#part of me is wondering if this is too good to be true

[firestarter91]

I love the way he tenderly strokes his finger down the sword hilt, it's like one final touch of being close to Arthur before he says goodbye and it always makes me want to cry every time. Colin is so good here and the music is stunning, I love the crescendo when he throws the sword, it’s so emotive and powerful. Music link here to this moment about 14.00.

This is such a painful moment, probably the most heartbreaking on the show, even more so than Arthur's death scene because of what this action symbolises.

Merlin has been here before but this is for the last time, he’s saying goodbye to Arthur and having to literally throw everything he’s worked so hard for and sacrified into the lake and walk away.

Also, to make matters even more tragic, he’s still just a servant and the only people who do know what he truly did at Camlann are Gaius and probably Gwen. He’s lost Arthur, he’s lost most of his friends (at least the ones closest to him like Lancelot, Will and Gwaine) and he’s not even been able to show his true self to the world and magic is still not accepted in Camelot. He's failed in just about every conceivable way, I usually dislike using the word gutwrenching to describe something but it really is... poor poor Merlin.

I wish they had ended the show before we get to Camlann because seeing Merlin here like this doesn’t feel right, the last few seasons felt a waste of time and sullied in part what had gone before because you end up thinking what a waste!

The show became increasingly dark and serious, a far cry from the upbeat and joyous start, they gave us time jumps of all the good stuff, fast forwarded through what I presume was Arthur's golden years, served up one note villains and as a final insult refused to reveal Merlin's magic until the last moment.

I agree with a fan who suggested that we should have ended it with Arthur taking the sword out of the stone, this was one moment I will give a salute to the writers for because they really did this beautifully and once again the music is wonderful and really makes the moment. It's a HUGE DEAL one of the the pivotal moments most people remember when they think about these tales.

They should have left it with Arthur being proclamed king in season 4 and then this finale is the FINAL one with Arthur returning to reclaim his crown and Gwen is finally crowned Queen of Camelot because this was the journey we were promised, "the before they were famous" "idea which they took from Smallville.

If they were going to end it at the lake like this, then this moment with Merlin should have been when they rolled the credits and not stuck that wretched modern day scene in which simply poured a whole bucket of salt into an already gaping wound for the fans. Merlin not only left alone at the lake but lonely and depressed in the modern day too. Thank you writers! 😤

Although one good thing that came out of this awfulness was that the Merlin fandom took up the cudgels, determined to write a better ending for our two beloved boys and it’s been a feast of creativity ever since which has powered the Merthur ship and the fandom since that awful Christmas Day. Praise be!

[sweetbunpura]

Filled with Static pt.3

Summary: Yuu was already fed up before coming to Playful Land and now that it's over... She has some very choice words for she has reached her boiling point...

Part 1 - Part 2

"Ace-"

"What?" Ace rubbed the bruise on his cheek as they entered Heartslabyul. "I heard it enough from the others, I ain't gotta hear it from you two too."

Trey and Cater look at each other as the first year shoves his hands into his pockets.

"Ace, we're trying to say we're all at fault here." Trey tries again.

Cater adds in. "Yeah, Ace. We didn't do anything to stop you-"

"But you did!" He shouted. "You both said he looked shady and I ignored you two!"

"True, but we also didn't physical stop-"

"Where do I even try to begin?"

The three of them paused as they entered the lounge. Riddle and Deuce were standing there, the first year was behind the seething dorm leader.

"I'm very sure I deliberately told you NOT to go to that amusement park." Riddle glared at the three of them. "So why did you feel the need to disobey me? And what about you two, Trey and Cater?"

Ace was silent as he looked off to the side while Trey took charge of the situation.

"Riddle, I followed him out of the dorm-"

"And yet you chose now to bring him back?"

"We ran into some problems-"

"I assume the problem was spending all day at that park."

Riddle's tone was cold and sharp, cutting off any attempt Trey had at trying to give an excuse. The vice leader deflated, not willing to try and continue for an out.

"I believed you to be better than this, Trey." He crossed his arms and directed his attention towards Cater. "And you?"

"Hahahaha...." Cater rubbed the back of his head. "I, um, Lilia-chan and I thought it would be a good idea to.... uh, allow Kalim to go to the park?"

"With Jamil's permission?"

"About that?"

"You too!?" Riddle began to shout. "What could drive you both to even chose to do this!? I understand that I've been lenient on the rules lately, but certainly not to this degree!"

Cater and Trey flinched while Ace rolled his eyes. Before Riddle could start his tangent, Deuce chimed in.

"Ace, why do you have a bruise on your cheek?"

"Huh?" Ace rubbed the mark. "Oh. Yuu punched me."

"What?" Deuce looked confused. "Why would she- I mean I get it, it's you. But Yuu hardly punches any of us-"

"Wrong, Juice, she doesn't punch you." Ace scoffed. "She punched me for no reason-"

"Ace." Cater's voice had lost his playfulness. "Yuu got hurt, you said the off comment sentence of 'why don't you just go back home?'"

"You what?" Deuce's face twist in rage and he grabbed Ace's collar. "Did you forget that she can't!?"

"Of course I forgot! It didn't cross my mind when I said it!"

"Nothing every does, Ace, and that's the problem! She's told us about how much she'd love to go back home and you rubbed it in!?" Trey and Cater tried prying Deuce's hands off of the red head.

"Fuck off and let go of me!" Ace joined his upperclassman's hands

"Ace, you do this every time! You mock Yuu for not knowing the holidays we have and for the things she doesn't know! You forget she's not from here!"

"You don't have to rub it in!" Ace snarled. "Everyone else already did!"

"You're so fucking bullheaded and insensitive, no wonder Yuu doesn't tell you shit!"

"Deuce, let him go. You don't need to waste your breath on him anymore." Riddle commanded.

The blue haired first year glared at the heart solider before dropping him on the floor like he was a pile of trash. Riddle studied Ace as he directed his attention to Trey and Cater

"....Am I wrong for assume that Yuu left?"

"....No." Trey's shoulders sagged. "She left and didn't take Grim with her. Riddle, she's.... she's done with us. Done with NRC."

His eyes widened and it took a few seconds before he spoke. "....What happened."

With much hesitation, Trey and Cater begin to recount what happened as Ace crossed his arms and added in commentary. By the end of it, Riddle was livid and trying to hold not only himself back but Deuce as well.

"I have no words." Riddle struggled to control his breathing. "You three have done irreversible damage all in the span of a day. Get out of my sight, I'll decide your punishment later. Come, Deuce."

"Yes, Sir."

They depart as they leave the trio there to ruminate on what they've done. Eventually, Cater shuffles off to his room while Ace leaves for his in a huff. Trey stands in the middle of the Lounge and feel his heart drop to his feet before he too departs for his room. The next day, all three of them are awoke by a text message simply stating:

All named students come to Crowley's office at once. Ace Trappola, Cater Diamond, Trey Clover, Leona Kingscholar, Jack Howl, Jade Leech, Floyd Leech, Kalim Al-Asim, Vil Schoenheit, Ortho Shroud, and Lilia Vanrouge.

[lightlycareless]

And finally, here is the other xmas oneshot I had prepared for this year :> something a bit more chill, I believe. Or so I hope that's the way it's interpreted hahaha don't take it too seriously, it's just you, naoya and your kids being silly 🤣

warnings: none too big. domestic fluff. there is a hint of you and naoya being somewhat nasty (as usual) and naomi curses the moment she became aware of her surroundings.

Happy reading!

It took you years to finally convince Naoya to do it. For him to go above and beyond what’s usually done during Christmas time.

But after your swaying, insisting, and borderline exhausting persuasion, Naoya finally decides to bite and dress up as Santa this year.

“Our babies are going to love it!” you gush, already imagining the type of adorable reaction they’ll have. “Thank you so much, honey.”

“They’re hardly babies anymore, my love. I doubt they’ll get excited.” Naoya says. But he can portray himself as indifferent all he wants, because deep within you know the truth: he too was thrilled to see his kid’s reactions. “But isn’t this going to happen during the night, though? When they’re asleep?”

You go silent.

“I guess so… but we can still do it! I read online that what parents do to keep the excitement going is leave a trail of hints implying Santa was here! You know, like the cookies with milk and such.”

“Do I still have to dress up?” he asks, you nod.

“Of course! You gotta do it at least once in their lives.” You smile, stepping on your toes to kiss him. Call it motivation. A preview of what’s to come if he goes through with your idea. “I have your costume ready too, so you can’t back out now.”

“Looks like I don’t have much of a choice anyways…”

“No, you don’t.” you giggle. “Now, if you excuse me… There are some cookies I need to bake if we want to make this even more realistic!”

“Are you sure that isn’t an excuse just to eat them yourself?” He teases.

“And what if it is?” you pout.

“Ah, no, nothing. No problem at all…” Naoya chuckles, and you know there’s so much more that he’s holding back on saying, but in favor of getting everything ready for Christmas night, which was just two days away, you let it pass.

Thankfully, your children remain as oblivious as ever, in both matters regarding their presents which were hidden away in one of the many rooms found around the estate until the very day, and your plan for Santa’s nightly visit.

Though they’ve been getting ideas of their own.

“Naomi-nee, come on! Let’s stay up to see Santa coming to our house!” Naori cheers, excitedly tugging at her arm—an accurate reflection of his and his sibling’s enthusiasm. “Please please pleaseeeeeeeeeeee.”

“It’s going to ruin the magic, little bro.” Naomi responds, barely lifting her gaze from the book she was reading. She already knew who Santa was, discovered the truth all by herself once upon a time after noticing the peculiar similarities between Santa’s handwriting and her mama’s.

Did it hurt her to uncover this mystery? Not really. If anything, it just made her job easier when asking for things—though a part of her can’t help but wonder if the mysticism surrounding Santa Claus might’ve been real a long time ago…

Either way, just because she knew the truth doesn’t mean she’d be the one to ruin the fantasy to her younger siblings. They’ll simply have to find out that on their own, if they ever…

“You have to be asleep for Santa to deliver your toys, or you won’t get any.”

“That’s not true.” Naoko pouted. “He gives toys to all kids who are good kids!”

“You probably don’t even notice because mom tucks you to bed early, you know? Besides, even if she didn’t, none of you would be able to stay up late anyways.” Naomi snickers, enjoying how easily provoked her baby siblings are.

“I can!” Naoyuki retorts. “I can stay up late!”

“No, you can’t.” Naomi smirks. “You three will fall asleep the moment it turns 10.”

“Wanna bet?” Naoko frowns.

“Mama will want you to do so, anyways.” The oldest reminds. “Neither she or dad like it when you guys stay up too late.”

“But it’s just going to be one night.” Naori persists. “But we’ll still do it! Whether you join us or not!!”

Naomi ultimately ends up conceding, but not because she was thrilled to see a man dressed up as Santa in the middle of the night at her home, but rather, because she didn’t want any of them getting into trouble, or danger, while you and Naoya weren’t there to intervene. Or more like weren’t supposed to be there…

So, after everyone supposedly goes to bed, Naomi, Naori, Naoko, and Naoyuki stealthily sneak out of the bedroom chambers and head towards the living room, where the Christmas tree was extravagantly set up with all kinds of colorful lights and ornaments Naomi swears they get bigger and more dramatical with each passing year.

Because she was the oldest, Naomi oversaw the effectiveness of this operation, as they’d innocently call it. She had some initial doubts regarding their compliance, they’re eager kids after all—but she’d soon find out that when it comes to working for the same goal, they were nothing but obedient, yet small, cute little soldiers that took all her words to heart and diligently executing their orders!

Might come useful for another occasion, but for now, she’ll be the reliable older sister they need.

“Wait, quiet.” Naomi suddenly says, placing her arm before her eager siblings and stopping them on their tracks.

“What is it Naomi-nee??” Naoko breathes, peeking over her arm. Naori doing the same with her, Naoyuki following suit, so on and so forth.

