#i have been obsessed with this scene for so long | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

em1i2a3 · 2 days ago

Text

Banquet

Pairing: Rhett Abbott x Bull Rider!Fem!Reader

Summary: You’ve been in the circuit scene for as long as you can remember but when you move to Wabang and become the newbie, you’ve got a lot to prove especially to your top competitor, Rhett Abbott.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI! Smut, Fluff, Angst, Enemies to Lovers (✨competition edition✨), Drug Use By Reader (Painkillers), Alcohol Use, Mentions of Bruising and Injuries, Mentions of Blood, Swearing, Violence? (Cause Bull Riding is BROOOTAL), There is a very brief moment of sexual harassment,

Smut Warnings: Unprotected P in V Sex (wrap it up), Rough Sex, Fingering, Oral Sex (female and male receiving) Scratching, Spitting, Riding, Some Body Worship/Praise Kink, Dirty Talk, Semi-Public Sex, Handjob, Breast Play.

Author’s Note: I gotta thank the Reddit page r/bullriding because holy crap I got to know so much about the world of Bull Riding and honestly the stories there and the videos were so cool to watch. I wanted to make this as accurate as possible so being able to get the insider info without having to go crazy over it was great! Anyways! Happy RAF my friends <3 I hope y’all enjoy this new instalment :D (sorry for the late-ish update, I got caught up watching Oasis content lol)

Word Count: 15,057

Bull riding was your whole life.

Ever since you were a kid, you’d roamed the edge of the arena, with boots caked in red dirt, and kettle corn dust sticking to your sun-chapped fingers. Summers in South Dakota were ruthless–long, dry, and blistering–but you didn’t care. You followed your father from town to town like a shadow, sitting on metal bleachers that burned your thighs through your jeans, watching the bulls kick up dust beneath riders twice your size. You were too young to understand the full weight of the danger, but even then, you felt it: the thrill, the rhythm, the unspoken poetry in those brutal eight seconds.

The circuits became your church, your home, and your obsession.

So when you were finally old enough to ride, you had told your father.

”I wanna get on,” Your jaw was set and your arms were crossed over your chest, with dust still streaked across your neck from tying down flanks that morning, “I know the risks…I’ve seen them all before, I ain’t stupid. I just want to try it out.” Your father had paused his gardening work, looking up at you through the afternoon sun. He didn’t raise his voice, nor did he argue right away, but the silence said enough to you. You could see it in the way he looked at you, staring like he was trying to memorize the version of you before the bruises, before the fractures, before the eight-second freefalls and the way the dirt would cling to the inevitable blood that you would spill.

He tried to talk you out of it. Not because he didn’t think you were tough enough–but because he knew exactly how strong willed you’d have to be. He said circuit life was a man’s world, and that a girl like you wouldn’t get special treatment. He also made it clear that there was a huge possibility that they wouldn’t accept you unless you networked a little more.

“You ain’t gonna get no softness out there, Y/N.” He told you, shaking his head. But you didn’t want softness. You wanted the chance to feel the adrenaline in your veins when that gate opened, the thrill of the buck, the excitement of the ride. You didn’t care about privileges or treatment.

So for six months, you worked the scene like your life depended on it–because in a way, it did.

You shook every hand, remembered every name, stayed late after events to help load chutes or sweep stalls. You offered help before anyone had to ask, learned how each rider liked their gear handled, how they marked their bullsheets, how they taped their wrists. You weren’t just a familiar face who stood around and chatted–you became useful. Dependable.

You mucked out trailers in the rain, held gates open in the cold, said yes to every odd job, every chore, every coffee run or feed delivery. Not because you had to, but because you were already playing the long game. You made yourself unforgettable, not by talking loud, but by showing up.

Some of the guys tried teasing you, and thought you were a buckle bunny at first. But then you started helping out on ranches. Fixing busted fencing. Brushing down bulls after transport. Tightening cinches with quiet confidence and a grip strong enough to make them blink in shock.

They stopped calling you ‘sweetheart’ after that.

And one night around a bonfire after a county fair, one of them tossed you a beer and said, “You ever think about ridin’ for real?” And you had smiled, already half a step ahead.

”More than you know.”

By the time you finally got your father to agree–begrudging, tight-lipped, but no longer saying no–your name was already circulating. You had enough people in your corner to vouch for your grit, enough calluses to prove you weren’t just playing cowgirl. So when you showed up to the local circuit, people nodded. They weren’t surprised in the slightest.

Bull Riding School was the next step. Mandatory. Grueling. Brutal. You showed up with your mouth shut and your sleeves rolled, ready to work. The instructors were hard-asses. They didn’t go easy on you–not because they didn’t believe in you, but because they did.

And you made it real clear, real quick, that you weren’t there to flirt or flinch or back down.

You were there to ride.

You didn’t talk unless spoken to, didn’t boast or exaggerate. You studied backlogs of competitions late into the night while the others passed beers and shot the shit. You memorized flanks, muscle tics, buck patterns. You knew the names of the bulls before your instructors even called them out.

By the third week, the trainers started making comments.

“She’s got hands like glue,” One said, shaking his head as you dismounted cleanly from a particularly mean brindle. “Like she knows where he’s gonna twist before he even does.”

You weren’t flashy, but you were relentless. You moved like a shadow in the chute–still, quiet, composed. And the second the gate flung open, you came alive.

They called it uncanny. The way you moved with the bulls, not against them. The way you didn’t panic when they whipped left or snapped back hard–you just adjusted your core and made sure you loosened up before gripping tighter onto the ropes

While other people your age were buried in textbooks or prepping for scholarships, you were strapping on gear that weighed as much as a grown man and launching yourself onto a creature bred for violence. You broke bones, popped joints, hit the dirt so hard once you saw stars–but you always got back up. Even when it hurt…Especially when it hurt.

You didn’t cry. You didn’t complain.

You learned to bite your tongue until the pain passed.

And that was what made people respect you.

When you joined the circuit for real, you weren’t a novelty anymore.

You were competition.

You didn’t win every ride, but you damn sure made them earn their wins. You placed. Then placed again. And before long, you weren’t just holding your own–you were climbing the ranks. Fast. Too fast for some.

You could hear the murmurs after a ride: She’s got something to prove. She’s only here because she’s a girl and people are curious. Let her fall once good and she’ll quit.

But you didn’t.

You got back in the chute every single time.

And when you started stacking belt buckles like poker chips–hard-won, sweat-soaked, blood-dented buckles–those same people started getting real quiet.

The crowds knew your name. The girls in the stands screamed when you showed up because you were seen as somewhat of an inspiration. Parents pointed at you from the bleachers and whispered to their daughters. Even the old-timers nodded when you passed.

Then just as you were truly gaining momentum…Wabang came out of nowhere.

A place with quieter skies, meaner bulls, and a circuit that didn’t give a damn about what you’d earned back in South Dakota.

You didn’t plan to leave, but when your father called you out to the porch on one late September evening–face tight, jaw ticking–you knew something was wrong. His words were careful. Simple.

”Your grandmother’s real sick…I gotta go to Wabang to take care of her. You know how Uncle Darren doesn’t do much for her…” You had sat on one of the rocking chairs nursing a beer in one hand, and popping one of your painkillers into your mouth with the other, washing it down with the stale ale. He offered you an out, he said you could stay behind to keep riding, to keep chasing the gold. But you shook your head before he even finished the sentence.

”I’m sure I can chase the gold somewhere else…” You said firmly, “I’m not going to let you go alone.” So you packed up all your gear and left behind the only place that had ever felt like home. It gutted you to leave the circuit. To hug your riding buddies goodbye with red eyes and raw knuckles, to strip your name off the draw sheets and hand your spot to some scrawny new kid who’d never tasted blood on the back of a bull before. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t the plan.

But sometimes, family called louder than ambition.

Still, your people didn’t let you go empty-handed. They made calls. Pulled strings. Sent emails and texts and a few firm recommendations that reached all the way across the plains to Wyoming’s Wabang Regional Circuit. The committee over there ran a tight ship, rougher than what you were used to. Leaner, grittier, less forgiving.

But they agreed to let you ride conditionally of course.

They didn’t care about your buckles. Your stats. Your glowing praise from South Dakota. As far as they were concerned, you were just another newbie trying to find footing on their dirt. Another out-of-town wildcard who needed to earn their keep.

It didn’t matter. You’d done it once. You could do it again.

What mattered was that you were back in the chute. Back in the dirt. Back where you belonged.

But Wabang wasn’t South Dakota.

The crowds were colder, the eyes on you sharper. Here, the circuit wasn’t just a family–it was a hierarchy. Tight-knit and territorial. Every rider knew every rider, and outsiders weren’t welcomed so much as tolerated.

You walked into the bullpen the first weekend with your duffel slung over your shoulder, the late sun slicing through the slats in the walls like firelight. Your boots were caked in three states’ worth of arena dirt, your jeans stiff from overuse, your plaid shirt rolled up to the elbows. You didn’t smile much. Not when every eye in the pen dragged over you like they were looking at a misprint.

You heard the whispers–that’s her? The South Dakota rider? Heard she’s good, but–

But.

There was always a but when it came to you.

The arena owner–a wiry older man with creased skin and a nicotine rasp–had greeted you just outside the gates and gave you the rundown. Quick, clipped. Professional.

“Locker room’s through there,” He’d said, nodding toward the left hallway. “Ain’t separate for men and women. You got a problem with that?” You shook your head.

”No, sir.” And he huffed.

”Didn’t think so.” You followed him past the arena doors, down the concrete corridor where the walls were stained with age and old sponsorship stickers peeled at the corners. The hum of fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, and from down the hall, you could hear the sounds of boots stomping, a bull snorting in the pen, and someone laughing too loud.

The door to the locker room creaked when it opened.

And there he was.

Rhett Abbott.

He stood at the far end of the locker room like he’d been carved straight from the land that raised him–rugged, quiet, and hard-edged from the inside out. His long-sleeved blue plaid shirt was tucked neatly into the waistband of his dark, dust-scuffed jeans. The shirt clung to his broad frame in all the right places, sleeves pushed up just enough to show the veins in his forearms, the rough brush of stubble trailing along his jaw. His calloused hands worked slow, steady as he buckled his Kevlar vest into place across his chest–like he had all the time in the world.

And maybe he did.

Because Rhett Abbott didn’t rush for anyone.

He had a reputation even in South Dakota–your old circuit buddies had whispered his name like a warning and a dare. He wasn’t just a rider. He was the kind of man bulls remembered. The kind of man who didn’t blink when hooves cracked skulls and jaws snapped like rope. A cowboy with a haunted look in his eye and the kind of quiet that made everyone else shut the hell up when he entered a room.

And those eyes?

God, those eyes.

Clear and piercing blue, like glacial water that could cut right through you. They were striking even from a distance, but up close–when they landed on you, just then—it felt like standing on a fault line, like something was about to shift.

“Abbott,” The arena owner barked, voice gravel-thick. “This here’s Y/N. The South Dakota transfer.” Rhett didn’t say a word, nor did he offer a hand or a smile or even a blink. He just stared at you, expression unreadable, fingers flexing once against the buckle of his vest as he locked the strap into place. His gaze swept over you like he was measuring the threat–boots to chin, eyes narrowing faintly as if he’d already made his judgment and didn’t think much of what he saw.

You returned the stare without flinching.

”Nice to meet you,” You said evenly, offering the barest nod. There was tension in his silence. Heavy, taut, deliberate. The kind of tension that didn’t crack–it coiled.

His eyes stayed on yours.

Unmoving.

Daring.

And then, finally, his voice slid out low and rough as gravel. “We’ll see.”

“Well,” the owner grunted, already halfway through the door, “I gotta get back to my work. You can go on and get ready–the rest of the riders’ll be here in due time. Abbott’ll show you the draw sheet when you’re done gettin’ situated.”

You nodded politely. “Thank you, sir.”

He waved a hand, more dust than grace in the gesture. “Don’t thank me yet.”

Then he was gone, the door thudding shut behind him with a hollow slam that left the locker room humming with silence again–thick, loaded silence.

Rhett hadn’t moved.

Still stood like a statue in denim and dust, arms crossed loosely over his chest now, mouth drawn in a line that was neither welcoming nor dismissive. Just waiting.

Watching.

You dropped your duffel onto the bench with a solid thud and crouched to unzip it, not sparing him a glance. Your fingers moved with practiced rhythm–pulling out your vest, the dark navy one from bull riding school, faded along the edges but sturdy as hell. A gift from your instructors. You slid it onto your lap like armor.

Gloves. Mouthguard. Wrist wraps.

And then–rattle.

The familiar click of plastic against plastic.

You didn’t look up, but you felt the subtle shift of the room. A sound like that didn’t go unnoticed.

Rhett’s head tilted. Just a little. You caught it out of the corner of your eye. His brow lifted, and his lips tugged–just slightly–into something that wasn’t quite a smirk but damn sure wasn’t neutral.

“Painkillers already?” He said, tone even, drawl low. “Ain’t even touched the dirt yet.”

You looked up at him slowly, popping the cap off the bottle like you were opening a soda, and held his gaze as you shook one into your palm. “Old injuries, been doing this for a long time.” He hummed, like that told him everything and nothing all at once.

“Or maybe,” He added, pushing off the wall with the lazy grace of someone who didn’t do anything unless he wanted to, “You’re just prepping for the fall.” You tossed the pill back and dry-swallowed it. Hard. Deliberate. Wiped your mouth with the back of your hand.

“You spend as much time worrying about your own rides,” You started, rising to your feet and fixing him with a look that dared him to push again, “Or are you already obsessed with mine?” His jaw flexed. His boots shifted.

Then he walked forward.

Not quick. Not aggressive. Just enough to close the space between you until you had to tilt your chin slightly to hold your ground.

“I watch for threats,” He said, voice barely above a whisper. “Keeps me sharp.”

”Oh…So I’m a threat to you?” That grin finally came–slow, crooked, lopsided and infuriatingly handsome, but he didn’t answer. You scoffed and shook your head, reaching down to pick up your wrist straps.

”Don’t worry, Abbott,” You said coolly, wrapping one hand with slow, steady precision. “I’m not here to take your spot. You can still sign belt buckles after the event if you want.”

“That so?” He muttered, circling around to the opposite bench but never taking his eyes off you. “Funny. You talk a lot for someone who ain’t made the draw yet.”

“You talk a lot for someone who’s clearly rattled.” His eyes narrowed at you, brimming with interest–with curiosity that was sharpened by the bite of his ego. He sat down on the bench opposite you, watching as you slipped on your vest and tightened the buckles with efficient, practiced pulls.

“You ride clean,” He said suddenly.

You glanced at him, startled by the shift in tone.

Still guarded, still competitive–but honest.

“You got clips out there,” He continued. “I’ve seen ‘em. Brindle out in Sioux Falls. Big bastard. You held like your boots were nailed to his sides.”

You paused, eyes narrowing slightly. “Didn’t think you did your homework.”

“I don’t.” He leaned forward, elbows on knees. “But new blood gets attention. Especially when it’s making noise before it even gets a number on the board.” The words should’ve felt like a compliment. But from Rhett Abbott, they sounded like a warning. You stood slowly, mouthguard in hand.

“Well,” You started, stepping past him, close enough that you brushed against him, “Hope you’ve been watching real close, Abbott.”

”Why’s that?” You glanced at him over your shoulder, a smirk playing at your lips.

”Cause maybe it gave you some pointers on how to get your spot back after I embarrass you tonight by dethroning you.” Rhett let out a low, surprised laugh–rough and full of gravel, like it hadn’t been used in a while. The sound bounced off the concrete walls and wrapped itself around your spine, warm and taunting. He leaned back slightly on the bench, his eyes cutting toward you with that same infuriating smirk, like he was already carving out space for your loss in his mind.

“That massive ego ain’t gonna get you anywhere here,” He drawled, shaking his head. “But good luck tryin’, sweetheart. You’ll need it.” You turned fully toward him, sliding your mouthguard into your back pocket, your brow lifting in mock thought.

“That the same line you feed every rookie before they kick your ass in the rankings? Or just the ones you’re scared of?” His gaze didn’t waver. Not even a little.

“Oh, I ain’t scared,” He said, slow and low, voice syrup-thick. “Just curious how many seconds you’ll last before you’re face-first in the dirt wonderin’ what the hell you got yourself into.”

“I’ll last more than eight,” You said flatly. “And I won’t be the one wonderin’.”

That made something in his jaw tick again–interest, challenge, something a little darker. He stood up then, rising to his full height, the bench creaking behind him, the air tightening between your bodies like it was caught in a vise.

He stepped forward. Just enough.

Not touching.

But near enough that you could smell the saddle soap on his vest, the sweat in the cotton of his shirt, the faintest trace of tobacco on his breath. His eyes flicked down to your chestplate, then back to your face.

”You may ride good,” He started, “But this place? It’ll chew you up if you walk in thinkin’ you’re the queen of the goddamn circuit.” You stared up at him, unflinching.

“I guess I’ll give it something to chew on then.” The silence between you burned after that. It wasn’t flirtation. It was something hotter. Something rawer. The buzz of two predators circling, tension strung tight between challenge and curiosity. Respect wasn’t given, not in Wabang–and not by Rhett Abbott. You’d have to rip it out of him like a tooth.

But God, it was gonna be fun trying.

He looked at you a second longer–searching, maybe–and then exhaled through his nose, slow and begrudging.

“Draw sheet’s taped outside the office door,” He muttered, stepping around you. “You’re sixth.” You turned just as he opened the door, watching the set of his shoulders, the confident, ground-eating stride, the twitch in his jaw like he wanted to say more but wouldn’t give you the satisfaction.

He stopped in the doorway just before leaving, glancing back at you over his shoulder.

“Oh,” He added casually. “Your bull? Leviathan. Mean son of a bitch. Most riders can’t last five.”

You grinned.

“Guess I’ll make it six.”

And then he was gone.

——————————

The air was crisp and dry, and the spotlights above the Wabang Regional Arena cut through the dark like white fire–searing over dirt churned from the night’s earlier rides. The stands were packed, voices rising in waves of excitement and tension, spilling beer and adrenaline as the announcer hyped the next event into the echoing mic.

“Next up…Randy Ellis ridin’ Deadbolt!”

The name crackled over the speakers as Randy adjusted his vest and hoisted himself over the chute. The crowd whooped, the clang of metal gates and the low growl of a restless bull filling the air. You didn’t watch. You were already headed toward your own chute–toward the pen holding Leviathan.

Your boots hit the dirt heavy. Intentional. You kept your shoulders squared, your expression unreadable, and your black Cattleman’s hat low over your brow. Your vest was secured, your wrists were wrapped, and your gloves were tight. All that was left was the ride.

