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lonely-ey3s · 1 month ago

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Ride or Die | Chapter Three

pairing: rodeo/cowboy!joel miller x f!reader

chapter summary : With you and Joel growing closer on the Ferris wheel and afterwards - your father continues to overstep boundaries. When Joel invites you to go dancing with him and his brother, Tommy, your trust is tested, and you've never felt so confused and conflicted with those around you that you thought you could count on.

chapter warnings: fluff, slow burn-ish, angst, Joel pre-outbreak and pre Sarah. Joel and reader are mid to late 20's. Joel speaks Spanish (translations will be there), reader has a somewhat emotionally abusive father, gaslighting, racism, flirting, flashbacks, sexual harassment, drinking, mentions of SMUT (18+ MDNI), teasing, sexual tension.

word count: 7.3k

a/n: as a reminder, chapters will be every other sunday-- alternating with heartlines !!

Dividers by: @saradika-graphics and @cafekitsune

Masterlist

The Ferris wheel rose slowly, the car swaying just a little as it climbed higher into the summer night.

Below, the fair stretched out in every direction — glittering booths, winding rows of food trucks, the carousel spinning in soft, golden circles. Music drifted up on the breeze, mixed with the distant laughs and voices of those below.

You leaned slightly over the edge, not dangerously, just enough to take it all in. The air felt cooler up here, the chaos below softened by distance. It was beautiful. It felt like magic.

And then… a knot formed in your chest.

Because you’d seen this view before.

Same fair. Same warm air. Same twinkling lights.

Only back then… you’d been alone.

The memory hit you fast — unexpected and sharp.

The night you’d begged Riley back in high school to take you to the fair, just like this. You wanted to see the 4th of July fireworks show, something your mom always took you to. It was something special, something you wanted to share with him.

You could still hear the sound of his voice, flat and dismissive: “You seriously gonna cry over corn dogs and Ferris wheels?”

The sting of standing there in your sundress – one you wore just for him.

The pain of watching him peel away in a car full of his buddies, like you were nothing more than an inconvenience.

You remembered walking the fairgrounds alone that night, pretending not to care. Telling yourself the lights and the noise were enough. But up on the Ferris wheel alone, you had looked down at the fair and realized something you couldn’t un-realize.

You hadn’t just wanted cotton candy and fireworks. You wanted to be chosen.

And he hadn’t.

Your chest tightened, but before the ache could pull you under, a warm hand settled on top of yours.

You turned your head, blinking back into the present — into this moment.

Joel sat beside you, his fingers laced with yours, thumb tracing slow, grounding circles along your knuckles.

He didn’t say anything, didn’t have to. He just looked at you with that open, steady kind of gaze that made you feel like maybe the whole world had waited for you both to get here.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low, gentle.

You nodded slowly, your throat thick. “Yeah. Just… remembering an old memory...”

He didn’t press. He just lifted your joined hands to his lips and kissed your knuckles softly, holding you like something precious, something wanted.

And when the Ferris wheel creaked to a stop at the very top, the fireworks cracked open in the sky — brilliant and loud and beautiful.

You leaned into him, looking above you in awe, and whispered, “Thank you for being here.”

Joel smiled and pressed a gentle kiss to your temple. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be, hermosa…”

You smiled and leaned your head onto his shoulder as the two of you watched the show.

A few moments went by, and the tension of the show building up to the big finale made the tension between the two of you intense.

You looked down at your hand in his and bit your lip, remembering the events of today: the photo booth, the stables, the kiss.

You couldn’t put it into words, the feeling. The light sense of comfort you had all day, the safety, the sense of being desired by someone who was a good person — a good man.

He looked down and did the same, reminiscing about every moment he’d had with you today. His heart hadn’t calmed down from constantly pounding in his chest, the butterflies in his stomach kept fluttering, and his mind was racing. You — it was all you. He was consumed, intoxicated, and completely committed to you.

He turned his head a fraction to kiss the top of yours before softly saying your name.

You glanced up at him and hummed in acknowledgment. Your eyes danced across his features, slowly, as a warm smile stretched across your face, taking in the look in his eyes.

His hand reached across with his free hand and tucked your hair behind your ear before his fingertips softly caressed your cheek. The lights of the fireworks making your eyes sparkle. "God, you're so beautiful..." He leaned in and whispered. “Soñaré contigo…” (I’ll dream of you)

Before you had a chance to speak, he closed the distance. He kissed your lips tenderly but deeply, moving his hand further back to cradle you by the base of your neck.

Fireworks began to go off rapidly as the show began it's finale presentation.

But you didn’t hear it.

You didn’t jump when they struck the sky like you usually did. No – everything was muted, floating around you in slow motion.