“What do you see?” Other asks.

“I hear… something.” She frowns, leaning closer and getting a clearer… picture.

“—you’re not thinking of keeping it like that, are you?” it’s you, she immediately discerns. And the lone thought of being caught by her mother is enough to send chills through her spine. More so since it’s clear that you’re setting up the gifts for tomorrow, naturally, no one is supposed to be there.

Certainly not to hear what followed.

“What? You don’t like it?” the other voice teases, muffled enough so Naomi couldn’t figure out who it was, but clear enough to know it was a man. “I thought you did.”

“When have I ever liked beards?” you tease back with a giggle, a gesture that denotes familiarity, uncomfortably so. Naomi frowns. “But I’m sure it would feel nice.”

The curse of understanding innuendos—Naomi scowls. She’s only glad that her siblings were too innocent to understand any better.

“Ah, is that so?”

“Well, you know me—I’m always looking for ways to make things more… interesting.”

“What a naughty wife you are.” The other responds. “I wonder what you’ll husband think of this.”

«Husband?! That means—» Naomi frets, tossing aside her embarrassment and quickly growing disturbed at the implications.

“Oh, but you’re not going to tell him, are you? I can be a very good girl when I need to.”

“I can’t believe you—unless you convince me.”

“I think I know exactly what to do.”

There’s only one person she could imagine you’d share those godawful interactions with. However, given the unmatching description of the other man, and unfamiliar voice…

Naomi could only imagine the worst.

The most absolute dreadful thing she now needed to protect her siblings from before it was too late.

“Naomi-nee…! It’s Santa!” Naoyuki exclaims, happy to see that his theory was right and yet to understand what Naomi was sadly interpreting. He was just a kid, after all. An innocent kid who just had to get overtly excited… “See? I told you! I told you Santa would come tonight! And with our gifts too!”

But he wasn’t just there to leave behind some gifts, eat cookies, drink milk, and leave through the same way he came in.

In fact, everyone would come to see what he was truly there for once you cheekily wrapped your arms around Santa’s shoulders, pulling him very close to you, and finally—

Kissing him.

Making each and every one of your children gasp, shaken to see that their mother’s kisses were no longer exclusively theirs or their fathers, but also a strange man’s whom they couldn’t help but feel resentful of soon afterwards—jealous, even, enough so for the shyest of the bunch to take a stand and get this whole fiasco done with!

“Why are you kissing mama?!” Naori cries, and though you were the one to initiate, he still heads straight for Santa’s arm and harshly pulls at it, as if trying to get this terrible man away from their innocent mom and defend his parent’s happiness. “Hey, I’m talking to you!!”

“Leave mama alone!” Naoko followed, alongside Naoyuki and Naomi, the latter being there to prevent her siblings from causing any more havoc, while the former placed his little hands on your back, tightly holding onto your clothes as he and his twin try to get you to safety. “Get away from her!”

“Wait, kids—!” you gasp, swiftly clinging onto Santa the moment one of your babies tugged at you a bit too roughly—his hands wrapped around your waist soon after to prevent any more damage, which far from helping his cause, just caused their anger to grow even stronger. “Stop it! I’m going to fall!”

“You’re hurting your mom, Nao—” Santa exclaims, but Naori quickly shuts him up.

“Shut up, ugly old man!” he breathes back. “We already have a papa, so get lost!!”

You and Naoya would’ve found it unbearably amusing if their antics weren’t alarmingly approaching the concerning; it was only a matter of time before one of them got too agitated and hurt themselves, thus, necessary to act now.

But thankfully, Naomi would be the voice of reason the moment she takes a better look at Santa’s familiar eyes, quickly realizing who it was underneath the silly costume and stopping her siblings from antagonizing their poor father any longer, who was being punished by the simple crime of getting a kiss from his own dear wife.

“Let me go, nee-san! We have to protect mama!” Naori cries as soon as he’s peeled from your side. “I won’t let him be our papa! We can’t”

“Well, I got something to say regarding that.” Naomi begins, but before she could say anything else, you and Naoya stop her, shaking your head and letting her know that you’d much rather take the fall than destroy the magic of Christmas. As if this hadn’t so already… “I—I mean—”

“He was only kissing me because that was my Christmas present!” You quickly come to the rescue, directing all their scrutinizing attention onto you. You just hoped they’d believe you. “This year the only thing I wanted was a kiss from papa, but since he’s going to be away for a few days… I decided to ask Santa to give it to me! Really! Nothing more, nothing less!”

Such is what you wished them to believe, because your prior heated exchange easily implied otherwise.

However, even if they were unaware of your inappropriate words, they still wouldn’t take the bait—and not because they still harbored anger towards Santa, but rather…

“Papa isn’t going to be here…?” Naoko laments, causing you to immediately regret your choice of words.

“But… he promised.” Naoyuki adds. “He said we were going to play together!”

“N—no, that’s not it… what I meant to say is—” you stammer. “It’s actually—”

“Your papa is going to be away for just a few moments, but only because he’s helping me with the presents.” Santa Claus interjects. Their cute, round angry eyes quickly snap into his direction—their disappointment is strong as ever, but they still give him the right to defend himself. “You see, I must travel around the world delivering gifts to every single kid. It sounds like a big job, and it is. However, if I consider there’s a child that has been incredibly well-behaved this year, I go out of my way to reward them even more.

Unfortunately, I won’t be able to deliver the rest of your toys personally since I have a lot of work this time around, but thankfully, because your papa loves you all very much, he offered to help me! But he will still be there for you during Christmas, regardless of what happens.”

“Really? I don’t want another Christmas without papa…” Naori murmurs, Santa’s heart tightens a bit.

“I promise.”

Was it a bit too on the nose? A mouthful of an excuse that could easily be debunked upon further questioning?

Maybe. Yes.

But that didn’t seem to matter, in fact, everything stopped being relevant the moment Santa implied the existence of more gifts, as if the mountains of presents lined up around the Christmas tree weren’t enough, but most importantly, the presence of their beloved father after having gone through agonizing days of absence (all done with the intention of spending the holidays without the elders or HQ bothering him; yet they always manage somehow).

A prompt solution that gave way to another issue: now Naoya only had a few hours to get all the new gifts he promised before Christmas, though dealing with their disappointment was always an option…

To never consider.

Well, at least their kid’s innocence during the festivities was maintained, though their excitement regarding Santa dwindled a bit, growing skeptic whenever the enigmatic figure approached them and subsequently standing before you whenever he got too close—as if trying to protect you from being whisked away from them, ready to put their life on the line if need be!—or demanding their papa to do so as well, still yet to uncover who was the one underneath that itchy beard and uncomfortable red suit he immediately threw away after that night.

Their undying animosity towards the enigmatic man led to some awkward seasonal photoshoots too, alongside some unwanted meetings with other parents once their kids began an anti-Santa Claus propaganda at school... but you and Naoya knew it was only a matter of time before they outgrew their childish beliefs, and so, the two continued to enjoy their time together as a family.

Eventually looking back to these moments and remembering them as nothing but silly, and somewhat embarrassing to them, anecdotes when they finally know the truth—

Until Naohime came along, that is; surpassing all expectations in such way that no number of gifts or siblings would be able to help you out this time.

I think Naomi is technically around 18 at this point? So you can imagine how goofy all of this was lol either way, we can all see some of the traits they got from Naoya 🤣 their quickness to call Santa ugly and old, alongside their protectiveness over you 🥹❤️ they all love you, they really do. 🥺

Also, I love the fact that every one of your kids adores Naomi. She is the de facto cool older sister that is actually cool and not embarassing. I think. All siblings have that silly side to them, one way or the other...

As for Naohime... I guess we'll have to wait next year to see what happens with her 🥴 but I can give you a hint: it has to do with Naobito and his imprudent nature.

Anyways, thank you so much for reading this small piece of mind!! I had so much fun writing something inspired on that famous song we've all heard about by now 🤣 I just knew y/n wouldn't be able to go on another year without forcing Naoya into dressing up as Santa lol. It's tradition!!!!

Well, once again, thank you so much for your support; now take care and hope to see you soon!!!

[aishangotome]

[Nica Schwartz] I Can't Return to a Time Before You Part 2

Nica: Nica Schwartz, from Germany.

Nica: Birthday is March 2nd. Family is my younger brother, Ring. My curse power is to charm anyone whose hand I hold.

Nica: Special skill is... tying cherry stems with my tongue.

On the terrace seat, Nica pointed at his slightly protruding tongue with his finger and lifted the corner of his mouth. Despite his flirtatious aura, he was charming, and I almost found myself captivated.

Nica: They say people who can tie cherry stems with their tongue are good kissers.

Nica: Want to try it out?

Kate: No!

Nica: Too bad.

(...Geez!)

We entered a nearby café and started chatting, following his suggestion to get to know each other, but--.

(He says things like this from time to time, and it makes my heart skip a beat.)

Nica: What were you doing before you became a Fairytale Keeper, little Robin?

Kate: I was a letter carrier. That's why I know the streets of London quite well.

Kate: I walked a lot to deliver mail quickly.

The memory of working, which was a normal part of my life just a week ago, felt like a distant memory, and I gently sipped my tea.

Then Nica made a worried expression and said--

Nica: It must have been tough for you with such a sudden change in your environment.

Kate: Huh...?

His fingers touched my hand, which was resting on the table.

Nica: You were just working hard, and then you had the bad luck to run into Crown, right?

Nica: It's not your fault... You just happened to see something you shouldn't have.

The ring on his beautiful finger touched my fingertips, and the coldness unique to metal was transmitted to my skin, but--

(No one has ever said that to me...)

My body grew warm, and my nose tingled.

Kate: ...It's true that it might have been bad luck that I was there at that moment, on that day.

Kate: But I also think, just a little, that it might have been meant to be.

Nica: You mean it was fate?

He played with my fingers, intertwining them and poking them, but strangely, I didn't feel uncomfortable.

Kate: Because I met Crown, I was able to learn about the malicious things happening in this country.

Kate: If I hadn't met them, I would have lived my life without knowing anything.

Nica: ...You're strong, little Robin.

The finger that was stroking my ring finger stopped at its base.

When I looked up, his cat-like almond eyes were piercing me.

Nica: But I don't want my lover to see the dirty side of the world.

Nica: Since we're lovers for the day, just look at beautiful things today, okay?

His gaze pierced me, and I couldn't take my eyes away.

Kate: ...Like what, for example?

Nica: Like this.

Emma: Eh, whoa!

Just as I thought his hand had stopped playing with my fingers, a bouquet of flowers suddenly appeared from behind his back.

Kate: Where were you hiding those...? No, more importantly, when did you buy them!?

Nica: Aha, did I surprise you?

(But we haven't been apart since we came into town!)

He handed me the beautiful bouquet, and the floral scent gently tickled my nostrils, but--.

(Is there another, even nicer scent besides the flowers?)

I realized what the sensual scent was the moment the wind blew.

Nica: Whoa, it's windy today... What's wrong, little Robin? Your face is red.

(This is Nica's scent...)

The sensual scent of ylang-ylang was coming from him, and--

Kate: It's nothing... The flowers, I'm happy, thank you.

Nica: Bitte. They suit you well.

*Bitte means "you're welcome" in German.

I felt myself being drawn to Nica and hid my face behind the bouquet.

Nica: Well, since we're on a date, I have to make you happy.

Kate: I'm already happy enough, and besides...

Nica: Are you starting to enjoy being with me?

Nica said smugly, straightening his jacket collar and lifting the corners of his mouth.

Nica: I'll do something even better.

-

Kate: That was wonderful!

Nica: I'm glad you enjoyed it.

After that, he took me to see a play.

(I never told him I liked watching plays.)

While I was once again reminded of how well-informed he is, being escorted by him still made me happy...

(Nica is truly a smart and wonderful person.)

Holding the bouquet, I walked beside him, completely captivated after being escorted by him all day.