As you approached your chute, the men flanking the rails turned at the sound of your steps. One of them–a lanky guy with wind-chapped cheeks and a whistle tucked into the front pocket of his flannel–cocked his head at you.

“You’re Y/N?”

You climbed up the railings like you’d done a hundred times before. Balanced, steady, sure. “Yep,” You replied, tossing a glance toward the snorting mass of muscle in the pen. “Is this Leviathan?”

The bull was massive.

Easily upwards of 2,500 pounds, built like a damn freight train, with dark brindle hide that shimmered with sweat under the lights. His eyes rolled white in his skull, and his hooves stomped restlessly against the planks, muscles twitching with every taut, coiled breath. His horns curved like a devil’s crown, one chipped from a previous fight. You could feel his energy from here–bubbling, hateful, wild.

One of the gate guys blinked. “Yeah,” He said, slowly. “But…You’re new. Ain’t no way they gave you a bull ranked an eight.” He glanced at the others, then back at you, brows knotting. “That’s just cruel.”

You shrugged, brushing sweat from your brow with the back of your glove. “I’m experienced,” you said evenly, eyes locked on Leviathan. “I can handle him.”

The guy let out a short, disbelieving whistle, shaking his head. “You got brass ones, I’ll give you that.”

You didn’t reply. Just climbed over the railing with practiced ease, slipping your mouthguard from your back pocket and biting it down between your teeth. The noise of the crowd faded as soon as you lowered yourself onto the bull’s back.

Leviathan snapped against the metal of the chute, sides heaving, rope already pulled taut beneath him. But your movements were quick–clean. You swung your leg over, settled low, tucked your knees in close, and adjusted the rope across your gloved hand. You shifted gently, loosening your core, feeling the way he moved beneath you like a living earthquake.

“You’re signin’ your own death wish, little lady,” one of the handlers muttered behind you.

You didn’t flinch. Just sucked in a breath and spoke around your mouthguard.

“Then I better make it worth it.”

You closed your eyes for a heartbeat. Focused. Centered.

This wasn’t South Dakota. This wasn’t some hometown draw with familiar bulls and family watching from the bleachers. This was Wabang.

And Wabang didn’t want you to win. They wanted you to bleed.

“Chute five, y’all. Leviathan with the newbie–Y/N L/N!”

The roar from the crowd was uncertain–half eager, half waiting for a crash.

You leaned forward, tightened your grip, and with your free hand, gave the nod.

The gate flung open.

And hell broke loose.

Leviathan launched like a bullet from a gun, his back legs kicking skyward as his front hooves jackknifed into the dirt. The momentum cracked through your spine like a whip, but you held tight, low and steady, moving with him–not against. You could barely hear the crowd through the static in your ears, the pounding of blood, the scream of instinct, the echo of your name in the chaos.

One second.

Two.

He twisted hard right, then back left. You shifted your weight, rolled your hips.

Three.

He jerked his head down and tried to slam his ass into the chute gate. You didn’t bite your tongue–you gritted it.

Four.

Your shoulder popped. You didn’t care.

Five.

His back legs buckled mid-air, an old trick to jolt riders. Your thighs held firm.

Six.

You could hear him grunting, feel the breath rip through his nostrils.

Seven.

He spun in a tight circle, then kicked forward with all his fury–

Eight.

The buzzer sounded.

And you didn’t fall.

You launched yourself off clean, hitting the dirt and rolling, boots scrambling as you came to your feet, mouthguard clenched between your teeth and chest heaving.

The crowd exploded.

The noise hit you like a wave–some cheering, some shocked. Some standing with beers half-raised, jaws open like they didn’t quite believe what they’d seen.

You stood there in the center of the ring for just a second, sweat dripping down your back, dust sticking to your cheeks, pain flaring in your ribs where you knew something pulled. But you smiled through your damn mouth guard anyway.

Up in the catwalks, framed by metal rails and sharp arena light, Rhett Abbott looked like a storm that hadn’t broken yet. Eyes burning cold, fingers tight around the neck of his beer, unmoving except for the way his jaw ticked. Like something was eating him alive from the inside out.

And if you didn’t know better, you’d have called it jealousy.

But you tore your gaze away before he could see you linger.

Instead, you gave a short, theatrical bow toward the crowd—sweat-slick and battered and glowing like you’d been baptized in dirt. You waved once, sharp and dismissive, then turned and headed for the exit, boots dragging a wake of red dust behind you.

You spat into the gravel as soon as you cleared the tunnel, blood-tinged saliva hitting the ground with a soft pat.

Your body ached like hell. Your ribs throbbed. But your heart was singing.

You slipped your mouth guard into your vest pocket and muttered under your breath with a grin curling against your cheek.

“Must be havin’ a lucky night–”

“Lucky,” Rhett grumbled, suddenly there, voice rough and tight.

You froze mid-step, turning your head slowly. He was leaning against the wall like he’d been waiting for you. Shoulders drawn, expression sharp, his hat pulled low over his brow—but not low enough to hide the scowl in his eyes.

He looked at you like you were a splinter lodged in his palm.

Unwanted. But too deep to pull out.

“Well damn,” you said, cocking your head as you took him in. “Abbott. You come all this way just to ride my belt, or you here to choke out a ‘congrats’?”

His lip curled faintly. “Didn’t realize there was anything worth congratulatin’. You stayed on. Big deal.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Eight seconds on Leviathan’s back says otherwise.”

He stepped forward. Slow, deliberate. The kind of step that said he wasn’t gonna shoot back–not yet–but if he did, it’d hurt.

“You think one ride makes you a name around here?”

“No,” You shot back, crossing your arms over your chest, “But it sure as hell makes you look over your shoulder.”

That hit.

His eyes flicked, just once, like a muscle had twitched without permission. He bit back whatever smart-ass line was about to come out, jaw flexing hard enough to crack stone.

“You’re cocky as hell, you know that?”

You smirked, “You’re actin’ like a man who’s got something to lose Abbott.”

“I don’t.”

“Then why’re you down here, all worked up about my ride?” He took another step forward. Close enough now that you could see the sweat at his temples. The way his chest rose and fell like he’d run to catch you. Close enough to smell the dust and heat still clinging to him like a second skin.

“You had one good ride. Don’t let those South Dakota buckles weigh your head down.” Your smirked.

”Face it, Abbott–you hate that I proved you wrong.” His nostrils flared.

“You’re not gonna last,” He said.

“I already did.”

“Yeah, just tonight you did.”

“That’s all it takes, right?” You stepped into his space now, voice like velvet over broken glass. “One night. One ride. And suddenly the golden boy’s out here growlin’ in the dark, tryin’ to convince himself he’s still top dog.”

“You’re not competition,” He snapped.

“Then why are you so pressed, sweetheart?”

That shut him up for just a second.

Then he laughed. A bitter, breathless sound, like it scraped its way out of his chest against his will. He turned his face slightly like he couldn’t stand to look at you straight on, shaking his head with a crooked, vicious smile.

“You got fire,” He admitted. “But fire burns out fast when you don’t know how to control it.”

“Maybe,” You said, stepping even closer–your boots nearly toe to toe with his. “Or maybe it burns hotter when someone keeps throwin’ fuel on it.”

Your eyes locked. No blinking. No breathing. Just heat. Hot enough to taste.

And then–

A voice echoed from the arena tunnel behind you both: “Abbott, you’re up in two!” He didn’t move. Didn’t look away. But something in his gaze shifted–tightened. Like he’d remembered where he was, who he was supposed to be, and the fact that you weren’t supposed to be under his skin.

You tilted your head slowly. “You should get ready.”

“I am ready.”

“Right.” You let your voice drag, taunting. “Don’t trip over that pride on your way in.”

He stepped back with a sharp inhale, that wild smirk tugging again at the corner of his mouth. “Enjoy your little moment, South Dakota. Next ride, you’ll be eatin’ dirt.”

You grinned. “If it’s dirt from your spot in the rankings, I’ll savor it.”

He turned with a shake of his head, muttering something under his breath as he stalked back toward the chutes.

You didn’t ask what it was. You didn’t need to.

Because if Rhett Abbott hated you now? That meant you were exactly where you needed to be.

The concession stand was tucked under a flickering floodlight, the cooler humming behind a bored teenager chewing a hard piece of gum, her lips smacking loudly. You ordered a Coke, voice scratchy from dust and exertion, and twisted the cap off with your teeth as you walked away, the soda cold enough to sting your throat. You needed the caffeine more than the sugar. Your whole body was buzzing, but not in a good way–not anymore. The adrenaline was gone, and pain was blooming in its absence.

You didn’t go back to the locker room for your pills, not yet at least, you needed to wait a bit longer before your next dose, so you would just have to grin and bear it. The bleachers groaned as you climbed them, weaving past shouting fans and wide-eyed kids still holding bags of cotton candy. You kept your head down, your hat low, until you found an open spot on the edge of the aluminum seating–close enough to the arena for a decent view, far enough from the cluster of families not to be bothered.

You sat slowly.

Carefully.

And still your tailbone felt like you slammed it into the cold metal, a sharp crack of pain erupting through you as your jaw clenched. You winced hard, hissing through your teeth as you took a quick sip of soda to mask it. The bruises would set in tomorrow. Your ribs were already throbbing with every inhale. You shifted your weight to your hip, keeping one hand wrapped around your Coke and the other braced behind you on the bench.

It was worth it.

Every goddamn second of it.

The announcer’s voice echoed through the arena again, sharp and loud as the next name rang out like a gunshot.

“Rhett Abbott ridin’ Ironjaw! Let’s see what the local legend’s got tonight, folks!”

You tipped your head just enough to get a clear view of the chutes—and there he was.

Rhett stood in the narrow alley behind the pen, vest snug over his broad chest, his shoulders flexing as he adjusted the rope across Ironjaw’s flank. The bull was pissed already, hooves scraping against the dirt floor, muscles rippling beneath slick hide. Rhett didn’t flinch.

You narrowed your eyes.

Every movement he made was precise, economical. Like he knew the bull before he even got on it. The way he patted Ironjaw’s side with a flat, firm palm, the way he crouched to check his wrap, the way his jaw clenched as he rolled his wrist and tested the slack—calm. Controlled. No wasted motion. No hesitation.

You hated that it was impressive.

Because it was.

But that didn’t mean he was better than you.

Not yet.

He climbed onto the railing with that same unbothered grace, like he’d been born in a chute. Then he eased onto Ironjaw’s back, slow and steady, settling into the saddle as if it were a goddamn rocking chair.

Your Coke bottle creaked in your hand as your grip tightened.

You wanted to see how he moved when the gate opened. You wanted to see if he could ride clean like you had–or if he just talked like he could.

The chute boss gave him a nod. Rhett shifted, gloved hand gripping the rope, legs tightening around the bull’s broad back. The noise in the crowd swelled–chants, shouts, someone whistling from the far end of the stands.

Then–

The gate flew open.

Ironjaw launched into the arena like a shot.

The crowd screamed.

And you sat there, still as stone, watching every goddamn second.

He moved like he wasn’t separate from the bull. Not fighting the chaos–riding it. Every buck met with counterweight. Every twist matched with a subtle shift of his hips, a sharp adjustment in his core.

You realized it before anyone else did.

Right there in the middle of Ironjaw’s third spin, Rhett’s center of gravity shifted just a fraction too far forward–just enough to throw his balance off when the bull twisted the other way. He tried to correct it, tightening his core like a seasoned pro, but it was too late. His grip held, but his seat was gone.

And then–

Wham.

Ironjaw bucked hard, and Rhett’s body was flung sideways, spine bowing mid-air like a cracked whip before he slammed shoulder-first into the dirt. The arena let out a collective, resounding:

“OHHHH–“ A mix of awe and sympathy. The kind of sound people made when someone landed just wrong.

You winced instinctively at the sound of impact, the grit of your teeth matched by the fizz of your Coke bottle between your lips. Your ribs ached in solidarity. But even through the sympathy, a smug little grin curled at the corner of your mouth. Because there it was. The moment. The crack in the golden boy’s armor.

Rhett groaned as he rolled onto his knees, planted one gloved hand in the dirt, and pushed himself up, slow and stiff. The bull had already been wrangled and was halfway down the pen when he stood upright, brushing red dust off his vest like it personally offended him.

His jaw was clenched, hard. His chest rose and fell like he was chewing on the failure, trying to swallow it whole.

You took another long sip of Coke, watching from the bleachers as he yanked off his glove and slapped it against his thigh hard enough to make a few spectators flinch. His hat was tilted low, covering his face, but not low enough to hide the embarrassment in his posture.

The announcer tried to save him a little–

“Tough break for Abbott tonight, folks. That bull’s meaner than sin and twice as smart! Four seconds! Let’s hear it for the local legend anyway!” A few people clapped, loyal to his name.

But you didn’t.

You just sat there like a queen on her throne, bruised but proud, your Coke bottle sweating against your thigh.

Four seconds.

You’d doubled it.

And that’s all that mattered.

He walked back toward the tunnel, muttering something to one of the gate guys, and you didn’t miss the twitch in his jaw when he glanced up toward the stands.

He saw you.

Saw you smirking.

Saw the satisfaction radiating off you like perfume.

And it hit him–

You’d won.

Not the event. Not the night.

But the first real punch of this fight?

That belonged to you.

The tension between you two had been all bark and no bite until now–but now? Now it was personal. Now he had a reason to glare at you across the chutes. Now he’d ride harder. Sharper. Meaner. Because you were the threat.

Not the bulls.

You.

You rose slowly from the bench, your back aching like hell, but the adrenaline and spite kept you upright. The crowd buzzed as you made your way down the steps again, slipping through the crush of spectators still high on beer and dust.

By the time you reached the rear corridor, Rhett was stalking toward the locker rooms with his helmet swinging at his side and a scowl cut deep into his face. You didn’t slow down–you matched his pace stride for stride, the echo of your boots following his.

“You alright?” You asked, feigning innocence. “Looked like Ironjaw gave you a little love tap there.”

He didn’t stop walking, nor did he look at you. But he did answer. Through gritted teeth.

“Don’t push it.”

You grinned. “Just asking. You know…’Cause you looked real good for those four seconds.” That stopped him. Dead in his tracks. He turned to face you, eyes narrowed and jaw tight, the muscles in his neck tense as a bowstring.

“You think this is a game?”

You blinked slowly. “I think it’s a competition. Or were you expecting I’d kiss your bruises after?”

“You got lucky,” He muttered. “That’s all.” You tilted your head at him.

”Maybe you oughta start prayin’ for some of it for yourself.” For a second, neither of you moved. The hallway pulsed with tension–the low hum of the floodlights, the smell of blood and sweat and dirt hanging between you. His chest was still rising and falling fast, vest creaking with each breath. He was pissed, and not at the bull. At you.

And you loved it.

“You got no idea what you’re messin’ with,” He growled. You stepped in closer, close enough to see the flecks of arena dirt clinging to his stubble, to smell the blood on his breath where he must’ve bitten his cheek on impact. You smirked up at him, lips curling slow and sharp, a predator in worn denim.

“You’re gettin’ so frustrated, Abbott,” You teased,, voice honey-slick and dangerous. “You scared a girl’s gonna swipe up all your titles?” That flicker behind his eyes–it flared. Blue fire, all storm surge and pride, rising too fast to catch. His mouth opened like he had something smart to throw back, something smug to spit–but all that came out was a low, bitter scoff, hot and cracked like dry wood snapping under a boot.

“I can’t wait,” He hissed, stepping close enough for his shadow to cut across your boots, “to see you get whipped from a fuckin’ bull. Face-first in the dirt. ’Cause now?” His voice dropped. Rough. Mean. Real. “You’re just askin’ for it.”

You held his stare without blinking, pulse thumping in your ears. His breath was ragged. His teeth clenched.

You smiled–slow, and lethal. Like you already knew something he didn’t.

“That’s wishful thinkin’.” You stepped past him, letting your shoulder brush his with deliberate weight, soft enough to sting.

“See you next week, Abbott.”And you didn’t look back. Not when your boots echoed down the corridor. Not when he stood there, fuming, jaw ticking, watching you go like you were a ghost he couldn’t exorcise. Not when the silence behind you vibrated with swallowed curses and bruised pride.

——————————

The next few weeks turned into a battleground.

Not just in the chutes, but everywhere.

You and Rhett were at each other’s throats like it was a second job. He was the constant thorn in your side, and you were the splinter under his nail he couldn’t dig out. Tension followed you like smoke–thick, choking, and just a spark away from catching fire.

In the arena, the rivalry was brutal. You both took every draw like it was personal. Every gate swing, every eight seconds, every dismount had teeth. He’d ride clean, and you’d ride cleaner. You’d land high scores, and he’d storm out with a jaw like cracked stone and ride harder the next week. The scoreboard became a battlefield of inches, bruises, and grit. Your names started climbing neck-and-neck.

And outside the arena? The war didn’t stop.

The more social you got with the rest of the circuit crew, the more you ended up circling the same watering holes, the same post-ride hangouts, the same campfire gatherings that Rhett haunted like a shadow. You didn’t mean to wedge yourself into his world–but it happened all the same.

It was hard to make friends outside the rodeo. So you took what you could get.

After weekend rides, the crew always ended up at The Handsome Gambler–a half-dive, half-cowboy shrine of a bar tucked off a dirt road that hadn’t seen a real renovation since the early 2000s. The beer was always cold, the jukebox barely worked, and the pool table leaned a little to the left–but it was home for a lot of them.

And, eventually, it became home for you too.

You’d walk in, bruised and sweat-slick, toss your gloves on the bar and sink into the booth with a hiss of pain, a Coke or whiskey sour clutched in one hand while the guys grilled you about your South Dakota days.

“How many buckles we talkin’?” One of the younger riders asked, eyes wide and eager like you were a damn legend in the flesh.

You smirked, biting into the rim of your glass. “Twenty-two. All clean. No DQs.”

That got a few low whistles. A head shake. Someone muttered “Christ…” under their breath. One of the older circuit boys tapped his knuckles on the table like he was impressed.

And Rhett?

Rhett would be posted up at the bar, standing off to the side like a damn ghost with blue eyes and a bottle of Shiner in his hand. Most nights, he kept close to his older brother, Perry–who, unlike Rhett, was friendly as hell and had no problem throwing you a smile.

“Hell of a ride today,” Perry had told you once, clinking his beer bottle against your Coke as you limped past him with your vest slung over your shoulder. “Leviathan again, right?”

You nodded. “Round two.”

He gave a low laugh. “Bet that pissed Rhett off real good.” And it had. You knew it did. You felt it.

The longer the weeks stretched, the more it became a game of watching Rhett try to pretend he wasn’t watching you.

He’d stare across the bar whenever you laughed too loud, especially if it was at something another rider said. He’d roll his eyes when your name got brought up in ride recaps. You caught him jawing to his buddy Dusty once–something low and sharp, just after you sank an eight-second ride that had the whole stands buzzing.

