#there is so much to unpack here where do I even begin

[nnato]

[itsmrshamilton]

Watch Him Rise

Summary: Lewis & Y/n watch their son's first competition. Y/s = your son's name.

A/n: guys, 100 of you?? Thanks for the liking, commenting, reblogging and reading🫶 I saw these pics of Lewis and thought they were so cute. Its giving WAG or SupportiveDad.

"Can you please sit down, it hasn't even started yet." You admonished your husband who was standing with his hands on his hips, eyeing the arena. You two had just found your seats and set down your belongings but Lewis refused to move from his position.

"I have to make sure he sees me! Support matters, love." He responded adjusting his bucket hat and moving his hands back to his hips. "Yes, I-" "I also need to scope the whole arena so we know where to look when his name is announced." He continued to assess the grounds.

You sighed in resignation and focused on unpacking drinks and supportive gear. You two had bought everything from bucket hats, to t-shirts, to foam fingers and pom-poms. All in the colours of your son's gymnastic team's colours. Your matching shirts had 'HAMILTON' printed in all caps and had a family picture at the back.

It was his first competition since he started training two years ago. His interest in the sport was a surprise to you and Lewis because you had never brought it up nor had you participated in it as children yourselves. But you were happy to do anything to make your son happy no matter how short his obsession with the craft. Luckily (cause you forked out thousands), your son remained devoted and passionate about gymnastics. He was the one who woke you up on weekends for training and asked to spend hours after school practising in the backyard.

Lewis was incredibly proud. He went from being worried about a bone injury to researching new moves and routines for your son to perform. He looked up the best coaches, got the best reviewed gear and most importantly, attended every single practice. The support he received from his father when he was growing up was what drove him to be his son's biggest supporter. Lewis understood how much of a mental game sports really were despite the physical strain they caused.

The day you gave birth to your son, you felt your heart double in size and increase in the capacity it had to feel love. When Lewis held him for the first time, it grew even more. And since that day, watching Lewis easily take to fatherhood and complete the simplest of parenting tasks made your heart ache and expand some more. You didnt think it was possible to feel so much love. Their matching brown eyes brought bright smiles to your face and it was your lifelong goal to constantly see joy reflected in those eyes.

"Oh, there he is! There's the team!" Lewis raised his voice in excitement. "Y/s! Y/s! Up here! You're going to do great!"

You stood up to wave your pom-poms in your kid's direction. He looked at you two through his mop of dark curls, grinned and waved. Nothing was embarrassing for him. Yet, you thought to yourself. You were lowkey dreading the teenage years but you put your all into cherishing these current days.

"Hi baby! Go smash it! Wooo!" You yelled at him. The parents around you were beginning to look on in annoyance but you paid no attention. This first competition was something you had spent months waiting for so you wouldn't allow your son to feel inadequate or unsupported.

A loud voice boomed through the speakers, announcing the start of the day's events. Your son waved one last time before turning to his teammates and coach. You and Lewis sat down to watch. You leaned on his arm and he turned to press a kiss to your temple and grasp your hand in his. The events began and you separated shortly every now and then to clap for the other kids. At this age, the events were not complicated and mainly consisted of the vault, parallel bars and balance beam. The floor was covered in busy bodies of varied ages all dressed in shiny kit and doing their best to score well. The mother in you wanted to give everyone full points for the adorable effort they put in. Lewis, on the other hand, sounded like a professional judge beside you. He was leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees and muttering to himself.

"More power. Don't flex the feet. Lift now. Mm. Too slow. Release. Mmm. Pull back." It had taken him less than 2 days to understand this sport's rules and regulations. In fact, he had crammed so much gymnastics information that if you asked him a rule about F1 right now, he'd spend hours trying to recall the correct answer. It was hilariously cute and you admired him greatly for it.

"Next up on the vault, Y/s Hamilton!" The big voice boomed. Lewis stood to cheer as you dug around for the sign to hold up: 'Soar high, Y/s! Fly!'. It was covered in glitters, stickers, jewels and more.

Your son stepped up to the end of the mat.

Your eyes began to water slightly as he pushed the curls away from his forhead and closed his eyes. Lewis had taught him to take a moment to envision the routine and make intentional movements before starting. A second later, he opened them up. Even from your distance you recognised the fierce look of determination in them. The same look Lewis got before a race and before he signed on a new business venture. You were so proud of that look because according to it's history, only great things followed.

Y/s took off sprinting down the mat and you felt your heart move to your throat. "Right. . .now" You heard Lewis mutter beside you. "Twist, tighten, lengthen. . . release. Release!" He went through each of the movements mentally while he watched his son soar, flip, twist and land perfectly on the mat. "Yeah! That's my boy!"

You jumped up and down squealing with pure bliss at Y/s's achievement. Lewis scrambled to get his phone out to record the scores the judges selected. You noticed that his hands trembled slightly as he reached up to swipe a lone tear on his face. His smile still bright and proud.

"Y/s Hamilton. 10s across the board." The voice boomed.

The two of you erupted into bigger cheers and grabbed each other before steadying the phone that was recording. It caught your son jumping up and down in excitement and high-fiving teammates. He turned to the stands to wave at his parents and receive all the kisses they blew at him. "Oh Lewis, our baby!" You whispered when everything had settled down. He pulled you towards him and hugged you tightly. Together you watched your son get warmed up for the next event. His smile so wide it showed all of his gaps and baby teeth. "He's only just beginning to rise." Lewis said to himself. "And we'll be here til he reaches the top."

💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌

Why did I nearly make myself cry? Guys, I had to take a break for a couple of weeks because I was doing too much on this app and not focusing on my real life, lol. Thank you for reading. Remember to interact before you leave. This is not a part of the "tattoo of us" series.

[rosesareredrosa]

You Don't Know Me Anymore but that Can Change

Theo x fem reader

Summary: Where Theo neglects his relationship with Y/N due to spending too much time with his friends. Realizing his mistake, Theodore promises to change and starts making efforts to reconnect.

Authors note: I have no clue what to write please send in requests

Word Count: 988

The dim light of the Leaky Cauldron flickered as Y/N sat at the corner table, swirling their drink absentmindedly. The place was bustling, but it felt like they were in a world of their own. They glanced at their watch, sighing as the minute hand inched closer to 8:00 PM. Theodore was late. Again.

Just as Y/N was about to give up, the door creaked open and Theodore Nott slipped inside, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on Y/N. A guilty smile tugged at his lips as he hurried over, planting a quick kiss on their cheek before sitting down.

"Hey, sorry I'm late. Blaise needed help with something," he said, running a hand through his dark hair.

Y/N forced a smile. "It's fine, Theo."

Theodore studied the menu briefly, then closed it with a satisfied nod. "I already know what I want. How about you? You like this place, right?"

Y/N bit their lip, looking away. "I used to."

Theodore's brow furrowed. "What do you mean 'used to'?"

Y/N took a deep breath, finally meeting his gaze. "You don't even know me anymore, Theo. You're always with Blaise or your other friends. We barely spend any time together."

His eyes widened in surprise. "That's not true, Y/N. We're here now, aren't we?"

Y/N shook their head. "One dinner doesn't make up for all the times you've been absent. Do you even know what my favorite drink is? Or how my day went?"

Theodore opened his mouth to respond but closed it again, a look of realization dawning on his face. "I... I guess I haven't been around much, have I?"

"No, you haven't," Y/N replied, their voice tinged with sadness. "You used to be my best friend, Theo. Now I feel like I'm just an afterthought."

He reached across the table, taking Y/N's hand in his. "I'm sorry. I never meant to make you feel that way. I've been so caught up with everything else that I didn't realize how distant I've become."

Y/N's eyes softened, but they didn't pull their hand away. "I miss you, Theo. The real you. Not the one who's always busy with everyone else."

Theodore squeezed their hand gently. "I'll make it up to you. I promise. Let's start over, right here, right now. No more distractions. Just you and me."

Y/N felt a glimmer of hope at his words. "You can change if you mean your word no empty promises."

He nodded earnestly. "I do and I will change, Y/N. Every little detail."

A small smile tugged at Y/N's lips as they finally felt the walls around their heart begin to crumble. "Okay, Theo. Let's start over."

The evening carried on, but this time, it was different. Theodore listened intently as Y/N talked, and for the first time in a long time, they felt truly seen. It wasn't a perfect fix, but it was a start. And that was enough for now.

Days turned into weeks, and Theodore kept his promise. He showed up on time for their dates, texted more often, and made an effort to be present. He started paying attention to the little things, like Y/N’s favorite flowers or the way they liked their coffee.

One Saturday afternoon, Theodore surprised Y/N with a picnic in a secluded part of the Hogwarts grounds. The summer sun bathed the landscape in a warm glow as they settled on a checkered blanket. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves overhead, and the sound of the Black Lake's gentle waves created a soothing backdrop.

Y/N looked around, taking in the thoughtful details. "You remembered I love picnics."

Theodore grinned, a bit of pride shining in his eyes. "Of course. I’ve been paying attention."

They unpacked the basket, laying out sandwiches, fruit, and Y/N’s favorite chocolate-covered strawberries. As they ate, the conversation flowed easily, filled with laughter and shared memories. It felt like old times, and Y/N’s heart swelled with a mixture of relief and happiness.

After they finished eating, Theodore leaned back on his elbows, gazing up at the sky. "I've missed this," he admitted. "Just being with you, no distractions."

Y/N looked at him, their heart aching with a mix of emotions. "I’ve missed it too. But I need to know this isn’t just temporary. I need to know you’re really here for me."

Theodore sat up, taking Y/N’s hand in his. His expression was serious, sincere. "I know I’ve messed up, Y/N. I let my friendships and other things get in the way of what’s really important. You. Us. I’m not perfect, and I’ll probably mess up again, but I promise to always try to make it right."

Y/N studied his face, searching for any hint of doubt or insincerity. All they saw was the boy they fell in love with, the one who made them feel special and cherished. "Okay, Theo. I believe you."

His smile was radiant, filled with relief and joy. "Thank you. I won’t let you down."

The rest of the afternoon was spent in a blissful haze, talking about everything and nothing, simply enjoying each other’s company. As the sun began to set, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, Theodore wrapped an arm around Y/N’s shoulders, pulling them close.

"This is just the beginning," he murmured. "I want to make new memories with you, ones we can look back on and smile."

Y/N nestled into his side, feeling a warmth spread through them that had been absent for too long. "I’d like that."

And as the stars began to twinkle overhead, they knew that this time, things would be different. They were both ready to put in the effort, to make their relationship stronger than ever. Together, they would navigate the challenges and celebrate the joys, side by side.

[7ndipity]

“You Broke Me”

Yoongi x Reader

Summary: Just clingy, fluffy Yoongi after Reader comes home after a month-long trip

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: Suggestive, Swearing, not proofread

A/N: Thanks to the lovely anon who requested this! I got a little carried away with this one, so it is just nothing but tooth-rotting fluff. I hope you like it!

Masterlist

Requests are open

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You weren’t surprised when Yoongi insisted on picking you up at the airport, even though you told him that he didn’t have to, that you could just get a cab home so he wouldn’t have to risk being spotted, but he wouldn’t hear of it. He’d been telling you for days that waiting at home would have driven him crazy and that he wanted to see you as soon as possible.

In previous relationships, Yoongi had never really considered himself to be the needy type, but something about you had changed him drastically in that department. Now, he didn’t care if it made him sound melodramatic, the last three weeks without you while you were overseas visiting family had been absolute hell for Yoongi.

Later, as you walked through the terminal, it was easy for you to spot him. Even with the bucket hat and mask hiding his face, you could’ve recognized him anywhere, eyes scrunching up in a smile as he watched your steps begin to pick up speed until you were practically running to him.

As soon as you were close enough, he pulled you into a crushing hug, an audible sigh leaving him as he hooked his arms tightly around you.

“Hi.” You giggled.

“Hey.” He said, burying his face in your neck.

You let yourself relax into his hold, closing your eyes in contentment. After having gone nearly a month without his touch, the warmth of his body against yours felt like absolute heaven.

Eventually, you started to pull away in order to see his face, but he tightened his grip to keep you where you were instead. “Just a little more.” He muttered.

You chuckled. “Yoongi, people are looking.”

“I don’t give a fuck.” He grumbled, squeezing you more to prove his point.

After another long moment, he finally released his hold on you, pulling back just enough to cup your face, his eyes dancing with happiness as they met yours.

“Ready to go home?” He grinned.

“So ready.”

He quickly helped you wrangle all your luggage together before heading to the car, making sure to keep one hand free in order to hold yours as you walked.

On the ride home, you talked about your flight and the trip, his hand never leaving yours for more than a few seconds, letting them rest together on the center console.

Once you got home, he quickly set your bags down by the door before turning and dragging you to the sofa, pulling you down so that you were straddling him.

“What are you doing?!” You squealed.

“Catching up.” He said simply, pressing a quick kiss to your lips. “I have been neglected for an entire month, it’s a miracle I haven’t shriveled up and died.”

“We talked literally everyday.” You pointed out.

“ ‘s not the same, and you know it.” He groaned, letting his lips drag along your jaw before returning to yours, silencing any further potential argument or teasing.

Although Yoongi was normally quite physically affectionate with you, you weren’t used to Yoongi being this needy and insistent, though you weren’t complaining by any means, following his lead as he turned his head slightly to the side to deepen the kiss, your fingers having slipped into his hair and giving a slight pull, earning a pleased sound from him.

At this moment, however, your stomach decided to announce itself, much to your embarrassment and Yoongi’s amusement, earning you one of his breathy laughs as you separated.

“Have you eaten?” He asked.

You shook your head. “Not since this morning.”

“Aish, no wonder your stomach’s complaining.” He said, sitting up more and rummaging for his phone. “Here, I’ll order us some food and then help you unpack.”

“You don’t have to do that, I can do it myself.” You said.

“Humour me, would you?” He frowned at you, making you laugh this time.

The two of you made quick work of unpacking your suitcases, chucking clothes into the wash and putting the rest of your things back into their usual places around the house.

As you were unpacking the last bag, he came over and wrapped his arms around your waist, hugging you from behind as you continued.

“Are you okay?” You finally asked, still thrown by his uncharacteristic clinginess.

“Mmm, just missed you.” He mumbled, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“Yeah?” You said, glancing back at him, biting back a grin as you took in the positively love drunk expression on his face.

“Mhm, so much.” He hummed, burying his face in your neck as he spoke. “Turns out I can’t sleep without you.”

“Oh no.” You cooed, turning around in his hold to cup his face.

“Yep, I think you broke me.” He pouted, making you chuckle.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, you’ve broke me too. Here.” You held out a dark grey hoodie that had been tucked at the bottom of the case.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for that!” He exclaimed, snatching it and looking at you in disbelief. “You little thief!”

“It smelled like you.” You explained quietly, avoiding his gaze as you felt your face heat up self consciously.

You were expecting one of his usual teasing remarks, what you received instead, however, was him tackling you to the bed, pressing more kisses to your face and neck.

“You’re really fucking cute, you know that?” He said. “I can’t fucking stand it.”

The fact that you had stole one of his hoodies should’ve annoyed him, normally it would’ve, but in the moment all he was thinking was that it showed how you had missed him, and knew that your were going to miss him, making his own longing for you seem justified, even though it didn’t need to be.

“I love you, so much.” He said, slightly out of breath as he stared down at you.

“I love you too.” You replied, smiling up at him.

“Promise you’ll never leave me for that long again?”

“I promise.” You swore, kissing his nose and making him chuckle.

Just then, the doorbell rang, making you both jump slightly in surprise.

“That’s probably the food.” You reminded him.

He let his head droop down against your chest, letting out a low whine. “I wasn’t done yet.”

“We have all night.” You giggled, patting his head gently before nudging him to get up.

You had all the time in the world.

[and-claudia]

Little Sundress (Charles Xavier x Fem!Reader) SMUT!! DAY 1 of KINKTOBER

Set during First Class

Warnings: sundress kink, oral (f receiving), I think that is it, let me know if I missed one though!!

Wordcount: 1500+

Being in Charle’s childhood home was interesting, to say the least. He and I had very different upbringings, and seeing how massive this place truly was only seemed to prove that more. 

“And here is the kitchen.” He said, “I know it’s not anything crazy b-”

“I love it.” I said, cutting him off. 

He turned to me and smiled. 

“It’s charming. And honestly, anything is better than our tiny one back in Oxford.” I said with a laugh. 

“Well, I am glad you like it. And you do know, you don’t have to cook for all of us.” He said, stepping closer and placing his hands on my hips. 

“I know, but I want to. Plus, it will make me feel more helpful… my mutation isn’t the most useful in a fight.” I said, looking down. 

“That won’t be the case much longer, dear. That’s why we’re here to train and grow our abilities. I believe you’ll be able to copy any mutation of anyone at any time without touching them by the time we’re done.” He said, using his thumb and pointer finger to grab my chin and tilt it up to look at him. 

I smiled at him, “I hope so.” 

I didn’t actually say it to him out loud. Since he was touching my face, I was able to say it to him telepathically. 

Charles finished showing me around and ended in the room we’d be staying in. I took some time to unpack while he went off to do his own thing. Once all my clothes were unpacked I decided to take the chance to shower before I went down stairs to make dinner. We had been traveling all day so I felt a little gross and I knew a shower would feel amazing, especially since I would be getting the hot water before everyone else. 

When I got out, I decided to throw on one of my sun dresses. It was always so rainy in Oxford I hardly ever got a chance to wear them, so I intended to take full advantage of that. I threw on some simple kitten heels so that I wasn’t walking across the mansion barefoot. Then, I made a few adjustments to my outfit before heading out. 

On my way to the kitchen I passed a few Raven. 

“Why are you all dressed up? Are you and Charles going out or something?” She asked, slightly confused. 

“No, not tonight. I am actually just on my way to make everyone dinner. I just never really got to where these dresses often, so I figured I’d take advantage.” I said. 

“Make sure you make it to the kitchen before Charles sees you. He won’t be able to keep his hands to himself once he sees you, and I’d like to make sure we get fed tonight.” She teased, and I just laughed and rolled my eyes before continuing to the kitchen. 

Once I got there I set about getting everything I would need for dinner ready. I was just beginning to chop the vegetables when Erik, Charles and Hank all walked in. 

“Hello, boys,” I said, spinning around to greet them, causing the dress to flow out. 

Erik and Hank both said their own hellos, but Charles was too busy staring… I was starting to think Raven may have been right. 

“Dinner will be ready in probably half an hour.” I informed them. 

“Do you want some help?” Hank offered. 

I was about to tell him that he could help finish chopping while I got the chicken in the oven, but Charles cut me off before I could. 

“I got it, I can help her… you two go ahead and… yeah.” He said, clearly already a little flustered as he walked over to help me. Luckily, the other two men got the hint and left us alone in the kitchen. 

“Well, that was smooth, Charlie…” I teased. 

“What?”

“I got it, I can help her… you two go ahead and… yeah.” I mocked his voice as I repeated what he had just said. 

“Well, can you blame me?” He asked, turning to look me over, not even the slightest bit ashamed of the way his hungry eyes racked over my body. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I said, stepping past him to grab something from the fridge, but he caught my arm. 

“Oh, but you do. It doesn’t take a telepath to know that… but it is useful being one because now I know that you have nothing on under there.” He said, reaching for the hem of my dress but I smacked his hand away. 

“I gotta cook dinner.” I said, leaning up to press a quick kiss to his cheek but he turned his head and I kissed his lips instead which he immediately took advantage of that. His hands gripped my hips as he pulled me against him. 

“Mm, I’d rather start with dessert.” He said against my lips as he grinded his hips against me. 

“Charles, we can’t. Not here.” I said. 

“Who said? It’s my house, I should be able to fuck my girlfriend wherever I please…” In one swift motion, he turned us around so that my back was now to the table that sat in the middle of the room, “And right now, it would please me to fuck her right here.” 

Without our lips separating, he lifted me up onto the table as we continued to make out. His hands slid down to my knees, and he pulled them apart so he could stand between them. 

“What if someone walks in?” I asked, glancing over to the door. 

“Don’t worry about that, darling.” He said, subtly inching my dress up higher and higher. 

He finally broke away from the kiss and gave me a look before dropping down to kneel on one knee between my legs. 

“You should wear these more often, love.” He said as he began planting kisses along the inside of my thigh. 

He left a trail of kisses and a few love bites all the way up my inner thigh. Then, when he reached where I wanted his lips the most, he hesitated. I felt the cool air of him sighing so close, sending a chill up my spine. I was mentally preparing myself to feel his tongue delving into my cunt. So, when I felt his lips press to my other thigh and begin working their way back down it, I accidentally let a small whimper slip through my lips. 

“So impatient.” He mumbled, and I could feel his smirking against my skin. 

“No, you’re just a fucking tease.” I sighed. 

“Oh really? Maybe I should just let you get back to cooking then.” He said, going to stand up. 

I reached forward and caught his shoulder, pushing him back down, “Don’t you dare. You’re going to eat me out.” I said to him telepathically. 

“As you wish.” 

He dropped back down and went straight the my cunt. No time was wasted as he began fucking me with his mouth. His tongue was working wonders. I was trying so hard not to let anyone hear me. 

Suddenly, he pulled away and looked up at me. His lips were shining with a mix of my wetness and his own spit. 

“No, let them hear you, darling.” He said. His eyes were the darkest I had ever seen them. 

He didn’t even wait for me to respond before going back to lapping at my cunt. His nose was now also rubbing up against my clit, sending me soaring towards ecstasy. 

“Fuck, Charles, keep going.” I said, running my hands through his hair, pulling it lightly, which earned a grunt from him that I felt vibrate up through my cunt. 

I could feel that oh so familiar and welcom feeling of the coil tightening, knowing it would snap soon from the tension. Charles must have felt that I was getting close too because he began to speed up. 

“You taste so good, love.” He said to me telepathically, “Wish I could eat you out every day.” 

“Charles…” I moaned out loud, not caring that I could hear my moans echoing off the walls. 

“Go ahead, darling, come all over my tongue.” 

“Fuck!” I moaned as I came. 

Charles refused to let a single drop of my release go to waste as he lapped up every bit of it. Once he was done, he pulled back, chin wet with a mix of my release and his own spit. As he stood, he grabbed the rag from off the table and used it to wipe his chin, and only his chin, before he leaned over to kiss me, allowing me to taste myself on his lips. The kiss was so soft and gentle that I never wanted it to end. That was until I smelt something burning. 

I reluctantly pulled away and glanced around him. 

“Fuck, the chicken burned.” I said. 

Charles turned around and just turned the oven off. 

“Oh well, that gives me more time to fuck you… where shall we take it next? My new office, perhaps?” He asked. 

The thought did excite me, but what was everyone supposed to do for dinner now? 

“Change of plans. Go into town for dinner tonight.” Charles said to everyone in the house using his mind. 

“Problem solved.” He said before leaning in to give me another kiss, “So… my office?” He asked, raising his eyebrow at me. 

Kinktober taglist:

@comicbookslut

[rishiguro]

hi rin!! i was wondering if i could request a jjk angst fic? (specifically nanami but you can include whoever you want)

your “when they throw their wedding ring” really hit a nerve so here i am begging for more hahaha (i’m 19 btw!)

BUSY THINKING ABOUT EX HUSBAND!NANAMI

a/n: is this the place to mention that i also started working on a full nanami angst fic?

ex husband!nanami who wasn’t happy when you told him that you wanted a divorce, but only sighed before nodding and telling you that he‘ll agree to whatever conditions you give him.

ex husband!nanami who only hesitated once the papers were in front of him, simply needing his signature on them.

ex husband!nanami who tries to rationalize his feelings away and keeps telling himself that you simply were nothing more than a chapter in his book.

ex husband!nanami who seemed to move on so simply, acting like nothing was wrong to begin with and continued to live his life just like he did before — like you were never there to begin with.

ex husband!nanami who only months later realizes how much he regrets not fighting for you harder, how he loathes the cold side of the bed on which you always slept and how he has so much space in his closet now.

ex husband!nanami who realizes that he only felt joy in his chores and errands was because he got to do them with you.

ex husband!nanami who still buys your favorite kind of cereal, fruit and snacks and doesn’t even notice it until he’s unpacking everything at home, putting them away with a heavy heart, because he doesn’t even like them.

ex husband!nanami who refuses to throw away the last pictures, still keeping your wedding portrait in the top drawer of his nightstand.

ex husband!nanami who acts civil and distant whenever someone mentions you, yet tries to change the topic as quickly as possible because talking about you is just too painful.

ex husband!nanami who always keeps his wedding rin in his pocket wherever he goes.

ex husband!nanami who can’t help but think about you every night before he falls asleep, missing the times where you would cuddle him to fall asleep — and now he feels like he can barely sleep without your warmth.

ex husband!nanami who still dreams of you at night, reliving both the happiest and saddest moments during your relationship.

ex husband!nanami who always wakes up drenched in sweat after, with his chest rising and falling rapidly as he stares down on his blanket for minutes with sad eyes.

ex husband!nanami who wants you back desperately but keep his distance seeing that you moved on — silently hoping that maybe one day he can do too.

reblog to show some love

[muddyorbsblr]

would've could've should've pt1

See my full list of works here!

Part of the 500 Follower Celebration Requested by: Anonymous

Summary: A careless comment from Thor calls into question the stability of your relationship with Loki

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: 18+ | mature themes; the slightest bit of steam toward the beginning; angst; Tony and Thor having a very much "bro" type attitude and not in the good way; hinting at Reader's emotional baggage; the slightest mention of human experimentation [let me know if I missed anything!]

Things to be aware of: established but private/secret relationship; Reader's baggage will be explained further in part 2

There was something rather peaceful in the routine you and Loki had settled into when either of you came back from a mission. Decompressing the night before the debriefing care of Rogers that you took bets on how long this one would last. And whoever won would get to pick where to get takeout from on your next indoor date night.

Your last mission was particularly stressful, nearly losing a limb from triggering a booby trap while retrieving intel about potential human experimentation from a HYDRA base. The second Nat mentioned that little tidbit in passing while you were unpacking your equipment from the mission, the god left the common area, raiding the pantry for a selection of your favorite snacks, and queueing up one of your comfort movies.

The one about a woman that hit her head and found herself stranded in a romantic comedy only to realize that her best friend, the one that had been in front of her all this time, was her great love all along.

When you got to your apartment, Loki was already there with the movie ready to play on the screen, and he even went the extra step to open and plate the snacks on the coffee table in your living room for easier access. And the cherry on top of it all was that he brought over one of his sweaters for you to change into, something he'd been doing more and more ever since you mentioned how comfortable they were during one of your missions together where you'd shared a suite.

"You know, I'm pretty sure they're watching the same movie outside," you mentioned, speaking around the wafer stick you were munching on. "Nat just texted me that she has Netflix power considering how this mission got us stressed out to hell and back. Wanna just watch it outside with the rest of the guys?"

The god shook his head, pulling you closer to him. "If we join them outside, then I would be unable to do this." He tilted your chin up and pressed a soft kiss to your lips. "And this is my favorite part," he mumbled against your skin before proceeding to give you a series of kisses, increasing with passion in each one.

Suddenly whatever was happening in the movie didn't matter to you anymore, an army of butterflies fluttering near violently at your stomach as he wrapped his arm around you and maneuvered your positions until you were straddling him on the couch, your knees on either side of his hips. He kept his hand on your waist, holding you steady while his other hand buried itself in your hair before he licked into your mouth, letting out a decadent sounding moan when your tongues met.

He moved his hand to your lower back, changing your positions once again so that your back was flat on the couch, and he hovered over you and between your legs. You leaned into his touch, losing yourself in his attentions, until his hand moved upward, cupping your breast. That was when you broke the kiss.

"I'm sorry," he panted, immediately moving his hand away once he saw the frantic, panicked look in your eyes. "I got carried away--"

"No, sweetie, I'm sorry," you insisted, placing your hands on his shoulders, and pulling yourself up slightly to kiss him, trying to reassure your boyfriend he did nothing wrong. "It's just…I want to be ready, really, I do. And I know it's frustrating for you it's just that…every time we take a step  in that direction something in me starts running and cowering in a corner, it's not fair to you that--"

"Please don't apologize, darling, you have nothing to be sorry for." He righted your positions on the couch, delicately stroking your hair and giving you a soft peck on your lips before he stood, offering you his hand. "I think we could both benefit from cooling off a bit. Would you like to join the others outside?"

Despite having offered it yourself just a few minutes earlier, your stomach dropped when the tables had turned, knowing that you'd put a stop to something that could have turned out completely mind-blowing and possibly even life changing. Only thing was, when you reached the peak of a relationship, that was it.

The only way forward was down.

"You go ahead," you told him, walking toward your bedroom. "I'll just change into my sweats first…so no one asks questions."

By some miracle, no one on the team had caught on yet that you two had started seeing each other and had been in a relationship for the better part of the year. And neither of you seemed to be itching to burst your little bubble of privacy quite yet, knowing that the second the team knew, Wanda and Nat would be down your throat with questions practically begging for every detail. And Thor would be doing much of the same for his brother.

At least that was the story you tried to tell yourself. It was better than what that little voice in your head tried to scream at you every time he didn't take the seat next to you. Or when he'd drop your hand and take a few steps back the second he heard someone rounding the corner.

Loki gave you a strained smile, starting to walk toward your front door. "I'll see you outside then." Before you could reach your bedroom, he called out to you. "I love you, little mortal."

You blinked back the tears that were threatening to come out, looking back at him with a contrived smile of your own. "I love you, too, Mischief."

A good few minutes passed before you exited your apartment, the movie paused on the TV and a rather lively discussion being had among your teammates. Something about Barnes' new girlfriend.

"Oh good you're here, jellybean, welcome to the circus," Tony greeted you, jutting his chin toward the empty seat next to Wanda. "Need your input on something."

Instead of taking the seat, you walked over to the bar to pour yourself a glass of wine. You had a feeling you were gonna need it. On your way there, you spotted Loki seated near his brother, giving you a minuscule smile and a tiny wave of his hand.

"Go ahead, I'm listening," you called out.

"Stark's trying to tell me the woman I'm seeing isn't all that interested in me because she doesn't want to spend the night," Bucky started. "Said she's just with me for the aesthetic of dating me, whatever backwards 21st Century nonsense that is. I'm trying to tell the rest of these horn dogs that maybe she's just not ready yet. Good things take time. Flowers need to blossom--"

"Sarge, don't ever say that line again, it's so cheesy you'll attract rats in here," you shot back, pointing your finger at the soldier before turning toward Stark. "That said though…I'm with Bucky on this one, Stark. Maybe she's just not ready yet I mean…not everyone's ready to drop trou and put out so easily, you know. How long have you been dating this girl anyways?" You turned back to Bucky as you asked the question.

"Three weeks? Give or take?"

"Dammit Stark, it's only been three weeks, give our boy some time." You made a show of facepalming before you picked up your glass, plopping down next to Wanda who immediately rested her head on your shoulder.

"They've been at this for the last ten minutes," she groaned. "Wake me when they put the movie back on." Meanwhile, you clocked Nat next to her, not so subtly massaging her temples in an attempt to calm herself down. You shared the feeling; this was such a common sense discussion it shouldn't have lasted thirty seconds.

"Well then perhaps you could provide some insight for another situation, Lady Y/N," Thor boomed from across the floor, swatting his brother's hand away when he tried to get the blond Asgardian to stop.

"Brother you really need not--"

"Nonsense. Lady Y/N seems knowledgeable on how timetables and relations between mortals work, perhaps she'll finally give the perspective I have been seeking."