Then--

Emaciated Noblewoman: Oh my, aren't you that man from before?

(Ah, not again...)

I felt a little unpleasant when a woman called out to him, even though we weren't even lovers.

But I recognized this woman.

(This is the woman who often came to the theater with her husband.)

I had seen them having a couple's quarrel in the second-floor box seats several times, but--

(I remembered them because the things I overheard were always about him messing with other women.)

Seeing her worryingly emaciated figure, Nica whispered in my ear.

Nica: She confided in me about her troubles with her husband.

As I was feeling a bit sad about the unexpected truth that had come to light, the woman approached us.

Emaciated Noblewoman: Talking to you made me realize I can't stay with that man.

Emaciated Noblewoman: But when I asked for a divorce, he became violent... I don't know what to do anymore.

(That's terrible...)

I saw bruises on the woman's arm as she covered her face, and I couldn't help but frown in anger and disgust.

However, Nica gently took the woman's hand and said,

Nica: I can only listen to you, and I can't solve your problems, but...

He kissed the back of her hand as if to comfort her.

Nica: There are many people who find your free spirit attractive.

Nica: It's okay, be brave.

(Nica...)

As I watched them,

Emaciated Noblewoman: Yes... you're right.

The woman nodded repeatedly as if convincing herself, and Nica, releasing her hand, put his arm around my waist.

Nica: Well then, take care.

As he urged me to leave, I saw--

The woman glaring at me with an intensely angry expression.

(Did I do something?)

Nica: Little Robin.

He called me, and I looked away from the woman, letting him escort me as we started walking, but--.

Kate: ...Nica?

I looked up to see the corners of his mouth lifted.

Just as I was about to ask him why he was smiling---

???: Aaaaaaaaaah!!!

A scream from behind brought our sweet and happy time as lovers to an end.

.

.

.

Part 1 | Bitter Ending | Premium Ending

If you’d like to support my translations, feel free to buy me a coffee here! :)

[kairaloi]

I'd never expected this.

I sat at the dining table my dwarf neighbor had built for me when I first moved to the swamp. A warm ceramic mug of tea between my large clawed hands was another gift from a neighbor.

The weather was miserable; pouring rain in white sheets and cold enough to fog breath.

Inside my stone hut, it was warm, dry, and cozy.

My sister sat across from me. She'd been engulfed by the massive wool blanket I'd wrapped her in. The mug was nearly too big and heavy for her to lift, so to avoid spilling, she rested it on the table and tilted it to sip. She'd lost all dignity at this point. In fact, she'd lost everything, or so she claimed.

Water dripped from her hair.

"How about you start from the beginning?" I asked, my voice low and rumbling.

Arabella flinched. Her small, soft voice was still hoarse from her trip through the torrential rain to my soggy domicile of exile. Probably the farthest she'd ever traveled, let alone unaccompanied. I was surprised she'd made it here without more mishap than a torn and muddy dress. "Father... is a liar," she said.

I nodded. "Yes. But I'm sure you didn't come here to tell me the obvious."

Arabella flinched again, lowering her head. "I'm sorry."

That was unexpected.

I sipped my tea. I'd learned how to make a few simple brews from the witch of the forest. In exchange, I gave her some of the meat I caught and scared off hunters that got too close to our part of the woods. Her face was hideous, but she was old, and who was I to judge?

Arabella's face twisted. "He promised that if you took the curse for the family that the rest of us would be fine. But Kyle has... He's turned to stone! Mother is sprouting feathers! Father is the only one untouched--but I know he's made a bargain. Everyone else in exchange for his life!"

I leaned my elbow on the table, chin resting in my palm. "Ah... Arabella, I've learned a few things while out here, so let me fill you in."

Her eyes lifted, wide and shining.

"The curse is permanent." I lifted a finger, releasing my mug to do so. "The curse requires consent. If you don't consent, it doesn't work. So Kyle agreed to take it on. Monica--"

"Mother."

"Monica. Agreed to turn into a chicken."

"Harpy."

My lips curved. "Ah--" I barely stopped myself from laughing.

Arabella's jaw clenched. She looked down.

"So unless you agree to take his curse... nothing can be done."

"But Kyle! He's only thirteen!"

"Oh. Wow..." I mused. I hadn't realized it had been that long. "Well, sorry. But it's like sex. Once the deed is done, you can't undo it. He agreed." I briefly wondered if our parents had even told him that he had an older sister. Probably not. Not that it mattered now anyway. Kyle was as good as dead... unless.

"Is there nothing that can be done?" Arabella screamed, her voice giving out at the end even though she'd slammed to her feet. It was hardly impressive since jumping out of the chair made her lose eight inches of height.

"Well... The Bog Hag said that curses are a lot like locks, and any lock can be picked. You just have to figure out the locking mechanism."

Arabella's eyes widened. "Like True Love's Kiss?" she asked.

"A fae demented enough to continue making deals with Allen in exchange for his family wouldn't pick something so cute."

"Father," Arabella corrected automatically, then looked down as she carefully climbed back into the chair. "What do you mean continue?"

"Loki, as he likes to be called, told me that I was taking on Allen's debt," I said with a shrug. "This leads me to believe that Allen has asked for more favors, which has incurred more debt."

"That..." her voice faded, expression changing to one of someone putting the pieces together.

"So I'm guessing the family has had quite a bit of fortune lately?" I asked, picking up my mug to finish my tea. I stood, careful not to knock anything with my tail as I went to the stove to refill my mug.

"Please help me..." Arabella asked.

I looked over my shoulder at her. "Why should I? I'm happy here."

"But you're..."

"A monster?" I grinned. "I feel more myself than I ever did in Allen's house. You can't tell me it was easy to get here with your ribs wrapped in steel and legs bound by cloth." I set my mug on the table and leaned over her, a hand on the back of the chair she sat in. "Tell me, Arabella. Were Madam Wretched's dancing lessons fun? Were Mister Wrathful's tutoring sessions enjoyable?"

My sister swallowed. She wanted to correct me on Wreath and Willson's names, but she didn't.

"Did you jump for joy when they assigned a knight to watch you day and night so you couldn't have a moment of silence without his resentful sighs interrupting?"

She flinched, hunching down in the wool blanket. "It wasn't all bad..."

"One thing," I challenged, lifting a claw near her face. "Name one thing."

Arabella opened her mouth, then closed it. She was struggling.

"All the food. All of it looked and smelled so delicious, but you weren't allowed a morsel," I offered.

She grit her teeth.

"The garden you weren't allowed in without a wide hat, parasol, and six men carrying a tent over you at all times."

"Stop..." she begged, hands covering her face.

"The man you were ordered to marry who looks like a slime and mud golem had a child," I finished.

She choked.

I put my hand on her back, gently rubbing. "Go ahead and laugh."

Arabella sobbed, laughing and crying at the same time. I knelt and put my arms around her. She gripped my thick neck, her tiny hands buried in my wild red mane. "You're right!" she admitted, voice muffled by my shoulder. "But how did you know about him?"

"People from town sometimes go to the Bog Hag for help with... problems."

"His personality is even worse than his face!"

"I could tell by the sneer they gave him in the newspaper."

Arabella sat back, wiping her face with her fingers.

I looked up at her with a sigh. "I'm still your sister," I said, resigned. She'd only been four when I was cursed, after all. She had been my little shadow, and... being thirteen at the time, I'd found her to be very annoying. Now, she was sixteen. If I'd looked up the definition of the word Princess, her picture would've been there; blonde, blue-eyed, petite, weak, soft-spoken...

Arabella stared down at me and swallowed as her eyes searched my face. "Please help me... get revenge."

My lips curled, revealing the sharp teeth my curse had blessed me with.

Despite being cursed into a monster and being banished by your royal parents, you were happy with your life. Your home was peaceful. You always had enough to eat. You even had friends despite your appearance, so yeah your life was great. Your non-cursed sibling's life, on the other hand

[mythalism]

Have you ever thought how would a meeting between Mythal and Lavellan go, if inquisitor was the protagonist instead of Rook? (a girl can dream)

I wonder if both of them having history with Solas will be a point of discord between two women, or on the opposite will foster an understanding.

oh boy anon.... have i......

if you had asked me a few years ago id actually tell you that my personal ideal lavellan storyline would have involved her taking on the fragment of mythal. and solas being horrified by it LOL

now, knowing the dynamic between solas and mythal, i dont think i still would have wanted this. it would be horrifyingly tragic. like true classic greek play makes you feel sick kind of tragic. and i do enjoy that but i think it would have actually ruined my life if they went there.

as for what i think it might look like, i think we already have an idea. we did see flemythal and the inquisitor react, and flemythal says she does the people proud. or that they kneel too easily LOL. shes mostly indifferent. morrigythal and the inquisitor also seem fairly close in veilguard, at least far closer than they were when we left them 10 years ago. "speaking from the heart, inquisitor?" was PERSONAL but playful and fond, imo. the way morrigan looks at lavellan when she talks about solas each time also makes me think they've talked about everything. i actually really enjoyed the tidbits of their friendship we saw. bonding over a shared ex boyfriend you will always be famous. even when the ex is shared by uhhhhhhhh ancient goddess fragment hanging out next to your soul.

as for how fragment mythal would have reacted... honestly i dont think she would have treated lavellan that differently from how she treats rook, aka as a mildly interesting bug that has crawled across her carpet that she is contemplating squishing or taking outside in a cup. depending on how it behaves.

we dont know the extent of her ability to "watch" the world but considering she knows about pretty much everything we can assume she is aware of solas and lavellan. and shes even in the same room as them at one point and does not say or do anything. i really dont think she gives a fuck LMAO. i think fragment mythal sees herself as truly god-like and thus she would probably not really clock lavellan as a threat. i also think she does not care about solas enough to be truly jealous. i also think there is a part of her who wants him to be happy because why free him if not? i think all of these things exist inside of her simultaneously and as a result she would prob just be a haughty bitch to lavellan like she is to everyone else. maybe with a few extra zingers thrown in about solas to taunt her and see if she rises to the bait. maybe she'd lay the "test your worth" on a bit thicker because she'd want to see the mettle of the mortal who got the dread wolf's heart.

as for how lavellan would treat mythal that would be sooooo varied based on everyones personal lavellan that i get why we didnt see it in game. mine would be pretty pissed off but she would have a healthy amount of the fear of god in her and probably not be openly antagonistic. but definitely snarky. there is also a place for mythalavellan toxic yuri in my soul but thats a conversation for another time. ultimately i think mythal is putting lavellan in a cup in a rare moment of solidarity and empathy and putting her outside. but not gently. she kind of throws the whole cup out the door y'know and goes "ew. good luck with ur ugly fucking boyfriend" and continues on with her life unbothered. to seek revenge and a horrible reckoning ofc

[harrietswriting]

hi hi uhhhuhhhhhhhhhhhahahahah

i really like dallas winston.. so..

dallas x reader literally just hanging out? the book made me so sad in 7th and it’s coming back and dallas winston is just heaven sent and doesn’t have enough stuff about him 🙁

an: I took some creative freedom hear and made this sad 😭I'm so unmotivated rn but this is cute so I'm doing this. I tried to research about Dallas's past for this and I found out that for some reason, I was under the impression that Dallas was born and raised in New York, then ran away from home, and that's not really true? But for this fic- his dad is in New York and he ran away from there. I did not make this cute.

W: angst!!, hc about Dallas's past, mentions of abuse, neglect, violence, drinking, and death, not fully proof read, sad because I can and want to.

Dallas Winston x Reader

Angst

You leaned your head back against the wall and sighed.

"What?" Dallas looked over at you. Your legs were over top of his and his back rested against the wall. He placeed a hand on your knee.

"Nothing. I'm just bored." You shrugged.

"So, what do you want to do?" He asked.

You shruged again. He rolled his eyes. "Come here." He patted the spot next to him, so you moved and sat next to him. He slipped his arm around you, pulled you closer, and kissed your temple. You smiled sweetly.