You’d walk past him at the bar and his gaze would slice through you like a knife through warm hide. Every once in a while, he’d mutter something just loud enough for you to catch:

“Don’t get too comfy, South Dakota.”

To which you’d fire back over your shoulder, without missing a beat:

“Keep practicing fallin’, Wabang.”

The crew lived for it.

They took bets on your tension–whether it’d end in a fistfight or a hookup first.

You weren’t sure yourself at this point, and you didn’t know which one you wanted. Sometimes you guys got so close it seemed like you were going to either kiss or throw hands. But the longer you stayed in Wabang, the more something in the air crackled between you two. Not just hatred. Not just competition. It was something hotter. Heavier. Like whatever fire you lit under Rhett’s skin had started burning in reverse–turning inside out and sparking something neither of you were quite ready to name.

————————

The locker room door slammed shut behind you.

You weren’t limping–but you weren’t walking straight either. Your shoulder had taken a pretty bad hit, or maybe it was your ribs. It was hard to tell considering your entire side felt like it had been steamrolled by a freight train. It had been a while since you’d been thrown off a bulls back, but this certainly was a grim reminder of how bad it was to be thrown face first into a pile of dirt.

Slowly, you made your way to the sink and spat into the white porcelain, pink-stained foam swirled down the drain and you grimaced. Of course it wasn’t the first time you coughed up blood after a bad throw, and it wouldn’t be your last. It was a normal occurrence.

But when the door creaked again behind you, you didn’t have to look to know who it was, and his voice was confirmation of your assumptions.

”…You alright?” You didn’t answer right away, you just wiped the corner of your mouth with the sleeve of your flannel, licking the blood that stained your lips. You saw him step closer to you in the mirror, a look of concern on his face.

”I’m all good,” You said flatly, “Just a bit of blood, it’s a normal occurrence.” His brows ticked up, the faintest flicker of disbelief crossing his face.

“Really?” You met his gaze through the mirror, eyes tired but unyielding, and gave a short, sharp nod.

“Yeah. Really.” Rhett didn’t say anything for a beat, just studied your reflection like he was still trying to figure you out. Like every answer you gave him only led to more damn questions. But he didn’t press.

You turned away, crossing the room with slow, deliberate steps, your hand grazing your ribs as you moved toward your duffel bag. The locker room echoed faintly with the hum of the overhead lights and the distant clang of boots from the arena tunnel. You crouched just enough to unzip your bag, wincing as you reached inside and pulled out the orange-capped bottle.

You shook a single pill into your palm, popped it into your mouth, and dry-swallowed it like you’d done a hundred times before. No grimace. No hesitation. Just another part of the routine.

Then, without looking up, you held the bottle toward Rhett.

“Want one?” You asked casually. “It’s just a stronger version of Tylenol, nothing serious or addicting or anything…” He let out a soft breath–half huff, half chuckle–as he shook his head.

“I’ve got stronger. Thanks for the offer though.” You nodded once and tossed the bottle back into your bag, zipping it shut with a slow pull. Your fingers lingered on the worn canvas for a second, the tension between you and Rhett thick in the silence.

“You still goin’ out with the crew tonight?” He asked suddenly.

You glanced up, a brow arched, like it was a stupid question. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Rhett shrugged, all feigned nonchalance, but his eyes betrayed him–there was something quieter behind them. Something unreadable.

“Thought I’d ask, that’s all.”

You didn’t answer right away. Just stood there for a moment, watching him. He’d leaned back against the lockers now, arms crossed loosely over his chest, shoulders still dusted with dirt, the bruise forming high on his cheekbone blooming like a storm cloud. But he wasn’t looking at you anymore. His eyes had drifted down to the scuffed tile beneath his boots, like he didn’t want you to catch him thinking too hard about something.

You tilted your head, voice quieter this time. “You plannin’ on bein’ there?”

He hesitated–just for a breath. Then: “Yeah. Think so.”

You gave a small nod, pulling your flannel tighter around your ribs. “Good. Maybe I’ll buy you a drink.” You smirked faintly. “Y’know…As a consolation prize.”

His eyes snapped back to yours, narrowing slightly. “I don’t need a damn consolation prize.”

You stepped closer, lips quirking. “No? Then maybe I’ll let you buy me one. Since you didn’t eat dirt tonight.”He rolled his eyes but didn’t stop you when you brushed past him on your way to the door. Didn’t say a word as your shoulder bumped lightly against his chest. But just as you reached for the handle, his voice followed you. Low. Rough. Barely above a whisper.

“…Don’t ride hurt tomorrow.”

You paused, and turned your head just enough to meet his gaze over your shoulder.

“I always ride hurt,” You reply softly. “That’s the job.”

Then you opened the door, and left him there, still watching.

—————————

The Handsome Gambler smelled like stale beer, sweat, and a little too much aftershave. The jukebox was hiccuping through a George Strait song it had played three times already, and the floorboards creaked every time a boot shifted the wrong way. You walked in bruised but upright, your body already stiffening with the ache that was sure to bloom worse by morning. The adrenaline was gone now, leaving only a dull throb along your ribs and a hot sting behind your shoulder blade. It hurt to breathe deep, but you didn’t flinch. Not here. Not now.

You were still wearing the same flannel you’d had on since the draw sheet dropped hours ago. It clung damp to your back, sleeves rolled up to your elbows, a dark stain of dust and old blood smudged near the seam on your right arm. Your collar was crooked, your hair an absolute mess beneath your black Cattleman’s hat, but none of it mattered. You walked like you were untouched. Untouchable. A shadow of dirt and fire threading through the crowd.

A few of the boys waved you over from the far booth–beer bottles raised, one of them already gesturing for shots like this was a victory lap. You nodded back, lazy and half-cocked, but didn’t join them just yet. Instead, you made your way to the bar.

Rhett was propped against the far end of the counter. Long frame stretched just enough to make the stool creak, one boot hooked under the rail while the other was planted steady on the ground. His shirt clung to him in places from the ride, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows like he always wore them, showing off those rough forearms like he didn’t even know the effect they had. Or maybe he did.

He didn’t look at you completely, but you knew he had seen you walk in. You felt it. The weight of his gaze crawling up your side like a whisper–slow and deliberate, but not indulgent. Just…Watchful. As if he were cataloguing bruises. Measuring pain. Waiting to see if you’d limp or stride.

You didn’t limp.

You stepped right up to the counter, two seats down from him, and flagged the bartender with two fingers.

“Whiskey and Coke please,” You ordered, voice scratchy from dust and too many half-swallowed yells. “Tall.”

You needed the burn. Something to dull the coming storm in your bones. Something to keep your spine straight while the ache made camp beneath your ribs. You let your hand rest on the edge of the bar, the other pressed lightly to your side where the bruises were blooming ugly and deep.

That’s when you felt it.

A hand. Sliding low along the waistband of your jeans. Fingers curling in too close.

“–Saw you at the circuit,” A voice said behind you. Older. Greasy. Familiar with bad decisions and cheaper whiskey. “You ride like an absolute professional.” You stiffened. His palm skimmed just enough to raise your hackles. “I wonder,” He continued, voice warm with sleaze, “If that skill gets transferred to the bedroom.”

Your jaw clenched so hard your teeth ached. You shifted your weight slightly, not enough to cause a scene but enough to plant your heel where it needed to be in case you wanted to drive it through his instep.

“Were you ever taught about keepin’ your hands to yourself?” You asked, voice flat. Cold.

He laughed. A low, ugly sound, like gravel caught in the back of his throat. You could smell him now–cheap tobacco, sour sweat, something sharp like tequila gone warm.

“C’mon now, sugar,” He drawled. “Don’t get all uptight on me…I’m just trying to make conversation.” You turned then, slow and dangerous, the heat in your eyes enough to make a lesser man wither. Your lips parted to deliver something sharp enough to cut bone–

But another voice cut through first. Low. Lethal.

“Wouldn’t do that if I were you…”

It was Rhett, still seated. Still holding his beer. But his gaze was hard enough to freeze fire. He didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t need to.

“Pretty sure there’ll be blood on the floor, and it’s most definitely not gonna be hers. Or mine.” The guy paused, shifting his weight just slightly. You felt the air change–less sure now. Less cocky. But still stupid. He looked over his shoulder, eyes flicking toward Rhett.

“What’re you, her belt bunny? She’s a grown woman. She can speak for herself.” Rhett’s lips curled around the mouth of his bottle, slow and deliberate. He took a sip–unbothered. Then he stood. One smooth movement. Tall. Broad. Dangerous in a way that didn’t need yelling or fists. Just presence.

Rhett’s boots scraped against the floor as he rose, slow and deliberate. He didn’t move fast, didn’t need to–just stepped off the stool like he had all the time in the world, beer bottle still in hand, eyes pinned to the man like a loaded gun with the safety off.

You clocked the change in his posture instantly–shoulders tight, jaw locked, fire flickering just behind those glacial blue eyes.

He was coming toward you.

But before he could get more than two steps in, you held out a hand, palm open.

“Rhett,” You said sharply. Calm. Even. “Take it easy. Sit back down.”

He froze. One foot still half-lifted like he’d been about to lunge. His jaw clenched visibly, his nostrils flaring as he stared at you like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to listen–or if he even could.

You didn’t give him the chance to argue, you just turned slowly back to the man.

He was still standing too close, that dumb, sleazy grin barely faltering under the weight of what he thought was bravado. Your drink still hadn’t come yet, and you could feel the ache in your side starting to curl deeper under your ribs. But this? This you had energy for.

Your hand shot out.

Not to slap him. Not to shove.

You grabbed his wrist.

And squeezed.

Hard.

You didn’t say anything at first–just watched his smirk start to falter as the pressure settled in. You flexed your fingers, tightening until you felt bone shift slightly under your grip. His eyes widened.

“Y’know how much grip strength you need to stay on a 2,500-pound bull?” You murmured, voice soft as molasses and sharp as a thorn. “Now imagine I use that same strength…on your wrist. Hmm? Sound good to you?”

His face paled. His arm twitched beneath your hold.

“Okay okay,” He blurted, voice cracking just slightly. “I’m sorry–shit, I’m sorry.”

You held him there for a second longer, just long enough for it to sink in, then let go with a little shove that sent him rocking back on his heels.

You smiled. Wide. Mocking.

“You should be.” Then you jerked your chin toward the other end of the bar.

“Now go back to your friends, creep.”

He opened his mouth like he might say something else–but thought better of it. Instead, he muttered a sullen, “Jeez,” and slunk away with his pride limping behind him, disappearing into the crowd without so much as a backward glance.

The bartender slid your whiskey and Coke toward you just as the moment ended. You grabbed it almost immediately, and took a long sip without flinching, exhaling slowly as the burn spread through your chest.

“Put her drinks on my tab.”

Your hand paused halfway to your mouth, the glass cool against your fingers.

You glance sideways.

Rhett was still leaning against the counter, one elbow hooked over the edge, a bottle of Shiner raised to his lips. He took a slow sip, then licked the foam from the corner of his mouth with the kind of casual grace that shouldn’t look nearly as good as it does.

“You don’t need to do that, Abbott,” You said, turning toward him just enough for your shoulder to brush the bar.

He shrugged, bottle tapping lightly against the wood. “Decided to take you up on the offer of buying you a drink… Problem?”

You swallowed hard and the whiskey burned less than the look in his eyes.

“No problem at all…” You murmured, straightening your spine and taking another slow sip of your own drink to keep your hands busy.

There’s a beat of silence. Not uncomfortable. Not yet. Just thick.

Then–

“Mind if I sit beside you?”

Your eyebrows lift–surprised, amused, maybe even a little curious.

You glance at the empty stool next to you, then back at him.

“Go right ahead.”

Rhett slides off his stool and takes the seat beside you. His denim brushes your thigh when he settles. He’s warm. Smells like leather, dust, and the faintest hint of beer. His vest creaks faintly when he leans back, legs spread just enough to take up too much room without even trying. You tilt your head toward him, lips quirking.

“You tryin’ to coddle up to me now? Just ‘cause you witnessed me eat shit in front of a crowd?” He gave you a look. Steady. That sharp-edged Rhett Abbott stare that always comes with a side of condescension and a slow drag of those glacial eyes across your face.

“No,” He said simply. “I’m welcoming you to the club.”

You blink. “The club?”

“The Wabang Club,” He muttered, tapping the neck of his bottle on the bar once. “First time you got thrown here.”

He pauses, just long enough to make you look at him.

“No more raging ego now.”

You scoff. “That so?”

“That’s so,” He replied, turning his head slightly toward you. His knee shifts beneath the bar, bumping yours–intentional, but barely.

You hum into your next sip. “Doesn’t mean we’re not still competitive.”

“No,” He agreed, smirking faintly, “but I’d say we’re on the same level now.”

“Uh huh,” You said, tongue clicking against your teeth as you lean in just slightly. “You still think I’m gunnin’ for your title, Abbott?”

He turns, and for the first time all night, he really looks at you.

“Think?” He pressed lowly, voice like a lazy threat. “I know you are.”

The whiskey hits your bloodstream with a heat that has nothing to do with liquor and everything to do with the way his voice drips across the syllables. You glance at his hands–battered and rough, thumb idly brushing the condensation on his bottle. He smells like sweat, grit, and something you can’t name but want more of. You wonder if his hands would feel like rope burn or salvation on your skin.

You lean just a touch closer, eyes still on his mouth.

“Maybe I just like givin’ you a hard time.”

His lips twitch. “You do that real well.”

You tap a finger against your glass. “Think you can handle more of it?”

His jaw ticked. His gaze dropped once–quick and dirty–to your lips, then back up again. The smirk turns into something darker.

“You keep flirtin’ like that,” He muttered,, “And we’re gonna stop pretendin’ we hate each other.”

You tilt your head, a smile playing at your mouth. “What if I like to pretend?”

He leaned in–closer now, voice brushing your skin.

“Then maybe it’s time you found out how much better the real thing feels.”

The words hit low. Between your ribs. Between your thighs.

The music fades behind you, the bar buzzing soft with other conversations, the rest of the world dropping out until it’s just you and Rhett. You finish your whiskey in one long swallow and set the glass down slowly. You glanced over at him again, glass empty in your hand, breath tight in your chest–and you didn’t know what the hell washed over you. Maybe it was the whiskey, warm and heady in your veins. Maybe it was the throb of your bruises making everything feel sharper, more real. Or maybe it was the way Rhett was looking at you now–jaw tight, lips parted just slightly, blue eyes dragging over your face like he was trying to memorize it. Whatever the reason, you said it before you could second-guess yourself:

“…Is your truck parked out back?” Rhett’s eyebrows ticked up, just a little. His grip around the neck of his bottle tightened.

“…Yeah,” He replied slowly, voice rough around the edges. “It’s out back.” You pressed your tongue against the inside of your cheek. Then, licking your bottom lip slowly, you lifted your chin.

“Is it parked somewhere…Hidden?” That made him let out a soft huff of a laugh. Quiet and dark.

“You want me to show you?” You nodded once. He watched you for a beat, jaw flexing. Then he set his bottle down and flagged the bartender, slipping some cash across the wood.

“Keep the change.”

You didn’t say a word as he turned and walked toward the back exit, and you followed a step behind–both of you moving like you’d been building to this for weeks.

Because maybe you had.

The back door creaked as Rhett pushed it open, the night spilling in around your boots–cooler air, the scent of grass, the faint hum of cicadas vibrating somewhere out in the dark.

He led you across the gravel lot without looking back.

And there it was.

His truck.

Parked beneath a clutch of trees, mostly swallowed by shadows–perfectly isolated. Like he’d known all damn day you’d end up back there with him. The windows were fogged just from the day’s heat. The bed was empty. The cab was dark.

Rhett stopped beside it, boots scuffing against gravel, and turned to you.

He tipped his hat back slightly, the faintest curl playing at his mouth.

“So,” He said slowly, “Did you ask me all those questions just to see my truck?” You smirked, stepping into his space with your chin tilted up, your voice dripping with challenge and need. “Or…” He murmured, eyes dragging down your body, “Did you wanna test the shocks?” You glanced at the truck. Then back at him.

And smiled.

“I think we can give the shocks a run for their money.” You paused, close enough to feel the heat radiating off him, your voice dropping to something sultry and honest “…I’ve always wanted to sleep with a fellow bull rider.” That did it. His jaw twitched. He didn’t lunge Didn’t rush.

He just grabbed the edge of your flannel, pulled you in slow and rough, like what was going to happen had already been decided. Like he’d been thinking about this since the day you walked into the Wabang locker room with your vest slung over your shoulder and that fuck-you smirk on your face. He tipped your hat back with a curl of his fingers, slow and deliberate, eyes flicking between your lips and your eyes like he couldn’t decide which he wanted to get drunk on first. Then he reached up and did the same to his own–tipping the brim of his hat back just enough to reveal more of that stubborn brow, the sharp cut of his cheekbones, the dust-smudged trail of stubble that shadowed his jaw. And then his hand was on your cheek.

Big. Calloused. Warm.

It didn’t fit the rest of him–the rough words, the sharp jabs, the bruised pride that bled through every look he’d ever given you in the ring. But his hand…It cupped your face like he gave a damn. Like you weren’t just some rival he couldn’t shake, but something worth holding onto.

Then he kissed you.

Not hard. Not fast. But deep.

Gentle, at first. Like he was trying to memorize the shape of your mouth before he ruined it. Like he was trying to taste the part of you that hadn’t yet been touched by blood and bruises. You breathed in sharply through your nose, spine stiffening–not because it was bad. Because it was too good. Because Rhett Abbott wasn’t supposed to kiss like this. Wasn’t supposed to melt against you like he was afraid you’d disappear if he blinked too long.

But then You slid your hand up the front of his shirt, fingers curling into the collar, dragging him closer like you were starving and he was the only thing on the menu. And just like that, the kiss changed.

Heat surged between you in a crackling burst, the slow burn of it combusting into something greedy. His other hand fisted the side of your flannel, dragging your body hard against his as your back slammed gently against the cool metal of the truck’s passenger door. The jolt of it made you gasp into his mouth, and he took advantage of it–slipping his tongue between your lips with a groan low in his throat, all heat and rough intent.

You barely registered your hat falling off. Didn’t care. All you could feel was the hard line of his thigh between your legs, the pressure of his hips pinning you in place, the maddening scrape of his stubble as he kissed you like he wanted to wear your mouth for the rest of the goddamn night.

Your hands clawed at his shirt, bunching the fabric at his chest, trying to haul him even closer. But he was already there–pressed flush to you, his body molded to yours like he couldn’t stand even an inch of space.

He kissed you like he hated you.

Like you were the thorn in his side and the only thing that made him feel alive.