His lips on yours had the effect of putting you into a trance, slowing down all space and time — doing something that no physicist could ever explain.

Your hand instinctually moved to his chest. Your palm laying over his heart as it beat rapidly in his chest.

When he pulled back he leaned his forehead against yours and nudged his nose against yours gently. “Wanna get a funnel cake to share and go sit in my truck? Talk for a bit? I’ll drive ya home…” he opened his eyes and stroked your cheek with his thumb.

You blushed, your eyes staying close, staying in the moment with him as long as you could. You softly giggled as your eyes opened and you looked up into his eyes, “Yeah, I’d like that…”

He smiled and leaned up, kissing your forehead before he leaned back, and the two of you waited together as the ride came back down.

After the two of you got off the Ferris wheel, the night died down, and the fair had quieted.

The fireworks were over. The Ferris wheel lights had gone dim, and most of the crowd had filtered out, arms full of prizes and leftover popcorn.

You and Joel sat on the tailgate of his truck, parked just far enough from the fairgrounds that the noise felt like a memory. A half-empty cup of lemonade sat between you two as you sat and shared that funnel cake together.

The night air had cooled, but his hoodie around your shoulders kept you warm. You hadn’t asked for it—he’d just handed it to you the second you got out there without saying a word.

You were quiet for a while. And he didn’t rush you, he just enjoyed your company.

Just sat with you, shoulder to shoulder, like silence wasn’t something that had to be filled, but something you two could share.

Finally, you exhaled slowly and said, “I’ve only been up there one other time… on the Ferris wheel.”

Joel turned his head, waiting.

You stared straight ahead, fingers picking at the hem of the hoodie sleeve. “It was years ago. High school. I really wanted to come, but Riley… well, he ditched me. Said he had something better to do. So I came alone. Rode the Ferris wheel by myself. I was so convinced I was fine, that being alone was ok.” Your voice faltered for a moment, but you kept going. “But, I remember sitting up there, watching everyone else laugh and hold hands and... I just felt stupid. Like I wanted something from him… something that I didn’t deserve.”

Joel didn’t say anything at first. He just gently reached over, threading his fingers through yours, letting the silence stretch—safe, not empty.

“You didn’t deserve that,” he said finally, his voice steady. “You never deserved to be made to feel small. Or unwanted.”

You looked over at him, your eyes wet but clear. “I know that now. Hell, I don’t know why I left here to follow him to Nashville. I knew it wouldn’t work out… I mean, deep down, something always sat wrong,” you sadly scoffed and shook your head. “But back then… I really thought it was my fault, or things would get better.”

He turned fully towards you then, reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear with his free hand.

“I wish I did a lot with you back then… I saw how he treated you, and I just sat back. I didn’t think it was any of my business." he looked down for a moment, shamefully, then back up. "But — I regret the time I haven’t been able to give you — time where you feel like you are enough.” he paused, and his eyes scanned your features.

“I wish I could've been up there... to hold your hand and tell you that one day, you’d never have to wonder if you were enough again.” He sat there for a moment then spoke more surely.

Your breath caught.

“Because you are,” he added. “You’re more than enough. You always have been. And I’m sorry anyone ever made you feel otherwise.”

Tears slipped down your cheeks silently, but he kissed them away — slow, tender. No urgency. No performance. Just lovingly pressed into your skin like a promise.

“I felt it tonight,” you whispered when pulled away. “The difference. What it’s like to be… chosen.”

Joel smiled, soft and sure. “I’ll choose you every damn time, querida.”

You leaned into him, head resting on his shoulder, as his arm wrapped around you, strong and steady.

After some time you both decided it was time to head home.

The drive back was quiet in the best kind of way.

Your head leaned gently against the passenger window, the distant glow of the fairgrounds fading in the rearview mirror. The truck's cab smelled faintly of mint and dust, and his cologne — the kind of scent that settles into your memory whether you want it to or not.

Joel tapped the steering wheel softly in time with the country song playing low on the radio. Every so often, he glanced over at you, like he was making sure you were still okay… still with him after the heavy conversation earlier.

You caught one of those glances and smiled softly. “You’re doing that thing again...”

“What thing?” he asked, but his grin gave him away.

You let out a light chuckle, “Looking at me like you’re trying to figure something out.”

He shrugged, eyes flicking back to the road. “Just trying to decide if I’m gonna be able to wait more than a day to see you again, hermosa.”

Your heart fluttered — the same way it had when he held your hand at the top of the Ferris wheel or when he kissed you in the photobooth like the world had stopped for just the two of you.

“I guess you’ll just have to wait and see, cowboy…” you teased.

When he reached your driveway, he threw the truck in park but didn’t turn the key. The engine hummed quietly beneath you two. Crickets sang outside like the night was still wide awake, even if the rest of the world was asleep.

