shit I said when you were fucking me than you’re even dumber than you look! But don’t worry, it won’t happen again, because I never wanna-” you step gradually closer to him, your nostrils flaring and eyes glinting as you round out your raving with a pointed finger in his face. Your sentence is abruptly cut off by the bark of your leader’s unmistakably furious voice.

“Stop! What the hell is this about?” Alby demands, taking both you and Gally by surprise, as he rarely swears. You turn your barely-clothed bodies towards him and begin explaining your side of the conflict in blustering detail, your words climbing and clamoring over each other. Alby holds up a palm that sends a hush through the both of you.

“Alright, alright!” he yells to be heard over the raucous explanations you two are providing, “Y/N where are your clothes?” he asks sharply, carefully keeping his eyes focused on your face as you jab a finger in the direction of Gally’s hut. “Go get dressed, now. Gally stay right here,” he orders and you comply instantly, the hot blush in your cheeks dissipating slightly when you reach the hut’s door.

You dress quickly and exit the abode, awaiting your leader’s punishment.

“Gally, Y/N; get to bed, now,” Alby instructs, shoving the Builder’s shoulder in the direction of his hut, “And the rest of you,” he snarls, spinning to address the growing crowd of sniggering boys gathered around this altercation, “If I hear a word of this discussed or spread around tomorrow, you’ll be without dinner for a week!” 

The crowd disperses with a jolt, their leader’s uncharacteristic anger necessitating a quick escape. You steal one last look at Gally before turning to walk away. His face is hardened and angry, but his eyes are welled with tears. He stalks back to his hut and slams the door so loud it shakes the whole building. 

Day 47

“You guys must think I’m really stupid,” you confess shyly, keeping your eyes focused on the rug on the ground. Your friends sit around you in a semicircle. They had hung on to your every word as you clumsily recounted everything that happened between you and Gally in the last two months.

“You’re not stupid,” Gia reassures, placing her hand on your knee and rubbing gently.

“You can’t pick who you fall for, you know” the newest member of your girl group, Erica, pipes up earnestly.

“Yeah, but I can pick what to do about it,” you fidget with your hands and try to steady your tone, “Or what not to do about it,”

“I mean, he’s kind of obsessed with you Y/N,” Lireale responds and you feel your face flush uncontrollably.

“Yeah, I mean he’s always talking about you,” Ariana pipes up, and the rest of the group nods.

“Yeah but it’s more like complaining about me,” you counter unconvincingly.

“Still obsessed with you,” Lireale repeats, “I mean that’s gotta count for something,”

“So I should pursue him because he has an unhealthy attachment to me?” you ask, your forehead wrinkling in confusion. 

“No, you should pursue him because you like him. You tried to distract yourself with Minho and that was a flaming disaster. There’s no other way out of this than through it; you’ve gotta tell him how you feel,” Erica rattles off confidently. The rest of the group turns to face her with stunned expressions that turn into concurring nods in a matter of seconds.

No other way out than through it.

Day 48

The water rushes from the crudely-constructed spigot at a nearly boiling temperature. Gally drops his towel and enters the warm stream, feeling his tense muscles relax under the constant water pressure. He goes through the routine of cleaning himself from head to toe, but when he finishes, he doesn’t move. He just lets the water fall as he attempts to unravel the knots that have formed in his mind over these past few days.

He’s pretty sure that he’s in love with you. 

He’s tried to come up with other explanations for his attraction to you and his want to see you, despite how much you hurt him by getting with Minho and how angry you made him for arguing with him the other night. But there isn’t another one at this point. He’s drawn to you in a way he’s never been to another person. Your laugh, your smile, your sarcastic insults, your nagging jabs, your body, all of it acts as a magnetic pulse that just keeps pulling him back to you, no matter how much he digs his heels in and refuses to budge; he always pulls back towards you.

Day 49

It might not have been the best idea to come clean to Alby. Gally had felt uncomfortable at his own vulnerability the whole time, though he found that once he started talking about you, he couldn’t stop. The Leader had been pleasantly surprised at the Builder’s willingness to open up, and listened intently, nodding along wordlessly through the whole thing.

“What do you think I should do?,” Gally mutters sheepishly once he finishes his tale.

“What do you think you should do?” Alby repeats with a wan expression on his face. 

“I don’t know…I feel like I’m going crazy,” the Builder replies, dropping his head in exasperation.

“I’ve been told love can feel like that,” the Leader responds evenly. Gallys head snaps up to meet his eye contact at the particularly terrifying word.

“I’m not in love with her,” the Builder snaps defensively. He’s not sure he means it, but he still didn’t want to hear someone else tell him that.

Alby shows his palms in an act of surrender. “All I’m saying is that you’ve always been very passionate about her. At first it was with hatred, now it’s with the opposite. There’s a very thin line between love and hate and you and Y/N have been walking that line since the day you met. I think it’s only natural that something like this would develop,” the Leader recites matter-of-factly. Gally’s mind begins replaying all of his memories of you in a new light and he realizes with horror that his leader is right.

Whether with hatred or affection, Gally has never felt more strongly about anyone else.

“So…I should tell her?” he asks nervously, feeling that he already knows what Alby’s answer will be.

“I don’t think you could go on if you didn’t,” the Leader states bluntly. “And that kind of passion doesn’t come around very often. I think if anyone feels like that about another person, it’s worth holding on tight to,”

Day 50

“Can we talk?” Gally asks sheepishly, keeping his blue eyes focused on yours instead of the slightly terrified looks on Clint and Jeff’s faces. 

You take in his nervous frame in the doorway of the medhut, too intrigued to say no. You set down the log book and move to leave without consulting your coworkers.

“Sure,” you say with a nod, trying to arrange your features into a neutral expression.

The walk from the med-hut’s doors to the site of your first rendezvous with Gally occurs in abject silence. Two sets of work boots navigate the woodland path as easily as the breathing two sets of lungs perform, unperforated by words.

Gally reaches the clearing he was aiming for and stands with his back towards you, fidgeting with his hands as his heart rate increases. You cock your head to the side slightly, waiting patiently for his clumsy monologue to begin. 

“Y/N, I-,” he starts, and turns to face you, not taking his eyes off of his rapidly moving fingers, “I’m only gonna say this once and then you can think whatever you want about it and-and if it doesn’t go well then…” he trails off, a slight quiver warbling his voice.

“I don’t think you need to say anything,” you interject boldly, and the Builder’s eyes meet yours.

“You…don’t? What about-” he goes to ask about the fiery argument that occurred the last time you two were in each other’s presence.

“Well, I thought about it, and I think actions speak louder than words,” you explain evenly, stepping closer to him, “Your pupils are huge,” you remark with a chuckle and take his hand in yours, “your hands are…very sweaty,” you continue with a twinge of disgust and Gally’s face turns a deep shade of pink, “And,” you lean forward slightly, bringing your ear to his chest, “your heart is beating ridiculously fast,” you turn his hand palm out and place it on your own chest, “Mine is too by the way,” Gally smiles warmly and you return the gesture.

“So…you don’t think we need to talk about anything that happened?” Gally responds, his mouth dry as a deep yearning makes a home in his chest.

“Oh we definitely do,” you respond slyly, “I just don’t think you need to tell me how you feel about me…” you lean in closer, warmly placing your arms around his broad shoulders, “...because I already know,” 

Your lips brush his as you form those words and at your sentence’s conclusion, Gally pulls you in desperately, his lips connecting to yours with a proverbial smattering of sparks. He keeps his hands planted firmly on your waist, not wanting to let go for anything. The kiss is drawn out and passionate, with two sets of tongues dancing, not fighting for dominance. There’s no expectation for sex or bracing for argumentative comments.

You both just let it be what it is.

When you both finally pull away from the kiss, a blissful sigh escapes from your lips and Gally rests his forehead on yours.

“I don’t think you need to tell me how you feel either,” he adds with a smirk.

-Epilogue-

“That’s the gardens, where the Trackhoes plant all our food,” Newt points out, a lanky finger pointed in the direction of said Trackhoes, who sweat profusely under the midday sun, “That’s the main meeting hall and that,” he continues, pivoting his body to the side and pointing at a thatched-roof building, “is the Med-Hut. If you get sliced, tripped or poisoned, that’s where you’re going to want to go,”

The Greenie commits Newt’s words to memory, but his eyes are soon distracted by another sight; a girl, holding the door to the building open as several boys file past her with large boxes of supplies from The Box in their arms.

“Who’s that?” the Greenie asks, his gaze following your every movement. Newt chortles darkly, drinking in the newcomer's dopey appearance and relishing in the delight of the information he’s about to reveal.

“That is Y/N. She was just made Keeper of the Medjacks a few weeks ago. I wouldn’t stare though,” he grins.

“Why?” the boy asks with his eyes still transfixed. As if on cue, a gruff boy with a toolbelt set around his waist walks into the Greenie’s eyeline, delivering a swift peck to your cheek.

“That’s why,” Newt smiles, clapping a hand on the boy’s shoulder, “See that, is Gally. Keeper of the Builders, a nasty piece of work and Y/N’s boyfriend. If he ever catches you staring at her like that, you had better run or grab the nearest weapon,” the second-in-command advises, watching the Greenie’s face blush and his eyes dart quickly away.

You take your boyfriend’s hand and stroll leisurely towards the Box to pick up the next round of supplies.

“So how much of a fight do you think that new Greenie’s gonna put up tonight?” Gally asks with a mischievous smile, referencing his habit of challenging each new Glader to a fight on their first bonfire night. He only extends this invitation to the male Greenies, (obviously), so he’s been itching for new competition for two months.

“Oh god, go easy on him, baby,” you whine playfully, rolling your eyes.

“Why do you care about that shank?” he asks. 

If he hadn’t been reassured of your complete devotion to him so often, he might’ve had half a mind to be jealous. But the entire Glade is resolutely aware that you only have eyes for him. They’re also aware that Gally has hands for anyone, (besides himself), who dares to have eyes for you.

“I don’t,” you retort sharply, “It’s just that if you beat him to a pulp, I will be the one who has to put said pulp back together,” Gally laughs.

“You could just get Clint or Jeff to do it. Besides, there are worse things to happen at bonfire night, princess,” he smiles warmly, invoking his favorite pet name for you.

“Yeah, like stoking the fire with your elixir, huh?” you ask sarcastically, keeping your facial expression vague.

“Yes, that would definitely be worse,” he replies, his face going slightly pale as realization dawns, “You’re not actually gonna do that again, right?”

“I don’t know…the flames were really pretty…” you start with a smile.

“...Y/N, please, no,” your boyfriend pleads exasperatedly.

“...and Chuck said it looks really cool…you know I was too drunk to notice it last time…” you continue, reveling in your ability to raise Gally’s blood pressure with a joke.

“Yeah and I got burned! I still have scars on my arms,” he snaps, humor still coloring his outburst.

“I know,” you concede roguishly, “But come on, it’s not all bad. It got you this,” you reason, lifting your intertwined hands.

“That’s true, but once is enough,” he smiles, flaring his eyebrows upwards in shock, “Come on, Y/N, seriously don’t do that,” he replies, his tone settling back into sincerity. “No promises, Gally. I’m a bit of a loose cannon, so I’ve been told,” you jest, leaning in to kiss him gently on the cheek, “Just don’t stand so close this time,” you whisper in his ear.

<--------------->

Tag List: @gallyismylittlesilly @my-little-universes @cthood @katie-tibo @sarahstar11 @cxlt-lamb @hellokitty811 @alia0102 @honethatty12 @randallkirkland @strangunddurm @goldenfaced @coaquinbae @oak05

[uniquexusposts]

First place. Personal best. World Champion. | C. Leclerc

Summary: Charles' girlfriend Y/n is about to win her first world championship title in speed skating. While Charles is preparing for his first race of the season at the other side of the world, the supportive boyfriend he is, he will be watching Y/n's race. And who knows what happens...

It was raining in The Netherlands, the weather was grey and depressing. Inside the speed skating arena, however, the air crackled with a different kind of energy.

The crowd buzzed with anticipation, their cheers echoing off the cavernous walls, creating a symphony of excitement and nerves. Y/n took a deep breath as she glided onto the ice, the smooth surface reflecting the bright arena lights. This wasn’t just another race; this was the race. The culmination of years of blood, sweat, and tears. Her last chance to claim the coveted all-around title of this year, the year before the Olympics - a prize she never got before by just a few points. 

She skated around the oval stadium, each warm-up lap a battle to quell the butterflies in her stomach. Her breath came in controlled bursts, visible in the cool air, as she moved with practiced grace. Her mind cycled through every strategy, every training session, every ounce of advice her coaches had given her. Stopping near the start line, she shrugged off her jacket, exposing the sleek Norwegian team suit beneath. The red and blue colours clung to her like a second skin, a symbol of the weight she carried; not just her own dreams but the hopes of her country.

Her teammates, already finished with their events, were doing an out lap. A couple of Norwegian flags waved fervently in the sea of spectators, a visual reminder of the expectations she had to meet. Her fingers trembled slightly as she adjusted her suit, and she bit the inside of her cheek to keep her focus.

Meanwhile, thousands of kilometres away in Bahrain, the roar of engines filled the Ferrari garage. Mechanics darted around, checking tire pressures, tweaking wing angles, and adjusting suspension settings. The first Formula 1 race of the season was hours away, but for Charles Leclerc, time felt like it was standing still. Amid the organised chaos, his attention was locked on a tablet screen perched precariously on a counter. The live stream of Y/n’s race played on the monitor, an unusual sight among the telemetry data and glossy feeds of the Bahrain International Circuit.

Charles tapped his foot impatiently, his eyes flicking between the screen and the bustling garage. “Come on,” he muttered under his breath, as though the force of his will could carry her across the finish line.

“Charles,” Andrea called, nudging his shoulder with a knowing smirk. “You’re going to wear a hole in the floor at this rate. Should we tell the team to set up a fan zone for you?”

Charles let out a soft chuckle, though his eyes didn’t leave the screen. “She’s got a real shot at this,” he said, his voice tinged with both pride and anxiety. “I’m not missing this for anything. Not even qualifying.”

Andrea shook his head, his grin widening. “Just don’t let Fred catch you slacking. He’ll have you polishing the car with a toothbrush.”

Charles waved him off dismissively, his focus unshakable. On the screen, Y/n moved toward the start line, her every movement purposeful and elegant. Seeing her in that moment, framed by a couple of Norwegian flags waving in the background - but mostly the orange colour by the Dutch, who once again dominated a sport, sent a rush of adrenaline through him. She was breathtaking, not just in her beauty but in the sheer determination radiating from her.

The announcer’s voice boomed through the arena, signalling the imminent start of the race. Y/n crouched low at the line, her muscles coiled like a spring ready to release. Charles leaned forward, his hand gripping the counter so tightly his knuckles turned white. The gunshot rang out, and she launched forward, her blades cutting into the ice with surgical precision.

Lap after lap, Y/n found her rhythm, her movements a harmonious blend of power and grace. The crowd’s cheers grew louder with each stride, the energy in the arena reaching a fever pitch. One thing that was so different between speed skating and F1 was that during speed skating, everybody cheered for anyone - no matter the country. Y/n received almost as much cheers as the Dutch at this point. Charles’s heart raced in tandem with her, his pulse quickening as the live splits appeared on the screen. The numbers were good - very good - but the competition was fierce.

“Come on, Y/n,” Charles whispered, his voice barely audible above the ambient noise of the garage. His fingers tapped an anxious rhythm on the counter as he watched her push herself to the limit.

By the halfway mark, the strain began to show. Her form wavered ever so slightly, the tiniest falter in her otherwise flawless stride. The 5.000 meters wasn’t just a test of speed; it was a brutal battle of endurance, a gruelling test of both mental and physical fortitude. Charles’s jaw clenched as he saw her dig deep, her determination etched into every muscle of her body.

“She’s improving her laps,” Charles muttered, running his hands through his hair. His voice grew louder, filled with a mixture of disbelief and awe. “She’s above her schedule. 32,3 per lap. What the hell?”

Andrea glanced at the screen, his eyebrows raising in mild surprise. “She’s flying. She has the green times.”

“She is literally pushing out every bit of strength she has left.”

The crowd in the arena roared louder with every passing lap, their energy palpable even through the screen. Charles’s fingers drummed faster, mirroring the rising tension. As Y/n crossed the finish line, the scoreboard lit up with her time: the fastest so far. Charles leapt to his feet, a triumphant shout escaping his lips.

“Yes! That’s my girl!” he exclaimed, his voice ringing through the garage.

The Ferrari crew paused their work, momentarily caught up in the infectious excitement. Laughter and scattered applause broke out, a rare lighthearted moment in the high-stakes world of Formula 1.

Andrea clapped him on the back, a teasing grin on his face. “She’s not done yet, mate. Two more pairs to go.”

“I know,” Charles said, his grin unwavering. His eyes glistened with unshed tears. “But she’s incredible. No matter what happens, I’m proud of her.” He shook his head in disbelief. “6.50,81. Wow.”

Just over seven minutes later, the final pair took to the ice, their presence a reminder that the battle wasn’t over. The Dutch were strong and a favourite. Charles’s chest tightened as he watched them glide effortlessly through their opening laps. They were fast, too fast. The live splits showed them ahead of Y/n’s time, and for a moment, doubt crept in.

“Come on,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Hold on.”

The skaters rounded the halfway mark, their initial burst of speed beginning to wane. Fatigue crept into their movements, their strides losing the precision that had carried them so far. Charles leaned forward, his breath hitching as he willed the seconds to slow.

The arena fell into a tense hush as the final skaters approached the finish line. The crowd’s collective gasp was audible as the scoreboard flashed their time: third place. Y/n had done it. She was the all-around champion.

Charles let out a triumphant yell, throwing his arms into the air. “She did it! She won!”

The garage erupted into cheers, the crew swept up in his infectious joy. Charles’s face was alight with pride and happiness, his grin so wide it hurt.

“That’s my girl,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.

His colleagues congratulated and hugged him like he won the race. 

Andrea smirked, shaking his head. “You’re going to be impossible to deal with for the rest of the day, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely,” Charles replied, laughing. His heart felt full to bursting as he imagined the look on Y/n’s face, the moment she realised what she had accomplished.

Back in the Netherlands, Y/n sat in the middle of the oval track, still in disbelief. Tears blurred her vision, but they couldn’t hide the overwhelming sight of the scoreboard. Her name flashed boldly at the top, accompanied by the words she had dreamed of seeing her entire career: World Champion.

Her coaches rushed to her side, their voices a mix of congratulations and excitement, but their words were lost beneath the deafening roar of the crowd. The arena was alive with celebration.

Y/n pressed her hands to her face, laughing and crying at the same time. She reached out instinctively, pulling her head coach into an embrace, her laughter bubbling uncontrollably.

“I did it,” she whispered, her voice cracking with emotion. “I actually did it.”

Her assistant coach joined in; the three people were jumping around, turning it into an euphoric moment. 

“You’ve done it, Y/n!” her head coach shouted over the roar of the crowd. “The all-around title is yours!”

Still clutching onto her coaches, Y/n’s gaze drifted upward to the scoreboard once more, as if she needed to see it again to believe it. First place. Personal best. World Champion. A new World Champion.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she began to fully grasp the magnitude of her achievement.

As she stood there, absorbing the cheers of the crowd and the joy of her team, one of her assistant coaches jogged up to her with a phone in hand.

“Y/n! Charles is calling!”

The sound of his name made her heart leap. She whipped her head around, taking the phone with trembling hands. When the screen lit up, Charles’s face appeared, his grin so wide it practically stretched off the screen.

“Y/n!” Charles cheered, his voice carrying a joy that matched her own.

“Charles!” Y/n screamed, laughing as her emotions spilled over. She couldn’t stop the tears that rolled down her cheeks, her voice cracking with excitement. “I did it!”

“I saw!” he exclaimed, his voice loud enough to make the team around him chuckle. “You were incredible! I can’t believe it - no, wait, I can believe it because you’re amazing!”

Y/n’s cheeks burned as she laughed, her joy mirrored in his expression. Around her, the arena seemed to fade away, the roaring crowd becoming a distant hum. In that moment, it was just her and Charles, their connection bridging the thousands of kilometres between them.

“You were watching?” she asked, her voice soft but tinged with disbelief.

“Of course I was!” Charles replied, his tone almost offended at the notion he wouldn’t be. “I had the entire Ferrari garage watching. They’re all clapping for you, by the way.”

Y/n’s hand flew to her mouth, and she let out a breathless laugh. “You’re joking.”

“Not at all,” Charles said, leaning closer to the screen. “Y/n, everyone here is in awe of you. I’m so proud I could burst. You deserve every second of this moment.”

Tears welled up in her eyes again, but this time, they weren’t just tears of victory. They were tears of gratitude, of love. She didn’t know what she had done to deserve someone who believed in her this deeply, but she was endlessly thankful.

“I wish you were here,” she admitted, her voice breaking slightly.

“I do too,” he said, his tone softening, a hint of longing slipping through. “But I’ll see you soon. We’ll celebrate properly, I promise.”

“You would better keep that promise, Leclerc,” she teased, a smile breaking through her tears. “And you better win today!”

“I wouldn’t dare break it,” he replied with a laugh, his eyes warm. “I will do my best.”

She dried her eyes and laughed. “I have to go to the ceremony, Charles. I love you.”

“I love you, too. I will be watching.”

Y/n nodded, but she didn’t end the call right away. She held the phone a moment longer, committing the sight of his proud smile to memory.

Taglist: @itsjustkhaos @crashingwavesofeuphoria @maryvibess @ironmaiden1313 @blodwyn4u @sltwins @heart-trees @npcmia @llando4norris

[paucubarsisimp]

Alexandra x reader x Charles like supporting Charles when he won Monaco?

monaco

pairing: poly!charles leclerc x reader x alexandra saint mleux

summary: in which your boyfriend wins his home race

warnings: none

a/n: i hope you like it love!!

the streets of monaco were alive, buzzing with excitement as the grand prix weekend kicked into high gear. the atmosphere was electric—monaco, always glamorous and full of energy, felt even more charged this year. it was charles’ home race. and after all the near-misses, all the years of close calls, this was finally his year. everything had been building toward this moment, and you, alongside alexandra, had been there for every single step of it.

you both stood in the garage, watching with hearts full of anticipation as charles’ car zipped around the track. the noise of the pit crew, the mechanics, and the team engineers was constant, but your attention was fixed solely on the screen. everything else felt distant. charles was racing at home—this was the race that had been his dream, his goal, for years.

“do you think he’s really going to do it?” alexandra’s voice was a low whisper, filled with a mixture of nerves and hope. her hand brushed against yours as her eyes flicked between the monitors, watching charles’ every move.

you gave her a smile, trying to calm her nerves. “he’s going to do it. this is his moment. you’ve seen how he’s been driving—he’s so calm, so in control. i know he’s got this.”

alexandra glanced at you, her eyes still full of worry. “i just… i don’t want him to feel all that pressure. i mean, it’s monaco. it’s home, it’s everything, and the world’s watching.”

“he’s used to it. and he knows we’re here. we’re always here for him,” you said, squeezing her hand reassuringly. “this is what he’s been working toward. he’ll be fine.”

the tension in the garage was thick, and you could feel it even through the calm words you spoke. every person around you, from the pit crew to the engineers, was tense, watching every lap. the sound of charles’ car flying around the circuit, roaring down the straights, was deafening, but you didn’t care. all that mattered was the monitor, the screen showing that charles was still leading. He was pulling away from the others.

alexandra exhaled, her shoulders slightly relaxing. “he’s doing so well…”

“he’s always been good at monaco,” you said quietly, eyes glued to the screen. “this is his track. he knows it better than anyone.”

the laps passed by in a blur of sharp turns and roars of engines. charles was still ahead, but every second felt like a century. it was like you could feel his nerves even through the monitors. but then you realized—he was more than just good at monaco. He was born for this track. His movements were fluid, confident, and precise. he was exactly where he needed to be.

as the final laps drew closer, the nerves were almost unbearable. the radio crackled to life with charles’ voice, calm but with a definite focus in it. “what’s the gap to second?” he asked, his tone even, as though he were asking about the weather.