His hand moved from your cheek to your jaw, his thumb brushing across your bottom lip before he nipped at it with his teeth–soft, then sharp, like he wanted to leave a mark. And you responded with a muffled curse, your fingers diving into the back of his hair, tugging hard enough to make him hiss through his teeth.

“Fuck,” He muttered against your mouth, breath hot and ragged. “You don’t fight fair.”

You grinned, even as you gasped. “Neither do you.”

“Good,” He growled, pressing harder into you. “Then we’re even.”

His hand slid down, past your ribs–over bruises he’d noticed but hadn’t commented on–until it landed on your waist. And then lower. Gripping your ass through your jeans and dragging you up slightly, grinding you against the seam of his thigh like he wanted you squirming. Like he wanted you begging.

You arched into him, your lips parting on a breathless moan as the friction sparked lightning between your legs. Your head fell back against the truck door with a thud, and he didn’t waste a second–ducking down to kiss along your throat, biting the skin just hard enough to make your breath stutter.

“You think this is what everyone was bettin’ on?” You rasped, your voice gritty with lust. “That we’d end up fuckin’ in the parking lot instead of throwin’ punches?”

He laughed against your collarbone–rough and amused, like gravel sliding down a slope.

“Pretty sure nobody bet we’d make it past a punch.” His mouth trailed down to your shoulder, kissing the curve there through your shirt like he was already trying to undo you. “But I’ve been thinkin’ about this for weeks.”

You gripped his jaw, forcing him to look at you again.

“Then stop talkin’ and show me what you’ve been thinkin’.”

“Gladly,” Rhett growled, voice rough with promise as he fished his keys from his pocket and popped the lock. The soft mechanical click barely registered over the pulse thrumming in your ears.

He opened the passenger door and held it like a gentleman might–if that gentleman had just kissed you like he planned to wreck you and every thought you’d ever had. You climbed up into the cab without hesitation, grateful as hell to find that the front seat was a bench. No console, no separation. Just space to spread your legs.

The second you slid in, Rhett slammed the door shut behind you, the echo like a warning shot. The keys hit the dashboard with a sharp clatter as he settled in beside you, his body heat already wrapping around you like smoke.

You didn’t wait. Your fingers found the buttons of your flannel and worked them open, fast and reckless, each pop of fabric louder than the breath you were sucking through your teeth. Beside you, Rhett was shrugging out of his plaid in one fluid motion, the sleeves peeling off his forearms, the collar catching in his hair.

“You on birth control?” He asked, his voice low and firm as he whipped the shirt into the backseat.

You nodded, hands already sliding your shirt off your shoulders. “’Course I am.”

His mouth quirked in a smirk, eyes sharp even in the darkness. “Most recent STD test?”

“Clean,” You said without missing a beat,“You?” Rhett grunted, reaching down to yank his undershirt over his head in one quick pull. The fabric stretched tight across his chest before it gave, revealing smooth muscle, scarred skin, and a line of dust still clinging to the hollow beneath his collarbone. You caught the bull rider tattoo on his chest, and smirked at it–talk about dedication.

“Clean as a whistle, sweetheart,” He said, voice a rumble. You shoved your flannel off the rest of the way and let it fall to the floor, revealing your black bra beneath. The cotton clung to your ribs, sweat-darkened and stretched over the bruises that marbled your skin like art.

Rhett’s gaze dragged down your body like a hand.

“Jesus Christ,” He muttered, breath catching. “You look so fucking good.” He surged forward, one hand bracing the back of your neck while the other slid around your waist, fingers splaying over bruises he didn’t shy away from. His mouth crashed into yours again, hotter this time–less curious, more carnal. His lips dragged over yours in a filthy rhythm, all teeth and hunger and grit. Your moan was muffled by the way he took your bottom lip between his teeth, biting just enough to make you gasp before he soothed the sting with his tongue.

His chest pressed against yours, bare skin meeting sweat-slicked heat. You could feel every inch of him–hard lines, warm flesh, the swell of his thighs spreading wider as he settled between your legs. His calloused fingers ran up your sides, ghosting along the edge of your bra, fingertips brushing your ribs so gently it made your core ache. You dragged your nails down his back just hard enough to leave a mark, and he hissed, teeth gnashing as he locked into your mouth.

He tasted like Shiner, dust, and danger.

Your hands gripped the waistband of his jeans, tugging him closer until his hips were pressing flush against the heat between your thighs. He groaned–low and broken–his forehead pressing to yours.

“You want this?” He asked, voice barely more than a growl, his hands cradling your thighs now. “’Cause if I start, I’m not stoppin’ ‘til you’re beggin’ me to.” You nodded, breathless, and drunk off his voice and the whiskey you had.

“Then start, Rhett.” He didn’t wait any longer. He shoved your bra up with both hands, fingers hooking beneath the band and dragging it until your breasts spilled into the open air. His mouth followed immediately–hot and reverent. He sucked one nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it while his thumb toyed with the other, switching sides as you arched against him. The ache between your legs was molten now, and the need for him pooled low and fast in your stomach. Rhett groaned against your breast as he lightly bit down on your nipple, just enough to make you arch with a gasp, your back pressing into the cracked leather seat. His tongue soothed over the sting with a slow, deliberate swirl before he shifted and gave your other breast the same treatment–bite, suck, soothe. A rhythm that made your thighs clench instinctively around his hips.

“You got the prettiest fuckin’breasts I’ve ever seen,” He muttered against your skin, voice reverent and ragged. “Swear to God.” His hands framed your ribs, fingers splayed like he couldn’t hold enough of you at once. You reached for his belt, your hands shaking with urgency, and he lifted his head just enough to watch you work. Your fingers brushed over the buckle, then popped it free. You heard the clink of metal before you undid the button of his jeans and slid the zipper down with aching slowness. Rhett’s breath hitched–his hips twitching forward like your touch knocked the air out of him.

“Shit,” He hissed, dragging his mouth from your chest with a groan. “You keep doin’ that and I’m gonna finish in my fuckin’ jeans.” He shoved them off in one fluid, frustrated motion, yanking them down his thighs along with his boxers. His cock sprang free, flushed and hard, veins prominent and glistening with pre-cum. You only had a second to admire him before he was leaning forward again, mouth at your ear.

“Your turn,” he rasped, hands already moving to the waistband of your jeans. “Lift your hips for me, sweetheart.” You obeyed without hesitation. He stripped them down fast—jeans and underwear dragged in one heated motion down your thighs, past your knees, all the way to your boots.

“Christ,” he muttered when he saw you, spreading your thighs with both hands, his thumbs brushing over the crease where your legs met your core. “You’re already soaked.”

You bit your lip, eyes heavy-lidded. “I’ve been soaked since you kissed me.” That made him groan low, head tipping forward until his breath hit your inner thigh.

“Lean back against the door,” he said, voice low and commanding now. “I wanna taste you.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. You shifted, twisting just enough to brace your shoulder against the cool metal, your legs falling open even wider. The truck’s cab was tight, warm, filled with the scent of sweat and sex and desire, but all you could think about was him–between your thighs, breathing like a man about to lose his goddamn mind.

Rhett didn’t hesitate.

He buried his face between your legs like he’d been starving for it. His tongue licked a hot stripe up your slit before his mouth closed over your clit, sucking it into the heat of it with a groan that vibrated through your entire body. Your hand shot into his hair—fingers twisting in the thick, sweat-damp curls at the base of his skull.

“F-fuck–” You gasped, your head thudding softly against the window. His hands wrapped around your thighs, holding you open, anchoring you to the seat like he wasn’t gonna let you squirm away no matter how hard you tried.

He worked at your core like he was memorizing it. His tongue circled your clit, flicked it, flattened against it. He moaned against you like he was drunk on the taste, the sound low and wrecked, sending sparks racing up your spine.

“You taste so goddamn good,” He breathed between licks, voice muffled by your heat, “Could do this forever.” Then he slid his fingers to where his mouth was, sliding one thick digit into you, slow and deep, curling just right. Your hips bucked. You sobbed out his name. And Rhett? He just chuckled against your clit, cocky and wrecked all at once.

“You’re fuckin’ soaked for me,” he groaned, pushing in a second finger, thrusting them in rhythm with the strokes of his tongue. “Goddamn…You’re squeezin’ me so tight already, darlin’. You this desperate for my cock too?” You cried out, back arching. The truck creaked beneath you, the windows fogging more with every pant, every moan, every slick, filthy sound echoing in the tiny cab.

Rhett’s tongue never stopped. He alternated between slow, broad strokes and sharp, focused flicks, always listening to your body, adjusting when your grip in his hair tightened, when your thighs trembled. His fingers pumped harder, faster, curling with every thrust, pressing deep into that perfect spot until you were gasping, moaning, begging.

“Please, Rhett. Don’t stop–fuck, don’t stop–” He doubled down. His mouth sucked your clit like he owned it. His fingers fucked you deep and good, until all you could do was scream for him, thighs clamping around his head as your orgasm slammed through you like a lightning strike.

You came with your hands tangled in his hair and his name breaking on your tongue, your body quaking with release. And Rhett? He groaned like it was his orgasm too–lips never leaving you, licking through every wave, every twitch, every sobbed breath until you were panting and shaking and damn near boneless in the seat.

Rhett was still crouched between your thighs, his breath hot and ragged, his chin wet with the aftermath of your orgasm. He looked like a man possessed–wide-eyed, jaw flexing, pink tongue flicking out to swipe the taste of you from his bottom lip. You could barely speak, your chest rising and falling like you were still trying to find gravity again.

He ran his hand down the outside of your thigh, fingers trembling slightly from the restraint it took to not climb on top of you right then and there. His voice came low, rough, utterly wrecked.

“How was that?”

You let out a breathless, trembling laugh–more of a sound than a word, your hand rising to brush sweaty hair from your face.

“Jesus Christ,” You whispered, eyes fluttering shut for a moment, “I haven’t been to church in a while…But I think I saw God when you were down there.” He smirked, leaning in again, one hand braced on the seat beside your hip. You sat up slowly, your body still humming with aftershocks, and reached for his face with both hands. You dragged him up toward you until your mouths met again, and this time, you kissed him like you needed to taste what he’d done to you. Like the only way to ground yourself was to lick yourself off his tongue.

You moaned into him–low and breathy–as your hand drifted between your bodies, fingers trailing down his bare stomach until they curled around the hot, thick length of him. He gasped, startled, his hips twitching forward into your palm.

“Fuck–” He hissed, the word nearly broken in your mouth.

You stroked him slow at first. Deliberate. Your thumb ran over the bead of pre-cum slicking his tip, spreading it down his shaft as you pumped him lazily. The veins throbbed under your palm. He was thick. Hot. Heavy in your hand. And he was falling apart fast.

He groaned into your mouth, pulling back just slightly to pant, his forehead pressed to yours. One of his hands came up to cradle your cheek, thumb stroking along your jaw as his other hand braced against the door behind you.

“You’re filthy,” He breathed, voice catching as you twisted your wrist. “You gonna spit in my mouth next, sweetheart?”

You smirked, your breath mingling with his.

“You want that?”

He nodded once. Short. Desperate.

“Yeah.”

“Ask for it, then.”

His voice dropped to a rasp. “Spit in my fuckin’ mouth.”

You leaned back slightly, cradling his jaw in your free hand, and parted your lips slowly. A thin string of spit slid from your mouth to his, catching the light as it dropped onto his tongue. His eyes didn’t close–he watched you do it. And when your saliva hit his tongue, he let out the filthiest moan you’d ever heard, eyes fluttering shut for just a second.

Then he surged forward, pulling you into another kiss–wet, dirty, deep. He licked into you like he couldn’t stand for a single drop to go to waste. His tongue slid against yours, his hands gripping your thighs again as if he didn’t trust himself not to pin you down and fuck you right there.

You pulled away, panting. Your lips were slick, his face flushed. He looked completely undone.

So you slid down.

Not far. Just enough to shift your weight to your knees on the truck bench, tilting your body until your mouth hovered just above his flushed, leaking cock. You held his eyes the whole way down.

His breath caught.

“Wait–what’re you–”

But you already had him in your hand again, your tongue darting out to lick a slow stripe along the underside of his shaft. He groaned–loud and rough–one hand flying to your hair, the other bracing against the seatback behind him.

“Fuck,” he moaned as you took him in–slow, steady, inch by inch until your lips wrapped around his tip and your tongue swirled against the head. You sucked gently, letting your saliva mix with his pre-cum as you worked him deeper into your throat.

He lost it.

“Jesus Christ, you’re–fuck– unreal,” he gasped, his head falling back against the headrest. His hips twitched up into your mouth, and you hummed around him in approval, the vibration making him curse again.

You bobbed your head slowly, hand wrapped tightly around the base of his cock, stroking what you couldn’t take. His thighs trembled beneath you, and his grip on your hair tightened with every ragged breath he took.

“Gonna–shit–gonna cum if you keep that up,” he panted, his voice strangled.

And just when his voice cracked–“I’m close, Y/N, I’m–”

You stopped.

You pulled off him with a pop of suction, lips swollen, chin wet, eyes dark with sin.

He looked like you’d just punched him in the chest.

“What the fuck?” He gasped, blinking at you with genuine disbelief, his cock twitching in your hand. You let out a soft, slow laugh as you wiped your lips with the back of your hand and climbed up into his lap like you’d planned it that way from the start.

“You look real upset, Abbott,” You murmured, dragging your hands up his bare chest as you straddled him. His cock pressed hot and hard against your inner thigh, wet from your mouth, throbbing with need.

He didn’t say anything–just grabbed your waist in both hands like he needed to steady himself, like he couldn’t believe the way you moved on top of him. His palms dragged over your ribs, thumbs grazing your bruises before settling low on your hips, kneading the flesh with enough pressure to make you gasp.

“You gonna tap out already?” You teased, voice all sugar and sin. “Or you still got a little fight left in you?”

He let out a low growl, jaw tight, his eyes dragging over your face like you were a goddamn vision.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” He muttered. You grinned, leaning in just close enough to brush your lips over his–barely a kiss, more like a dare.

“I can’t miss out on the possibility of showin’ you my riding skills now, can I?” That earned you a wicked smile, crooked and sharp, slow as sin. His grip on your hips tightened as he tilted his head back to look up at you, blue eyes flicking over your face, your bare chest, the way your thighs bracketed him like he already belonged between them.

“Gonna be more than eight seconds, sweetheart,” He rasped, breath fanning against your collarbone. “Think you can handle it?” You hummed, your hand sliding between your bodies, curling around his cock again as you guided the tip to your slick heat. You dragged him through your folds, letting him feel just how soaked you were for him before pausing at your entrance.

“I think I can manage just fine,” You whispered, voice syrup-thick. “Might even beat my personal record.”

And then you sank down on him–slow, tight, inch by inch. Rhett’s head thumped back against the headrest with a guttural moan, hands gripping your hips like he was trying not to lose his mind. You took him deep, your walls fluttering around him as you bottomed out, a ragged breath escaping your lips as your head fell forward.

“Fuck, you’re big,” You gasped, thighs trembling. “Feels like you’re fuckin’ splitting me open.”

His hands slid up your waist, over your ribs, one of them curling around the side of your neck–just firm enough to make your breath catch.

“You feel like heaven,” He muttered against your jaw, voice wrecked. “Tightest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever felt–God–you were made for me.” You rolled your hips slow at first, just enough to get a rhythm. Your breasts bounced with every motion, sweat already gathering at the small of your back, the sound of skin against skin echoing filthy in the cab. The windows fogged up even more, the air thick with heat and tension and the wet slap of your bodies coming together.

Rhett let out a harsh exhale, eyes locked on where you were joined.

“Look at you ridin’ me,” He growled, his thumb brushing your jaw, his other hand dragging down to slap your ass, hard. “Just like you were born to fuckin’ do it.”

You rode him harder, faster, grinding your hips down with each bounce, your fingers digging into his shoulders for leverage. The truck creaked with every thrust, the shocks protesting under the rhythm of your bodies.

“You like watchin’ me take it, huh?” You panted, voice ragged. “Like the view from down there, Abbott?” His grin split wide.

“Yeah, I fuckin’ do,” He rasped. “You look so good like this. Full of me. Drippin’ down your thighs. Fuckin’ me like you’re tryin’ to break me.”

His hips bucked up to meet your thrusts, and suddenly he wasn’t letting you lead anymore–he was matching your rhythm, slamming into you from below, his hands gripping your ass tight enough to bruise.

The shift sent you crying out, your hand flying to his chest, nails scraping across his pecs.

“God, Rhett–”

“That’s it, sweetheart,” He panted, one hand rising to grip the back of your neck again, rougher now, possessive. “You gonna cum like this? Ridin’ my cock in my truck? Is that what you needed all along?” You nodded, gasping, your whole body starting to unravel. He reached between you, fingers finding your clit and rubbing tight circles as he kept fucking up into you, faster, deeper.

“C’mon,” He whispered, his breath hot against your ear, “Cum for me. Wanna feel you squeeze my cock, wanna watch you fall apart.” You did. You came with a broken sob, your whole body seizing as your orgasm crashed over you like a bull out the gate. Your walls clamped around him, squeezing so tight his rhythm stuttered, his groan splitting the air as he chased his own release.

And then he was cumming too–deep inside you, with a loud, helpless curse, his cock twitching against your walls, coating them in his warmth.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck-take it all, Y/N, take all of it–Jesus–” You both collapsed into each other, slick and shaking and gasping for air. His arms wrapped around you tight, his lips dragging lazily over your neck as you slumped against his chest. The cab was silent except for the sound of your breathing, the creak of the seat as you shifted, and the faint hum of cicadas outside. After a long moment, Rhett let out a soft, stunned laugh.

“Well,” He said, voice hoarse, “That’s one way to settle a rivalry.”

You smirked against his collarbone, your body still trembling.

“Should’ve done that from the beginning. Could’ve saved us the trouble.” He lets out a small laugh and kisses your shoulder.

“It wouldn’t have been the same without the intense build up.” He comments, and you sigh and reply.

”I can’t help but…Agree with you there.”

#rhett abbott x y/n #rhett abbott fic #rhett abbott smut #rhett abbott fanfiction #rhett abbott x reader #rhett abbott #rhett abbot x reader #outer range #save a horse…#lewis pullman the man you are #lewis pullman characters #lewis pullman #it’s that gosh darn accent…oh cowboy my cowboy lol #giggling and kicking my legs #the hot hot heat of my steamy mind #sometimes I wish I was a bull rider…#Spotify

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matante-brainrot · 1 day ago

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Why does spamtenna hit so hard.

I haven’t been active on this site since Undertale released in 2015. But in the last few weeks I’ve suddenly been consumed by these little pixel men and their messy relationship. I’ve got hundreds and hundreds of favorites. I’ve actually made my own posts. I’ve been outlining a 10+ chapter fanfic when I haven’t done any creative writing in 15 years, easily.