Your boyfriend shot you a look, as if he was already embarrassed by what his brother was about to say, piquing your curiosity even more. "I'm all ears, Thunder. Ask away."

"My brother has been seeing a mortal woman for the better part of the last Midgardian year. My best estimate…eight moons," he began, your stomach once again dropping at the realization that he was about to ask your insight about…yourself. You gave him a motion to go on, placing your glass on the table to hide the way your hand had begun to shake. "And while it has been as you here on Midgard would say 'like pulling teeth' trying to get him to divulge any detail about her, something I have surmised is that she also seems unwilling to spend the night with him. Yet he claims they love each other."

"Yikes, tough break, Reindeer Games!" Tony winced. "My two cents? You're not just on the same boat with Barnes over here, you're the goddamn captain of the ship. Go on, jellybean, tell him."

"I-I…" you stuttered, your heart thundering in your chest from unwittingly having been placed on the proverbial hot seat. "Maybe she just…wants to be sure, you know? I mean…I don't know how y'all do it in Asgard but here, with some people, being intimate is…something m-more than physical."

You could see from where you sat that the raven-haired god's fingers were twitching, his leg bouncing as if he wanted to stand up and leave the room. You pretty much wanted out of this, too.

Thor waved off your explanation. "I completely disagree. That amount of time passed, I believe one should be sure lest she be wasting both of their time. Brother, much as I can tell you love this mortal, it is my expert opinion, which I believe will be backed by the men in this room, that your mortal woman does not love you. This is, as our genius friend Stark has stated earlier, all for the optics of having you at her arm."

It was getting impossible to breathe. How dare he say that about you right in your face like this? Thinking he knew everything there was to know about your relationship just because he was in one of his own?

"You know not the first thing about her, Brother," Loki hissed, speaking through his teeth as if he was readying himself to strike.

"I know enough," the blond Asgardian shot back dismissively. "You know I think the world of you, Brother, and after everything you've endured, you deserve every bit of happiness this universe will grant you." He clapped his hand on Loki's shoulder. "If this mortal shares not this sentiment, then perhaps your time is better spent elsewhere."

"He's right, Mischief," you choked out, your voice so small you were surprised it even traveled that far that it had everyone looking to you. "Maybe you are wasting your time with this one…you know, if she's making you wait so long." You stood up abruptly, making Wanda groan in protest when she nearly fell over to the spot you'd just vacated.

In what was probably your most poorly miscalculated decision for the night, you downed your wine in a single gulp, starting to walk back to your apartment.

"Hey where you going, jellybean, you just got here," Tony hollered from his seat. "Come on, I know talking about Frosty the Snowman's nonexistent sex life was a drag, how about we all drop it for now, I'll order some tacos and we can go back to grilling Manchie here."

"Or we could lay off either of us and grill someone else for a change?" Bucky groaned, throwing his human arm over his eyes as he turned his face to the ceiling.

"You know what, you are so right, let's talk about the big guy who has a lot to say about being the resident relationship expert." Stark turned to face Thor. "How is Lady Thunder lately? And how are you with the whole your old hammer chooses her over you thing?"

The conversation faded into a dulled roar in your ears as the wine begun to take what fleeting effect it would have on you, your pulse faintly thumping in your ears as you made your way back to your apartment.

You hadn't even been back two minutes before your door swung open again, the God of Mischief standing at your entryway looking a mix of concerned and distraught. "Darling, I completely apologize for my oaf of a brother, I had no idea he would--"

"It's okay, Loki," you cut him off, throwing your hands up as if to push away the conversation. "Maybe he's on to something, I mean you should be with someone who doesn't take forever and a day to be ready for something like this, maybe we should--"

In an instant, he stood inches away from you, placing his hands on your shoulders in a gentle but firm grasp. "Don't say another word, my love, please." He rubbed his hands up and down your arms in a soothing gesture; whether it was to soothe you or him was beyond you.

"You want more, I get that," you pressed on. "And I can't give that to you--"

"You are all that I want, precious mortal." He leaned in, pressing a desperate kiss to your lips before wrapping his arms around you. "I am already more than content that you've even granted me the honor to know who you are outside of our duties. This is all I need, to be able to love you as I have these past moons."

Tears began to fall from your eyes as your words weighed heavy on your tongue. "I'm sure there's someone out there more than willing to give you what I can't, it's selfish of me to keep you--"

"Stop, little mortal, I beg of you," he pleaded, repeatedly pressing his lips to your forehead. "Don't rid yourself of me like this. I don't care if there's someone else out there, they aren't you." He sat you both down back on the couch, cradling you against his chest as his hand rubbed up and down your back in soothing motions. "Please just try to put what my oaf of a brother said out of your mind. His opinion is entirely his own and it is one I do not share."

Your next question blurted out without much resistance. "Loki what if I never become ready? What if you really are wasting your time with me, you shouldn't--"

"Any time I spend with you, regardless of how it is spent, is never a waste," he whispered, stroking your face as he held your gaze. "If ever you decide to share that part of yourself with me, it will be an honor that I will cherish for the rest of my days, but I will never be the one to place pressure on you to move yourself at a pace you're uncomfortable with."

You nuzzled your face into the crook of his neck, prompting him to press a kiss to your temple when you sniffled from the tears you were trying and failing to hold back. "I do love you," you mumbled against him. "You know that, right?"

"Of course I do, my darling mortal." He pressed his cheek against yours, taking deep breaths to calm himself after the scare your words from earlier gave him. He wanted to punch his brother clean across the jaw for jeopardizing his happiness with his careless words, and the stabbing pain it put him through seeing how deeply that opinion had cut you.

He started moving toward your bedroom, carrying you in his arms bridal style. Mostly in refusal to let you go even for a fraction of a moment.

"What're you doing?" you mumbled, making a motion to move out of his arms.

"We're going to bed, darling. Just to sleep, nothing more, I swear."

"Hmph…" you shook your head, the motion making the tip of your nose nuzzle his neck in a slight tickling sensation. "Maybe…maybe you should stay at your place tonight." Your voice was so small, so unsure of what you'd just said. The god stopped in his tracks, his body going rigid and making you immediately regret your words.

"Do you want me to leave, dear heart?" he choked out, his heart at war with himself as it protested against him putting you back down on your feet.

"No," you admitted, lifting your head from his shoulder and showing him the tears that had begun to redden your eyes. "I want you to stay, I'll always want you to stay, I just don't…" Your breath hitched in the back of your throat, almost sounding like a hiccup. "I don't want you to be frustrated because of me--"

"I'm not," he reassured you, resting his forehead on yours. "Being with you like this is more than enough for me. I need you to know this, my darling."

He laid you down on your bed before his clothes changed into his own loungewear set with a wash of his green magic, settling under the covers next to you and pulling you into his arms.

"Promise me something, Mischief?"

"Anything."

"If…and when…the time comes that you get tired of waiting? And you want to be with someone else--"

"Little mortal, not another word." He tightened his hold on you, as if he couldn't hold you close enough. "Please, my love, let's just retire for the night."

"Just let me get this out," you insisted. "Let me say my piece and I'll never mention it again. Okay?"

He sighed, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead. "Okay."

"If you want to be with someone else, just promise you'll tell me and leave me first? I don't wanna find out waking up one morning and seeing someone else with her arms around you and just waving it around for everyone to see." Your voice dwindled and wavered into barely a whisper, your arm tightening around his midsection, a part of you already refusing to give him up even if the day were to come.

"That will never happen," he told you. "Why would I ever wish to leave you?"

"Just--Just promise me anyway. Please?"

"Look at me, little mortal." He traced along your jaw with his finger, tilting your chin up so he could see your eyes. The sight of the genuine fear of that precise outcome reflected in your expression knocked nearly all of the air from the god's lungs. "On the remotest chance of that happening, I promise I will never do wrong by you. But I want nothing more than for you rest assured that I will never wish to be with another.

"Perhaps one day you'll believe it. But I will gladly spend my days proving my devotion to you. This…This I will gladly swear to you. On whatever semblance of a soul I have left." He brushed the tip of his nose against yours before pressing a tender kiss to the same spot. "I love you, my darling Y/N."

You finally settled in his embrace, resting your head on his chest as you began to let your breathing even out. "I love you, too, Loki."

Just the thought of history repeating itself one day had your blood going cold, feeling as if your very bones were shaking from the images your mind conjured of the inevitable day that Loki would leave you. Somewhere deep inside you knew it was ridiculous for you to even think that your boyfriend was anywhere even near capable of putting you through what he had all those years ago.

But that was the thing about fear. Sometimes it was rational, like jumping out of the Quinjet and having a passing scare that your parachute had a hole in it. And other times it was outright absurd. Like now. Thinking that in the morning after you first had sex, the god would have realized there wasn't anything worth spending more time with. That he'd have had his fill of you and now it was time to move on to better prospects.

It didn't help, either, that your overly cautious mind was yelling that the signs were all there. That it could tell you exactly where this was headed because of the dropped hands. The refusal to even sit near each other. The barely there acknowledgement when you were even in the same room together. Everything that had happened before with him…felt like a mirror image of what was happening now. With Loki.

And you didn't have it in you to tell him that his desire for privacy was slowly and quite surely crushing you.

A/N: Starting off another story from the request pile! This is going to have 3 parts, where both parts 1 and 2 will deliver on the more angsty part and part 3 will be the comfort/fluff. I know you asked for "90% angst", Anon, but hopefully 10k words worth of angst will do it…because part 2 is 6.5k words long 😳👀

everything taglist: @simplyholl @loopsisloops @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @vickie5446 @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @kats72 @kikster606 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @peaches1958 @lovingchoices14 @lunarnights95 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @mygfloki @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th  @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @elizabethmidnight2017 @holdmytesseract @smolvenger @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokidokieokie @lunarnights95 @superficialdomina @kmc1989 @november-rayne @goddessofwonderland @buttercupcookies-blog @peaky-marvel @lokiified @tom-hlover

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Cool for the Summer 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power dynamics, cheating, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: After finishing your degree, you return home only to find things aren’t as you left them.

Characters: Bucky Barnes

Note: Humping it up on hump day.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You taste the cocktail and make a face. As sweet as it is, the alcohol is stringent in your throat. You set the glass down as Bucky’s fingers tap on his pint. You glance up, surprised to find him watching you. 

"Don't like it?" He asks. 

"Mm, no, I mean yes. No." You stutter out. "It's good, I just... don't drink much." 

"She's a good girl." Your mom teases. "I always had to push her out the door. Oh, don't even ask about prom." She grabs his forearm and cackles. "You would think buying a dress would be fun. Nope. I think she'd have rather gone to the dentist." 

Your cheeks turn hot. Four years past and you still cringe at the fitting room torture. You look down and fiddle with the cutlery wrapped in a red napkin. You really wish she wouldn't treat you like a child. You suppose at times you might act like one. 

"Those things can be tough. I barely remember mine. Only went so my buddy didn't feel like such a loser," Bucky shrugs. "But look at how far you've come. I'm sure high school is like a blip on the radar. Now the real fun begins, huh?" 

You know he's trying to help and you appreciate. But it only makes your chest tighten. The dread throbs in your temples. Life, it's all ahead of you but you have no idea where to start. 

"Yeah, I... I barely remember." You talk to the table. 

"She's a smart one," your mom praises. "I really lucked out. No teenage angst, no rebellion." 

You chew your lip and pick at the trim of the table. You sound lame. You are and you never minded the safety of that trait. Still, you'd like to be known as more than a boring little bookworm. 

"Okay, here we are." The server rescues you from further humiliation. "Chicken caesar." 

She puts your salad in front of you, "cheese steak sammy and macaroni salad." She lays a plate in front of Bucky, "and the sizzling fajitas." 

Another server appears with a wooden plank, set with a cast iron pan atop it and fixings; tortillas, salsa, guac. It smells delicious but you know it's too early for all that. You'd be even sleepier and you still have to get unpacked.  

"Enjoy," the waitress smiles and struts away. 

You unwrap your cutlery and use the knife and fork to shred the lettuce. You should've known better than to order salad. It's always so awkward to eat with others around to see. 

"Mm, pretty good," Bucky says. "Lauren, how's that extravaganza? Really went all out." 

"Wasn't expecting all this." Your mother scoops grilled peppers into a tortilla, daintily with her fork as her nails shine in the light. You remember when you asked to get a manicure and she said they were impractical... 

She's changed but you don’t feel all that different than when you left for college. Maybe you should have tried harder. Well, it's not like your life is over. Far from. 

"How about you?" Bucky prompts and once more you meet his gaze with a startled blink. You nod and swallow. 

"Good. Just boring old salad." You say. 

"Always chicken caesar," your mother chirps. "Creature of habit. Don't worry. You'll hardly be surprised. By tonight, she'll have one of her books and you won't hear another peep." 

You bite down on your tongue. You're not sure anymore if she's bragging or she's chiding you. Her life is so exciting now. Her hair is highlighted, her nails are filled, and her makeup... she's actually wearing makeup. 

"Didn't think you could work with those." You say as she catches her nail on her napkin. 

"Oh, yeah, I'm not in the ward anymore. Sweetie, didn't I tell you? I do clinicals now. I just show the new ones what to do. Not much hands-on stuff." 

"Uh, I remember. Sorry." 

"Too sharp," Bucky chuckles. "Can't even hold her hand without getting clawed." 

She jabs him with her shaped tip and he grunts. They laugh together and you look around. You're the sore thumb sticking out. Ever the third wheel. Even when you had 'friends', you sat on the sidelines, confused by their inside jokes. 

"It's very good. Thank you." You sit forward and focus on the salad. The sooner this is over, the sooner you can do exactly what your mom expects. Hide with a book. Alone. 

🩵

Home is always a comforting sight but not as much as you expect. A flicker of guilt sparks in your chest. Bucky just bought you lunch, you shouldn’t be so negative. Still, you just want to unwind after a long day of traveling. 

As much as you want him to just go, you would never say as much. Your mom seems happy with him. She even seems healthier. It’s nice to see her taking care of herself, she’s done enough of that for others for too long. 

You get out of the car but Bucky’s too fast. He has you bag in his hand before you can react to the trunk opening. He smiles and insists, “I got it. You lead the way.” 

“Mm, I could nap about now,” your mother calls over the car roof. 

You agree internally. The whole train ride, you looked forward to burying yourself in blankets and leaving the world behind. It would be rude to do so with company around, even if they aren’t yours.  

You follow your mom to the front door and she unlocks it with a yawn. You enter and slip your shoes off on the mat. Things are different. Not too different, you can’t quite place everything. Yet you notice that the coat rack has been replaced with mounted hooks across the wall and the rug at the bottom of the stairs is new. 

“Oh!” Your mom spins, surprising you before you can sneak past her. “I forgot about your surprise!” 

You look at her then over your shoulder at Bucky as he plunks down your bag. You wait for him to respond. He just offers a small curve of his lips. You turn back. 

“You,” your mom taps your nose. “Come on. Ah,” she waves around you at Bucky, “bring her bag with you.” 

Your mom grabs your arm and ushers you upstairs. You can’t resist, too swept up in fatigue and confusion. He follows behind you. What’s happening? 

“Okay. I hope you like it,” she goes to your door and your stomach flips. Oh no, what did they do? She swings the door open and backs up, waving inside, “tada!” 

You hesitate but make yourself step into the doorway. You glance around and your mouth slowly falls open. You blink at the room. Wow. 

It’s not awful, just another change you’re not ready for. Instead of your old rectangle bookcases, new circle ones have been built into the walls; white instead of brown. Your bed is the same but the wood is newly re-stained and the bedding is shade of pink you wouldn’t necessarily choose. A heart shaped rug is spread across the floor and your previous desk has been replaced with one that folds into the wall. 

There is an entirely new piece that stands out. A vanity in the corner. The mirror is the same shape as the carpet and the stool has a fluffy seat. 

“Oh, wow...” you utter as you step further inside. 

“Bucky is so handy! I always wanted to do this but I didn’t know where to start. Oh, just wait until you see his place,” she rambles as she trails you. “He built the whole thing himself.” 

“I had help,” he tuts and sets your bag down. “Tried not to do too much but just added a fresh coat to everything.” 

You’re silent.  

“Sweetie?” Your mom touches your arm. 

“I’m... surprised. That’s all.” 

“She’s speechless, Bucky!” She squeals and claps her hands. “I knew she’d love it.” 

“Heh, yeah. Well, I hope it isn’t too much.” He rubs his neck as he looks around. “You can let me know. I can change whatever you need.” 

“No, no, it’s really nice. Like really. I...” you wring a finger in your other hand. “Thank you.” 

“Lauren,” he sidles past you and nudges your mother gently. “Why don’t we let her get settled in? I’m sure she’s beat from the road.” 

“Right, right,” she beams around the room before she faces him. “Of course.” She glances over at you, “sweetie, let us know if you need anything, okay?” 

“Mom, I’m fine.” You show your teeth sheepishly and hover around the wall. 

Bucky leaves first, your mom following as she cranes to stare at the room. She leaves you with an excited wiggle and you go to close the door behind her. Once it’s shut, you sigh. You weren’t ready for any of this. Somehow coming home has proven even more disjointing than going away to college. 

You plod to the bed and flop onto it. You roll onto your back and let your eyes rove. It is so cute. You would have killed for a room like this in high school, even on campus. Yet it does seem a lot. You’re sure once you get a job, your mom doesn’t expect you to stay too long. 

Maybe this is a good thing. A little less pressure on you to get out but not exactly. With Bucky hanging around, you can’t help but be in the way. You’re not the only one who needs to adjust to your return. 

You can worry about it all later. For now, you need to close your eyes and stop thinking. 

🩵

The afternoon wears on as you dawdle away on your phone. You can barely keep your eyes open as the screen glares back at you. It’s almost six when you make yourself stop the addictive word game.  

You lay listless, trying to urge yourself to get up and do something. You lose the battles as your eyes close and you drift off without realising it. In your subconscious, you’re just as you are in reality. Just lying there, motionless and mindless. 

You wake slowly as pressure squeezes in your pelvis. Your bladder forces you to action. Even with the painful weight throbbing inside, you move without urgency. You sit up slowly, dizzy from the unexpected doze. You stand and shuffle to the door. 

You leave it open as you go into the hall and let your feet guide you. Habit takes down to the bathroom door and you reach for the handle. It turns from the other side and you recoil in surprise. Bucky stops short as he emerges and apologises. 

You stammer as you gape back at him. Somehow after the whirlwind morning, you forgot all that change. In your grogginess, you didn’t see the new walls or the white bookcases or think. 

“S...Sorry...” you murmur.  

You’re consumed in radiating heat as you stare at the stubble along his neck. Any lower and he might be embarrassed. He is shirtless after all. You’ve never been the best at looking people in the face but you have no choice. You examine his silver-streaked hair, slightly tussled, and his grizzly beard with its dusting of white along his chin. 

You step back as he raises a palm and dips his head. “No problem. Gotta get used to each other, I guess. Bad timing, is all.” 

“Right,” you agree dully. 

He looks back at you and his forehead creases. “You okay?” 

You wince. “Yeah, why?” 

“Nothing, nothing. Just... you look... a little out of it.” 

“I fell asleep,” you run your fingers along your throat nervously. The motion catches his eyes. Their startling blue hue gleam in the light. 

“Right. I figured you needed it. Long ride...home.” His gaze flicks up to meet yours. “Sorry you’re stuck here with us boring old people. You probably miss it already.” 

You shrug, “not really.” 

“Not really? What about your friends?” He rests his hand on the door frame and leans. 

“Didn’t... just study buddies. Classmates.” You look away and shift as your bladder aches. 

He clears his throat and stands straight. He steps out of the frame and you jump at his sudden movement. He touches your hip to keep from colliding with you and sidles by. 

“I’ll just get out of your way, baby girl,” He squeezes, his hand lingering for a moment. “Welcome home.” 

He lets go and turns, strutting down the hall as you stand frozen. You hurry forward and shut yourself in the bathroom as you scramble with the sudden agonizing pang. You don’t have time to think, you have to go!��

[hgfictionwriter]

Maybe This Time - Part Five

Jessie Fleming x Reader

Summary: Jessie can't sleep, and neither can you. Late night discussions ensue. Jessie and you unpack more of your past - and newly confessed feelings.

Warnings: None. Slight mentions of angst, but mostly tons of fluff!

A/N: Previous parts for this series can be found on my masterlist.

Jessie exhaled as she rolled onto her side, waking temporarily from her sleep. She hadn't even opened her eyes before a rush of recollections came to her from the night before.

You liked her in university. You liked her now. Or at least enough to agree to a date.

You were finally - finally - going on a date together. Jessie had waited for this moment for years.

Sure, she'd buried any hope for it for half of those years, but as soon as you came back into her life, everything she'd been distancing herself from came roaring back, and stronger so.

She belatedly realized she was smiling and she let out a contented sigh. She peeked an eye open to see it was still pitch black and she could hear Janine fast asleep.

Without warning, worry and concern started to encroach on the happiness Jessie was feeling.

What if it was really just a casual 'thing to do' to close out a funny story for you? What if you changed your mind? You didn't actually say how deep those feelings had gone way back when and certainly didn't say how deep they were now. Was she just setting herself up for disappointment?

She exhaled again in an effort to calm herself. She closed her eyes for a few seconds, but couldn't keep from reaching for her phone a moment later.

Her chest tightened when she saw a message from you. She didn't hesitate to open it.

"I can't sleep. And for the record, the feelings weren't short lived on my end either."

Jessie's breath hitched as she re-read your message and any lingering veil of drowsiness was now long gone. She swallowed and checked the time stamp. An hour ago.

Her thumb hovered over the screen as she debated whether to reply now or not. With a light huff she tapped out a reply.

"Tell me about these feelings."

She stared at your conversation for several moments, unknowingly holding her breath. She was about to turn off her phone and set it aside when you started to reply.

"You first, Fleming."

"Also. You should be sleeping. You have an early flight."

"Says you. I'm wide awake now. I can sleep on the plane."

"Why do I have to go first?"

"Lol. Hey, I took the first step here, so it's only fair that you tell me more.

"But I actually asked you out in the end. So I'd say we're even. It's your turn."

"It only took you - what - 8 years?"

"I'm teasing. I know it's more complicated than that."

"Slow off the line, but hey, at least you know I'm steady lol. And yeah, it's been complicated. But I don't mind."

"Are you trying to charm me?"

"Depends. Is it working?"

"It is. And it's worked many times before."

"Oh really? Now you definitely have to tell me more."

"Smooth. Well, I don't know, where do you want me to start?"

Start? There's that much? This was going to be way more interesting than Jessie even hoped.

"I guess we can start at the beginning. That art show - was that the first time a date ever came to mind?"

Jessie idly chewed on the corner of her thumb as her remained fixated on the screen and she awaited your response.

"Definitely not. I always thought you were cute and I found you really easy to talk to. So things just grew from there. And really, do you think I came to your games just because I wanted to watch football? lol."

"By the way. That reminds me. You never invited me to your games. I had to invite myself! So if you're wondering why I didn't think you had any interest in me - there's an example of why."

"Y/N. Come on. I didn't want to make a big thing out of it. It felt so cringy and showboat-y. I'm not like that and you know it. And you were busy. And you didn't like football! Why would I assume you'd want to spend 2-3 hours at a game?"

"Yeah, that's the part where you missed the whole concept that I liked you lol. That of course I'd want to show up and support you and learn more about what you're passionate about. Anyway, just saying, you played it awfully cool all the time. So yeah, after the art show incident, I guess it just felt like confirmation that I'd been trying too hard to read into things, so from there I just assumed it was a one-sided thing."

"I'm sorry. It definitely wasn't."

"I'm afraid to ask. But even when you were dating your exes, are you saying you liked me then?"

"If I'm being honest with myself, it's fairly obvious why my exes didn't like you. And it has nothing to do with you as a person - it was about my dynamic with you. I was upset with them at the time, but, truthfully, they had reason to criticize."

"Okay, your turn now."

"Wait – you didn't really answer. Are you saying you liked me when you were with your exes?"

"Yes lol that's exactly what I'm saying. I couldn't even admit it to myself at the time though. It just seemed pathetic when I knew - or thought I knew - that you didn't like me like that. I played it off like, "She's my friend! How dare you!" But, yeah, I came to you for things that I should've come to my girlfriends about. I'm sorry – looking back on this, it was really shitty of me to do that to you; counting on you for emotional support like a girlfriend might. Like when I was upset, when I was excited, you were the one I came to. That wasn't fair to you or them."

Jessie sighed. Those times did create a lot of angst for her. But, she also cherished being the one you trusted and relied on. It had been bittersweet, really. But this changed things entirely. You'd come to her like a girlfriend? Your words - not hers. It made her heart race.

"I really was your friend though. I mean, a friend who was head over heels for you, but a friend. And friends support each other. But I see what you're saying too. And it was hard sometimes being close with you, but not as more."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

Jessie couldn’t believe what she was reading. The revelations that were coming out challenged everything she’d known - or thought she’d known - for years. It was mind boggling and elation tingled in the tips of her fingers and toes. She had to be dreaming.

"I wish we were actually talking right now and not texting."

Jessie looked at the time before glancing over at Janine. She really shouldn't get up. But who was she kidding?

She carefully got out of bed and gingerly walked over to her things to slip on a pair of sweats over her shorts, grab a hoodie, shoes and the hotel key. She glanced back once more at Janine's sleeping form and tip-toed to the door, ever so slowly unlocking it – wincing when the deadbolt clicked open – and swiftly stepped out into the hall. She exhaled slowly as she kept the handle turned and softly closed the door.

She tied her hair back with the elastic around her wrist as she headed to the elevator and took it down to the main floor. A tight smile formed across her lips as she walked past the front desk on her way outside.

As the entrance doors slid closed behind her, she peered around and found a bench alongside the building, dimly lit by nearby streetlights. She took up a seat and called you.

The phone rang a couple of times before you picked up.

"Hello?"

Jessie smiled at your voice, hoarse with sleep.

"Did I wake you?" She asked.

"No, I just didn't expect you to actually call," you chuckled, your voice already clearing up. "How are you calling me, anyway? Did you go somewhere else?"

"Yeah," Jessie replied, stifling a yawn as she relaxed into the bench some. "I just went outside."

"Jess," you said, somewhere between chiding and impressed. "We could've kept texting. Or, you know, I could actually let you get some sleep."

"Sleep is for the weak," Jessie joked, twiddling with the tie of her hoodie.

"Since when? You were the one always keen to get a full night's sleep," you teased.

"Well," Jessie started slowly, feeling the push and pull of what she wanted to say next. "If it means I get to talk to you...I don’t mind losing a bit of sleep."

"Wow," you said, dragging the word out with a light laugh. Jessie's face flared with heat immediately. "I did not know you were such a charmer."  As if you read Jessie's mind that had begun to swirl with anxiety, you went on, "Don’t get me wrong – I really like it. It’s just new, but in a great way."

Jessie huffed good naturedly as a small boost of confidence settled in. "That's fair. I mean, as we've covered, I didn't exactly make my feelings clear." She cracked a smirk. "Not such a loser, now, am I?"

"Loser?" You asked incredulously. "Why in the world would you say that?"

Jessie felt heat rushing to her face once more and she rubbed the back of her neck. "I don’t know. I just felt that way. Sometimes. Like – seeing all of these hot girls and guys hit on you whenever we were out, making you laugh, and swoon, and all I ever really could manage to do was offer to get a refill of whatever you were drinking or offer to let you copy my notes if you missed class."

"Jessie. You're ridiculous. You were the absolute farthest thing from a loser. My God. Let's be really clear about that. And 'swoon' is a strong word, okay? I did not swoon over anyone. Anyone that wasn't you, anyway," you finished with a faint lilt in your voice.

"Oh whatever," Jessie protested though her face felt even warmer now. "You most definitely didn't swoon over me. You don't have to pretend."

"Excuse me," your voice rising to match hers, "You were the smartest girl in class. And so cute. And witty. I know you think being shy was a bad thing - but I found you endearing for it. Made it that much more special when we became friends and you opened up around me. And, you know, jocks were never my type, but the fact that you coupled it with academic smarts and becoming one of the people I was closest to and trusted most – swoon worthy"

"Uh huh," Jessie dismissed though it felt like her head was buzzing now. She swallowed the excitement that was bubbling in her throat. "Well, all I can think about is that one night we were at that silly bar near campus and I got you a new drink – you took a sip, handed it back telling me to hold it for you, and then ran out on the dance floor with [another girl]."

”Oh my gosh,” you said, scandalized though both of you laughed. “Don’t you dare. Anytime I tried to get you to dance you always refused! You made it seem like torture anytime you had to! And it was my favourite song! I didn’t think you’d want to dance.”

"Right, sure," Jessie continued to tease, though your proclamations were accurate. "Well no worries – I held your drink and protected it with my life while you danced up on some other girl."

"Oh my God," you went on with a light laugh. "I'm sorry!" You clicked your tongue. "Listen, I can't change it, but what I can promise you is that next time we're out and I feel like dancing, we're dancing together. I won't take 'no' for an answer this time."

"Well hold on now," Jessie protested in jest, drawing another laugh out of you. She hummed and went on. "Kidding. I suppose I can put up with dancing if it's with you."

"You're making me blush," you told her. The way she laughed, she thought you were kidding, but it was true. "Well, I'd love that. Consider me flattered. I've been waiting a long time for it. Remember when [an ex] and I left abruptly during [a friend's] birthday because we were fighting?"

"Yeah," Jessie said, feeling a fleeting wave of aggravation at the recollection of that night. She remembered your ex storming out, you being in a foul mood and leaving shortly after.

"I mean, that was a shitty night. Too much drama. But anyway, [y/ex] was mad because she caught me looking at you from the dance floor one too many times. I never told you – for obvious reasons."

“Yeah right,” Jessie readily dismissed. She recalled maybe seeing you glance over now and then, but it didn’t mean anything.

"It's true," you refuted simply and unbothered. "I think you'll learn that there were a lot of moments like that."

"Well, I find that hard to believe. But I suppose," she relented. "And there are definitely a lot of moments like that from my side, too."

"Tell me one," you said before quickly adding, "Well. I want to know them all, but I'll go easy on you for now. Let's start with one."

Jessie shuffled down in the seat of the bench and played with the seam of her sweats. She pursed her lips together as she rifled through memories until her mind hitched on one, a twinge going through her chest at the mere recollection of it. She went to consider other options, but whether it was the desire to keep ensuring things were different this time or maybe it was just the lull of night lowering her inhibitions, she decided to stick with this memory. She cleared her throat.

"Uh. I guess graduation comes to mind. Not convocation itself, but, you know, that last night we saw each other before I moved," Jessie started, her eyes on the ground as she began now distractedly picking at the wooden slats of the bench.

"I remember that," you said, your voice more somber than before.

"Yeah," Jessie said simply before a stilted laugh escaped her. "That was a hard night."

"Tell me," you gently encouraged.

Jessie exhaled quietly, giving a listless shrug before stating very matter of fact, "I thought it was the last time I'd ever see you."

Her chest was tight and her body felt heavy as the memories and emotions flooded back. She knew every detail of you that night – she'd wanted to remember every aspect and hold it close. Despite the fact that all these other truths were being revealed now, it didn't undo how heartbroken Jessie had felt at that time.

"Don't you start – then I'm going to cry," you told Jessie as your eyes grew watery and you forced a short laugh.

Jessie tried to laugh, too, but it was feeble at best and instead she felt more tears welling. She tried to muster another laugh, but it came out as more of a sob as you watched her and your lip soon quivered.