“he sounds so… in control,” alexandra whispered, her eyes glued to the screen. “how does he stay so calm?”

you couldn’t help but smile. “it’s charles. when it matters most, he always stays calm. he’s used to pressure.”

you watched charles make his way around the track, taking each turn with precision. his confidence was contagious. and it was clear to both of you now that this was it. this was the race that would cement everything he had worked for. the final lap came up, and the garage fell into a hush. you could hear a pin drop.

it was the moment you’d been waiting for, the one you hadn’t dared let yourself believe in until it was almost within your grasp.

“he’s got it,” you whispered, more to yourself than to alexandra. “this is happening.”

the race took on a surreal quality. it was like time slowed, and all you could focus on was charles’ car, speeding through the final stretch. the crowd in the stands was a distant hum, and you could feel the electricity in the air. and then, when charles crossed the finish line, it felt like the world erupted in sound.

“charles leclerc, winner of the 2024 monaco grand prix!” the announcer blared over the loudspeakers, and you could barely believe it. You and alexandra froze for a second, staring at the screen, your hearts pounding in your chests. And then, the reality of it hit you.

he had done it.

he had finally won monaco.

you and alexandra exchanged wide-eyed looks, the mix of shock, joy, and relief crashing over you both. without saying a word, you both rushed out of the garage, making your way through the bustling pit lane toward the track. charles would be celebrating with his team, but you had to see him—now.

the crowd was thick around the paddock, but you could see him. charles, still in his racing gear, surrounded by his team, his face lit up with a smile so bright it could have rivaled the sun. he was laughing, the pressure from the race finally lifted off of his shoulders. but as soon as he saw you both, that smile intensified.

“you made it,” he said, his voice full of pure joy as he made his way toward you. his eyes were sparkling with excitement, and you could feel the energy radiating off of him.

you didn’t wait for anything. you both rushed into his arms, laughing, overwhelmed with everything you were feeling. charles pulled you close, his arms wrapped tightly around you as if he could hardly believe it either. you kissed him, a quick but sweet peck on the cheek, tasting the salt from his sweat, and then pressed your forehead against his.

“you did it,” you said breathlessly, your heart racing from both the sheer excitement of the moment and the love you felt for him. “you really did it, charles. i knew you would.”

alexandra stepped in next, pulling charles into a hug of her own. she kissed him softly on the cheek, then smiled up at him. “we’re so proud of you, charles. you’ve earned this more than anyone.”

charles beamed, his hands resting on both your shoulders as he pulled away from the hug just enough to look at you both. his eyes were bright, a mixture of disbelief and happiness. “you two… i couldn’t have done it without you. without you, this wouldn’t mean anything. i’ve been working toward this moment for so long, and to have you both here with me? It’s everything.”

you both smiled, your hearts swelling with affection for him. you’d been there through all of it—the ups, the downs, the hard moments, and now this. monaco had always been charles’ dream. and now it was his victory.

before you could say anything more, charles leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss. it was soft at first, slow, the kind of kiss that was heavy with meaning. then it deepened, and you felt him smile against your lips. the kiss was everything—relief, joy, love—all of it wrapped into that one perfect moment.

he pulled away reluctantly, his hands still resting on your shoulders as he looked at you both with a smile that made your heart skip. “this is just the beginning,” he whispered, eyes glinting. “we’ve got so many more moments to make together.”

before you could reply, charles turned his head toward alexandra, pulling her in for another kiss. it was just as soft and sweet as the one he had shared with you, and in that moment, you realized just how much this moment meant to all of you. this was more than just a race victory. this was the result of everything you had been through as a team—the three of you, supporting each other, pushing each other to be better, stronger, always.

when the kiss ended, charles smiled at both of you. “thank you for always being here. you both make everything better.”

you leaned into him, resting your head against his chest. “we always will be, charles. always.”

and just like that, the celebration around you, the noise, the crowd, everything melted away. in that quiet space between the three of you, nothing else mattered. you had charles, and he had you. and nothing in the world could ever change that.

[lostatsea-blog]

Take Me Home

Alexia Putellas x Reader

Admiring Alexia across the club

(The Spanish in this is google translate so I apologise if it is wrong)

Take Me Home

You asked the taxi driver to drop you off one street away from the club. You wanted to make sure you could sneak in without being seen by any of your teammates. After paying the driver, you slipped out onto the pavement and already you could feel the thrum of the music; the vibration of the base making your spine tingle. As you neared the front you could hear mindless chatter and laughter from the drunk people who had made their way outside for some fresh air. You paused on the corner with a clear view of the front entrance to make sure that none of the gathered crowd were people you knew. Certain that you were safe from knowing eyes, you approached the main entrance; the dim lighting both outside and inside allowing you to pass through unseen with a simple nod from one of the security guards.

Once inside, the thrum of the music and the fluid movements of the gathered party goers allowed you to move unobtrusively until you found a small table in the corner. Sitting down, you began to scan the room searching through the crowds of people at the bar and on the dancefloor until you spotted the striking beauty you had been looking for. Your heart rate sored as you watched her throw her head back and laugh at something Patri said. Her laugh exposed the tanned skin of her neck and you imagined how good it would feel to attach your lips to it and hear that breathy moan as she pressed closer to you. It wasn’t often that you had a chance to just watch her so this opportunity filled you with excitement.

Scanning the room you realised that yours were not the only eyes watching the beautiful blond and that knowledge made you chuckle. You couldn’t blame them for being drawn to her beauty and her charm but you knew with certainty that any attempt they made to get her attention would be politely turned away. The team were all scattered around the club: some at the bar, some on the dancefloor and some attempting to pick up and bedmate for the night. When Patri drained her glass and headed towards the bar, one of the blond woman’s admirers plucked up the courage to make a move. You laughed to yourself as the Spanish beauty smiled politely before muttering something that sent them scurrying back to their table, head down and cheeks pink.

Deciding you had watched for long enough you stood and moved towards her. You moved stealthily around the edges of the club, keeping to the shadows not yet ready to be seen by her. You managed to sneak up behind her and slipped your arms around her waist, she tensed but quickly relaxed as you whispered, “Has anyone ever told you that you look just like Alexia Putellas?” She spun quickly in your arms her face breaking into the most breathtaking smile before she threw her arms around your neck.

“¿Cómo estás aquí? dijiste mañana!” (How are you here? You said tomorrow)

“I wanted to surprise you” You whispered more than willing to accept the kiss that she leaned in for. It had been three weeks since you had seen each other in person with both of you attending your respective international camps. You had stayed in England an extra week to catch up with your family who you had not seen in months. While you had spoken to each other every day, it didn’t compare to the feeling of having her warm body in your arms while she attempted to mould herself to you. She leaned in for another kiss, this one longer and more intense; her lips fought you for dominance sending electricity straight to your core

 “Te he extrañado mucho. Llévame a casa.” (I have missed you so much. Take me home) she demanded with a seductive smile. In that moment you were at her will and would do anything she demanded.

Would anyone be interested in a part 2 - What happen when they get home?

[mydearestbeloved]

Chapter 7 [Draft]

Sung Jinwoo/Trial Player!Reader

CW:

Inspired by @circeyoru ‘s “Future Power Couple”

[Masterlist🦋✨️]

It was strange. After reuniting with the system through Jinwoo, it continued to address you as "Trial Player," but something had changed. No more quests appeared, and it never responded when you tried to access your status screen. It was as if the system's more tangible functions had vanished. However, it still spoke to you— chiming in with its usual comments and banter, , but there was an undeniable distance between the system’s functionality and its conversations with you now.

You’d debated for a while whether to show Jinwoo more of your powers, especially the ones you kept hidden. This time, the system seemed to encourage it, nudging you here and there, still within the boundaries it had set, but you were the one who hesitated. Maybe it was guilt. Or maybe, it was gratitude.

Whatever the reason, you felt the need to open up.

But only if Jinwoo asked first.

---

You didn't expect to be here, in the depths of yet another C-rank dungeon, fighting alongside Sung Jinwoo and his shadow soldiers. It felt as though the system had decided to twist the narrative again. The access to C-rank dungeons, something Jinwoo originally sought by partnering with Jinho, keys of its instant dungeon version were suddenly dropped into his lap the moment you joined his party.

It was unnerving. You screamed internally whenever you thought about how the system was changing things simply because you were here. It felt like a cosmic joke, one that you couldn’t quite laugh at.

Still, you kept your composure, thankful for leveling up your <Act> skill. Otherwise, your unease might have been more obvious to Jinwoo, who was already watching you with quiet intensity. He hadn’t asked much, but his sharp eyes were always on you. Every little move, every spell you cast, every flutter of your butterflies—he didn’t miss a thing.

Today was no different, except for the massive Hydra that stood in your path.

"Of course, a Hydra," you muttered under your breath, more to yourself than anyone. You had encountered one before, in another world, in the hanging gardens. At least you knew what to do.

The Hydra roared, its heads writhing as Jinwoo leapt into action, shadows swarming around him. His movements were fast, precise, cutting through the creature with ease, but each wound healed almost instantly. Frustration began to build in his expression as the heads regenerated, one after another, no matter how many times he severed them.

You let him take the lead, silently sending out your butterflies to survey the battlefield. They fluttered around the Hydra, hovering near its wounds. You knew this creature well enough to know how it worked. Regeneration was its strongest weapon, but also its greatest weakness—if you knew how to handle it.

As the battle dragged on, Jinwoo began to notice something. The Hydra’s regeneration was slowing down. Each time a head was severed, it took just a bit longer to grow back. His eyes darted between the butterflies and you, a question forming in his mind, though now wasn’t the right time to speak it out loud.

One of the Hydra's heads lunged at Jinwoo, faster than the others. He dodged, but not quickly enough, and found himself momentarily caught in midair. Multiple heads reared up, preparing to strike from all sides.

That was your cue to step in.

Before they could reach him, the Hydra convulsed, its heads jerking back as if struck by an invisible force. Its body shuddered, and thick, black poison oozed from its open mouths. Seconds later, the massive beast collapsed in a heap.

Jinwoo landed gracefully, turning to you, his expression unreadable. “What did you do?” he asked, his voice calm but laced with curiosity.

You took a deep breath, readying yourself for the explanation. "My butterflies play a part," you began, gesturing toward the glowing creatures still flitting around the Hydra’s corpse. "They help me resonate with the target. In this case, the Hydra's regeneration was a biological process, and I used my power to disrupt it."

"How?" Jinwoo’s gaze was steady, his interest piqued.

"By speeding up its cell cycle," you explained. "Every cell has a lifespan. The faster they divide, the faster they die. I forced the Hydra’s cells to reach the end of their life faster than they could regenerate, step by step. Eventually, it couldn't recover fast enough."

Jinwoo’s eyes narrowed slightly. "And how did you kill it?"

You met his gaze, knowing this part would need a bit more explanation. "I accelerated the production of its poison. The sack that holds the venom was overproducing without increasing in size, which caused it to rupture. The poison had nowhere to go, so it began flooding its body.”

So, it drowned in its own venom.

He raised an eyebrow at that, clearly intrigued. "So, you can manipulate any biological process?"

"Not any," you admitted. "I need to know the structure of the enemy’s body first. It’s not something I can do blindly."

Jinwoo seemed to consider your words for a moment before asking, "Have you fought a Hydra before?"

You hesitated, careful not to reveal too much. The system chimed in at the back of your mind, warning you not to stray too far from what was allowed. "Yes," you said carefully. "Once. In another dungeon."

There was a brief silence as Jinwoo processed that information. His expression remained neutral, but you could see the gears turning in his mind. He wanted to know more, that much was clear, but he didn’t push further. Instead, he simply nodded. "I see."

You were grateful for the system’s guidance, keeping you from saying too much. Still, Jinwoo’s silence unnerved you. He was always calm, always composed, but you couldn’t help but wonder what he was truly thinking.

He didn’t say anything else as the two of you made your way out of the dungeon. His face gave nothing away, but you knew this was far from over. The more you revealed, the more questions he would have.

And yet, as unnerving as it was, you found a strange comfort in his curiosity. Maybe, just maybe, it was nice to finally have someone who wanted to understand you.

---

Jinwoo had always been observant, and it didn’t take long for him to start piecing things together about you and your butterflies. He didn’t pry too much at first, but you could tell he was forming his own conclusions.

The butterflies were more than they seemed. It was obvious to him that they were some sort of summons, which meant you weren’t just a healer—you had to be a mage as well. A hybrid. Something rare, if not completely unheard of. But then again, he himself was an anomaly in the world of hunters, so perhaps it wasn’t too surprising that you were too.

Still, there were aspects of your abilities he couldn’t quite figure out, and after a few raids together, he finally asked.

It was during a break between fights, his shadow soldiers standing idle while your butterflies fluttered around them. Jinwoo watched, his gaze following their movements carefully before he finally spoke up.

“What exactly do they do?” he asked, his voice steady. “Your butterflies.”

You weren’t surprised by the question. You knew it was coming sooner or later. As always, you waited for him to ask before you explained anything. You turned toward him, meeting his eyes before giving your answer.

“They work on the basis of ‘life,’” you said slowly, trying to explain it in terms he could understand. “Not just mana. Life is a distinct force, and my butterflies draw from that. When they surround an enemy, they drain that life force, weakening them. That energy is then transferred to our allies—in this case, your shadow soldiers—in the form of boosts and heals.”

Jinwoo’s eyes narrowed slightly. “So they drain life even from the dead?”

You nodded. “To an extent. Freshly killed enemies still emit some life force, but it’s limited. The real power comes from living targets.”

He took in that information, but you could tell it wasn’t the whole of his curiosity. After a moment, he asked again, “And the confusion they cause?”

“They emit a type of energy that wraps around the enemies’ minds,” you explained. “It creates illusions, distorts their senses, making them easier to take down. The draining of their life force makes this easier, weakens their resistance. But the stronger the enemy, the harder it is to affect them.”

Jinwoo processed that with a calm nod, but his gaze flickered toward his shadow soldiers, who were still surrounded by your butterflies. His expression shifted slightly, a protective tension in his stance as he asked his next question.

“They’ve been near my soldiers a lot,” he said, his voice tighter now. “What are they doing when there are no enemies around?”

You understood his concern immediately. You were protective of your butterflies, just as he was protective of his shadows. The two forces had been interacting closely during battles, and it made sense for him to be more cautious now that he knew what your children were capable off.

“They’re not draining anything from your soldiers,” you assured him. “They’re sentient enough to know the difference between allies and enemies. They won’t harm your shadows. In fact…” you hesitated for a moment, glancing at the red child that hovered near Igris. “I think they’re drawn to them.”

“Drawn to them?” Jinwoo’s brows furrowed slightly.

“I’m still trying to figure it out myself,” you admitted. “But I think it’s the nature of your shadows. They’re not exactly alive, but there’s a strange energy there. My butterflies seem… curious. They like being near them, but they won’t harm them. I promise.”

Jinwoo’s expression didn’t change much, but you noticed a slight shift in his posture. He seemed less tense, less guarded, though he was still processing everything you’d told him.

“They obey you?” he asked, his tone softer now.

“Completely,” you said firmly. “They’re my creations. They won’t act against my will.”

He seemed to accept that, though you could tell he was still intrigued, still trying to wrap his head around the mechanics of your power. He gave a small nod, his eyes returning to the butterflies as they fluttered peacefully around his shadows.

As ever, Jinwoo’s face didn’t reveal much, but you could sense the subtle easing of tension between the two of you. He was still fascinated by you—perhaps even more so now—but for the moment, at least, he seemed reassured.

The partnership continued, and while his questions weren’t over, you couldn’t help but feel that, little by little, you were gaining Jinwoo’s trust.

---

The battle with the giant had been exhausting, dragging on far longer than either of you expected. Despite Jinwoo’s overwhelming strength and the power of his shadows, the sheer size and resilience of the giant made every blow feel like a drop in an ocean. The creature’s endurance was staggering, each wound seemingly insignificant compared to its massive frame.

Jinwoo pressed on, keeping the pressure on the giant. His shadows flanked it, landing blow after blow, but it wasn’t enough to break through. You observed for a while, assessing the situation, and then you stepped in.

You raised your hands, eyes narrowing as you focused on the giant's movements, its wounds, and the slowing rhythm of its defenses. You channeled your energy into casting the spell, watching as the giant’s already open wounds began to fester, the flesh darkening as your magic took effect.

After the giant collapsed, Jinwoo turned to you, his eyes sharp, the question already forming on his lips. You knew it was coming, just as you always did.

“Why didn’t you do that from the start?” he asked, his tone steady but laced with curiosity.

You took a moment before answering, gathering your thoughts. “I did, technically. It’s just... it’s more complicated than the hydra.” You gestured to the fallen giant, still smoldering from the effects of your spell. “Generally, decay in organic matter of the livings involves a lot more processes than just cellular breakdown. Different creatures have different weaknesses.”

Jinwoo’s eyes narrowed in understanding, but you could tell he wanted more details. You obliged.

“With the hydra, I was blocking its regeneration—a single process. That was straightforward. But this?” You gestured to the giant again. “Giants have no particularly enhanced regeneration, but there are no weak points like a poison sac I can exploit. The problem is their endurance.”

You paused, trying to put the mechanics of your magic into terms Jinwoo would understand. “In this case, I have to target several things at once. Disrupting healing signals, accelerating metabolic waste production to cause toxin buildup—it’s all about overwhelming the giant’s natural endurance. And that takes a lot of energy, and more importantly, time.”

Jinwoo’s gaze flicked between you and the fallen giant, his expression unreadable, but his attention was unwavering.

“I also have to know how the creature’s body works,” you continued, “which is why it’s easier with creatures that are similar to humans. A giant’s body isn’t too different from ours—just bigger and tougher. But that also means I need more mana to make the spell effective.”

You had a passing thought, realizing you would need to study more on the anatomy of different creatures to fine-tune your magic in the future. There were a few books you'd picked up from the system’s shop during your trial phase, those were looking more useful by the second. And if perchance they didn’t, you were sure there would be some references in the Garden’s library.

As you were lost in thought, you spoke absentmindedly, “Having you here made it easier, though.”

Jinwoo raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

You blinked, realizing you’d voiced your thoughts aloud. “I need time and a lot of focus to cast <Decay>. Your attacks created the openings I needed and you also kept the giant from attacking me. Without them, I wouldn’t have been able to make the spell work as quickly.”

For a moment, Jinwoo’s face remained impassive, as it usually did, but then, unexpectedly, he let out a soft laugh. It wasn’t mocking, but it caught you off guard nonetheless.

“What’s funny?” you asked, unable to hide your curiosity.

His laughter faded, and his expression returned to its neutral state, but there was a slight shift in his demeanor, something lighter, more relaxed. He shook his head, as if dismissing the thought.

“Nothing,” he said, his voice calm but with a trace of amusement. “Just… interesting.”

That word lingered in the air, and it reminded you of the first time you had officially met him—how he had regarded you then, intrigued but cautious. Now, even with his suspicions, there was a familiarity between you, a shared understanding that went beyond just combat.

You didn’t know if his reaction was a good omen or not, but at this point, you figured you’d find out soon enough.

---

The battle with the rock golemn was dragging on longer than expected. Jinwoo had fought golemns before, and you both knew he could take this one down in an instant. But instead, he seemed to be toying with it, almost as if he were waiting for something.

You watched his movements carefully and sighed inwardly. He should’ve just asked.

Extending your hand, you focused on the golemn’s surface. "<Erosion>," you muttered, watching the cracks running along its stone form deepened, spreading as the rock began to crumble. It didn’t explode dramatically, didn’t shatter in an instant, but it got the job done.

It weathered, as if time itself had fast-forwarded. The rock golemn’s sturdy form slowly disintegrate before your eyes. Dust, pebbles, and debris collapsed onto the ground, leaving nothing but remnants of what had once been a towering figure.

Jinwoo approached, his expression as unreadable as ever, but you knew what was coming. By now, it had become a routine—he fought, you intervened, and then came the questions.

This time, however, you didn’t wait for him to ask first. "You were waiting for me." you stated flatly, meeting his gaze.

Jinwoo didn’t deny it. He nodded once, silently asking you to explain further.

You sighed and began, "Erosion is different from the other spells I’ve used. It’s all about weakening the bonds between molecules. I accelerate corrosion, cracks, and disintegration. But with inorganic material like stone, it’s not as straightforward as organic decay."

Jinwoo listened intently, his gaze never leaving you.

"I rely heavily on ‘time’ for this spell," you continued. "It’s more mana-intensive than my healing spells. Organic matter, like living beings, have biological systems that heal themselves naturally. So when I cast decay, I’m just accelerating those processes—making sure the wounds break down faster than they can heal. But inorganic matter? Rocks? They don’t regenerate. So I’m essentially reversing that process, speeding up their destruction."

Jinwoo tilted his head slightly. "And that’s why it takes longer."

"Exactly," you confirmed. "Decay works from the inside out, disrupting life processes. But erosion works from the outside in. Normally, erosion is caused by elements like water, air, or heat, so it takes a lot more time—and mana—to break down something solid like a golemn."

You glanced at the spot where the golemn once stood. “It’s a good thing these golemns are still tied to life force, make it easier to weaken them.”

You sighed again. "To be honest, <Erosion> is a pain in the ass to use. I could’ve just blasted the thing apart with elemental magic."

Jinwoo raised an eyebrow at that. "Then why didn’t you?"

You hesitated. "It’s... not fair of me."

Jinwoo’s expression remained neutral, but his curiosity was palpable. "What do you mean?"

You mumbled, more to yourself than to him, "It wouldn’t be fair... to you."

Jinwoo blinked, taken aback. "What?"

Your lips pressed into a thin line. Your heart felt heavy, unsure if you should continue, but the words slipped out anyway. Perhaps it was guilt, lingering from the fact that you knew Jinwoo, his story, his world—everything—while he barely knew you. His suspicions were understandable. Or perhaps, it was gratitude. Gratitude for his presence, for making this familiar yet unfamiliar world feel a little less isolating. Despite the fact that you were unsure why he kept you around—be it suspicion or something else—he was trying to understand you.

"Look," you started, trying to gather your thoughts, "this spell… it's tricky. It’s not my most effective move, not by a long shot. But you wanted to see what I was capable of, didn’t you?"

Jinwoo’s eyes narrowed slightly. He wasn’t following, not yet.

You pressed on, speaking more clearly. "I'm showing you the limits of my powers. My weaknesses. I already struggle with living beings made from inorganic materials. Things like... the undead, they’re not easy for me to handle."

The words hung in the air between you. It was a risk, revealing something so vulnerable to someone like Jinwoo, who was always several steps ahead. He was the type to observe, analyze, and act with precision. And now you’d given him something that could be used against you.

Jinwoo’s silence was telling, his mind clearly processing your words. Then, in that moment, something seemed to click for him. He might not understand the full scope of your situation—how could he, when your existence was tied to something far beyond this world? But he recognized what you were doing.

You were offering him trust.

A sign of vulnerability, one that Jinwoo quietly acknowledged. His gaze softened, but his expression didn’t shift enough for you to fully read him.

Your thoughts spiraled, berating yourself. Why did you show him that? Years of surviving alone had isolated you. ‘Don’t trust others so easily’ was a bit different between you and him. Jinwoo was still, in many ways, a stranger. Yet, here you were, offering him something fragile—a piece of yourself that he could very well use however he pleased.

But it was too late now.

You stood there, still silently chastising yourself, while Jinwoo turned to the dust of the fallen golemn. He didn’t say anything, but you knew he had understood. Even if you both remained distant, even if you weren’t sure if you could call each other friends, there was now something in that previously empty space between you.

You just had to live with it.

End Note:

Unedited Draft of [018/10/2024] - Trust

I'm sorry if the developments seems a bit fast-paced or sudden, considering this is also still a draft. I just want to let all these drafts out before I went MIA again for a few months. College life is hella hectic. T-T

[f1girliefics]

The Red Thread of Love

Lewis Hamilton x Reader

Summary: When Lewis Hamilton celebrates his new chapter with Ferrari, he plans a little surprise for you.