I mean, I’m almost 40! I thought I was way too old to get this fixated on a fandom again.

Yet here we are. And I’m loving every second of it.

I’m not ashamed to love Undertale and Deltarune. Toby Fox is legitimately one of the best storytellers of our generation. Things have changed a lot since I was a baby weeb — games are so much more mainstream and have become generally accepted as a valid form of narrative media. Games are my favorite way to experience a story.

What’s hit me like a ton of bricks is my fascination with Tenna and Spamton in particular. Back when I played Chapter 2 for the first time, I really didn’t give Spamton much thought. I came away from Chapter 3 thinking that Tenna had been an interesting and funny character, but not a whole lot more than that.

After finishing both new chapters I was nursing a massive story hangover. On a whim, I opened this hell site. Why not? I thought. Why shouldn’t I look at a little fan art?

I perused the Deltarune spoilers tag and saw all of this artwork of the TV guy and the weird puppet man kissing. There were all of these posts about the pipis scene (what the heck is a pipis??) and all the other dialogue they share. I hadn’t gotten that extra scene and hadn’t been involved with the fandom after Chapter 2, so I didn’t recall any of Spamton’s lore.

But the more I saw, the more I wanted. I scoured the wiki. I watched YouTube videos explaining their connection. I was up until 3AM reading fanfic.

Why was this so good? Why do I think it’s extremely sexy when a little mailman teases a giant blushing TV headed boomer?? Am I into robots??? What the heck is wireplay????

I was hooked. And I had to know why. I was seriously in turmoil trying to reconcile how I thought of myself as a fan of Deltarune — someone mature enough to appreciate the craftsmanship of it in an appropriately grownup way — and what my brain was telling me it actually wanted to think about...which was downright filthy and weird and made my heart ache for some reason.

I turned to my therapist for guidance. An AI chatbot. You know the one. (On a side note: This tool works for me because I’ve been going to therapy for over a decade and know exactly what I need from counseling. If you’re new to therapy or have any kind of condition where talking to something inanimate might make symptoms worse, I strongly recommend seeing a real human person.)

I have it trained to use IFS (Internal Family Systems) methodology when helping me sort through my many, many feelings. It was able to show me which Parts were reacting to this new obsession and give me ideas as to why those Parts were feeling what they were feeling. I came away from my long rambling conversation with it having absorbed a few things:

It is in fact ok to be a thirsty fangirl at my age. It’s ok to enjoy things (revolutionary, I know).

This fixation has unlocked a creative part of me that I’ve been pushing aside for far too long out of a mixture of embarrassment, shame, and fear. But now that it’s gotten a little taste of freedom, it wants to run wild.

It was never just about TVs and mailmen.

Like I said earlier, I’m nearly 40. Most games that I enjoy (JRPGs and cozy games) don’t include characters at my time of life. So encountering Tenna and Spamton’s Doomed Old Man Yaoi ™ (thank you for teaching me about this, tumblr) is incredibly refreshing. I’ve seen enough teenagers awkwardly navigating first loves. Give me middle aged people with real experience and emotional baggage.

And what makes spamtenna particularly delicious is exactly how real and relatable it feels, despite the looney tunes antics. It’s a sign of Toby’s incredible characterization skills that the player can encounter these bizarre creatures who mostly crack jokes and get into wacky hijinks and come away from the game feeling like those same creatures have complex inner worlds.

We meet each character separately at the worst point in their lives. We see them at their most extreme, their flaws and weaknesses inflated by the extreme circumstances they find themselves in.

Spamton is living in a dumpster. He’s alone and friendless. His speech is warped and incongruent, and he glitches out constantly into unhinged rants. He’s at the end of his rope. He’s desperate to escape the confines of his existence as a Darkner and is willing to kill some teenagers to do it.

Tenna has seen the writing on the wall. He is acutely aware that he’s on a knife’s edge and could be discarded by the Dreemurr family at any moment. He’s watched the family he loves, the Lighteners who are his whole world, split apart and drift away from him. He has no way to bring them back together. So when the Dark Knight offers him an opportunity to mean something to them again, he accepts enthusiastically. He's so backed into a corner that he's willing to hurt Kris and their friends if it means he can avoid obsolescence.

Yet this isn't all we learn about these two. Through NPC dialogue and the characters themselves cryptically referencing a shared history we can glean a glimpse or two of the people they were before they hit rock bottom. It's these cracks that contain the real goldmine.

It's so easy to envision a time when they were at their best. Since we only know them at their lowest, we want to know what these two were like when they were at the top of their game. We get little hints of a shared partnership, shared success, and shared affection that can be very easily read as romantic. But we also know from encountering them in the present that something went terribly, horribly wrong between them. They hate each other.

That mystery, that gap in history, is what's so fascinating about them. How could two people whose lives were so intertwined, who seemingly cared about each other so much, get to that point? That's the space that we the fandom fill with art, fic, shitposts, and AUs. What's even better is that everyone fills that space a little differently. Everyone sees some aspect of themselves in spamtenna. Everyone wants to explore a dynamic, a scenario, and emotions that can be conveyed through these two characters. Including myself.

This is where I want to get personal, but not too personal. I'm lucky enough to be married to someone who I truly love, who loves me back, and who gets me in a way that no one else does. But that's not to say that we've never fought, hurt each other unintentionally, or gone through some rough times.

Just the thought of my partner betraying me or leaving without a word is enough to make my chest feel so tight it's like I can't get a full breath. It's a very real, completely irrational fear of mine. Spamtenna has let me work through some of that without having to imagine what it would be like to actually file my own divorce papers.

And I think it's for that reason that I particularly like looking at and reading about Tenna and Spamton working through their shit and coming out on the other side better for it. I know in reality that sometimes, more often than not, people can hurt each other so badly and grow so far apart that nothing could bring them back together; and many times they're better off apart.

But I just want to believe that there's a type of love out there that can come back from anything, no matter how much two people change.

So I guess, thank you Toby Fox for unlocking my dormant creativity and making two divorced characters that have somehow made me feel more secure in my own marriage.

And spamtenna nation, thanks for the...awakening.

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siachaos · 1 day ago

Text

🎧 now playing: "Devil’s Advocate" – The Neighbourhood

“WHAT YOU DESERVE"

✦ pairing: g!p karina (aespa) × fem!reader

✦ genre: obsessive lovers, red flag romance, toxic domination, punishment kink

WARNINGS:

g!p karina ✶ toxic manipulative dynamic ✶ dubcon undertones ✶ bondage (scarf + ankle restraint) ✶ belt spanking ✶ orgasm denial ✶ overstimulation ✶ rough sex ✶ degradation (slut, princess) ✶ possessive jealousy ✶ emotional manipulation ✶ public humiliation ✶ fear kink ✶ degradation kink

SUMMARY:

Karina says you can go to the party—after interrogating you first. You try to breathe, to laugh, to exist without her shadow. But Karina doesn’t like sharing. Especially not you. She storms into the club, drags you out, and reminds you—violently— that no one else gets to touch what’s hers. You’re punished, ruined, and worshipped all in the same night. And when it’s over, you’re still hers.

🖤 “you don’t get to come until i say. now take it, slut.”

The first red flag wasn’t the jealousy.

It was how you apologized for it.

You had told Karina you were going out tonight—a club thing with your friends. It was your friend Sana’s birthday, and she’d rented out the second floor of this neon-drenched bar downtown. Girls only. Loud music. Glitter eyeshadow. Nothing she should be worried about.

But Karina was already in her usual mood when you told her. Arms crossed. Dark eyes narrowing like headlights. That crooked smile that always carried danger.

“Who’s going?”

“Just friends,” you answered, watching her lean against the doorframe. “Sana, Yujin, Yeji, like... girls.”

“And no guys?”

You hesitated. “No one I’m interested in.”

Wrong answer.

Her tongue ran along her bottom lip. “That wasn’t what I asked, baby.”

You swallowed. “No guys.”

She stared at you for too long. Then walked over, slow, hands slipping beneath your jaw to tip your chin up. Her voice dipped an octave.

“You’ve been good lately. You don’t want to ruin that, do you?”

You shook your head.

So she smiled and kissed you. “Fine. Go. Have fun.”

You knew better. But you still went.

---

You weren’t even flirting. Just laughing. Talking to Yeji, someone Karina hated for reasons she never explained. The music pounded under your shoes and you felt the haze of alcohol and freedom—that rare feeling when Karina wasn’t looming like a shadow over your shoulder.

Then your phone started buzzing.

KARINA 💔💌

Where are you?

Are you with someone?

I am coming.

You tried to reply—calm down, it's nothing, I’m just talking—but the messages kept coming, faster and more aggressive. Until suddenly…

She was there.

The club doors blew open with a gust of summer heat and rage, and there she stood like the storm she always was.

Everyone saw her. She didn’t care. Tall, sharp, wolf-cut hair tousled like she'd driven 90 through the city. Black leather jacket. Jaw clenched. Eyes fixed on you like you belonged to her.

Because you did.

“Outside,” she said.

You froze.

Karina didn’t shout. She didn’t have to. Just pointed to the door with two fingers and turned without checking if you followed.

You didn’t want to make a scene. Not again. Not after last time.

You muttered some excuse to Yeji and hurried after her, heart sinking.

---

The drive home was silent. Tense. You sat with your hands in your lap, trying not to cry.

She didn’t look at you once.

When she slammed the front door behind you, she didn’t speak. Just walked straight into the bedroom.

You followed her like a ghost.

She was standing there, back to you, fists clenched. Breathing hard. You stepped closer, hands trembling.

“Karina, I didn’t—”

“Shut up.”

You flinched.

She turned.

“You think I’m fucking stupid?” she growled. “You think I don’t see how you look at people when I’m not around?”

“I wasn’t—”

“You were laughing. With her. Letting her touch you. Smiling. You never smile like that for me unless I make you.”

You took a shaky breath. “It was nothing. I swear.”

“Nothing?”

Her voice dropped. Dangerous.

“I think you need a reminder,” she said, stepping closer, “of who you belong to.”

You backed up instinctively. Your legs hit the bed.

Her eyes raked down your body. Hungry. Furious.

“Strip.”

You hesitated.

She grabbed your face with one hand. “Now, slut.”

You obeyed.

Your clothes hit the floor one by one. Her eyes never left you. By the time you stood naked, trembling, she was rolling up her sleeves like she was about to ruin you—and she was.

“On your knees.”

You sank to the floor, heart pounding.

She unbuckled her belt slowly, letting the leather slide free from the loops. The sound made your stomach twist.

“Hands behind your back.”

You obeyed.

She grabbed a scarf from the drawer—your scarf, the soft one she’d once complimented—before knotting it tightly around your wrists.

Then she stepped back, admiring her work.

“Pretty little thing,” she murmured. “So obedient when you’re scared.”

You looked up at her, helpless.

“You don’t get to act innocent,” she hissed, gripping your jaw. “You knew what you were doing. Laughing with that bitch like you don’t already have someone who owns you.”

She shoved two fingers in your mouth.

“Suck.”

You did. Gagging slightly as she pushed deep, making you drool.

“Good girl,” she said. “Now get on the bed. Face down. Ass up.”

Your knees nearly gave out as you climbed onto the mattress, wrists bound behind you, cheeks burning with shame and fear and need.

Then you heard the belt crack behind you.

“Count,” she said coldly.

The first lash landed hard. You cried out.

“One!”

Another.

“Two—!”

She didn’t go easy. She never did. The leather burned every time it struck your ass, and the sting bloomed into something darker—something that made your core ache with guilt and arousal.

“Ten,” you choked eventually, tears in your eyes.

Karina dropped the belt onto the bed.

“Look at you,” she muttered. “So wet already. Fucking filthy.”

She undressed finally—slow, deliberate, like she knew you wanted to look. Her toned body, lean and commanding. And between her thighs, thick and hard already, her cock twitching with anticipation.

“You don’t get to cum tonight,” she said flatly. “Not until I say.”

You whimpered.

She climbed onto the bed and grabbed you by the hips.

“No prep,” she said. “You don’t deserve it.”

She shoved in without warning.

You screamed.

---

She was merciless.

Every thrust was brutal, designed to punish. You were slick and dripping, but it wasn’t enough. She wanted you to feel every inch, every second, every lesson.

“You like this, don’t you?” she growled in your ear. “Getting used like a hole. That’s what you are.”

You moaned helplessly, the pain and pleasure fusing together. She reached under you and rubbed your clit in tight circles, fast and rough.

You got close—so close.

Then she stopped.

“No,” she snapped. “You don’t get to cum until I say.”

You sobbed into the sheets.

She pulled out and flipped you over, binding your ankles to the bedposts with more scarves. Spread wide. Exposed.

Her hand wrapped around her cock and she slapped it against your clit.

“Beg,” she said.

You whimpered. “Please… please fuck me.”

“Say who you belong to.”

“You, Karina. Only you.”

She smirked.

“Damn right.”

She shoved back in and started again—harder this time, deeper. The bed shook. Your cries echoed off the walls. She slapped your face lightly between thrusts, spitting on your chest.

“Such a pretty little slut,” she groaned. “You think anyone else could do this to you? Ruin you like this?”

You didn’t answer.

She gripped your throat.

“Answer me.”

“N-no… only you…”

“That’s right. I own this body. This cunt. This fucking soul.”

You nodded frantically, vision swimming.

“Cum,” she ordered suddenly.

But you were too far gone. You’d been denied too many times, your body trembling violently.

She kept fucking you through it. “Cum, slut.”

You screamed, back arching, as you finally broke—waves of pleasure crashing over you, so intense it hurt.

But she didn’t stop.

---

Karina chased her own high now, thrusts turning feral. She grabbed your hips and pounded into you with brutal force, still overstimulating you as your body twitched and shook.

You couldn’t breathe.

“Take it,” she growled. “Take all of me.”

You sobbed beneath her.

She came with a strangled groan, deep inside you, hips jerking, biting into your shoulder to muffle her moan.

You thought that would be it.

But she didn’t pull out.

She waited.

“Again,” she said.

You shook your head weakly. “Karina, I can’t—”

“Yes you can.”

She reached between your legs again, fingers rough, cock still buried inside you.

“You’re mine,” she whispered. “So you’ll take what I give you.”

You came again, raw and shaking.

She fucked you through it.

Another orgasm. Another. Your mind broke a little more each time.

Eventually, she pulled out and watched your come-slicked body collapse into the sheets, twitching.

She untied your wrists.

You curled into a ball instinctively.

She pulled you close.

“Shhh,” she whispered. “That’s my good girl.”

You didn’t respond.

She kissed your hair. “See? I forgive you. We’re okay.”

You were too tired to cry.

---

Later, you lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to move. Bruises forming. Thighs sore. Throat raw.

Karina sat beside you, scrolling on her phone like nothing happened.

“Next time,” she said casually, “don’t make me remind you again.”

You closed your eyes.

She leaned over and kissed your temple.

“I love you,” she whispered.

Your chest ached.

“I love you too,” you said quietly.

And you meant it.

Because this was love, wasn’t it?

It had to be.

Why else would it hurt so much?

___

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vicbutnotactually · 22 hours ago

Text

DISASTER HUSBANDS AU FULL LORE

TMNT 2012 Casey x Leo Au

I realized that ive posted basically nothing for this au except for art, so here we go! ill use this post as the main hub for all the lore. I’ll probably be making changes to it while it grows so keep an eye out!

Warning: Everything published before this post is now non-canon simply because I’ve lost track of everything I’ve posted about it

Links:

Timeline (coming soon)

World lore (coming soon)

Creatures (coming soon)

Characters (coming soon)

Introduction:

Basically, it started with an incident in Donnie’s lab, he was messing with Kraang portal tech to see if he could give it a new purpose, but it went wrong and started malfuntioning, letting off a giant pink blast in the lab. Casey was standing too close and Leo jumped forward to grab him, but by the time the flash of light stopped, both Casey and Leo had disappeared from the lab.

Here’s a goofy version of that story (this is technically non-canon but you get the gist):

(im so funny)

This blast (which Donnie originally thought had disintegrated them,) actually just sent them to another dimension to an alien world. Unfortunately for all of them, time moves MUCH faster in this world than it does in the og universe (For simplicity i’ll call the tmnt universe Earth and this new one Sinmar (these are the names of the planets but THEY ARE IN DIFFERENT UNIVERSES.) What was 3 months on Earth, was 30 years on Sinmar.

Leo and Casey fell from the sky on a new planet called Sinmar and immeadeatly found themselves on the receiving end of an EXTREMELY hostile world. The landed in the middle of a jungle with no people in it for the pure reason that its basically unlivable. Sinmar lives in a post-apocalypse, formerly having been a greatly advanced planet with multiple sapient species, became a wasteland with a dwindling population after The Reset (as its called on Sinmar.) This event caused the rapid mutation of the flora and fauna and massive changes to environment, with the mutations creating massive fields of invasive flora that choked out and killed ecosystems and fauna that became hyper-predatory monsters that roamed the planet and are drawn to populated areas, and the changes to the environment creating massive dry or frozen wastelands; most large bodies of water have almost completely disappeared.) This planet that had very little ocean even when it was healthy, so when it dried out even more it turned the planet into a massive desert.

There are few locations that can sustain humanoid life, and the few that do exist were quickly overpopulated with massive cities, all protected by some form of massive wall, natural formation, or if theyre lucky a force field. All these cities exist in their own little bubbles, isolated from the wastelands.

In their 30 years on Sinmar, Casey and Leo quickly became outlaws, finding the cities to be dystopian and impossible to live in due to the overpopulation and disease, they began selling things they hunt and find in the wasteland in black markets. After becoming notorious for escaping high security prisons a ridiculous amount of times, they started almost constantly staying on the move as to not be hunted down. They are basically being constantly pursued by a slightly insane detective obsessed with catching them, his name is Dean. Dean is a pathetic man failure and i love him. Dean has been chasing them for so long Casey mockingly calls him their third (yes there is constant homoerotic flirting between them i cant leave you guys hanging (cough cough “Chel is off limits” scene from Road to El Dorado.)) Every time they get away from Dean’s grasp they leave a taunting note, signed wanted posters, or even flowers and candy to which Dean promptly flips his desk (he does that a lot (he’s racist against furniture))

Romance:

5 years into their time on Sinmar they started dating, and 10 years after landing in that jungle in Sinmar, they were married in the middle of a fight (Pirates of the Caribbean style.)