"Come here," you said, voice tight as you opened your arms to her.

The two of you collided into each other as you both rushed into the hug. Much to her contempt, Jessie began sniffling immediately and her shoulders shook with sobs, pulling a watery laugh out of you as you gave her a squeeze. The squeeze was encouragement enough for Jessie to tighten her grip on you – clutching you almost desperately in her arms and terrified to let you go.

"Jess," you said, your voice barely audible as you waded through emotion.

Another sob escaped Jessie as she pulled you even tighter to her. She felt your body shudder as your own tears overtook you.

"I'm so proud of you," you managed to say through tears, your head resting against Jessie's. "You're going to do amazing things – even more than you've already done. I’m just going to miss you like hell." You finished with a sad laugh.

Jessie subconsciously dug her fingers into your back. "I'm going to miss you, too," was all she could manage through her tears. You sniffled.

"If you need someone to keep you grounded when you're an even bigger superstar than you are now, you just give me a call," you laughed.

Jessie felt words burning in her throat and she felt powerless to stop them. They were words she'd said to you before – more specifically, returned to you. Anytime you said them to her – flippantly or otherwise, regardless, never the way she wanted you to say them. This time, she allowed herself to say them the way she really felt them.

"I love you," she said, tucking her chin against you. "So much." She felt like her chest was about to explode and she bit down hard on her lip as she looked up to the sky and tried to fight off this persistent stream of tears.

"I love you, too," you returned, voice still thick with emotion, but a light laugh punctuating your reciprocation.

Jessie chest panged once more.

"Text me as soon as you land, okay?" You told Jessie as you pulled away from the hug. Jessie's touch lingered until she forced herself to let go.

She sniffled and nodded, wiping irritably at the next tear that fell. "I will."

"And I know you're going to be super busy, but let me know when I could come by for a visit," you said brightly through your remaining tears. You forced another laugh. "Look at me – I'd never been to a football game in my life until I met you. And now I'm offering to fly halfway around the world to watch you play."

Jessie mustered up a smile, blinking back more tears. "Yeah, I'll let you know." She knew she wouldn't and it broke her heart to lie to you.

"Okay," you said as you nodded, smiling bravely for her. "I know you have to go, so I won't keep you. We'll talk soon. Have a good flight tomorrow, okay? I love you."

Jessie swallowed and returned a brave smile of her own. "I love you, too."

She was startled from her thoughts as you spoke.

"Really? We said we'd visit each other."

"I know," she replied, wisps of guilt setting in. "I just-" She took a breath as she worked to find the words. "it was hard...being only your friend. I, I think I knew that moving to London, that I needed to move on. I'm sorry I didn't know a better way to do it," she finished quietly.

"Ah," you voiced, taking a couple of seconds. "I understand. I'm sorry it was so painful – the last thing I would've ever wanted is to hurt you."

"No, you don't need to apologize," Jessie assured you. "I know you weren't trying to hurt me." She took a breath. "I owe you an apology."

"Hm? Why?" You asked, perplexed.

"You know how you asked me recently why we stopped talking?" She asked. "I wasn't being fully honest with you. I knew I was pushing you away. And I'm sorry – for then and for now, for acting like I didn't know any better. I knew I was hurting you. I just...I didn't know how to move on if you were still in my life."

Jessie felt emotions rising in her chest and she continued.

"I know it probably doesn't mean anything. But, it broke my heart to do it. I was miserable. And it was so hard to not talk to you – to tell you about my day, big things and small, and to not hear about yours. To not know how you were doing. I missed you more than you know."

The line was silent for a few, heavy seconds and Jessie felt her anxiety start to build. Her throat was dry and she was about to speak when you cut in.

"Sorry. I just wish I was there. Or you were here," you said, relieving Jessie of her concerns immediately. "I just wish I could hug you, because you don’t need to apologize. I'm not upset with you. Thank you – for being honest with me. Maybe this isn't right, but it makes me feel so much better to know what was actually happening. I hate that you were hurting, and it hurt me too at the time, but, all of this just makes me excited for what we're trying to explore now."

A smile had spread across Jessie's face. "Good. Me too. And yeah," her smile grew and she picked at the bench once more. "I wish we were together right now, too." She meant to leave room for you to reply, but her nerves got the better of her and she talked on. "But anyway, next weekend will come soon enough."

You chuckled. "I guess that's true. It's been 8 years – what's another week."

"Exactly," she laughed, unable to fully quiet the smile on her face. She glanced up, idly noting the subtle change in the colour of the sky. "Shit. I hate to do this, but I should probably go. The sun's starting to come up."

"Oh my gosh, of course. Don't worry about it. Thank you. For calling me. You really didn't need to, but, I really enjoyed talking with you."

"Don't mention it," Jessie replied, cheeks starting to strain with how much she was smiling. "I love talking with you. You know that."

"I do," you told her. "I'm very lucky. Now go. This can't turn into those nights where we just keep talking and talking despite saying 'bye' a dozen times and then one of us just falls asleep at the other's place," you finished with a laugh. Jessie remembered those nights well. 

"No, I'm not ready to answer the line of questions that would come up if the team found me asleep on this bench," she joked. She smiled further at the laugh it drew from you.

"No way. But you better brace yourself for the questions Janine's going to throw at you. It would just be way too easy if she sleeps through it all."

"Yeah," Jessie rolled her eyes affectionately. "You're probably right." She straightened up and slapped a hand down purposefully on her leg. "Okay, I'm going now. But, it was great talking with you. For the second time tonight," she added with a chuckle. Her face began to warm. "Hopefully you can still get some sleep tonight. Um, sweet dreams."

"Well, if they're of you, then they certainly will be," you teased, causing Jessie's face to flare up even more. "I hope you can get some sleep too. If not, then hopefully you can sleep on the plane. Text me when you can. Oh, and don't think I didn't catch that you said you were 'head over heels' for me," your voice light and teasing. "We'll unpack that next time we talk."

"Y/N!" Jessie exclaimed, but the line had gone dead. She glanced at her phone, mouth agape at how you'd hung up on her. A text came through.

"Goodnight! (morning?) Sweet dreams, Jess. 😘"

A/N: Part Six (finale) available here.

[legiblyloathed]

Ain’t He Darling? (Chapter 1)

Yandere! Wally Darling x Reader

A/N: Okay, so the little blue haired menace has been rotting my brain for the past week, sue me. I tried to get him out of my brain by rewatching Gravity Falls, only for the episode “The Hand that Rocks the Mabel” to inspire a whole fanfic. Straight up water on a grease fire. Anyway, enjoy.

Next

I always forget how much of a hassle moving is until it’s time to actually do it. Weeks spent selling and giving away half of my belongings, trying to shove the rest of them into boxes, then taking all of them into a new location only to have to figure out where all of them should go in the new space; it’s on the list of most mundane yet stressful life events a person has to put themselves through.

These were the feelings that hung around my being like a dark cloud for the past few weeks, but now, as I finally set my final knickknack in its chosen spot, I can feel the sun breaking through. I stand up and stretch as hard as I can, trying to wring the residual tension out of my spine. Even with my reduced number of belongings, it’s a lot of work to unpack them all, especially when working alone.

I didn’t have to do all the work myself. Within minutes of hauling stacks of boxes into my new house, I’d been approached by numerous rather colorful people, all very keen to lend a hand. As the newest neighbor in town, I was a curiosity to them, after all. I’d declined the offers, not wanting to place any burdens on the shoulders of my new potential friends. Looking back on it, that wasn’t my smartest move. Or maybe that’s just my aching muscles talking.

I’m dragged out of my tired contentment by the sound of a knock on the front door. Relaxing with a heaving sigh, I stroll over and peer out the peephole. Standing on my porch is a large, multicolored bird. My eyes dart to the plate of cookies balanced in her wings. With newfound excitement, I yank open the door and greet her with a smile.

The bird almost appears startled at this, the cookies on the plate jostling as she jumped. “Oh dear!” She shuffles the plate to her left hand, her right settling upon her chest as if to calm her heart. “You startled me for a moment!”

I give her a sheepish grin. “Sorry about that, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Settling down, she waves her free wing dismissively. “Nothing to apologize for, I’m a bit prone to fright, is all.” As if remembering their existence, she extends the plate of cookies towards me. “I just wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood! I do hope you like them!”

“I’m sure I will!” I pull the plate from her grasp and hold it carefully to my chest, my mouth watering at the sugary smell. “They look and smell delicious, thank you so much…” I trail off, realizing in embarrassment that I never caught her name.

She seems to sense my hesitation, and beams in reassurance. “My name’s Poppy, Poppy Partridge.” I give her my name, mentally thanking her for the help. “It’s very nice to meet you, we haven’t had any new neighbors in a long time.”

“Really?” My head tilts to the side. “Why not? This place is beautiful.”

“Oh, I can’t say myself,” she sighs. “Suppose there’s just not much to around here.”

I shrug, trying to appear lighthearted. “It’s a pity.” She nods in agreement, and the conversation begins to lull. Not wanting to leave on such a sour note, I ask, “Out of curiosity, what do you like to do around here?”

“Me?” she squawks, looking taken aback. She fidgets with her feathers, her wings wringing around each other. “I suppose I like to bake, especially when the weather’s nice enough for a picnic.” I can almost see the lightbulb turn on above her head, and she turns her much cheerier gaze to my own. “Say, the rest of us were planning on a picnic this afternoon! Care to join us? It’d be a good time to meet your new neighbors.”

A sense of anxiety washes over me. The idea of being among that many strangers with such late notice flutters around in my stomach like butterflies. Without thinking, I begin to shift back and forth on my feet. “I… I don’t know, it’s very sudden…”

The bird wilts a bit, looking down at my porch. “Oh dear, it is, isn’t it? You must still be so busy with unpacking.”

I look up at her, my anxiety curdling into regret at her disappointment. I reconsider the situation. What’s an hour or two with a handful of strangers? There’s only nine houses in this town, counting my own, I can handle it. Having made up my mind, I shake my head. “No, no, I already finished unpacking. I’ll be there.”

Poppy perks up. “You will?” I smile, hoping she can’t see the hesitation in it. “That’s wonderful news!” She flaps her wings in excitement before stopping with a gasp of realization. “I have more baking to do, than! I’d better get going,” she says, turning to leave with one last wave of her big red wing. “I’ll see you soon, neighbor!”

“See you soon!” I shout back, waving with the hand that wasn’t clutching the plate of cookies. As she goes further from my field of vision, I feel myself slump, the excitement of a new friend and a batch of treats wearing off to remind me of my exhaustion. My hand falls limp to my side and I stare at the plate in contemplation.

Nap? Or snack?

I pluck a cookie from the tray and take a bite, feeling myself melt at the incredible flavor. I scarf the rest of the sweet down before heading back inside, picking up another one as I go. Maybe just a few before I rest up.

—————————

I snap up on my couch, almost falling off of it in my sudden awakening. What time is it? A quick glance at the clock on my wall reveals it to be mid-afternoon, and I throw myself off my resting place so fast I nearly hit the floor. I scramble to the window and see a small crowd of people in the distance, the sounds of talk and laughter wafting in through the glass. I let out a sigh of relief. At least I wasn’t… that late. After a quick change and a once over in the mirror, I hurry out the door and towards the picnic.

As I approach, the jolly sounds become clearer, with voices all chattering their cares away. Colorful blankets are scattered across the clearing, each rife with sandwiches and sweets. I really hope they aren’t upset that I didn’t bring anything. As I scan my surroundings, I pick out Poppy as she talks with a caterpillar and head in her direction, relieved at the semi-familiar face.

As if on cue, my way is blocked by a short girl in a pink dress dragging along a disgruntled looking man with a bowtie. “Ooh, you must be the new neighbor!” she squeals, bouncing up and down in place, hands flapping in front of her chest. “We were so worried you weren’t gonna come! I’m Julie Joyful, and this,” she says as she grabs the arm of the man next to her, “is Frank Frankly! Say hi, Franky!”

“Uh… hello.” I pondered briefly if I looked as awkward as poor Frank did as he gave me a small wave. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

“Feeling’s mutual,” I respond. As Julie begins to babble about her excitement, my eyes move to drift over the rest of the strangers. The vast majority are split off into their own small groups, with a single exception. Sitting on a bench under a large apple tree is a man who seems to be studying me the same way I’m studying him. One of his legs is crossed over the other, supporting his elbow as he rests his chin on his hand, staring at me with an intensity that sends a small shiver down my spine. And either I’m going crazy, or his lazy smile broadens ever so slightly at that.

I’m startled out of my impromptu staring contest by Julie, who seems to have noticed that I wasn’t listening and cranes her neck to see what I’m looking at. “Oh, have you met Wally yet?”

I shake my head. “No, not yet.” It takes all the willpower in my body not to meet those eyes that I can almost feel lingering on me.

The girl grins, grabbing my wrist. “Come on, you gotta meet him! I bet you two will get along like two peas in a pod!”

She begins to force me from my spot, and I feel myself start to panic. Before she can pull me away to the creepy man, Frank reaches out and stops her in her tracks. “Say, Julie, they don’t look too keen on it. Maybe they should take it slow, meet the others on their own time?” He gestures broadly to the snacks left sitting around. “They haven’t even gotten anything to eat yet, after all.”

Julie looks surprised at the intervention, a flash of guilt going over her face. “Oh my, you’re right, Frank! I’m so sorry, neighbor, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable!” At my dismissive hand wave, she changes course, instead pulling me to the piles of food. “Poppy told me she gave you some cookies, but just you wait ‘til you try her pie!” I turn to look at Frank, mouthing a ‘thank you’ at the grumpy looking man. He smiles a bit with a reassuring nod, and the three of us settle down on a blanket. For the rest of the picnic I eat while the two of them (mainly just Julie with the occasional comment from Frank) talk about all kinds of things.

I try hard to pretend I can’t feel the eyes burning into the back of my head.

—————————

The sound of a steady, rhythmic knock wakes me up the next morning. I rub the sleep from my eyes, noting with absent mind how high the sun had already risen. The three slow knocks reverberate through my house once again, and I roll out of bed and head towards the front door, not bothering to change out of my pajamas or even look through the peephole. This, as it turns out, is a bad move on my part.

I yawn as I open the door, only for it to become a strangled cough as I lock eyes with the one resident I didn’t want to see this early. The man, or Wally as Julie had called him, stood on my porch, his face as eerily relaxed as ever. His posture was straight, his clothes neat, his appearance put together; I don’t think he could be any more of a contrast to my current state if he actively worked towards it. Which, to be frank, I suspect he did.

Just like the last time I’d encountered him, the two of us looked as if we were having a staring contest. Unlike last time, however, this time he decides to break the silence. “Hi, neighbor.” His voice is soft and monotonous, each syllable dragging along in no hurry. “Did I wake you up? I’m sorry.”

Somehow, I doubt that. In an attempt to relieve the strange tension, I let out a stilted laugh. “Yeah, you did, but it’s fine. I overslept, anyway.” He hums in acknowledgement, and it takes a few long seconds for me to realize he doesn’t plan on responding. Eager to hurry along this interaction so I can dart back into my house and hide from those piercing eyes, I prompt, “Something I can help you with, Wally?”

He tilts his head. “I never told you my name.”

“Yeah, no, you uh, you didn’t. Julie told me yesterday. At the… the picnic.”

“Oh, right. You three looked like you had a good time.”

“We did! We did…”

“Hmm.” His smile stretches, looking pleased by that confirmation. “Well, I’m glad to hear you’re settling in okay. I’ve heard it can be awful hard to make new friends, but you have a way of drawing people in, huh?” Cutting me off before I can ask for elaboration, Wally continues. “Speaking of drawing, I was hoping you might join me for some painting today, down by the south woods.”

“Oh!” I blurt out, taking a moment to process the invitation. “I’m not exactly much of an artist, myself.”

He laughs, and it’s every bit as emphatic as the rest of his speech. “Oh, neighbor, that doesn’t matter. We all start somewhere, and besides, I’d like the company.”

I consider turning him down flat, but something tells me he’s a bit too persuasive for me to keep him at bay forever. With a grin so forced it hurts, I say, “Sounds like fun! I’ll be there.”

Wally’s head bobs in a slow nod, and he takes a step back from the door. “I’m glad to hear it. See you soon, neighbor.”

I return the nod and raise a hand in a brief wave. “See you soon.” His stare remains, and just as I ready myself to ask him to stop, he finally, finally, turns away and walks away, humming a quiet tune to himself.

I step inside and close the door, leaning my forehead against it as I recover from the encounter. My stomach growls, but I feel as though I’ve lost my appetite. The inexplicable dread in my heart squashes any hope of breakfast. I close my eyes, but even then I can still see his own staring back, unblinking in their ceaseless observation. With a shudder, I push myself up, trying my best to steel my nerves. It’s just a little art lesson, I chastise myself. So he’s a little spooky, it’s probably fine.

No matter how many times I repeated those three words to myself, the memory of those eyes seems to peer right through the lie.

[roomsofangel]

IN THE ABSENCE OF EVERYTHING, I PROMISE TO KEEP YOU WARM . . jeong yunho

“you’ve ruined me for anyone else, i don’t think i could ever stop loving you even if i wanted to.”

pairing idol!yunho x fem!reader

one sided dislike/hatred. sunshine x grumpy. could be seen as an enemies to lovers but it’s all one sided on y/n’s end and she just doesn’t like him in the beginning while yunho is completely oblivious, but still matches her energy.

genre angst, fluff, smut, fic.

synopsis ateez are on a much needed break after their recent comeback — traveling overseas for a short-term vacation, yunho desires nothing more than just to ease himself and let go of worries.

but with a run in with someone he deems an angel in human skin, yunho learns she doesn’t know who he is and pretends to be someone else.

filled with secrets and a burning romance, yunho learns that no matter what you do or how hard you try, life just isn’t fair.

and he only had himself to blame.

warnings mature themes, mainly due to language. a lot of dishonesty. hurt without comfort if i’m being honest. nsfw later on. arguments and miscommunication. reader and yunho don’t have a good first impression at all, and they both don’t use the most nicest words at first. a lot of talk of mental health, exhaustion, and being overworked.

notes this is told in past tense, yunho’s pov. think of it as you are listening to him tell the story after it all ended, only knowing his side. this was also going to be a one shot, but i instead have changed my mind and went with original idea when first planning this, and this will be a fic.

a/n this is a repost! so if it sounds familiar i originally posted this with my old blog mothworked!

status ongoing

started 05/06/23

completed n/a

reblogs & comments are very appreciated and also help out a lot! thank you for reading and giving my work a chance ^_^

. . . # chapters !

chapter one | chapter two | chapter three | chapter four | chapter five | chapter six | chapter seven | to be continued. .

PREVIEW BELOW. . !

yunho hasn’t been happy in a while.

he doesn’t know when or where this sudden realization came into place, nor does he know when the feeling of numbness even decided to pop in for a chat as if it was a distant relative who came over for the holidays and refused to be put to bed.

he just knows he hasn’t been the same person after their comeback — assuming that he was only overworked, this will cease.

it didn’t.

his hands shoved his clothes into the oversized suitcase, hearing the zipper tug and close his belongings all tightly knit together, yunho let out a huff of air, allowing himself to pause for a minute, take in everything while staring blank at the pompompurin keychain he had setting on his nightstand with the mental reminder to hook it onto his bag to match with mingi — “will this actually do anything?” he voiced outloud, grumbling before pulling and rolling the suitcase off his bed and down the hall, “i’m here.”

the first person to lift their heads towards him was hongjoong who smiled in response, eyes showing he was just as exhausted and eager for this break, “does anyone know where we’ll be going?” he asked

“california — not so bad, huh?” seonghwa acknowledged, a light tone to ease the tension created from just the lack of care to their needs that begun to radiate off of then in their tones and actions

and yunho wanted to believe him, he really did.

but the feeling in his chest was yelling at him otherwise.

“san’s birthday is coming up,” yeosang mentioned one night while he and yunho unpacked, the two sharing a room together after losing a game of rock paper scissors

yunho could recall the shade the walls were painted, green lily. mingi was the one who mentioned the color by name and it had made them all erupt in fits of giggles on how — and why, he knew something like that but thanked him nonetheless, san announcing the dorms should be painted the same shade before getting a pillow aimed towards his head by a sleepy jongho

and now, yunho was scurrying around downtown LA, attempting to find a good present for his friend. why was gift shopping so hard? would san even like it? no, scratch that, san loved anything given to him — he was just a big ball of sunshine.

it was yunho who wouldn’t deem it good enough.

maybe coffee would help, yeah, that would. just something to distract his neverending nerves so he can think better. he should’ve asked seonghwa, he thought to himself.

the sky was clear, the sun being bright and reflecting on his freshly dyed scalp, it was his mind that was clouded and unable to steer in one set direction — not fully processing where he was going, only aware he was aiming towards that coffee shop he noticed. oh, if he knew then, he would’ve turned around.

colliding with a body, soft gasps and cold drink being spilled on his warm skin, “fuck,” he cursed out loud at the sudden temperature and new situation

and that’s when his eyes met yours.

but with the way his day and emotions had been, he didn’t intend for his next words to be come off so harsh, “i’m sorry”

you looked at him with an annoyed expression, brows knitted tightly together, “just watch where you’re going now i have to deal with a day without my drink.”

scoffing, yunho shook his head, “i wouldn’t be talking if i were you, you basically were fucking naurto running into my chest,”

you let out a huff, “naurto running?!” running your fingers through your hair, you shook your head, “if i wasn’t so mad, i would have laughed.”

“i can get you another one,” yunho tried to compromise, not wanting a feud with a stranger over a drink

plus, he wasn’t sure if you knew he was an idol and if you did, he didn’t have any desire to end up on an article, his thoughts broken by your scoff

“no fuck you, i wanted that one,” you folded your arms over your chest, eyes darting to the floor before you started getting napkins to clean up, yunho unaware of why he followed behind

“are you this uptight all the time?” yunho blurted, earning his chest to hit your back before you turned with raised brows

“only to dumbasses who make me spill my drink.”

“touché.”

he finally convinced you to let him get you another drink, taking a seat by you while the straw was between your lips and your fingertips tapped the cold plastic cup that had water droplets decorating, “you can leave now,” you said

“don’t flatter yourself, i ordered something too,” yunho shook his head

you sneered, “your presence just annoys me.”

yunho leaned forward, propping himself up with his elbows as he looked at you with a mocking grin to tease you more, “is that any way to talk to me after i got you another tea, which may i add, at a coffee shop?” he paused, looking at you taking a bite of your cake pop, “plus that cake pop.”

“yeah.” you shrugged

yunho ordered hot chocolate, his intentions were to get an iced americano but with the day he was having, his taste changed for today, his hands holding the warm wrapped brownie he hoped to enjoy if not giving it to san later

you teased him about it which was fair, he did so about your tea.

“what’s your name?” he asked

met with silence.

“hello, are you deaf?” he titled his head in response, you looking at him with a teasing grin

“for you, yeah.”

ignoring what you had said, yunho straightened his posture, “i’m yunho and you are?”

and yet again, met with your silence

“you’re making this really herd,” he huffed

“that’s the goal.” you replied

yunho didn’t know how much longer the two of you sat in silence, eating and drinking before you began getting up to clean your area, he remembered how the strands of your hair fell in front of your face and you harshly moved them aside in annoyance, jaw clenched while you got your bag that he didn’t realize you had with you — eyed landing on a specific dangling keychain that resembled the one he had connected, before he could make a comment about coincidences, you spoke

“y/n.”

“huh?” he questioned

you dusted yourself off and laughed, “my name is y/n, you asswipe.”

that was the first time he met you

and sometimes he wished he would’ve left you alone after that

maybe the two of you would have been better

maybe you wouldn’t hate him this much

and maybe he could’ve done things differently if he had another chance

but you won’t give him one

and he knows he doesn’t deserve it after what he did.

it was almost fate.

the situation and timing could come off as such — at least, yunho wanted to believe the two of you were starcrossed lovers destined to get it right either in this life or the next one.

he didn’t expect to see you there, polished and composed, the opposite of who he met the day prior. you radiated something that he knew he wouldn’t be able to get enough of.

and he couldn’t.

even now, he found himself drowning in your memory and wanting to be swept under permanently — it nearly sounds as if he was praying for a fatal outcome, but he did not want to die. he just wanted his heart back.

the same one that still stayed in your hands while yours was forcibly removed from his

[brains4brawn]

Summer Camp, Football

I was so excited for science camp, it would be my last year as I would start college in the fall. The camp was huge and divided into four major sections; Arts, Sports, Science, and Space with Sports taking up most of the land. The different parts of the camp didn't mingle too much but every Fourth of July there was a gigantic celebration.

It was great seeing old friends and getting to bunk in one of the smaller Sci cabins. My best friend Jeff was assigned with me and we went over the catalog to see what classes there were for the seniors.

In the distance we could hear the rowdy football jocks. It was a trade off, the smaller more private cabins were on the outer perimeter close to the sports section, specifically the footballers. Jeff and I just ignored them while we made our schedules for the following 8 weeks. I started to unpack my huge suitcase into the dresser beside my bed, in the second drawer was a small football key chain with the camp logo emblazoned on it. I picked it up and got a slight static shock, I showed it to Jeff and he thought that some meathead must have forgotten it. We both laughed and well both got slightly turned on at the thought of one of those jocks sleeping in our beds.

The day went by quickly and soon we had our introduction dinner and met everyone in Sci. Soon though I was in bed, tired but excited for tomorrow.

Tomorrow came to early, I awoke at 4:19 am with tons of energy! It was like lightning had struck, i bounced out of bed and began to quietly pace hoping not to disturb Jeff. I decided to go outside where I heard grunting in the distance. I followed the sounds to a flat track woven in-between some cabins where some big jocks were doing an early morning run. One of them saw me and motioned to me, for some reason i went closer. This guy was stunning, he was shirtless and showing off his rock hard body. I felt my penis begin to tent as i drew close, He asked why I was here and I made up some story that my dad always takes me on early jogs and if i could join them. He looked me over and then said that any bro is welcome to join.

I got back around 6:30 my body sore but energized. Jeff was still softly snoring on his side of the cabin. I quickly went to the bathroom and took a shower. Jeff was just getting out of bed when I re-entered the bedroom, he rushed past me into the vacant bathroom, while he was getting ready I still was overcome with energy. I went to a spot on the wood floor and proceeded to do some pushups until I heard the shower turn off.

The next week flew by as I developed a new morning routine. Every morning I'd be up at 4am and jogging with Seth and his bros. They were all really welcoming, and I was having a great time just not thinking. Heck, Jeff even commented one day that I was looking healthier. It felt weird to keep this from my best friend but I know he wouldn't understand. Even though the guys here were awesome, Jeff had been bullied practically his entire life back home.

Afternoons soon became torture as my Sci projects were becoming harder to focus on. My body was brimming with energy and I couldn't wait for the two hours of free time before dinner. Jeff and I used to sit and watch the hunky Jocks play their different sports during the afternoon breaks but now I had the urge to join them. I feel bad for ditching Jeff but now I get in the water and go for a swim or grab some boots and go on a short hike.

Its been almost four weeks since camp started and I haven't felt this good in years. Every morning I get up and run with my bro Seth and the gang, then go and work out at the sports camp gym. By the time I get back to the cabin to shower and change Jeff is already gone. I feel bad for the little bro, he's obviously gay and a guy with my bod can't be easy to room with. It still kinda sucks that I'm in a Sci cabin but at least I'm not far from the rest of the footballers. After morning PT I go to strategy sessions and game history. Then the afternoon is spent playing touch footie with the guys.

The Fourth of July was a blast. All the different sports teams came together and we had scrimmages all day. The Sci Nerds showed off some dope looking robots and the Space Dweebs launched rockets. Later on the Theater Dorks put on a talent show, then came a cookout dinner BBQ. Lastly came the fireworks. As the sky was bombarded by the light, I noticed Jeff off by himself. Not wanting anyone to be alone I picked up my things and moved closer to him. Sitting next to him it was hard not to notice just how much smaller my cabin bro was.

At first he tried to ignore me, but fuck i am not someone who is ignored easily. I scooted my perfect ass up beside him and he told me to go away. I just sat there letting him get used to my presence, I felt an odd need to be protective of the little guy. I heard a sigh and then in a whisper Jeff asked if I knew how perfect I was.

Well duh, I am tall proportionally muscular and let's face it, any guy would be lucky to have a piece of me. Something awoke inside me, feelings that I knew were there but didn't want to admit. I was Mr. Popular, big man on campus, life of the party, but somewhere in the last month I had devolved a crush on this lonely nerd.

It was after midnight when Jeff and I got back to the cabin. I woke up with the little nerd spooning against my bod. Fuck it felt good having him next to me, my morning wood pressed against his back. Jeff woke up slowly and I felt the goosebumps as he realized his situation. His head tilted up and he looked into my eyes, I took the chance and kissed him gently..... which quickly turned into a passionate make out session... which....well, let's say the little nerd is one of the best cocksuckers ever. The moment I erupted into his mouth a slight bit of static electricity passed from me into him.

From then on we became inseparable. Jeff joined me for morning PT and came to support the team in our mock tournament with our sister campgrounds, while I tried my best to support his Sci shit. By the time we left, Jeff had put on some decent size and was getting along with all my bros on the team.

Epilogue:

Two men stand in the tiny cabin, marveling at how they'd spent so much time in such a cramped space. The taller man had just finished his second season in the NFL while his shorter husband had become the CEO of his own successful startup. The men stood there, reminiscing on how they met the summer before college and how they couldn't imagine life without each other. Jeff gave his husband's hand a squeeze before the two of them started their summers as owners of this special place.

[throughgoalsandbaskets]

A Demon's Guide to Anthropology 2

Part 2: sunlight

Word count: 655

Tags: use of 'MC' and they/them pronouns, brief description of a pill bottle and vitamins, rushed and short, fluff

★ ——— —— —

MC going back to the human world periodically over weekends and denying staying in the Devildom over breaks despite claiming they wanted to confused Mammon.

It had been explained to him a thousand times, and yet he'd seem to forget just as soon as it was said. He simply didn't understand.

One one particular return to the human world, Mammon went straight to the source of all his confusion, sat down on the bed, propped his elbows on his knees, and stared with a seriousness one would only see in his gaze at a casino.

The human who brought such emotion from him murmured to themself as they packed a small bag about needing to keep a bag ready to stunt this constant packing and unpacking only a few things, and Mammon stayed silent in thought.

When MC stood, bag slung over a shoulder, Mammon pounced like a cat.

"So.." He drew it out nice and slow, swing casual despite his body language showing he clearly wasn't being such a thing.

"Why do ya need to go back so much?"

MC blinked and raised a brow, turning to look at the greedy demon. A flash of amusement formed in their eyes, a companion to their confusion.

"Didn't Lucifer explain this to you, like, a billion times?"

Mammon scoffed and grumbled, mumbling under his breath about the question and the realities of it before giving his response.

"It's not my fault! I-I'm just curious, but it's not like I care or somethin'! You're just a human why can't I ask? You're in my care, so just cough it up you-!"

He cut himself off when he heard laughing coming from above, glancing up and watching the object of his torment wheeze and laugh, covering their mouth to poorly hide the humor they felt.

"I-I'm sorry, I'm sorry, it's just.. I need to go back, it's not that I want to. Humans can't survive without sunlight," they explained.

This only brought more questions than answers, along with a sense of growing urgent dread.

"You what?"