The invitation had arrived with little context, just a brief message from Lewis.

“Be ready at 3. Dress comfortably but leave everything else to me. You’ll see.”

You’d spent the morning wondering what he had planned.

It wasn’t unusual for Lewis to organize surprises, but the cryptic tone left you more curious than ever.

When the car came to pick you up, you were greeted by a cheerful assistant who offered no hints as you were driven to a grand studio in the heart of the city.

You were both nervous and excited.

Stepping inside, your jaw dropped.

The entire space was bathed in shades of crimson and scarlet, from the backdrop to the plush seating area adorned with roses and candles.

A rack of dresses stood in one corner, each more breathtaking than the last.

Red.

All over. Everywhere.

Red.

“Lewis... what is all this?” you asked, turning as Lewis walked toward you.

“Welcome to the celebration,” he said, leaning in to press a quick kiss to your cheek.

“Celebration?” you asked, your eyes scanning the room. “This looks like something out of a movie. What are we celebrating?”

He stepped back, spreading his arms to gesture at the room.

“Ferrari,” he said. “A new chapter. And I couldn’t think of a better way to make it perfect than with you by my side.”

You smiled at just how sweet he was. “So, a photoshoot?”

“A photoshoot,” he confirmed, his excitement unmistakable. As if he was a child in an ice cream shop. “But not just any photoshoot. This is for us. To capture this moment, this feeling. And if the pictures come out half as stunning as you, I’ll call it a win.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You’re impossible, Lewis.”

“Impossibly in love with you,” he took your hand and led you toward the rack of stunning dresses.

A stylist and her team appeared and took you away to work their magic.

Lewis disappeared to get ready, leaving you in awe as they helped you into a stunning red gown.

The fabric hugged your body perfectly, the intricate beadwork catching the light with every movement.

When you were ready, Lewis was waiting near the set, now dressed in a deep red suit that complemented your gown and his skin tone perfectly.

He turned at the sound of your footsteps, his eyes widening slightly.

“Wow. Just... wow.”

You smiled at him. “Not so bad yourself, Mr. Ferrari.”

He laughed, offering his hand to you. “Shall we?”

The photoshoot was filled with laughter, stolen glances, and playful banter.

The photographer guided you through poses, but most of the magic happened naturally.

Lewis was used to the camera, and there were moments when you almost forgot that there was a camera.

“Lean into him a bit more. Yes, perfect. Now, look at each other like you’re sharing a secret.”

You tilted your head toward Lewis. “Secret?” you whispered.

“I was going to say how stunning you look,” he murmured, his voice low and warm. “But I don't think that is a secret.”

The photographer’s shutter clicked furiously as you laughed, unable to contain your joy.

Another setup featured a velvet couch, with you perched elegantly while Lewis sat beside you, his arm draped protectively over you.

“Let’s try something more candid. Maybe a moment of celebration?”

Without missing a beat, Lewis leaned over to whisper in your ear. “Remember when I said this was for us?”

You nodded.

“I lied. This is also for me. Because I get to show off the most beautiful woman in the world.”

You smiled at him, your genuine happiness lighting up the frame. It was heartwarming to see Lewis so proud and happy.

As the session wound down, the photographer prepared for the final shot. “Let’s end with something intimate,” she suggested. “A kiss, perhaps?”

You turned to Lewis, your heart full as he cupped your face gently.

The kiss was soft, tender, and unhurried, a perfect reflection of the love you shared.

The camera clicked, but the world around you seemed to disappear.

When you finally pulled back, Lewis pressed his forehead to yours.

“Thank you,” he said softly.

“For what?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“For being here. For always being here,” he said, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make you as happy as you make me.”

You smiled, your eyes misting over. “You already do, Lewis.”

The photoshoot ended. 

But now you have the pictures to always remember these moments.

Each photograph captured the joy, love, and hope that was your relationship with Lewis. 

[r3starttt]

DRAIN ME

PAIRING: stalker! caitlyn x vampire! reader

CW: blood play. oral. fingering. finger sucking.

TAGLIST | KINKTOBER: @lewd-alien @greysontheidiot @jolyne @sapphic-ovaries @prwttiestbunny @visobsession @kiki5gigi @thesevi0lentdelights @femininologies | CAITLYN TAGLIST: @imdrowningindispair @rkivedpages @mirconreadzztuff22 @crispers @moonlyblue @bruhhtsukjf

Caitlyn had always prided herself on control, every mission executed with precision, every target locked with unwavering focus. But you—something about you unraveled her carefully crafted sense of order. It started innocently, a curiosity, a passing glance too long. But it bloomed into obsession. She found herself tracking your every move, studying the way you slipped through the shadows, always just out of reach.

It wasn't the bloodlust that drew her in, though, it was you—the way you carried yourself, the way your eyes lingered on her longer than they should have. It wasn’t fear she felt when she caught those fleeting glances from you, it was hunger. A hunger she could no longer distinguish from her own.

Caitlyn had always been the hunter, but with you, it was different. Her obsession had her following you, unseen, slipping through the city's dark corners as you prowled the night. Watching how you moved, who you spoke to, and how easily you evaded capture. Her nights were no longer filled with patrols but with watching you—every moment, every breath consumed by the thought of you.

She knew it wasn’t just her duty that made her chase you. It was the thrill, the electric pull she felt in your presence, as if every step closer to you was a step away from her own control. Her obsession deepened with every encounter, with every near-miss where your eyes met and lingered just a second too long. The more she watched, the more she wanted, and the more she wanted, the more she realized that it wasn’t enough. Watching you wasn’t enough. She needed more. She needed you.

Caitlyn wasn’t afraid of you and what you could physically do to her, but she feared what you’d already done to her mind—how you had twisted her sense of purpose, how you had made her feel alive. And though she knew she should stop, her grip on sanity fraying with each passing night, she was relentless, her thoughts consumed by the need to know everything about you. To own you.

The cold air of the night flowing through her open window, clinging to her as she sat perched on the edge of her desk. One leg straight as the other bent over. Her rifle rifle resting in her lap. It felt odd. a predator, yet being haunted—by a desire, an obsession.

Ther had been many thoughts. Cornering you, forcing you to face her. Not as prey, but as something more. What would it feel like, to have those sharp fangs graze her skin? To have you pinned beneath her, or to be at your mercy?

But no matter how close she got, you were always one step ahead, always slipping away before she could get too close. It only fueled her obsession. Caitlyn would find a way to catch you, to have you.

A soft creak from the far side of the room snapped her attention back to the open window. Her eyes narrowed, body tensing as she scanned the darkened office. The shadows danced across the walls, and for a brief moment, she thought she was imagining it. But then she saw it—a glimmer, the faintest hint of movement in the darkness. You were here.

The rifle and the wooden floor creaked ominously as Caitlyn stood tall, striding toward you with a firm grip on her weapon. “Did you really think you were the only one hunting?” She took a step back, tightening her grip. “Move.” Her voice was a command, authoritative. It made you smile. “I can smell it on you, you know. You’re not just trying to catch me—you need me.”

Caitlyn’s knuckles whitened around the rifle, her chest heaving ever so slightly. Her eyes narrowed, flicking between the shadows that danced across your face, trying to read your next move.

But you stayed perfectly still, waiting, your smile never wavering.

She took a deliberate step forward, the weight of her boots heavy against the creaking floor. “I don’t need you,” Caitlyn growled, her voice laced with frustration, but the tension in her posture betrayed her.

She was hesitating, her mind betraying her hardened resolve.

"Then why haven’t you pulled the trigger?

A flicker of uncertainty crossed Caitlyn's face, and she took a half-step back, “I can’t just… hurt you. Not like that.” her grip on the rifle relaxed just a fraction, the weapon lowering slightly. Only there you took a step closer, still covered by the shadow.

“Why not?” you asked softly, your voice almost a whisper. “You’ve stalked me, hunted me. Now you have me cornered..."

“You think I’m weak because I can’t pull the trigger?” the vulnerability beneath her bravado was unmistakable.

“I think you’re stronger than you know,” you shocked your head, a soft smile playing on your lips as you finally showed yourself to her. “And that strength is what draws me to you.”

Caitlyn’s gaze flickered to the rifle, still hanging loosely in her hand, then back to you. "I’ve spent too long chasing you. I’m not letting you go."

You tilted your head slightly, exposing your neck in a mocking, languid gesture, daring her. "Then take what you want," you whispered, voice dripping with seductive malice. The corset hugging your body concealed the blood that dripped from your lips, sliding down your neck, a crimson trail that glistened in the dim light. Caitlyn’s eyes flickered to your hands, but before she could act, you moved like a shadow, effortless and swift, and the rifle she clutched was sent crashing to the floor along with the frames that once hung proudly on her walls. The sound was deafening, a cacophony that seemed to echo her own faltering resolve.

Her quiet whimpers filled the space between you, exactly how you had imagined they would. Her hands, once so sure, now trembled as they gripped your arms, a futile attempt to push you away as your fangs sank deep into the soft skin of her neck. You savored the moment, the rush of power, the warmth of her blood on your tongue. She tasted sweet—sweeter than anyone else you had ever feasted upon. You drank her in, relishing every second.

"You come into my world, my home..." you murmured against her throat, your breath sending shivers down her spine. "You threaten anyone who gets close to me." Her whimper cut through your words, and with it, you bit down harder, drawing another gasp from her, this one filled with desperation and surrender.

"You really thought I wouldn’t notice the way you followed me, everywhere?" you purred, mocking her now, the sound of your voice weaving through the tension like silk. Her eyes, wide with shock, lost their vibrant glow, her skin paling as the life slowly drained from her. "You want me, don’t you, Kiramman?" you whispered against her ear, feeling her nails dig into your skin in response, a weak attempt at resistance that only fueled your desire further.

Her brow furrowed at your mocking tone, but her strength was leaving her, betraying her. "I know you like this... not having control for once," you teased, your voice low and taunting. "Just breathe." You felt her chest heave against yours, a quiet gasp that reverberated against your skin, the sound intoxicating. Her blood, so sweet and pure, made your head swim with pleasure, unlike anything you had tasted before.

Your nails now pierced her delicate cheeks, sharp enough to leave marks, pulling her closer, forcing her gaze to meet yours. Her eyes, once a vibrant blue, were now fading, losing their color, their life. It suited her, this strange, drained look—a pale echo of her former self. Horrifying, yet oddly beautiful.

You licked the blood from your lips, savoring the last taste of her, while your eyes—dark, red, and predatory—fixed on her with a hunger that would not be satisfied. Her body trembled, her lips parting as though to speak, but only incoherent sounds escaped, her strength fading fast. You looked down at her, a predator gazing at its prey, the white of your skin stark in contrast to the deep red of her blood.

Caitlyn’s hands clung to you now, her body weakening, her will crumbling under your touch. For once, she was no longer the hunter, no longer the perfect, controlled sharpshooter. She was at your mercy, and she *loved* it. Her mouth moved, barely able to form the words as her body slumped against yours, heavy with surrender. "Take me," she breathed, her voice fragile and broken, the last spark of life in her reaching for you, begging for release.

Her hands moved to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, as if the only thing keeping her alive was the feel of you, your presence. If it weren’t for your hold on her, she would have collapsed entirely, limp in your arms, almost lifeless. You could end it now—just one more taste, one more bite, and she would be yours forever. Her body, her soul, everything would belong to you. Exactly what she wanted, wasn’t it?

You smiled, your fangs glinting in the dim light, the expression wicked and predatory. Your eyebrows arched in amusement as you studied her fragile, broken form. "Yeah?" you whispered, the temptation curling in your voice. You wanted her—oh, you wanted her more than anything. But there was something so sweet about this moment, about watching her, feeling her completely under your control. She had given you so many chances to escape her grasp, to run, but now she was here, weakened, broken, and utterly yours.

Caitlyn Kiramman, the perfect shot, the disciplined enforcer, the best at what she did—now reduced to this. A trembling figure, desperate for you, craving the loss of control she had so carefully maintained her entire life. You held her there, savoring the power, the sweetness of her submission. She would be yours entirely.

Your breath ghosted over the sensitive skin of her neck once more, your hold tightening as if you could devour her whole. Caitlyn whimpered, the sound trembling from her lips, her blood still seeping from the bite marks you left, trailing down her neck and pooling at her clavicle. Her once immaculate uniform, now torn and disheveled, mirrored the chaos you’d created in her—a reflection of how far she'd fallen under your spell.

Your long, red tongue dragged slowly over her skin, tasting the mix of salt and copper, savoring the richness of her blood. You could feel the pulse beneath her flesh, each beat of her heart fueling your hunger. As you tore her uniform apart with a casual flick of your nails, her body shuddered, her breath catching as she mumbled soft, incoherent pleas—pleas that only spurred you on.

Her hands tangled in your hair, pulling you closer, pressing your head harder against her body, though whether in an attempt to push you away or pull you deeper into her, even she couldn’t say. You could feel the desperation in her touch, the way she clung to you like you were the only thing keeping her tethered to reality. Your eyes drifted upward, meeting her gaze with a predatory gleam, taking in the way her brows curved beautifully in agony, the slight part of her lips exposing the little gap between her teeth.

“Breathe… like that. Good girl,” you mocked softly, your voice dripping with cruel amusement as you coaxed her to endure the pain just a little longer. You could feel her body obeying, her breath shuddering as she fought to remain composed, even as she crumbled in your hands.

Slowly, you sank to your knees before her, your nails dragging down her thighs, the fabric of her uniform bunching and tearing under your touch. Caitlyn’s body jerked when your fangs pierced the soft, tender flesh of her thigh, her quiet, guttural moan reverberating through the air. She pressed herself harder against the wall, head thrown back as the pain mingled with something far deeper, more primal.

You held her there, gripping her hips with possessive force, tasting her, taking her. Her blood was intoxicating, and her helpless surrender only made it sweeter. You could feel the tension in her muscles, the tremble in her legs, as she struggled to stay upright under your assault. Her breaths came in ragged gasps, each one a testament to the control she was losing.

“Just like that,” you whispered against her skin, voice thick with hunger as your fangs grazed her again. You weren’t just feeding on her blood, you were consuming every part of her, body and soul.

You made your way under her blue skirt, kissing at the fabric covering her obscene wet hole. Your tongue licking at it with little shame. The tip of your nails dragged the black piece of clothing down her thighs, enough for your hungry mouth to have access on her body.

She was as sweet as her blood, as her voice. Her skin tender.

You felt a gentle grasp on the back of your head, a sloppy tangling along quiet hisses and hufs. She seemed quite desperate, but how could she not when your tongue felt so good up and down her slit, with your pretty lips kissing and sucking on her clit.

Caitlyn mumbled through her teeth, jaw clenched and eyebrows scrunching down her nose. Your tongue made its way from her slit to the tip of her clit, licking and kissing between her folds, feasting on her wet.

Your fingers slid in with ease, eliciting a weak yet grumpy gasp out of her mouth. Her thighs trapped you with the little strength she had on her. It felt heavy and alive on her way.

She hugged your fingers so tightly, clenching deliciously good. And the wet coming out of it was so pretty, so delicate yet messy. Withing each suck of her clit and thusting of your fingers there was a quiet gasp, a groan of pain and pleasure. You could sense her heart as if yours- it almost was. She was close.

Your lips pressed a gentle kiss around her clit, licking on it just after. Your fingers pounding onto her cunt until a warmth enveloped them down your wrist- gentle. Your eyes softened at the sensation, at the look of her tender body so weak yet so euphoric just for you- because of you.

The floor creaked as you stood, slipping free from her feeble grip. Her breathing was erratic, she would soon be an empty shell on the floor if you didn’t hurry. But this was your favorite part—watching them unravel before the final moment. Not her, though. She was different. She'd live. She'd belong to you.

"Open... just like that, love." A smile curved on your lips, now salty with blood, the taste more intoxicating than anything you'd ever known. She sucked on your fingers, humming, savoring the same flavor you were enjoying. Tilting her chin to the side, you attacked the other side of her neck. The pleasure coursing through her, mixed with the euphoria, made her blood even more exquisite. You drank deeply until her skin began to pale, becoming something like yours—white and no longer human.

Her fingers gripped yours tenderly, fangs sharpening naturally. Your breath brushed her skin one last time before she seized your wrist with newfound strength, the authority she once held returning to her body.

“No manners, Kiramman?"

[slasherslittlesimp]

Regrets (Steve X Reader X Bucky)

Part Three

The second Natasha enters the hangar Tony is in, she knows something is wrong. His jaw is tense, body rigid, and instead of immediately quipping at her with a joke or something, he remains silent. “Speak to me, Stark.” She demands, voice sharp yet wary.

“(Y/N) never returned from her mission. Was supposed to be a simple in and out. Tried checking in but Friday can’t reach her.” He clears his throat, glancing down at the tablet in his hand. “According to Friday she stepped off the jet at 0900 hours. It’s currently 1400. There’s been no signs of her returning to the jet.”

Dread begins to fill Nat as she realizes what he’s saying. “You think she might’ve been compromised?”

“I think we won’t know until we get there.” It’s clear that Tony’s trying to stay positive but it’s quite difficult considering the circumstances. “I’m gonna suit up and fly out first. I want you and Barton to follow in a jet.”

Natasha doesn’t say anything else, simply nodding before rushing off to suit up before loading into a jet where Clint is already sat at the controls. The second she’s buckled into the seat they take off, heading towards the location of your mission as quickly as possible. The entire time Nat tries her best to focus, but she can’t help but to flex her fingers every now and then, something she does when she’s distracted. Being one of her closest friends, Clint immediately takes notice.

“She’ll be fine, Nat.” He tries to reassure her. “Maybe she just decided she didn’t want to come back to them.”

Nat immediately knows what he’s talking about. Steve, Bucky, and Holly. Everyone has taken notice of the chasm growing between you and the two soldiers- a chasm they were digging themselves. Everyone but them up until she shoved the truth into their faces. Yet she knows that can’t possibly be why you haven’t returned. Because if it was, you would have at least checked in and let everyone know that you wouldn’t be coming back right away. You wouldn’t have gone dark.

“You and I both know that’s not true.” Her voice is low and tense, her jaw clenching as she tries to keep her emotions in check.

“Maybe not, but it’s better than the alternative.”

The alternative isn’t something either one of them wants to think about. The alternative is unacceptable. They both refuse to even remotely entertain the idea that the alternative is true. Not without it being right in front of them.

Not until they see your body for themselves.

Because that’s the only way they’d accept it. Until then, every other explanation is possible besides your death.

The jet lands about twenty minutes later, shortly after Tony arrives in his suit. Immediately Natasha and Clint are at his side, examine the building in front of them. When Nat notices the multiple unconscious bodies littering the ground outside, she can’t help but to smirk a bit. “That’s my girl.”

‘I’m detecting zero movement from inside.’ Friday informs.

“Looks like we’ll have to search manually.” Tony mutters in discontent. It’s not that he wants to do this the lazy way where Friday just scans for movement and they go wherever it’s found. It’s that doing everything manually takes much longer, and the longer they take the better the chance of them being too late.

The three of them enter the compound, Tony taking one side while Nat and Clint take the other. As Tony flies down the halls, he has Friday searching for heat signatures, hoping to narrow down his search to as few rooms as possible. Meanwhile, Nat and Clint are quickly searching from room to room, sweeping each one quickly and efficiently in order to avoid possibly missing you.

“Any luck?” Tony questions once he reaches the end of his hallway without seeing a single sign of you.

“Not yet.” Clint grunts in response as he kicks down a particularly difficult door. It swings open, revealing a surprising amount of bodies. His eyes sweep over each one, finding all the ones clustered near the door to be Hydra operatives. But then his gaze is drawn further into the room where he sees scorched cement and destroyed objects. But that’s not what catches his eye.

No.

What catches his eye is the familiar suit you wear on missions, and the amount of crimson covering the floor around it. His breath hitches in his throat as he jumps over the bodies in his way before dropping to his knees at your side, pulling off his gloves as he desperately searches for a pulse. “Tony! Nat! I found her!” His voice wavers from him trying to keep his emotions at bay. Those emotions only grow harder to control when he struggles to find your pulse.

Not even a minute later both Nat and Tony are bursting through the doorway, quickly moving to your side. Without even having to ask, Friday begins to scan your form for vitals and injuries. What the AI finds damn near knocks the breath out of all of them.

‘Three gunshot wounds, multiple lacerations, fracture in two ribs, possible concussion. Heart rate is low and weak. Immediate medical attention required.’

Tony swallows down his growing panic as he maneuvers his hands under your body with startling gentleness. Trying not to jostle you more than necessary, he pulls you close, standing up as he tells Friday to show him the fastest route to the nearest hospital. “I’m going to fly her in. I’ll get there faster than the jet.”

Nat and Clint don’t bother arguing, knowing they don’t have the time for it. Instead, they follow after Tony, watching him take off the second you’re all outside as they rush to get into the jet in order to follow after him. And as they fly in total silence, all they can do is hope that you survive. Hope that they got to you in time.

Taglist: @caity1995 @cassiemaebarnes @pattiemac1 @queen-honeybee-stories @daisylanesstuff @blackhawkfanatic @briceericeee @sra7riddle-malfoy @paryl @kneelforloki @vicmc624 @thiskingdomwillendure

[sixeyesonathiel]

in which you, the sharp-tongued president of the journalism club, declare war over a stolen layout, and satoru, the insufferably flirty photography club president with a camera full of your secret candids, decides he’s having the time of his life.

highschool au | wc — 1k | next. | masterlist.

the meeting room smells like ink, film, and freshly laminated passive aggression.

the overhead lights flicker with the kind of fluorescent buzz that makes everything feel more hostile. satoru props his legs up on the table like it’s his personal recliner, one ankle carelessly balanced over the other. his reading glasses—thin, silver-framed, and infuriatingly stylish—glint under the cheap lighting, slipping a little too perfectly down the bridge of his nose. he chews idly on the end of a red pen, the cap tucked behind his ear like some kind of pretentious artist. his white shirt’s sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, exposing a constellation of old ink smudges near his wrist. the top two buttons are undone, just enough to make the faculty advisor twitch.

the click of your heels hits the linoleum like gunfire. you walk in like you own the air, a stack of mock-up spreads clenched in your hands. your brow is pinched, lips already curled in a frown, and there’s war in your eyes. one of your earrings swings with each step like a warning bell, catching the light with every calculated movement. behind you, two juniors from your club trail in silence, wisely scattering to opposite corners like soldiers avoiding crossfire.

“you stole my layout.”

he doesn’t even glance up. his gaze stays fixed on a spread of black-and-white prints, one finger tapping the margin absently as he exhales a sigh that’s more theater than actual exhaustion.

“i improved your layout,” he replies, voice drawling like warm honey, every syllable laced with calculated apathy. “you should be thanking me. i made it… tolerable.”

you bristle, one corner of your mouth twitching with the effort not to scream. your grip on the mock-ups tightens enough to crumple the edges. the laminated surface of the table reflects the clench of your jaw.

“i will be thanking you in court.”

finally, the president of the photography club looks over his glasses, pale blue eyes flicking toward you with all the weight of someone examining a particularly amusing page in a novel. his grin spreads slow, lazy, like a cat stretching in the sun. he shifts in his seat, boots thudding against the wood as he plants both feet firmly, clearly settling in for entertainment.

“you always this dramatic, sweetheart? or is it just me who gets the full opera?”

you drop the folder onto the table with a satisfying smack. papers fan out, sliding perilously close to one of his prints. his feet don’t move, but his fingers pause mid-flip.

the tension crackles. a freshman from the debate team peeks through the glass pane in the door before backing away like they saw two lions about to brawl. somewhere outside, the vending machine hiccups and spits out a half-stuck can.