He climbed out first and came around to open your door, offering his hand like a cowboy straight out of a movie — the good kind. The kind who meant every gentle touch and slow smile.

At your doorstep, you turned to face him, your fingers brushing his lightly.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, looking up at him as you wore his two-sizes-too-big hoodie over your sundress. If he could, he’d take a picture at how damn cute he thought you looked right now.

“For what?” he teased his fingers with yours as they lay between the two of you, shyly.

“For today... for tonight. For… being the exact opposite of everything I’ve ever known.”

Joel stepped a little closer, his voice low and warm. “You deserve everything good, you know that?”

A slight breeze blew behind you, blowing a strand of hair onto your face, causing you both to chuckle softly.

He reached out and tucked it behind your ear, letting his fingertips trail down your jaw before tilting your chin up.

Then he kissed you.

It was soft, at first — careful. But it deepened just enough to leave you breathless, your hands curling into the front of his shirt. It was a goodnight kiss that didn’t want to say goodbye yet.

When you finally pulled apart, he kept his forehead resting against yours, your breaths mingling in the quiet.

“I wanna take you dancing,” he said suddenly.

You blinked. “What?”

He chuckled. “Me, you, and my brother go out to this cowboy bar on the edge of town. Live music, two-stepping, probably some terrible line dances... you in?”

You grinned, heart skipping. “Are you asking me on a second date with your brother as a chaperone?” you teased, reaching up and gently combing his hair back over his ear.

He craved the contact you gave him; the small gestures like that will have him singing Frank Sinatra on the way home with the windows rolled down.

“He's more of a third-wheel, really,” Joel said. “But yeah. I’m asking.”

“I’m in,” you said, smiling up at him. “But only if you promise to spin me around at least once.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he whispered, brushing one last kiss against your lips. “I’ll spin you all night long.”

You laughed and then hummed against his lips, “It’s late…” you whispered.

He whispered back, “I know…” he took a deep breath, inhaling your sweet scent once more before he pulled away and walked backwards, slowly letting go of your hand.

“Goodnight, cowboy...” you said as you reached behind and twisted the door open.

“Goodnight, querida…” he stood at the bottom of your porch steps, looking up at you.

You reluctantly stepped inside with your heart full and your cheeks warm.

But when you closed the door, you didn’t feel the old familiar ache of being left behind.

You felt chosen.

You sighed softly with your back against the front door and smiled to yourself.

After a few moments, you quietly took off your shoes and started tiptoeing towards the stairs.

Right before you crossed the boundary from the living room to the hallway, a light from behind came on.

“It’s 1 o’clock in the mornin’, where the hell have you been?” your dad said, sounding annoyed, a hint of anger.

‘Oh for fuck sakes…’ you thought, annoyed.

You turned around and sighed. “I told you that I’d be home late. Not to wait up.”

“Yeah, and I texted back sayin’ to be home before midnight.” he stood from the chair he’d been sitting in. “Was that him? The Miller boy?”

“You say that like saying his first name makes it dirty or too real.” You shook your head and leaned against the doorframe. “His name is Joel… and yes, that was him.” You crossed your arms over your chest, biting the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from mouthing off.

He stood there and clenched his jaw, trying to keep his temper under control. “I told you he wasn’t welcome here…”

“Yeah I know — which is why he dropped me off at the door.” you bit out harshly. “What? Is he barred from the property?” you sarcastically asked.

He turned and looked out the window, his anger starting to boil with your lack of respect and sarcasm.

“Dad, I’m a grown adult. For you to tell me that my date can’t come onto the property seems ridiculous and an abuse of power.” you said plainly.

“Yeah, well, you don’t pay the mortgage, do you? So I guess I pay — I make the rules,” he said without turning his head.

“Oh, so if this is about money, I’d be happy to pay rent if it means I’m contributing to making this house less of an authoritarianism,” you scoffed and pulled open your purse, searching for your wallet.

Your dad turned around and saw what you were doing, and let out a chuckle, “You can’t pay me re—“

You slammed $300 cash onto the coffee table that laid between the two of you, “I know you pay two thousand for the mortgage. Consider that half of my third. I’ll have the rest to you tomorrow morning if that's the game you want to play.”

He didn’t say anything.

Truthfully he didn’t think your job paid you that well, enough that you could do that.

He stood there, too stunned to speak, but then looked at you and swallowed, “Just because you pay me doesn’t mean I want that boy over here.”

Something in you broke. Nothing would be good enough.

All you could feel was hopelessness at this moment.

The little girl in you started to fracture.

The little girl whose mom died when she was just barely becoming herself.

The little girl who’s daddy resented her and her siblings for being alive afterwards.