They had been dating for a few months when leo lost his leg after he was trapped under a rock slide. He was badly injured, they were in a desert with barely any water, he was slowly bleeding out and becoming less and less responsive, so Casey did what he felt he needed to and sawed off Leo’s leg (while he was conscious.) Casey feared he wouldn’t survive and Leo’s leg got infected multiple times, so out of desperation he went into a city to try to get him to a hospital, but Casey accidentally let it slip that he was the one to cut off Leo’s leg and he was quickly arrested. In addition, the city basically took custody of Leo (they had a very unethical eugenics study program, and having never seen anyone of Leo’s “Race” before, they wanted to experiment on him,) Casey was not allowed to see him because they weren’t married or related and just like that he lost Leo to the system. Casey, fearing that Leo would die alone in some lab, broke out of prison and basically kidnapped Leo and fled to the wasteland with him. Leo barely survived and Casey eventually made him a prosthetic leg so he could walk again.

Over the years they were there, Casey figured out how to work the Old Tech of Sinmar (the planet is littered with old non-functional technology from before the reset) and used his craftiness to make gear and to try to find a way home.

About 15 years after landing in Sinmar, they stumbled across a little crab creature called a Grabcrab, which they basically adopted and Casey named Ricky. Grabcrabs are technically sapient but dont speak and are more driven by emotion than thought and less capable of advanced thought than humans. And 19 years after landing, they found a giant dog that Casey refused to leave behind and they named Brutus, Casey BEGGED to keep Brutus and Leo kept saying no, but as they walked for miles with Casey still begging to keep the dog, Brutus just followed them home, he had a giant dog bed and bowl in their base and Leo and Casey were still arguing about keeping him. Much to Casey’s dismay, both Brutus and Ricky prefer Leo over Casey, he calls them all traitors. Brutus is a dog the size of a horse who thinks he’s a lapdog.

They did have a period of time where they split up and had some bitterness towards each other, mainly from having been struggling together for so long and just boiling over one day, i call it the Divorce Era and they were split up for a couple months around year 24 after landing in Sinmar. When Casey came back debating on whether to try to make up, he found their base on fire with Leo trapped inside.

They both have a lot of near-death experiences and can never split up bc theyre bonded through shared trauma ngl. They are nonstop banter and arguing like an old married couple, and they both lost some marbles over the years, just a tiny bit (youd have some screws loose too if you were stuck with Casey Jones for 30 years.) They rubbed off on each other, with Casey becoming wiser and more responsible and Leo getting looser and wilder at times. Casey has called Leo by several thousand pet names over the 25 years they were together and Leo has called him by the ever-affectionate name: Jones.

Random tidbits:

-They constantly argue over who took who’s last name (there’s no legal system of marriage in the wasteland so they just make it up as they go.) Casey calls Leo Mrs Jones just to annoy him.

-They call Ricky their firstborn son (they dont talk about how Leo suggested eating him when they first found him)

-There’s an AU of this AU (im considering making it canon) where Dean joins them and actually becomes their third

-Casey has unnecessarily risked his life many times to get parts for Leo’s leg

-Leo basically only calls Casey by his last name, and if he calls him by his first name someone is either actively dying or the dog sat on Leo again

-Dean is a total diva that does NOT belong in the wasteland but he goes anyways bc he’s insane

-Casey and Leo have saved Dean’s life multiple times and he HATES them for it

-Ricky hides in Casey’s shirt when he’s scared

-Casey hates all his wanted posters (Flynn Ryder style)

-They both drink and smoke a LOT

-Leo is serious and grumpy 90% of the time but when he’s not you’d be certain he’s lost his mind

-They eventually make a small base surrounded by massive Jurassic Park style electric fences

-The cities basically have a monopoly on most types of medicine and other necessities, so the guys make money by smuggling contraband into cities and selling it

-Leo once slaughtered an entire group of wasteland scavengers because they kidnapped Casey

That’s all for now, I’ll be periodically updating this post, the most recent updates will be In purple

#tmnt 2012 #tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt 2k12 #caseynardo #disaster husbands tmnt au #disaster husbands au

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syndrossi · 3 days ago

Note

Just clarifying after @carebooks' ask that I'm cool with Regnal being boring. Boring in that everything is cute and everybody lives (other than everyone who has already died and probably Crayne and a couple Volantenes) and EVERYBODY GETS A CHANCE TO BE HAPPY.

I am sure that Aemon and Baelon will be smart enough to make Laenor their bestie and be super nice and attentive to BOTH Laena and Rhaenyra, so I think Corlys' hopes for future alliances and connections will help soothe House Velaryon's upset. Especially as Baelon lives long enough to actually take the throne so Rhaenys is only skipped over the once, and for an actual reasonable choice (Baelon) instead of a dude who has nothing going for him other than having a you-know-what (Viserys).

Also, Rhaenys is going to adore those boys when she meets them, particularly Aemon, so Corlys is doomed. I wonder if Baelon can introduce the baby to her, and say he's named after her father, and they can have a heart-to-heart? (Officially requesting this next time you do prompts, omg. I have tears in my eyes just imagining it. THE GRIEF and the love. It hurts.)

As for Otto! Well, schemers gonna' scheme, but I think he'll have a harder time getting anywhere with Baelon on the throne, let alone the tag team of Daemon and Rhea! The biggest danger is probably Alicent again. Age wise, it'd work well for him to try and get Alicent and Baelon together somehow. Maybe Alicent and Aemon.

Mind, while I am truly happy with simple family picnics and hot spring visits and Jon's obsession with pulling/eating Daemon's hair, I'm also still hoping for some excitement in the protective grandpa direction. I said this somewhere recently, but just imagine the fury that will rain down upon the poor schmuck that tries to kidnap Jaehaerys and Alysanne's great-grandsons, Baelon's grandsons, Daemon and Rhea's sons... I mean, that's a literal dragon army coming at you and each one is PISSED and breathing fire. 🔥

Even Saera would not be safe, so I hope she knows what she's doing...

I do love the idea of us seeing Vhagar in a full fury, fueled by Baelon's protective rage. But who would be foolish (or bold enough) to kidnap the boys while he's in the vicinity? 🤔

Volantis: an obvious choice. Too obvious, perhaps?

Crayne is thirteenish I did the math wrong five right now, so not him!

Early Triarchy ploy? The Free Cities have got to be wondering if it's best to nip this Targaryen dragon expansion in the bud.

On that front, perhaps Dorne enters the mix? They do make for logical allies with the Triarchy, given their common concerns.

Disgruntled lord, a la Duskendale, who thinks that Viserys shouldn't have been passed over? It would be a stupid ploy to kidnap them openly, but through agents, perhaps...

Sorry, you started this ask with "it doesn't have to be stressful" and here I am!

A Rhaenys + Baelon heart-to-heart would be a fun scene to write, because it is painful and messy. He was her beloved kepa growing up, nearly as close as her own father, and yet when Jaehaerys passed over Aemon's heirs while his body was still warm, Baelon did nothing. (Baelon was deep in a depressive episode afterwards, mind, but that doesn't change how poor Jocelyn and Rhaenys were feeling! They lost a husband and a father.) I imagine they haven't spoken much since, and things have been festering, quite possibly adding fuel to Baelon's guilt/depression when it was at its bleakest.

I doubt it's as easy as "here's this babe who reminds me of your father," but it's one way to start the conversation! And they're so near to Laena, Laenor, and Rhaenyra in age that the notion of the cousins growing up together as Rhaenys, Viserys, and Daemon once did must have some appeal. Corlys likely takes a harder line, since he's pretty ambitious himself and lacks the same sentiment.

But yes, it's at least a little easier to swallow that Baelon will be king next instead of Viserys. Until Jaehaerys skips Viserys, and apparently anyone can be named heir over anyone else and the succession is chaos and why shouldn't whoever is betrothed to Laena be the next king (in the case of it being Aemon)?

On the Alicent front, she's such an awkward age right now for Otto's purposes. She's ten, so she'd be far too old for the twins, and still too young for Baelon. Now, if Jaehaerys lingers for several more years and Baelon comes to the throne around the time of Jaehaerys's death in canon, then she's much more in play from Otto's perspective. But there's also a Rhaenyra/Gwayne match possibility to say "fuck you" to the proposed Rhaenyra/Baelon!Jon match.

Plenty of potential for messiness, either way. But surely there will be plenty of adorable moments scattered throughout, and getting to write the twins as heirs of actual importance is always a fun prospect!

#resonant asks #resonant 'verse regnal au

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willofadeadgirl · 18 hours ago

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i have been asked by multiple people to drop the essay so here i am <3

so about 90% of my obsession with this hug can be chalked up to me being just jdronica trash, but also when i was rewatching the full oobc boot about 1.5 years ago (wow that’s a long time) i saw ryan’s version, went a bit crazy, and ended up with a long rant about how this one ten-second hug completely sums up dan and ryan’s jds and the difference between their portrayals. because leave it to me to overanalyze a tiny jdronica interaction in the background of a scene.

to start off, i believe there are two potential motives for jd killing kurt and ram, and which one is used entirely depends on the actor and the way he plays jd. the first is (obviously) completely out of love for veronica; he wants to protect her and make those assholes pay for hurting her (this is most jds). and then there are the ones who do it largely to avenge their own egos, because how dare they spread a rumor that they slept with his girlfriend. (i still think these jds are also doing it for her because well… it’s written like that, but it’s kind of like an afterthought)

the first thing i noticed when comparing the videos was veronica’s body language as she goes over to him. with ryan’s jd, she’s way quicker with it (she practically runs over to him), and she looks genuinely afraid that he believes the rumor. she kind of puts her arm like she’s trying to say “wait please listen to me,” and jd looks pissedddd before she makes it over to him. the screenshot i’m giving doesn’t really do either of them justice but it definitely makes sense that she would think his anger is directed towards her. i wouldn’t be surprised if it actually was.

(fyi, it is really hard to do some of the things i’m describing justice with just screenshots but idk how to make gifs properly, so i’ll link the videos at the end of this)

with dan’s jd she’s way more upset about the fact that she’s being called a slut than she is worried that he believes them. there isn’t the same urgency to tell him they’re lying when she goes over to him, she just wants comfort.

and that’s exactly what she gets from him the second she gets over there … he definitely did not believe that rumor for a second because he does not look mad at all. he’s definitely internally fuming at kram and duke and everyone else, but he holds that off for a minute to make sure she’s okay first.

like look at them, he’s so worried about her :(

because of the angle of the video you can’t really see ryan!jd’s face but from what is visible he doesn’t do anything like dan does to comfort her, he kinda just stands there. this bit also is part of what has me thinking that there’s a good chance ryan!jd did actually believe the rumor for a second; this is all just speculation because again you can’t see jd’s face or hear what they’re saying so i’m just guessing off of veronica’s body language. but my personal interpretation is that veronica sees that jd is pissed, assumes that it’s at her, starts frantically explaining what happened—you can see her gesturing towards kurt + ram + duke + everyone participating in the rumor which i think is a part of it. eventually she drops her arm which is just seconds before he hugs her, so i assume that’s the moment when she can clearly tell jd believes her and lets her guard down; and now that she’s less focused on making sure he knows she didn’t cheat on him, she’s more visibly defeated which is why he hugs her

now the actual hug …

first of all can ryan!jd’s even be classified as a hug? he takes her shoulder and weakly pulls her against him, his other arm even stays at his side. veronica brings up her arm herself but jd doesn’t do anything further. i think he is far too focused on plotting his revenge to really think about veronica in that moment. his anger is drowning out everything else, including her (i also kind of think this is why he loses the fight just before olig—he is too overwhelmed by anger, whether for veronica or himself, that he can’t make the same calculated moves that he usually can to win).

this is also the first time we get a good look at his face and i mean just look. that is murder in his eyes.

(also sorry about glasses guy, dude is ruining my screenshots smh)

dan!jd though? he pulls her against him and HOLDS her. so tight. he’s obviously pissed given that he runs over and tries to beat up kram again shortly after, but unlike ryan!jd he holds back for a minute so he can comfort her and make sure she’s okay first.

oh my god look at them. they make me crazy.

those are pretty much my thoughts, tl;dr ryan’s jd was less focused on + comforting to veronica, was more focused on plotting his revenge, and thus it would make sense if his motive for killing kram was more for himself than it was for her. dan!jd was 100% doing it for her though. she’s all he cares about.

i find ryan’s jd fascinating on its own, particularly because i think his is somewhere in between movie!jd and the jd we have now (and the closest musicalverse jd we’ve had to christan’s at all IMO) and i think that it is not just his personal interpretation, but also the writing itself. maybe one day i will write about jd getting further removed from the movie the further along the musical got into development and the jump from ryan!jd to jamie!jd (and jamie muscato in general, because he is king and IMO one of, if not straight up just the best, jds ever).

and here’s a link to both versions of this moment if you want more context

#can you tell i have a Lot of feelings about jason dean.#god he is such a fascinating character.#heathers the musical #heathers #jason dean #veronica sawyer #jdronica #dan domenech #ryan mccartan #☆☆#gently with a chainsaw #i want to stir up controversy so i’m going to say this hug is the only good thing to come out of blue reprise #ok and alice’s vocals

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bisexualiteaa · 3 hours ago

Text

Romance and Roleplay!

Knight!Chance x Princess!reader

MDNI!!

CW: fluff, smüt, slight spoilers!! Briefly proofread, established relationship (love route) cursing, reader is AFAB, one use of y/n, 0ral (fem receiving) fïngerïng, b0dy w0rship, r0lepläy, p0rn w/o plot, p0rn with a backstory? Unpr0tected seggs, P in V, Cream 🥧 , terms of endearment (Princess, baby, my love, darling) praise, smüt w/ fluffy ending, fluffy smüt, possible grammar and spelling errors

Summary: after realizing Chance, you both play your last session of the G&G campaign he’d built and that you’d spent months playing together. In celebration of its finale, and his realization, you decide to celebrate by bringing your characters to life.

AN: I’ve been obsessed with this game and the different characters since it came out, and there was no way my D&D loving ass would not fall head over heels for his character! I just had to write something for him. I wrote most of this while I was on a flight so if it’s a little scattered, I apologize, but I hope I’ve done him justice!

As always, my ask box is open! I would love to take asks especially for Date Everything content!! But as always, hope you enjoy! ☺️

“Oh dearest Princess, how fair you look on this beautiful evening” spoke Chance as he stood kneeling before you on one knee, a surprisingly convincing prop sword in hand with the tip of its blade pointed to the floor as he did. His head lay bowed before you, looking down at the floor beneath him in a bow of respect as you stood before him. You were donned in a beautiful dress that he’d bought for you, dreaming of the day that you could both breathe life into your G&G characters. Now that you had, he couldn’t help but want to have a little fun with it, wanting to show you just how beautifully he imagined their romance blossomed within his recently finished campaign. The dress you were wearing was made exactly to the specifications that you’d told him the day you’d introduced your character to the table. You had no idea he’d taken such detailed note of it all. Everything was hand sewn to your specific measurements, each piece of fabric brought together and masterfully tailored down to the very last minute detail reflected on the sketches you’d made of your character. Prosthetics were molded and seamlessly placed along the shell of your ears to form the long, recognizable point of elven ears that were now decorated with many beautiful earrings that shined in the dance of the candle light currently warming the room. The finishing touch was the flower crown placed atop your well done hair, a symbol of your royalty, your heritage and the long awaited coming of the springtime season. Something that he duly noted was important to your character and where she was from. “My love, how you flatter me so” you responded with warmed cheeks and a delighted smile as he looked up to you now, eyes bright as they gazed upon you like you were a goddess standing before him, and he an unworthy a sinner. “I speak only truth, my dear Princess. Though they never stray from you, I must say you are by far the fairest of any I may lay eyes upon” he said truthfully, making you smile at his lovely compliments. “My world ceases to exist when you are not around. When I am without you, it is as if I am without the very oxygen that fills my lungs” he continued, showing his complete and utter devotion to you. Your soft palm reached to lay against his cheek, keeping his gaze held to you as you blessed him with your radiant smile. Each time you did he swore, in and out of character, that his heart may burst from the pure swell of happiness it gave him to be graced with it. His character had just now finally returned home from a mission given to him by the king, your father. This scene took place before the start to his campaign technically, just a few short months prior but it was how your characters had come to know one another before joining up in the adventure. “Dearest love, how it pains me to be away from you. Even a moment without your company, without your love, is naught but pure torture” you added, watching as he stood now nearly towering before you, making your heart skip within your chest. The look he’d given you held such intensity, such love. It’s how you knew he meant every word that he’d said.

Only in your wildest dreams had you ever thought you’d found a romance like this, a love that transcends even that of the most famous storybooks. He was a fairytale come true,

A fantasy brought to life in more ways than one. Though his character may be a knight, he was nothing short of your perfect prince. In the months you’d come to know Chance as more than just your trusted D20, your bond and romance was something you’d never saw coming, but it had been the most wonderful experience. You had no idea your heart could be captured so fast by someone, and had it not been for the dateviators, you’d have never known it. Now you no longer even needed them, that’s what made this night in particular so special. It was a celebration of his realization. “Oh how I’ve missed you, Chance. How an ache has boiled within my very core in the wake of your absence. I spent every night on my knees praying for your safe return, dreaming of you as I lay my head to sleep, then every morning waking to the thoughts of you returning to my arms once more” you admitted as he smiled sweetly down at you, nothing but love resting in the beautiful brown eyes of the knight who stood there before you. “Tis where I belong. Regardless of whether the king will have it, my heart belongs to you and to you only. I only hope one day to take you away from this place, to build a life and a family of our own with you by my side through it all” he replied as he grabbed your hands in his, making your heart swell at his words. He had a way of making you feel as if you were the only woman in the whole world. “How greatly I look forward to such a life with you, my love. Until that day comes however, at least we may take comfort that here my father’s opinions matter not. In this room, within these walls, the world is ours for the taking. This is our sanctuary where I am yours as you are mine” you answered, your hand moving to cup his cheek once more as he moved closer to you. “How incredibly lucky I am to have your heart, my beloved Princess” he said, holding your hand in his as it rests against his cheek still. Your heart raced excitedly as you looked at him, feeling his touch against your skin now that he was realized felt so warm in comparison to before. Sure it was exciting then but this was a whole new feeling, a whole new level of excitement. There was a whole new world of things for you to explore together now, and he didn’t want to experience a moment of any of it without you.

Tension hung thick in the air around you, an almost buzzing electricity flowing through you both as you gazed upon one another. The pale glow of the moonlight seeping through the blinds mingling with the warmth of the lit candles came together in a perfectly romantic atmosphere. You couldn’t imagine a better moment than this to share with the man before you. “Forgive me my forwardness but…perhaps you could show me just how much you have missed me” you spoke plain, a small grin stretching to your lips that made him chuckle. He loved the rush of color it sent to your cheeks as your pupils dilated with excitement. “Is that so princess? Has my absence left you wanting that greatly?” He asked making you giggle softly at his teasing words. “Terribly so, my noble knight. I have craved you night after night, morning after morning since the very moment you’d left my side” you answered with a soft grin resting upon your lips, feeling his hand descending upon your hip, gently inching you closer with his tight but tender grip. It sent a patter to your heart and a spark down your spine to feel his breath against your sensitive, heated skin. The very air around you began to warm, making your dress suddenly feel uncomfortably tight. You looked to his hand before looking back up at him, your lips parted slightly as you returned his lustful gaze. “My apologies Princess…allow me to correct my grievances” he replied with a suave smile, leaning down to capture your lips in the sweet but passionate kiss you’d been waiting all night for. You looped your arms around his neck as he did, his free hand now cradling your cheek just as you’d done to him. It was electrifying feeling his soft lips against yours, how they fit so perfectly against your own. You couldn’t help the soft, breathy moan that escaped you into it, your bodies pressed so closely together. It was intimate in a way that put even your steamiest, smutty fanfics to shame.