“you know what, gojo?” you hiss, arms crossing tightly over your chest. “one of these days, your camera is going to mysteriously go missing. maybe it’ll be a tragic accident. maybe the journalism club just decided it’s not photogenic enough to live.”

he lets out a low whistle and leans back, folding his hands behind his head. his sleeves slide up farther, baring more skin, as if he’s flaunting his comfort just to get under your skin.

“such violence from such dainty hands. should i be scared, or turned on?”

your eyes narrow. “i’ll make you a headline.”

“make me your centerfold while you’re at it.”

his voice is light, but there’s a glint in his eyes now—sharp, fascinated. your lips purse. your fingers twitch against your arm, like you’re debating whether to throw something. he watches the motion closely, the corner of his mouth twitching.

the truth is, he’s annoying. impossibly annoying. but he watches you like it’s a compulsion—like if he blinks, he might miss something vital. like you’re the only person worth photographing in color.

he always gives the worst pictures to the press. the ones where your mouth is open mid-lecture or your hair’s caught in the wind wrong. those go to print. but the good ones—the ones where your smile breaks slowly, or your eyes are scanning a page like it holds the world, or you’re caught mid-laugh with your nose crinkled and one hand over your mouth—those stay with him. those are his. they’re tucked behind his portfolio, buried in folders named things like “b roll” and “miscellaneous,” like he’s fooling anyone. he edits them late at night, adjusting brightness, cropping out noise, zooming in until your expression is framed perfectly.

he tilts his head, voice dipping just low enough to make the space feel smaller.

“by the way, new lipstick? not that i was staring. but it’s smudged. right here.”

his finger lifts, hovering near the corner of your mouth, too close for comfort. his tone is playful, but his eyes trace your features with an unsettling softness—one you pretend not to notice.

your breath hitches. then—smack.

your palm connects with the back of his hand, hard enough to sting. the sound echoes, sharp and final. he laughs, not even flinching. the sound is warm and low, like you’d just told him a secret. he rubs his hand where you hit him, still grinning.

“worth it,” he murmurs under his breath.

you storm out, heels clicking faster than when you came in, the door creaking open and slamming shut behind you with a force that sends dust motes dancing in the light. one of your juniors rushes to collect the scattered pages, her face pale.

he’s still smiling when he watches your reflection disappear in the dark tint of the window, glasses now pushed up fully onto the bridge of his nose.

he’s still smiling when he slips another candid of you—half-turned, sunlight catching your cheekbone—into a folder buried beneath three layers of encryption on his hard drive. the photo’s file name is a random string of numbers. there are dozens of them.

journalism club’s president is going to be the death of him.

and god, he’s going to die so happy.

[hereforuconnwbb]

Foul Play - Chapter 3

paige x azzi (pazzi)

au fic!

word count: 5.1k

warning: language

hey guyssss heres chap 3 !! i literally had multiple mind blanks while writing this so im not sure if it even makes sense or if its even good 😭 but yea other than that theres nth rlly much to say but if u didnt see my post earlier, i will be busy this weekend so i wont be able to write as much... anyways i hope u guys enjoy this chapter !! 🫶🏽 feel free to send thru ideas that i can take into consideration for future chapters ! 🥊

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

Paige stepped out of her dorm early in the morning. A slight chill lingered in the air, clinging to her skin as she tugged a hoodie over her head and adjusted the drawstrings. The campus was mostly asleep, still wrapped in silence.

Instead of heading to the gym, she veered off down a quieter path toward one of the outdoor rec courts tucked near the back edge of campus. It wasn’t fancy but it was empty, and that’s what Paige needed. Just space. Air. No eyes on her. No bullshit.

She dropped the basketball onto the concrete and bounced it a few times, testing the way it echoed through the morning quiet. Then, without warming up, she stepped back behind the arc and fired.

Swish.

“Fuck Marcus,” she muttered, catching the rebound on a lazy bounce and stepping back to the top of the key. “Always pulling strings like he’s slick. Like I can’t see through that stupid ass head.”

Another shot hit the back iron and rolled out.

Paige cursed under her breath, chasing it down and spinning it back to her fingertips. She squared her shoulders, bounced once, and fired again.

Swish.

“Fake as hell. Always has been.”

She moved around the arc, settling into a rhythm, her body loosening with each motion, but her mind still clamped tight around the anger she hadn’t shaken since yesterday. Another shot.

Swish.

“And Azzi…” She scoffed under her breath, grabbing the ball again. “Little miss perfect attitude. Giving dirties like I’m the bad guy when she’s dating the fucking snake.”

She launched again. Clang.

“Fuck.” Paige exhaled through her nose, jaw tight. She hated how they were both living in her head like this. She wasn’t supposed to care, well, she didn’t care. At least that’s what she kept trying to convince herself. But the whole situation kept scratching at her insides like an itch she couldn’t reach.

She walked to half-court and stood still for a second, hands resting on her hips, breathing heavy.

“Can’t believe I ever had dumbass’ back,” she muttered, squinting at the hoop. “And now he’s out here tryna mess up everything. Again.”

She dribbled twice, dropped low into her stance, then took off toward the basket in a quick drive. Hard stop, spin, fadeaway.

Swish.

She let the follow-through hang for a second longer than needed, then dropped her arms and shook her head.

“Yea. Keep watching. Let’s see who gets fucked over this time.”

She kept at it, over and over again—every shot a word, every miss a curse, every swish a release. Her hoodie was damp by the time she finally stopped, hands on her knees, chest rising and falling.

Paige finally sat on the court, legs outstretched, ball cradled beside her. Her heart was still racing, but the edge had dulled slightly. For now, it was just her, the sky, and the echo of her own voice talking shit to ghosts that weren’t there but still somehow haunted her all the same.

As the minutes dragged on, the sweat started cooling against her back and the adrenaline slowly drained. She leaned her head back staring up at the sky, trying to slow her thoughts.

But then movement caught her eye.

Across the quad from the court, a door opened.

She blinked, watching absently at first until she saw them.

Jayla stepped out, hoodie tugged low and hair messy like she hadn’t fully fixed herself yet. And right behind her was Marcus, stretching lazily as he lingered in the doorway. Paige sat upright, heart rate spiking again.

They were laughing about something, low and quiet. Jayla swatted at his arm like he said something dumb, and Marcus leaned in murmuring something into her ear.

Without thinking, Paige grabbed her phone. She zoomed in slightly and took a photo of Jayla standing too close while Marcus whispering, half-turned, his hand casually brushing her hip as he stepped away.

She stared at the screen for a second, thumb hovering before locking it. Just a receipt. Not for now. But for if shit blew up. If Azzi started acting brand new again. If Jayla came back with some other fake excuse.

“I fucken knew it,” she muttered.

The same Jayla who canceled on her last night, mid-argument with Marcus. The same Jayla who texted her she “wasn’t interested anymore.”

And there she was, right in front of Paige’s face, hair messy, mouth smiling, standing just close enough to Marcus to kill every excuse Paige tried to build in her head.

Paige just watched with her jaw tight.

Marcus reached out and tugged the edge of Jayla’s sleeve playfully before turning to head off in the opposite direction. Jayla stayed leaning on the door frame, watching him go with a small smirk like they shared some private joke.

“Unreal,” Paige muttered under her breath, standing up with a rough push off the concrete. She picked up her ball and tucked it under her arm, chest still burning with fresh betrayal, old anger, and a fucked up sense of deja vu.

She pulled her phone out again, typed out a quick text to Aubrey.

Paige: omw to urs 

Paige: need to be around someone not fake before i throw hands

She shoved the phone in her pocket, turned toward the path, and started walking faster than necessary. Every step was heavy, but all she could think about was getting to Aubrey’s dorm before she said something or did something she couldn’t take back.

Her knuckles were white around the basketball as she reached Aubrey’s dorm building, shoving through the front doors with more force than necessary. She took the stairs 2 at a time, her hoodie sticking to her back with cold sweat and her jaw locked tight. By the time she knocked on Aubrey’s door, her pulse hadn’t slowed.

Aubrey swung the door open, still in her sleep shirt, one sock halfway on and hair shoved into a lazy bun. “Geez,” she blinked. “You look like you are about to kill someone.”

“I am,” Paige snapped, pushing past her and dropping the ball onto the floor with a thud. “I’m so fucking sick of this shit.”

Aubrey closed the door behind her. “Ok. Sit. Talk.”

Paige didn’t sit. She paced. “It’s not Jayla. I mean—I’m not mad at her, not really. She don’t owe me anything, whatever. But Marcus, that piece of shit is always ruining shit for me. Every time I start to get peace, he just shows up. In my past. In my face. In someone else’s bed.”

Aubrey leaned back against her drawer, arms crossed, letting her get it out.

Paige stopped pacing long enough to yank her phone from her pocket. “Tell me this don’t look sus as hell.”

She turned the screen toward Aubrey, showing her the photo of Marcus whispering into Jayla’s ear, his hand just grazing her hip as she stood in the doorway, clearly fresh out of bed.

Aubrey raised her brows. “Well, damn.”

“I’m not tryna assume,” Paige muttered quickly, dragging the phone back to herself. “Like—I don’t know what happened last night. But knowing Marcus ?” Her voice cracked a little with rage, “They probably fucked. He don’t hang around girls for fun.”

“Paige…”

“Don’t say it,” Paige cut her off. “Don’t say I should talk to Jayla yet. I will. Later. I just needed to not be alone right now or I was gonna lose my shit.”

Aubrey held her hands up. “Ok. I won’t say that.”

Paige dropped onto Aubrey’s bed finally, head in her hands. “And don’t tell anyone about that picture.”

“I won’t,” Aubrey said quickly. “You know I won’t.”

There was a long pause before Aubrey added, “You should show Azzi.”

Paige looked up, eyes sharp. “Fuck no.”

“Paige—”

“She’s not my problem,” Paige snapped. “Let her find out her own way. I’m not saving her from shit.”

Aubrey didn’t push, just nodded once.

Paige leaned back, staring at the ceiling. “I’m gonna find Jayla before practice. Talk to her face to face.”

“You sure that’s a good idea ?”

“I’m not sure of anything,” Paige said. “But I need to look her in the eye. Hear whatever bullshit excuse she’s got. If she’s real about it, cool. If not ? Then I know where we stand.”

Aubrey tossed her a water bottle. “Well… at least drink something before you go confronting people later.”

Paige caught it with a tired smirk. “Thanks, mum.”

—---------------------------------------------------

Across the campus, Azzi stood in front of her mirror, dragging a brush through her curls with slow strokes. Her jaw still ached from how hard she’d been clenching it the night before, and sleep hadn’t done much to soften the knot of irritation sitting in her chest. She felt anything but calm.

She was halfway through pulling her hoodie over her head when a knock landed at the door.

She frowned, moving to open it, expecting maybe Caroline or Kaitlyn—but instead, it was Marcus.

Azzi blinked. “Seriously ?”

He gave her a crooked smile that used to work on her. “I just… wanted to say sorry. For yesterday.”

Azzi crossed her arms. “You mean for bailing last minute with no real explanation after we planned that day all week ?”

Marcus rubbed the back of his neck. “Yea. I know. I fucked up, babe. I had some shit come up—stuff I couldn’t blow off. But I should’ve called. I should’ve said something better than just ‘I’m busy.’ That was weak. I get it.”

She didn’t respond right away. She just watched him. He was in sweats, jacket half-zipped, eyes tired like he hadn’t slept great either. For a split second, she considered slamming the door in his face but then his voice softened.

“I hate letting you down,” he added, voice low, “I just…I don’t know. My head’s been all over the place lately. But I’m here now. Can I make it up to you ?”

Azzi stared at him, her stomach twisting in a way she couldn’t name. She wanted to stay mad. She should’ve stayed mad. But instead, she sighed, stepping aside and letting him in.

Marcus slid past her quietly, and she shut the door behind him, leaning back against it.

“You can’t keep pulling this shit,” she muttered. “This ‘something came up’ act. It’s starting to feel like I’m not a priority.”

“You are,” he said quickly, moving closer. “You are, Az. I just suck at showing it sometimes. But I care about you. I swear.”

She searched his face, trying to read something deeper beneath the apology, some crack in the surface but there was nothing. Just those soft eyes and that familiar voice, saying all the right things in all the right ways.

Azzi exhaled slowly, tension easing in her chest. “Fine. But you’re buying me breakfast.”

Marcus grinned. “Bet.”

They sat down on her bed, Marcus pulling Azzi’s legs into his lap as they leaned back against the headboard, scrolling through food delivery options on his phone. Azzi let her head fall onto his shoulder, eyes half-lidded, the warmth of his body sinking into her skin.

A few quiet minutes passed as they sat together, the hum of Marcus’s voice filling the room while he scrolled on his phone.

“You want pancakes or something heavier ?” he asked, glancing at her briefly.

Azzi gave a small shrug. “Pancakes are fine.”

He clicked through a few menus, completely content, like everything was back to normal. Like she hadn’t been up half the night feeling like shit. Azzi watched him for a second. The smile on his face, the way he absentmindedly rubbed her shin with his thumb. It all looked good. It all felt good. But something about it didn’t sit right.

“You got anything going on tomorrow ?” he asked casually, still tapping at his screen.

Azzi blinked. “Tomorrow ?”

“Yea, like afternoon. Thought maybe I’d grab us a late lunch. There’s that new burger spot off campus. I could pick you up around three ?”

She pulled back slightly, just enough to look at him. “I’ve got a game tomorrow.”

Marcus glanced up. “Wait, really ?”

“Yea,” she said flatly. “Trial game. Against georgetown.”

His brow furrowed, just slightly. “Since when ?”

Azzi scoffed. “Since last week, Marcus. I’ve mentioned it like three times.”

He blinked, then looked away, rubbing at his jaw. “Damn. My bad. I must’ve zoned out or something.”

Azzi pulled her legs out of his lap, sitting up a little straighter. “You didn’t zone out. You just don’t listen when I talk about soccer unless I’m scoring.”

Marcus raised both hands like he was surrendering. “Alright, chill, I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“You never do,” she muttered.

There was a pause before Marcus tried to shift the mood back, flashing her a lazy grin. “Okok. My bad. But I’ll come to the game. I’ll be there.”

Azzi’s stomach twisted. She didn’t know if it was guilt, or doubt, or just tiredness, but the last thing she wanted was him showing up out of nowhere after being mia.

“You don’t have to,” she said, already grabbing her phone.

“Nah, I want to,” he insisted, leaning in again. “Text me the time. I’ll show up, front row, loud as.”

Azzi forced a smile. “Sure.”

But in her head, she was already wondering what excuse he’d have this time.

—---------------------------------------------------

It was now late afternoon when Paige wandered to the back corridors of the rec center with her hoodie slung over a shoulder and her bag hanging low off the other. She wasn’t even sure why she was still trying to find Jayla. Maybe part of her needed closure. Maybe part of her wanted to catch her slipping. Or maybe she just wanted the truth.

Her eyes scanned the clusters of athletes filtering in for their sessions, but there was no sign of Jayla. Not in the hallway. Not near the locker rooms. Not courtside. Paige felt her jaw tighten until she finally saw her by the vending machines near the back exit, Jayla stood alone, fiddling with her phone, airpods in. She looked tense with her shoulders high, posture closed off, like she already knew someone was coming.

Paige approached slowly.

Jayla glanced up and flinched, her eyes flicking around like she was half-preparing to bolt. “Paige.”

“You free to talk ?” Paige asked evenly, voice low.

Jayla hesitated before nodding, pulling her airpods out. “Yea. Sure.”

They moved into a quiet corner between two practice rooms, out of view.

Paige crossed her arms. “So… you really gonna ghost me with a dry-ass text ?”

Jayla looked down. “I didn’t mean to ghost. I just—”

“You just weren’t interested anymore,” Paige finished for her, voice clipped.

Jayla flinched again but nodded. “That’s what I said, yea.”

Paige studied her face. The avoidance in her eyes. The way her fingers twisted the hem of her sleeve. “You didn’t even give me a proper reason.”

Jayla swallowed, voice tight. “I didn’t have one.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“I know.” She looked up at Paige finally. Eyes soft. Guilty. “I know. You didn’t do anything wrong. I just… I messed up.”

Paige raised an eyebrow. “So you’re not gonna tell me what really happened ?”

Jayla opened her mouth then froze. Something behind her eyes shifted. Like she was about to say something important, and then swallowed it down. Her hand gripped the strap of her bag tight, her nails digging in.

“I can’t,” she whispered.

Paige’s jaw twitched. “Can’t or won’t ?”

Jayla didn’t answer right away. Her breath came shallow. Then, softly “I’m sorry. That’s all I can say.”

Paige leaned in, gaze sharp but not cruel. “So something did happen.”

Jayla’s eyes flickered just for a second. Fear. Guilt. Regret. She didn’t nod. Didn’t speak. But that silence said everything.

“I just wish you’d been straight with me,” Paige said, backing off half a step. “You could’ve told me you weren’t safe to be real. I wouldn’t have pushed.”

Jayla looked like she might cry for a second. “It’s not like that.”

“It never is, until it is.”

Jayla sniffed and wiped at her cheek quickly, then cleared her throat. “You didn’t deserve it. I should’ve been honest. You didn’t deserve to be left hanging like that.”

Paige gave a small nod. “You good tho ?”

Jayla blinked at her, surprised. “Yea. I’m fine.”

“You sure ?”

Jayla hesitated. “…Yea.”

Paige didn’t believe her. Not fully. But she didn’t press. She just looked at her 1 last time, then turned to leave.

“Thanks for telling me what you could,” she said over her shoulder.

Jayla didn’t reply. But as Paige walked away, she felt a weight settle in her chest. Not just betrayal. Not just anger. But something colder.

A new understanding of just how deep Marcus’s toxicity ran.

She was still replaying Jayla’s silence in her head when she rounded the corner and almost walked straight into Azzi.

Azzi stepped in her path.

“What the fuck did you say to her ?”

Paige blinked like she wasn’t expecting it, then laughed under her breath. “Relax.”

“Don’t tell me to relax,” Azzi snapped, stepping closer. “She looked scared.”

“Because the truth is scary,” Paige said with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

Azzi’s jaw clenched. “You’re a fucking bitch, you know that ?”

Paige stopped walking, chest rising. She turned slowly, meeting Azzi’s glare with one of her own. “If I was a bitch, I would’ve fucked everything up for you already.”

Azzi’s expression faltered just enough to catch it.

Paige took a single step forward, voice low and hard. “Your boyfriend cancelled on you last night, right ? Maybe you’d wanna ask him why.”

Azzi’s mouth opened then shut it. Her chest tightened, the sting immediate. But she straightened her spine and fired back, “He already told me. He got caught up in some shit. Stuff he couldn’t blow off.”

Paige let out a sharp, humourless breath. “Shiiii you’re dumber than I thought.”

Azzi’s eyes blazed. “Fuck you.”

“No thanks,” Paige shot back, stepping in again almost nose-to-nose. “You let him say whatever he wants. Do whatever he wants. You’re not just dumb, Azzi. You’re easy.”

Azzi’s hand twitched at her side.

Before it could escalate further, hurried footsteps pounded the floor.

“Azzi—hey !”

Caroline’s voice cracked through as she jogged up, Kaitlyn right behind her.

Caroline slipped between them fast, arm out like a barrier. “Hey. Chill the fuck out.”

Kaitlyn grabbed Azzi gently by the elbow, tugging her back. “Let’s go. Practice starts soon.”

Azzi didn’t move for a second. She just stared at Paige like she wanted to hit her.

Paige didn’t flinch.

Caroline shot Paige a warning look, then turned to Azzi. “Cmon Az. Don’t let her get in your head.”

Azzi let herself be pulled back slowly, her heart racing. Paige stayed rooted where she was, watching her like she was waiting for her to wake up.

“Ask him,” Paige called, voice calm. “If you actually care.”

And then she turned, disappearing down the hall like she hadn’t just cracked something wide open.

Azzi stormed down the hallway with Caroline and Kaitlyn on each side of her, her fists clenched and breath coming faster than she wanted to admit. Her face was stone, but her heartbeat was thudding in her ears.

“Jesus,” Kaitlyn muttered once they were out of earshot. “What the hell was that ?”

Caroline narrowed her eyes, glancing over her shoulder like Paige might come charging back. “Yea, what even started that ?”

Azzi didn’t answer right away. She kept walking, refusing to look shaken.

“Az ?” Caroline pressed again.

Azzi let out a dry laugh. “She’s just mad Jayla doesn’t want her.”

Kaitlyn blinked. “Wait—Jayla ? Like… volleyball Jayla ?”

“Yup,” Azzi said, popping the p. “Caught them in some shady-looking corner talk and Paige got all defensive when I asked about it.”

Caroline exchanged a glance with Kaitlyn. “It looked like you were about to rip her throat out.”

“She was being a bitch,” Azzi snapped, rolling her eyes. “Talking like she knows my life. Like she knows Marcus.”

Kaitlyn raised her brows. “Was she saying stuff about him ?”

“She tried to act all mysterious. Said I should ‘ask him why he cancelled on me last night,’” Azzi said with air quotes and a mocking tone. “Like I didn’t already talk to him. Like I’m stupid.”

Caroline hesitated. “You did talk to him though, right ?”

“Obviously,” Azzi snapped, sharper than she meant. “He came by this morning. Said he had shit come up. I believe him. Not everything has to be drama.”

Kaitlyn pressed her lips together. “You’ve got a trial game tomorrow. Don’t let that stuff mess with your head.”

Azzi nodded once. “It’s not. I’m locked in.”

Caroline threw an arm around her shoulders as they headed toward the locker room. “Then don’t let Paige get under your skin. She wants a reaction.”

“She’s not getting one,” Azzi said casually, staring straight ahead.

She believed Marcus this morning. She still did. But something in Paige’s voice had stuck in her—sharp and irritating.

Still, she shoved it down. Game was tomorrow. Focus came first.

Whatever Paige thought she knew, it didn’t matter. Azzi wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.

—---------------------------------------------------

The gym echoed with balls bouncing and shoes squeaking on hardwod. Practice hadn’t officially started yet, but a few girls were already warming up on the court, laughing, attempting trick shots, stretching.

KK stood near the rack of basketballs with Ice and Sarah, whispering something while half-grinning. Sarah held a roll of athletic tape behind her back, eyes darting between KK and the locker room door like she was timing something.

“Ok,” KK whispered. “Paige comes in, we tape her ankles together, and pretend it’s a bonding drill—”

“Absolutely not,” Aubrey cut in, stepping in from the door.

KK blinked. “What ? Why ?”

Aubrey just tilted her chin toward the locker room door. “Look.”

A beat later, Paige stormed onto the court throwing her bag down harder than necessary, sleeves shoved up past her elbows, expression tight. Her brows were furrowed and her mouth set in a hard, pissed-off line.

Sarah took 1 look at her and muttered, “Abort mission.”

Paige grabbed a ball from the rack and immediately started doing aggressive dribble combos—hard slams into the floor like she was trying to drive it through the floor.

Aubrey walked over slowly, keeping her voice low. “Yo. What happened ?”

Paige didn’t stop dribbling. “Don’t ask me about her.”

Aubrey blinked. “Jayla ?”

“No,” Paige said, ball snapping up into her hands. “Azzi.”

Aubrey’s head tilted slightly. “Why ?”

Paige exhaled hard, like she’d been holding it in all day. “I showed up to Jayla, talked to her face to face. She was clearly scared, dodging around everything but it’s obvious. Something happened. I didn’t need to push harder. I got my answer.”

“So, what does Azzi got to do wit it ?”

Paige ran her hand through her hair, the hoodie slipping further down her shoulder. “She saw us. Me and Jayla. And immediately came at me like I was the bad guy.”

“She confronted you ?”

“Yep. She called me a bitch. I snapped. I said some shit I maybe shouldn’t have but I was done being nice about it.”

Aubrey crossed her arms, keeping her voice low and even. “Did you show her the picture ?”

Paige scoffed. “No. I told her to ask him.”

Aubrey stared. “Paige…”

“I’m not doing her thinking for her, Aubs,” Paige muttered, tossing the ball hard off the wall. “She’s already made up her mind who the one in the wrong is. If she wants to keep believing Marcus gives a shit about her, she can choke on that bullshit.”