"Its kinda nice being this quiet with you. I can't remember the last time we've just enjoyed eachothers company. You're always talking my ear off." He smiled smuggly.

You huffed out a laugh. "Be quiet." You mumbled with a smile.

He smiled back and pulled you tighter against his side. You two sit in silence for a moment longer, until you broke it.

"You never talk about yourself. Sometimes I feel like I don't know much about you, Dal."

He froze for a moment then looked at you. "What's your point?"

"Tell me about yourself. Like, about what your life was like in New York." You suggest.

He sighed and leaned his head back against the wall. He stared ahead at the other wall. "It was hell."

You waited for him to continue, but once he doesn't, you chimed in again. "Why?" You asked.

He looked at you. He had this look- he didn't look upset, no, he almost looked sad, worried. He sighed again and looked back at the wall.

"My old man, he never really cared for me. He only cared when I screwed up, ya know?"

Your heart ached for him. Even though he wasn't looking at you, you can see his subtle sadness. His eyebrows furrowed slightly, and his voice shook just a bit. It was obvious this was hard for him to talk about. He took his arm off of you and clasped his hands together in his lap. He fidgeted with his ring.

"My mom left before I was old enough to remember her." He looked down at his lap.

"I'm sorry." You said softly. This is so new, Dallas being vulnerable around you, you're kind of unsure on what to do. You gently put your hand over his. He immediately held your hand in both of his.

"Its not your fault." He told you. "I mean, that wasn't it. I could handle my old man beating me and all, but I wasn't in a good part of New York." He glanced at you. "I was in gangs, and not like the gang here, with the guys, like actual gangs, starting when I was really little, like 10."

He continues to give a pretty basic outline of his childhood. He was constantly in fights, stating drinking and smoking at an age way too young, and never had any real good friends before he moved here, he told you.

Dallas Winston was a tragic case. He was born to broken people in poverty, and grew up surrounded by violence. Worst yet, he never had someone to love him, not until he moved here. But, sometimes now you wonder if he ever knew that he was loved.

You place the flowers you brought and sniffle as you stare at the engraved named on the piece of stone by your late lovers final resting place.

Dallas T. Winston.

Mournful tears slip down your face and into the grass below as you recall the day he told you about his past, the day he opened his world to you, the day you finally realized that he had never been shown love.

You can't blame yourself, you know he'd hate that, but you can't help but wonder if this could have been prevented, had you told him you loved him, instead of being too afraid to do so.

You must tell him. So, has your eyes become waterfalls and your chin, a leaky sink, you say it.

"I love you, Dallas."

But it was too late. He died without knowing he was loved.

an: I'm sorry, halfway through I was like and lets make him dead! So here! Sorry for being inactive. I'm trying to get requests done. Love y'all 💕

[shorthaltsjester]

just constantly thinking about percy telling vex that he’d like to think they’re all better than they think they are (except her brother, of course) . constantly thinking about when vex tells percy he’s a good man and he gets awkward and flustered and returns that she’s a good woman and when she gets as awkward and flustered he goes “see. it’s not very nice is it.” percy shouting to ripley that he forgives her and vex carves forgive into the wood of her bow. vex tells percy to take off his mask and percy comes across vex in tears and scrubbing at her armour. god. the campaign starts and percy is making arrows as flirting and getting kisses in return and the campaign ends and exhausted and knowing it won’t be a want that will be fulfilled percy admits he never wants to make another weapon and vex equally exhausted affirms that he’ll never Have to. and god . god . opposites attract is great or whatever but the deliciousness of dynamics where the characters hold up a mirror to one another where they get to shed the burden of self and see someone Like Them as someone good or capable of being better and Falling In Love. and that love being a pathway to them coming to grips with their own image and their own capacity to be better. and that the fact that the person they fall for being someone so Familiar means that they see through each other’s shit. that percy sees that vex has fallen into the trap of Nobility tricking people into thinking that makes them inherently better and giving her the only whitestone title someone has to earn beyond selection or marriage or birth. that vex sees percy forgive ripley and discusses the importance of that choice but reminds him that it’s just as important that he forgive himself.

[itwasntimethatdidit40]

WED. WHAT THE HELL HAVE YOU DONEEEEEE I’M GOING TO CRY MYSELF TO SLEEP THINKING ABOUT COWBOY JOEL 😭

I WANT HIM I NEED HIM I LOVE HIM

You thought you understood what last night was—anger, frustration, both of you taking it out on each other. But the way Joel touched you, the way he kissed you, the way he stayed silent afterward… none of it fits the narrative you’ve been telling yourself.

He’s totally smitten, Jesus Christ 🫠

“Joel’s snoring didn’t keep you up all night?”

Dude, it wasn’t the snoring, it was your brother’s big cock 😏

“I’d rather the ‘I told you so,’” you spit, hot and bitter. “Just say it. Whatever it is. You think I’m too young to know what I’m doing? Too soft? You think I’m a failure? Couldn’t handle the city, the job, the—”

Yeah, she’s me 🥲

When you’re satisfied he’s unhurt, you lead him into the pen and give him a scratch behind the ears. “You’re a good boy,” you whisper again, softly. “We’ll get it next time.”

Awww, the way she’s such a softie for Blue, so on brand for me, it’s just a different animal but the way she treats him is basically the same I treat my babygirl Brienne 🥹

Joel looks sincere, firm. “Desperation’s just another word for fightin’ for what you need.”

This is such a beautiful sentence and so true, ugh my heart ❤️

You look up at him. Feeling exposed, like you’re holding the ugliest parts of you in your palms for him to see. “You think so?”

And here’s another poetic image I love so much 🥲 God, how you even came up with this sentence, it’s so perfect

“You’re tougher than most people I know. And contrary to what you think, I respect the hell outta you for it.”

Awwww please, giggling and kicking my feet 🥹

You’ve spent so long chasing your own impossible standards.

Fighting for your dad’s stoic approval. Suffocating under the weight of other people’s judgment.

You looked into my head and wrote that, right? WTF 😭

He shifts, his hand brushing yours lightly, and the air between you feels thick. “Took me a long time to learn how to ask for help or accept it. Still ain’t perfect at it neither,” it comes out like a confession. “But there’s nothing weak about it. And there’s nothin’ more attractive than a woman who’s not afraid to try, fail, and try again.”

He’s so precious, I can’t even stop, I’m YEARNING

His movements are unhurried. He steps closer to you. He’s so large in the small space. Not intimidating, but stabilizing.

Joel is exactly this for me, my rock, my loyal guy, my everything 🥹

His hand settles on your waist, pulling you close as the kiss deepens. There’s no resistance. You’re pliable and willing. He moves with you naturally, like your mouths were always meant to find each other. He holds you like you’re a treasure, a prize, a wonder. Precious.

OMG 😭🫠

“You have no idea how much I crave this. Crave you. In every way.” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. The reverence in his tone makes your cheeks flush, and you can’t help but smile.

JESUS FUCK ❤️‍🔥

Everything you use to protect yourself falls away as you let his words soak in. You couldn’t hide from him if you wanted to. He’s not just taking—he’s giving, pouring every ounce of admiration and desire he feels for you into each moment. And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself take it in, let yourself believe it.

Look how I’m going to cry for smut, just wait for it, this is so perfect 🥲🥲🥲

You wonder if you should feel more vulnerable being naked beneath him while he’s still fully clothed. But instead, it feels empowering—like this moment belongs to you just as much as it does to him; like every touch and kiss is a promise steeped in devotion.

Ok, I want this or nothing, it's the sexiest thing in the world

He knows exactly what you need next. Filling you with his fingers while he wraps his lips over your clit. The wet noises of his fingers pumping into you are obscene-–but they're nothing compared to the moan you make when you see the way his hips are desperately rutting into the mattress between your legs.

The sight of him losing control, his own need so evident and unrestrained, sends a fresh wave of heat through you. He’s giving so much of himself to you with every movement. It’s not just his mouth or his hands—it’s the way he wants you, completely and utterly, like he’s been holding it back for ages.

This is so fucking HOT, he’s so desperate, I’m going insane 🥵🥵🥵

Your head shakes slightly, determination building even in your post-release haze. “Joel. Now.”

🫠🫠🫠

“You’re gonna get me, baby. All of me. Gonna fill you so deep you’ll never forget it.”

Yes, please, I need this right now

“Fuck,” he pauses after barely pushing into you. His eyes slam shut for a moment before he inches deeper into you, slower than you thought possible. “You take me like it’s what you’re meant for.” His eyes stay locked on yours, watching every flicker of pleasure that crosses your face.

You take me like it’s what you’re meant for… I JUST CAN’T WHY HE’S LIKE THAT ❤️‍🔥

“Feel that?” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble. “Feel how deep I am? That’s where I’m gonna stay, sweetheart. Right here, fillin’ you up.”

You can stay inside me 24/7, I don’t mind, I’m going to live the rest of my life with you inside.

You watch, as he instructed, until you look back up to his face. He’s so vocal, so confident with every word—but his face is equal parts hungry and wrecked. Fucked out. Drunk on you.

OH MY GOD PLS 🫠

Joel sits across from you, his knee brushing yours under the table. You catch him watching you over the rim of his coffee cup, his lips twitching into a barely concealed smile when your eyes meet.

He’s so damn cute 🥹

“It’s better when you’ve got good company,” he says, the corner of his mouth quirking into a half-smile.

oh please, with you by my side I could look at a landfill and find it romantic, I’m not even joking

The thought that this wasn’t just a playful gesture but a quiet claim sends a flutter through your chest.

Awwww OMG I’m going insaneeee

The two of you fall into an easy rhythm, sharing quiet conversation. Joel’s small acts of service don’t go unnoticed—handing you a napkin before you realize you need one, making sure your drink stays full, brushing crumbs off your sleeve with a casual intimacy that feels like it’s always been there.

Again, this is so damn cute, so on brand for Joel. He provides, he protects, he’s the man I love and I need 😭

You expect to see something flare in his eyes bringing up Cody, reminding you of the way he looked at you the first night you came back to the trailer. But, you take his hand and he’s only projecting pride and confidence. It makes you stand taller, knowing he’s a secure man.

Heheheheheh 🥰

He takes a deep breath, his hand shifting to fully cover yours. “I’m sayin’ I want something real with you. Not just sneakin’ moments or pretendin’ it don’t matter. I want to see where this goes.”

Yas, baby 🥹

Awww, this made me so full of love and content, it was exactly what I needed!

And I love that you wrote a softer Joel, he’s so damn perfect, he made me all fuzzy and stupidly happy awww he’s so precious 🥹❤️

This will definitely become one of my comfort fics, you did an amazing job and I loved everything, these two are incredible characters and your writing??? Excuse me, miss, are you trying to kill me, make me so aroused I can’t even stand it and make me cry all at once? 😭❤️‍🔥

Thanks for sharing your art with us!

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

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

a/n: i battled five million error messages to deliver this bad boy so if something is weird or it seems like paragraphs are missing... they might be. i think some formatting got lost. i'll put the whole thing on ao3 asap. i am unsure what i've done to anger the tumblr hq but i apologize

@katiexpunk : here is part two, thank you for being patient, i hope the wait was worth it <3 tags: modern cowboy joel au/ team roper joel and tommy, no sarah, enemies to lovers, dbf lite, choose your own age gap, small town romance, city girl returns to the country, miscommunication, horsegirl!joel, smut, ridin' that cowboy bareback as the good lord intended, no beta-mistakes are my fault for writing at 4am and for spending the afternoon fighting god to get this website to accept me thanks to: @syd-djarin, @auteurdelabre, and @lovely-vamp-princess for support, eyes, and ideas, etc.

Joel wakes you up while it’s still dark, pulling your shirt over your head and pressing a kiss to your temple. “Sleep,” he mutters in a gravelly whisper.