"Yeah, humans need sunlight to survive. Why do you think I take these?" MC held up a small bottle labeled with their name on top. Inside of it was a few clear capsules. Vitamins, Mammon is quick to put a name to them.

"W-Well, I just thought- I just-" He huffed and crossed his arms, pouting like a spoiled child denied their wants.

"Without sunlight humans die, so I take these to sustain myself each day here, and go back to the human world with Solomon whenever we can."

It all made sense partially, but Mammon knows truthfully it wouldn't make a whole lot of sense even with a dumbed down human anatomy lesson. This once, he conceded and allowed himself to not fully understand, despite his sin making him internally scream for answers on his human's health.

"But," MC began again, causing the sulking demon to perk up and look at them from where he sat on the bed and where they stood. "If you're good next week, I'll ask Lucifer and Lord Diavolo if you can come next time? Just don't tell anyone, I don't want the others knowing I'm only taking you."

MC knew just the right answer to cheer the avatar of, and immediately to hide his rebounded embarrassment, Mammon turned his head to the side and scoffed, arms crossed.

"You think I can't last a week? I'll show ya that I can last a month!"

The humans merely shook their head and sighed, readjusting the hold on their bag, and giving a small smile.

"Sure thing, Mammon. And pigs can fly."

The demon gave a squawk once he realized what that meant, the human beginning to leave as they laughed.

"HEY!"

[fleet-of-fiction]

Josh Kiszka x Female Reader POV

Summary: You've had enough and want to go home. He's been gone for weeks, and you're desperate to enjoy your new house with your long-term love. You just want Josh all to yourself.

Warnings: Drugs. Alcohol. Dirty talk. Fingering. Oral sex female receiving. Edging. Oral sex male receiving. Rough penetration. Degradation. Choking. Throat play.

(Original post here)

"You wanna go home, get high and fuck?"

Josh slammed his glass down onto the table and scanned the bar for anyone who might have heard you.

"Are you fucking serious?" He asked, raking a hand through his facial hair.

You begin to pout. "You know tequila makes me horny."

He nods in agreeance, almost pleased with himself for insisting on slammers instead of sensible 'welcome home' drinks.

"I fucking love it when you're all tequila horny." He whispered, grabbing his jacket off the back of his bar stool.

It wasn't just the tequila, though. Josh had been gone for weeks, serving his time as everybody else's object of desire. You'd been willing yourself to wait until he returned before giving in to your own desires, not even touching yourself in the shower until he was back where he belonged. In the fixer upper you were still working on, despite moving in months ago.

There were still boxes waiting to be unpacked in the open spaces, pictures leaning against walls you hadn't nailed them to yet. Plants sat waiting to be watered on the stairs, and a kitchen that needed bringing into the current century.

As you opened the front door, greeted by your slow progress, Josh peeled off his jacket and threw it down on the unpacked boxes. Neither if you seemed to care that there was so much to do, not when you could meander through the chaos and do what you wanted instead of what you needed.

He slinked out of his emerald green jumpsuit as he made his way towards the back of the house, you following him with equal desire to be rid of your clothes. Dropping your white skirt and halter neck on the floor. On tip toes you grabbed two beers from the fridge, Josh padding around the cupboards with his bad posture and flat feet.

You couldn't stand it when he moved around like that. In his tight little boxer shorts, waving his arms around as he tried to remember where he'd put his stash. Almost like a little old man, so endearing and yet the shape of his body made you quiver. The way his stomach planed out at the waist, every breath straining against the elastic of his underwear. His chest soft and toned, casting shadows down his torso as he switched the kitchen lamp on. Those curved arms lifting behind his head as he stopped to think. His teeth gripping his lower lip, you could feel yourself lilting towards fucking him before getting high.

His eyes came to rest on your naked breasts and the tiny pair of lace panties that sat snugly against your thighs. He recalled buying them for you and a shit eating smirk began to curl on his upper lip.

"You wanna skip to the fuck part?" You asked, feeling the chill of the beer bottles against your skin.

He shook his head, errant curls falling around his face.

"I wanna get you in that frame of mind, first." He replied, opening the cupboard nearest and peering inside. "That one where you don't give a shit about anything and just let go."

You watched him click his fingers as he reached into the back of the cupboard, pulling out a bag of weed you hadn't even known was there. Benny and the Jets coming through the speaker on shuffle.

"Don't I always welcome you home like this?" You said rhetorically, rolling your eyes before tip-toeing over to the sun room, taking Benny and the Bluetooth speaker with you.

It was the only room you'd completed. Lined with glass panes from floor to ceiling, it had been the thing which made you beg Josh to buy the house. Pleading with him. Baby, I need this... knowing he would eventually see things from your perspective. And he had, when you'd introduced the slipper chairs and day bed. The low, warm lighting and church candles. The little mosaic table where you kept all your grinders and papers. And the fact that all the windows reflected the way you fucked him in the dark.

You popped open the beers and leaned back into one of the chairs, your knees up and toes gripping the edge of the green velvet. Josh sat opposite, deftly working to build a joint as you sipped on your beer, spectating.

"Every fucking night, I had to roll a joint just to sleep in that fucking bunk." He complained, easing himself back into home life. "Listening to Jake on the phone all night, all because he refuses to sleep until dawn."

You rested the head of the beer bottle on your lip and extended your foot out, caressing your pointed toes through his hair. He looked up at you as he rolled, his line of vision coming to rest on the material covering your pussy lips. As he licked the papers and twisted them shut, you nudged his cheek with the side of your foot playfully.

"You're home now, baby." You said softly, in the sort of voice you reserved for placating his worries.

He was so sweet to you, especially when he was fresh from the road. Desperate for his comforts and your body. You never grew tired of it, that feeling of longing for him coming to an end. Like an orgasm after being choked. He lit the joint and pursed his lips around it, exhaling upwards as you watched his throat flex.

"You wanna know a secret?" You asked, taking a long swig from your bottle.

"Always." He responded, passing you the joint so that he could take care of his own beer.

"I haven't even masturbated while you were gone." You said casually, pressing the joint to your lips and pulling hard.

He raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair to appraise you. Mouth rounded at the hilt of his beer bottle, trying to think of a worthy response to something he knew you had done to make his homecoming fuck all the sweeter.

"Was that all for me?" He asked, edging the possibility that it wasn't.

You passed the joint back to him. "Just like every fuckin' thing else."

He laughed as he took the smoke back, a white cloud billowing out of his mouth as he tempered your humour with his own. He loved it when you teased him, when you played him as your king and you were at his service.

"You could have slipped a few fingers in while we were on the phone." He chuckled, "I really wouldn't have minded."

You could feel yourself begin to vibrate. That tingle on your skin and your vision beginning to flow like a painting as you moved your head. Your pussy was already throbbing, a tangible sensation of your body responding to the weed and to your beautiful boyfriend watching you closely.

"And miss seeing the way you're looking at me right now, I don't think so." You replied, locking his gaze with yours. "What you thinkin' about?"

"Putting my fingers inside you." He replied, taking a deep breath as he dashed the joint in the ashtray and sunk his beer.

He was hard underneath his boxers. He adjusted himself with the palm of his free hand as it sat against his thigh, thick and pulsating with the thoughts running through his head.

"Whatever you want." You sighed, feeling the heat of knowing how it felt inside you as you watched the tip peek out from the edge of the material.

His eyes were half closed, his mouth open to a pout. Everything felt slow when you were like this, even the words that slipped out his mouth sounded slow. When he was stoned it was like a part of his brain awoke from slumber, and you loved how he eloquently spoke of things he wouldn't dare say when he made love to you. He was still your sweet boy, but that demon which was yours whenever he came home took it's moment to shine.

"I want your pussy juice on my fingers." He said without hesitation, shoving the table aside in one swift movement.

He cleared the space between you, on his knees by the foot of your chair. He wasted no time in pushing your legs wide apart, revealing the wet crutch between the woven lace. He slipped it aside and his eyes widened. He moaned softly at the sight of it, your glistening lips freshly waxed and smooth.

"Sweet fucking jesus." He said breathlessly, cocking his head to the side as he took in the view. "You've been neglecting her."

You looked down at him between your legs, dizzy and aching for him to touch you.

"Pay her some attention, baby. Go on..." You urged, your voice a needy whimper.

The tip of his index finger flew down your wet slit, eliciting from your lips a primal moan that was all relief. You kept your eyes on him as he slipped his finger inside, the wetness of your cunt making a beautiful sloppy sound that made him hold his breath.

"I fucking love that sound." He told you, his voice almost breaking as he slipped a second finger inside and watched your entire body shake. "Yeah, you like that?"

Your bottom lip was planted firmly beneath your teeth, your resolve hanging there as you nodded and felt your toes curl over the edge of the velvet seat. You were dripping onto it, ruining the material but you couldn't stop yourself.

"I fucking love it, baby. Don't stop." You were begging now, feeling your arousal drag you into the pits of depravity. "You like how my pussy feels?"

He smirks at the way you check in with him, leaning up to kiss you while his fingers continue to pound into you. You feel his tongue glide into your mouth, his soft lips open against yours. You allow him to venture deep, your own tongue brushing back. He only kissed you like this when he was lost to his arousal. When he was so deeply turned on, all inhibitions were smoked away.

"So tight and warm." He replied, dragging his mouth away for a moment before returning to you with more force. "And so fucking wet..."

You were grinding into his hand now. "Put your tongue on it baby, please...do that thing I like..."

You could feel yourself wilt beneath his touch. As he pulled away from your mouth, his eyes watching your tongue rest against your lip he wore the face you loved the most. The serious one where his jaw was clenched.

"You want me to sing on your pussy?" He asked, drawing a gasp from you as he pulled out his fingers.

"Josh..." You breathed his name, tasting yourself as he inched his fingertips into your mouth. "Sing on it, please..."

He knew what you meant. Your hands flew to his curls as he buried his face between your open legs. Pushing your lips apart with juiced fingers, he pressed the flat of his tongue against your clit and began humming softly. Using the vocal techniques he had learned to keep his high notes belting out for longer, you felt his tongue begin to shudder against you.

He understood what you needed. Padding his vibrating tongue against your swollen clit, his voice rich and low as he moaned against your sweet cunt. Ever since he'd been taught how to carry his voice, he'd known it would translate well when his mouth was on you. It never failed to reduce you into a quivering wreck, your knees shaking wildly as his head moved back and forth. Your mouth breathing silent pleas you couldn't speak. The sound of him swallowing your wetness making you audibly whine.

"Talk to me, baby." He grunted between swills of his tongue probing inside your entrance.

You snapped your head back and felt his soft, warm flickering increase. "Damn it, Josh! You fucking know what you're doing to me..."

Rivulets of sweat trickled down your chest into your heaving cleavage. Your skin becoming sleek with it as you moved your hips against his working mouth. The swells of orgasm threatening to end you, sweeping up from your clit into your stomach.

Instinctively, you push him back with a careful foot. His body reeling, his face covered in your juice. His breathing is laboured, a look of devilish satisfaction painted across his face as he swallowed hard.

"You were gonna make me cum in your mouth, weren't you?" You surmised, catching the way he looked down at the mess he had made.

"I'm thirsty." He replied solemnly, raking his thumb over your clit to keep you edged. "But I can see you're in the mood for something a little darker."

"I missed you." You purred, "I want to make it last..."

He nodded sweetly, in that way he had about him. Josh moved so fluidly, his mannerisms almost like a dance. Even if he was being subtle, moving from one position to the next. As he began to rise, you were greeted with his bulge as he reached in and pulled his cock out of his boxer shorts. You leaned forward, helping him to pull them down as the tip of his penis brushed against your cheek.

He tapped it against your lips. "Why don't you open that pretty little mouth of yours and show me how much you missed me?"

You shuffled to the edge of the chair, your incessantly wet cunt drenching the velvet now. You hissed at the sensation of your clit against the soft upholstery. Gripping the base of Josh's cock as you rocked your hips against the edge of the seat.

Opening wide, you looked up at him. Through the valley of the trail of hair that reached up towards his navel, finding the way he looked back down at you almost more than you could take. He was wearing that clenched jaw again.

"I missed you too." He said, almost as an afterthought, tapping his head against the flat of your tongue. "Now, let me in...be my dirty girl for just a little longer."

Josh was deceivingly big. A secret only you carried. The way he carried himself belied the truth of his girth. You often watched him when he didn't know you were looking, imagining the size of his cock when it was hard as he carried out mundane tasks.

You stared down the length of it, marvelling at the blood coursing through the veins. The pinkness of his head as you sucked on it gently. Easing him into your mouth slowly, so that you could prepare your throat for the pounding you knew would come. Because that's the way Josh liked it when he was high. When he was overstimulated. When the filthy, intrusive thoughts spilled out.

He leaned down as you nibbled at his tip, grazing your teeth against the edge. it sent a shiver down his spine as he picked up the joint and lighter, reigniting it as you began working his base with your hand and sucking down on the end of his cock with your mouth.

Tilting his head back, he exhaled a plume of smoke as you rocked your head back and forth. He almost coughed on it as your nails brushed up against his balls. You knew his weakness, and he knew you were heading towards it as you lifted up his erection and pressed it against his stomach. Your tongue bearing down between his balls, slipping beneath to run up his taint.

"Oh, you little fucker...." He growled, taking a knot of your hair in his fist. "Dirty little bitch."

Bitch was reserved for moments like these. When he wasn't quite himself. When he was a version that was so far removed from who he was in the cold light of day sometimes it felt like you were fucking his alter-ego. The one he used to grace the stage. The one who manifested himself in rage fucks when something had pissed him off. And when he came home to you and got high, he was still the man you loved. But with an edge to him that excited you so completely still, to this day.

You're well versed in the girth and ridges of his cock that feel like home to you. All the versions of Josh that spill out of his mouth don't matter when you can feel the familiarity of him sliding down your throat. You hear a familiar sigh, a low and gutteral sound that lets you know he's lost for words.

A string of saliva connects your mouth to his cock as you pull away, rubbing your spit up and down his shaft.

"Say it again." You venture, jerking him so hard his entire body shakes.

There was something about him speaking to you like that which planted a seed in your psyche. You were safe with Josh. He took another drag of the joint, raising his head to blow out the smoke as he realised what you meant.

"Oh, you are in the mood for something a little darker tonight, aren't you?" He said, that same shit eating smirk from earlier returning to his mouth. "Get your mouth back on my cock right now, you filthy little whore."

You did as you were told, a high pitched moan escaping your lips before he rutted into your open mouth. He dropped the joint back in the ashtray, completely consumed by your request. His hands pushing your head into his crotch, determined to choke you until you begged for air.

You could feel him leaking down your throat. His salty, smooth pre-cum dripping down the back of your tongue. Your eyes were watering and your pussy throbbing so hard at the name he had called you. Whore... It made you feel as if you could ruin him.

"Take it down." He ordered, keeping your head locked with his entire cock buried inside your mouth. "That's my filthy little bitch whore, right there..."

When he released you, the air rushed to your lungs and you gasped for it. He stood back and watched your hands fly to your chest. He knelt down, wiping the tears that fell down your cheeks. Palpable panic in the place of arousal.

"Shit, baby..." He fussed, "I took it too far, didn't I?"

It took a moment to regain your composure, but when you did there was a reluctance to give up the darkness. His worry dissipated as you smiled, mouth covered in saliva and pre-cum. He ran his thumb across it, sealing a kiss as he pulled you off the chair completely.

Both of you languished on your knees, the rug pressed hard into your bony flesh. You picked up the joint from the ashtray and took the last few drags of it, blowing the smoke into Josh's waiting mouth. Sharing it, savouring it. Sinking into a kiss that was soft and pleasing.

"Fuck me nasty, Daddy..." You said with a wink, knowing it was the first time you'd ever called him that.

He clamoured at what to say. Almost stammering. "Fuck... you are something else tonight."

"Maybe I should abstain while you're gone more often." You suggested, trailing a finger tip down his chest.

There was no teasing in the way he needed you now. He rounded the back of your neck with his palm, pulling you in to another soft, romantic kiss. Feather light fingers guiding your waist to rest against his, his erection pressed into your stomach.

"I know you love me baby, I want this..." You reassured him. "You can fuck me as hard as you've ever wanted to."

"Yeah?" He gauged, running his hand down the side of your face.

"Haven't you ever imagined it? Holding me down until I beg? Has the thought never crossed that cavernous mind of yours?" You asked, parting the curls which fell about his forehead.

"I've imagined a great many things." He confessed, "Mostly while I'm jerking off in hotel rooms."

"If you were ever going to tell me, tonight is the night." You said, brushing his lips with the tip of your tongue, slowly edging it into his mouth and covering his lips with yours.

You gripped his cock tightly and he shuddered. Moving your hand up and down, forcing him to speak.

"Sometimes I think about fucking you in the ass from behind." He said, almost in whisper until your pace quickened at the idea of it. "And when I think about it, you cry out and beg me to fuck you harder and it always makes me cum so quick."

"Mmm'hmmm..." You continued, "Give me details."

His throat flexed as he swallowed. "Well, I just think about parting your ass cheeks and what my cock looks like all wet from being inside your pussy when I push it into your asshole. Oh god..."

You felt the warm trickle of him leaking down your curled fist.

"When I think about you, I always imagine what we're doing right now." You confessed right back. "Calling me your dirty little fuck whore, making me choke on your big fat cock."

He stifled a giggle as you described him. "The fuck did I do to deserve you, huh?"

"No, baby..."You murmured, leading him over to the day bed. "I'm the lucky one."

He placed slow, gentle kisses from your chin, down to your neck, stopping in the front of your throat to nibble gently. You may have stopped breathing, because you could no longer feel anything but his sweet caresses. A fever burned, starting in your stomach then spreading down to your core. A heat that threatened to start a fire if he didn't fuck you soon.

There was a glint of greed in his eyes as he lapped over your hard nipples with his tongue. As if he knew what he was doing, but he would have this first. Laid side by side, surrounded by soft woollen throws and embroidered cushions, he pulled your leg up to his hip and his hand flew to your throat.

"You want me to fuck you nasty?" He clarified, moving his hips so that the tip of his cock languished at your entrance.

"Just fuck me Josh, I need it..." You begged.

His hand gripped harder, fingers digging into your neck. His cock slipped inside you, stretching you after the weeks he had been parted from you. He filled you up whole, his pubic hair rubbing against your pussy lips as he thrust.

"Is this what you want is it? To be fucked like the little dirty bitch that you are?" He asked, keeping his grip on your neck as he pummelled into you.

Your entire body was jerking against him. The heat in your belly reaching out for the rest of your body, muscle and sinew, aching at what he was doing to you.

"Yes..." You cried, "Fuck me so good, Daddy please..."

Oh, he liked that. It pleased him greatly to be the one in control. You could see it in the way he couldn't stop himself from that half-smile. That cocky side-eye.

"Filthy little fuck whore..." He breathed, his pace so quick all you could hear was your own panting against the wetness and sloppy sound of him hitting your wet pussy so hard.

He countered it with a few mutterings of beautiful and love, which spurred you on just as hard as the degradation. More than that though, was his desperation. The way he thrust into you, never breaking eye contact, never releasing your throat. He moaned so melodically you could only imagine how it must have felt for him.

You told him when you were close. Your walls clenching hard against his thrusting shaft. Every inch being taken rough and hard. You could feel when he was nearing the end, too. He loosened his grip and his thrust became more deliberate. Holding his cock inside you a little longer after each one. As if baiting his own cum to spill out.

"I love you, Josh..." You whispered between his primal grunting.

He released as he said back. "Fuck....I love you, too..."

He was still pumping his cum into you as you felt yourself let go. Both of you chiming in unison as you came down. He'd never looked more fucked out and beautiful as he did then.

"So..." You said, still catching your breath. "You wanna go back to the bar?"

The End.

@caprisunsister @thewritingbeforesunrise @takenbythemadness @katuschka @its-interesting-van-kleep @lvnterninthenight @writingcold @jakekiszkasbuttsweat @edgingthedarkness @velveteencatch @lyndz2names @nina-23-45 @itsafullmoon @vikingisthenewsexy @char289

[from-memphis-with-love]

A Cowboy for Clementine - An Elvis Presley AU Cowboy Fanfic

Summary: Clementine looked to Elvis, her expression coolly determined. "If there's nothing else, I'll go unpack and change. See you at the barn."

With that, Elvis turned on his heel and strode off, spurs jingling. Clementine released a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Lord, what had she gotten herself into? Wrangling cattle was one thing. Wrangling a surly cowboy with an itchy trigger finger and an apparent grudge was quite another. She had a feeling this Elvis Presley would prove as untamed as the land itself.

Word count: 26,000 (first four chapters)

Chapter 1

The stagecoach lurched and swayed as it wound its way through the rugged mountain pass. Inside, Clementine Olivetti gripped the worn leather seat, her knuckles white from the effort. She peered out the dust-caked window at the forbidding landscape rolling by—jagged peaks, skeletal trees, sun-baked earth. A far cry from the cobblestone streets and genteel townhouses of New York.

What am I doing out here? Clementine thought, not for the first time since beginning this journey west. Traveling across the country to take ownership of some rustic ranch she'd never laid eyes on, bequeathed by an uncle she barely knew. It was rash, reckless even. Very out of character for the practical, level-headed Clementine. A girl who always had a plan.

But perhaps that was precisely the point. To do something unexpected, impulsive for once. To break free from the comfortable confines of her predictable city life. There was a certain romantic notion to it all—a young woman striking out on her own to start anew in the untamed frontier. Like something out of the dime novels she and her best friend Bonnie used to giggle over late at night.

Bonnie Mae Blakely. Her vivacious partner in crime since childhood. The yin to Clementine's yang—bold where she was cautious, impetuous where she was measured. They had shared so many dreams and secrets over the years. When Clementine told her about the surprise inheritance, Bonnie had squealed and hugged her fiercely.

"Oh Clemmie, it's just like a storybook! A rugged ranch out west, waiting for a plucky heroine to make it her own. Promise you'll write and tell me every adventure! And maybe I'll even come visit once you're all settled." 

Clementine smiled at the memory, picturing Bonnie's pretty face alight with excitement. In truth, having her friend's unconditional support had given Clementine the courage to undertake this journey. To believe she could reinvent herself and start fresh, even without any family left to tether her to New York.

Her parents had passed on years ago and she had no siblings. Just an uncle out west she scarcely remembered from childhood. The letter from the lawyer informing her of Uncle Ned's death and his bequeathing of Windy Creek Ranch had come as a shock. Almost as much as his written words, which she now withdrew from her handbag to read once more:

"Dearest Clementine, 

If you are reading this, then I am gone and the Good Lord has finally called me home. I regret that I did not make more of an effort to be a presence in your life. But know that not a day went by that I did not think of you and wish for your happiness. 

I leave to you my most prized possession: the Windy Creek Ranch. Six hundred and forty acres of prime grazing land nestled in the heart of cattle country. It isn't much to look at, but it has potential. Like a rare gem in the rough just waiting to be polished. I built this spread from nothing, with just grit and determination. I know you have that same strength within you.

There is a small town close by called Crossroads. You'll be able to purchase any supplies there and the townsfolk are generally amiable. But be warned, there have been rumors lately of cattle rustlers and claim jumpers looking to prey on the local ranches. Trust your instincts and keep your wits about you.

I wish I could be there to guide you as you begin this new chapter. But I take comfort knowing the ranch is in capable hands. Take care of it and it will take care of you. Never forget, you are my niece. We are made of tougher stuff than most.

Yours, Uncle Ned"

Clementine folded up the letter, blinking back tears. She barely remembered Uncle Ned—a grizzled, wild-eyed man who would occasionally blow into town like a tumbleweed, his clothes smelling of leather and horses and endless sky. Her father's eldest brother. A dreamer. An adventurer. Everything her straight-laced father was not... and did not approve of. The brothers had a falling out when Clementine was just a girl and Ned rode off into the sunset, never to return. 

She used to envy his freedom, his daring. While her days were filled with needlework and piano lessons, she imagined Uncle Ned out there living a thrilling life. Herding cattle, exploring the wilderness, sitting around a campfire under a canopy of stars. It all seemed terribly romantic to her younger self.

But as she grew older, Clementine came to accept her lot. Became the obedient daughter, always striving to please, to fit the mold of a proper young lady, accepting decisions made for her and on her own behalf. She buried those yearnings for adventure deep down where they couldn't hurt her. Convinced herself that she was content with her sensible, uneventful existence. 

Until that letter arrived and reawakened something within her. A spark. A hunger for more that she could no longer ignore. It was high time Clementine Olivetti started living life on her own terms. Even if that meant venturing into the unknown wilds of cattle country to claim her unexpected inheritance—a ranch that would be hers and hers alone. The prospect both thrilled and terrified her.

The stagecoach hit a particularly deep rut, jolting Clementine from her musings. She clutched her carpet bag closer and said a silent prayer that her worldly possessions would survive the journey intact. 

As if reading her thoughts, the driver called out, "Almost there, miss! Crossroads is just up ahead."

Clementine's heart rate quickened. This was it. No turning back now. She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and prepared to meet her destiny. Whatever that may be.

The stagecoach rumbled down the main thoroughfare of Crossroads, kicking up clouds of dust in its wake. Clementine peered out at the rustic frontier town, all wooden storefronts and hitching posts. Rough-hewn men ambled down the street in dungarees and cowboy hats. Bonneted women swept front porches and corralled children. A distant clang rang out from the blacksmith and the mouthwatering scent of baking bread wafted on the breeze. Quaint yet industrious. A town where everyone knew everyone else's business and no secret stayed buried for long.

The coach rolled to a stop and the driver hopped down to assist Clementine. A few coins were plunked into his hand. She stepped out into the bright sunlight, stretching her travel-weary limbs. Her legs wobbled a bit, unaccustomed to solid ground after so many hours.

"Miss Olivetti?" a voice inquired. Clementine turned to see a short, wiry man hurrying toward her, his bald pate gleaming.

"Yes, I'm Clementine Olivetti," she replied. 

"Hezekiah Gruber, attorney at law," he said, pumping her hand enthusiastically. "We exchanged telegrams about your inheritance. My condolences for your loss."

"Thank you, Mr. Gruber. It was a shock to us all."

"Your uncle was one of a kind, that's for sure. Now then, I imagine you're eager to get out to the ranch and take possession. I won't keep you but let's get your signature on a few documents at my office to make it all official-like."

Clementine followed him down the creaking wooden sidewalk to the lawyer's storefront, noting the curious glances directed her way. She was used to it—a fashionable girl with a funny surname drew attention even back east. She could only imagine the gossip her arrival would stir up here.

"Here we are," said Gruber, ushering her into his cluttered office. "Won't take but a minute to get you squared away." 

He shuffled some papers on his desk and handed Clementine a pen. She dutifully signed her name on the dense lines of legalese, the gravity of the moment not lost on her. With a few strokes of ink, she was now the rightful owner of Windy Creek Ranch. Her future.

"It's all yours, Miss Olivetti," said Gruber, blotting the documents. "I'll file these with the deed office today. In the meantime, let's get you on your way to your new home. I'll have Jebediah bring 'round the rig."

"The rig?" asked Clementine, perplexed. 

"For your baggage. Unless you were planning to carry those trunks to the ranch yourself?" 

Clementine blushed. Of course. This wasn't New York where deliveries arrived directly at one's doorstep. What would Bonnie say if she could see her now, preparing to rattle off in a dusty wagon toward an uncertain future? Probably clap her hands in glee and tell her it was the start of a grand adventure, the kind they'd always dreamed of having.

"Much obliged, Mr. Gruber," Clementine managed, her smile bittersweet. "I'm afraid I have a lot to learn about life out here."

"You'll get the hang of it," he assured. "Now remember, if you run into any trouble out there at Windy Creek, you just send word. I've been looking out for the place since your uncle took ill. I'd hate to see it fall into the wrong hands."

Something in his tone gave Clementine pause. Was that a note of warning? But before she could inquire further, Gruber had ushered her out into the dazzling daylight where a rickety wagon waited. 

A grizzled old man sat hunched on the bench. He squinted at Clementine and gave a gap-toothed grin. "All aboard for Windy Creek Ranch!"

Trepidation pricked at her insides but Clementine forced a smile, determined to meet each new challenge with pluck and poise. She clambered up beside Jebediah, her trunk secured in the wagon bed.

"Much obliged," she told the driver. He clicked his tongue and snapped the reins. The mules lurched forward and they set off at a bone-rattling pace. Clementine gripped the sideboard, already regretting her choice of footwear. Perhaps button-up kid boots weren't the most practical for a cross-country trek.

The road out of town quickly turned to a rutted dirt track winding through a patchwork of ranches and farmsteads. Jebediah kept up a steady stream of chatter, pointing out local landmarks and the neighboring spreads.

As Crossroads receded behind them, the landscape opened up into a vista of endless grassland and rolling hills. Herds of cattle grazed in the distance, mere specks on the horizon. The air smelled of sage and leather and something else... of possibility. 

"That there's the Circle J, belonged to old Joe Abernathy nigh on forty years 'til he passed on last spring. His boys run it now. And over yonder's the Triple Cross—biggest outfit in the county, but too big for their britches if you ask me."

She thought again of the cryptic warning from Mr. Gruber. Claim jumpers and cattle rustlers, he'd said. The untamed frontier was full of dangers she knew nothing about. As if sensing her unease, Jebediah spoke up.

"Yep, Windy Creek is a right fine piece of property. Yer uncle was real proud of what he built out there. 'Course, ranch life ain't for the faint of heart. Takes grit and know-how to make a go of it."

"I'm a quick study," replied Clementine with more confidence than she felt. "And I'm not afraid of hard work."

"That's good 'cause there'll be plenty of it," said Jebediah with a dry chuckle. "Between the repairs and the brandin' and the drives, ranch folk earn ever' penny of their keep. And that's assumin' the weather cooperates and the rustlers keep their distance."

"I've heard tell of such threats," said Clementine carefully. "Have there been many incidents hereabouts?"

"More'n there oughta be," said Jebediah. "Buncha no-good varmints that'll stop at nothing to line their own pockets. Thievin' cattle, cuttin' fences, raidin' homesteads. Even murderin' folk that get in their way."

Clementine suppressed a shudder, trying not to let her imagination run away with grisly scenarios. If only Bonnie were here to bolster her courage with a saucy quip or two. Her friend had always been the brave one, ready to take on any challenge with a laugh and a toss of her auburn curls. But Bonnie was thousands of miles away, living her own life. This was Clementine's adventure now. Her dream to chase, for better or worse.

"Still, a body can't borrow trouble," continued Jebediah. "Windy Creek's got a solid crew of hands to help you protect what's yours."

Clementine nodded, somewhat reassured. She knew there would be cowhands and ranch staff to assist her, though Uncle Ned's letter had been scarce on specifics. No matter. She would learn everyone's roles and prove herself a capable mistress. How hard could it be?

The wagon crested a hill and suddenly the breathtaking expanse of Windy Creek Ranch stretched out before them—640 acres of pristine range, just like Uncle Ned had said, framed by distant blue mountains under an endless dome of sky. Clementine's heart swelled at the sight of the whitewashed ranch house, the red-roofed barn, the towering windmill spinning lazily in the breeze. Cattle dotted the pasture, fat and healthy. Chickens pecked in the dust and a pair of ranch hands paused in their work to regard the newcomers with frank curiosity. It was more beautiful than she'd dared imagine. Raw and wild and brimming with promise. And it was all hers.

Clementine drank it in, marveling that this was all a part of her uncle's spread. Her spread now. Doubt niggled at her again. What did a city girl know about running a cattle operation? About negotiating with cowhands and driving livestock to market? There was so much to learn, so much riding on her getting this right. She couldn't afford to fail, not when Uncle Ned had entrusted her with his legacy. 