Aubrey stayed quiet for a second, watching Paige breathe heavy through her nose.

“Still,” she said gently, “the pic could’ve helped her listen.”

Paige turned to her, voice cold. “I gave her the match. If she wants to burn the house down, that’s on her.”

And with that, Paige turned and jogged to join the rest of the team for warmups, fury still simmering just beneath the surface.

Aubrey watched her go.

KK wandered over, whispering to Aubrey again. “Ok so… still no prank ?”

Aubrey didn’t even look at her. “Bruh. Read the room.”

KK backed off, hands up. “Noted.”

—---------------------------------------------------

They wrapped up practice about an hour and a half later, sweat-slick and breathless under the fading light. The sun was sinking low over the field, casting long shadows across the grass as the early evening air cooled. Azzi wiped her face with the hem of her jersey and kicked off her cleats, tossing them into her bag, her mind already half on tomorrow.

Caroline stretched her arms over her head with a groan. “My legs are done. If georgetown doesn’t show up with ice baths and respect, I’m gonna riot.”

Kaitlyn chuckled, flicking her water bottle cap at her. “You’re so dramatic.”

“I’m realistic,” Caroline fired back. “They’re aggressive as hell. We’ve gotta be locked in.”

Azzi nodded silently, eyes still on the field behind them, unfocused.

Caroline nudged her. “You good ?”

“Yea,” Azzi said, forcing a small grin. “Just tired. Thinking about tomorrow.”

“Trial game nerves?” Kaitlyn asked, bumping her shoulder playfully. “You’ll kill it. We all will.”

Azzi gave a quick nod. “Yea. I’m ready.”

They walked a little further, the gravel crunching under their sneakers.

“Marcus is coming,” Azzi added casually, like she wasn’t already bracing herself for a reaction.

Kaitlyn glanced at Caroline, then back at Azzi. “Oh.”

Caroline kept her expression neutral. “Nice. He’s… showing up ?”

Azzi caught the loaded pause but ignored it. “Yea. He said he’ll be front row. Loud and all.”

Kaitlyn chewed the inside of her cheek for a beat. “Cool. Hopefully he brings snacks or something.”

Azzi let out a short laugh but didn’t look at either of them. “He’s trying. That’s what matters, right ?”

Caroline finally spoke. “Yea. Just… you know. Focus on you tomorrow. No distractions.”

Azzi nodded again, more stiffly this time. “I am. I will.”

But she could still feel Paige’s words in her head.

“Ask him, if you actually care.”

Azzi tried to shake it, tightening her hair like it would somehow tighten her focus too. She wasn’t going to spiral. Not now.

“You guys wanna get a bite ?” Caroline offered as they reached the parking lot. “Fuel up for domination ?”

Kaitlyn slung her bag over 1 shoulder. “Only if we get those chicken wraps again.”

Azzi hesitated, then gave a small smile. “You guys go. I think I’m just gonna head back. Shower, get my hair done then chill.”

Caroline raised an eyebrow but didn’t push. “Alright. We’ll see you tomorrow ?”

“Bright and early,” Azzi promised. 

They exchanged brief goodbyes before splitting off. Azzi walked the rest of the way back alone. Her fingers hovered over Marcus’ name in her messages for a second.

Then she locked her phone and shoved it into her pocket.

She’d see him tomorrow anyways.

—---------------------------------------------------

Paige was out the door as soon as practice finished without a post-practice stretch, no fist bumps, no banter. Just a muttered “I’m out” to Geno and the sharp slam of the exit as she stormed through it. 

She didn’t stop walking until she hit her dorm.

The second the door clicked behind her, she dropped her bag, peeled off her hoodie, and kicked off her shoes hard enough to knock 1 under the desk. She sat on the edge of her bed, breathing heavy, palms planted on her thighs bracing herself.

No music. No tv. Just silence and the hum of early evening campus life outside the window.

A soft knock broke through the quiet.

Paige didn’t move.

Another knock, this one followed by, “Paige. It’s me.”

She sighed through her nose. “It’s open.”

Aubrey eased the door open and stepped in, closing it behind her without a word. She leaned against the dresser and crossed her arms, scanning Paige for a second before speaking.

“You didn’t say bye.”

“I didn’t feel like talking,” Paige muttered.

“Clearly.”

Aubrey stayed quiet for a beat before pushing off the dresser and sitting on the desk chair across from her. “I know I asked… But why didn’t you just show her the picture?”

Paige’s jaw ticked. “Well if she wasn’t such a bitch, I would’ve.”

Aubrey blinked. “Seriously ?”

“Yea. If she hadn’t come at me like she did then maybe I would’ve helped her out. Maybe I would’ve let her in.” Paige’s voice was bitter. “But nah. She can suffer. Let her be with that dickhead. That’s what she picked.”

Aubrey exhaled. “Paige—”

“I’m serious,” Paige cut in. “She chose him. She defends him like he’s got some halo floating above that big ass ego. Fuck that.”

Aubrey leaned forward a little. “Ok, but if you’d shown her the picture—if you’d let her see what he’s actually doing, maybe it would’ve ruined him. You would’ve gotten your payback.”

Paige let out a humorless laugh. “That’s not how I want my payback.”

Aubrey paused. “Then how ?”

Paige didn’t answer right away. She just looked away, lips pressed tight.

Aubrey narrowed her eyes. “Paige…”

Still nothing.

“…Who are you even trying to hurt ?”

Paige looked back at her finally, eyes cold. “Him.”

Aubrey didn’t flinch. “You sure ? Cause if you want to do what I think you’re thinking about doing, you’re not just hurting him.”

Paige shrugged. “Collateral damage.”

Aubrey stared at her. “So Azzi’s just that now ? Collateral ?”

“She’s made it clear she hates me,” Paige said flatly. “So why the fuck should I care ?”

“Maybe because she doesn’t know anything,” Aubrey snapped. “Maybe because all she sees is you blowing through people like a hurricane and thinks that’s all you are.”

“She could’ve asked. She could’ve stopped assuming the worst.”

Aubrey’s voice dropped. “Do you think she even knows what happened back then ? Between you and Marcus ?”

Paige’s mouth twitched. “Knowing him ? He probably fed her some bullshit story. Played victim. Probs told her I was crazy or some shit.”

“Then tell her the truth.”

“No,” Paige said, tone like steel. “I’m not handing her the truth like a gift. Not when she’s acting like this. She doesn’t want the truth. She wants someone to blame.”

“She already has someone to blame,” Aubrey said quietly. “You.”

Paige swallowed. Something flickered in her eyes but it vanished just as fast.

“Good,” she said. “Let her.”

Aubrey leaned back, lips pursed. “You’re seriously gonna go through with it ?”

Paige didn’t say a word.

Aubrey exhaled, standing up slowly. “I hope, when this is all over… it feels worth it.”

Then she walked to the door, pausing with her hand on the knob. “Because hurting someone who doesn’t even know they’re in the middle of a war ? That’s not revenge Paige. That’s cruelty. And it’s just gonna make everything more complicated.”

And with that, she slipped out, leaving Paige sitting alone in the silence again with her heart thudding, mind racing, jaw clenched so tight it hurt.

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

[boohorns1136439]

Learning to belong ~ poly!MHA x fem!Reader (11)

Remember when I said chapter 11 will be out next weekend, one month ago ? I am a liar, but you guys have to forgive me.

Warning: cursing (?)

Tags: Pack! Izuku Midoriya X Bakugo Katsuki X Shoto Todoroki X Kirishima Eijirou ; Pack! X fem!Reader ; Omega!Izuku Midoriya ; Omega!Bakugo Katsuki ; Omega!Shoto Todoroki ; Omega!Kirishima Eijirou ; technically Beta!Reader ; modern Au ; post-UA ; Reader has a quirk ; non hero!Reader ; smut eventually ; fem!Reader ; afab!Reader

10 <- 11 ->12

Taglist

Masterlist

The routine settled over the pack. Bakugo’s gaze was still locked on Todoroki, a quiet blaze simmering behind his crimson eyes. His nostrils flared as he exhaled sharply through his nose, muttering a curse under his breath. Then he turned on his heel and stomped toward the kitchen while the floor creaked under the weight of his steps. Only then did Izuku realize he’d been holding his breath. He hadn’t known what to expect, an explosion, maybe. A barked insult. A demand, raw and unfiltered, tearing through the tension like Bakugo always did. His blonde mate had come dangerously close to snapping more than once in the past few days. Izuku had seen the storm brewing behind his eyes, but he understood. Bakugo wasn’t just angry. He missed him. They all did.

It had been less than a month since the incident, but it felt like an eternity since Todoroki had really looked any of them in the eyes. Since their fingers found each other in the quiet, without needing words. Sometimes they didn’t speak at all. Just sat like that, fingers laced, listening to the distant sounds of life moving around them. And every time Todoroki’s thumb rubbed small, absent circles into Izuku’s palm, it made something bloom behind his ribs. Gentle, deep and steady. He missed that. He missed the way Todoroki’s smile started small, barely a twitch of the lips, and then slowly bloomed. He missed his mate’s scent too. Even that had changed.

It used to be crisp, like the first bite of winter wind. Sweet golden honey layered over frostbitten berries. Now, it clung to the corners of the room in an unfamiliar way. Weakened. Clouded and Muddied. The sweetness had gone stale, eaten away by something bitter and wrong.

Despite being lost in his reminiscence and thoughts, Izuku caught movement from the corner of his eye. Kirishima was hovering near Todoroki. He stood there for a moment, then, gently, he stepped forward and hesitantly, he reached out, offering a gentle pat to Todoroki’s shoulder, with an expression armed with an encouraging smile. It wasn’t much. The touch was clumsy, uncertain and somewhat awkward. But it was kind, it was sweet, simple, and Izuku felt his chest warmed at the sight of it.

Though, Todoroki didn’t react, didn’t lean in the touch. The hand on his shoulder might as well have belonged to a ghost. Kirishima’s hopeful smile faltered, his brows pinched slightly dejected by the quiet rejection as he withdrew his hand. Not with anger or frustration, just defeat. He lingered a second longer in the room, then pulled his hand back and walked away, retreating quietly to his room.

Almost an hour later, Izuku was still staring blankly at the corner of the coffee table when Bakugo’s voice cut through the apartment.

“Dinner’s on the damn table!” Bakugo yelled from the kitchen.

Izuku moved without thinking to the dinner table, guided by habit more than appetite. He slipped into his usual seat at the table, and a moment later, Kirishima walked in, dragging his feet and sat without a word. But no sign of Todoroki coming.

Bakugo waited exactly thirty seconds before gritting out, “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

Sandals thudded against the hallway floor as he left the dinner table. A few seconds passed. Then the sound of footsteps again, two sets. Bakugo returned with Todoroki in tow, gripping his wrist in a firm hold. He dragged him to the table and sat him down in a chair, and shoved the waiting plate in front of him with a hard clatter.

“Eat,” he snapped. His gaze said the rest: Don’t you dare fucking leave.

Dinner didn’t get any better after this small « commotion ». It was stir-fried beef and vegetables over rice. Nothing fancy. The kind of meal Bakugo threw together on autopilot. It smelled good and tasted even better, savory, filling, beef and vegetables coated with a delicious garlic soy sauce, but the tension hanging over the table turned every bite into a lump down Izuku’s throat, even more when he noticed that Todoroki only picked at his plate.

Eventually, and thankfully, a part of him thought, plates ended up emptied. Except for Todoroki’s, which still looked mostly untouched. Bakugo loudly put down his chopsticks, and stood suddenly, scraping his chair back with a screech. He picked up his plate and everyone’s but Todoroki, and put them in the kitchen sink.

« I’ll do the dish kacchan. » Izuku said as he got up of his chair but he was stopped in his tracks.

« Sit your ass down Deku. » Bakugo responded without looking back.

Quickly the sound of water and clattering plates filled the silence around them, no one at the table moved. Todoroki was looking blankly at the wall, still distant and cold while his food was also turning cold. Izuku didn’t dare move after Bakugo told him to sit down, and Kirishima was just sitting there, arm crossed, lost in his thoughts. The moment was broken when after a couple of minutes, Bakugo spoke up again.

“I’m done. We’re going out. »

Izuku blinked. “Wait—what? Out? Where? Right now?”

“You heard me,” Bakugo replied. “Get your gym stuff. You too, shitty hair.”

Kirishima hesitated. “I don’t really feel like going out, man.”

“I wasn’t asking.” Bakugo’s voice didn’t rise, but it hardened. “Grab your bag. We’re going.”

Izuku stood slowly, brow furrowed. “Are we training? Or—”

“Stop asking questions, Deku. Just go get your stuff »

Bakugo turned back toward the table, eyes locking on Todoroki.

“What about you?”

His tone shifted. Still hard, but undercut with something else. Not quite hope, but expectation. A challenge he didn’t expect to be met. Daring Todoroki to give a different answer than the one they all expected him to give. But his icy hot mate didn’t even lift his head as he replied.

“You guys go ahead,” he murmured. “I’m too tired.”

A pause followed. Bakugo stared for a beat, his jaw clenched tight, then he scoffed and turned away, before walking out of the dinner room.

Izuku crouched beside Todoroki, speaking softly. “Eat a little more, okay?” he said, brushing a kiss to his cheek. “And try to rest. I’ll check on you when we get back.”

Todoroki only offered the smallest nod as a response, then Izuku rosed to his feet and went in his bed room . His gym bag was already packed and waiting by the door.m so he just slung it over his shoulder and returned to the front door, where the others were getting ready.

Gymn bags by their sides, Bakugo shoved his shoes on while Kirishima, by his side moved slower with his head down and tugged his hoodie over his hair before crouching to tie his laces. Izuku followed their lead and put his own shoes own.

The three stepped out into the cool hallway, and the door clicked shut behind them.

A sharp chill clung to the night air as the pack, minus one, headed to the car. Bakugo climbed into the driver’s seat without a word, slamming the door hard enough to make the whole frame rattle. Izuku barely had his seatbelt on before the car lurched forward, tires squealing slightly against the pavement.

Katsuki’s grip on the wheel was white-knuckled, his jaw clenched tight as he glared straight ahead. Every time they hit a red light, his fingers tapped out a sharp, impatient rhythm, punctuated by low curses muttered under his breath. The tension radiating off of him was suffocating.

Kirishima sat silently in the backseat, hunched toward the window, his reflection ghosting in the glass. The weight of the past few days still pressed heavily on him. Normally, he’d be the first to crack a joke or throw on a playlist, something loud and chaotic like Raise Your Flag by MAN WITH A MISSION, already queued up to blast through the speakers. He’d sing along loudly, grin and say something stupid like “You have to feel the music in your gut, man!”, and their blonde mate would told him to fuck off with his own matching grin. But tonight, he said nothing.

Izuku sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. He wasn’t sure what Bakugo had planned, but right now, anything was better than whatever they were doing these days.

.

.

.

The gym was dimly lit when they arrived. The stale stench of sweat clung to the concrete walls, mixing with the metallic tang of oxidized iron and chalk dust. The air was thick with a heaviness that settled deep in the lungs. Fluorescent lights flickered overhead, their inconsistent glow casting jagged shadows along the floor and across the rows of reinforced training equipment designed specifically for heroes. Multi-ton treadmills, weighted dummies, resistance fields, climbing towers, everything here catered to quirks, to extremes, to bodies like theirs. In the back stood the fighting ring, scuffed and battered from years of use. Another perk of the job. Izuku knew this gym like the back of his hand. It belonged to the agency him and Bakugo’s worked at, a shared space for all its hero’s with unlimited access. He had trained here, bled here, pushed himself to the brink here but tonight, it felt different. More charged.

Bakugo didn’t speak. He just made a beeline for the locker room, his boots echoing off the concrete. Kirishima and Izuku still followed him without a word. When they returned, changed and dressed down in gym clothes, Bakugo was already in the ring. The ring’s padding creaked beneath his boots as he rolled his shoulders and adjusted his gloves.

The second Kirishima stepped within range, a pair of gloves flew at his chest.

“Put ’em on,” Bakugo rasped.

Kirishima caught them mid-air with a surprised blink. “Don’t we need to warm up, or—?”

“I’m warm enough. Get in the ring.”

Kirishima hesitated only a moment before nodding, stepping between the ropes with a quiet sigh. Izuku hung back, settling near the edge of the ring, his arms crossed. Kirishima squared up in front of Bakugo, falling into a fighting stance with all the enthusiasm of a man going through the motions. His shoulders sagged slightly, his feet were planted on the mat. Bakugo, however, looked like he was seconds away from lunging.

“Ready, shitty hair?”

“Yeah,” Kirishima answered, voice dull. “I’m good.”

But "good" didn’t land the first punch.

Bakugo did. He shot forward like a missile, closing the distance in a single heartbeat. His fist collided with Kirishima’s guard, and the impact echoed through the room like a gunshot. Kirishima stumbled, boots dragging along the mat, barely absorbing the hit before crashing into the ropes.

“Slow,” Bakugo spat, already moving again.

Kirishima retaliated on reflex, swinging a solid right hook, but Bakugo dipped under it, ducking in close until their chests nearly touched. Then, with a grunt, he shoved Kirishima hard, sending him staggering backwards again.

From the edge of the ring, Izuku watched the scene unfolding in front of him. There was nothing playful about this spar. Bakugo was provoking Kirishima, prodding at some bruise beneath the surface, poking the red bear.

“You think holding back makes you a better person?” Bakugo’s voice cut through the air like a whip. “You think it makes up for anything?”

Kirishima’s eyes flashed, something sparking behind the tired haze.

Bakugo sneered. “Pathetic.”

Izuku saw it then, the flicker in Kirishima’s pupils, the way they sharpened, darkened. He was tracking Bakugo’s every move with predatory precision. And Bakugo knew it. He was feeding off it. Smiling, not just with amusement, but with anticipation.

“Come on,” Bakugo growled. “You hit that doctor harder than you’re hitting me. What, are you scared now, Eijirou?”

That did it.

Kirishima lunged, his entire body surging forward. The ring trembled under their combined weight as they collided. His fists came down in a storm, slamming into Bakugo’s guard over and over with raw, unchecked force. The sound was sickening, flesh on flesh, gloves on ribs, elbows scraping against sleeves. But Bakugo didn’t back down. He grinned, wild and unhinged, accepting each hit like a dare. Kirishima’s next punch missed, and Bakugo seized the opening, ducking low, elbowing him in the ribs, then gripping the back of his neck and yanking him into a brutal knee to the gut. The red hair choked, spit flying his lips, but he didn’t go down. He stumbled, bared his teeth, and charged into Bakugo, lifting him clear off the ground before slamming him into the mat. The sound was an echoing thud, and Izuku flinched involuntarily. They grappled, limbs tangled, sweat pouring down their skin. Their bodies moved in instinct and rage and something dangerously close to desperation. Neither wanted to stop. Neither could.

Izuku’s breath caught in his throat. There was something raw in it, something primal, like watching two storms collide. Each hit carried more than muscle. Every punch was part of a silent conversation. Bakugo’s lips were pulled into that terrifying, twisted and hot smile. Kirishima’s hands trembled, not from fatigue, but from the violence he was no longer holding back. And Izuku, well Izuku could feel it in his bones. The weight of it. The heat. The air was thick with sweat and pheromones, a heady, electric blend of rage and desperation and something primal. Bakugo's spice, sharp and biting. Kirishima's musk, warm and unrelenting. It clung to Izuku’s skin, mixed with the metallic tang of the gym until it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began. It hit him like a punch to the gut too. Dizzying. Almost sweet. Almost too much. His mouth went dry. His skin prickled.
God, it was intoxicating.

In their fight, once again,Bakugo gained the upper hand. He flipped them, slamming Kirishima onto his back and pinning him with a forearm across his collarbone. He winced, gasping, sweat glistening on his flushed face while Bakugo hovered over him, panting, chest to chest heaving, legs tangled together. His voice was low, and rough.

“There you are,” he rasped. His eyes burned, not with anger, but something sharper. Hungrier.

Kirishima sucked in a shaky breath, wide red eyes matching the blonde. “Fuck,” he breathed, the word cracking on his tongue.

Bakugo didn’t move immediately. He just looked down at him, face and knuckles bruised, his sharp teeth threatening to break into his skin. His body pressed even harder on his, almost crushing him with his weight. In response, Kirishima shoved him off with a growl, already rising to his feet, still not satisfied and craving more.

Izuku swallowed hard, his pulse drumming in his ears. He hadn’t moved the whole time. It wasn’t just a fight. It was hunger. It was yearning.

And god help him, it was hot.

So, it took me way longer to work through this chapter than I expected. I don’t know why; this was such a pain in the ass 😭

I feel like it’s been 10 chapters of everyone feeling bad for Todoroki, and I need to move on. Thankfully, it shouldn’t be long before I’m done with it. There are probably only two more sick Todoroki moments left, and very soon Bakugo will have his own POV chapter. I’m not really sure if I can call it a POV chapter, though.

I hope you guys enjoy it! I read a fic that did dialogue differently than I usually do, and I decided to try mimicking their style. Is it better than before, or not? I think I like it better this way. I also really tried to give you all a sense of what pack life was like before the reader, so I know it’s getting long, and maybe you guys are getting impatient to see the reader again. But trust the process! I feel like I need to make sure the pack feels like they have a real relationship on their own before introducing the reader to them.

Unrelated, but let me know what you all think about the characterizations. I don’t want them to feel too OOC, but I also want to try new things with them.

As always, criticisms are welcomed

Big thank you to @cafekitsune who made the beautiful dividers

10 <-11 -> 12

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right kind of dream (joel miller x f!reader) part two

wc: 9k | other fics | rating: 18+ | read on ao3 | PART ONE HERE summary: part two of 'right kind of dream': rebuilding your life, chasing, cans, and hitchin' a ride to the rodeo with team roper joel

a/n: i battled five million error messages to deliver this bad boy so if something is weird or it seems like paragraphs are missing... they might be. i think some formatting got lost. i'll put the whole thing on ao3 asap. i am unsure what i've done to anger the tumblr hq but i apologize

@katiexpunk : here is part two, thank you for being patient, i hope the wait was worth it <3 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, horsegirl!joel, smut, ridin' that cowboy bareback as the good lord intended, no beta-mistakes are my fault for writing at 4am and for spending the afternoon fighting god to get this website to accept me thanks to: @syd-djarin, @auteurdelabre, and @lovely-vamp-princess for support, eyes, and ideas, etc.

Joel wakes you up while it’s still dark, pulling your shirt over your head and pressing a kiss to your temple. “Sleep,” he mutters in a gravelly whisper.

The ache in your body is a stark reminder of everything Joel did to you. Every movement as you roll over sends a sharp jolt through your muscles, and the hollow soreness deep inside you leaves you raw.

For a moment, you lie still, staring at the ceiling, replaying every moment—the way he touched you, the way he looked at you. You can still feel him, the shape he carved out inside of you.

He said nothing. He didn’t gloat, didn’t tease, didn’t even try to explain. The silence felt heavier than any of his words ever could.

You can hear him outside, feeding the horses. You give in, curling up under the blanket for another hour until you figure you might miss your chance for fresh coffee from the visitor tent.

You pull on clothes, feeling hungover with anxiety twisting in your gut. Your head spins and your chest feels tight, but you march toward the picnic tables and get yourself coffee and breakfast.

You aren’t sure what the fuck you’re supposed to do now. You sit at a table, a cup of coffee cradled in your hands, your head pounding as though you’d downed a bottle of whiskey the night before. The anxiety sits heavy in your chest, each sip of coffee doing little to loosen its grip.

You thought you understood what last night was—anger, frustration, both of you taking it out on each other. But the way Joel touched you, the way he kissed you, the way he stayed silent afterward… none of it fits the narrative you’ve been telling yourself.

You glance across the grounds, your eyes catching on Joel’s familiar silhouette near the fence. He’s leaning against the rail, his dark eyes scanning the crowd, but the moment his gaze lands on you, something shifts.