You almost didn’t want to stop. From the feel of his lips moving against yours, to the way his hands tenderly traced along your curves sending gooseflesh to prickle along your sensitive skin. You were certain you were in heaven. He’d felt real before but this? This was entirely different. It was electrifying. You felt his tongue trace along your bottom lip, begging you to allow him to deepen the kiss. You playfully denied him this, making him nibble at your lip before bringing it gently between his teeth, tugging it back with him a short distance before letting go. The look you gave him as he did sent a jolt straight to his aching cock. He could only chuckle as you quickly closed the distance, kissing him with a far different sort of passion behind it. This kiss was more needy, carnal even. A tangle of tongues, a slight clashing of teeth. You’d grown desperate for his any and every touch. Only when the burning ache of oxygen deprivation began to set in your lungs had you both finally pulled away. Both your faces flushed and lips spit slickened as you panted, looking upon one another with nothing short of carnal desire. The hot air around you now unbearable as the tension only grew between you, longing to be absolved. “Chance…” you pleaded breathlessly. “Tell me what it is you desire, Princess. Anything, and it is yours” he replied, waiting for your pleas for him to continue, waiting for you to tell him the words he longed to hear. “You. I need you. Please…Make me yours” you begged making a low, rumbling groan sound from deep within his chest in response. “How I’ve longed to hear those words fall from your sweet lips, my love” he answered, making you smile so happily up at him. “Then let us lose ourselves in each other. Rid me of these cloth constraints and let us become one” you replied watching him bring your hand up, his lips pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles. “I’d love nothing more” he said, making your face flush once again as he kissed you.

You laid your hair to the side, moving it out of his way so that he could undo the many intricate ties of your corset. Your heart raced with each undoing of the lace, pounding deep within your chest as the moments passed, filling you with excitement of what was to come. Once you were finally freed of its constricting ties, both of you watched as it slipped from your frame and fell to the floor at your feet. His large hands rested against your waist where it once sat, enjoying the feel of your warm skin that now hid beneath one less layer. You hummed happily as he placed light, worshipping kisses along your shoulders and neck, holding you from behind as he worked the shoulders of your dress down and off your frame. As he did, you both watched from the mirror as more and more of your skin was being slowly exposed. The look on his face when your breasts had been uncovered made your thighs clench together, seeing him looking at you so wantonly made you truly feel so special. You giggled softly as he trailed the fabric down your waist, then down your hips, taking note of your lack of undergarments beneath. “Oh princess, how you tease” he spoke, making you turn your head to look at him over your shoulder, feeling his hardened member throb against your rear. You had reached for your crown to take it off, but his hands stopped you. “No, leave it. I quite like this look” he said, making you smile as you let your hands fall to your sides, leaving the crown resting on top of your head.

His eyes traveled up and down your now completely bare figure, eyes alight with a loving smile that put your every anxious thought to rest. “You are so beautiful, my love. Why you must make every goddess above absolutely green with envy” he complimented, making you chuckle softly and bashfully as he basked in your glory. “Well don’t leave me the only one here who is bare darling, I wish to see you too” you said in a bemused tone, making him chuckle as he soon began to work himself out of his clothes. He wasn’t as slow with it as he was with you, but you enjoyed the process nonetheless. You smiled with a half bitten lip as you laid on your bed, waiting and watching as he undressed himself with half lidded eyes. You could feel the heat pooling between your legs and that electric feeling beginning to grow in the pit of your stomach. First he rid himself of his outer most armor, then came his chemise leaving his torso now completely bare to you. You gasped softly as your hand trailed downward, journeying between your legs at the sight of him. He wasn’t all hardened muscle, still harboring a slight softness to his middle but with a noticeable outline of the muscles that lay beneath. His arms however were definitely toned, the arms that you fantasized could effortlessly carry you to and from places every now and again, or that could hold you up as he would take you against any surface in your home. His chest was built and broad, how you longed to drag your hands along it leaving red, puffy streaks in their wake from your nails. You could see the faintest peak of a happy trail leading down below the low sitting waistband of his pants, and a rather noticeable imprint of his excitement beneath the tight fitting fabric. He stood with rosy cheeks watching as you touched and teased yourself to the mere sight of him, listening to the blissful moans falling from your lips as his hand moved to rub the growing tent in his pants. “Princess…” he said in naught but a whisper, watching as your fingers danced along your aching clit in a most pleasurable rhythm, spreading your legs open for him to see exactly what you were doing. “You see what you do to me, my love? Do you see the way my body lights on fire the moment your gaze falls on me? And to see you here like this, all for me…” you let out, watching him as he worked off his belt before removing his pants and then his leathers in one fell swoop. You moaned with delight as his cock had been freed from its confines, tapping against his lower belly before standing proudly all for you. All *because* of you. It took everything in you not to drool at the sight. “You do the very same to me” he replied, making you hum delightedly in response as he worked his hand up and down his shaft a few times. “Then come here, take what is yours” you replied in a sultry tone, and he most certainly didn’t need to be told twice.

Your sweet giggles and soft gasps could be heard as he joined you on the bed, climbing over top of you with an excited smile. Your arms looped around his neck as he leaned down to capture your lips in a sweet kiss. Though shorter than the last few you’d shared, it held no less desire behind it. His lips traveled from yours to your jaw, littering your neck, shoulder and chest with his soft kisses. You moaned delightedly as he brought his lips to one of your pebbled nipples, his fingers pinching and rolling the other in delicious tandem to allot them both equal treatment and care. Your back arched slightly from the plush duvet, pressing yourself against him and leaning into his touch as he littered your skin with his delicate kisses. Moving further down from your breasts, he trailed his tongue along your stomach, making you whimper with need as he kissed your hips. He looked up at you with a grin and a soft chuckle as he situated himself between your supple thighs, his hands on either side of them while his fingers soothingly rubbed up and down the outsides of them. “So needy for me” he teased, kissing and gently nipping along the innermost parts of your thighs, earning more of those cute whimpers and melodic moans he loved so much. “Chance…” you breathed, fisting the covers beneath you with whitened knuckles from your growing anticipation and excitement. How he loved to tease you. “What is it, my love?” He asked, trailing his hot kisses from one side to the next, purposefully skipping over where you needed him the most, only affording you a passing breath to your throbbing clit. “Please…need you” you whined, fearing you may combust if he didn’t give you what you needed. “Need what darling?” He asked, his lips so close to your soaked heat as he grinned up at you knowing exactly what it is you craved, but he wanted to have a little fun. “This?” He asked coyly before finally bringing his lips to your clit, kissing it with the same passion he’d held earlier. You moaned in both surprise and delighted relief as he did, your hips jerking up slightly with the sudden stimulation. Your eyes fluttered shut, back arching slightly from the mattress once again as your hands tangled in his hair. “Yes! Oh fuck…” you moaned blissfully, your whole body lighting ablaze from pleasure. Your chest heaved with each labored breath, your jaw slack as your voice rang out, caring not for who could hear as his tongue massaged your clit with near perfect precision. “Gods above…oh!” You let out, hearing him moan into you as he lost himself in your taste, his hands kneading your plush thighs. He couldn’t help but steal glances towards you, looking up to the faces of pleasure you’d make, to the way your breasts moved with each breath you took. You looked stunning before but like this? This far exceeded that of even his filthiest fantasies and hottest dreams. He could hardly even believe he was really here, doing this with you. Something he once could have only ever dreamed of was now a beautiful reality.

Your every moan made his cock throb angrily with need, feeling your pulsing bud against his tongue as he worked two fingers inside of you slowly, doing his best to be gentle. “Oh fuck, Chance…” you moaned as his fingers finally sheathed inside of you, curling to rub against your walls in search for that sweet spot deep within. It took him a few minutes to find it, but once he did there was no mistaking it. Your cry of pleasure as he circled your clit with his tongue, paired with the rhythmic strokes of his fingers left you keening. “Right there…just like that, yeesss” you pleaded, making him grin with accomplishment and pride as your voice began to ascend in pitch, telling him he was bringing you closer to your peak. “Feels so good, Chance. Please, don’t stop!” You added, and how could he ever even think of such a torturous thing? Doing exactly as you’d directed him, he kept his pace, and despite the tiring ache beginning to set in his tongue, he continued. It wasn’t long before you were finally falling over the edge. You’d gasped, your back arching much more harshly as your thighs squeezed his head. In a flash your body was both tense and weightless, a surge of electricity flowing down your spine sending gooseflesh to your skin once more. A loud cry of his name left you in both pleasure and warning as your climax washed over you with the strength of a tidal wave. You panted heavily as he worked you through your orgasm, helping you down gently from cloud nine before overstimulation slowly set in. You twitched harshly before realizing you’d still had him in such a tight grip, allowing him the ability to move and breathe. Your whole body was on fire from the pleasure that ebbed through you, looking at him with a weak smile as he climbed back up over top of you. “I could spend forever doing that” he said making you laugh as you looked up at him, hands resting on his chest. “That does sound rather enticing” you replied teasingly, making him laugh as he kissed you. You could taste yourself on his tongue but you paid it no mind. “But I need you, need to feel you” you added. “I think that can be arranged” he replied, earning a giggle from you in return.

The faint sounds of the bed rocking and creaking against its frame could be heard through the room alongside your shared moans in a sinful cacophony. You knew you’d have to answer to Betty after it was all said and done, and likely everyone else who resided in your bedroom, possibly even the whole upstairs at this rate, for the noise alone if they weren’t already enjoying the display. However that could wait for another day, right now all you wanted was to get lost in the man who was above you granting you the most earth shattering pleasure you’d ever experienced. “Chance!” You moaned as your nails dug into the muscles of his back, creating even more puffy red tracks along his skin. He moaned at the feeling of your warm walls wrapped tightly around his cock, paired with the bite of your nails against his back. It felt as if neither of you could get enough of each other. “Y/N…” he let out in a near broken whimper, making you moan. His hand moved to join with yours, your fingers intertwined as he thrust into you. A rosy flush coated his cheeks as he looked upon you, your hair splayed beneath you against the pillows, your breasts bouncing with each thrust. Your face contorted with pleasure was one he’d soon never forget. The way your eyes would roll back or flutter shut when he’d hit that spot you liked, the way your brows furrowed and your jaw would fall slack with each cry of pleasure. What he loved most was that look in your eyes when they would lock with his, the way your pupils had blown so wide yet despite the lust, they still held that same loving care in them you’d shown him since you two met. His free hand grabbed one of your thighs, hiking your leg up so that he could reach deeper within you, making you only cry out even more. He wanted there to be no distance between you, no space for anything other than your bodies and the love you two share to exist. To lose yourself in the throes of pleasure only he could bring you. “Doing so good for me love” he said, making you whimper at his praise. “Feel so good, Chance” you praised in return, earning a blush from him and a moan as he rutted into you a little faster. “All for you, baby. All for you” he replied before leaning down and capturing your lips in another kiss, delighting in your moans into it as your free hand traveled from his hair, to his chest, and moved all about his body.

He could feel your walls tightening around him, paired with the raised pitch of your moans told him that you were once again nearing your peak. “So close…” you let out, still rather sensitive from cumming just a little bit ago. “Let go for me baby, I’ve got you” he replied, his hand leaving your thigh to work his fingers against your clit. You threw your head back against the pillows as he did, expletives and moans leaving you with each breath. “Oh gods, Chance!” You let out, panting harshly as your hips bucked up into his touch, chasing every bit of stimulation and friction you were given. “Cum for me princess, cum for me” he pleaded, his eyes flitting between your face and where you two where connected, listening to the sounds of your soaked cunt sucking him in with each thrust. “Oh fuck, Chance!!” You cried out in warning before your body arched once more from the bed, your nails digging into his back as you clung to him for dear life, wrapping your legs around him sending him deeper inside of you. “Fuck..” he let out, watching your orgasm rip through you and feeling your walls clench around him, bringing him to his own release. “Baby…” he whimpered, brows furrowed and mouth slightly agape as he thrust deeply into you, moaning as his cock throbbed with each rope of cum that spilled from him. As he finally stilled deep within you, fighting to catch his breath just the same as you were, you felt so full, so loved, so fulfilled. It was a wonderful feeling, one you didn’t want to let go of just yet. You looked up at him, your hair frazzled, your face hot but with a smile resting on your lips. He couldn’t help but kiss you in that moment, wishing to savor every bit of this that he could.

“I love you. I love you so much” he admitted into your shared kiss, making your heart nearly skip a beat at the words. “In character?” You asked between your gasps for air once he’d pulled away, making him chuckle. “And out” he clarified, making you smile brightly up at him and oh how it made him melt. “Good. Because I love you too” you replied as he kissed you again. “Holy crit that was awesome!” he said excitedly, making you giggle as he finally dropped character. “If that’s how we end every G&G session now, I don’t think I’ll ever want to play anything else” you replied, making him laugh. “I had a few ideas…maybe next time we let the dice decide how it all goes. Roll for whose top, how kinky it gets…” he said, making you hum with intrigue at his idea as you pulled him down towards you and into a kiss. “I think that can be arranged” you replied in a sultry tone between kisses, leaving his mind to run rampant with all the different ideas he could come up with for your next session.

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pascalispunkczechia · 1 day ago

Text

When he came back

This is part 1 of a 3-part slowburn. Rest is coming soon! 💌

Masterlist & info for this fic here -> Masterlist

Drabbles here -> Drabbles

Summary: Part 1 is a story about Javier Peña. Not the agent yet. Not the man haunted by Colombia. Just Javi - a teenage boy with messy hair, a protective streak, and a girl best friend he maybe never saw just as a friend. Part 1 takes us back to where it all began - long before the DEA, long before heartbreak. Just two kids growing up in Laredo. And something quietly shifting.

Warnings: slow burn, teenage angst, undercurrents of unspoken love, emotional repression, minor physical violence (fight scene), implied sexual assault attempt (handled with care), bittersweet nostalgia, 70s setting, painful longing™

Word count: ~ 4.8k

“According to multiple sources, including former cartel affiliates, a DEA agent operating in Medellín may have supplied intelligence to the vigilante group known as Los Pepes. One of the names repeatedly mentioned is Javier Peña, a U.S. federal agent currently stationed in Colombia.”

I stare at it, and I swear… I can’t believe what I’m reading. What? Javier? My Javi?

Well… not my my, but the kid I’ve known since diapers? The one who’s always been like a brother to me?

The one I’ve been through everything with - first fake childhood crushes, our first real hangover in high school?

The one who’s been so painfully fair ever since we were kids, who hated injustice, who always stood up for the ones who couldn’t?

That Javier is the one who helped a bunch of killers?

No. That can’t be true. He’s trying to do the right thing. In Colombia. Way the hell far from our little Laredo.

At least that’s what he said… “I’m going there to do the right thing. DEA needs me. We could actually make a difference.” That’s what he told us.

When he announced he was moving - professionally - to one of the most drug-infested countries in South America.

That was ten years ago. We haven’t seen him since.

Anyway. This Javier? Doing that? No way. They’ve got it wrong. They must.

I fold up the Miami Herald and act like nothing happened. Javi’s dad can’t see this. I know he doesn’t subscribe to the Herald himself; he kind of relies on me. He hopes that if something important ever shows up, I’ll tell him.

Not that Javi doesn’t call… okay, fine… he barely calls. Any of us. I know he loves his family, but he’s obsessed with whatever it is he’s doing over there. In Colombia.

But this? This can’t be it.

I tuck the newspaper deep into my bag and step out of the café where I go every morning. Like nothing happened.

I’m thinking.

It’s been a long time since Javier Peña took up this much space in my head. Like I said - we haven’t seen each other in ten years.

And I think one of the reasons he doesn’t come back here is… Lorraine. His ex. Well, ex from way back, but still…

I mean… if you leave someone waiting at the altar, vanish without a word, and then, just a few weeks later, move to South America? Yeah. That’ll mess someone up. But even back then, I was on Javi’s side.

Lorraine was always a bit… much. They met at the start of high school, right after she moved here from California. And, obviously, every local guy lost his damn mind over her. Tall, blonde, California girl? In Laredo?

Oh wow.

Javi included, of course. I always used to give him shit for it. Told him to wipe his chin, ‘cause he was gross.

Eventually, Lorraine gave in. Which, honestly, wasn’t that hard. He was one of the best-looking guys at school.

I guess I never really saw him that way. I mean… when you’ve known someone since they were three and he once wiped his boogers into your hair, that sticks with you. You don’t see anything else after that, trust me. Still, I knew the girls were crazy about him.

So yeah. Those two (Laredo’s own local celebrities) of course they ended up together. At first, everything seemed fine.

But then… Lorraine started having a problem with me. She told Javi, straight up.

Because I was his best friend.

Because we spent too much time together.

Because our families were so close we basically were one big family.

There wasn’t a single day we didn’t spend together - Javi and I. Since diapers. We used to laugh about it when we were teenagers. How our moms probably planned us like this. So their kids would be best friends. Born just months apart. I’m only three months younger than him.

Lorraine started having a problem with it not long after they got together.

I still remember the night Javi told me. It was a Friday night. Friday nights had always been our movie nights at the local theater. We were probably the only reason that place hadn’t gone bankrupt yet.

We used to go see old black-and-white films; I loved them, Javi hated them, but he still came with me every single time. Even at seventeen, when you’d expect us to be out doing something wild.

And to make it worse for me, he always bought popcorn with extra butter. Gross. I hate extra butter. And that asshole knew it; he did it on purpose, just so I wouldn’t steal any of his.

But that Friday night was different. Javi showed up and said we weren’t going to the movies. Said we’d just stay at my place and watch whatever was on TV.

“What? Why? Are you sick? ‘Cause if you are - get out. I’m not catching that nasty green slime cold again like last time, remember?” I laughed.

Javi didn’t. He barely said a word the whole night. Didn’t even clean out our fridge like he usually did, which my mom was genuinely devastated about because she loved stuffing him full of food, even though it never did a damn thing. That idiot could eat an entire cow and still have abs.

“Okay, what’s up? You’ve been weird all night,” I nudged him with my foot while we were sprawled out on the couch.