As they rolled to a stop in the front yard, Clementine gathered her skirts, preparing to descend with as much dignity as possible given her ungainly boots and the long journey. But before her foot touched the running board, a rifle shot cracked the air. Clementine yelped as a bullet gouged a tree trunk mere inches from her hand.

Heart pounding, she whirled toward the source to see a tall, black-clad figure emerge from behind the water trough, his features obscured by a low-pulled Stetson. He racked the lever of his Winchester with fluid ease and took aim again.

"That's far enough," he growled, his voice rough as saddle leather. "This here's private property. State your business or hit the road."

"Don't shoot!" cried Clementine, throwing up her hands. "I'm... T-this is my ranch now. I've c-come to take possession."

The man lowered his rifle a fraction but kept it at the ready. "That so? Got any proof?"

With shaking fingers, Clementine fumbled to produce the deed from her handbag. "It's all here. Signed and notarized."

She held out the document but he made no move to take it, his stance unwavering. Clementine bristled at his rudeness. Of all the welcomes she'd imagined, being shot at by her own ranch hand was not one of them.

Jebediah, who had wisely taken cover, peeked out from behind the wagon bench. "Now Elvis, what's the big idea? This here's Miss Clementine, Old Ned’s niece and heir."

Elvis? Clementine looked again at her antagonist. Was he one of the hardworking ranch foreman Uncle Ned had spoken so highly of? He certainly hadn't mentioned the man's alarming propensity for gunplay.

"Never heard of her," said Elvis flatly. "And I ain't about to hand over the keys on the say-so of some pretty city gal. Could be anyone—a rustler scoutin' the place or worse. Ned never said nothin' 'bout no niece."

Clementine scowled at his dismissal. "Yes, well, I suspect there's quite a lot Uncle Ned neglected to mention all around. Starting with the presence of an armed squatter on my property!"

Elvis darkened at that but before he could retort, a hulking bear of a man in a sweat-stained union suit came lumbering out of the barn. 

"What's all the ruckus?" he called, scratching his fiery beard. "I heard shootin'." 

"Stay back, Red," ordered Elvis. "We got us a trespasser."

The big man squinted at Clementine and broke into a slow grin. "Well I'll be hogtied. If it ain't Miss Clementine in the flesh! Spittin' image of ol' Ned, ain't she? 'Specially 'round the eyes."

"You know her?" demanded Elvis.

"'Course I do! Ned's been braggin' on his pretty niece comin' to take over the place for weeks now. Clear 'fore he passed."

Red was a huge bear of a man with a shock of fiery hair and a bushy beard to match. Clementine thought he looked like he could lift a steer with one hand. He stepped forward, his face split by a friendly grin. "Pleased to meetcha, Miss Clementine. I'm Moses Redding, but everyone calls me Red on account of, well..." He gestured to his hair self-consciously.

Clementine couldn't help but return his smile. "A pleasure, Red. I look forward to working with you."

Realization dawned on Elvis' stony features. "Hellfire," he muttered. "Reckon that's my cue to start packin'."

"What on earth are you talking about?" said Clementine.

Elvis met her gaze, resigned. "Way I figure, a fine lady owner ain't gonna want the likes of me hangin' around. Know when I'm not wanted."

Comprehension clicked into place and Clementine gasped. Good lord, Uncle Ned hadn't just failed to mention a few cowhands. He'd neglected to tell her about the man living on the ranch itself! This Elvis character had obviously made himself quite at home in her absence, acting the lord of the manor. And now with her arrival, he assumed he was out of a job and a place to lay his head.

She ought to be livid at the presumption. Ought to send him packing that instant for his insolence and trigger-happy reception. But something in his defeated posture and faraway look stirred an inconvenient pang of sympathy in her breast. Curse her soft heart. As satisfying as it might be to give him his marching orders, the fact remained that Windy Creek was woefully shorthanded. She couldn't afford to lose a single man, especially not one who knew the spread top to bottom. Elvis had been Uncle Ned's right hand. It stood to reason he would be valuable in her transition to ownership, prickly attitude notwithstanding. 

Clementine drew herself up, mustering an air of unruffled authority. "That won't be necessary, Mr... Elvis, was it? I've no intention of displacing anyone, provided they pull their weight. If you've been a loyal employee to my uncle, I see no reason why that should change on my watch."

Surprise and something like relief flickered across Elvis' rugged features before he could school them into impassivity. "That so?"

"It is," said Clementine firmly. "I'll need all hands on deck to keep Windy Creek thriving. Starting with a thorough tour of the premises and a briefing on daily operations. As the new owner, I plan to take a very active role in management."

Elvis looked as if he wanted to argue but thought better of it. He gave a curt nod. "Whatever you say, boss lady. Reckon we best start in the barn then. Red can see to your bags."

"Very well," she said crisply. "I'll change into suitable attire and meet you at the barn in half an hour."

Elvis looked mildly impressed by her ready acquiescence, but his expression quickly shuttered. "Suit yourself. But I should probably introduce you to the rest of the gang before you get too high on that horse of yours."

He turned and hollered over his shoulder. "Slim! Rusty! Get on over here!"

Two men materialized from various corners of the ranch yard, ambling over to join them on the porch. The first was a wiry old-timer with a weathered face and a wad of chaw bulging in his cheek. The second was a gangly youth who couldn't have been more than eighteen, all freckles and awkward limbs.

"Boys, this here is Miss Clementine Olivetti," Elvis announced. "Ned's niece and the new owner of Windy Creek. She aims to learn the ropes, so I expect you to show her the same respect you would've shown Ned. We clear?"

The men nodded, touching their hats respectfully. The old-timer spat a stream of tobacco juice and nodded curtly. "Slim Jackson. Been wranglin' beeves since before you was born, missy. You need any pointers, you just holler."

The young man ducked his head shyly, scuffing a boot in the dust. "Rusty Calhoun, miss. I'm real sorry about your uncle passing. He was a fine man and a heck of a boss."

"Thank you, Rusty. I hope I can live up to his example." Clementine turned back to Elvis, her expression coolly determined. "If there's nothing else, I'll go unpack and change. See you at the barn."

With that, Elvis turned on his heel and strode off, spurs jingling. Clementine released a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Lord, what had she gotten herself into? Wrangling cattle was one thing. Wrangling a surly cowboy with an itchy trigger finger and an apparent grudge was quite another. She had a feeling Elvis would prove as untamed as the land itself.

But Clementine was no shrinking violet. She had not traveled hundreds of miles to be cowed by one ornery ranch hand, no matter how unsettling his smoky gaze or how broad his shoulders. She would meet this challenge as she intended to meet all others—with grace, gumption, and a stubborn refusal to back down.

*

Elvis looked Clementine up and down appraisingly as she approached.

"Well now, don't you clean up nice," he drawled. "Those dungarees suit you. Almost take the city polish off."

Clementine wasn't sure if it was meant as a compliment or an insult. Likely both, knowing this man. She tilted her chin and replied evenly, "I believe in dressing for the occasion. So, show me around the barn?"

Lifting her chin, Clementine marched after Elvis, determined to assert her authority and begin this new chapter on her own terms. Ranch life was already proving far more complicated and unpredictable than she'd bargained for. But she had to believe that with hard work, an open mind, and perhaps a bit of that famous Olivetti pluck, she would find her way.

She thought fleetingly of Bonnie, no doubt going about her day back in New York, blissfully unaware of the upheaval in her friend's life. What would she make of all this—the sprawling ranch, the motley crew of cowhands, the arrogant and mysterious Elvis? Clementine could almost hear Bonnie's laughter, could picture her delighted grin and twinkling green eyes.

"Oh Clemmie, it's better than any dime novel!" she would say. "Handsome cowboys, wild horses, wide open skies... and you, the unlikely heroine out to prove herself and tame them all! Just think of the adventures you'll have!"

The corners of Clementine's mouth twitched with an unbidden smile. Trust Bonnie to see the romance in even the most daunting of circumstances. Perhaps there was something to that unshakable optimism. With any luck, Clementine would live to write her friend a bushel of thrilling letters detailing her exploits as the mistress of Windy Creek Ranch.

Provided she survived her first day as Elvis' employer, of course. 

Clementine forced down a flutter of trepidation as she neared the looming barn door. Steeling her nerve, she stepped across the threshold into the cool shadow, the pungent scents of hay and horses and honest sweat enveloping her. Her heels sank into the earthen floor, the faint clucking of chickens and a few falling feathers drifting from the loft above.

Elvis stood at the far end of the aisle, backlit by a shaft of sunlight. He had one hip cocked against a stall door, arms crossed over his chest as he watched her approach with an inscrutable expression. Clementine tried not to notice the way his chambray shirt pulled taut across his muscled torso or how his worn denims hugged his lean thighs. She had no business admiring the physical attributes of a subordinate, no matter how undeniably attractive.

He started further into the barn, glancing over his shoulder with a smirk. "You alright there, princess? Need me to fetch you a fainting couch?"

Clementine glowered at him behind his back.

"Welcome to the heart of Windy Creek," he said as she drew near. "This here's where the magic happens."

Clementine arched a brow. "Magic?"

Elvis' mouth twitched, his eyes glinting with something suspiciously like amusement at her primness. "Figure of speech. I mean this is where we break the horses, mend the tack, store the feed. Pretty much everything that keeps the place runnin' starts and ends right here."

He pushed off the stall and gestured for her to follow. "C'mon, I'll show you the layout. Reckon you'll be spendin' a fair bit of time in here, seein' as how you're aimin' to be a hands-on boss and all."

Clementine chose to ignore the note of condescension in his tone and fell into step beside him. For the next half hour, Elvis led her through the barn and corrals, rattling off details about everything from the hay inventory to the farrier schedule to the breeding records of the small remuda. His taciturn demeanor thawed by degrees as he spoke of Windy Creek's prize bloodlines and the foals he hoped to see come spring. It was clear this ranch was more than a job to him; it was his life's work, his pride and joy.

Despite herself, Clementine found she was hanging on his every word, absorbing the intricacies of a world so different from her own. The easy confidence with which Elvis navigated this domain, the surety of purpose in his every move, was oddly compelling. She could see why Uncle Ned had trusted him implicitly.

As they circled back to the main barn, Elvis nodded to a large fenced pasture dotted with grazing cattle. "That there's the heart of the herd. 'Bout 300 head of prime Hereford. The real moneymakers. They'll be your bread and butter once we drive 'em to market come fall."

Clementine shaded her eyes against the glare, marveling at the sea of dun backs and lowing faces. Never in her life had she been responsible for so many living creatures. The weight of it settled on her shoulders like a tangible thing.

"And you're certain we have enough hands to see them safely to market?" she asked, her brow furrowing. "I won't pretend to be an expert, but it seems an awful lot of ground to cover with just the few men I've seen so far."

"We're a lean crew but we're solid," said Elvis. "Me, Red, a couple fellas who drift through as needed. Ain't never lost a steer yet and don't aim to start now." He cut her a sidelong glance. "Course, an extra pair of hands come drive time is always welcome. You any good with a horse?"

Clementine's cheeks warmed at the challenge in his eyes. "I'm a fair rider," she said, lifting her chin. She had ridden in Central Park quite a few times when she was younger. "Though I'll admit it's been a while since I've sat anything beyond a sedate little mare on a bridle path." 

"Ain't nothin' sedate about the mounts we raise here," said Elvis with a slow grin that did funny things to her insides. "But I reckon we could find you a steady cow pony, get you back in the saddle."

"I'd like that," said Clementine, pulse quickening at the thought of flying across the open range with the wind in her hair. Yearning for speed and freedom and a taste of the untamed life that had always been denied her.

Something shifted in Elvis' gaze, his eyes darkening as they dipped briefly to her mouth. "Bet you would."

The air between them thickened, charged with a sudden crackling tension that raised the hairs on Clementine's nape. For a long, suspended moment, neither of them moved. Clementine hardly dared breathe, caught in the snare of Elvis' penetrating stare. What was happening? Why did it feel as if the very ground had tilted beneath her feet?

Then Elvis blinked and the spell was broken. He took a measured step back, features shuttering. "Best we get you settled in the house," he said brusquely. "Red's probably fixin' to break down the door wonderin' where we got to." 

Clementine swallowed, her tongue darting out to moisten her suddenly dry lips. "Of course," she managed. "After you."

They walked in silence back to the ranch house, a palpable charge still shimmering in the scant space between their bodies. Clementine's mind raced as she tried to make sense of the strange, heated little moment in the barn. Surely it was just a trick of the light, an odd fluke of exhaustion and overwrought nerves. There could be no other explanation for the way her skin had flushed and her stomach fluttered under Elvis' intent gaze.

She was just tired, that was all. Tired and overwhelmed and in desperate need of a bath and a good night's sleep in a proper bed. Everything would seem much more manageable in the clear light of morning. Including a certain confounding cowboy who seemed to swing between hostility and allure at the drop of a hat.

By the time they reached the house, Clementine had convinced herself she had imagined the whole unsettling interlude. Elvis deposited her on the front porch with a perfunctory nod and a promise to have one of the hands bring up a hip bath and hot water. Then he was gone, striding off towards the corrals with that swagger that drew entirely too much of her attention.

Clementine pushed through the door, resolved to put the perplexing man out of her head for the time being. She had more pressing concerns, like acquainting herself with her new living quarters and trying to impose some order on the chaos of this abrupt upheaval.

But as she climbed the creaking stairs to the second floor, dusty carpetbag in hand, she couldn't shake the feeling that her true adventure was only just beginning. That Elvis and Windy Creek Ranch might wind up changing her life in ways she had never dared dream.

With a flutter of nervous anticipation, Clementine stepped across the threshold of her new bedroom, ready to embrace whatever challenges and surprises lay ahead. She could only hope she proved equal to them.

As Clementine explored her new bedchamber, she couldn't help but feel a sense of awe at the rustic charm that surrounded her. The room was simply furnished with a sturdy oak bed, a weathered dresser, and a washstand bearing a chipped porcelain basin. Faded calico curtains fluttered at the open window, letting in a breeze that carried the scent of lavender and distant pine.

It was a far cry from her cozy apartment back home, with its gas lamps and indoor plumbing and nosy neighbors just a thin wall away. But there was something undeniably appealing about this rough-hewn space, with its sense of history and hard-won comfort. She could almost imagine Uncle Ned sitting on the edge of this very bed, pulling off his boots after a long day in the saddle.

A lump rose in Clementine's throat as she thought of her uncle, of the legacy he had entrusted to her. She still couldn't quite believe he was gone, that she would never again hear his booming laugh or see the twinkle in his eye as he regaled her with tales of the wild west. He had been a larger-than-life figure, a beacon of adventure in her otherwise orderly world.

And now he had given her the greatest adventure of all. A chance to build something of her own, to carve out a place for herself in this untamed land. It was a daunting prospect, but also an exhilarating one. For the first time in her life, Clementine felt truly free. Free to make her own choices, to chase her own dreams, to become the woman she had always longed to be.

Oh, there would be challenges aplenty. She was under no illusions about that. Running a ranch was backbreaking work, and she had no experience with any of it. She would have to learn everything from scratch, would have to earn the respect of the men who worked for her. Men like Elvis, who seemed determined to undermine her at every turn.

Clementine's mouth tightened as she thought of the infuriating cowboy. He had made it abundantly clear that he thought she was in over her head, that a city girl like her had no business trying to run a cattle operation. Well, she would just have to prove him wrong. She would work twice as hard as anyone else, would study and practice until she knew this ranch inside out. She would show Elvis and everyone else that Clementine Olivetti was more than just a pretty face in a fancy dress.

With renewed determination, she set about unpacking her trunk. She carefully hung up the simple frocks and sturdy boots she had brought for work, then tucked away the few more fashionable items she couldn't bear to leave behind. Her fingers lingered on a photograph of her parents on their wedding day, their faces alight with joy and promise. She placed it gently on the dresser.

A knock at the door startled Clementine from her reverie. "Come in," she called, smoothing her skirts self-consciously.

The door swung open to reveal a plump, motherly woman with greying hair and a flour-dusted apron. She bobbed a curtsy, her lined face creasing into a warm smile.

"Beggin' your pardon, miss, but I thought you might be ready for some supper. It's been a long day for you, I reckon."

Clementine's stomach rumbled at the mention of food. She hadn't eaten since breakfast, too nervous to do more than nibble on the journey. "That would be wonderful, thank you. Mrs...?"

"Jameson, miss. Ida Jameson. I've been cookin' and cleanin' for Windy Creek nigh on twenty years now. Ever since Mr. Ned hired me on after my dear Henry passed."

"I'm so pleased to meet you, Mrs. Jameson," said Clementine sincerely. "I hope you'll be patient with me as I learn my way around. This is all quite new to me."

"Oh, don't you fret none. We'll get you settled in right quick. Ain't nothin' to runnin' a house once you get the hang of it." Mrs. Jameson's eyes twinkled with kindly amusement. "And don't mind that Elvis none. His bark's worse than his bite. He's just used to havin' things his own way."

Clementine felt her cheeks heat at the mention of the exasperating foreman. Did her consternation show so plainly on her face? "I'll keep that in mind, Mrs. Jameson."

"You do that, miss. Now, let's get you fed afore you faint dead away. I've got a nice beef stew on the simmer and fresh bread just out of the oven."

Clementine's mouth watered at the thought. Suddenly ravenous, she followed Mrs. Jameson down to the kitchen, the delectable scents wafting up the stairs making her stomach growl audibly.

The kitchen was a large, homey space, dominated by a massive cast iron stove and a long wooden table that could easily seat a dozen. Bunches of drying herbs hung from the rafters, jars of preserves lined the shelves, and a motley collection of skillets and kettles dangled from hooks on the walls. It was a far cry from the convenient, modern kitchens Clementine was accustomed to, but there was a cozy charm to it that put her instantly at ease.

Mrs. Jameson bustled about, ladling steaming stew into a blue willow bowl and cutting a thick slice of crusty bread. She set the meal in front of Clementine with a flourish, then poured a tall glass of cool, creamy milk from a stoneware pitcher.

"There you are. Eat up now, and don't be shy about askin' for seconds. Lord knows there's plenty to go around."

Clementine breathed in the savory aroma, her eyes fluttering shut in anticipation. She couldn't remember the last time a simple meal had looked so enticing. Murmuring her thanks, she dug in with gusto, the rich flavors exploding on her tongue.

For a few blissful minutes, there was no sound but the clink of Clementine's spoon against the bowl and the occasional appreciative hum as she savored each mouthful. Mrs. Jameson puttered about, wiping down counters and setting a pot of coffee to brew, a small, satisfied smile on her face as she watched her new mistress eat.

But the peaceful moment was shattered by the sudden bang of the screen door flying open. Elvis strode into the kitchen, his spurs jingling and his hat pulled low over his brow. He drew up short at the sight of Clementine, his eyes narrowing imperceptibly.

"Mrs. J, we got any of that stew left? I'm powerful hungry after wranglin' that new string of horses all afternoon."

"Sit yourself down, Mr. Elvis, and I'll fetch you a bowl," said Mrs. Jameson placidly, seemingly impervious to the sudden tension in the room.

Elvis hesitated, his gaze flicking between Clementine and the empty chair across from her. For a moment, she thought he might make some excuse and flee, but then he shrugged and sank down onto the bench, his long legs stretching out beneath the table.

Clementine kept her eyes fixed on her bowl, her appetite suddenly deserting her. She could feel Elvis watching her, could sense the coiled energy radiating off him like heat from a stove. It made her skin prickle and her heart thump erratically in her chest.

Mrs. Jameson set a heaping bowl in front of Elvis, then tactfully withdrew, muttering something about needing to tend to the laundry. Clementine silently cursed the woman for abandoning her, even as she understood the impulse. The air between her and Elvis was thick with a strange, charged energy that made it hard to breathe, let alone carry on a normal conversation.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Clementine pushed a chunk of potato around her bowl, acutely aware of Elvis' every move as he tore off a hunk of bread and sopped up the rich gravy. She could hear the soft, wet sounds of his chewing, could catch the faint scent of horse and leather and sweat that clung to his skin.

It was all suddenly too much. Too intimate, too unnerving. Clementine pushed back from the table, nearly upending her milk glass in her haste. "Please excuse me," she mumbled, not meeting Elvis' eyes. "It's been a long day and I'm quite exhausted."

She fled the kitchen before he could respond, her cheeks burning and her pulse pounding in her ears. She didn't slow down until she reached the sanctuary of her bedroom, the door slamming shut behind her with a satisfying bang.

Clementine leaned back against the solid oak, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. What on earth was wrong with her? She had never been one to let a man fluster her, had prided herself on her poise and composure in even the most trying of circumstances. But something about Elvis made her feel off-balance, unsettled in a way she couldn't quite define.

It was more than just his rough manners and challenging attitude. There was a rawness to him, a sense of barely leashed power that sent a thrill down her spine even as it set her nerves on edge. When he looked at her, she felt stripped bare, as if he could see straight through her proper facade to the wild, yearning heart beneath.

It was terrifying. And if Clementine was being honest with herself, it was also strangely exhilarating. All her life, she had played by the rules, had done what was expected of her. She had been the dutiful daughter, the demure debutante, the efficient employee. But here, in this rugged land so far from everything she had ever known, she could feel those old constraints falling away. Here, she could be anyone she wanted to be, could chase dreams she had never dared voice aloud.

Even if those dreams involved a certain brooding, impossible cowboy with eyes the color of a stormy sky.

Clementine pushed off the door, shaking her head at her own foolishness. She was being ridiculous. Elvis was just a man, no different from any other. A bit rougher around the edges, mayhap, but certainly not worth losing her head over. She had more important things to worry about, like learning to run this ranch and proving herself worthy of her uncle's trust.

With a resolute nod, Clementine began to undress for bed, her fingers deftly unfastening the long row of buttons down the back of her bodice. She slipped the heavy garment off, sighing with relief as the cool air hit her sweat-dampened skin. She reached for her nightgown, a simple cotton shift that fell to her ankles in soft folds.

But as she lifted the garment over her head, a sudden gust of wind from the open window sent the curtains billowing inward, the fabric brushing against her bare skin like a lover's caress. Clementine shivered, gooseflesh rising on her arms and legs. For a moment, she imagined it was Elvis' hands on her, his callused fingers tracing the curve of her spine, the hollow of her throat, the swell of her breast...

With a gasp, Clementine wrenched the nightgown down, her face flaming with mortification. Good heavens, what was she thinking? She must be more tired than she realized, to let her mind wander down such inappropriate paths. Elvis was her employee, nothing more. To allow herself to entertain such lurid fantasies was not only foolish, but dangerous.

Flustered and out of sorts, Clementine crawled beneath the patchwork quilt, the bed creaking beneath her weight. She thumped the pillow a bit harder than necessary, then lay back with a huff, staring up at the shadowy rafters above.

Sleep. That was what she needed. A good night's rest to clear her head and settle her nerves. Tomorrow would be a new day, full of challenges and opportunities. She would rise with the sun, would throw herself into the work of the ranch with all the energy and determination she possessed. And if her thoughts should happen to stray to a certain dark-haired, blue-eyed cowboy, well... she would just have to deal with that when the time came.

With a sigh, Clementine closed her eyes, willing her racing mind to quiet. But even as she drifted off to sleep, she couldn't shake the feeling that her life was about to change in ways she had never dared imagine. That Elvis and Windy Creek Ranch would test her in ways she had never been tested before.

And that maybe, just maybe, she was ready for the challenge.

Chapter 2

The shrill crow of a rooster jolted Clementine from a dreamless sleep. She sat up with a start, momentarily disoriented by the unfamiliar surroundings. Then memory came flooding back - the long journey west, the startling confrontation with Elvis, the strange, charged moment in the kitchen the night before.

Clementine groaned, flopping back against the pillows. She had hoped that a good night's sleep would clear her head, would settle the unsettling flutter in her stomach whenever she thought of the taciturn cowboy. But if anything, the light of day only made her confusion and trepidation worse.

How was she supposed to face him this morning, after fleeing from him like a frightened rabbit? He must think her a complete fool, a silly city girl who couldn't handle the slightest hint of rough manners. And what must the other ranch hands think, seeing their new boss so easily flustered by their foreman?

Clementine set her jaw, a spark of determination igniting in her chest. No. She refused to let Elvis or anyone else rattle her. She was Clementine Olivetti, mistress of Windy Creek Ranch. She had faced far greater challenges than one surly cowboy, and she would face this one with the same grit and grace that had gotten her this far.

With a resolute nod, Clementine threw back the covers and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She winced as her feet hit the cold floorboards, the chill of the early morning air raising gooseflesh on her arms. Shivering, she hurried to the washstand and poured a measure of tepid water from the pitcher into the basin. She splashed her face and neck, the bracing coolness helping to chase away the last vestiges of sleep.

As she toweled off, Clementine caught sight of herself in the small, spotty mirror hanging above the washstand. Her reflection stared back at her, wide-eyed and a bit wan. The long journey and the stress of the previous day had taken their toll - there were shadows beneath her eyes and a pinched look to her mouth. But there was also a new resolve in the set of her chin, a glint of steel in her gaze.

She was not the same woman who had left New York. The old Clementine would have balked at the idea of manual labor, would have blanched at the thought of getting her hands dirty. But the new Clementine, the Clementine who had crossed a continent to claim her inheritance, was ready to roll up her sleeves and get to work.

With that thought firmly in mind, Clementine set about dressing for the day ahead. She chose a simple frock of sturdy blue calico, the skirt full enough to allow for ease of movement. Over it, she layered a crisp white apron, the bib protecting her bodice from any stray bits of dirt or debris. She pulled her hair back into a practical bun at the nape of her neck, then topped the ensemble with a wide-brimmed straw hat to shield her face from the sun.

Looking at herself in the mirror, Clementine felt a surge of satisfaction. She looked like a woman who meant business, a woman ready to take on whatever challenges the day might bring. With a nod of approval, she turned away from the glass and made her way downstairs.

The kitchen was already a hive of activity when Clementine entered. Mrs. Jameson stood at the stove, stirring a pot of bubbling oatmeal with one hand while flipping pancakes with the other. The air was thick with the scent of frying bacon and fresh coffee, making Clementine's stomach rumble in anticipation.

"Good morning, Mrs. Jameson," she said, taking a seat at the long wooden table. "That smells heavenly."

"Mornin', Miss Clementine," the housekeeper replied, casting a smile over her shoulder. "I hope you slept well. I know the first night in a new place can be a bit unsettlin'."

"I slept just fine, thank you," Clementine lied, not wanting to admit to the restless thoughts that had kept her tossing and turning half the night. "Is there anything I can do to help with breakfast?"

Mrs. Jameson looked scandalized at the very idea. "Heavens no, miss! You just sit right there and let me take care of everything. It's my job to make sure you're well-fed and rested, not the other way around."

Clementine opened her mouth to protest, but the housekeeper cut her off with a stern look. "I mean it, miss. You've got enough on your plate as it is, learnin' the ropes of runnin' this ranch. Leave the cookin' and cleanin' to me."

Chastened, Clementine sat back in her chair, feeling a bit useless. She was used to being busy from sunup to sundown, to having a full day's work ahead of her. The idea of sitting idle while others bustled about made her itch with restlessness.

But before she could dwell on it too long, the kitchen door swung open and Elvis strode in, his spurs jingling with each step. Clementine's heart gave a traitorous leap at the sight of him, her skin prickling with awareness as his gaze landed on her.

"Mornin', Mrs. J," he said, tipping his hat to the housekeeper. Then, almost as an afterthought, "Miss Clementine."

"Good morning, Elvis," Clementine replied, proud of how steady her voice sounded. "I trust you slept well?"

Elvis shrugged, hooked his thumbs in his gun belt. "Well enough. Got a full day ahead, so I reckon I'll sleep when I'm dead." His blue eyes glinted with something that might have been amusement, or might have been challenge. "You ready to get your hands dirty, boss lady?"

Clementine lifted her chin, meeting his gaze squarely. "I am. Just tell me where to start."

Elvis' mouth twitched, as if he were fighting back a smile. "Reckon we'll start with the chickens. Gotta collect the eggs and feed the birds 'fore we do anything else."

Clementine's nose wrinkled at the thought of mucking about in a chicken coop, but she nodded gamely. "Lead the way, then."

Elvis cocked a brow, looking almost impressed by her easy acquiescence. He jerked his chin toward the door, then strode out into the morning sunlight without a backward glance.

Clementine hurried to follow, her heart hammering with a mix of nerves and excitement. This was it - her first real test as mistress of Windy Creek. She could only hope she was up to the challenge.

The chicken coop was a ramshackle affair, all weathered wood and rusting wire. It stood at the edge of the yard, a few dozen scrawny birds pecking and scratching at the dirt around its base. They scattered as Elvis approached, clucking and flapping in agitation.

"Little bastards," Elvis muttered, kicking at a particularly bold rooster who dared to dart across his path. "More trouble than they're worth, most days."

Clementine eyed the birds warily, keeping a safe distance as Elvis unlatched the coop door and ducked inside. She could hear him moving about, the soft cluck and coo of the hens as he gathered their eggs. A moment later, he emerged, a basket hooked over one arm.

"Here," he said, thrusting the basket into Clementine's hands. "Hold this while I scatter the feed."

Clementine took the basket gingerly, peering down at the warm, speckled eggs nestled in the straw. They were still faintly damp from the hens' nests, and they gave off a rich, earthy scent that made her think of new life and green growing things.

As Elvis scattered handfuls of cracked corn across the yard, the chickens swarmed around his feet, pecking and jostling for position. Clementine watched in fascination as they darted and fluttered, their beady eyes bright with greed. She had never seen anything so vibrantly alive, so utterly unconcerned with human affairs.

"They're quite something, aren't they?" she murmured, almost to herself.

Elvis glanced up at her, surprised. "What, the chickens? I suppose so. Never gave 'em much thought, to be honest. Just another chore to be done."

Clementine shook her head, a small smile playing about her lips. "There's a lesson in that, I think. They don't worry about yesterday or tomorrow. They just live in the moment, taking what they need and letting the rest go."

Elvis straightened, dusting his hands off on his chaps. He regarded her with a new intensity, as if seeing her for the first time. "Ain't you just full of surprises, Miss Clementine."

Clementine felt a flush creep up her neck at his words, at the way his gaze seemed to linger on her face. She ducked her head, suddenly fascinated by the eggs in her basket.

"We should get these inside," she said briskly, turning back toward the house. "Mrs. Jameson will be wanting them for breakfast."

She could feel Elvis' eyes on her back as she walked away, could sense the weight of his regard like a physical touch. It made her skin tingle and her stomach flutter, made her feel alive in a way she never had before.

But she couldn't let herself dwell on it. Couldn't let herself get distracted by the way he made her feel. She had a ranch to run, a legacy to uphold. And she would do it with or without Elvis' approval.

With a determined set to her shoulders, Clementine marched up the porch steps and into the kitchen, ready to face whatever the day might bring. And if her thoughts kept straying to a pair of piercing blue eyes and a crooked, knowing smile, well...that was nobody's business but her own.

As the morning wore on, Clementine found herself thrown headlong into the daily rhythms of ranch life. After breakfast, Elvis put her to work mucking out stalls in the barn, a task that left her sweaty and aching but oddly satisfied. There was something soothing about the repetitive motions, the earthy scent of hay and horse, the soft whickers and snuffles of the animals as she worked.