The little girl who was forced to grow up before her mom was even in the ground.

The little girl who lost her dad the second her mom took her last breath.

You looked at him and tilted your head, eyes glossy, “What happened to you?”

His eyebrow raised and he scoffed, “What? Nothing happened to me — what do you mean?” he asked, feeling cornered.

Your eyes went sad, and the little girl that you hid and protected from so much, she came to the surface.

“You became so cold when Mom died. You just… you’re not the dad that used to go horseback ridin' with me, that made heart-shaped pancakes for me every Sunday morning, the dad that would have marched to Nashville to beat my cheating fiancé — instead of blaming me… I..." Your lip quivered, so you stepped back and clenched your jaw to suppress the emotion.

You watched him stiffen up as well and turn away, staying quiet.

You nodded and tutted, this was nothing new. He was never going to admit he's in the wrong.

“Whatever… doesn’t matter. I’m going to bed.” You turned around and knocked on the door frame. “Night.”

He didn’t respond or say another word; he just stood there, stuck in his own guilt.

You went up the stairs. Tears fell the moment you turned your back away from him.

The moment you were in the sanctuary of your room and closed your door, you didn’t bother to undress. Not when you were wrapped in the last piece of Joel you could have to yourself.

You curled up into your bed, sleeves close to your face, softly breathing in the remnants of his cologne stuck in the fabric. Breathing it in deeply as it lulled you to sleep.

Saturday night

The bar was already alive when you both walked in — boots thudding against the hardwood floor, twangy guitar riffs cutting through the air, and the smell of whiskey and barbecue thick in the room.

Joel picked you up from your sister’s place.

Since that night, you and your dad continue to argue about Joel coming onto the property. So once Ev found out, she told you he could pick you up at hers until your dad woke up and smelled the roses.

When he asked, you just told Joel she helped you get ready, and with her little boy, it was just easier to go over to her house rather than her come to your dad's.

You weren’t ready to let him in on that piece of information. That your dad loathed him for just being a Miller. That part wasn’t fair for him to know, at least not now — not when things were so good.

Joel’s hand stayed at the small of your back, warm and steady as he guided you past the crowd. You liked the way it felt — not possessive, just connected. Like he wanted you close, and you wanted to be kept there.

His brother, Tommy, was already waiting by the bar, leaning casually against the counter, cowboy hat tipped back and grinning, seeing his brother with you.

Tommy was known back in high school to be the troublemaker, the problem child. You couldn’t count the times you saw him in the principal's office for something stupid he’d done. However, he was the life of any party and one of the kindest souls you’ve ever met. All of the Miller’s were kind, which is why you didn’t know why your dad had such a stick up his ass about them.

"You're late," he said.

"We’re fashionably late," Joel replied, sliding his arm around your waist as he introduced you to Tommy. You smiled and shook his hand, charmed by the easy banter between the brothers.

“It’s good to see you back in town, Whitaker…” Tommy winked.

You smiled softly and nodded. “It’s good to be back, Miller.” You winked back.

He laughed heartily and looked at Joel, “She’s a lot less shy than the old days…” He looked at you, grinning. “You’re a lot less shy, darlin’…”

You chuckled softly and shrugged, “A lot can change in a couple of years." You smirked. "You still the troublemaker?”

He grinned and bit his lip. “Always.”

Joel rolled his eyes and tsked. “That you are, little brother.”

Tommy chuckled and lightly tapped Joel’s shoulder, “Ya’ll want a drink? First rounds on me!”

Joel looked down at you, his thumb lightly rubbing circles into your waist, “What’s your drink of choice?”

You looked at Joel for a moment and smiled, then looked at Tommy and nodded, “Surprise me?”

Tommy clicked his tongue and nodded then knocked his hand against the bar, “You got it!” He then turned to the bartender and ordered drinks for the three of you.

Your phone buzzed, a familiar area code from Nashville popping up, making you think it was for work.

You turned back to Joel and put your hand on his chest before leaning up and kissing his cheek, “I’ll be right back, I’m going to use the powder room quick.”

He put his hand over yours and kissed your forehead before telling you that he and Tommy would wait here for you to get back before finding a table.

You quickly weaved through the buzzing crowd to the ladies' room and answered the phone, “Hello?”

“Oh, so you’ll answer a random number but block mine?” Riley said, annoyed.

Instantly, a wave of anger started to boil through your veins. “Riley, I said never to contact me again. What the hell do you possibly want?”

The door swung open, and a couple of girls giggled as they came inside, country music briefly seeping through the room loudly.

“Where the hell are you?”

“That’s none of your business. I won’t ask again, Riley. Spit it out.”