The ache in your body is a stark reminder of everything Joel did to you. Every movement as you roll over sends a sharp jolt through your muscles, and the hollow soreness deep inside you leaves you raw.

For a moment, you lie still, staring at the ceiling, replaying every moment—the way he touched you, the way he looked at you. You can still feel him, the shape he carved out inside of you.

He said nothing. He didn’t gloat, didn’t tease, didn’t even try to explain. The silence felt heavier than any of his words ever could.

You can hear him outside, feeding the horses. You give in, curling up under the blanket for another hour until you figure you might miss your chance for fresh coffee from the visitor tent.

You pull on clothes, feeling hungover with anxiety twisting in your gut. Your head spins and your chest feels tight, but you march toward the picnic tables and get yourself coffee and breakfast.

You aren’t sure what the fuck you’re supposed to do now. You sit at a table, a cup of coffee cradled in your hands, your head pounding as though you’d downed a bottle of whiskey the night before. The anxiety sits heavy in your chest, each sip of coffee doing little to loosen its grip.

You thought you understood what last night was—anger, frustration, both of you taking it out on each other. But the way Joel touched you, the way he kissed you, the way he stayed silent afterward… none of it fits the narrative you’ve been telling yourself.

You glance across the grounds, your eyes catching on Joel’s familiar silhouette near the fence. He’s leaning against the rail, his dark eyes scanning the crowd, but the moment his gaze lands on you, something shifts.

Your breath catches, the air between you thick and suffocating even from across the distance. Joel tips his head slightly, a subtle acknowledgment, but it only tightens the knot in your chest.

You tear your eyes away, focusing on the coffee in your hands, but the weight of his gaze lingers, pressing into you like a brand.

You keep your distance, avoiding Joel as you move through the motions of the morning ignoring the questions and confusion gnawing at you.

The sun climbs higher, the dry heat pressing down like a heavy blanket, but the rodeo grounds are alive with movement. Dust clings to the back of your throat, blending with the faint, bitter taste of coffee as you linger near the edge of the action, pretending to watch.

You’re halfway to convincing yourself Joel’s not even here when you hear Tommy’s voice. He’s leaning on the fence, one boot propped on the bottom rail, his arm resting loosely on the top. A beautiful woman stands beside him, gorgeous with bold makeup and tight jeans, her dark hair catching the light. She laughs at something Tommy says, swatting at his chest, and he grins down at her like she’s the only person in the world.

You almost keep walking, but Tommy glances up and catches your eye, his grin widening as he waves you over. He calls your name in an easy, smooth tone.

“Morning,” you say stiffly, stopping a few paces away.

The woman glances between you and Tommy, murmuring something to him before she wanders off toward the trailers. Tommy doesn’t miss a beat, tipping his hat to you with that same infuriating grin.

“You sleep alright?”

“What?” you gape at him before rushing to fix your face.

“Joel’s snoring didn’t keep you up all night?”

“Oh.” You shake your head. “No, slept fine. Thanks.”

He gives you another smile, and you move to lean on the fence watching the arena with him. He cocks his head, his eyes still on you.

“You worried about runnin’ Blue?” His voice is warm and light. His dark eyes sparkle with his natural charm, but it’s a genuine question.

You peel the edge of the paper coffee cup, looking past Tommy toward the warmup pen. “Yeah, I guess.” You give him a half smile. “We aren’t gunning for the NFR or anything, though.”

“Somethin’ else weighing on you, darlin’?”

You shake your head. Not willing to reveal anything else. “Heard you were up late partying with the roughstock boys and their fan club,” you accuse in a joking tone, attempting to redirect the conversation. “You aren’t worried about your own round?”

He laughs deeply at that. “Nah, that’s what a heeler’s for,” he says. “I just gotta be in the box on time. Joel’s the one that keeps us winnin’.”

“He’s not a partier?” You didn’t mean to dig, but the question slipped out anyway.

Tommy turns his head towards you, but you keep staring out at the arena, watching the crew setting up the barrels for the first division.

He studies you for a long moment, his grin softening into something closer to curiosity. “Joel’s not like me. Not really.” Your brow furrows. The words twist in your chest, setting your thoughts spinning. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Tommy chuckles again, but there’s something unreadable in his eyes. “Let’s just say, Joel’s always had his head screwed on tighter than mine. Even when he didn’t.” You stare at him, trying to unravel the meaning behind his words, but Tommy just grins. “Joel’s a loyal kinda guy, y’know? Don’t mean he’s blind, though.” He gives you a wink and you feel heat flooding your face. “Just means he wrestles with it longer than the rest of us would.” You scowl at him for that. “And what the hell is that supposed to mean?” Did Joel tell him? Does he know what happened? He shrugs. “Just means you’re a hell of a distraction,” Tommy says, tipping his hat. You laugh it off, but his words linger, your mind racing with questions you’re not ready to ask. You whip your head away again as if staring at the tractor raking the arena can save you from the conversation. But Tommy notices.

He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t tease or prod, but you can feel the weight of his gaze as you swallow hard, your thoughts spiraling. Before you can respond, someone calls his name from across the grounds. Tommy tips his hat one last time. “Good luck out there, neighbor,” he says, his voice light but laced with something heavier. “Don’t let that head of yours get in the way.”

And then he’s gone, leaving you standing alone, your thoughts spinning, your chest burning. You push off the fence and find yourself a spot on the bleachers. They’re dusty and worn. The boards creak as you settle into a spot near the edge. You watch the first few runs.

The riders move with precision, their horses cut through the dirt with sharp, clean turns. The announcer’s voice booms over the speakers, calling names and times, but it fades into the background as you watch.

Everywhere you look, there’s something that reminds you of Joel.

The set of someone’s shoulders as they lean against the fence, the low timbre of a voice nearby, a black felt hat in the corner of your eye. You try to banish the worry and the panic creeping in.

You remember the way he watched you train with Blue. The way he offered advice that sounded more like a challenge. The way his voice cut through the air like he knew more than you. The way he looked at you last night. The raw unguarded expression you’ve never seen before.

You hate the way he makes you feel small and uncertain. You hate the way you can’t stop thinking about him.

You can’t stop remembering the way his hands felt on your skin or his tongue. The heat in his voice and the way he saw through every lie you told.

The sound of someone hitting the dirt makes you snap your head up just as the crowd around you gasps.

In the arena, a horse stands, saddle hanging nearly sideways off of it. A rider scrambles to their feet, brushing dirt from their jeans with a wave. They lead their horse out of the arena and you can hear folks around you murmuring that their latigo broke and their saddle slipped as they turned for home. The horse and the rider are both fine, but your nerves flare.

You know the risks of the sport. But it makes you head back to the trailer early to inspect all of your tack closely for anything faulty. From across the grounds, Joel watches you. He stands near the holding pen, arms crossed over his chest. You haven’t seen him yet. Not really. Not in the way he sees you.

He can feel the tension in your shoulders as you walk, the way you crush the paper coffee cup in your hand.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t call out to you.

He doesn’t trust himself to. He shouldn’t have touched you last night. Shouldn’t have let his jealousy boil over. Shouldn’t have taken it that far. But now, standing here, all he could think about was the way you felt underneath him. The way you said his name like he was the only thing holding you together. And the way he needs to hear it again.

By the time your division gets called to warm up, you’ve eased your worries about your tack but you’re still swimming in Joel thoughts until you swing your leg over the saddle and settle on Blue’s back.

Then the rest of the world disappears. Your ride starts off smooth, but Blue’s sensitivity is a curse and a blessing. You figure he must be picking up on some anxiety as he gets a little hot, tossing his head and pulling on the reins when you try to bring him down to a jog.

You work out most of the kinks, circling and working on transitions until he feels supple and responsive to your seat and legs. Your nerves and the energy of the other horses still have his ears swiveling and his head perked up as you wait for the rider ahead of you to be called.

You can see most of their run, it’s smooth and they put up a good time. You squeeze your calves asking Blue to head toward the alleyway, but he’s springloaded.

You hold him back as he crow hops sideways for a beat before you’re backing him up. You try making a slow circle before heading in but he’s still jigging with short, bouncy steps like he’s ready to explode.

You’re tense, holding him back and trying to stay calm, making one more circle when he starts hopping again. You can feel eyes on you from the people standing near the gate. Before you can make another circle Joel is striding towards you with swift long steps.

He grabs Blue by the bridle, speaking directly to him in a calming, low voice. You glare at him reactively, but the words die before you can formulate them.

Blue’s jittering slows and Joel leads you up the alley toward the arena. His steps are sure and confident as he guides you. You bit your lip, fighting the urge to snap at him and tell him you don’t need his help. The truth is you do.

“Go get ‘em,” he says quietly, turning to you.

You gather your reins, giving him a tight nod to signal you’re ready. He lets go and steps back. Your heart pounds as you encourage Blue to push off into a lope.

The moment you cross the starting line, everything else fades.

The noise. The nerves. Even Joel. It all melts away. Just you and Blue and the rhythm of his hooves pounding against the soft dirt.

The first barrel comes fast. You guide him into a tight turn, pushing him to pick it up toward the next. His lead change is smooth as you shift your weight, leaning into the next tight turn. You’ve got your body facing the final barrel before Blue pushes off with his powerful hind legs.

You thunder toward the last barrel. His strides are strong and controlled. You’ve just gotta make this last turn without taking it too wide or knocking the barrel over.

Blue doesn’t forget his training, bending around your leg, picking up his shoulder, and you’ve got one stride left in the turn before you’re free to haul ass home.

You’ve got this.

You’ve got this.

You don’t got this.

The footing is deeper than the arena you run at on Thursday nights. Blue’s hooves slide in the loose dirt. His balance faltering. Time slows and you feel his weight tipping. There’s nothing to do but brace for the impact. His body hits the dirt in a controlled, almost graceful fall.

You hit the ground with a dull thud, the breath knocked out of you as you scramble back giving Blue room to pop back up. He shakes off the dirt, your stirrups slapping at his side and the reins nearly coming over his ears. His eyes are wide, but he stands waiting for your direction.

You catch your breath, chest still heaving from the shock. You dust the dirt off your jeans and wave off the grounds person jogging toward you. “I’m fine,” you call. “We’re fine.” Your voice is steady, but your chest feels like it’s caving in.

You pull his reins over his head and walk toward the end of the arena, keeping your head up and patting Blue on the neck. The crowd claps expressing support and relief that you’re both walking.

Hot, angry tears blur your vision by the time you get to the alley.

You don’t see Joel, staring at the ground as you walk, but you hear him hustling toward you calling your name. His boots crunch against the dirt as he matches your pace.

“You okay?” he asks, low and concerned.”

“Fine,” you snap, not looking at him as you speed up, pulling Blue along faster.

“It was a good-looking run you had going,” Joel says, his tone soft. “You two looked great, making good time. You can’t help the shitty footing—”

“I don’t need your pity,” you cut him off, sharp but trembling. “Not now.”

You don’t see the way his face tightens. The anger is spilling out, uncontrollable, and you don’t care if it cuts.

“I’d rather the ‘I told you so,’” you spit, hot and bitter. “Just say it. Whatever it is. You think I’m too young to know what I’m doing? Too soft? You think I’m a failure? Couldn’t handle the city, the job, the—”

“Hey, easy.” He tries to interrupt you gently, like a spooked horse. “Nothing like that.”

“You think I’m dumb, too?” You keep jabbing him with questions as you get closer to the trailer, not caring if anyone else hears. “Just another woman that fell into your bed at another rodeo.”

“Enough,” Joel says steady and low, but you don’t hear him.

“Yeah, I’ve heard the rumors,” you snap, your voice cracking. “Didn’t think they were true, to be honest. Didn’t seem like you. Guess I don’t really know you though, do I?”

Joel’s jaw tightens, his dark eyes flashing with hurt, but you’re too far gone to notice.