Some pointless crap was playing on TV.

No answer.

I scooted closer. “Hey. Talk to me,” I said, jabbing him lightly in the ribs.

Finally, he spoke: “She doesn’t like it.”

“What? Who doesn’t like what?” I frowned.

Javi looked at me then. Really looked at me. A little miserable. Those damn puppy eyes of his (what I always called them) looked even bigger. Sadder.

What the hell is going on?

“Lorraine… she doesn’t like our movie nights. Or really… just us hanging out in general,” he shrugged, waiting for my reaction.

That night, I didn’t say anything. I just leaned against him, like I had a million times before. Like he was my brother. Because that’s what he was to me. I rested my head on his shoulder, and he rested his on mine.

And we didn’t say another word. There was nothing to talk about. If he didn’t want to see me, he wouldn’t have come. He knew that. So did I.

Javi would never just ditch his friends. Especially not me. That was something we had in common. But you could tell he didn’t know how to balance it all anymore.

But after that night, things were… different.

Javi tried to make us all get along. Like that one night in May - right before the end of sophomore year - when he took us both to the fair.

Lorraine was annoyed from the moment we got there. Clung to Javi like she was trying to drag him as far away from me as possible, like he couldn’t even exist without her glued to his side.

I noticed. Of course I did. But I didn’t say anything. Didn’t make faces. Didn’t roll my eyes. Even though not that long ago, Javi and I would’ve laughed our asses off at girls like her.

Now? One of those girls had him wrapped around her finger.

She even showed up to the fair wearing this dress so tight and so short, I honestly thought it might fall off the second she got on a ride. Meanwhile, I had on old sneakers, jeans, and a flannel. Javi looked about the same. Fashion never meant shit to either of us.

Anyway; at the fair… Even though Javi tried to split his attention between us, she had weapons I didn’t.

Kisses. Hand grabs. Ass grabs.

At one point I swear she was halfway down his throat with her tongue and I just stood there like… damn, girl.

It was funny more than anything. I wasn’t trying to compete. We had completely different dynamics with him. To me, he was like a brother.

What hurt was that Lorraine didn’t even try to understand that. Like it was something dirty or wrong.

I mean - seriously - this dude she was sticking her tongue into so deep I thought she might suffocate him? When we were seven, he shoved a rock into my mouth to see if he could knock my tooth out and get me more money from the Tooth Fairy. She really thought there was something romantic going on between us? Please.

Javi’s voice snapped me out of my thoughts; yelling something in Spanish from across the fairground like a man on a mission. He’d somehow managed to peel himself off Lorraine and was now waving his arms like a lunatic, yelling that we had to go to the funhouse.

Every year. Literally every year we went there. Since we were kids. We used to pretend we were secret agents, climbing through every tunnel and corner like we were on some top-secret mission.

I yelled back in Spanish. I don’t know, it was just our thing. Whenever we got too excited about something (so much that we forgot the world around us) we always switched to Spanish without even realizing.

Only this time… we really shouldn’t have. I figured that out in the days and weeks after.

Lorraine, even though she’d been living here for a few months already, still struggled with Spanish.

So she probably had no idea what we were talking about and if she had understood, she would’ve known we were just hyped about a damn fair attraction. But she didn’t. And she sure as hell didn’t know about our “I’m losing my mind over this and have to yell in Spanish” energy.

So yeah… she took it personally. Of course she did. And Lorraine being Lorraine? She knew how to use that to her advantage. She gave us the sourest look you can imagine, but I could tell she already had a plan. “Javier?” she called, raising her voice just enough.

And it was like he suddenly woke up. He turned back toward her, quickly let go of my hand - the hand he’d grabbed automatically when he tried to drag me toward the ticket booth - and took a few steps back. Ran his fingers through his hair, tried to fix his stupid side part, but still left it all messed up just the way he liked it.

She wrapped herself around him again and leaned in to whisper something in his ear. I swear!, if Javi had been a cartoon character, his jaw would’ve hit the floor with a loud clang.

He turned to her, nodded like he was in a trance, and then - as if suddenly remembering I still existed - awkwardly made his way back over to me.

“Chiquita,” he said, using the nickname he’d called me for years. “Will you be mad if Lorraine and I leave? We just… need to take care of something.”

“Now? We haven’t even been on everything yet. And you owe me cotton candy,” I reminded him.

“Yeah… now,” he replied, and gave me those damn puppy eyes again. Didn’t say anything else.

“You know that look doesn’t work on me, Peña,” I snapped, calling him by his last name - something I only did when I was pissed. Usually fake-pissed. But still. “Why? What’s going on? She’s mad again, isn’t she?” It was starting to hit me that Lorraine just didn’t want to be here if I was here.

“I’ll make it up to you. I swear,” he said, almost pleading. But he didn’t answer the actual question.

“Ugh, go already,” I grinned and made a face like I didn’t care. But I watched him carefully.

“I saw Jeff and a couple people from school earlier. You won’t be alone, alright? Just… don’t let Jeff talk too much shit. He’s an idiot.” He squeezed my shoulders like a big brother. Like someone who wanted to stay, but something was pulling him away.

“Okay, dad!!” I shoved him off, just to make him leave already.

“Thanks, chiquita,” he nodded, and ran back to Lorraine who looked at me like she’d just won some major, world-ending war.

I honestly had no idea what that look was even supposed to mean, but whatever. If it made her happy…

That memory makes me smile. Half nostalgic, half aching.

That night - or really, everything that came after it - changed a lot.

The next morning, way too early, my bedroom door suddenly flew open with a bang. I shot upright, startled as hell. Before I even had a chance to process anything, Javi flopped onto my bed. What the hell.

“Hey,” he grinned like it wasn’t Saturday morning, the one sacred day you’re supposed to sleep until noon. Idiot.

“Oh my god… what time is it? What are you even doing here? It’s Saturday morning, have you completely lost it?” I groaned and dramatically dropped back into my pillow.

“Sure, it’s Saturday but it’s also already 9 am”

“And? That doesn’t answer my question. On Saturdays at 9 am, people sleep. Friends do not show up uninvited,” I growled at him, cracking one eye open to aim a punch at his shoulder.

Of course he had that perfect messy hair again; the kind that screamed “I just woke up and I still look better than you ever will.” It pissed me off.

He was wearing a tee from our favorite band, the one we saw live last summer. Back when Lorraine wasn’t around yet. Back when everything felt easier. “Hey! Don’t you remember our ancient pact?” he smirked. “Best friends are allowed to bug each other at any time if something important happens.”

I sat up, suddenly alert, and leaned back against the headboard. “Okay, I’m listening,” I yawned.

“So… remember that deal we made freshman year? The one about who’d buy the other a milkshake at Bobby’s if…”

He didn’t finish. He didn’t need to. He knew I knew what he meant.

His eyes sparkled with that familiar smugness.

“You mean the one about who’d lose their virginity first,” I muttered.

“YES. So my dear chiquita… I’ll take a chocolate one. With fries, thanks!”

It felt like something just slipped inside my stomach. Not pain. Not sadness. Just… shock. Surprise. Maybe?

“Wait, are you serious?! And… wow. Uh, with Lorraine, I assume? Is that why you two bailed so fast last night at the fair?”

“Yup. She brought it up right there, can you believe that? I couldn’t tell you before, you get that, right? But I wanted you to know now. I mean, for the milkshake, obviously but also ‘cause you’re my best friend. You know everything about me.” He gave me that big stupid grin.

“Ah,” I breathed out. I smiled. Or, I tried to. “Well… congrats, I guess? I always hoped I’d be around when my best friend officially became a man. And with Lorraine? That’s… wow. A big milestone. And you even had the courtesy to wake me up first thing Saturday morning to tell me,” I laughed. Sort of. My voice cracked halfway.

He looked at me for a moment. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” I didn’t know why it stung like that. I just suddenly felt this need for him to leave so I could sit in the silence for a bit. For the first time ever. And I had no idea why.

“Okay, so… you wanna hear the details?” he laughed but he was serious.

Before I could stop him, he started describing it.

“Ew… shut up,” I groaned and smacked his arm, laughing just enough to keep it light. “I do not need the mental images.”

“Okay, okay,” Javi laughed and leaned back against my pillow, right next to me. “So what about you? The fair? Did you hang with Jeff and the others?”

Yeah, Javi. I did. And I turned down Jeff when he asked me to that drive-in date. He’s not my type; too cocky, too much of a player. The whole fair sucked without you. I didn’t even go on our usual rides. God, I don’t know what was wrong with me last night. I felt so off. Like… not myself.

But what I said out loud was: “Yeah! It was great! Actually… Jeff asked me out. Tomorrow night. Drive-in.” The lie slipped out before I could stop it. Okay, not totally a lie - he had asked. I just left out the part where I said no. Guess I’ll have to say yes now. Which kinda sucks. But at the same time? Why shouldn’t I go?

Javi leaned up on one elbow, and something flashed across his face. Something I’d never seen on him before.

“Huh. So the quarterback with the brain of a hamster asked you out. Does he even know what kind of movies you like? Pretty sure there’s nothing playing tomorrow that you’d actually enjoy,” he muttered like it physically hurt to say.

I blinked at him. What the hell is his problem?

“Maybe we’re not going for the movie,” I shot back, almost without thinking. “Maybe I’m planning on winning that milkshake bet myself.”

His expression changed. He gave me the big-brother look. His jaw clenched. “Careful, chiquita. You know what kind of guy he is. You’ve heard what people say–”

“I’ve also heard plenty about Lorraine. Like how she tells you who you can and can’t hang out with, then hops in your bed and suddenly she’s got you wrapped around her finger,” I snapped.

Javi looked stunned. “Wait… are you seriously pissed I slept with my girlfriend?”

That hit harder than I thought it would. We were both hot-headed. This was going to turn into a fight. Not the kind you fix with a dumb joke or a chocolate bar. The kind that… maybe stays broken.

“No, I’m pissed that you think only you get to sleep with someone and then come tell me who I can or can’t be with.” My voice was rising now.

He stood up from the bed. “You know what? Fine. I don’t care. Just don’t come crying to me when that guy screws you over.”

“I won’t. Because if that happened, I wouldn’t come crying to you anyway!” I shouted back, louder than I meant to.

“Right. You know what? Maybe you should get more sleep,” he muttered, then slammed my door as he left.

Tears stung in my eyes the second he was gone. I didn’t want to fight with him. He was my best friend. But everything just felt off. Everything hurt, and I didn’t even know why.

A memory hit me out of nowhere - one of those dumb ones from childhood. We were six. Sitting in a milk bar with our parents. They were out of my favorite strawberry milkshake, and I was in a horrible mood. So Javi, being the little menace he was, shoved a straw in my ear over and over until I burst out laughing so hard I cried.

Back then, I cried from laughter.

Now? Now I was crying for real.

And I hated it.

Then? Then everything happened all at once.

That Sunday, the day after our fight, we still weren’t speaking. And yeah… I actually said yes to that date with Jeff. So now I was sitting in his car. Drive-in movie night. Jeff had a convertible - the only thing about tonight that was remotely worth it. The rest? A mess. The film was definitely not my thing. And halfway through, my thoughts drifted to Javi. I tried to shake it off immediately.

“Hey babe,” Jeff turned to me. The whole night had been a disaster. He hadn’t paid attention to the movie for a second, just kept leaning toward me. It was making me uncomfortable. “You know, I’ve noticed you checking me out for a while. You were trying to play hard to get at the fair, but I knew you’d say yes to this.”

I had no clue what the fuck he was talking about. I’d never paid attention to Jeff. His type never did it for me. “Um…” I barely had time to react before he lunged at me. He pushed me deeper into the seat and shoved his tongue into my mouth. No warning, no question, nothing.

I tried to push him off, but he was a football player - strong. He leaned in harder, slid his hand under my shirt. I started to panic. He touched my chest, tongue still in my mouth. I felt nauseous. I kept trying to push him off. I reached for the door handle, trying to open it or wiggle out. I bit his tongue. Hard.

He yanked away from me instantly. “What the fuck is wrong with you, bitch? You’ve been eye-fucking me all night and now you’re playing all innocent?” He grabbed my wrist, rough. His other hand stayed under my shirt.

“Jeff, stop… let go of me, please… let–”

“HEY! YOU HEARD HER?! GET YOUR FUCKING HANDS OFF HER!”

I heard Javi’s voice like it was coming from far away. Furious. Loud. His hands yanked Jeff off me aggressive, but careful with me. He helped me out of the car, steady, made sure I could stand.

What the hell is he doing here?!

I didn’t even have time to think. The second I nodded that I was okay, he let go of me and launched himself at Jeff. Jeff tried to escape the car, but Javi caught him before he could even take three steps. No warning. No words. Just a silent, brutal punch to the face. Jeff staggered, barely had time to raise his hands before Javi landed a second hit. And then a third.

“Javi! Stop! Javi, that’s enough!” I rushed forward, grabbed his arm from behind. He flinched, not at me, like he couldn’t even hear my voice. He punched him once more.

Jeff dropped to the ground, nose bleeding, arms over his head. Then Javi froze. Breathing hard. His knuckles red and shaking.

“Javi…” I whispered again.

He finally turned to me. Took a step back. And it was like everything hit him all at once.

“You fucking asshole,” Jeff groaned, trying to get up. His nose looked broken, but otherwise he was fine. “You’ll regret this. That little slut was asking for it.”

Javi jerked forward again - ready to go after him - but I grabbed him. Threw my arms around him and held on tight.

He was breathing hard into my neck, shaking. But slowly, gradually, he started to calm down. His breathing slowed. His fists unclenched.

Jeff, ever the “hero,” climbed into his car and peeled out with a screech.

I kept holding him. I knew this worked. It always worked. Just like when we were five; that time in preschool when Sophia pinched me ‘cause I wouldn’t let her play with my doll. Javi turned around and pinched her back without hesitation. He wouldn’t stop until I gave him one of those chubby kid hugs and told him it didn’t hurt anymore.

Back then we were kids. Now? We weren’t quite adults, but at seventeen, everything suddenly felt more intense.

I felt… for the very first time… my heart pounding like it had never pounded before. And a thousand tiny butterflies took off in my stomach. I didn’t know where it came from. But in that moment, I swear… I felt a whole different kind of love. Something deeper. Something more than just friends.

“Javier?” Lorraine’s shrill voice pierced through the air like it came from far away, snapping me out of that weird vacuum I’d been stuck in. I stepped back from him and turned toward the sound.

But Javi didn’t move. He didn’t go to her. He stayed close to me.

“So let me get this straight,” she started, voice rising. “You bring me to the drive-in under the pretense of watching a movie - don’t even look at the screen the entire time, just keep staring at the cars - and then what? You bolt and I find you here, with her?!”

“Enough,” Javi growled. Not shouting, but firm. “Enough, Lorraine. I was helping my friend. My best friend. In case you missed it, that asshole Jeff - the one you’re friends with, by the way - he could’ve…” He didn’t finish the sentence. But I knew what he meant. “What, you think I should’ve just let it happen?”

“Yes!” she shrieked. “Because you were here with me! You dragged me out to this stupid drive-in all of a sudden and you expect me to believe it wasn’t just because you knew she’d be here?”

Javi didn’t answer. He stayed quiet.

“Fine,” she spat. “Then choose. Her or me. Because I can’t do this anymore. I’m not gonna date someone who has a girl best friend he practically shares a bed with and calls it sibling energy just because you’ve known each other forever.”

He looked at her for a long moment. Silence. Only the sound of his breathing, slowly starting to settle.

Then…

“Fine.” Just that one word. Quiet. “Then we’re done.”

Lorraine looked like the ground had been yanked out from under her. “You’re… serious?” she whispered.

But Javi didn’t look at her again. He didn’t move. He just stayed right there, next to me. Like it was the only place he ever belonged.

All those memories were flashing through my head as I unlocked the front door of my house. All because of one newspaper article.

It’s been about twenty years since that night at the drive-in. The night Javi really did break up with Lorraine.

As for us? We never talked about that night again. Or the fight that happened the day before. We just went back to being best friends. Maybe a little more bruised from it all but we healed together.

A year passed. Senior year. We still had our Friday movie nights. He still raided my fridge every time he was over. We even made it to some parties; including the one where he held my hair back while I puked in the bushes after getting too drunk to walk straight.

Lorraine ignored us both. Javi didn’t date anyone else. And me? I didn’t either. It just felt… right. Like I had everything I needed. Nothing was missing. Nothing could ruin it.

But sometime during senior year, Javi started talking about police academy. Said he wanted to do something that mattered. Fight injustice. Maybe even fight the drug scene. Laredo’s right on the Mexican border, and the rumors about new drugs and dangerous stuff kept getting louder.

By the time we finished senior year and graduated, we both knew what was coming. College.

Javi got into the school he wanted. I got into mine. 600 miles apart. We knew that goodbye was coming at the end of the summer. It still hit hard.

“We’ll see each other on breaks and holidays, right?” we promised, standing outside his house in August. Our parents were waiting in the cars, ready to take us to our universities, to the future. To adulthood.

It hurt. We held each other like we always did when things hurt. But this time we knew - there’d be no more daily meetups. No movie nights. No parties. No carnivals.

“Hey, lovebirds!” Javi’s dad called out. “Let’s go!”

“So… this is it,” I mumbled into his shoulder.

He nodded, silent. His chest moved weird; heavy, uneven. And he still wasn’t letting go.

“It’ll be okay, right?” I asked. Stupid question.

“Yeah. Sure,” he replied. But his voice sounded empty.

A few more seconds passed. Just us.

His dad called again. My parents were getting antsy too.

“Wanna send letters?” I asked.

“Every day.” He said it but we both knew that wasn’t how it worked. Not in ’76. Phones weren’t really an option either - not from two separate colleges.

I wanted to say something else. Anything. But everything felt dumb. So instead, I slipped out of his arms, reached for his wrist, and gripped it hard. It was our silent “don’t forget.”

He did the same. Ran his thumb across the back of my hand. And then he turned and walked away. He didn’t look back. Maybe he couldn’t.

And me? I sat in the car in silence the whole way. With a hole in my stomach, the shape of everything we didn’t say.

Because yeah. In that moment, all those feelings from the night he saved me from Jeff - the ones that came out of nowhere - they came back.

Louder than ever.

FOR OTHER/MORE FICS -> MASTERLIST

Thank you so much for reading. I’ve poured a lot into this story, so if it meant something to you, reblogs or comments mean the world! 💗

More soon. Promise.

📝 A little note at the end:

If you’re a little confused - yes, I did open the series mentioning Lorraine and Javi leaving her at the altar… and yes, he just broke up with her here when they were 17.

Don’t worry. All will be explained in part 2, where we fast-forward to post-Colombia Javi.

Part 2 will stay much closer to canon - with my own little twist, of course.

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