Your breath catches, the air between you thick and suffocating even from across the distance. Joel tips his head slightly, a subtle acknowledgment, but it only tightens the knot in your chest.

You tear your eyes away, focusing on the coffee in your hands, but the weight of his gaze lingers, pressing into you like a brand.

You keep your distance, avoiding Joel as you move through the motions of the morning ignoring the questions and confusion gnawing at you.

The sun climbs higher, the dry heat pressing down like a heavy blanket, but the rodeo grounds are alive with movement. Dust clings to the back of your throat, blending with the faint, bitter taste of coffee as you linger near the edge of the action, pretending to watch.

You’re halfway to convincing yourself Joel’s not even here when you hear Tommy’s voice. He’s leaning on the fence, one boot propped on the bottom rail, his arm resting loosely on the top. A beautiful woman stands beside him, gorgeous with bold makeup and tight jeans, her dark hair catching the light. She laughs at something Tommy says, swatting at his chest, and he grins down at her like she’s the only person in the world.

You almost keep walking, but Tommy glances up and catches your eye, his grin widening as he waves you over. He calls your name in an easy, smooth tone.

“Morning,” you say stiffly, stopping a few paces away.

The woman glances between you and Tommy, murmuring something to him before she wanders off toward the trailers. Tommy doesn’t miss a beat, tipping his hat to you with that same infuriating grin.

“You sleep alright?”

“What?” you gape at him before rushing to fix your face.

“Joel’s snoring didn’t keep you up all night?”

“Oh.” You shake your head. “No, slept fine. Thanks.”

He gives you another smile, and you move to lean on the fence watching the arena with him. He cocks his head, his eyes still on you.

“You worried about runnin’ Blue?” His voice is warm and light. His dark eyes sparkle with his natural charm, but it’s a genuine question.

You peel the edge of the paper coffee cup, looking past Tommy toward the warmup pen. “Yeah, I guess.” You give him a half smile. “We aren’t gunning for the NFR or anything, though.”

“Somethin’ else weighing on you, darlin’?”

You shake your head. Not willing to reveal anything else. “Heard you were up late partying with the roughstock boys and their fan club,” you accuse in a joking tone, attempting to redirect the conversation. “You aren’t worried about your own round?”

He laughs deeply at that. “Nah, that’s what a heeler’s for,” he says. “I just gotta be in the box on time. Joel’s the one that keeps us winnin’.”

“He’s not a partier?” You didn’t mean to dig, but the question slipped out anyway.

Tommy turns his head towards you, but you keep staring out at the arena, watching the crew setting up the barrels for the first division.

He studies you for a long moment, his grin softening into something closer to curiosity. “Joel’s not like me. Not really.” Your brow furrows. The words twist in your chest, setting your thoughts spinning. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Tommy chuckles again, but there’s something unreadable in his eyes. “Let’s just say, Joel’s always had his head screwed on tighter than mine. Even when he didn’t.” You stare at him, trying to unravel the meaning behind his words, but Tommy just grins. “Joel’s a loyal kinda guy, y’know? Don’t mean he’s blind, though.” He gives you a wink and you feel heat flooding your face. “Just means he wrestles with it longer than the rest of us would.” You scowl at him for that. “And what the hell is that supposed to mean?” Did Joel tell him? Does he know what happened? He shrugs. “Just means you’re a hell of a distraction,” Tommy says, tipping his hat. You laugh it off, but his words linger, your mind racing with questions you’re not ready to ask. You whip your head away again as if staring at the tractor raking the arena can save you from the conversation. But Tommy notices.

He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t tease or prod, but you can feel the weight of his gaze as you swallow hard, your thoughts spiraling. Before you can respond, someone calls his name from across the grounds. Tommy tips his hat one last time. “Good luck out there, neighbor,” he says, his voice light but laced with something heavier. “Don’t let that head of yours get in the way.”

And then he’s gone, leaving you standing alone, your thoughts spinning, your chest burning. You push off the fence and find yourself a spot on the bleachers. They’re dusty and worn. The boards creak as you settle into a spot near the edge. You watch the first few runs.

The riders move with precision, their horses cut through the dirt with sharp, clean turns. The announcer’s voice booms over the speakers, calling names and times, but it fades into the background as you watch.

Everywhere you look, there’s something that reminds you of Joel.

The set of someone’s shoulders as they lean against the fence, the low timbre of a voice nearby, a black felt hat in the corner of your eye. You try to banish the worry and the panic creeping in.

You remember the way he watched you train with Blue. The way he offered advice that sounded more like a challenge. The way his voice cut through the air like he knew more than you. The way he looked at you last night. The raw unguarded expression you’ve never seen before.

You hate the way he makes you feel small and uncertain. You hate the way you can’t stop thinking about him.

You can’t stop remembering the way his hands felt on your skin or his tongue. The heat in his voice and the way he saw through every lie you told.

The sound of someone hitting the dirt makes you snap your head up just as the crowd around you gasps.

In the arena, a horse stands, saddle hanging nearly sideways off of it. A rider scrambles to their feet, brushing dirt from their jeans with a wave. They lead their horse out of the arena and you can hear folks around you murmuring that their latigo broke and their saddle slipped as they turned for home. The horse and the rider are both fine, but your nerves flare.

You know the risks of the sport. But it makes you head back to the trailer early to inspect all of your tack closely for anything faulty. From across the grounds, Joel watches you. He stands near the holding pen, arms crossed over his chest. You haven’t seen him yet. Not really. Not in the way he sees you.

He can feel the tension in your shoulders as you walk, the way you crush the paper coffee cup in your hand.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t call out to you.

He doesn’t trust himself to. He shouldn’t have touched you last night. Shouldn’t have let his jealousy boil over. Shouldn’t have taken it that far. But now, standing here, all he could think about was the way you felt underneath him. The way you said his name like he was the only thing holding you together. And the way he needs to hear it again.

By the time your division gets called to warm up, you’ve eased your worries about your tack but you’re still swimming in Joel thoughts until you swing your leg over the saddle and settle on Blue’s back.

Then the rest of the world disappears. Your ride starts off smooth, but Blue’s sensitivity is a curse and a blessing. You figure he must be picking up on some anxiety as he gets a little hot, tossing his head and pulling on the reins when you try to bring him down to a jog.

You work out most of the kinks, circling and working on transitions until he feels supple and responsive to your seat and legs. Your nerves and the energy of the other horses still have his ears swiveling and his head perked up as you wait for the rider ahead of you to be called.

You can see most of their run, it’s smooth and they put up a good time. You squeeze your calves asking Blue to head toward the alleyway, but he’s springloaded.

You hold him back as he crow hops sideways for a beat before you’re backing him up. You try making a slow circle before heading in but he’s still jigging with short, bouncy steps like he’s ready to explode.

You’re tense, holding him back and trying to stay calm, making one more circle when he starts hopping again. You can feel eyes on you from the people standing near the gate. Before you can make another circle Joel is striding towards you with swift long steps.

He grabs Blue by the bridle, speaking directly to him in a calming, low voice. You glare at him reactively, but the words die before you can formulate them.

Blue’s jittering slows and Joel leads you up the alley toward the arena. His steps are sure and confident as he guides you. You bit your lip, fighting the urge to snap at him and tell him you don’t need his help. The truth is you do.

“Go get ‘em,” he says quietly, turning to you.

You gather your reins, giving him a tight nod to signal you’re ready. He lets go and steps back. Your heart pounds as you encourage Blue to push off into a lope.

The moment you cross the starting line, everything else fades.

The noise. The nerves. Even Joel. It all melts away. Just you and Blue and the rhythm of his hooves pounding against the soft dirt.

The first barrel comes fast. You guide him into a tight turn, pushing him to pick it up toward the next. His lead change is smooth as you shift your weight, leaning into the next tight turn. You’ve got your body facing the final barrel before Blue pushes off with his powerful hind legs.

You thunder toward the last barrel. His strides are strong and controlled. You’ve just gotta make this last turn without taking it too wide or knocking the barrel over.

Blue doesn’t forget his training, bending around your leg, picking up his shoulder, and you’ve got one stride left in the turn before you’re free to haul ass home.

You’ve got this.

You’ve got this.

You don’t got this.

The footing is deeper than the arena you run at on Thursday nights. Blue’s hooves slide in the loose dirt. His balance faltering. Time slows and you feel his weight tipping. There’s nothing to do but brace for the impact. His body hits the dirt in a controlled, almost graceful fall.

You hit the ground with a dull thud, the breath knocked out of you as you scramble back giving Blue room to pop back up. He shakes off the dirt, your stirrups slapping at his side and the reins nearly coming over his ears. His eyes are wide, but he stands waiting for your direction.

You catch your breath, chest still heaving from the shock. You dust the dirt off your jeans and wave off the grounds person jogging toward you. “I’m fine,” you call. “We’re fine.” Your voice is steady, but your chest feels like it’s caving in.

You pull his reins over his head and walk toward the end of the arena, keeping your head up and patting Blue on the neck. The crowd claps expressing support and relief that you’re both walking.

Hot, angry tears blur your vision by the time you get to the alley.

You don’t see Joel, staring at the ground as you walk, but you hear him hustling toward you calling your name. His boots crunch against the dirt as he matches your pace.

“You okay?” he asks, low and concerned.”

“Fine,” you snap, not looking at him as you speed up, pulling Blue along faster.

“It was a good-looking run you had going,” Joel says, his tone soft. “You two looked great, making good time. You can’t help the shitty footing—”

“I don’t need your pity,” you cut him off, sharp but trembling. “Not now.”

You don’t see the way his face tightens. The anger is spilling out, uncontrollable, and you don’t care if it cuts.

“I’d rather the ‘I told you so,’” you spit, hot and bitter. “Just say it. Whatever it is. You think I’m too young to know what I’m doing? Too soft? You think I’m a failure? Couldn’t handle the city, the job, the—”

“Hey, easy.” He tries to interrupt you gently, like a spooked horse. “Nothing like that.”

“You think I’m dumb, too?” You keep jabbing him with questions as you get closer to the trailer, not caring if anyone else hears. “Just another woman that fell into your bed at another rodeo.”

“Enough,” Joel says steady and low, but you don’t hear him.

“Yeah, I’ve heard the rumors,” you snap, your voice cracking. “Didn’t think they were true, to be honest. Didn’t seem like you. Guess I don’t really know you though, do I?”

Joel’s jaw tightens, his dark eyes flashing with hurt, but you’re too far gone to notice.

“You know, maybe I was stupid.” Your voice shakes as tie Blue at the trailer to untack. “But for a while, I thought I was finally starting to feel like myself out here. Like I was where I was supposed to be. And now—” Your words catch in your throat. Tears streaming down your face. You shake your head, stopping yourself from revealing anything else. You turn away from Joel and start running your hands along Blue’s legs to check for any swelling from the fall.

Joel doesn’t move for a long beat. He stands rigid, watching you wrestle with your emotions as you work. Finally, Joel exhales sharply, running a hand over his face. His voice is tight when he speaks. “I’ll leave you be.”

He walks away before you can respond, his footsteps heavy against the dirt. Your shoulders sag as the adrenaline starts to wear off, leaving behind the hollow ache of exhaustion. Your hands tremble as you finish untacking and brushing Blue, but you keep moving, your touch soft against his sweat-damp coat. “You did nothing wrong,” you murmur.

Fresh tears pool in your eyes. “You’re a good boy, Blue. You did exactly what we practiced.” Blue snorts softly, his ears flicking back toward you, and you lean into him, pressing your forehead against the warm curve of his neck. “I was the one who fucked up,” you admit, your words muffled against his dark coat. The truth spills out in quiet, broken pieces.

“I should’ve been watching the other riders closer this morning. Should’ve caught how deep the footing was at the far barrel.”

Your voice drops to a whisper. “Instead of thinking about how I could still feel his hands on me. Or wondering if he’s thinking about me.”

The confession hangs in the air, heavy and unspoken. Blue shifts beneath you, his weight leaning into your side like he knows you need the grounding.

You pull back, wiping at your face quickly before running your hands over Blue one more time, checking for any swelling or signs of injury. You move methodically, your touch steady despite the way your chest feels like it’s caving in.

When you’re satisfied he’s unhurt, you lead him into the pen and give him a scratch behind the ears. “You’re a good boy,” you whisper again, softly. “We’ll get it next time.”

The afternoon stretched on at the rodeo, the sun climbing high and unrelenting.

You do your best to avoid the temptation to look for Joel, though he somehow has a way of being everywhere and nowhere all at once. Mostly it was false alarms and your eyes playing tricks on you. But once or twice you saw him watching other events. He never seemed to notice you, or if he did he gave no indication.

You hadn’t decided if you were avoiding him out of anger, shame, or if it was because the thought of being near him again after last night still made your chest ache in a way you didn’t want to examine. You’re still burying that last thought somewhere deep when you catch the flash of Joel’s red mare striding through the arena.

You can see Joel and Tommy putting their horses through some practice just past the main arena.

Your lips press together into a thin line as you watch them. Joel has a different aura about him when he’s in the saddle. He seems lighter somehow. Relaxed, but with a quiet command. He guides his horse in a way that looks effortless. His body moving in perfect harmony with hers. Tommy’s horse was a little snappier, making quick sharp turns. The pair of riders worked together naturally, movements fluid and precise as they get their practice in.

It was mesmerizing. Infuriatingly so.

You leaned back, trying to tear your gaze away, but your eyes betrayed you, drawn back to continue admiring him. The longer you watch the more it stirs up something unwelcome in your chest. You can’t keep letting him occupy so much space in your mind or your memories.

He’s proven time and again that he doesn’t respect you. He didn’t even argue when you laid it all out in your outburst after your run. He just walked away from you.

But there’s something in the way he carries himself. Something in the way he rides, the way he works with his horse, that hints at something different than what you know. Something that makes you curious.

You blink, realizing Joel’s head was turned toward the bleachers. For a second you think his eyes are on you and you quickly look away. When you glance back he’s already turned his attention back to something else.

Embarrassment wraps around your throat. This is why you had to avoid him. His presence alone seems to demand every ounce of your attention without even trying.

Before you can drown in your own emotional turmoil, an unfamiliar voice calls your name.

You see Cody waving a few rows down and give him a polite smile before agreeing to join him and his friends. Spending the rest of the evening with them feels like a safety buffer.

You don’t see Joel or Tommy when you get dinner. You watch some of the evening events before splitting from the group to check on Blue.

It’s nearly dark as you walk through the grounds. Your chest feels tighter with every step you take as you approach.

You’re hoping you don’t run into Joel—or Tommy and his knowing eyes. You let yourself into the pen, the noise from the announcer and the crowd are muffled by the distance.

There was a stillness in the dusk and the horses were calm.

Blue’s head swivels toward you as you approach. You pause to untie the braid in his tail before stepping between him and Joel’s horse. It’s not until that moment that you realize you aren’t alone. You freeze when your eyes land on Joel. He’s standing between his horse and yours, posture relaxed. The external light on the horse trailer casts shadows over his face making it hard to read his eyes.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt,” you say softly. “I didn’t know you were here.”

He responds with a small shrug and shake of his head. “Nothing to interrupt.”

You still feel frozen, like concrete had been poured around your feet. You’ve been carrying the weight of your earlier outburst in your shoulders, and the rest of your muscles are still stiff from hitting the dirt earlier. Maybe that’s why your defenses feel lower, or maybe something else has shifted, but the next words come out before you have a real plan.

“Look, about earlier,” you start with more confidence than you feel. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. It wasn’t fair.”

He doesn’t respond immediately, gaze fixed on Blue who huffs a warm breath out after nudging Joel’s pocket in search of a treat. When he finally speaks, it’s quiet but firm.

“You had every right to be upset.”

You frown at that, a line pulling between your brows in confusion, and you shake your head. “No, I didn’t. I was angry, frustrated with myself, and I took it out on you. You didn’t deserve that.”

He works his jaw like he’s mulling something over, before letting out a sigh. You move closer to give Blue a scratch under his jaw. The spot that always makes him wiggle his lip. You see Joel’s expression softening.

“I’ve been where you are,” he says finally. “Trying to rebuild somethin’ when it feels like the world’s stacked against you. Trying to remember who you are. What matters most.”

You tilt your head, curiosity pulling at you. His words sound familiar for a moment. That conversation you’d had after stacking hay. “When you bought the property from my dad?”

He nods. “Bought the place after my ex split. Had to sell the business. Start over. Build somethin’ from scratch while trying to figure out what the hell my life was supposed to look like.”

“It’s not as simple as it sounds,” you echo your past statement. He laughs a short, humorless sound.

“Sure ain’t. I know I made mistakes along the way.”

You stay quiet, letting the words hang in the air.

“It’s easy to get yourself a reputation in a small town,” he continues, tinged with regret. “I spent a while chasing somethin’ I couldn’t even name. Thought I could skip the pain with sex, drinking, and spending every weekend hauling to any rodeo I could afford the entrance fees for.”

His confession sinks over you, and you feel a pang of understanding.

“Took a while to figure it that it wasn’t working. Wasn’t who I was… or who I wanted to be.”

“I get that,” you say softly. You drop your gaze, not quite sure how to say it. “Not the same circumstances, but,” you take a slow breath, “I had a reputation back at my old job. It wasn’t true but it didn’t matter. Once people decide who you are, it’s like there’s nothing you can do to change it.

You feel his eyes on you. “That why you came out here?”

“Sort of.” You run your hand under Blue’s mane, feeling the warmth of his body grounding you.

“Hated the job. Spent a lot of time and money in school to get there, and I dreaded going to the office every day.” You swallow thickly, still not sure you can look Joel in the eye.

“Then my engagement fell apart. The more we tried to split up our lives the more I realized none of it was my life. None of it was me. I didn’t know myself anymore. I didn’t know what mattered.”

“Takes guts to start over,” Joel says with a current of finality about it. Like it’s a fact. “Most people wouldn’t have the nerve.”

His words warm something deep inside of you, but they also make your eyes well up. You blink away the tears before you look to Joel’s face. His eyes are steady on yours. You offer a small smile.

“Feels less like guts and more like desperation most of the time.”

Joel looks sincere, firm. “Desperation’s just another word for fightin’ for what you need.”

A heavy lump in your throat makes it difficult to respond, but you push yourself to be vulnerable. “I came out here to figure myself out and to do it on my own. I wanted to prove it to myself. But, then today, I got so caught up in my own head that I almost got us both hurt.”

“That wasn’t your fault,” he says quietly.

“I should’ve been paying better attention. Should’ve asked the other riders about the footing. Or—” your voice cracks and you pause to slow down your spiraling thoughts.

Joel moves closer, his presence solid. Anchoring. “You’re hard on yourself,” he says it soft, but firm. “You’ve got grit. You work your ass off. That’s what matters.”

You look up at him. Feeling exposed, like you’re holding the ugliest parts of you in your palms for him to see. “You think so?”

“I know so. I see you. The way you handle Blue, the balance you strike with your dad, the way you work twice as hard as most folks at a part-time job and still have time to learn the names of every old farmer in 50 miles that comes in once a month.”

You laugh at that, feeling something warm blooming in your chest. His eyes soften, and you’re drawn to the lines on his face.

“I’ve seen the way you push yourself even when you’re tired, the way you’re determined to bring out the best in yourself and others. Even those of us with a history.” He runs his hand along the scar tissue on Blue’s shoulder. The horse that broke a girl’s jaw.

“You’re tougher than most people I know. And contrary to what you think, I respect the hell outta you for it.”

His words hit harder than you expect, and you feel like your ribs have been pulled open, exposing your heart and soul in the moonlight.

You’ve spent so long chasing your own impossible standards.

Fighting for your dad’s stoic approval. Suffocating under the weight of other people’s judgment.

Hearing Joel’s praise feels like a warm blanket wrapping around your shoulders.

“Joel,” you start, but your voice falters. The way he’s looking at you feels intense. Almost too much. You can feel your heart beating against your chest.

He shifts, his hand brushing yours lightly, and the air between you feels thick. “Took me a long time to learn how to ask for help or accept it. Still ain’t perfect at it neither,” it comes out like a confession. “But there’s nothing weak about it. And there’s nothin’ more attractive than a woman who’s not afraid to try, fail, and try again.”

The slip in his voice–the raw, unguarded admiration–sends a flush of heat through you. Shit. The praise was already overwhelming, but the way he’s looking at you now—it’s too much. Or not enough.

His centering presence somehow has you rocked off balance.

Suddenly you’re closer, the space between you charged. Humming like one of the generators at the other campsites.

His hand brushes your cheek, gentle but deliberate. Your breath catches in your throat. Everything that has been simmering between you feels like it’s about to boil over.

The rest of the rodeo disappears. Standing there in the moonlight, the world around you dissolves into quiet, only his gravity pulling you closer.

Joel’s hand lingers just long enough on your cheek to make heat crawl up your neck and coil in your belly. Before you can close the distance he pulls back, clearing his throat and stepping away. He moves slowly and deliberately, giving you space to retreat if you want to.

But you don’t.

Instead, you follow him out of the pen, your feet carrying you toward the trailer without thought.

The silence between you is loud, not uncomfortable but full of unspoken words and feelings, each step drawing you toward something you haven’t named yet. When he opens the door and gestures for you to step inside, the creak of the hinges feels impossibly loud.

Inside, the trailer is layered in soft shadows from the glow of a warm lamp. Joel closes the door behind you, and the quiet feels delicate. He stands a few paces away, his hat in hand, his eyes scanning your face as though searching for any sign of doubt.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice low and careful.

When you find your voice, it’s softer than you expected. “Yeah.”

The corners of his mouth lift just slightly, and the warmth in his eyes eases some of the nervous energy bouncing around in your chest. He hangs his hat on the hook near the door. The image of him reaching past you to hang it on the same hook last night flares in your mind and buzzes through your skin.

His movements are unhurried. He steps closer to you. He’s so large in the small space. Not intimidating, but stabilizing.

“Earlier,” he begins, “when I said I respect the hell outta you… I meant it.”

He takes your hand in his, his fingers warm and solid. Your senses are heightened from the emotionally raw conversation, from his touch, and the warm, spiced scent of him wrapping around you. “I see how hard you’ve worked, how much you’ve sacrificed to be here. You don’t give yourself enough credit.”

He cups your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin with a tenderness that makes your heart ache.

“You’re incredible,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with awe.

“And you’ve got no idea how much I—”

He cuts himself off, searching your face. His breath is warm, so close to your face. His lips look soft, so close to yours.

You close the distance, your lips meeting his in a kiss that’s nothing like the night before. It’s tender. Slow. Sprawling. Unspoken affection passes between you with the slip of your tongues and the soft sounds in your throat.

Joel’s mind blanks for a moment, every thought and worry dissolving into the sensation of your lips on his. Softer than he ever let himself imagine, a sweetness he didn’t think he deserved. The warmth of you seeps into him, steadying him even as it sends electricity down his spine.

His hand settles on your waist, pulling you close as the kiss deepens. There’s no resistance. You’re pliable and willing. He moves with you naturally, like your mouths were always meant to find each other. He holds you like you’re a treasure, a prize, a wonder. Precious.

So soft, he thinks, his thumb grazing the curve of your waist. Every inch of you pressed against him feels like fire and solace all at once. His other hand roams over your back, the delicate shift of muscle beneath his palm grounding him in the reality that you’re here, with him.

Your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, tugging him closer, but there’s no space left between you. His palm glides down your spine, lighting you from within. When you break apart, softly breathing in each other’s air, his forehead rests against yours, eyes dark and soft as they hold your gaze.

“You have no idea how much I crave this. Crave you. In every way.” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. The reverence in his tone makes your cheeks flush with warmth, and you can’t help but smile.

“I might have some idea,” you reply, your voice just as quiet, but your smile grows wider.

Then he kisses you again, this time with more urgency, his hands moving to your hips and guiding you toward the bed. His touch is everywhere, his lips tracing a path from your mouth to your jaw, down the curve of your neck, each kiss making you feel lighter and warmer.