“You know, maybe I was stupid.” Your voice shakes as tie Blue at the trailer to untack. “But for a while, I thought I was finally starting to feel like myself out here. Like I was where I was supposed to be. And now—” Your words catch in your throat. Tears streaming down your face. You shake your head, stopping yourself from revealing anything else. You turn away from Joel and start running your hands along Blue’s legs to check for any swelling from the fall.

Joel doesn’t move for a long beat. He stands rigid, watching you wrestle with your emotions as you work. Finally, Joel exhales sharply, running a hand over his face. His voice is tight when he speaks. “I’ll leave you be.”

He walks away before you can respond, his footsteps heavy against the dirt. Your shoulders sag as the adrenaline starts to wear off, leaving behind the hollow ache of exhaustion. Your hands tremble as you finish untacking and brushing Blue, but you keep moving, your touch soft against his sweat-damp coat. “You did nothing wrong,” you murmur.

Fresh tears pool in your eyes. “You’re a good boy, Blue. You did exactly what we practiced.” Blue snorts softly, his ears flicking back toward you, and you lean into him, pressing your forehead against the warm curve of his neck. “I was the one who fucked up,” you admit, your words muffled against his dark coat. The truth spills out in quiet, broken pieces.

“I should’ve been watching the other riders closer this morning. Should’ve caught how deep the footing was at the far barrel.”

Your voice drops to a whisper. “Instead of thinking about how I could still feel his hands on me. Or wondering if he’s thinking about me.”

The confession hangs in the air, heavy and unspoken. Blue shifts beneath you, his weight leaning into your side like he knows you need the grounding.

You pull back, wiping at your face quickly before running your hands over Blue one more time, checking for any swelling or signs of injury. You move methodically, your touch steady despite the way your chest feels like it’s caving in.

When you’re satisfied he’s unhurt, you lead him into the pen and give him a scratch behind the ears. “You’re a good boy,” you whisper again, softly. “We’ll get it next time.”

The afternoon stretched on at the rodeo, the sun climbing high and unrelenting.

You do your best to avoid the temptation to look for Joel, though he somehow has a way of being everywhere and nowhere all at once. Mostly it was false alarms and your eyes playing tricks on you. But once or twice you saw him watching other events. He never seemed to notice you, or if he did he gave no indication.

You hadn’t decided if you were avoiding him out of anger, shame, or if it was because the thought of being near him again after last night still made your chest ache in a way you didn’t want to examine. You’re still burying that last thought somewhere deep when you catch the flash of Joel’s red mare striding through the arena.

You can see Joel and Tommy putting their horses through some practice just past the main arena.

Your lips press together into a thin line as you watch them. Joel has a different aura about him when he’s in the saddle. He seems lighter somehow. Relaxed, but with a quiet command. He guides his horse in a way that looks effortless. His body moving in perfect harmony with hers. Tommy’s horse was a little snappier, making quick sharp turns. The pair of riders worked together naturally, movements fluid and precise as they get their practice in.

It was mesmerizing. Infuriatingly so.

You leaned back, trying to tear your gaze away, but your eyes betrayed you, drawn back to continue admiring him. The longer you watch the more it stirs up something unwelcome in your chest. You can’t keep letting him occupy so much space in your mind or your memories.

He’s proven time and again that he doesn’t respect you. He didn’t even argue when you laid it all out in your outburst after your run. He just walked away from you.

But there’s something in the way he carries himself. Something in the way he rides, the way he works with his horse, that hints at something different than what you know. Something that makes you curious.

You blink, realizing Joel’s head was turned toward the bleachers. For a second you think his eyes are on you and you quickly look away. When you glance back he’s already turned his attention back to something else.

Embarrassment wraps around your throat. This is why you had to avoid him. His presence alone seems to demand every ounce of your attention without even trying.

Before you can drown in your own emotional turmoil, an unfamiliar voice calls your name.

You see Cody waving a few rows down and give him a polite smile before agreeing to join him and his friends. Spending the rest of the evening with them feels like a safety buffer.

You don’t see Joel or Tommy when you get dinner. You watch some of the evening events before splitting from the group to check on Blue.

It’s nearly dark as you walk through the grounds. Your chest feels tighter with every step you take as you approach.

You’re hoping you don’t run into Joel—or Tommy and his knowing eyes. You let yourself into the pen, the noise from the announcer and the crowd are muffled by the distance.

There was a stillness in the dusk and the horses were calm.

Blue’s head swivels toward you as you approach. You pause to untie the braid in his tail before stepping between him and Joel’s horse. It’s not until that moment that you realize you aren’t alone. You freeze when your eyes land on Joel. He’s standing between his horse and yours, posture relaxed. The external light on the horse trailer casts shadows over his face making it hard to read his eyes.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt,” you say softly. “I didn’t know you were here.”

He responds with a small shrug and shake of his head. “Nothing to interrupt.”

You still feel frozen, like concrete had been poured around your feet. You’ve been carrying the weight of your earlier outburst in your shoulders, and the rest of your muscles are still stiff from hitting the dirt earlier. Maybe that’s why your defenses feel lower, or maybe something else has shifted, but the next words come out before you have a real plan.

“Look, about earlier,” you start with more confidence than you feel. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. It wasn’t fair.”

He doesn’t respond immediately, gaze fixed on Blue who huffs a warm breath out after nudging Joel’s pocket in search of a treat. When he finally speaks, it’s quiet but firm.

“You had every right to be upset.”

You frown at that, a line pulling between your brows in confusion, and you shake your head. “No, I didn’t. I was angry, frustrated with myself, and I took it out on you. You didn’t deserve that.”

He works his jaw like he’s mulling something over, before letting out a sigh. You move closer to give Blue a scratch under his jaw. The spot that always makes him wiggle his lip. You see Joel’s expression softening.

“I’ve been where you are,” he says finally. “Trying to rebuild somethin’ when it feels like the world’s stacked against you. Trying to remember who you are. What matters most.”

You tilt your head, curiosity pulling at you. His words sound familiar for a moment. That conversation you’d had after stacking hay. “When you bought the property from my dad?”

He nods. “Bought the place after my ex split. Had to sell the business. Start over. Build somethin’ from scratch while trying to figure out what the hell my life was supposed to look like.”

“It’s not as simple as it sounds,” you echo your past statement. He laughs a short, humorless sound.

“Sure ain’t. I know I made mistakes along the way.”

You stay quiet, letting the words hang in the air.

“It’s easy to get yourself a reputation in a small town,” he continues, tinged with regret. “I spent a while chasing somethin’ I couldn’t even name. Thought I could skip the pain with sex, drinking, and spending every weekend hauling to any rodeo I could afford the entrance fees for.”

His confession sinks over you, and you feel a pang of understanding.

“Took a while to figure it that it wasn’t working. Wasn’t who I was… or who I wanted to be.”

“I get that,” you say softly. You drop your gaze, not quite sure how to say it. “Not the same circumstances, but,” you take a slow breath, “I had a reputation back at my old job. It wasn’t true but it didn’t matter. Once people decide who you are, it’s like there’s nothing you can do to change it.

You feel his eyes on you. “That why you came out here?”

“Sort of.” You run your hand under Blue’s mane, feeling the warmth of his body grounding you.

“Hated the job. Spent a lot of time and money in school to get there, and I dreaded going to the office every day.” You swallow thickly, still not sure you can look Joel in the eye.

“Then my engagement fell apart. The more we tried to split up our lives the more I realized none of it was my life. None of it was me. I didn’t know myself anymore. I didn’t know what mattered.”

“Takes guts to start over,” Joel says with a current of finality about it. Like it’s a fact. “Most people wouldn’t have the nerve.”

His words warm something deep inside of you, but they also make your eyes well up. You blink away the tears before you look to Joel’s face. His eyes are steady on yours. You offer a small smile.

“Feels less like guts and more like desperation most of the time.”

Joel looks sincere, firm. “Desperation’s just another word for fightin’ for what you need.”

A heavy lump in your throat makes it difficult to respond, but you push yourself to be vulnerable. “I came out here to figure myself out and to do it on my own. I wanted to prove it to myself. But, then today, I got so caught up in my own head that I almost got us both hurt.”

“That wasn’t your fault,” he says quietly.

“I should’ve been paying better attention. Should’ve asked the other riders about the footing. Or—” your voice cracks and you pause to slow down your spiraling thoughts.

Joel moves closer, his presence solid. Anchoring. “You’re hard on yourself,” he says it soft, but firm. “You’ve got grit. You work your ass off. That’s what matters.”

You look up at him. Feeling exposed, like you’re holding the ugliest parts of you in your palms for him to see. “You think so?”

“I know so. I see you. The way you handle Blue, the balance you strike with your dad, the way you work twice as hard as most folks at a part-time job and still have time to learn the names of every old farmer in 50 miles that comes in once a month.”

You laugh at that, feeling something warm blooming in your chest. His eyes soften, and you’re drawn to the lines on his face.

“I’ve seen the way you push yourself even when you’re tired, the way you’re determined to bring out the best in yourself and others. Even those of us with a history.” He runs his hand along the scar tissue on Blue’s shoulder. The horse that broke a girl’s jaw.

“You’re tougher than most people I know. And contrary to what you think, I respect the hell outta you for it.”

His words hit harder than you expect, and you feel like your ribs have been pulled open, exposing your heart and soul in the moonlight.

You’ve spent so long chasing your own impossible standards.

Fighting for your dad’s stoic approval. Suffocating under the weight of other people’s judgment.

Hearing Joel’s praise feels like a warm blanket wrapping around your shoulders.

“Joel,” you start, but your voice falters. The way he’s looking at you feels intense. Almost too much. You can feel your heart beating against your chest.

He shifts, his hand brushing yours lightly, and the air between you feels thick. “Took me a long time to learn how to ask for help or accept it. Still ain’t perfect at it neither,” it comes out like a confession. “But there’s nothing weak about it. And there’s nothin’ more attractive than a woman who’s not afraid to try, fail, and try again.”

The slip in his voice–the raw, unguarded admiration–sends a flush of heat through you. Shit. The praise was already overwhelming, but the way he’s looking at you now—it’s too much. Or not enough.

His centering presence somehow has you rocked off balance.

Suddenly you’re closer, the space between you charged. Humming like one of the generators at the other campsites.

His hand brushes your cheek, gentle but deliberate. Your breath catches in your throat. Everything that has been simmering between you feels like it’s about to boil over.

The rest of the rodeo disappears. Standing there in the moonlight, the world around you dissolves into quiet, only his gravity pulling you closer.

Joel’s hand lingers just long enough on your cheek to make heat crawl up your neck and coil in your belly. Before you can close the distance he pulls back, clearing his throat and stepping away. He moves slowly and deliberately, giving you space to retreat if you want to.

But you don’t.

Instead, you follow him out of the pen, your feet carrying you toward the trailer without thought.

The silence between you is loud, not uncomfortable but full of unspoken words and feelings, each step drawing you toward something you haven’t named yet. When he opens the door and gestures for you to step inside, the creak of the hinges feels impossibly loud.

Inside, the trailer is layered in soft shadows from the glow of a warm lamp. Joel closes the door behind you, and the quiet feels delicate. He stands a few paces away, his hat in hand, his eyes scanning your face as though searching for any sign of doubt.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice low and careful.

When you find your voice, it’s softer than you expected. “Yeah.”

The corners of his mouth lift just slightly, and the warmth in his eyes eases some of the nervous energy bouncing around in your chest. He hangs his hat on the hook near the door. The image of him reaching past you to hang it on the same hook last night flares in your mind and buzzes through your skin.

His movements are unhurried. He steps closer to you. He’s so large in the small space. Not intimidating, but stabilizing.

“Earlier,” he begins, “when I said I respect the hell outta you… I meant it.”

He takes your hand in his, his fingers warm and solid. Your senses are heightened from the emotionally raw conversation, from his touch, and the warm, spiced scent of him wrapping around you. “I see how hard you’ve worked, how much you’ve sacrificed to be here. You don’t give yourself enough credit.”