Next came a lesson in saddling a horse, Elvis' hands guiding her through the intricacies of cinches and stirrups. Clementine tried not to think about how close he stood, how the heat of his body seemed to seep into her skin through the layers of her dress. She focused instead on the task at hand, on the supple leather beneath her fingers and the solid weight of the saddle as she hefted it onto the horse's back.

By the time the sun reached its zenith, Clementine was sore and sweat-streaked but buzzing with a sense of accomplishment. She had never worked so hard in her life, had never pushed herself to such physical limits. But there was a deep satisfaction in it, a pride in knowing that she was capable of more than she had ever imagined.

As they made their way back to the house for dinner, Elvis fell into step beside her, his long legs easily matching her shorter strides. Clementine glanced up at him, surprised to find a glint of approval in his eyes.

"You did good today," he said gruffly, as if the words pained him. "Reckon you might just have what it takes to make a go of this place after all."

Clementine felt a warm glow of pleasure at his praise, even as she bristled at the note of surprise in his voice. "Did you doubt it?" she asked archly.

Elvis' mouth twitched, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Let's just say I had my reservations. But you're full of surprises, Miss Clementine. Reckon I'm gonna have to keep an eye on you."

There was something in the way he said it, a hint of challenge and something else, something that made Clementine's pulse skip and her skin tingle. She met his gaze squarely, refusing to back down.

"I suppose you will," she said, her voice steady even as her heart raced. "But I intend to keep an eye on you as well. We're in this together, Elvis. Whether you like it or not."

For a moment, Elvis just stared at her, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he nodded, a glimmer of respect in his eyes.

"Reckon we are," he said, his voice low and rough. "Reckon we are."

And with that, he turned and strode off toward the barn, leaving Clementine to watch him go, her heart hammering in her chest and a new determination burning in her veins.

*

One morning, Elvis gathered the ranch hands for the afternoon's work—a cattle drive to the south pasture to check on the herd and survey the fence lines. Clementine insisted on going along, despite Elvis' skeptical look and Slim’s poorly concealed grin.

Elvis gestured to a small bay mare tethered nearby. "That there is Nutmeg. She's gentle as a lamb and sure-footed on any terrain. Figured she'd suit a greenhorn like you."

Clementine eyed the saddle and tack warily. She knew she was badly out of practice. But she'd be damned if she let Elvis see her falter.

"Lovely," she said brightly, untying Nutmeg's reins and leading her out into the sunlight.

Now came the tricky part. How in blazes did one mount a horse unassisted whilst wearing trousers? Clementine's mind raced as she tried to recall the particulars. There had been talk of a mounting block or some sort of assistance from a groom...

Before she could make a bigger fool of herself, a large, work-roughened hand appeared in her peripheral vision.

"Allow me," Elvis murmured, his breath tickling her ear. 

Clementine stiffened but managed a jerky nod, steeling herself as he gripped her waist and practically tossed her into the saddle as if she weighed nothing at all. Good lord, the man was strong as an ox!

"There now," Elvis said, sounding faintly amused. "Snug as a bug. Let's hit the trail."

He swung aboard his own horse, Rising Sun, with effortless grace and set off at a brisk trot, leaving Clementine scrambling to gather her reins and urge Nutmeg to follow. The mare fell into step readily enough, but the motion of the saddle had Clementine lurching and sliding like a sack of potatoes. She clung to the horn for dear life, her teeth rattling and her hat threatening to fly off with every jolting stride.

“You alright there, city slicker?” Elvis offered with a smirk. 

Clementine scowled at him, her face flushed with exertion and embarrassment. "I'm perfectly fine, thank you. It's just been a while since I've ridden."

"I can see that. You're bouncin' around up there like a flea on a hot griddle." Red, Slim, and Rusty chuckled. 

Clementine's temper flared. "Well, forgive me for not being born in the saddle like some people. We can't all be insolent, arrogant cowboys!"

Elvis' eyes narrowed, his smile fading. "Careful now, missy. That insolent, arrogant cowboy is the only thing standing between you and a long walk back to the house. Might want to mind your manners."

“Aw hell, Elvis, leave the little lady alone,” Slim attempted to diffuse the budding argument.

Clementine knew she should back down, should swallow her pride and apologize. But something about this man just rubbed her the wrong way, stirring up a reckless, contrary streak she didn't even know she possessed.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said sweetly to herself, not expecting anyone to hear her. "I thought I was the boss around here. My mistake."

Elvis' jaw clenched, his hand tightening on the reins. "Boss or not, out here you're just another greenhorn. And greenshorns who don't listen to good sense often end up buzzard bait. So you can either stow that snippy attitude and let me teach you a thing or two, or you can take your chances on your own. What'll it be?"

Red, Slim, and Rusty slowed their horses down, holding their breath and waiting for her answer. Clementine glared at Elvis, her pride warring with her common sense. As much as it galled her to admit it, Elvis was right. She was out of her depth out here and antagonizing her only guide was foolish at best, deadly at worst.

"Fine," she bit out. "Teach away, oh wise one. I am your humble student."

Elvis snorted, shaking his head. "You sure don't make it easy, do you? Alright, first things first—loosen up on them reins. You're holding 'em like you expect Nutmeg to bolt any second. She ain't going nowhere, trust me."

Clementine forced her white-knuckled grip to relax, letting out a shaky breath as the mare flicked an ear back curiously.

"Good. Now, stand up in them stirrups a bit. Let your knees absorb the motion 'stead of your backside. And keep your heels down for balance."

Clementine did as instructed, wobbling precariously for a moment before finding a rhythm. To her surprise, the ride smoothed out considerably, Nutmeg's rocking gait almost pleasant now that she wasn't being jounced to pieces.

"Well, would you look at that," Elvis drawled. "She can be taught. Keep that up and we might make a passable rider out of you yet, Miss Clementine."

Clementine felt an absurd flush of pleasure at his gruff approval. Honestly, what did she care what this uncouth lout thought of her? Still, perhaps it wouldn't kill her to bend a little, to put aside her wounded pride in service of the greater goal. She needed Elvis' cooperation if she hoped to make a go of this venture. Catching more flies with honey and all that.

Red’s mare caught up to hers, and he gently squeezed Clementine’s arm. “Don’t pay old Elvis no mind. He’s always a little ornery in the morning.” 

The four of them rode on in relatively companionable silence, the raw beauty of the landscape stealing Clementine's breath. Towering buttes and mesas rose up from the sun-baked earth, their banded layers glowing red and gold in the slanting light. Gnarled junipers dotted the hillsides, providing scant shade for the cacti and scrub brush that clung tenaciously to the rocky soil. In the distance, a band of wild mustangs kicked up dust as they fled across the flats, tails streaming behind them like banners.

It was a harsh, unforgiving land, but stunning in its austerity. Clementine tried to imagine her uncle Ned riding these same trails, his weather-beaten face creased in a smile as he surveyed his domain. She may not have known him well, but she sensed a kindred spirit—someone drawn to challenge and adventure, to pitting themselves against an untamed wilderness and emerging the victor.

Well, here I am, Uncle Ned, she thought. Following in your boot prints at last. I just hope I'm up to the task.

Lost in thought, Clementine scarcely noticed when Rusty reined in his horse at the crest of a rise, his keen gaze scanning the horizon.

"There," he said, pointing to a distant smudge of brown against the green and gold. "The herd's just over that next ridge. About three hundred head of prime Hereford, Ned's pride and joy. Let's ease up on 'em slow and quiet-like. Don't want to spook 'em into a stampede."

They approached the grazing cattle cautiously, Clementine's heart thudding with anticipation. Her first real look at her newfound livelihood. What would Ned have thought, seeing her astride a ranch horse, ready to take the reins of his empire? Would he be proud or appalled? Amused or aghast?

"You sure you're up for this, Miss Clementine?" Red asked, his blue eyes twinkling with mirth. "Ridin' herd ain't no picnic, 'specially for a greenhorn."

Clementine lifted her chin, giving him a cool smile. "I'm tougher than I look, Mr. Redding. And I'm a quick study. I'll be just fine."

The cattle regarded the riders placidly, chewing their cud and swishing their tails at the flies. Up close, they were even more enormous than Clementine had imagined, their heavy bodies and wickedly curved horns dwarfing the horses. She felt a flicker of unease, remembering tales of cowpokes gored and trampled by unruly steers.

As if sensing her trepidation, Elvis murmured, "Easy now. They're more scared of you than you are of them. These are good, docile beasts, well-used to human handling. Just keep your movements slow and predictable and you'll be fine."

Clementine nodded jerkily, fighting the urge to wheel Nutmeg around and gallop in the opposite direction. She trusted Elvis' expertise, even if she didn't particularly like or respect the man himself. He'd kept this herd thriving for five years—that had to count for something.

They meandered through the milling cattle, Elvis pointing out choice specimens and explaining the finer points of branding, breeding, and husbandry. Clementine did her best to absorb the onslaught of information, her head fairly spinning with talk of bloodlines and feed supplements and market prices.

One thing was becoming crystal clear. She was hopelessly out of her depth when it came to the day-to-day realities of running a ranch. Short of a miracle or divine intervention, Windy Creek would be bankrupt and in ruins within a month under her ignorant guidance.

Clementine's throat tightened with despair at the thought of failing her uncle, of losing this land that meant so much to him. And what of the people who depended on Windy Creek for their livelihood? Red and Slim and Rusty and the other hands she had yet to meet—how could she face them if her incompetence cost them their jobs, their homes?

No, it was unthinkable. She needed help, loath as she was to admit it. She needed Elvis.

Clementine was just working up the nerve to broach the subject when the quiet afternoon exploded into chaos. One moment the cattle were grazing peacefully, the next they were bellowing in alarm, eyes rolling and hooves churning the earth. The cause of their distress soon became apparent—a pair of snarling, yipping coyotes had burst from the underbrush, harrying the herd's flanks in search of an easy meal.

"Damnation!" Elvis swore, spurring his mount towards the threat. "Slim! Red! Rusty! Get after 'em 'fore they scatter the herd!"

Clementine watched in amazement as the cowhands sprung into immediate action, whooping and hollering as they rode to head off the predators. Red in particular was a sight to behold, his enormous frame dwarfing his horse as he thundered after a fleeing coyote, his lasso whirling overhead.

In the midst of the pandemonium, Clementine lost sight of Elvis. She reined in Nutmeg, heart in her throat as she scanned the milling herd for any sign of him. Panic clawed at her insides as horrible visions flashed through her mind—Elvis thrown from the saddle, trampled beneath a hundred hooves, bleeding and broken on the unforgiving ground...

A flash of movement caught her eye and Clementine shrieked in alarm, instinctively wrenching Nutmeg to the side. Too late, she realized her mistake as a coyote darted from the brush directly underfoot, spooking the mare into a wild, twisting buck.

Clementine felt herself slipping, her tenuous grip on the saddle horn failing as Nutmeg crow-hopped and whirled beneath her. She had one instant of sickening clarity, the knowledge that this was going to hurt, before the ground rushed up to meet her with stunning force.

The impact drove the air from her lungs in a whoosh, black spots crowding the edges of her vision. Dimly, she registered the thud of approaching hoofbeats, the bawl of frightened cattle, someone shouting her name with increasing urgency.

"Clementine! Clementine, goddammit, answer me!"

Rough hands seized her shoulders, rolling her onto her back. Clementine blinked up at Elvis' ashen face, his blue eyes wide with fear.

"I'm... alright," she croaked, wincing at the stabbing pain in her ribs. "Just had the wind knocked out of me."

"You're hurt," Elvis said roughly, his fingers coming away from her temple sticky with red. "What the hell were you thinking, pulling a stunt like that? You're lucky you didn't break your damn fool neck!"

"I was thinking that I didn't particularly want to be some coyote's dinner," Clementine snapped, struggling to sit up. "What was I supposed to do, let it take a chunk out of Nutmeg?"

"Better the horse than you!" Elvis shot back. "Christ almighty, do you have any idea what it would've done to me if you'd been killed on my watch? On your first day here?"

There was something raw and desperate in his voice, an emotion Clementine couldn't quite name. She stared at him, struck speechless by the intensity of his reaction.

Before she could formulate a response, the sound of pounding hooves announced the return of the other cowhands. Red reined up hard beside them, his ruddy face creased with concern.

"Miss Clementine! You okay? We saw you take that spill and feared the worst!"

"I'm fine, Red," Clementine assured him, accepting Elvis' hand up with as much dignity as she could muster. "Just a little tumble. No permanent damage."

Rusty looked skeptical, eyeing the bloody gash on her forehead. "That's gonna need some doctorin'. We best get you back to the house and have Juanita take a look."

"I said I'm fine," Clementine insisted, swaying slightly as a wave of dizziness washed over her. "There's no need to fuss."

Elvis made a wordless sound of frustration, scooping her up into his arms as if she weighed no more than a sack of flour. "Stubborn woman! You're gettin' patched up and that's final. Rusty, ride back to the ranch and tell Juanita to put the kettle on and set up a place on the porch.”

"Yessir, boss!" Rusty wheeled his horse and took off at a gallop, stirring up a cloud of dust.

"Slim, you get this heard settled and head on back when you can. Red, you lead Nutmeg back. I'm takin' Miss Accident-Prone here home before she finds more trouble to get into."

Elvis plunked Clementine onto his saddle and swung up behind her, caging her in with his long arms. She opened her mouth to protest the indignity of it all, but a stern look from those flinty blue eyes had her subsiding into sullen silence.

The ride back to the house seemed to take an eternity, every jolt and jostle sending fresh sparks of pain through Clementine's battered body. She could feel the heat of Elvis' chest at her back, the tickle of his breath ruffling her hair. It was unsettling, being in such close proximity to him. Like trying to relax with a loaded gun at your temple.

By the time they reached the ranch yard, Clementine's head was throbbing and her stomach was churning alarmingly. Black spots swarmed her vision as Elvis lifted her down from the saddle, his hands exceedingly gentle for all their strength.

"Easy there, darlin'. I got you."

Clementine leaned into him, too woozy to protest the endearment. He smelled of leather and sweat and something uniquely male, a scent that made her pulse flutter in a way that had nothing to do with her injuries.

She was only vaguely aware of being carried up the porch steps and settled onto a low cot, clucking female voices buzzing around her like concerned hens. Cool hands smoothed her brow, a damp cloth dabbing at the sticky mess at her hairline. The sting of alcohol made her hiss, flinching away.

"Hush, child," crooned Juanita, the middle-aged Mexican woman who served as the ranch’s de facto doctor-slash-veterinarian. "This will clean the cut, keep it from putrefaction. Drink this now, for the dolor de cabeza."

A cup was pressed to Clementine's lips, bitter tea laced with something sharper, medicinal. She gulped it obediently, desperate for anything to dull the relentless pounding behind her eyes.

Gradually, blessedly, the pain receded to a distant ache, her limbs growing heavy with languor. Clementine felt herself sinking into the downy embrace of the cot, the muted sounds of the ranch fading to a distant hum. Just before oblivion claimed her, she thought she felt the calloused touch of a hand smoothing her hair, the gruff timbre of a voice rumbling something that sounded suspiciously like "rest now, wildcat."

But it was probably just a dream, a product of her exhausted, concussed brain. Elvis Presley would never be so tender, so solicitous. Not to her. Not in a million years.

*

Clementine slept, and did not dream at all.

She awoke slowly, surfacing from the depths of unconsciousness like a diver ascending sunlit waters. Her head felt muzzy, her mouth dry as cotton, but the pain had faded to a faint, distant throb. Blinking gummy eyes, she struggled to focus on her surroundings.

She was lying on the cot on the front porch, a patchwork quilt tucked around her legs. The sun was setting in a blaze of orange and pink, the long shadows of the outbuildings stretching across the yard like grasping fingers. Somewhere nearby, a lone cicada buzzed in the cooling air, a herald of the approaching dusk.

"Well now, look who's back among the living."

Clementine turned her head, wincing at the twinge in her neck. Elvis was seated in a rocking chair a few feet away, his long legs stretched out before him and his hat tipped low over his eyes. He looked relaxed, indolent even, but Clementine could sense the coiled energy beneath the languid facade, the watchful tension of a predator at rest.

"What happened?" she croaked, struggling to sit up. "How long was I out?"

"Couple hours," Elvis replied, leaning forward to hand her a tin cup of water. "You took a pretty good knock to the head when that mare bucked you off. Juanita cleaned you up and dosed you with one of her concoctions. Said you'd be right as rain after some rest."

Clementine sipped the water, frowning as memory returned in fits and starts. The coyote, Nutmeg's panicked thrashing, the sickening weightlessness as she flew through the air...

"The cattle!" she exclaimed, slopping water down her front in her agitation. "Did they scatter? Was anyone hurt?"

Elvis shook his head, a faint smile playing about his lips. "Nah, we got 'em rounded up and settled quick enough. And other than a few bumps and bruises, everyone came through just fine. Except for you, a'course. Damn foolish stunt you pulled out there."

Clementine bristled at the censure in his tone, even as a tiny part of her acknowledged the truth of it. "I was just reacting on instinct. I didn't want Nutmeg to get hurt."

"And I didn't want you to get dead," Elvis retorted, a sudden edge to his voice. "Do you have any idea how close you came to dying today? How it felt to see you layin' there in the dirt, bleedin' and still as a corpse? Christ, Clementine, you 'bout stopped my heart."

Clementine stared at him, caught off-guard by the admission.

She flushed, both at the scolding and the backhanded compliment. "Yes, well, I suppose I've learned my lesson about playing the hero. Ranch work is a sight more dangerous than minding a shop or keeping accounts."

To her surprise, Elvis chuckled. "Reckon that's true enough. But you showed some real grit out there today, greenhorn or no. Not many city gals would have stuck it out like you did."

His praise, grudging as it was, warmed Clementine down to her toes. She ducked her head to hide her pleased smile, suddenly very aware of his nearness, of the way his knee brushed her hip through the quilt.

"I guess I'm tougher than I look," she said, aiming for nonchalance.

"Guess you are," Elvis agreed. Something in his tone made Clementine look up, her breath catching at the intensity in his blue eyes. For a long, charged moment, they just stared at each other, the air between them fairly crackling with an unnamed tension.

Then Elvis blinked and looked away, clearing his throat gruffly. "Best you get some more rest," he said, rising from the rocker. "I'll have Ida bring you up some supper later. Holler if you need anything."

And with that, he was gone, leaving Clementine alone with her whirling thoughts. She lay back against the pillows, her heart racing and her skin tingling where his gaze had lingered. What on earth had just happened? One minute Elvis was his usual gruff, scolding self, the next he was looking at her like... like...

Like a man looks at a woman he desires, a traitorous voice whispered in her head. Clementine shook the thought away, scandalised. Surely she was imagining things, seeing more than was there. She and Elvis were like oil and water, always rubbing each other the wrong way. He tolerated her for the sake of the ranch, nothing more. The idea that he might feel something deeper, something tender and passionate and real... it was impossible.

Wasn't it?

Clementine groaned and turned her face into the pillow, suddenly exhausted. Her head ached abominably, and her heart felt like a bird beating its wings against the cage of her ribs. She needed sleep, needed time to sort through the jumble of her emotions and the strange, unsettling effect Elvis Presley seemed to have on her good sense.

But even as she drifted off into a fitful doze, Clementine couldn't shake the memory of his eyes on hers, intense and searching and full of something that looked achingly like longing. It haunted her dreams, that look—a promise, a challenge, a invitation to something thrilling and terrifying and utterly forbidden.

Something Clementine knew she shouldn't want... but lord help her, she did.

She wanted it with every fiber of her being.

*

Over the next few days, as Clementine recovered from her injuries, she had ample time to reflect on her growing feelings for Elvis. It was maddening, the way he seemed to invade her every waking thought. She would be in the middle of some mundane task—shelling peas with Ida in the kitchen, or mending a torn shirt in her room—and suddenly his face would swim before her mind's eye, those piercing blue eyes and that crooked, knowing smile making her stomach flutter and her cheeks heat.

It was ridiculous. It was inappropriate. It was... inevitable, if Clementine was being honest with herself. From the moment she'd first laid eyes on Elvis, standing tall and proud on the porch of Windy Creek Ranch, she had felt the pull of him. The attraction, the fascination, the infuriating urge to crack that stony facade and see the man beneath.

But it was more than just physical allure. As the days turned into weeks and Clementine settled into her new life at the ranch, she began to see glimmers of the real Elvis: the loyal friend, the tireless worker, the unexpected jokester. Oh, he could be maddening, with his gruffness and his stubborn pride. But he could also be unexpectedly kind, unbelievably patient, and downright entertaining when the mood struck him.

Like the time he'd caught her trying to sneak a peek at his guitar, the one he kept propped in a corner of the bunkhouse. She'd been sure he would scold her for snooping, or worse, laugh at her clumsy attempts to pluck out a tune. But instead, he'd just shaken his head and smiled that crooked smile of his, then sat down beside her and showed her how to hold the instrument, his callused fingers guiding hers over the strings until she could pick out a passable melody.

Or the night he'd found her crying in the hayloft, homesick and overwhelmed and halfway convinced she'd made a terrible mistake in coming to Windy Creek. He hadn't said a word, just sat down beside her and pulled her into his arms, letting her sob into his shirt until she was spent. Then he'd tipped her chin up and looked into her eyes, his own gaze fierce and tender all at once.

"You're doing just fine, Clementine," he'd said, his voice low and rough. "You're right where you're meant to be."

It was moments like those that made Clementine's heart ache with a longing she couldn't quite name. A yearning for something more than friendship, more than partnership. 

Something that felt suspiciously like affection.

But it was impossible. She and Elvis were too different, too stubborn and set in their ways. They would drive each other mad within a year, Clementine was sure of it. And even if by some miracle they could make a go of it, there was still the ranch to consider. Windy Creek needed her, needed Elvis. They couldn't afford any distractions or entanglements.

No, it was better to put such foolish notions out of her head. To focus on her duties and her goals, and let her heart's desire remain just that—a secret, wistful dream.

But oh, how she dreamed.

As the weeks passed and Clementine grew stronger, she threw herself into life at Windy Creek with renewed determination. She rose with the sun each morning, joining Mrs. Jameson in the kitchen for a hearty breakfast before heading out to tackle the day's chores. She rode herd with the cattle, mended fences with Red and the boys, even tried her hand at roping and branding.

She still felt hopelessly out of her depth at times, but she was learning fast. And she had Elvis to thank for that. He was a patient teacher, though a demanding one. He pushed her hard, expecting nothing less than her very best effort. But he was also quick with a word of praise when she got something right, or a steadying hand when she faltered.

Slowly but surely, Clementine could feel herself changing. Growing tougher, more resilient. The blisters on her palms turned to calluses, the ache in her muscles to a pleasant sort of soreness. And though her prim city dresses were a thing of the past, she found she didn't miss them all that much. There was a freedom in denim and calico, a practicality that suited her new life.

She knew she still had a long way to go before she could truly call herself a rancher. But for the first time since arriving at Windy Creek, Clementine felt like she might actually belong here. Like she was exactly where she was meant to be.

And if her gaze still strayed to Elvis more often than it should, if her heart still raced at his nearness and her skin tingled at his touch... well. That was her secret to keep. Her cross to bear.

But lord, what a sweet burden it was.

*

One evening a few months later, as the sun dipped low on the horizon and painted the sky in shades of gold and pink, Clementine found herself alone with Elvis on a bluff overlooking the ranch. She'd gone up there to get away from the noise and bustle of the house for a while, to let the peace of the prairie soak into her bones and ease the remnants of the day's tension.

She hadn't expected Elvis to follow her. But then, he seemed to have a knack for turning up wherever she was. A coincidence, she told herself each time. Just a quirk of ranch life, two people whose paths were bound to cross often. It didn't mean anything.

But as Elvis came to stand beside her, his shoulder brushing hers as they looked out over the rolling expanse of Windy Creek, Clementine felt that old familiar flutter in her chest. The hitch in her breath, the skip of her pulse.

It meant something. It had to.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The only sound was the wind rustling through the grass, the distant lowing of the cattle in the pasture. Clementine breathed it in, let it fill her lungs and settle in her bones. This place, this land. It was a part of her now, as vital as her own beating heart.

"It's beautiful," she murmured, almost to herself.

Elvis hummed in agreement, his gaze never leaving the horizon. "Never get tired of this view. No matter how many times I see it."

Clementine glanced at him, struck by the wondering note in his voice. "You really love this place, don't you?"

Elvis nodded slowly. "It's in my blood. Has been since I was old enough to sit a horse. Used to dream about having a spread like this, a place to call my own." He paused, his jaw working as if wrestling with some inner debate. Then, quietly, "Never thought I'd find someone to share it with, though."

Clementine's heart stumbled, then began to race. Surely he didn't mean... no. He couldn't have. 

They rode home in silence. 

Chapter 3

The sun beat down on Clementine's back as she rode across the pasture, her eyes scanning the herd for any signs of trouble. It had been just over a year since she'd arrived at Windy Creek Ranch, and in that time, she'd learned more about cattle and cowboying than she'd ever thought possible.

She'd also learned a thing or two about herself. Like the fact that she was stronger than she'd ever given herself credit for, and that the wide-open spaces of the West felt more like home than the bustling streets of New York ever had.

As she turned her horse back towards the ranch house, Clementine couldn't help but smile. Despite the long days and the hard work, she'd never been happier. She had a purpose here, a place where she belonged.

She had Elvis. 

Of course, he was as quiet as ever. Truly, the strong and silent type. But somewhere along the way, through all the disagreements and teasing, a comfortable companionship had grown between them, and Clementine was grateful. 

She dismounted in front of the house, handing the reins off to one of the ranch hands. "Take good care of him, Johnny," she said, giving the boy a pat on the shoulder. "He worked hard today."

Johnny grinned, his freckled face beaming with pride. "Yes, ma'am, Miss Clementine. I'll give him a good rubdown and some extra oats."

Clementine nodded, grateful for the enthusiasm and dedication of her crew. Over time, the workers at the ranch had become like her family. In addition to Red, Slim, and Rusty, there was Johnny, the eager young newcomer; Hank, the grizzled old-timer who'd been working the ranch since before Clementine was born; Juanita, the no-nonsense veterinarian who kept the animals healthy and her affable husband Gerónimo; Ida, the motherly housekeeper and cook whose fried chicken was legendary around these parts; and a handful of other steady, reliable hands.

She made her way into the house, sighing with relief as the cool shade enveloped her. She had just taken off her gloves and settled down at her desk to go over the day's receipts when a letter caught her eye. It was postmarked from New York.

Clementine smiled as she unfolded the pages, eager for news from home. But before she could read more than a few lines, the door burst open and Elvis strode in, his face grim.

"We got trouble," he said without preamble. "Rustlers hit the Falling Tree Acres last night. They're missing a dozen head."

Clementine's blood ran cold. Rustlers. The scourge of the open range, the nightmare of every rancher west of the Mississippi. She had heard the stories, had listened to the ranch hands swap tales of cattle thefts and midnight raids. But she had never thought it would happen here, in their peaceful valley.

"Are you sure?" she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Elvis nodded grimly. "They found tracks this morning, out by their western pasture. Looks like the bastards cut the fence and drove off a dozen head in the night. Took ‘em 'til now to make sure there weren't no stragglers."

Clementine sank back into her chair, her knees suddenly weak. A dozen head. It didn't sound like much, but she knew that every animal counted, that even a small loss could be devastating to any ranch. 

“What’ll they do?” she asked, hating the tremor in her voice. "What if the rustlers come here?"

Elvis sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. "Ain't gonna be easy. These rustlers, they're smart. They know how to cover their tracks, how to disappear into the wilderness like ghosts. We could spend weeks chasin' 'em and never see hide nor hair."

Clementine's heart sank even further. Something had to be done, but... weeks of fruitless searching, of neglecting the ranch and the rest of the herd? They couldn't afford it, not now. Not when they were just starting to find their footing. Then again, they needed to do something about it—prevent any losses before they happened.

But then, a sudden thought struck her. A memory of something her uncle had said, long ago, when she was just a girl. Something about the importance of neighbors, of community, of banding together in times of trouble.

"What about the other ranchers?" she asked, sitting up straighter in her chair. "Surely we're not the only ones who have been hit by these rustlers. What if we joined forces, pooled our resources and manpower?"

Elvis looked at her in surprise, as if the idea had never occurred to him. "You mean, like a meeting?"

She took a deep breath, her mind already racing. "Yes," she said, standing up from her desk. "Let's get the word out. I want every rancher in the valley here tonight. We need to figure out a plan."

Elvis nodded, his jaw tight. "I'll send Rusty and Johnny to spread the news. You want me to ride over to Big Sky, let them know?"

Clementine hesitated, remembering the last time she'd seen Nathaniel Hawthorne. The man had been cold and dismissive, making it clear that he didn't think much of a woman running a ranch. But Big Sky was one of the largest spreads in the area, and they needed all the help they could get.

"No," she said finally. "I'll go myself. It's time Nathaniel and I had a little chat."

Elvis's eyes narrowed, but he didn't argue. "Alright then. I'll hold down the fort here, make sure everything's ready for tonight."

Clementine nodded, grateful for his support. She knew that Elvis had his doubts about her plan, but he trusted her enough to follow her lead. It meant more to her than she could say.

She rode hard for Big Sky, her thoughts churning as she tried to come up with a way to convince Nathaniel Hawthorne to join their cause. The man was as stubborn as a mule, and twice as mean. But if they had any hope of stopping the rustlers, they needed Big Sky on their side.

When she arrived at the ranch, she was surprised to be greeted not by Nathaniel, but by his son Aaron. The young man was a few years older than Clementine, with sharp hazel eyes and a no-nonsense air about him.

"Miss Olivetti," Aaron said, his tone cool but polite. "I'm afraid my father is indisposed at the moment. What can I do for you?"

Clementine dismounted, dusting off her hands on her skirt. "I'm sorry to hear that," she said, though she wasn't entirely sure she meant it. "I've come to talk to him about the rustler problem. We're calling a meeting tonight, and I was hoping Big Sky would be represented."

Aaron’s eyes narrowed, and Clementine got the sense that she was being sized up. "I see," the young man said finally. "Well, I can't speak for my father, but I'll be there. Big Sky takes the rustler threat very seriously."

She rode back to Windy Creek feeling accomplished, like they might just have a chance against the rustlers after all. But as the sun began to set and the ranchers began to arrive, Clementine felt her confidence waver.

The main room of the ranch house was crowded, the air thick with tension and the murmur of voices. Clementine looked around at the gathered men, recognizing most of the faces. There was Jake McAllister from the Circle B, his weathered face set in a scowl. Tom Hawkins from the Rocking H, his fingers drumming an agitated beat on his thigh. Hank Brewster from the Lazy J, his shoulders slumped with weariness. Of course, Jake Dawson from Falling Tree Acres was there, too, hopping mad. And a half-dozen others, all looking to her for answers.

Her own men were there as well—Red and Slim and Rusty, their expressions grim. And a few more she'd come to rely on over the past year: Jeb Thompson, a grizzled hand who could coax a calf from the orneriest of heifers; young Billy Turner, eager to prove himself; and Lyle Davis, quiet and steady, with a gift for gentling horses.

But there was one face Clementine didn't recognize—a woman, standing slightly apart from the rest. She was tall and slim, with honey-blonde hair and sharp blue eyes. When Elvis saw her, he stiffened, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face.

"Katie," he said, his voice carefully neutral. "Didn't expect to see you here."