He continues to pour his confessions into your skin between each article of clothing he pulls off of you. "I thought I’d never have this. Never have you. But here you are, and you’re perfect." The words spill out of him unbidden, each one carrying a weight he’s carried for far too long. His hands tremble slightly as he leaves a wet trail of kisses down your clavicle, between the swell of your breasts, over the smooth fabric of your bra.

"I used to hate that I wanted you, that I thought about having you like this. But I don’t want to stop, sweetheart.” He unclasps your bra and slips the straps over your shoulders, replacing the cups with his palms, kneading your plush flesh. The warmth of your skin beneath his hands sends sparks through him, and he leans in, brushing his lips over the sensitive peaks.

“Don’t want you to stop,” you murmur back. He hums in response to you, rolling your nipples between his fingers before taking his time mouthing, sucking, licking at each of them until you moan and arch toward him.

“I spent too many nights trying not to think about you,” he confesses, his voice dipping lower. “And cursing myself for it.” He shifts down, between your legs to pull your jeans off. It feels like he’s just handed you a piece of himself you didn’t expect to see. The idea of him, alone and thinking about you, shifts something in your mind. It’s not just desire he carries for you. Is it something deeper?

He runs his hands along your bare legs, warm against your smooth skin. He already looks wrecked and he’s still fully clothed. You reach for him, but he shakes his head, dipping to line another path of kisses down your belly, to the sensitive skin inside the top of your thighs. His lips press against your skin, reverent, as if trying to memorize the feel of you beneath him.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice rough with need. His admiration and desire are intense, making you feel stripped bare in an emotional way. He’s not just saying it; he means it in a way that feels different from casual compliments.

Everything you use to protect yourself falls away as you let his words soak in. You couldn’t hide from him if you wanted to. He’s not just taking—he’s giving, pouring every ounce of admiration and desire he feels for you into each moment. And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself take it in, let yourself believe it.

The heat of his touch and the need in his eyes have your core aching for attention. His breath ghosting over your swollen cunt makes you shudder with need.

When his lips press against the thin fabric still covering you, you arch into him. You feel him smile against you, breathing deeply before he slides his hands beneath your thighs, cupping your ass to tilt your hips before he descends again.

He kisses and sucks at your clit through your soaked panties without a care for the lewd sounds filling the small room. He doesn’t stop. It’s warm and wet, and the pressure makes you feel needy. You roll your hips seeking more contact, and he moans against you, the sound vibrating through you causing you to gasp and call out his name.

He looks up at you before pulling your underwear off and pausing to stare at your glistening cunt, before taking all of you in. His eyes dart to your face, all of your exposed skin, and back to your eyes.

“I never thought I’d actually get to touch you. To kiss you. Taste you like this.” His voice is hoarse, barely audible over the sound of your breath.

“Please, Joel.” He’s like a dream between your legs. His mouth, his tongue, his hands, his fingers. He uses everything with expert precision, bringing you closer and closer and erasing every worry, every stress.

You wonder if you should feel more vulnerable being naked beneath him while he’s still fully clothed. But instead, it feels empowering—like this moment belongs to you just as much as it does to him; like every touch and kiss is a promise steeped in devotion.

His hips press into the mattress involuntarily, seeking relief for his throbbing cock as he continues to worship you with his mouth. You thread your fingers through his hair as he dips his tongue inside of you. “Oh, fuck.” Your voice is hoarse and ragged already.

He knows exactly what you need next. Filling you with his fingers while he wraps his lips over your clit. The wet noises of his fingers pumping into you are obscene-–but they're nothing compared to the moan you make when you see the way his hips are desperately rutting into the mattress between your legs.

The sight of him losing control, his own need so evident and unrestrained, sends a fresh wave of heat through you. He’s giving so much of himself to you with every movement. It’s not just his mouth or his hands—it’s the way he wants you, completely and utterly, like he’s been holding it back for ages.

It tips you over the edge, chanting his name like a prayer as your release crashes through you. Your walls contract around his fingers and your muscles tense as he groans into your wet flesh before pulling back.

“That’s it,” he murmurs from between your legs, “you did good for me, baby. You’re so good for me.”

You’re boneless as the words melt into you. But you know you wanted to say something before he made your vision blur.

Your breath comes in slow, uneven waves as you blink at the ceiling, reality slowly settling back into your body. He’s watching you, his eyes dark and heavy with affection and need, and you realize the thought that had slipped away moments ago was this: you need to feel him, to see him.

“Joel,” you manage, your voice low and hoarse, your fingers brushing weakly at his forearm. He raises an eyebrow, a ghost of a smirk touching his lips as he leans closer.

“What is it, baby?”

You swallow hard, the words tangled in your throat as you try to gather your strength. “Off,” you rasp, fingers tugging weakly at the fabric of his shirt.

He chuckles softly, the sound vibrating against your skin as he leans down to kiss your temple. “Gimme a minute, sweetheart. Let me make sure you’re all right first.”

Your head shakes slightly, determination building even in your post-release haze. “Joel. Now.”

Something in your voice snaps the tension in him. His jaw tightens, his hands moving to the hem of his shirt in one smooth motion, tugging it over his head.

The sight of him leaves you breathless. Broad shoulders tapering to a firm waist, his skin golden and littered with scars and years of hard work. He looks wrecked, his chest rising and falling as though he’s been holding himself back for too long.

“Goddamn,” you whisper, as your mouth hangs open. Your gaze drops lower, taking in the soft lines of his abdomen, and the trail of dark hair leading to the waistband of his jeans.

And then, as he unbuttons them and pushes them down, his cock springs free, thick and flushed and so fucking perfect it sends a scalding wave of desire rolling through you.

Your expression fills Joel with pride. The hunger in your eyes makes his cock twitch, the intensity of your gaze threatening to knock him over right there.

You sit up slightly, your hand reaching for him, but he catches your wrist gently, shaking his head. “Not like that,” he murmurs, his voice rough as gravel. He eases you back onto the mattress, his hands warm and firm against your hips. “Not this time, baby.”

You whine softly, your need pulsing through every word. “Please, fuck, I need you.”

His pupils blow wide, his breathing uneven as he settles between your legs. “You need me?” he repeats, his tone darkening, the words laced with a feral edge that makes you dizzy.

“You’re gonna get me, baby. All of me. Gonna fill you so deep you’ll never forget it.”

The shift in his tone sends a fresh rush of slick between your thighs. His hand trails up your side, his thumb brushing the underside of your breast as he watches you.

“Gonna make you mine. Gonna keep you so full of me you’ll feel it in you every time you move.”

The possessiveness in his voice makes your body burn, your hips rocking up toward him involuntarily. “Joel, please,” you beg, your voice raw and edged with frustration as he drags the blunt head of his cock through your slick folds, teasing you.

“Fuck,” he pauses after barely pushing into you. His eyes slam shut for a moment before he inches deeper into you, slower than you thought possible. “You take me like it’s what you’re meant for.” His eyes stay locked on yours, watching every flicker of pleasure that crosses your face.

You gasp as he reaches the deepest part of you, his hips flush against yours, his cock filling you completely. “Look at you,” he coos. “Such a good girl for me.” The sensation is overwhelming, every nerve ending sparking to life as he stills for a moment, letting you adjust.

“Feel that?” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble. “Feel how deep I am? That’s where I’m gonna stay, sweetheart. Right here, fillin’ you up.”

Your walls flutter around him, your body already begging for more. “Joel,” you whisper, your nails digging into his shoulders. “Move. Please.”

He obliges, his hips pulling back before driving forward again, dragging out the intensity of every sensation. His forehead drops to yours, his breath hot against your lips as he whispers praise between each movement. “You’re so good for me, baby. So damn good.”

Your body writhes beneath him, the pleasure building with each heavy stroke. “More,” you whisper. “Please, Joel. I need more.”

The last of his restraint dissolves as he grips your hips and begins to move harder, faster, his cock hitting so deep you swear you can feel it everywhere. The pace steals the breath from your lungs, threatening to consume you.

“That’s it,” he growls, his voice rough and unrestrained. “Take it. All of me.”

Your cries fill the air, his name falling from your lips over and over. His hands hold you steady, keeping you exactly where he wants you as he claims you.

“Look at you,” he rasps, his gaze locked on the spot where your bodies meet, where his cock disappears every time he sinks into you. “So perfect, takin’ me so well. Made for this. Made for me.”

You watch, as he instructed, until you look back up to his face. He’s so vocal, so confident with every word—but his face is equal parts hungry and wrecked. Fucked out. Drunk on you.

Again it’s the deep satisfaction you get from his unrestrained desire that makes you come with a blinding intensity. You try to tell him how close you are before you’re violently sucked into the sensations.

Your walls clench around him, making him shudder and groan. You try to beg him to come too. To fill you up. You’re unsure if the words make it past your thoughts, but he’s pulled into it with you either way.

Moments later, a deep groan vibrates through his chest as he tenses and his hips jerk against you. It feels like bliss, the sensation of his cock pulsing within you, the heat of his release coating your walls as they flutter around him.

The room falls into a warm quiet, the only sounds are your ragged breaths and the faint sounds of people laughing and shouting at another campsite, reminding you the rest of the world still exists.

Joel’s weight presses into you, grounding you in the present. He doesn’t pull away, softening inside of you as you breathe through the aftershocks of your orgasms.

“Stay with me,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible as he presses a kiss to your temple. “Just stay with me.”

He shifts you both just enough to hold tight against his chest, his lips brushing your temple as his hand smooths down your side. “So good,” he murmurs, “so perfect,” voice rough but soft in a way that makes your chest ache.

The early morning sun stretches over the rodeo grounds, bathing everything in a wash of pink hues. You wake to the soft hum of voices outside the trailer and the thud of a bale of hay being dropped just outside the trailer.

Joel’s weight shifts beside you as he stirs, his arm tightening around your waist for a moment before he lets out a soft, sleepy grunt. The sound pulls a smile to your lips as you turn to face him. His eyes blink open slowly, still heavy with sleep, and he offers you a lazy smile that you mirror involuntarily.

“Mornin’, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice gravelly and low.

“Morning,” you whisper back, your fingers brushing over his stubbled jaw.

There’s a content silence between you before a loud knock rattles the trailer door, making you both jump. Tommy’s voice rings out cheerfully, "Y’all better get movin’ if you don’t wanna miss breakfast."

Joel groans, dropping his head back against the pillow with a dramatic sigh. "That boy’s got the worst damn timing."

You stifle a laugh, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before sliding out of bed to get dressed. Joel watches you for a moment, his gaze warm and unguarded, before he stretches and follows suit.

The three of you sit at a picnic table near the cook tent, balancing plates of eggs, bacon, and biscuits as the camp buzzes with early morning energy. Joel sits across from you, his knee brushing yours under the table. You catch him watching you over the rim of his coffee cup, his lips twitching into a barely concealed smile when your eyes meet.

Tommy, oblivious as ever, chatters on about their schedule and the competition, occasionally tossing in jokes that have you laughing despite yourself. Joel leans back in his seat, his body language is relaxed but his eyes are constantly flicking to you.

When Tommy excuses himself to check on their horses, Joel leans forward, his voice low and teasing. “You’re not real subtle, you know.”

You shoot him a mock glare, your cheeks warming. “Says the man who’s been staring at me all morning.”

“Can’t help it.” Joel shrugs.

Later, you find yourself perched on the edge of a fence near the arena, watching Joel and Tommy warm up their horses. Their movements are fluid and synchronized; you openly admire their skill.

Tommy tips his hat to you with a grin as they pass, and you wave back, your gaze inevitably drifting back to Joel. He glances your way, his dark eyes meeting yours briefly, and the corner of his mouth lifts in a small, private smile that makes your heart skip.

The arena is alive with energy as their division gets underway. You lean against the rail, your fingers gripping the cool metal as you watch Joel and Tommy back their horses into the box.

The chute gate flies open, the steer bolting into the arena with Joel and Tommy in swift pursuit. Joel’s rope swings in a perfect arc, catching the steer cleanly around the horns as Tommy moves in to secure the heels. The crowd cheers as they pull the steer to a stop, their time flashing on the scoreboard.

The announcer calls their time and updates the standings. Joel and Tommy have the best time in their division so far.

You can’t help but cheer, your voice lost in the noise of the crowd as Joel and Tommy ride back toward the holding pen, their smiles wide and triumphant. Joel catches your eye as he passes, tipping his hat to you with a grin that makes your stomach flutter.

When they dismount near the gate, you meet them with a smile. "You two make that look way too easy."

Tommy laughs. "He’s the header," he tilts his head toward Joel. “I can’t do shit if he misses.”

Joel shakes his head, deflecting the comment.

“It’s a team event,” you counter. “Both of you are good at what you do.”

“We should bring her with us more often,” Tommy jokes.

Joel gives you another warm look with unspoken words.

“Your head wouldn’t fit in your damn hat if you had someone talking you up after every run,” Joel mocks. As they both swing their legs over the back of their saddles. You turn to watch as they lead their horses back to the trailer. You want to follow and stay close to Joel for the rest of the day, but you stay put.

Trying not to let Tommy in on whatever’s happening between the two of you until you figure it out for yourself. Instead, you head back to the fence to watch the next pair of team ropers. You’d rather be near him, but staying put feels safer—for now.

The afternoon sun dips lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the rodeo grounds. You sit beside Joel on the bleachers, the two of you a quiet bubble of calm amid the hum of spectators around you. The events continue below—tie-down ropers hopping into the dirt, saddle bronc riders gripping for dear life trying to stick it out for eight seconds, bareback riders up next.

Joel leans back, one arm draped across the bench behind you, his body close enough that the heat of him radiates against your side. He’s quiet, but his presence feels steady and grounding. Every so often, his knee brushes yours, the brief contact enough to send a subtle thrill through you.

“You doin’ all right?” Joel asks, his voice low and soft. His gaze lingers on you, dark eyes warm but searching.

“Yeah,” you say with a small smile. “This is nice. I didn’t think I’d enjoy just sitting and watching this much.”

“It’s better when you’ve got good company,” he says, the corner of his mouth quirking into a half-smile.

Your cheeks warm, but you’re spared from responding by the announcer introducing the next rider. Joel shifts beside you, his attention briefly pulled to the arena. You let yourself steal a glance at him—the sharp line of his jaw and the quiet confidence in his posture. He catches you looking and tips his hat, the subtle smirk that follows sending warmth blooming in your chest.

As the next rider lines up, Joel pulls his hat off, setting it on your lap. You blink, startled, and look at him.

“Put it on,” he says simply, his tone casual, but there’s something in his eyes—a quiet intensity that makes your breath hitch.

You hesitate for only a moment before lifting the Stetson and settling it on your head. It’s big, a little too big, but it smells faintly of leather and him. Joel’s gaze lingers on you, his lips curving into a soft smile that feels like it’s meant just for you.

“Looks good on you,” he murmurs, his voice low enough that only you can hear.

The weight of the gesture settles over you—the tradition, the meaning behind it. The thought that this wasn’t just a playful gesture but a quiet claim sends a flutter through your chest. You’re not sure what to say, so you lean into his side slightly, letting the moment and the warmth of him settle over you like a blanket.

Later, as the afternoon begins to mellow, Joel takes your hand and guides you to the cook tent for dinner. It feels almost natural to walk hand in hand, weaving through the crowd of people. The smell of barbecue wafts through the air, mingling with the sounds of quiet conversations and laughter from the other riders and their families.

Joel insists on getting your plate, waving you off with a playful, “Sit tight. I’ll take care of you.” You settle at a nearby table, watching as he weaves through the crowd with ease, stopping to exchange a word or two with acquaintances before returning with two heaping plates.

The two of you fall into an easy rhythm, sharing quiet conversation. Joel’s small acts of service don’t go unnoticed—handing you a napkin before you realize you need one, making sure your drink stays full, brushing crumbs off your sleeve with a casual intimacy that feels like it’s always been there.

For a moment, it’s easy to forget you’re at a rodeo. The noise and bustle fade into the background, leaving just the two of you in a comfortable bubble of companionship. Joel’s low chuckle as you tell him a story about your first job, the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles, the warmth in his voice when he says your name—it all feels so natural, like this is exactly where you’re supposed to be.

As the sun begins to dip lower, casting a golden glow across the grounds, Joel stands and offers you his hand. “Come on,” he says, his voice soft but firm. “Let’s find a good spot for the bull riders. We can cheer for your new friend.”

You expect to see something flare in his eyes bringing up Cody, reminding you of the way he looked at you the first night you came back to the trailer. But, you take his hand and he’s only projecting pride and confidence. It makes you stand taller, knowing he’s a secure man.

He leads you back toward the bleachers. The two of you settle in as the crowd starts to gather, the energy of the evening event buzzing around you. Joel drapes his arm casually along the back of the bench again, his fingers brushing lightly against your shoulder. It’s a small gesture, but it grounds you, making you feel like you’re exactly where you belong.

Tommy and the woman you’ve seen him spending most of the weekend with join you to watch a few rounds. You tense as they come toward the steps, shifting to create space between you and Joel, trying to seem casual. You feel Joel’s eyes on you, but he doesn’t say anything about your move.

Tommy shoots you a wink before they take the seats next to you. It makes you squirm, but you tell yourself he’s always just playful like that. Too charming for his own good.

They stay and chat long enough to finish their drinks before heading back to watch the rest of the event with her group of friends.

Joel stays seated beside you, his arm still draped casually along the back of the bench, his other hand resting on his thigh. There’s a comfortable silence between you, the kind that feels like its own kind of conversation.

Finally, Joel clears his throat, turning slightly to face you. There’s a flicker of hesitation in his eyes, but it’s quickly replaced with something earnest and determined.

“I know this might be the wrong time to bring this up,” he begins, commanding your attention just with the timbre of his voice pulling at your heart, “but I don’t want there to be any misunderstanding about where I’m at.”

You tip your head, curiosity piqued. “Where you’re at?”

He nods, his gaze holding yours. “Look, I know your dad’s a good man, and I don’t want to cross any lines. But I also don’t want to miss my chance with you.” He pauses, his hand brushing against yours where it rests on your lap. “I don’t want this to be our only day together, and I won’t have you sneakin’ out your bedroom window and hoppin’ the fence to see me. S’just not the kind of man I am.”

Your heart stutters as his words sink in. There’s no wavering in his voice, no attempt to downplay what he’s saying. He’s laying it out plainly, his honesty disarming in a way you didn’t expect.

“So what are you saying?” you ask softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

He takes a deep breath, his hand shifting to fully cover yours. “I’m sayin’ I want something real with you. Not just sneakin’ moments or pretendin’ it don’t matter. I want to see where this goes.”

Your chest swells. You nod slowly, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I’d like that.” Relief washes over his face, and he leans close to you.

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “Well, if you’re such a true-blue cowboy, you’re gonna have to be the one to tell my dad.”

Joel nods. “I’ll handle it.” His voice is quieter, but honest. His gaze seems to look a little far away.

You squeeze his hand. “We’ll handle it.” You give him an encouraging smile. “Don’t have to do everything by ourselves right?”

He gives you a warm look. “Right.” He dips toward you for a chaste kiss. It’s sweet and playful. “Just don’t make me wait too long to take you out proper,” he rumbles as he pulls his head back.

You laugh airily, leaning into his side as he pulls you closer. The warmth of his arm around you, the weight of his hat still on your head, and the quiet promise of what’s to come settle over you, the world around you fading into a comfortable hum of possibilities for you and your cowboy Joel.

thank you for reading! pls let me know what you think <3

dividers by @/saradika-graphics tags for babes in case they want some cowboy joel: @lovely-vamp-princess @gothcsz @auteurdelabre @adoreyouusugar @swankyorange @itwasntimethatdidit40 @ivoryandflame @indiegirlunited @syd-djarin @harriedandharassed

@bbyanarchist @94namkooksworld

[lavenderspence]

A runaway kitten | A.H.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader

Content warning: fluff, cuteness overload to be honest. 

Word Count: 1.5K

Summary: A troublesome kitten prompts quite the meet-cute

Request: May I please request a meet cute with Hotch? Maybe they become new neighbours or reader has a child jacks age and they meet like that? I honestly don’t mind I just love the cuteness that comes from first interactions 😫💛

A/N: for once, I'm not really sure what to say...except, I forgot this blog's three-month anniversary, so...happy over 3 months? writing's been a bit hard recently, but I do hope it's going to get easier. enjoyy

Request are closed! | masterlist

“Olive?” You called out, setting his water bowl down. You clicked your tongue a few times, hoping he’d come out of hiding to drink some water, or at the very least, show you he was slowly acclimating to the new space. 

Olive was your very pretentious, borderline-dramatic, six-month-old kitten. You’d found him near your old apartment building 3 months ago, cowering in fear and shivering because of the rain.

One look at him, and you knew, this little fella was your new roommate and cuddle buddy. You’d brought him inside, bathed, fed him and the rest was history. 

But Olive did have a flair for the dramatic, at least that had been the case for the last three and a half weeks, ever since you’d moved into your new apartment. 

The moment you’d opened his pet carrier after moving in, giving him a chance to look around and get familiar with the space, he’d turned his small head around a few times, hissed, and walked back into the carrier. 

He’d spent most of his time inside, venturing out for only a few minutes to investigate the space, and then making it inside again. He did slip into your bed every night but still refused to explore the space or get used to it.

He started looking around more the last few days, sometimes spending some time in your closet or at the back of the couch, but that was about it. 

“Olive?” You looked around. He might hate the space, but he always showed up when you called for him. No meows, no movement, and no kitten in sight made you worry a bit. You checked the places he usually visited, if for a little while, and then you checked everywhere else just in case. 

No sight on him, not a peep anywhere. And that’s when you saw it - your bedroom window was open. You ran towards it, head ducking outside to check. You looked around frantically, looking for any sight of him, and finding none. 

But there was a small ledge outside the window, running around the whole building, and any neighboring windows. It was a big enough ledge for Olive to walk across and make it to your neighbors’ apartments. 

You closed the window and ran towards your front door, straight to apartment 123. The lady who lived there always greeted you with a smile, and this time was much the same. But a frown, and a sad one at that made its’ way onto her face when you told her about Olive, and she replied with a shake of her head. 

Olive hadn’t made it to her apartment, all her windows were closed. 

You made your way to apartment 121 and knocked on the door. Your heart was pounding, worry overtaking your senses. Thoughts, about whether he’d made it to apartment 121, or if he’d fallen down. Thoughts about him missing and you trying to find him and failing. 

Deep in thought, you didn’t hear the lock click, or even the door getting opened, until a man stood in front of you.

He was handsome - black hair sprinkled with a touch of grey, chocolate brown eyes. Dressed in jeans and a fitted polo shirt, his hair was messed up like he hadn’t expected any company. He was fit, not overly so, and his posture was a little guarded. 

You remember seeing him, once or twice just in passing, but he hadn’t been dressed that casually. No, he’d been sporting formal attire - a suit and tie, dress shirt, and slacks. You’d barely glanced at each other then, but now standing at his door, you could fully take him in.

You watched him arch a brow, waiting for you to speak up. You shook your head the tiniest bit. 

“Hi.” You started with a small voice and equally a small smile on your face. 

“Hello.” His mouth barely moved, but you caught the small lift of his lips.

“I know this is going to sound very strange. Do you, by any chance, have a grey kitten that showed up out of nowhere, possibly getting in using any of your windows?” You were fidgeting, picking at your cuticles as you waited for his reply.

He relaxed a little, an actual smile making way for a row of white teeth, and the most adorable dimples you’d seen. He chuckled. “Well, I may have an even stranger answer for you. Why don’t you come in?” He moved aside and pulled the door open. 

Upon walking in, you took in the place. It was tidy, with minimal decoration, but also full of personal touches. Throw pillows and a blanket over the couch, pictures on the walls, and photos neatly arranged on the bookshelves. A blond woman, beautiful, smiled in one, her eyes striking. 

A photo of a small, adorable boy, no more than three, holding a small plush koala decorated another shelf. A small carbon copy of the woman. 

A chest of toys sat close to the bookshelf, and a lone toy truck was on the coffee table. 