He cups your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin with a tenderness that makes your heart ache.

“You’re incredible,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with awe.

“And you’ve got no idea how much I—”

He cuts himself off, searching your face. His breath is warm, so close to your face. His lips look soft, so close to yours.

You close the distance, your lips meeting his in a kiss that’s nothing like the night before. It’s tender. Slow. Sprawling. Unspoken affection passes between you with the slip of your tongues and the soft sounds in your throat.

Joel’s mind blanks for a moment, every thought and worry dissolving into the sensation of your lips on his. Softer than he ever let himself imagine, a sweetness he didn’t think he deserved. The warmth of you seeps into him, steadying him even as it sends electricity down his spine.

His hand settles on your waist, pulling you close as the kiss deepens. There’s no resistance. You’re pliable and willing. He moves with you naturally, like your mouths were always meant to find each other. He holds you like you’re a treasure, a prize, a wonder. Precious.

So soft, he thinks, his thumb grazing the curve of your waist. Every inch of you pressed against him feels like fire and solace all at once. His other hand roams over your back, the delicate shift of muscle beneath his palm grounding him in the reality that you’re here, with him.

Your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, tugging him closer, but there’s no space left between you. His palm glides down your spine, lighting you from within. When you break apart, softly breathing in each other’s air, his forehead rests against yours, eyes dark and soft as they hold your gaze.

“You have no idea how much I crave this. Crave you. In every way.” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. The reverence in his tone makes your cheeks flush, and you can’t help but smile.

“I might have some idea,” you reply, your voice just as quiet, but your smile grows wider.

Then he kisses you again, this time with more urgency, his hands moving to your hips and guiding you toward the bed. His touch is everywhere, his lips tracing a path from your mouth to your jaw, down the curve of your neck, each kiss making you feel lighter and warmer.

He continues to pour his confessions into your skin between each article of clothing he pulls off of you. "I thought I’d never have this. Never have you. But here you are, and you’re perfect." The words spill out of him unbidden, each one carrying a weight he’s carried for far too long. His hands tremble slightly as he leaves a wet trail of kisses down your clavicle, between the swell of your breasts, over the smooth fabric of your bra.

"I used to hate that I wanted you, that I thought about having you like this. But I don’t want to stop, sweetheart.” He unclasps your bra and slips the straps over your shoulders, replacing the cups with his palms, kneading your plush flesh. The warmth of your skin beneath his hands sends sparks through him, and he leans in, brushing his lips over the sensitive peaks.

“Don’t want you to stop,” you murmur back. He hums in response to you, rolling your nipples between his fingers before taking his time mouthing, sucking, licking at each of them until you moan and arch toward him.

“I spent too many nights trying not to think about you,” he confesses, his voice dipping lower. “And cursing myself for it.” He shifts down, between your legs to pull your jeans off. It feels like he’s just handed you a piece of himself you didn’t expect to see. The idea of him, alone and thinking about you, shifts something in your mind. It’s not just desire he carries for you. Is it something deeper?

He runs his hands along your bare legs, warm against your smooth skin. He already looks wrecked and he’s still fully clothed. You reach for him, but he shakes his head, dipping to line another path of kisses down your belly, to the sensitive skin inside the top of your thighs. His lips press against your skin, reverent, as if trying to memorize the feel of you beneath him.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice rough with need. His admiration and desire are intense, making you feel stripped bare in an emotional way. He’s not just saying it; he means it in a way that feels different from casual compliments.

Everything you use to protect yourself falls away as you let his words soak in. You couldn’t hide from him if you wanted to. He’s not just taking—he’s giving, pouring every ounce of admiration and desire he feels for you into each moment. And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself take it in, let yourself believe it.

The heat of his touch and the need in his eyes have your core aching for attention. His breath ghosting over your swollen cunt makes you shudder with need.

When his lips press against the thin fabric still covering you, you arch into him. You feel him smile against you, breathing deeply before he slides his hands beneath your thighs, cupping your ass to tilt your hips before he descends again.

He kisses and sucks at your clit through your soaked panties without a care for the lewd sounds filling the small room. He doesn’t stop. It’s warm and wet, and the pressure makes you feel needy. You roll your hips seeking more contact, and he moans against you, the sound vibrating through you causing you to gasp and call out his name.

He looks up at you before pulling your underwear off and pausing to stare at your glistening cunt, before taking all of you in. His eyes dart to your face, all of your exposed skin, and back to your eyes.

“I never thought I’d actually get to touch you. To kiss you. Taste you like this.” His voice is hoarse, barely audible over the sound of your breath.

“Please, Joel.” He’s like a dream between your legs. His mouth, his tongue, his hands, his fingers. He uses everything with expert precision, bringing you closer and closer and erasing every worry, every stress.

You wonder if you should feel more vulnerable being naked beneath him while he’s still fully clothed. But instead, it feels empowering—like this moment belongs to you just as much as it does to him; like every touch and kiss is a promise steeped in devotion.

His hips press into the mattress involuntarily, seeking relief for his throbbing cock as he continues to worship you with his mouth. You thread your fingers through his hair as he dips his tongue inside of you. “Oh, fuck.” Your voice is hoarse and ragged already.

He knows exactly what you need next. Filling you with his fingers while he wraps his lips over your clit. The wet noises of his fingers pumping into you are obscene-–but they're nothing compared to the moan you make when you see the way his hips are desperately rutting into the mattress between your legs.

The sight of him losing control, his own need so evident and unrestrained, sends a fresh wave of heat through you. He’s giving so much of himself to you with every movement. It’s not just his mouth or his hands—it’s the way he wants you, completely and utterly, like he’s been holding it back for ages.

It tips you over the edge, chanting his name like a prayer as your release crashes through you. Your walls contract around his fingers and your muscles tense as he groans into your wet flesh before pulling back.

“That’s it,” he murmurs from between your legs, “you did good for me, baby. You’re so good for me.”

You’re boneless as the words melt into you. But you know you wanted to say something before he made your vision blur.

Your breath comes in slow, uneven waves as you blink at the ceiling, reality slowly settling back into your body. He’s watching you, his eyes dark and heavy with affection and need, and you realize the thought that had slipped away moments ago was this: you need to feel him, to see him.

“Joel,” you manage, your voice low and hoarse, your fingers brushing weakly at his forearm. He raises an eyebrow, a ghost of a smirk touching his lips as he leans closer.

“What is it, baby?”

You swallow hard, the words tangled in your throat as you try to gather your strength. “Off,” you rasp, fingers tugging weakly at the fabric of his shirt.

He chuckles softly, the sound vibrating against your skin as he leans down to kiss your temple. “Gimme a minute, sweetheart. Let me make sure you’re all right first.”

Your head shakes slightly, determination building even in your post-release haze. “Joel. Now.”

Something in your voice snaps the tension in him. His jaw tightens, his hands moving to the hem of his shirt in one smooth motion, tugging it over his head.

The sight of him leaves you breathless. Broad shoulders tapering to a firm waist, his skin golden and littered with scars and years of hard work. He looks wrecked, his chest rising and falling as though he’s been holding himself back for too long.

“Goddamn,” you whisper, as your mouth hangs open. Your gaze drops lower, taking in the soft lines of his abdomen, and the trail of dark hair leading to the waistband of his jeans.

And then, as he unbuttons them and pushes them down, his cock springs free, thick and flushed and so fucking perfect it sends a scalding wave of desire rolling through you.

You’re expression fills Joel with pride. The hunger in your eyes makes his cock twitch, the intensity of your gaze threatening to knock him over right there.

You sit up slightly, your hand reaching for him, but he catches your wrist gently, shaking his head. “Not like that,” he murmurs, his voice rough as gravel. He eases you back onto the mattress, his hands warm and firm against your hips. “Not this time, baby.”

You whine softly, your need pulsing through every word. “Please, fuck, I need you.”

His pupils blow wide, his breathing uneven as he settles between your legs. “You need me?” he repeats, his tone darkening, the words laced with a feral edge that makes you dizzy.

“You’re gonna get me, baby. All of me. Gonna fill you so deep you’ll never forget it.”

The shift in his tone sends a fresh rush of slick between your thighs. His hand trails up your side, his thumb brushing the underside of your breast as he watches you.

“Gonna make you mine. Gonna keep you so full of me you’ll feel it in you every time you move.”

The possessiveness in his voice makes your body burn, your hips rocking up toward him involuntarily. “Joel, please,” you beg, your voice raw and edged with frustration as he drags the blunt head of his cock through your slick folds, teasing you.

“Fuck,” he pauses after barely pushing into you. His eyes slam shut for a moment before he inches deeper into you, slower than you thought possible. “You take me like it’s what you’re meant for.” His eyes stay locked on yours, watching every flicker of pleasure that crosses your face.

You gasp as he reaches the deepest part of you, his hips flush against yours, his cock filling you completely. “Look at you,” he coos. “Such a good girl for me.” The sensation is overwhelming, every nerve ending sparking to life as he stills for a moment, letting you adjust.

“Feel that?” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble. “Feel how deep I am? That’s where I’m gonna stay, sweetheart. Right here, fillin’ you up.”

Your walls flutter around him, your body already begging for more. “Joel,” you whisper, your nails digging into his shoulders. “Move. Please.”

He obliges, his hips pulling back before driving forward again, dragging out the intensity of every sensation. His forehead drops to yours, his breath hot against your lips as he whispers praise between each movement. “You’re so good for me, baby. So damn good.”

Your body writhes beneath him, the pleasure building with each heavy stroke. “More,” you whisper. “Please, Joel. I need more.”

The last of his restraint dissolves as he grips your hips and begins to move harder, faster, his cock hitting so deep you swear you can feel it everywhere. The pace steals the breath from your lungs, threatening to consume you.

“That’s it,” he growls, his voice rough and unrestrained. “Take it. All of me.”

Your cries fill the air, his name falling from your lips over and over. His hands hold you steady, keeping you exactly where he wants you as he claims you.

“Look at you,” he rasps, his gaze locked on the spot where your bodies meet, where his cock disappears every time he sinks into you. “So perfect, takin’ me so well. Made for this. Made for me.”

You watch, as he instructed, until you look back up to his face. He’s so vocal, so confident with every word—but his face is equal parts hungry and wrecked. Fucked out. Drunk on you.

Again it’s the deep satisfaction you get from his unrestrained desire that makes you come with a blinding intensity. You try to tell him how close you are before you’re violently sucked into the sensations.

Your walls clench around him, making him shudder and groan. You try to beg him to come too. To fill you up. You’re unsure if the words make it past your thoughts, but he’s pulled into it with you either way.

Moments later, a deep groan vibrates through his chest as he tenses and his hips jerk against you. It feels like bliss, the sensation of his cock pulsing within you, the heat of his release coating your walls as they flutter around him.

The room falls into a warm quiet, the only sounds are your ragged breaths and the faint sounds of people laughing and shouting at another campsite, reminding you the rest of the world still exists.

Joel’s weight presses into you, grounding you in the present. He doesn’t pull away, softening inside of you as you breathe through the aftershocks of your orgasms.

“Stay with me,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible as he presses a kiss to your temple. “Just stay with me.”

He shifts you both just enough to hold tight against his chest, his lips brushing your temple as his hand smooths down your side. “So good,” he murmurs, “so perfect,” voice rough but soft in a way that makes your chest ache.

The early morning sun stretches over the rodeo grounds, bathing everything in a wash of pink hues. You wake to the soft hum of voices outside the trailer and the thud of a bale of hay being dropped just outside the trailer.

Joel’s weight shifts beside you as he stirs, his arm tightening around your waist for a moment before he lets out a soft, sleepy grunt. The sound pulls a smile to your lips as you turn to face him. His eyes blink open slowly, still heavy with sleep, and he offers you a lazy smile that you mirror involuntarily.