“You’re on a date, aren’t you?” he seethed.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business. Now I’m hangin–”

He cut you off. “Your dad called, he begged me to make it up to you.” he chuckled coldly. “He said you’ve been going out with one of the Miller’s… uhm, what's his name... Joel?”

“My dad called you?” You scoffed and huffed.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me…” You muttered.

“Are you with him?”

You chuckled at his continued disregard for your boundaries. “Riley, you aren’t my fiancée anymore. I don’t owe you any explanation for where I am or who I’m with. Stop calling.” You went to hang up the phone.

He started to slur his words. “You’re fucking him aren’t you?” He taunted, and you could hear him take a swig of a drink, then mutter under his breath. “Fucking whore…”

You paused and were momentarily speechless; every part of you felt like it would explode. Your temper with your dad had been simmering for the last few days, and now this? You were done. This was crossing the line. Calling your ex? Calling your cheating piece of shit ex and telling him personal and private information he has no right to know anymore? Fuck him.

“I’m not the one who cheated and the one who’s drunk right now,” you said in a low warning tone. “You want to call me a whore? Go ahead. I’m the biggest whore – I’m the biggest whore for someone that has treated me better in a handful of dates than you ever did in in years!”

You saw yourself in the mirror and shook your head; you were worth more than this.

“Call me again, Riley, and I’ll file harassment charges. Leave me alone.” Then you hung up the phone and exhaled angrily.

You heard a voice from one of the stalls behind you, “You go, girl!” then a hiccup and giggle, followed by them vomiting into the toilet.

You shook your head and let out a chuckle as you leaned against the sink. “You good in there?”

“Peachy!” she coughed and vomited again.

“Just too many shots, am I right?” another voice came from the same area. You assumed it was the two girls who came in earlier.

You muttered to yourself. “Such a fuckin’ idiot…” You looked down and then pulled your phone back up and blocked the number he’d called from.

You then pulled your texting thread with your dad open and angrily typed:

‘You had no right to call him. Don’t ever do that again. I'll won't be coming home for the time being. Don't call or text. You crossed a line.’ Sent. Power off.

Your heart was hammering, fists clenched, body buzzing with the fury of betrayal.

He called your ex.

After everything you had just expressed to him? After you’d finally gotten the nerve to cut that part of your life off? After you told your family when Riley tried to reach out to each other them when you came home— not to reach out?

You breathe through your nose. Try to slow it down.

'Focus.'

The flickering fluorescent light overhead snaps once, then settles into a dull, sputtering buzz. It makes the already-yellowed tiles feel sickly, like you're standing inside a mouth that's never quite closed. Your reflection is a stranger: cheeks flushed, eyes wide and glassy. You look like you just ran five miles and lost every fight along the way. This is not how you wanted to start out tonight.

You close your eyes. You listen.

Beyond the door, the bar hums with life—guitars twang, boots stomp, someone yells something too joyful for how you feel. The girl in the stall gags to vomit again. The faucet drips, steady and maddening, like a ticking clock on a bomb you can't defuse.

You exhale shakily. The air smells of industrial cleaner, barely masking layers of sweat, spilled beer, and old cigarette smoke. Your own perfume has faded, now just a ghost clinging to the collar of your denim jacket. You can still taste the whiskey shot you took before leaving to ease your nerves —bitter, unearned, curling at the back of your throat like regret.

‘Focus on what you can feel…’ you remember reading in some self-help magazine you read at the airport.

The sink is cold beneath your hands. ‘There we go. Focus on that.’

You spread your fingers, flatten your palms.

‘Breathe in again, slower this time…’

The tile wall beside you is rough when you lean against it, forehead resting on cool ceramic.

You're sweating, and not just from the heat of the room. The anger—God, it’s thick in your blood, a hot, humming thing with nowhere to go.

But underneath it… you feel the ache. That gut-deep twist of being let down, again, by someone who should have been in your corner. Should have been in your corner all along.

‘Focus on something positive...’ you quickly pivoted, needing to get away from the anger.

You picture Joel’s face.

The way he looked at you when he helped you out of the truck earlier, warm and kind.

‘Think about how he gently placed his hand on your back when you walked into the bar. The way he held your side – to make you feel safe.’

You thought of Tommy’s laugh echoing as you teased each other.

‘You’re supposed to be out there with them, not unraveling in here.’

That was enough. The was the swift kick you needed.

You open your eyes and straighten up, whispering to yourself. “Let’s go have a good night.”

You check your reflection. Still flushed, but steadier now. You take one last breath—long, deliberate. You tuck your phone into your purse like you’re sealing something away.

Then you push open the bathroom door, head high, and step back into the bar.

The air out in the bar hits you like a wall—loud, warm, alive.