“Sorry about the mess.” There was no real mess, to begin with, just a laundry basket full of clothes waiting to be folded and put in their rightful places. “This way, please.” He led you towards the back of the apartment, his strides small. 

The hallway was well-lit. A child's drawings were framed and put up, making the space homey. 

You made it to a half-opened door, “Jack, buddy?” Your neighbor called out, pushing the door open. On the floor next to the bed sat the same, cute boy from the picture in the living room, and close to him, lying on his back, paws in the air, was Olive. 

“Oh, Jesus.” You laid a hand over your heart, willing your heartbeat to slow. The little troublemaker was okay. 

“Who’s this daddy?” The boy, Jack, asked as he reached to pet Olive’s tummy gently. 

The man turned towards you, opening his mouth, but you beat him to it, “Hi, I’m Y/N, your neighbor. And this bad boy you have there is Olive.” You missed the soft look the man gave you when you introduced yourself to his son.

“Oh, he’s yours?”

“Yes, this little devil is indeed mine.” You shook your head with a chuckle.

“Why did he walk through the window then?” He asked, expression earnest and sweet. This might just be one of the cutest kids you’ve ever seen. 

“Jack!” The man, whose name you had yet to learn, crossed his arms and shook his head, sending you an amused look.

“Well, I left the window open, and he’d been very vocal about not liking the new apartment much, so he decided to go on an adventure.” You kneeled, getting to his level where he still sat on the ground. 

He looked like he was thinking for a second before he smiled, “He’s been liking my room, maybe he should stay here?”

A choked laugh fell from the brunette behind you, “Jack, no. You can’t say stuff like that.” 

“It’s okay.” And it really was, because Olive was still flat on his back, looking at you in boredom. 

“Worth a try.” He grinned back at you, one of his front teeth missing. You laughed in earnest, overcome by his cuteness.

“We better get going, we’ve taken enough of your time…” You trailed off. 

“Aaron.” He reached his hand forward, offering it for a handshake. 

You accepted his handshake with a timid lift of your lips, watching as his big fingers enveloped your smaller hand. You swore a small spark went through you at the contact - the feel of his skin on your own. Like a zap, an electric current - even your heart skipped a beat. 

There was something about his touch, maybe him as a whole, that you reacted to. A nice reaction. 

“Nice to meet you, Aaron.” You said, repeating your name to him too. 

His eyes shined just a tiny bit in wonder, he wanted to know more about you, to get to know you. As his new neighbor, he hadn’t paid you much attention, any at all. But now? Stood in his son’s bedroom, in search of a troublesome kitten and speaking softly to Jack as if he was the most precious thing ever? He felt a small piece of his heart crack, making space for a new person to enter - a new person to get to know better. 

You clicked your tongue, calling for the kitten again. He turned on all fours, looking bored, and started walking towards you. 

Just when he was mere centimeters from you, he stretched, his whole body shaking. Aaron expected the grey creature to walk up to you, but instead, it stopped at his feet and stretched again.

This time it stretched up his leg, his small eyes widening in plea.

You laughed, and Jack’s small giggle followed. 

“Well, maybe Olive does like it here.”

“Maybe he does,” Aaron added, looking at you. Your kitten may have liked his apartment, but Aaron liked seeing you both in it just as much.

comments & reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[wakasaz]

Sharing is Caring

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 Pairing: Ran Haitani x Reader x Rindou Haitani

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 Synopsis: You belong to Ran, but Rindou has always wanted you. And tonight Ran is willing to share.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, oral, fem!reader, pet names, unprotected sex, exhibitionism, voyeurism, I think that's everything.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 A/N: not proof read, possible spelling errors. I'm not sure how I feel about this.

You were over at the Haitanis. Currently you are sitting on Rans lap straddling him, his hands on your hips and his tongue down your throat.

You and Ran have been dating for a few months but he just recently introduced you to his younger brother Rindou. You always knew about him— hell who in this town didn't know who they both were.

Rans hand slips under your shirt sliding up your skin to your chest. You moan into the kiss and he smirks against you. You two continue to kiss but not long after you are grinding against each other— Ran guiding your movements as he pushes his hips up to meet yours.

Soon your top is discarded along with your pants. Rans shirt is off too having taken it off soon after you two started kissing. You can feel him harder under the thin material of your panties with every movement of your hips. Ran is groaning into the kisses—pushing you down harder against him so you can feel every inch.

“Jesus Christ, can you two not do this while I'm here?”

You two were so lost in each other you didn't hear the bedroom door open. Your head whips around and sees Rindou standing near the door looking anywhere but you with the tips of his ears red and a light dusting of pink across his cheek.

Ran chuckles “my room little bro, maybe you should of knocked”

Rindou rolls his eyes and mumbles something about maybe Ran should lock the door.

You feel your face Heat up when you remember how undressed you are—taking your hands and covering your chest. Rindou glances at you out of the corner of his eyes but quickly looks away when he notices you looking at him.

Ran looks back and forth between you two—smirk widening as he puts his arms behind his head and leans against his bed frame

“Well well well, if I didn’t know any better I'd say my dear little brother has a thing for my girlfriend here”

Your head whips back towards Ran—glaring. You miss Rindous eyes widen and the blush deepen on his face.

“Shut the hell up, Ran”

Ran laughs “and if I didn't know any better I'd say my pretty girl here likes it” he pushes his hips up against you “considering the mess she's making on my pants”

You're embarrassed because it's true but you aren't sure if it's Rindou or the idea of someone watching you.

Ran looks between you two again before he spreads his legs and moves you so you're in-between them facing Rindou, pulling you back so you're leaning against his chest. His hands land on your thighs where he draws patterns with his fingers making goose bumps show up.

“Does my little brother want a taste?”

“Ran”

“Yes, pretty girl”

“Stop teasin”

Ran laughs “what's wrong baby? Don't want my little bro to tongue fuck you?”

You gasp but you also hear a noise come from Rindou. You look back towards him and see he is covering himself with his hand—face red and staring at the ground.

Ran grips your thighs and slowly pulls them apart” come on Rin, we both know you want to. You've been staring at her tits since you walked in”

Ran leans closer to you and whispers “if you want me to stop just say the word and I kick him out” but you don’t. You Don't say anything too busy staring at Rindous crotch that he is hiding behind his hands.

Rans hand slide up to your covered heat where he plays with the fabric before pushing it aside exposing you to his brother. Rindous eyes are glued to your cunt. You see him swallow.

Ran runs a finger up and down your slit before pressing down on your clit pulling a moan from you.

“Doesn't she make the sweetest sounds?” You can practically hear the smirk in Rans voice

Ran shrugs “fine if you don't want her I'll just—”

“I didn't say I didn't want her, idiot.”

“Oh? Then I suggest you come over here and do it before I change my mind”

Rindou walks over to you and drops to his knees at the bottom of the bed.

“You okay with this?”

You nod and he tells you if you need him to stop to tell him.

Rindou drop down between your legs, throwing them over his shoulders after ripping off your panties. Ran is behind you and removes your bra then his hands quickly finding you tits where he squeezes and pinches

Rindou leans closer to you so close you can feel his breath fan against your cunt. He kisses your thigh before giving your heat an experimental lick. You gasp and he groans against you quickly diving into your cunt—eating you like a man starved.

He licks and sucks anywhere he can reach. Grinding his hips into the bed chasing any friction he can get.

Ran tilts your head back—capturing your lips in a heated kiss. You can feel how hard he is against your back. He pulls away “as hot as it is watching Rindou eat your cute little cunt it's my turn now”

Ran pulls you away from Rindou who immediately protests. Ran rolls his eyes and tells him to calm down. Ran flips you over so your facing him—pushing your head down towards his cock. “My pretty girl is going to suck my cock while you eat her cunt”

You take Ran in your mouth as far as you can before you start bobbing your head moaning around him when you feel Rindous tongue on you again. Rindou pushes a finger into you then two fucking you with them as he works your clit with his tongue.

You push back against Rindou whining and moaning around Ran cock. Ran has his head thrown back and a hand is your head controlling your movements.

Rindou pulls his fingers out and then you feel the absence of his tongue you go to protest but then you feel the head of his cock pushing against your entrance. You whine and push back against him—looking up at Ran but his eyes are shut and his head is still thrown back.

Rindou pushes into you and you moan at the stretch. He isn't a long as Ran but is a little thicker. He starts out slow before he is pounding into you. You continue to suck on Ran taking him down to the base.

Rindou continues to fuck you his hand finding your clit and rubbing it. You're moaning and pushing your hips back to meet Rindous thrusts.

“Fuuuuck” he hisses

“Keep going baby just like that” Ran moans out “keep sucking me so good I won't last long”

You feel yourself tighten around Rindou pulling a moan from his lips before you are coming undone all over him eyes crossing and legs shaking barely keep you in the position Ran put you in. “fuck fuck fuck” he grunts as he slams into you harder and faster before pulling out and coming all over your ass. “Tights fucking pussy I've had” he flops down on the bed his chest rising and falling.

“Shiiiiit” Ran pushes your head down all the way to the base then he is coming down your throat “take it all baby”

Ran pulls out of your mouth and you collapse on the bed, your head against his thigh falling asleep when you feel Rans hand play with your hair.

Ran looks at Rindou “I said a taste little bro, not fuck. I would of kill you if you weren't my brother”

Rindou looks at Ran and opens his mouth to say something but Ran smirks “sharing is caring little bro”

[pascalislove]

COWBOY: GONG YOO! X F!READER

summary: Their constant disputes over the delimitation of their lands led them to a moment of weakness in which, between insults and pushing, they found themselves devouring each other.

warnings: MINORS ID (18+) language, graphic smut, unprotected sex (wrap it before you touch it!), creampie, piv.

The sun burned over the vast lands of the Gong family, painting the fields in a golden glow. In the distance, the silhouette of a lone rider loomed against the horizon, moving with the dexterity of someone who had been born and raised in the saddle. Gong Yoo, the eldest son of the Gongs, walked forward with his usual hardened expression, the brim of his black hat shading his sharp eyes. His worn leather boots banged against the stirrup with every movement of the horse, his frown signaling that he was in a bad mood.

And he was right to be.

In the distance, right on the line where his lands ended and those of the Lees began, he saw a familiar figure: a short but imposing woman, mounted on a black steed, staring at him boldly. Lee Y/N

—Damn you, Gong Yoo! —she shouted, making her horse trot a few meters ahead.— I told you not to put a single pole on this part of the land!

Gong Yoo sighed heavily. That woman's mouth had no rest.

—“And I told you that this fence goes here, Y/N,” he replied in a deep voice, dismounting in a single agile movement. He took off his leather gloves and tucked them into his belt. "It is my father's order. If you want to argue, do it with him."

—Your father is a stubborn old man, just like you,— she snapped, dismounting with a speed that made it clear that she was not a fragile lady. His dark leather riding jean shook in the wind.—I won't let you steal more land than you already have.

—"We're not stealing anything, woman," he responded with forced patience."But if you want to fight, go ahead".

Y/N, without hesitation, threw a punch straight at his shoulder. It wasn't the first time they had fought, and he knew it. However, this time, instead of moving away or stopping her, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her towards him.

—Let go of me, you bastard,—she mumbled, struggling, but Gong Yoo only held her tighter.

—“Stop making a fuss,” he murmured, his face inches from hers.—"If they see us together like this, they're going to get suspicious".

Y/N trembled. Not from fear, but from rage. But also something deeper. Something they never said out loud.

Since that day, when they were younger and found themselves arguing near the river, their relationship had changed forever. She remembered it clearly: him yelling at her to stop meddling in his affairs, her throwing a rock at him that barely missed his arm. Gong Yoo, furious, had cornered her against a tree. His words, as always, turned into insults until neither of them could remain silent anymore. They didn't know how or when, but their mouths met in a kiss as furious as their hatred.

After that, there was no turning back. From that day on, every time they argued, every time they saw each other on the outskirts of their land, they ended up the same. Between sighs and hurried caresses, tangled in the grass or in the abandoned cabin that only they knew, among the shadows of the forest. They never talked about what they did. They never mentioned it afterwards. According to them, it wasn't love. But the problem was that they couldn't stop doing it.

—“I'm going to put up the fence, Y/N,” he said firmly, returning to the present. "I don't care how much you scream".

—You're a fucking Gong,— she spat, but her voice sounded weaker than she intended.

—"And you are a stubborn Lee".

They remained silent. They were both breathing heavily, as if they had just run at full speed across the field. Y/N clenched her fists. I knew what was coming next. The same as always. Gong Yoo let go of her, but instead of walking away, he brought a hand to her chin and forced her to look at him. Y/N felt like her heart was beating too fast. She hated the way he looked at her. She hated how her body responded to him without her being able to stop it.

—"See you at the cabin," he murmured.

And without further ado he let her go and mounted his horse. Y/N stood there, cursing him with her mouth but not her heart.

Hours later, as the sun began to set behind the mountains, the small cabin on the hill became their meeting point once again.

His lips were already on yours before he registered what was happening, his hand settling around her waist pulling her towards him as the two of them tore each other's clothes off.

Y/N stepped away for a moment, panting. Without saying a word, he quickly hooked his hands behind her knees and wrapped his legs around her waist, securing her firmly against his chest before slowly lowering her onto the cabin bed, his hand moving down to her butt and giving it a gentle squeeze.

His hair was messy as he fumbled with his belt buckle to unbutton his jeans, slide them down his legs, and kick them to the ground.

Y/N's fingers played with the buttons of her jeans as she began to undress as well. He could see a tent forming in his boxers, and he found himself struggling to wait as she finished removing her clothes until she was stripped to her lace lingerie and climbed onto his lap and she wrapped her arms around his neck.

A low moan escaped his chest, his hands holding her hips down over his crotch to get some sort of friction.

He sighed, letting his head fall back on the bed as Y/N began to move her hips she still wanted to torture him some more, she could tell he was impatient and eager to feel her.

—"Do it now," he said with a hoarse voice.

She smiled and didn't hesitate to pull the crotch of her panties to the side and float above him momentarily before finally sinking.

A low moan escaped his chest, small gasps falling from his mouth as he held her gaze with his own, his hips slowly falling into a comfortable rhythm onto her lap. The grip around her waist grew tighter, his fingers digging into her skin, sure to leave a mark.

—“Fuck, you feel so good,” he told you, as his hand moved up her back to pull her closer to him, his forehead falling on her collarbone as he continued to move. The heat of his skin enveloped her, increasing the pleasure that was growing ever greater in her stomach. She ran her fingers through his hair and gave it a good tug, earning a moan in his chest.

Breathless and overwhelmed by the man beneath her. Her hips began to lose control as he secured his muscular arm around her and began ramming his hips into her, fucking her into oblivion as she began to feel her high take over.

—Don't stop,—she said between lascivious moans. Her words seemed to push him over the edge, his pace stopping as he stood up from the couch with her legs still wrapped around him and laid her down, before beginning his movements at a faster, harder pace.

—"Do you like it when I fuck you like that?" —he growled in her ear, pressing his body against hers with so much passion and lust that her brain was foggy. He could feel her heart pounding against her chest, her pleasurable moans invading her brain. Y/N's hands clawed at his toned back, her nails tracing his skin and leaving red marks in their wake.

—God, I'm going to cum,— she moaned, and her head fell back onto his shoulder.

His hips slamming into hers recklessly as the two of them reached their point together as one, a feeling of euphoria exploding in their breasts mixed with their cries of pleasure.

The warm feeling of his release filling you left you entranced, the sticky substance beginning to ooze out of her and stain the inside of your thighs.

Her hips began to calm and her chest began to rise and fall heavily, tired and pleased as she lay beneath him lazily.

—Shit,—Y/N laughed softly, stroking Gong Yoo’s firm bicep, which was next to her head, with her fingertips.

He looked at her with a wide smile and heavy eyes, half-lidded with fatigue and pleasure. She had never seen a more beautiful sight than him in that moment: his bare chest, his dark hair, his warm skin against hers. Something he hadn't even allowed himself to dream about. Gong Yoo let out a low, hoarse laugh.

—"Yes," he answered in a low whisper. —"Fuck".

I felt the need to tell him everything. To confess to her that he was fucking lost for her, that since the first time he saw her at the Lee ranch, with that defiant attitude and those eyes shining with rage, he had not been able to get her out of his head. That every time he touched her, her world shook. But I wouldn't do it. I shouldn't have. Y/N leaned in slightly and rested her palm on his cheek, running her thumb along his jawline.

—“We should definitely argue a lot more often,” Gong Yoo murmured with a lazy smile. She smiled sideways.

—Yes,—she whispered, running soft caresses over him face.

They stayed like that for a few seconds, tangled in each other's warmth, until Y/N sighed and moved her hand away.

—I have to go,—she said quietly, although she didn't really want to.

Gong Yoo looked at her for a moment before nodding.

-"Alright"

They separated slowly, each dressing without rushing too much. There was a strange calm in the air, as if what they had just done wasn't some dirty secret, but something as natural as breathing. Y/N adjusted her shirt and put on her hat, while he adjusted his and stretched his muscles before opening the door.

Night had already completely fallen, covering the field with long shadows and the murmur of crickets. Y/N climbed onto her horse, as did Gong Yoo, and they looked at each other one last time before saying goodbye.

—Until next time, Gong Yoo.

—Until next time, Y/N. Without further words, each one took their way back.

✦ ✦ ✦

When Gong Yoo arrived home, he dismounted silently and let one of the workers take his horse to the stable. He walked with a firm step towards the entrance, but as soon as he set foot inside, his mother's voice stopped him.

—Where were you? —Mrs. Gong asked, raising an eyebrow.

Gong Yoo kept his face impassive and calmly took off his hat.

—"Riding through the lands," he answered simply.

His mother looked at him for a moment, searching for any sign of lying, but finally she just sighed and nodded.

—Go rest. Tomorrow there is work.

—"Yes, mother".

Without further ado, Gong Yoo walked up the stairs and entered his room, closing the door behind him. He fell onto the bed, staring at the ceiling, a fleeting smile on his lips.

✦ ✦ ✦

Y/N dismounted near the stable and walked to the main house. As soon as she stepped foot on the porch, her older sister intercepted her with her arms crossed.

—Where were you?

Y/N hid any hint of emotion on her face and shrugged.

—Strolling.

Her sister frowned, but did not insist.

—Tomorrow dad will want us to check the cattle early. Don't sleep late.

—I know.

Without waiting any longer, Y/N entered her room and closed the door carefully. He leaned his back against the wood and exhaled slowly.

Tomorrow they would be enemies again.

Tomorrow they would fight again.

Tomorrow they would look for excuses to cross each other's paths.

And at some point, they would find a way to see each other again.

As always, no promises. No confessions. Just the touch of their bodies and the desire hidden in the darkness.

Gong yoo cowboy provoked things in me🫦, tell me if you like it🫶

MASTERLIST

[kayawolfhorse]

When Gem first startles upright, she’s not sure what had awoken her. The tower is dark and the night hums, and her bed is tantalizingly warm. However tempting it is to slink back beneath the covers, her fingertips prickle and her curiosity grows. She can’t just leave the greater mystery at large.

Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, her brain seems to clear with her vision, and the sound outside sharpens: howling.

Stepping out onto the half-balustered walkway is like throwing her door open to the sea; she’s at once engulfed. The shadowed forest below her reverberates in every direction with the call of the wolves hidden within, and the strength of it, muffled no longer by her tower’s walls, sends a chill down Gem’s spine. Their song is all-encompassing, and each voice that sings it is as unique as it is indistinguishable from the rest. It’s beautiful; it’s haunting. She couldn’t parse out how many wolves there are if she tried.

The summer breeze is gentle against Gem’s arms as she stands and listens. It's unlike anything she’s heard before, incomparable to her dogs’ excited yips or warning growls. If she were to assign it human emotion, she’d call it somber in tune, and near-joyous around the edges. Something at the base of her throat pinches, and she resists the urge to howl back.

The call crescendos in its final chorus; in its wake, the voices begin to taper off. A few lone howls hold the melody after the rest are through, and though it’s impossible to tell from whence exactly they come, Gem swears they’re somewhere across the river that divides her and Impulse’s base from the alien biome across the way. Turning towards it, she freezes.

Her fingers fumble on the straps of her elytra. Her pajama pants billow between her frantic movements. She just barely remembers to slide into her boots—without socks, much to her chagrin—before leaping off of the tower’s lip.

Pearl comes further into focus the closer Gem gets, and her form is all-too familiar, all-too foreign; it’s Pearl. She’s wearing a scarlet cloak that Gem doesn’t recognize, and the parts of her face that aren’t obscured by shadow are made sharp beneath the pale light of the full moon. She’s standing in the middle of the bridge as if she’s waiting for the others to arrive for a meeting. Her grip on the railing beside her is tight.

Her lip twitches when Gem’s boots meet the cobbled deck, but her head remains bowed.

“Pearl?” Gem ventures. Finally, Pearl looks up. Her eyes are marred by darkness and framed in red.

“Hi,” Pearl says, and her voice is rough, like nails scraped along the bark of a tree. Gem had missed her so much.

“‘Hi’?” Gem demands. There’s a typhoon swirling in her chest. She forcefully shoves it down. “You’re gone for six weeks without a word of explanation—Impulse too, for the matter—and when you randomly show up in the middle of the night, all I get is a ‘hi’?”

Pearl smiles slightly, hesitantly, like she expects her lips to be cracked. “Figured it was a good place to start.” She tilts her head in a half-shrug. Her hood falls behind her ear and exposes a trail of crimson that makes steady tracks around her jaw.

Belatedly, Gem realizes that she’s reaching out, and decides to go through with it, touching a fingertip to the shell of Pearl’s ear. Pearl flinches. The storm at Gem’s core stills.

“Pearl.” The roof of Gem’s mouth turns dry. “Pearl, you’re bleeding.”

“Am I?” Almost distantly, Pearl drags the heel of her hand through the blood that trickles down her neck and pulls it back to inspect it.

“Should I call someone? Should—Pearl!” Gem leaps forward as Pearl brings her hand to her mouth and licks the blood smeared on her palm. “Why would you do that?”

“Had to… make sure it was mine,” Pearl mumbles. She’s swaying on her feet. Gem can’t decide if she should reach for her again.

“Why wouldn’t it be yours?” Gem asks, bewildered. “You’ve been up to some weird things this season, but blood isn’t one of them.”

“We bled the same,” Pearl says. “My heart wasn’t my own.”

“Who’s ‘we’, Pearl?” Gem’s properly concerned now. Pearl can’t be dazed from blood loss after so little spilled—is she wounded elsewhere? What else would explain this… off-ness?

“Nobody important,” Pearl says. Her breathing is ragged. She looks as though she’s about to fall over. “He abandoned me. Everyone did.”

Gem catches Pearl as she stumbles. Pearl leans into her, hard. Gem clutches beneath her arms and around her back.

“I was alone, Gem,” Pearl whispers. “It was just me and Tilly. Now she’s gone, too.”

“You’re not alone here,” Gem says. Softness is not something that comes naturally to her. She tries anyway. “I’m here. The others are, too, I’m sure of it.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Pearl says. “They cast me out.” A pause. Her teeth flash in the darkness. “I killed them.”

Gem doesn’t doubt that. She doesn’t doubt that, wherever Pearl and the others went, death held a heavier note than it does on Hermitcraft. Pearl is different than she was two months ago. Gem can work with this.

“I’ve killed, too,” Gem tells her. “We can talk about it tomorrow, if you’d like.”

“Tomorrow.” Pearl slowly nods. “You won’t leave?”

“I won’t leave,” Gem promises. “I’ve got tea and bandages in my castle. No offense, but you look terrible.”

“I’m sure I do,” Pearl says. Humor graces her tone like color returning to pallored cheeks. Gem squeezes her. Pearl rests her head against Gem’s hair.

The blood that lines Pearl’s face is dried and flaking. Drowsiness tugs at the back of Gem’s mind. There’s water to be boiled and leaves to be seeped.

Together they stand in the quiet night and hold each other’s warmth.