The woman—Katie—smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Desperate times, Elvis. My father and Aaron sent me in their stead." Aaron Hawthorne. Katie was Aaron’s brother, and Nathaniel’s daughter. 

There was a story there, Clementine could tell. A history between Elvis and this Katie Hawthorne. But now was not the time to dwell on it. They had bigger problems to deal with.

As if on cue, Tom Hawkins spoke up, his voice tight with anger. "We all know why we're here. These rustlers are bleeding us dry, and something needs to be done about it. But I think we ought to wait and see." A murmur went around the room, heads shaking and fists clenching.

"And what good would hunkering down do?" demanded Sam Johnson, his fists clenched at his sides. "They'd just pick us off one by one, like lambs to the slaughter. No, we need to take the fight to them, hit them hard and fast before they can hit us again."

"Are you out of your mind?" Hank Brewster's voice cut through the din like a knife. "You're talking about going up against armed men, men who won't hesitate to put a bullet in your back. It's suicide, plain and simple."

"I say we let the law handle it," said Hank Brewster, his tone weary. "It's their job, ain't it?"

Jake McAllister snorted. "The law? You mean Sheriff Hodges? That old drunk couldn't find his own ass with both hands and a map. We'd be better off hiring a pack of coyotes to guard the henhouse."

A ripple of uneasy laughter went through the room. Clementine frowned, her patience wearing thin. They were getting nowhere with this bickering. Soon, the men all erupted into argument, voices rising and tempers flaring. Clementine looked from one angry face to another, her heart sinking. This was exactly what she'd been afraid of—that the ranchers would be too divided, too set in their ways to find common ground.

"We have to do something," she said, her voice ringing out clear and strong. "We can't just sit back and watch everything we've worked for be taken away."

"And what do you suggest, Miss Olivetti?" Katie asked, her tone faintly mocking. "That our men go out there, guns blazing, and get themselves killed?"

Clementine opened her mouth to retort, but Elvis beat her to it, his deep voice cutting through the din like a knife.

"Seems to me," he said slowly, "that we don't have much choice in the matter. Either we take the fight to the rustlers, or we sit back and watch everything we've worked for get stolen out from under us. I don't know about y'all, but I ain't too keen on the second option."

A heavy silence fell over the room, broken only by the occasional cough or shuffle of feet. Clementine could see the indecision on every face, the warring impulses of self-preservation and solidarity.

But then, slowly, heads began to nod. Shoulders straightened, jaws set with determination. "The man's right," Jake McAllister said grudgingly. "We can't just sit back and let them pick us off one by one. We have to stand together, or we'll all fall alone."

There were murmurs of agreement from around the room, a sense of purpose beginning to take hold. Clementine felt a surge of pride and gratitude, her eyes seeking out Elvis's across the sea of faces. He met her gaze steadily, something warm and reassuring in the blue depths.

"Alright then," Elvis said, his voice ringing out with confidence. "Let's get to planning. We'll need every able-bodied man who can ride and shoot. We'll track the rustlers to their hideout, and we'll make sure they never trouble us again."

The meeting broke up soon after that, the ranchers dispersing to make their preparations for the evening. As she was lighting a candle, Clementine caught a glimpse of Katie Hawthorne deep in conversation with Elvis, their heads bent close together as they spoke in low, urgent tones.

Something twisted in Clementine's gut at the sight, a flare of jealousy that she didn't quite understand. But she pushed it down, focusing instead on the task ahead. There would be time to worry about Katie Hawthorne later. 

*

Later that evening, Clementine found herself wandering the quiet halls of the ranch house, her mind too full of worries to settle. She was just about to open the cupboard when she heard a noise from the living room, a soft clink of glass on wood.

Curious, she padded over to the doorway, peering into the dimly lit room. Elvis sat at the table, a half-empty bottle of whiskey in front of him and a troubled expression on his face. He looked up as she entered, his eyes widening in surprise.

"Clementine,” he said, his voice rough. “What are you doing up?”

She shrugged, suddenly feeling self-conscious in her nightgown and robe. “Couldn’t sleep. Too much on my mind, I guess.”

Elvis nodded, his gaze dropping to the glass in his hand. "I know the feeling," he said, taking a swig of whiskey. 

Clementine's heart clenched at the weariness in his voice, the vulnerability he so rarely showed. "You don't have to go tonight, you know," she said softly, reaching out to lay a hand on his arm. "The other men can handle it. You've done enough already, Elvis. More than enough."

He looked up at her then, something fierce and determined in his eyes. "Ain’t no way," he said, his voice low and intense. "I promised your uncle I'd look after this place, Clem. I ain't about to break that promise now."

Clementine felt a rush of warmth at his words, a flutter of something deeper and more complicated than gratitude. But she tamped it down, focusing instead on the danger ahead.

"It's going to be risky," she said, her voice wavering slightly. "I don't want you getting hurt on my account, Elvis. I couldn't bear it if something happened to you."

He covered her hand with his own, his skin warm and rough against hers. "Good thing I ain't planning on gettin’ hurt, then," he said, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Besides, it’s just a search party. We ain’t gonna do no shooting tonight. We’re just gonna track the rustlers, that’s all.”

Clementine laughed, the tension draining out of her in a rush. "Well, I suppose I can live with that," she said, her eyes sparkling. "Just promise me you'll be careful out there, alright?"

"I promise," Elvis said, his voice solemn. "And you promise me, Clementine. You’ll be waiting when I get back?"

She nodded, her throat suddenly tight. "I promise," she whispered, meaning it with every fiber of her being.

They sat like that for a long moment, hands clasped and eyes locked, the silence stretching out between them like a promise of its own. And then Elvis cleared his throat, releasing her hand and standing up from the table.

"Best get some rest," he said, his voice gruff. "Got a long day ahead of us tomorrow."

Clementine stood as well, her heart racing as she followed him to the door. "Goodnight, Elvis," she said softly, her hand on the knob. "And thank you. For everything."

He paused, his hand coming up to brush a strand of hair back from her face. "Anytime, Clem," he murmured, his eyes soft. "Anytime at all."

And then he was gone, the door closing softly behind him, leaving Clementine alone with her thoughts and the pounding of her own heart.

*

The ranch house was quiet that night, the usual bustle and chatter replaced by a tense, watchful silence. Clementine wandered the halls like a ghost, her mind spinning and her heart aching.

She couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong, that some disaster was looming just beyond the horizon. And she couldn't help but wonder if she had made the right choice, staying behind while her men out to face the danger alone.

She found herself in the kitchen just as dawn was breaking, staring blankly at the coffeepot as it burbled and hissed on the stove. She couldn't remember how she'd gotten there, or why she'd come. All she knew was that she needed something, anything, to take her mind off the worry and the fear.

And then, like a miracle, Elvis appeared in the doorway. He looked haggard and worn, his face lined with exhaustion and his eyes shadowed with some dark emotion. But he was alive, and whole, and Clementine felt her heart leap with relief.

"You're back," she breathed, stepping forward to meet him. "What happened out there? Did you find them?"

Elvis shook his head, his jaw tight. "No. We rode hard all night, followed their trail as far as we could. But they're clever bastards, know how to cover their tracks. We lost the scent somewhere around Coyote Creek, and by then it was too dark to go on."

Clementine's heart sank, disappointment and frustration welling up in her throat. "So what now?" she asked, her voice small. "What do we do?"

Elvis sighed, running a hand over his face. "We start again the day after tomorrow, at first light. Keep searching until we find them, or until we can't search no more."

He looked at her then, his eyes dark and intense. "I need you to be strong, Clementine. I need you to keep this place running, keep the men in line. Can you do that for me?"

Clementine swallowed hard, forcing down the lump in her throat. "Of course," she said, her voice steadier than she felt. "I'll do whatever needs to be done, Elvis. You know that."

He nodded, something like pride flickering in his gaze. And then, to her surprise, he reached out and pulled her into his arms.

Clementine stiffened for a moment, unused to such displays of affection from the taciturn cowboy. But then she melted into him, her hands fisting in the back of his shirt and her face pressing into the warm, solid strength of his chest.

"I'm scared, Elvis," she whispered, the words muffled against his skin. 

He tightened his hold on her, his chin resting on the top of her head. "I know, darlin'. I'm scared too. But we can't let that fear control us, you hear me? We gotta be strong, for each other and for this ranch."

Clementine nodded, drawing in a shuddering breath. And then, before she could lose her nerve, she tilted her head back and pressed her lips to his.

The kiss was quick and chaste, a gentle exploration that made her heart race and her blood sing. Elvis made a low, desperate sound in the back of his throat but before things could go any further, he tore himself away, his breath coming hard and fast. "I’m sorry. I shouldn’ta done that." he said, his voice rough with wanting. "We can’t. I ain’t gonna take advantage of you.Not when we both don't know what tomorrow might bring."

“I—you’re right.” Clementine knew it, even as her body screamed in protest. She stepped back, wrapping her arms around herself as if to ward off the chill of his absence. "I'm sorry," she said, her voice trembling. "I don't know what came over me. It's just... the thought of losing you..."

"Shh." Elvis placed a finger over her lips, silencing her. 

"Don't talk like that. We're gonna make it through this, you and me. And when we do, we'll have all the time in the world to figure out what this is between us."

Clementine nodded. 

He leaned in, pressing a soft, chaste kiss to her forehead. "But for now, we gotta focus on the task at hand. We gotta be strong for the ranch. Can you do that for me, Clem?"

She looked up at him, her heart in her eyes. "I can. I will."

He smiled then, a real smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes and made her heart skip a beat. "That's my girl. Now, let's get some rest. We got a long day ahead of us tomorrow."

*

The first rays of the sun were just beginning to paint the sky in shades of pink and gold when Clementine stepped out onto the porch, a rifle slung over her shoulder, two pistols at her hip, and a steely glint in her eye.

The ranchers were already gathered in the yard, checking their tack and loading their saddlebags with grim determination. Elvis stood at the center of the group, his black hat pulled low over his brow as he issued last-minute orders and instructions, saddling his mount quickly and efficiently.

He looked up as she approached, his eyes widening in surprise and something like consternation. "What do you think you're doing? I thought I told you to stay put," he demanded, striding over to block her path. "You ain't comin' with us, Clementine. It's too dangerous."

She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze squarely. "The hell I'm not," she said, her voice ringing with conviction. "This is my ranch, Elvis. My land, my cattle, my responsibility. My men. And I'll be damned if I'm going to sit back and let someone else fight my battles for me."

He opened his mouth to argue, but she cut him off with a sharp gesture. "I know what you're going to say," she said. "That I'm just a woman, that I don't know how to handle a gun or ride with a posse. But you're wrong, Elvis. I've been learning this past year. I can shoot as straight as any man here, and ride twice as quick."

Red’s face split into a big, knowing smile. Elvis elbowed him, and his ruddy companion stood ramrod straight. She saw the flicker of surprise in Elvis’ eyes, too, the grudging respect that warred with his instinctive need to protect her. But she wasn't about to back down, not now, not when so much was at stake.

"I'm coming with you," she said, her voice low and intense. "And that's final. You can either accept it, or you can try to stop me. But either way, I'll be riding out of here at your side, come hell or high water."

For a long, tense moment, Elvis just stared at her, his jaw working as if he were chewing on a particularly tough piece of rawhide. Then, slowly, he nodded, his eyes glinting with something that might have been pride, or exasperation, or a little bit of both.

"Alright, then," he said gruffly. "But you stay close to me, you hear? And if I give you an order, you follow it, no questions asked."

They rode out in a thunder of hoofbeats, the sun high overhead and the wind whipping at their faces. Clementine could feel the adrenaline coursing through her veins, the thrill of the hunt mingling with a cold, creeping fear. She knew that they were riding into danger, that there was no telling what they might face out there on the open range.

But she also knew that she was not alone, that she had Elvis and the others by her side, ready to fight for what was theirs, and that knowledge gave her the courage to keep riding.

They rode for hours, following the rustlers' trail across the rugged terrain. The sun beat down on them, the heat shimmering off the rocks and the scrubby brush. Clementine could feel the sweat trickling down her back, the dust caking her face and hair. But she hardly noticed, her mind focused on the task at hand, on the need to find the stolen cattle and bring the thieves to justice.

It was nearly sundown when they finally caught sight of the rustlers' camp, a thin plume of smoke rising from a hidden canyon up ahead. Elvis called a halt, his hand raised in warning.

"We'll have to go in on foot from here," he said, his voice low and tense. "Can't risk them hearing us coming."

Clementine nodded, her heart pounding in her chest. This was it, the moment of truth. She slid from her saddle, her legs stiff and sore from hours of riding. She checked her rifle, making sure it was loaded and ready, then fell in behind Elvis as he led the way toward the canyon.

They crept through the underbrush, the only sound the crunch of their boots against the dry leaves and twigs. Clementine could feel the tension in the air, the sense of impending danger. She knew that the rustlers would be armed, that they would fight to keep their stolen herd. But she also knew that they were outnumbered, that the posse had the element of surprise on their side.

As they neared the edge of the canyon, Elvis held up a hand, signaling for them to stop. He peered over the edge, his eyes narrowing as he took in the scene below.

"They're down there, alright," he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. "Looks like they've got the cattle penned up in that box canyon. I count six men, maybe seven."

Clementine swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry. Six men. Six armed, desperate men who would stop at nothing to keep what they had stolen. She knew that the odds were in their favor, that they had the rustlers outnumbered and outgunned. But she also knew that anything could happen in the heat of battle, that there was no guarantee that they would all make it out alive.

She looked at Elvis, saw the grim determination in his eyes, the set of his jaw. And she knew that he was thinking the same thing, that he was weighing the risks and the rewards, the need to protect their own against the danger of the unknown.

"What's the plan?" she asked, her voice steady despite the hammering of her heart.

Elvis took a deep breath, his gaze still fixed on the canyon below. "We'll split up, come at 'em from both sides. Jake, you take half the men and circle around to the north. Tom, you take the other half and come in from the south. Clementine, you're with Jake. I’ll go straight down the middle, try to draw their fire and give the others a chance to get in close."

Clementine felt a sudden, sharp fear at his words, a sense of dread that she couldn't quite shake. She knew that Elvis was putting himself in the greatest danger, that he was using himself as a distraction to give the others a chance. And she knew that she couldn't let him do it alone.

"I'm coming with you," she said, her voice brooking no argument.

Elvis looked at her, his eyes widening in surprise. "Clementine, I don't think—"

"I'm not asking, Elvis," she said, cutting him off. "I’m coming."

For a moment, Elvis just stared at her, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he nodded, a flicker of something like pride in his eyes.

"Alright then," he said, his voice gruff. "Let's do this."

They made their way down the steep slope of the canyon, the loose shale and gravel sliding beneath their feet. Clementine could hear the low murmur of voices from the camp below, the soft lowing of the penned-up cattle. Her heart was pounding in her ears, her palms slick with sweat on the grip of her rifle.

As they neared the bottom of the canyon, Elvis held up a hand, signaling for her to stop. He peered around the edge of a boulder, his eyes narrowing as he took in the scene.

"Alright," he said, his voice low and tense. "On my signal, we move in. You stay close to me, you hear? And if things start to go south, you get the hell out of there and don't look back."

Clementine nodded, her throat too tight to speak. She knew that he was trying to protect her, that he was willing to lay down his life to keep her safe. And she knew that she couldn't let that happen, that she would fight to her last breath to keep him alive.

Elvis took a deep breath, his hand tightening on the grip of his pistol. Then, with a nod to Clementine, he stepped out from behind the boulder, his voice ringing out across the canyon.

"Drop your weapons and let the cattle go!" he shouted, his pistol leveled at the nearest rustler. "You're surrounded and outnumbered. There's no way out!"

For a moment, there was silence, the only sound the low moan of the wind through the canyon. Then, with a shout of defiance, the rustlers opened fire, their bullets whizzing past Clementine's head and shattering the rock at her feet.

She dropped to the ground, her heart pounding in her chest. Beside her, Elvis was returning fire, his pistol barking in the still air. She could hear the shouts and curses of the rustlers, the panicked bellowing of the cattle as they milled about in their makeshift pen.

Clementine leveled her rifle, her hands steady and her aim true. She squeezed the trigger once, twice, three times, watching with grim satisfaction as the rustlers fell, clutching at their wounds.

But then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw something that made her blood run cold. Elvis, locked in hand-to-hand combat with one of the rustlers, his gun lying forgotten on the ground.

The man was huge, easily a head taller than Elvis and twice as broad. He had a knife in his hand, the blade glinting wickedly in the sun, and a feral grin on his face as he bore down on the smaller man.

Clementine didn't hesitate. She got up from her position, charging towards the two men with a shout of fury. She leaped, tackling the rustler around the waist and sending them both tumbling to the ground.

They grappled in the dirt, the man's knife slashing at the air as Clementine tried to wrestle it from his grip. She could hear Elvis shouting her name, could feel the impact of bodies hitting the ground all around her as the battle raged on.

And then, with a final, desperate twist, she wrenched the knife free. The man lunged for her, his eyes wild with rage and desperation, but Clementine was faster. She plunged the blade into his chest, feeling the sickening give of flesh and bone.

The rustler's eyes went wide, his mouth opening in a silent scream. And then he was falling, his body hitting the ground with a dull, final thud.

Clementine staggered to her feet, her breath coming in great, heaving gasps. She looked around wildly, taking in the scene of carnage and chaos.

All around her, the canyon exploded into chaos. The posse had burst from cover, guns blazing as they bore down on the rustlers. She could hear shouts and screams, could smell the acrid tang of gunpowder on the air. Bullets whizzed past her head, kicking up puffs of dust at her feet. 

It seemed to go on forever, that nightmarish battle in the heart of the canyon. But in reality, it was over in a matter of minutes. The rustlers, outnumbered and outgunned, threw down their weapons and surrendered, their hands raised in supplication.

Clementine sagged with relief, her knees suddenly weak. She looked around, taking in the scene of carnage—the bodies sprawled on the ground, the wounded men groaning in pain, the cattle milling about in confusion.

And then her gaze fell on Elvis, and her heart stopped.

He was lying on the ground, his face pale and his eyes closed. There was a spreading stain of red on his shirt, a wound in his chest that pulsed with each labored breath.

"No," Clementine whispered, stumbling forward on numb, leaden feet. "No, no, no."

She fell to her knees beside him, her hands shaking as she pressed them to the wound, trying desperately to stem the flow of blood. Elvis's eyes fluttered open, glassy and unfocused.

"Don't you dare," she said fiercely, her tears falling hot and fast on his face. "Don't you dare leave me, Elvis Presley. Not now, not like this."

*

"Somebody help me!" Clementine shouted, her voice raw with desperation. "Please, he's hurt, we need to get him back to the ranch!"

The others crowded around, their faces grim as they took in the sight of their fallen comrade. Tom Hawkins knelt down on Elvis' other side, his fingers searching for a pulse.

"He's alive," he said, his voice tight. "But he's lost a lot of blood. We need to get him back to Windy Creek, and fast."

Clementine nodded, her vision blurring with tears. 

“Put him on White Lightning!” Rusty cried, “Clem’s horse is the fastest.” She watched as the men lifted Elvis onto the back of her horse, his head lolling limply against his chest. She wanted to go to him, to gather him into her arms and will the life back into his broken body. But she knew that she couldn't, that she had to be strong now, for him and for herself.

"I'll go with you," said Jake, swinging up into his own saddle. "Red and Tom, you, round up the herd and head on back. The rest of you, tie the rustler up. We'll meet you there."

The ride back to the ranch was a blur, a nightmare of dust and sweat and clenching fear and Elvis’ limp form cradled against her chest as she urged White Lightning onward. She could feel his blood soaking through her shirt, could hear the rattling wheeze of his breath in her ear. 

But she refused to give up hope, refused to let the fear and the despair take hold. Elvis was a fighter, a survivor. He would make it through this. He had to.

They reached the ranch just as the sun was setting, the sky painted in shades of orange and gold. Clementine leapt from the saddle, shouting for Juanita and the ranch hands as she half-carried, half-dragged Elvis inside.

"Help him!" she demanded, her voice tight with fear. 

Mrs. Jameson hurried over, her face creased with worry. "They took him straight up to his room, miss. Juanita's with him now, doing what she can to stop the bleeding. But he's in a bad way, I won't lie to you."

The next few hours passed in a haze of activity and dread, the ticking of the clock on the mantel the only sound in the silent house. Juanita worked tirelessly, cleaning and stitching and bandaging, her face set in grim determination.

*

It had been hours, and Clementine had no news. "I need to go to him, Ida" she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I need to be with him."

The housekeeper nodded, her eyes soft with understanding. "Of course, miss. You go on up. I'll see to the hands and the stock."

Clementine managed a grateful nod, then turned and fled into the house, her heart pounding and her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. She took the stairs two at a time.

She burst into Elvis' room without knocking, her eyes wide and wild as she scanned the dimly lit space. He was lying on the bed, his shirt torn open to reveal the ugly, seeping wound in his chest. Juanita was bent over him, her hands bloody as she worked to staunch the flow.

"How is he?" Clementine asked, her voice thin and reedy to her own ears. "Will he... will he live?"

Juanita looked up, her dark eyes unreadable. "I don't know, Clem. He's lost a lot of blood, and the bullet's still in there. I've done what I can to clean and bind the wound, but he needs a real doctor, and soon."

Clementine nodded, her throat too tight for words. She sank down onto the edge of the bed, her hand reaching out to brush the sweat-soaked hair back from Elvis' brow. He was burning with fever, his skin hot and dry beneath her palm.

"Oh, Elvis," she whispered, the endearment slipping out before she could stop it. "What have they done to you?"

She sent Red to fetch Doc Jamison from town, his saddlebags laden with all the medical supplies they could spare. And then there was nothing to do but wait, and pray, and hope against hope that Elvis would pull through.

The sun rose and set, the hours bleeding into days.

Clementine sat by Elvis's bedside, holding his hand and whispering words of encouragement. She barely slept, barely ate, her whole world narrowed down to the rise and fall of his chest, the fluttering of his eyelids, the faint pulse at his wrist.

And then, on the eighth day, a miracle. Elvis's fever broke, his breathing easing and his color returning. He opened his eyes, blinking up at Clementine with a weak, crooked smile.

"Hey there, darlin'," he rasped, his voice hoarse from disuse. "Fancy meeting you here."

Clementine let out a sob, tears of relief and joy streaming down her face. She threw herself into his arms, burying her face in his neck and breathing in the warm, familiar scent of him.

"Don't you ever do that to me again," she whispered fiercely. "You hear me, Elvis Presley? Never again."

He chuckled softly, his hand coming up to stroke her hair. "Yes, ma'am," he murmured. "I promise."

*

The next morning, Clementine awoke to Elvis screaming in agony. Before long, Doc Jamison was at his bedside, procuring a large needle from his medicine bag and injecting it into the patient’s arm. Clementine watched with bated breath as Elvis slowly settled back into a comfortable sleep, floating in the twilight of morphine.

She sat at his bedside, keeping vigil, praying for him. At one point, he whispered something.

"Marry me," she thought she heard. "Be my wife, Clementine."

Chapter 4

Clementine sat at her desk, sorting through the mail that had arrived the previous week. Among the various bills and correspondence, one letter caught her eye. The familiar handwriting on the envelope made her heart skip a beat. It was from Bonnie.

With trembling fingers, Clementine opened the letter and began to read:

"My Dearest Clemmie,

I hope this letter finds you well and thriving in your new life at Windy Creek Ranch. I miss you terribly, and the city feels empty without your laughter and companionship.

I have exciting news! I've decided to take a break from the hustle and bustle of New York and come visit you at the ranch. I long to see the beautiful landscapes you've described and meet the intriguing characters you've mentioned in your letters.

Expect me to arrive within the fortnight. I cannot wait to embrace you and hear all about your adventures.

Your loving friend, Bonnie"

Clementine clutched the letter to her chest, a wide grin spreading across her face. The prospect of having Bonnie at the ranch filled her with joy and excitement. She couldn't wait to show her best friend around and introduce her to everyone, especially Elvis.

Elvis. The thought of him made Clementine’s smile falter.

Since his injury, their relationship had been somewhat strained. She had been tending to him diligently, changing his bandages and ensuring he was comfortable. However, every time she tried to bring up his morphine-induced mumblings, Elvis would change the subject or feign exhaustion. It was starting to worry her. 

A knock at the door startled Clementine from her thoughts. 

"Come in," she called, setting the letter aside.

To her surprise, Katie Hawthorne stepped into the room, her blonde hair perfectly coiffed and her blue eyes sparkling. She looked stunning in a sage green day dress that complemented her fair complexion.

"Good morning, Clementine," she greeted, her voice polite but cool. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything important."

Clementine forced a smile, trying to ignore the twinge of unease that Katie's presence always seemed to evoke. "Not at all, Katie. What brings you here?"

Katie walked over to the desk, her posture poised and confident. "I was hoping to visit Elvis. I heard he's recovering well, and I thought he might appreciate a familiar face."

Clementine's stomach churned at the thought of Katie spending time alone with Elvis. She knew there was a history between them, but the details remained a mystery. "I'm sure he would appreciate that," she managed to say, her voice even. "He's in his room, resting."

With a nod and a polite smile, Katie left the room, leaving Clementine alone with her thoughts. Unable to concentrate on her work, Clementine decided to take a walk around the ranch to clear her head.

As she stepped outside, the warm sun and gentle breeze greeted her. The sound of laughter caught her attention, and she spotted Red and Slim engaged in a lively conversation near the stables.

"Miss Clementine!" Red called out, waving her over. 

Clementine made her way over to them, eager for a distraction. "You're just in time. Slim here was about to share a story about the time he singlehandedly fought off a pack of coyotes."

Slim grinned, puffing out his chest. "It's true! I was out on the range, minding my own business, when suddenly..."

But as Slim launched into his tale, Clementine found herself only half-listening. Her mind wandered to the conversation she had overheard earlier between Katie and Elvis. She had been passing by Elvis' room when she heard their voices, low and intense.

"Elvis, I know things ended badly between us," Katie had said, her tone sincere. "But I want you to know that I still care about you. I always have."

"Look, I appreciate you coming to see me, but things are different now," Elvis had replied, his voice firm but not unkind. 

Katie had scoffed. “I know you don't mean that—”

“Katie, I’m not the same man I was back then.”

"I know that, Elvis. And I respect it. I just... I don't want us to be strangers. We have too much history for that."

There was a pause, and Clementine could picture Elvis considering her words. "You're right. We can be friends, Katie. But that's all we can be."

Clementine hurried away before she could hear Katie's response, her heart racing and her mind reeling. What exactly had happened between them? And why did the thought of them together make her feel so unsettled?

Feigning a stomachache, Clementine gently extracted herself from Slim and Red and started back for the house.

Lost in her thoughts, she didn't notice Ida approach until the older woman placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Miss Clementine, you look troubled," Ida said, her kind eyes filled with concern. "Is everything alright?"

Clementine sighed, offering Ida a weak smile. "I'm fine, Ida. Just a lot on my mind, I suppose."

Ida nodded, understanding dawning on her face. "It's about Mr. Elvis and Miss Katie, isn't it?"

Clementine's eyes widened. "How did you know?"

Ida chuckled softly. "I've been around long enough to notice things, Miss Clementine. And I can see the way you look at Mr. Elvis, and the way Miss Katie looks at him too. Frankly, I’d look at him that way too if I were younger,” she chuckled.

Clementine felt her cheeks heat up. "I don't know what you're talking about, Ida."

The housekeeper smiled knowingly. "It's alright, Miss Clementine. You don't have to pretend with me. I know it's not my place to gossip, but I feel like you should know the truth about Mr. Elvis and Miss Katie."

Curiosity got the better of Clementine, and she found herself leaning in closer. "What truth, Ida?"

Ida glanced around to make sure they were alone before lowering her voice. "Mr. Elvis and Miss Katie were engaged to be married once, years ago. They were young and in love, or so they thought. But then Miss Katie got it into her head that she wanted to see the world, experience life beyond the ranch. She left Mr. Elvis behind without so much as a goodbye, broke his heart into a million pieces." She sighed, shaking her head. "It was a terrible thing to see."

Clementine's heart sank. "I had no idea," she whispered, her voice trembling.

Ida patted her hand reassuringly. "Mr. Elvis was never the same after that. He threw himself into his work, closed himself off from the world. But then you came along, Miss Clementine. I've seen the way he looks at you, the way he smiles when you're around. You've brought light back into his life."

Clementine felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes. "But what about Katie? She's beautiful, and wealthy, and she knows this life. How can I compete with that?"

"Miss Clementine, you listen to me. You are a smart, strong, and kind-hearted young woman. You have brought so much good to this ranch, and to the people who live and work here. Don't you ever doubt your worth."

Clementine nodded, blinking back her tears.

The housekeeper smiled warmly. "Now, why don't you go and check on Mr. Elvis? I'm sure he could use some company."

Taking a deep breath, Clementine squared her shoulders and made her way back upstairs. She waled down the hall to Elvis' room, her heart pounding in her chest. She raised her hand to knock on the door, but hesitated when she heard voices coming from inside.

"... and do you remember that night by the creek? The stars were so bright, and you held me so close. I felt like I could stay in your arms forever." Katie's voice was soft, tinged with nostalgia.

“Sure do.” Elvis’ deep chuckle reverberated through Clementine’s bones.

"Hold still," Katie's voice was soft, almost tender. "This poultice will help with the pain."

There was a moment of silence, followed by a sharp intake of breath from Elvis. "Ouch! Careful, Katie."

"Don't be such a baby," Katie chided, her tone playful. "You've had worse."

Then, a sigh.

"Katie, we can't keep doing this. I told you things are different now." Elvis sounded tired, his voice strained.

"Are they? When I'm with you, it feels just like old times. We sure had something special, didn’t we, Elvis? Don't you miss it?"

Clementine's stomach churned as she imagined Katie sitting close to him, her hands gentle on his skin. She knew she shouldn't be eavesdropping, but she couldn't seem to make herself move.

There was a long pause, and then Elvis spoke, his words hesitant. "I... I don't know, Katie. It's been so long. I’m not the same man I was before."

Katie's voice turned pleading. "But you could be. We could be happy again, Elvis. Just like we used to. If you just give me a chance—"

Another pause, heavy with unspoken words. "I can't make any promises, Katie. But... I won't deny that being with you brings back a lot of memories. Good ones."

Clementine's heart raced, her palms sweating as she listened to their exchange. Did Elvis still have feelings for Katie? Was she just a temporary distraction, a way to forget his past heartbreak?

“Why, Elvis? Why can’t you make any promises? Is it... because of her?” Katie asked, Katie asked, a hint of bitterness creeping into her voice. "The city girl who's come to play at being a rancher?"

"Don't do that, Katie."

Katie scoffed, the sound sharp and brittle. "Oh, Elvis. Can't you see? She doesn't belong here. She's not one of us. Sooner or later, she'll realize that and go running back to her fancy city life. And where will that leave you?" She got up, dusting herself off. "Sometimes, you're a damned fool, Elvis Presley."

Clementine backed away from the door, her mind reeling. She couldn't bear to hear any more, couldn't face the possibility that Elvis might choose Katie over her. With a choked sob, she turned and fled down the stairs, out into the yard where she could breathe, where she could think.

Shaking her head, Clementine decided to focus on the one thing she could control—her work. She made her way downstairs and out to the barn, determined to throw herself into the daily chores and put all thoughts of Elvis and Katie out of her mind.

As she mucked out the stalls and fed the horses, Clementine found herself falling into a comfortable rhythm. The physical labor was soothing, allowing her to clear her head and focus on the task at hand. Before she knew it, she was hours deep into her tasks, the sun was setting, and it was time to head home. 