Music slides across the room in twangy waves, someone’s boot heel scrapes hard against the wooden floor, and laughter peals like wind chimes from the far end of the bar.

You come to the end of the hall and look out to find where you needed to go to regroup with Tommy and Joel.

You spot Joel near the bar, just where he said he’d be, leaning back against it, sipping on a pint of beer. He’s laughing at something Tommy just said, his head tipped back, that boyish grin lighting up his face in a way that makes your stomach twist—but for a good reason, this time.

When his eyes find you, you softly smile, but it wasn’t quick enough – he saw the shift.

He straightens up, shoulders tightening like he’s bracing for a storm. His grin softens into something smaller, more gentle. He sets the beer down on the bar and, without a word to Tommy, starts to walk toward you, weaving through the crowd like he doesn’t even see them.

“Hey,” he says, voice low, just for you. His eyes search your face, not in a prying way—but like he’s trying to read a weather report. “Everything alright?”

You nod. Too fast.

He doesn’t push, but he doesn’t look away either. One hand comes up to rest lightly on your arm, thumb brushing over your jacket sleeve. That one little touch steadies you more than you want to admit.

“Bathroom alright?” he adds, a little dry, a little teasing. It’s an out. He’s offering it gently, like he’s done this before.

You give him a small chuckle, trying to loosen up. “Yeah. Just needed to take a quick call.”

He nods like he believes you, but you can tell he doesn’t—not fully. He leans in, lowering his voice. “Come on, I got you somethin’ to eat…” then kissed your cheek softly and took your hand in his.

You follow him back to the table, heart still tight—but lighter now. The weight’s still there, but you’re not carrying it alone.

After a couple of drinks and a burger that you couldn’t put down, the band kicked up again — something fast and familiar. Couples gathered on the dance floor, boots scuffing and skirts twirling.

Joel leaned in as he sat beside you in the booth, his arm behind you as the two of you watched the stage from as you sat and ate — his mouth near your ear softly asks.

“You ready to dance, darlin’?”

You giggled, nerves now buzzing from the alcohol and entertainment, but nodded. “Show me your moves, cowboy.”

He grinned and slid out from the booth before he took your hand, confidently leading you into the fray.

The band transitioned into a new song, a line dance. You followed his lead, learning the steps quickly before giggling and joining in with the group as they danced to 'Boot Scoot Boogie'.

After another upbeat tune played, but this time he took your hand and pulled you into him.

One hand on your waist, the other strong and sure in yours, guiding you across the floor in smooth, spinning steps that made you laugh and cling to him harder every time he twirled you around.

You felt alive with him. Fuck, was this what you were missing out on -for all those years?

He dipped you once — just enough to make you squeal — and when he brought you back up, your faces were so close your noses touched. Your breath caught, and you giggled.

“How’d you learn to dance like this?” You murmured, breathless.

He smirked. “My dad dances with my mom every night in the kitchen. Picked up a few moves.”

You chuckled and brought your hand up to his cheek as the two of you danced, and your eyes went softer. “That’s really sweet.” You lightly stroked his cheek as he held you close and swayed with you. “Your dad seems like a sweet guy – no wonder you’re the way you are. He raised a good man.” you said warmly.

It warmed his heart to hear your high praise - for thinking he was a good man. That’s all he wanted to be: a good, loyal, loving man.

He hummed, then leaned in and kissed your lips softly once, just long enough to make you melt further into each other.

He pulled back slowly, nudging your nose gently. “Tell you what, we’ll do the same.” He rubbed small circles into your waist as he held you.

Your smile widened. “Dance every night in the kitchen together?”

He lightly chuckled, it vibrating the space between you both. “We can do it whenever, but every night sounds good to me…”

You had no words so you just nodded then leaned back in and captured his lips, kissing him slowly but deeply as the two of you continued to sway to the music as it began to slow down.

—

After a few slow dances the music sped up again and the two of you danced through two more songs, sweat starting to bead at your temples, your heart pounding not just from the movement but from the way he kept looking at you — like you were the only thing in the room worth seeing.

Eventually, the two of you made your way back toward the bar for drinks. Joel leaned over to order while you stood just behind him, catching your breath and sipping on some water.

That’s when it happened.

A man — older, already red in the face from one too many beers — walked past, slowed, and then, without warning, reached out and slapped your ass. Hard.

“Damn, girl,” he slurred, grin wide and gross. “Bet you ride better than a buckin’ bronco.”

You flinched, body going rigid, heart slamming into your throat. For a second, you couldn’t even move. Just froze — shocked, humiliated.

But Joel moved fast.

Before the man could take another step, Joel spun around and grabbed him by the front of his shirt, yanking him back so hard his beer sloshed onto the floor.