“Mornin’, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice gravelly and low.

“Morning,” you whisper back, your fingers brushing over his stubbled jaw.

There’s a content silence between you before a loud knock rattles the trailer door, making you both jump. Tommy’s voice rings out cheerfully, "Y’all better get movin’ if you don’t wanna miss breakfast."

Joel groans, dropping his head back against the pillow with a dramatic sigh. "That boy’s got the worst damn timing."

You stifle a laugh, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before sliding out of bed to get dressed. Joel watches you for a moment, his gaze warm and unguarded, before he stretches and follows suit.

The three of you sit at a picnic table near the cook tent, balancing plates of eggs, bacon, and biscuits as the camp buzzes with early morning energy. Joel sits across from you, his knee brushing yours under the table. You catch him watching you over the rim of his coffee cup, his lips twitching into a barely concealed smile when your eyes meet.

Tommy, oblivious as ever, chatters on about their schedule and the competition, occasionally tossing in jokes that have you laughing despite yourself. Joel leans back in his seat, his body language is relaxed but his eyes are constantly flicking to you.

When Tommy excuses himself to check on their horses, Joel leans forward, his voice low and teasing. “You’re not real subtle, you know.”

You shoot him a mock glare, your cheeks warming. “Says the man who’s been staring at me all morning.”

“Can’t help it.” Joel shrugs.

Later, you find yourself perched on the edge of a fence near the arena, watching Joel and Tommy warm up their horses. Their movements are fluid and synchronized; you openly admire their skill.

Tommy tips his hat to you with a grin as they pass, and you wave back, your gaze inevitably drifting back to Joel. He glances your way, his dark eyes meeting yours briefly, and the corner of his mouth lifts in a small, private smile that makes your heart skip.

The arena is alive with energy as their division gets underway. You lean against the rail, your fingers gripping the cool metal as you watch Joel and Tommy back their horses into the box.

The chute gate flies open, the steer bolting into the arena with Joel and Tommy in swift pursuit. Joel’s rope swings in a perfect arc, catching the steer cleanly around the horns as Tommy moves in to secure the heels. The crowd cheers as they pull the steer to a stop, their time flashing on the scoreboard.

The announcer calls their time and updates the standings. Joel and Tommy have the best time in their division so far.

You can’t help but cheer, your voice lost in the noise of the crowd as Joel and Tommy ride back toward the holding pen, their smiles wide and triumphant. Joel catches your eye as he passes, tipping his hat to you with a grin that makes your stomach flutter.

When they dismount near the gate, you meet them with a smile. "You two make that look way too easy."

Tommy laughs. "He’s the header," he tilts his head toward Joel. “I can’t do shit if he misses.”

Joel shakes his head, deflecting the comment.

“It’s a team event,” you counter. “Both of you are good at what you do.”

“We should bring her with us more often,” Tommy jokes.

Joel gives you another warm look with unspoken words.

“Your head wouldn’t fit in your damn hat if you had someone talking you up after every run,” Joel mocks. As they both swing their legs over the back of their saddles. You turn to watch as they lead their horses back to the trailer. You want to follow and stay close to Joel for the rest of the day, but you stay put.

Trying not to let Tommy in on whatever’s happening between the two of you until you figure it out for yourself. Instead, you head back to the fence to watch the next pair of team ropers. You’d rather be near him, but staying put feels safer—for now.

The afternoon sun dips lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the rodeo grounds. You sit beside Joel on the bleachers, the two of you a quiet bubble of calm amid the hum of spectators around you. The events continue below—tie-down ropers hopping into the dirt, saddle bronc riders gripping for dear life trying to stick it out for eight seconds, bareback riders up next.

Joel leans back, one arm draped across the bench behind you, his body close enough that the heat of him radiates against your side. He’s quiet, but his presence feels steady and grounding. Every so often, his knee brushes yours, the brief contact enough to send a subtle thrill through you.

“You doin’ all right?” Joel asks, his voice low and soft. His gaze lingers on you, dark eyes warm but searching.

“Yeah,” you say with a small smile. “This is nice. I didn’t think I’d enjoy just sitting and watching this much.”

“It’s better when you’ve got good company,” he says, the corner of his mouth quirking into a half-smile.

Your cheeks warm, but you’re spared from responding by the announcer introducing the next rider. Joel shifts beside you, his attention briefly pulled to the arena. You let yourself steal a glance at him—the sharp line of his jaw and the quiet confidence in his posture. He catches you looking and tips his hat, the subtle smirk that follows sending warmth blooming in your chest.

As the next rider lines up, Joel pulls his hat off, setting it on your lap. You blink, startled, and look at him.

“Put it on,” he says simply, his tone casual, but there’s something in his eyes—a quiet intensity that makes your breath hitch.

You hesitate for only a moment before lifting the Stetson and settling it on your head. It’s big, a little too big, but it smells faintly of leather and him. Joel’s gaze lingers on you, his lips curving into a soft smile that feels like it’s meant just for you.

“Looks good on you,” he murmurs, his voice low enough that only you can hear.

The weight of the gesture settles over you—the tradition, the meaning behind it. The thought that this wasn’t just a playful gesture but a quiet claim sends a flutter through your chest. You’re not sure what to say, so you lean into his side slightly, letting the moment and the warmth of him settle over you like a blanket.

Later, as the afternoon begins to mellow, Joel takes your hand and guides you to the cook tent for dinner. It feels almost natural to walk hand in hand, weaving through the crowd of people. The smell of barbecue wafts through the air, mingling with the sounds of quiet conversations and laughter from the other riders and their families.

Joel insists on getting your plate, waving you off with a playful, “Sit tight. I’ll take care of you.” You settle at a nearby table, watching as he weaves through the crowd with ease, stopping to exchange a word or two with acquaintances before returning with two heaping plates.

The two of you fall into an easy rhythm, sharing quiet conversation. Joel’s small acts of service don’t go unnoticed—handing you a napkin before you realize you need one, making sure your drink stays full, brushing crumbs off your sleeve with a casual intimacy that feels like it’s always been there.

For a moment, it’s easy to forget you’re at a rodeo. The noise and bustle fade into the background, leaving just the two of you in a comfortable bubble of companionship. Joel’s low chuckle as you tell him a story about your first job, the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles, the warmth in his voice when he says your name—it all feels so natural, like this is exactly where you’re supposed to be.

As the sun begins to dip lower, casting a golden glow across the grounds, Joel stands and offers you his hand. “Come on,” he says, his voice soft but firm. “Let’s find a good spot for the bull riders. We can cheer for your new friend.”

You expect to see something flare in his eyes bringing up Cody, reminding you of the way he looked at you the first night you came back to the trailer. But, you take his hand and he’s only projecting pride and confidence. It makes you stand taller, knowing he’s a secure man.

He leads you back toward the bleachers. The two of you settle in as the crowd starts to gather, the energy of the evening event buzzing around you. Joel drapes his arm casually along the back of the bench again, his fingers brushing lightly against your shoulder. It’s a small gesture, but it grounds you, making you feel like you’re exactly where you belong.

Tommy and the woman you’ve seen him spending most of the weekend with join you to watch a few rounds. You tense as they come toward the steps, shifting to create space between you and Joel, trying to seem casual. You feel Joel’s eyes on you, but he doesn’t say anything about your move.

Tommy shoots you a wink before they take the seats next to you. It makes you squirm, but you tell yourself he’s always just playful like that. Too charming for his own good.

They stay and chat long enough to finish their drinks before heading back to watch the rest of the event with her group of friends.

Joel stays seated beside you, his arm still draped casually along the back of the bench, his other hand resting on his thigh. There’s a comfortable silence between you, the kind that feels like its own kind of conversation.

Finally, Joel clears his throat, turning slightly to face you. There’s a flicker of hesitation in his eyes, but it’s quickly replaced with something earnest and determined.

“I know this might be the wrong time to bring this up,” he begins, commanding your attention just with the timbre of his voice pulling at your heart, “but I don’t want there to be any misunderstanding about where I’m at.”

You tilt your head, curiosity piqued. “Where you’re at?”

He nods, his gaze holding yours. “Look, I know your dad’s a good man, and I don’t want to cross any lines. But I also don’t want to miss my chance with you.” He pauses, his hand brushing against yours where it rests on your lap. “I don’t want this to be our only day together, and I won’t have you sneakin’ out your bedroom window and hoppin’ the fence to see me. S’just not the kind of man I am.”

Your heart stutters as his words sink in. There’s no wavering in his voice, no attempt to downplay what he’s saying. He’s laying it out plainly, his honesty disarming in a way you didn’t expect.

“So what are you saying?” you ask softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

He takes a deep breath, his hand shifting to fully cover yours. “I’m sayin’ I want something real with you. Not just sneakin’ moments or pretendin’ it don’t matter. I want to see where this goes.”

Your chest swells. You nod slowly, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I’d like that.” Relief washes over his face, and he leans close to you.

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “Well, if you’re such a true-blue cowboy, you’re gonna have to be the one to tell my dad.”

Joel nods. “I’ll handle it.” His voice is quieter, but honest. His gaze seems to look a little far away.

You squeeze his hand. “We’ll handle it.” You give him an encouraging smile. “Don’t have to do everything by ourselves right?”

He gives you a warm look. “Right.” He dips toward you for a chaste kiss. It’s sweet and playful. “Just don’t make me wait too long to take you out proper,” he rumbles as he pulls his head back.

You laugh airily, leaning into his side as he pulls you closer. The warmth of his arm around you, the weight of his hat still on your head, and the quiet promise of what’s to come settle over you, the world around you fading into a comfortable hum of possibilities for you and your cowboy Joel.

thank you for reading! pls let me know what you think <3

dividers by @/saradika-graphics tags for babes in case they want some cowboy joel: @lovely-vamp-princess @gothcsz @auteurdelabre @adoreyouusugar @swankyorange @itwasntimethatdidit40 @ivoryandflame @indiegirlunited @syd-djarin @harriedandharassed

@bbyanarchist @94namkooksworld

[suddencolds]

.~

[lucyshypemaster]

thoughts on unraveled?

OMFG I JUST WOKE UP AND SAW THE VIDEO

okay I'mma be fr, I have really mixed feelings about this. I mean, I kinda have already predicted that it's going to be keefe's time in the lost cities based on the clues shannon dropped for us-

I know a lot of people are disappointed because they really wanted book 10 + they're so sick of keefe which I have to admit as a keefe lover myself, I am 💀💀 but shannon did say that it's going to be really crucial for the story? so ig she's not just doing this for cash grab.

maybe keefe made some allies that'll really help sophie later on. plus, it'd be interesting to see how he overcame his fear of talking. idk people, I'm trying to see the good in this news.

I'm not really excited but obviously I'll still be reading it because again, according to shannon, it's extremely important soooo yeah

[todayisafridaynight]

What do you think Mine’s reaction to Masato / Aoki be like?

tbh they'd probably be. amicable. at the very least.

[clearallcathy]

Good lord. maybe its my headache making me a hater but i cannot stand the way people do pd positivity sometimes. do you not have anything to say to me other than "uhm i dont think youre a serial killer"

[womanfredvonkarma]

I've been having what I might call a Time.

[orcelito]

I am so curious what my stats r gonna be for Spotify wrapped. I only started using it in 2021 and so I only know my things for 2 years. Both years, Stray Kids was my top artist bc they're my fav kpop group

This year, I know without a doubt it's going to be IAMX. I have listened to them just about every day for Four Months Straight, often for hours and hours at a time. I have 102 songs liked from them, so I have not grown bored at all.

It's going to be a frankly ridiculous level of minutes played. I'm rly curious where I'm gonna rank in their listeners hfkdhdksbdk

[femmefaggot]

genuinely very very happy about maya still Do Not get me wrong. I simply wish... the world was better and less cruel. and that I was not complicit in that cruelty. and that honorspren in shadesmar werent such hypocrites.