She was so absorbed in her thoughts that she didn't hear the sound of hoofbeats approaching the front yard until a familiar voice called out, "Clemmie!"

Clementine turned her head, her eyes widening in disbelief. There, sitting in a stagecoach, was Bonnie, her fiery red curls blowing in the breeze and her green eyes sparkling with mischief in the golden hour.

"Bonnie!" Clementine exclaimed, dropping her pitchfork and rushing forward to embrace her friend. "What are you doing here? I thought you weren't arriving for another week!"

Bonnie laughed, hugging Clementine tightly. "I couldn't wait that long to see you, darling. I hopped on the first train out of New York and made my way here as fast as I could."

Clementine stepped back, taking in the sight of her best friend. Bonnie looked radiant, her cheeks flushed from the ride and her smile as wide as the sky. "I can't believe you're really here," Clementine said, shaking her head in amazement.

Bonnie grinned, linking her arm through Clementine's. "Well, believe it, darling. I'm here, and I'm ready for an adventure. Now, show me around this ranch of yours. I want to see everything!"

Clementine laughed, feeling lighter than she had in weeks. With Bonnie by her side, everything seemed brighter, more manageable. She led her friend around the ranch, introducing her to the horses and the cattle, showing her the sprawling fields and the cozy bunkhouse.

As they walked, Clementine found herself pouring out her heart to Bonnie, telling her all about Elvis and Katie and the confusion she felt. Bonnie listened intently, her brow furrowed in concentration.

"It sounds to me like you're in love with this Elvis fellow," Bonnie said finally, her tone matter-of-fact.

Clementine sputtered, her cheeks turning crimson. "What? No! I mean, I care about him, of course, but love? That's ridiculous."

Bonnie raised an eyebrow. "Is it? Clemmie, I've known you since we were in pigtails. I've never seen you this worked up over a man before. And from what you've told me, it sounds like he feels the same way about you."

Clementine wilted. "But this Katie… She's beautiful, and accomplished, and she understands this life in a way I never will."

Bonnie took Clementine's hands in hers, her green eyes fierce and determined. "Now you listen to me. You're smart, and strong, and you have the biggest heart of anyone I know. If this Elvis character can't see that, then he's a fool."

“Thanks, Bon. You always know just what to say. What would I ever do without you?”

“Shrivel up and die of sadness and boredom, most likely,” her best friend laughed. “Now, let's go find some trouble to get into. I've been cooped up on that train for far too long."

Clementine laughed, feeling a rush of affection for her friend. "I think I know just the thing. How do you feel about a little horseback riding?"

Bonnie's eyes sparkled with excitement. "Lead the way, darling. I'm ready for anything."

As they made their way to the stables, Clementine spotted Red and Slim leaning against the fence, deep in conversation. 

Red's eyes widened as he took in Bonnie's fiery red curls and sparkling green eyes. 

Bonnie smiled, holding out her hand. "I’m Bonnie, Clementine's friend from New York."

Red took her hand, holding it a beat longer than necessary. "New York, huh? What brings a city girl like you out to our humble ranch?"

Bonnie laughed, her eyes sparkling. "Oh, you know. Adventure, excitement, the chance to see my best friend in the world."

Red grinned, leaning in closer. "Well, I can certainly promise you adventure and excitement, Miss Bonnie."

Slim rolled his eyes, elbowing Red in the ribs. "Ignore him, Miss Bonnie. He's all talk and no action."

Red chuckled, his cheeks flushing slightly. "I don't know about that, Miss Bonnie. I do my best to make all our guests feel welcome."

Bonnie raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corners of her mouth. "Is that so? Well, I guess I'll just have to see for myself."

As Bonnie and Red continued their flirtatious banter, Clementine felt her spirits lift. It was good to see her friend getting along so well with the ranch hands.

Suddenly, a shout rang out across the yard. "The fence is down! The cattle are escaping!"

Clementine's heart raced as she saw the herd of cattle stampeding through the broken fence. "We have to round them up!" she cried, running towards the stables.

Red and Slim were already saddling up their horses. "Miss Clementine, you take the north pasture," Red called out. "Slim and I will head south. Rusty, Billy, head east. We'll meet up at the old oak tree." He looked back at Bonnie. “You alright to stay here a spell?”

Bonnie nodded as Clementine swung herself up into the saddle, her face set with determination. 

They rode hard, the wind whipping through their hair as they chased down the errant cattle. It was a minor crisis, but it forced everyone to work together to resolve the issue. 

Finally, after several hours of hard work, they managed to herd the last of the cattle back into the pasture.

Exhausted but triumphant, Clementine, Red, and the rest of the ranch hands made their way back to the house for a very late dinner, where Bonnie was helping prepare a bountiful spread. 

As they entered the dining room, Clementine was surprised to see Katie sitting at the dining table.

"Katie!" Ida exclaimed, setting down a steaming pot of stew. "I'm so glad you could join us for dinner."

Katie smiled, her flaxen hair gleaming in the candlelight.  "Thank you for asking me to stay, Miss Ida. It's always a pleasure to share a meal with friends."

Clementine's stomach churned at the sight of Katie, memories of the woman’s earlier conversation with Elvis still fresh in her mind. She took a seat at the table, trying to ignore the way Katie's eyes seemed to be searching around the room. For him.

Bonnie leaned over to Clementine, her voice low. "So that's the famous Katie Hawthorne? I can see why she's got Elvis all twisted up."

Clementine sighed, nodding. "Yeah, they were going to get married until she up and left one day. They’ve got... history."

Bonnie raised an eyebrow, her expression skeptical. "I see."

As they sat down to eat, Clementine found herself seated across from Katie. The blonde gave her a polite smile, but there was a guardedness in her eyes that made Clementine uneasy.

"Clementine, I hear you had quite the adventure today," Katie said, her voice cool but not unkind. "I'm glad to see you're settling into ranch life so well."

Clementine forced a smile, determined to be civil. "Thank you, Katie. This year’s been a learning curve, but I'm enjoying the challenge."

Katie nodded, taking a sip of her water. "It's not an easy life, but it can be a rewarding one. If you're cut out for it."

Clementine bristled at the implication, but before she could respond, the door opened and Elvis stepped into the room. He was moving slowly, his face still pale, but there was a determined set to his jaw.

"Elvis!" Ida exclaimed, her face lighting up. "It's so good to see you up and about!"

"Elvis, darling, you're here," Katie purred, patting the seat beside her. "Come, sit with me. We have so much to catch up on."

Elvis hesitated, his gaze flickering to Clementine before he nodded and took the offered seat. Clementine felt a stab of jealousy, her appetite suddenly deserting her.

"Evening, everyone. Sorry I'm late."

He made his way to the table, his steps measured and careful. As he neared Katie, she reached out and touched his arm, a look of concern on her face. "Elvis, are you sure you should be out of bed? You're still recovering."

Elvis patted her hand. "I'm fine, Katie. Just a little sore, is all. Nothing a good meal and some good company can't fix."

He settled into the chair between Katie and Clementine, his leg brushing against Clem’s under the table. She felt a flush creep up her neck at the contact, her skin tingling where they touched. She forced herself to focus on her plate, not wanting to give away the effect he had on her.

As the meal progressed, Bonnie regaled them all with tales of her adventures in New York, her quick wit and easy charm winning over even the most taciturn of the ranch hands. Red, in particular, seemed taken with her, his eyes rarely straying from her face.

Even so, Clementine couldn’t focus on anything but the strange situation she found herself in. Even as she laughed and chatted with the others, Clementine could feel the weight of Katie's presence, assessing and calculating. It made her feel off-balance, unsure of her place in this world that Katie knew so well. Her stomach roiled. 

She couldn't help but notice the easy familiarity between Elvis and Katie, the way they laughed and reminisced about old times. It was clear they shared a deep bond, a history that Clementine could never hope to match.

"Do you remember old Samson's face when he caught us sneaking out of the barn that night?" Katie giggled, her hand resting on Elvis's arm.

Elvis chuckled, shaking his head. "I thought he was gonna skin us alive. But you sweet-talked him out of it, as usual."

"What can I say? I've always been good at getting what I want." Katie's eyes sparkled with mischief, her lips curving into a seductive smile.

Clementine's heart sank as she watched their interaction, doubt gnawing at her insides. Did Elvis still harbor feelings for Katie? Was he considering rekindling their romance?

Bonnie, ever observant, leaned across the table to whisper in Clementine's ear. "Don't let her get to you, Clemmie. She's just trying to stake her claim."

Then, never one to let an awkward moment pass, Bonnie eased back into her chair with a mischievous grin. "So, Elvis, I hear you’re quite the foreman," she said, her voice carrying across the table. "Tell me, what's a handsome cowboy like you doing running a ranch all by your lonesome?"

Elvis choked on his stew, his eyes widening in surprise. The other ranch hands snickered, their faces red with barely suppressed laughter. “Nice to meet you too, Bonnie.”

“No, really! Do pray tell,”Bonnie grinned.

"Well, I... uh..." Elvis cleared his throat, clearly taken aback by Bonnie's forwardness. "I'm not running it alone, y’know. I have a whole team of hardworking folks helping me out."

Bonnie nodded, her expression serious. "Of course, of course. But still, it must get lonely out here sometimes. Don't you ever wish for a little companionship?" She wiggled her eyebrows.

Clementine kicked Bonnie under the table, her face flushing with embarrassment. But Bonnie just laughed, clearly enjoying the effect she was having on the usually unflappable Elvis.

As the dinner wore on, Bonnie kept up a steady stream of witty repartee, peppering Elvis with questions about life on the ranch and his plans for the future. The other ranch hands could barely contain their laughter, choking on their food as Bonnie's New York City directness clashed with Elvis's stoic cowboy demeanor.

At some point during the night, while everyone was in their sixth fit of laughter in a row, Bonnie cleared her throat and made an announcement. "I've been thinking," she said, her eyes twinkling with excitement. "I'd like to stay at the ranch for a while longer, if that's alright with you, Clementine."

Red, who had been hanging on Bonnie's every word throughout the meal, sat up straighter in his chair. "That's great news, Miss Bonnie," he said, his voice eager. "I'd be more’n happy to show you around the ranch, if you'd like."

Bonnie smiled, her cheeks dimpling. "I'd like that very much, Red. Thank you."

Clementine nodded, forcing a smile. Her best friend in the world was always welcome. But even as everyone laughed around her, she felt melancholy. Doubts lingered, gnawing at her heart. Somewhere between the second and third course, she felt lightheaded. She stepped out onto the porch, taking a deep breath of the cool night air. The evening's events swirled through her mind—Bonnie's arrival, the weird tension at dinner, sitting next to Elvis and nearly jumping out of her skin when his knee touched hers... 

"Clem?" a familiar voice called out softly from behind her.

She turned to see him standing in the doorway, his handsome face illuminated by the warm glow of the lanterns. 

He came to me, she thought, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. 

"Y’know, I wasn't sure if you'd be joining us tonight, Elvis, what with you still on the mend and all."

He stepped out onto the porch, his spurs jingling with each movement. "Aw shucks, you know me. I never could resist a party. 'Specially not with that firecracker friend of yours lightin' things up."

Clementine laughed. "Bonnie sure is something, isn't she? Hope she didn't put you too much on the spot in there."

Elvis leaned against the railing beside her, a slow grin spreading across his face. "Nothin' I can't handle. Your girl's got a tongue quicker'n a rattler's strike, but she means well. Kinda reminds me of someone else I know." He shot her a wink.

"Wonder who that could be," Clementine teased, bumping his shoulder playfully with her own. She took a moment to really look at him, warmth blooming in her chest. The past weeks had been hard on him, but he was finally starting to look like his old self again—color in his cheeks, that familiar glint of mischief in his blue eyes.

"I'm real glad you're feeling better, Elvis. We were all so worried about you, you know."

He ducked his head, suddenly bashful. "Shucks, ain't no need for worryin'. Can't keep a stubborn ol' mule like me down for long."

"I have never met a mule half as stubborn as you, Elvis Presley," Clementine ribbed.

"You got me there," he conceded with a chuckle. Then his expression softened. "I never did thank ya proper, Clem. For takin' such good care of me when I was laid up. Ida told me how you were always there, changin' my bandages and makin' sure I took my medicine... I 'preciate it. More'n you know."

Clementine felt a sudden lump in her throat. "Of course, Elvis. There wasn't anywhere else I would've been. I couldn't have bared it if... if we'd lost you. Windy Creek just wouldn't be the same without you."

Elvis looked at her intently, something flickering in his gaze that made her heart skip. "That so?"

"It is," Clementine whispered, feeling pulled in by some invisible force between them.

Elvis reached out, tenderly brushing a stray curl behind her ear. His fingertips lingered on her cheek and Clementine's breath hitched. "Clem, I..."

Just then, the sound of raucous laughter erupted from inside the house, breaking the spell. Elvis dropped his hand and they both took an unconscious step back, the air suddenly thick with words unsaid.

Clementine cleared her throat, trying to calm the riot of butterflies in her stomach. "We should probably head back in soon. Wouldn't want Bonnie to commandeer the whole evening."

"Heaven forbid," Elvis agreed, the corner of his mouth quirking up. 

But neither of them actually moved. Clementine and Elvis lingered on the porch for a moment longer, not quite ready to rejoin the clamor inside. The night air was cool and sweet, the distant sounds of crickets and lowing cattle a soothing backdrop to their companionable silence.

Elvis fished in his pocket for a moment before withdrawing a battered harmonica. At Clementine's curious look, he just grinned and brought it to his full lips, blowing a few soft, experimental notes.

"Huh, I didn't know you played," Clementine said, pleasantly surprised.

Elvis shrugged, his eyes twinkling in the low light. "There's a lot you don't know about me, darlin'. I'm a man of many talents."

"Is that so?" Clementine arched a brow, fighting back a smile. "And here I thought I had you all figured out. The strong, silent type with a heart of gold."

"Aw shucks, you'll make me blush," Elvis teased. He leaned back against the porch rail, cradling the harmonica loosely in his hands. "Nah, I ain't nothin' special. Just a cowpoke who likes a good tune now and then."

"I don't believe that for a second," Clementine said softly. "I think you're a lot more than you let on, Elvis Presley."

He looked at her then, something raw and unguarded in his gaze. "Maybe so. But I could say the same about you. When you first blew into town with your fancy city clothes and your high-falutin' ideas, I reckoned you wouldn't last a month out here."

Clementine huffed out a laugh. "Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence."

"Lemme finish," Elvis chided gently. "What I'm tryin' to say is you surprised me, Clem. You're tougher than you look. Stronger. You've taken to this life like you were born to it, and you ain't afraid to get your hands dirty or speak your mind. It's a rare thing, and I admire it. Admire... you."

Clementine felt a flush creep up her neck at his words, her heart suddenly racing. "I... I don't know what to say. Thank you, Elvis. That means a lot, coming from you."

He ducked his head, suddenly bashful. "Ain't nothin' but the truth. Windy Creek's lucky to have you."

"I think I'm the lucky one," Clementine said softly. "I never knew how much I needed this place, these people, until I found myself here. It's like... like I finally found where I belong." She laughed self-consciously. "Listen to me, getting all sentimental. Bonnie would never let me hear the end of it."

"Secret's safe with me," Elvis promised with a wink. "But I know what you mean. This ranch... it has a way of gettin' under your skin, makin' you feel like a part of somethin' bigger. It ain't always easy, but it's a good life. An honest one." He raised the harmonica to his lips again, blowing a few mournful notes that seemed to hang in the night air.

Clementine closed her eyes, letting the music wash over her. When it faded away, she opened them again to find Elvis watching her, an unreadable expression on his face. "That was beautiful," she said honestly. "Will you teach me to play like that?"

Elvis's face split into a delighted grin. "You want to learn? Well alright then, c'mere." He beckoned her closer until they were standing side by side, shoulders almost brushing. He handed her the harmonica, arranging her fingers on the holes. "Now, purse your lips like you're gonna whistle, and blow real gentle-like."

Clementine did as instructed, letting out a breathy, off-key squeak. She dissolved into laughter. "I sound like a dying cow!"

Elvis chuckled, shaking his head. "Nah, that was good for a first try. You just gotta adjust your embouchure a little, like this—" 

“Embou-what?”

“Embouchure. What, you don’t speak Eye-talian?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s French.”

“Oh.” The two erupted into laughter, a deep belly ache that had them soon doubled over the porch railing and wiping tears from their eyes. 

“Your mouth position, silly girl. Look at me, teachin’ a fancy New York City girl something!” 

Clem playfully slapped him on the arm. “I am not fancy!” She bent her leg to show him her well-worn, mud-covered boot. “See?” 

Elvis laughed and brought his own hands up to cup hers, guiding the harmonica back to her mouth. This close, she could feel the heat of him, could catch the faint scent of leather and soap and something uniquely Elvis. It made her head swim pleasantly.

Under his careful tutelage, Clementine managed to produce a passable chord. She beamed up at him, giddy with the small success. "I did it!"

"Sure did," Elvis praised, his eyes warm and proud. "Stick with me, kid, and you'll be a regular vir-tu-o-so in no time. Or... is that another word I gotta teach ya?”

“Ha ha. Very funny.”

They stayed like that for a while, huddled together in the pool of lantern light, trading the harmonica back and forth as Elvis taught her a simple melody. It was a rare moment of peace, a stolen pocket of time where the rest of the world and all its troubles fell away. 

As the moon climbed higher in the star-strewn sky, Clementine finally straightened up with a sigh. "I suppose we really should head back in. Bonnie's liable to send out a search party if we stay out here much longer."

Elvis huffed out a laugh. "Lord have mercy. I don't think I'm ready for another interrogation quite yet." He hesitated for a beat, then reached out to take Clementine's hand in his. "Clem, I... I just wanted to say..."

But before he could finish the thought, the porch door banged open and Bonnie's vibrant red head poked out. "There you are! I was starting to think you two had run off together." Her green eyes sparkled with mischief as she took in their linked hands and close proximity.

Clementine felt a blush stain her cheeks and she stepped back self-consciously, dropping Elvis's hand. "Bonnie! We were just... Elvis was showing me how to play the harmonica."

"Uh huh," Bonnie teased, waggling her eyebrows suggestively. "Well, hell, don't let me interrupt. I just came to tell you that apparently Ida's famous peach pie is being served, and if you don't get in there soon, Slim's liable to eat the whole thing himself."

"We'll be right there," Clementine promised. Bonnie flashed them a knowing grin and a jaunty salute before disappearing back inside, leaving them alone once more.

Clementine turned back to Elvis, an apology on her lips, but he just shook his head with a rueful smile. "Never a dull moment with that one around, is there?"

"Welcome to my world," Clementine said dryly. "I love that girl to pieces, but subtlety's never been her strong suit."

"Seems to me she's just lookin' out for her best friend," Elvis mused. "Can't fault her for that. You're lucky to have someone who cares about you so much. Hell, we all care about you."

For a suspended moment, they just stared at each other, the air heavy with unspoken longing. Elvis's gaze dropped to her mouth, his thumbs sweeping over the delicate arch of her cheekbones. Clementine's lips parted on a shallow inhale, her body thrumming with anticipation.

But before either of them could close that final distance, a sudden crash sounded from inside the house, followed by a peal of laughter and Red's booming voice calling out an apology.

The spell was broken. Elvis released her and stepped back, clearing his throat roughly. "We should, uh... we should probably get in there. Before they tear the place down around Miss Ida's ears."

"Right," Clementine agreed, trying to calm the riot of her pulse. "We wouldn't want that."

Elvis held out his arm to her, a small, crooked smile on his lips. "Shall we, boss lady?"

As the evening wound down, Katie stood up, smoothing her skirts. "Well, I should be getting back to Big Sky. Early morning tomorrow." She turned to Elvis, a soft smile on her face. "Walk me out?"

Elvis hesitated, glancing at Clementine. But then he nodded, pushing back his chair. "Of course."

Clementine watched them go, her heart sinking. She knew it was foolish to read too much into a simple gesture of courtesy. But she couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted, that Katie's return had stirred up old feelings best left buried.

Bonnie, sensing her friend's distress, reached over to squeeze her hand. "Don't worry, Clemmie. He'll come around. He just needs time to sort through his feelings."

Clementine nodded, trying to take comfort in her friend's words. But the doubt lingered, a small, insistent voice in the back of her mind.

“Yeah, well, maybe by then I’ll already have moved on.”

*

Clementine sat at the card table, trying to focus on the game of poker in front of her. But her attention kept drifting to the table across the room, where Elvis and Katie sat huddled together, laughing and whispering like old friends.

She couldn't help but compare their easy intimacy to the tender moment she and Elvis had shared on the porch just a few nights ago. The way he had looked at her, the gentle brush of his fingers against her cheek... it had felt so real, so meaningful.

But now, watching him with Katie, Clementine couldn't help but wonder if she had been reading too much into it. If the connection she thought they shared was nothing more than wishful thinking on her part.

"Clemmie? It's your turn, darling." Bonnie's voice snapped her out of her reverie, and Clementine blinked, realizing she had been staring off into space.

"Oh, right. Sorry." She studied her cards, trying to remember what game they were even playing. Across from her, Red and Lyle exchanged knowing glances, their eyes flickering between her and the other table.

Clementine felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment and frustration. Was she really so transparent? Did everyone on the ranch know about her foolish, unrequited feelings for Elvis?

She was just about to make a halfhearted bet when the door to the bunkhouse swung open and Ida bustled in, a letter clutched in her hand.

"Miss Clementine, I'm so sorry to interrupt, but I completely forgot to give you this earlier. It arrived with the afternoon post." She held out the envelope, her face creased with a smile.

Clementine took the letter, recognizing Joseph's familiar handwriting. She had been corresponding with her old friend for weeks, sharing stories about life on the ranch and seeking his advice when things with Elvis got complicated. It had become a comforting routine, a way to stay connected to her old life while embracing her new one.

She opened the envelope, expecting to find another friendly, chatty letter full of news from home and words of encouragement. But as her eyes scanned the first few lines, Clementine felt her stomach drop.

"Oh no," she muttered under her breath. "Oh no, no, no. I’ve really made a mess now."

"Clemmie? What is it? What's wrong?" Bonnie leaned in close, her voice low and concerned.

Clementine looked up, her face pale. "It's Joseph. He's... he's coming to Windy Creek. Says he's booked a ticket and everything."

Bonnie's eyes widened. "Joseph? As in, your Joseph?"

Clementine nodded miserably. "I've been writing to him, just as a friend. I never thought he'd actually come out here. Oh, Bonnie, what am I going to do?"

Bonnie reached out, squeezing Clementine's hand. "Don't panic, Clemmie. We'll figure this out. It's not like you invited him, right?"

Clementine shook her head. "No, of course not. But... what if Elvis finds out? What if he thinks..." She trailed off, her gaze drifting back to the other table where Elvis and Katie sat, still deep in conversation.

Bonnie followed her gaze, her expression thoughtful. Even she had to admit it: "Clementine, honey, I don't think you have anything to worry about on that front. Elvis is clearly still hung up on Little Miss Perfect over there."

Clementine sighed, her heart sinking. Bonnie was right. Elvis had made his feelings for Katie abundantly clear. What right did she have to be upset about Joseph's visit when Elvis was practically fawning over his ex-fiancée right in front of her?

Still, the thought of her former beau showing up unannounced, stirring up old memories and complications... it was enough to make Clementine's head spin.

She took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing thoughts. "Okay," she said, more to herself than to Bonnie. "Okay. I can handle this. It's just a friendly visit from an old friend, right? No big deal."

Bonnie nodded, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Exactly. And who knows? Maybe a little competition is just what Mr. Stubborn over there needs to pull his head out of his rear and realize what he's got right in front of him."

Clementine couldn't help but laugh at that, some of the tension easing from her shoulders. Trust Bonnie to find the silver lining in even the most awkward of situations.

Across the room, Elvis glanced over at the sound of Clementine's laughter, his brow furrowing slightly. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss, that the letter Ida had delivered had upset Clementine in some way.

But before he could dwell on it further, Katie was leaning in close again, her hair brushing against his cheek as she whispered something in his ear. Elvis forced a smile, trying to focus on the conversation at hand, but Katie’s perfume smelled so good.

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[deerlino]

ah, hello! i’ve just stumbled across your blog, and your writing is so, so adorable. if possible, may i please request a little academic rivalry with seungmin? where the reader and seungmin are both ranked in the top 2 and atrociously competitive in class but all soft and mushy outside of class? last thing—i’m not sure if you’re doing this, but if so, may i please be your 🖋️ anon? thank you!

a study in rivalry.

kim seungmin x gn!reader / you and seungmin are like two peas in a pod when it comes to academic competition. you’re both top dogs in the class rankings and will go to great lengths to outdo each other. but once the bell rings, it’s all softness and mush between you two.

additional tags / fluff, secret relationship, academic rivalry, school setting, (competitive) banter, soft!seungmin, silly and sappy, study date (kinda) — 1.2k words in total.

content warnings / one subtle innuendo (suggestive) joke-comment, lots of smooches

authors note @ 🖋️ anon / my first request on here, and i'm grinning ear to ear! 🥺 this was a blast, seriously. i'm all about that academic rivals trope—it's one of my absolute faves. got so caught up in writing that it ended up way longer than my usual stuff, hitting 1.2k words! so, to my lovely anon, big thanks for the awesome request! <3 and, of course you can be my “🖋️ anon”. i'd be over the moon! hope you adore it as much as i loved writing it! <3

You’re the first to arrive in the classroom, as usual. You’ve always been the type to get to school early, not because you’re diligent, but because you relish those few moments of peace before the day’s chaos begins. Besides, it gives you a chance to mentally prepare for your daily battle: Seungmin.

Seungmin. The name alone was enough to make your blood boil in class. He was the only one standing between you and that coveted number one spot in the academic rankings. Calm, composed, and infuriatingly good at everything. Yet, outside the confines of the classroom, he was your boyfriend, your secret, your soft spot.

You sit in your usual spot, right at the front, flipping through your notes, pretending to be engrossed in your study when, really, you’re just waiting for him to show up.

And right on cue, he strolls in, looking way too relaxed for someone who's about to go head-to-head with you. He slides into his seat beside you, leaning back as if he owns the place. He doesn't even look at you, just starts unpacking his bag.

“You ready to lose today?” he asks, still not making eye contact. The nerve.

“Funny, I was going to ask you the same thing,” you shoot back, finally glancing at him. He meets your gaze, and for a moment, you forget where you are. His eyes do that thing where they crinkle at the edges, and damn if it doesn't make your heart skip a beat.

Class starts, and the war begins. It’s all silent competition; who can raise their hand faster, who can answer the questions more thoroughly, who can earn that approving nod from the teacher. It’s exhausting, but you live for it. You’ve always been competitive, and Seungmin just amplifies it.

The first bell rings, signaling the start of class. As you and Seungmin sit side by side, the usual tension between you simmers just beneath the surface. The teacher begins the lecture, and it doesn’t take long for the competition to kick off.

“Can anyone tell me the significance of this equation?” the teacher asks, writing a complex formula on the board.

You shoot your hand up, barely beating Seungmin by a fraction of a second. “It demonstrates the relationship between the variables in a nonlinear system,” you say confidently.

The teacher nods approvingly. “Correct.”

Seungmin scoffs quietly beside you, whispering just loud enough for you to hear, “Show-off.”

You kick him lightly under the table. “Jealous much?”

He smirks, leaning closer. “Of your answer? Please. I just let you have that one.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the smile tugging at your lips. The next question comes, and this time, Seungmin beats you to it. He answers flawlessly, and you narrow your eyes at him, mouthing, “Lucky guess.”

He winks at you, the smugness radiating off him. “Skill, not luck,” he whispers back.

The class continues like this, each of you trying to outdo the other. The teacher, used to your antics, doesn’t even bother to hide her amusement anymore. When the bell finally rings, signaling the end of class, you’re both mentally drained but still riding the high of your rivalry.

As everyone files out, you stay back, taking your time gathering your things. Seungmin lingers too. The moment the last student leaves, he drops the act. He steps closer, pulling you into a tight hug, his head resting on your shoulder.

“You’re ridiculous, you know that?” you murmur into his ear, arms wrapping around him.

“Me? You’re the ridiculous one. Who spends that much time studying for a pop quiz?” He pulls back, looking down at you with that stupidly charming smile.

“You, apparently,” you retort, poking him in the chest. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you studying late last night.”

His face reddens, just a bit. “Caught me,” he admits with a chuckle. “But only because I knew you’d be doing the same.”

You both leave the classroom, walking down the hallway hand in hand. The contrast between the two of you in class and out of class is ridiculous. In class, it's all fire and competition, but out here, you’re soft and mushy, completely wrapped up in each other.

Seungmin's eyes spark with mischief as he glances around, ensuring no one’s watching before he tugs you into a secluded corner. He presses you against the wall, his touch sending a thrill down your spine as he leans in to steal a quick, teasing kiss.

“So, what’s the plan for today?” he asks, his breath warm against your skin, his lips hovering just inches from yours.

You can't help but grin at his playful demeanor. "Well, I was thinking we could go back to my place and... study," you reply with a suggestive wiggle of your eyebrows.

Seungmin's own eyebrows shoot up in amusement. "Oh, really? I do love a good study session," he says, his tone dripping with innuendo.

You playfully swat his chest. "I mean it this time, mister. No distractions," you say, trying to sound stern but failing to suppress your laughter.

He chuckles, leaning in to whisper in your ear, "We'll see about that."

Back at your place, you and Seungmin sit at your desk, textbooks and notes spread out in front of you. Or at least, that was the plan. Instead, you find yourselves engaged in a different kind of studying, one that involves stolen glances, whispered confessions, and tender touches.

Seungmin leans close, his voice low and husky as he murmurs, “You’re supposed to be studying, you know.”

You feign innocence, batting your eyelashes at him. “But I am studying... the art of distraction,” you reply with a mischievous grin, tracing circles on his arm.

He shakes his head, his lips quirking up into a smile. “You’re incorrigible,” he says, leaning in to steal a soft kiss.

You giggle, feeling your heart flutter at his affectionate gesture. “Only for you,” you tease, leaning in to steal another kiss.

He captures your lips in a sweet, lingering kiss, his hand gently cradling your cheek. “Lucky me,” he whispers against your lips, his eyes shining with adoration.

Hours pass in a blur of laughter, banter, and stolen kisses, the textbooks long forgotten in favor of each other's company. As the sun sets outside, casting a warm glow through the window, you find yourselves curled up on the couch, wrapped in each other's arms.

Seungmin’s fingers trace lazy patterns on your back as you lean against his chest, content and at peace in his embrace. It’s moments like these that you treasure the most, when it’s just the two of you, lost in your own little world.

“You know,” Seungmin says softly, breaking the comfortable silence, “I wouldn’t trade this for anything in the world.”

You look up at him, your heart swelling with love. “Me neither,” you say, reaching up to cup his cheek.

He leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “I love you,” he murmurs against your skin, his words filled with sincerity.

You smile, feeling a warm rush of affection wash over you. “I love you too,” you whisper back, snuggling closer to him.

And in that moment, as the world outside fades away and it’s just you and Seungmin, you know that you wouldn’t change a thing.

© deerlino (est. 070624) ༯ heyo, did you enjoy this piece? if you did, maybe you could reblog, drop a comment, or shoot me an ask to let me know your thoughts. also, feel free to check out my other stuff! thanks a bunch for the support! <3