“Touch her again,” Joel said, low and lethal, “and you’ll be drinkin’ through a straw for the rest of your goddamn life.”

The guy laughed — nervous, trying to play it off — but Joel didn’t flinch. Didn’t loosen his grip. His jaw was clenched, eyes dark and cold. Tommy appeared beside them in a heartbeat, calm but firm, stepping in to separate them just enough.

The man backed off quickly, muttering something under his breath before disappearing into the crowd, clearly more bark than bite.

Joel turned to you immediately, his hand soft now, cupping your cheek, eyes searching yours. “You okay?”

You nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah. Just… surprised, sorry.” You quickly tried to calm yourself.

“Hey, no apologies. You didn’t deserve that.” His thumb brushed your cheekbone. “No one touches you like that. Not while I’m around.”

Your heart cracked open a little more in that moment — not because he defended you, but because of the way he did it. Without ego. Without anger aimed at you. Just clear, focused protection. Like your safety was the only thing that mattered.

He leaned in and kissed your forehead, slow and grounding.

“Wanna get out of here?” he asked, voice low.

You paused… then shook your head. “No. I want to dance some more...”

Joel blinked — surprised — then grinned.

“You’re something else, you know that?” he tucked your hair back gently.

You smiled, slipping your hand into his. “Good. You better keep up.”

And when you both stepped back onto the dance floor, his arm wrapped tighter around your waist — not to claim you… but to let the whole damn room know:

You were his.

And he wasn’t going anywhere.

After a few more dances, Tommy came onto the dance floor and convinced you both to join him at the pool table for a game.

Once you got there, you both realized he was trying to rob some poor college kids who had too much ego, a little too much to drink, and made the mistake of challenging him.

You stood in front of Joel with a cue in hand, smiling as you watched Tommy line up the first shot. You leaned against him and nodded at the table, “How good is Tommy?”

He leaned his chin against your shoulder and put his hand on your waist. "It depends how drunk he is…” he joked.

You chuckled and watched Tommy hit two solid colored balls into the pockets, then attempt to hit another in, but failed.

He didn’t care; he had this in the bag with or without you and Joel.

He looked over and grinned at the group of kids, “You’re up…”

One of the three stepped up and attempted to get one of the striped balls into a pocket. It became apparent he had no idea what he was doing as he knocked the ball against the wall and into one of your balls, making your next shot easy.

Tommy nudged you with his elbow and smiled, “You’re up, sweet thing.”

You stepped forward and looked at all your options. Did you want to take the easy play or make it more of a challenge? You walked around the table and leaned forward, calculating the angle of a possible play.

As you leaned forward, your cleavage became quite visible, and all three college boys grinned and knocked elbows with each other as they gawked.

Joel stiffened up and clenched the cue in his hand, softly clearing his throat towards them.

Was he becoming jealous, territorial, possessive, protective? Either way, when you saw it from the corner of your eye, you decided to have a little fun – tease him a little.

You lined up your cue and tossed your hair to one side before your eyes trailed up to the group of boys. They all turned red and nervously swallowed. You winked before you pulled your cue back and then quickly forward, knocking a ball into a pocket, not breaking eye contact.

You stood straight and then looked at Tommy and Joel, “I get another turn, right?” You acted like you didn’t know how to play or what you were doing.

Joel saw the glint in your eye, the mischievous grin you were trying to hide. He bit his lip and nodded as Tommy chuckled and answered, not picking up on what you were laying down.

“Yeah, you get another chance, sweetheart.” Tommy nodded toward the table.

He leaned back and said lowly to Joel, “Beginner's luck if I’ve ever seen it…”

Joel smirked as he watched you, softly humming in agreement.

You nodded and rounded the table to make your next play.

The part of the table the college boys were standing by was between a wall; it was a tight squeeze to get by.

You smiled innocently as you approached them, “Excuse me fellas…” then you squeezed past them, sliding your ass against their crotches.

Joel looked down and shook his head, grinning at your antics.

All he could think about was how he would make you pay for that later in his truck.

How sweet you’d taste on his tongue, how beautiful you’d look in his lap.

You bent over in front of the boys, your already short dress, riding up a little more with how you angled yourself. “Sorry ‘bout the tight squeeze, I’ll make this quick…” You said purposely, breathlessly.

You lined up your cue and pulled it back and forward quickly, knocking two more balls into two different pockets.

“Holy shit…” Tommy muttered under his breath.

The other group didn’t even register your play as they all three were drooling at your ass.

You stayed where you were, and your eyes trailed up to Tommy and Joel, “Shoot, does that mean I have to go again?”

Tommy grinned and raised his eyebrows, “God damn, you sure you’ve never played before darlin’?”

You straightened up and crossed your heart with your finger, “I swear! I must be lucky or somethin’…” you shrugged.

Tommy chuckled and nodded, “You play ‘til you miss a pocket…” he clicked his tongue, “Keep playin’ like that though... win us some cash.” He smirked at the boys.

You leaned back to aim and decided it was someone else's turn. With that, you missed the pocket and returned to stand in front of Joel.

His hand immediately wrapped firmly around your waist, tugging you flush against his chest before he leaned down, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“You keep teasin’ me like that, darlin’, and I’m gonna have to show you what happens to naughty girls.”

His voice is rough, low enough that only you can hear it, like gravel and heat all wrapped in honey. His fingers flex against your hip like he’s already thinking about how to follow through.

You feel the flush crawl up your neck, and you don’t dare turn to look at him—you know what you’ll find in his eyes, which will only lead you to prematurely want to leave.

Tommy stood a few feet from you, watching one of the other kids line up, completely oblivious. The other two college kids are still too stunned to notice.

Joel’s hand doesn’t move, just rests there, possessive and warm.

“Thought you were bein’ real cute out there,” he murmurs, dragging the words out like he wants them to linger. “Makin’ eyes at those boys, shakin’ that little dress in front of ‘em. Thinkin’ I wouldn’t notice.”

You bite your lip and try to play coy, "I don't know what you mean..."

He chuckles, deep in his chest—a sound that feels like it coils right through you.

“Oh, I think you do. And when I get you in that truck tonight…?” He exhales a quiet, dangerous laugh. “You’re gonna wish you hadn’t played so damn innocent.”

Your breath catches, and you immediately feel yourself becoming aroused between your legs.

And then—just like nothing happened—he pulls back a little, gives your waist a reassuring squeeze, before he moves out from behind you as his turn is up.

But the look in his eyes when he glances back at you before taking his shot?

That says everything.

He ends up knocking the last two balls into the separate pockets before finishing the game by knocking the 8 ball into a pocket.

Tommy pumped his fist and cheered, “Boo-yah baby!”

Joel chuckled at his brother's excitement, but then, when he found you, your eyes drinking him in, the look of lust in your eyes, his gaze darkened.

He set the cue onto the pool table before striding over and telling Tommy that the two of you were leaving, before he came over and grabbed your hand. The two of you eagerly weave your way out of the bar.

On the way back to the truck, the walk is quiet, just the two of you walking to the back of the parking lot where he’d parked.

Joel's hand hovers at your back but never lands. You want him to do something—say something—but he stays maddeningly calm, jaw tight, like he’s holding something in. Something that’s just for later.

He opens the passenger door for you like a gentleman. The second it clicks shut behind you, you feel the air shift.

You barely get your seatbelt pulled over your chest before his hand slides behind your neck and pulls you in, your hand letting the strap go as his mouth crashes onto yours—hot, demanding, hungry. There's no hesitation now. None.

"You think I didn’t notice what you were doin’ in there?” he growls between kisses. “Bendin’ over in that tiny little dress… throwin’ winks at boys who couldn’t even look you in the eye…”

You whimper softly against his mouth, breath catching as his other hand slides up your thigh, slow and rough. The console digs into your side, but you don’t care. All you feel is him—everywhere, all at once.

"You’ve got no idea what you just earned yourself, querida."

He pulls you over the console like it’s nothing.

The moment you’re in his lap, he leans you back against the steering wheel, the horn blaring briefly before he growls and shifts you to straddle him properly. The whole truck rocks under the movement.

You rock your hips instinctively, and his groan vibrates against your mouth.

Your hands tangle in his shirt, dragging him closer as his lips trail down your throat, teeth grazing your skin.

“You made a show of yourself,” he growls into your neck. “You think I’m just gonna let that slide?”

“No,” you whisper.

His hand slides up your thigh—under your dress now, finding the edge of your panties and tugging them down so roughly and fast it makes your breath catch.

He grins when he sees how soaked they are. “Damn, baby. This all for me?”

You nod, helpless, blushing, seeing how soaked they were.

He bit his lip and hung them around his clutch before cupping your cheek and leaning back in to kiss your lips.

You both pause and hover over each others lips when there’s a knock on the fogged window followed by the familiar, annoying, taunting voice of no one other than Will fucking Montgomery.

“Knock knock!” he chuckled. “Como dices: Public indecency?” he said mockingly.

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

no pressure taglist: @thebeautytoyourbeat, @sarahhxx03, @blahkateisdone, @sunnytuliptime, @pedroscurls, @docharleythegeekqueen @pedritosgirl2000 @fancyyoouu @greendudenumber7, @queenofdisaster12 @axshadows @mystickittytaco @yxtkiwiyxt @alltheirdamn @punkshort @stylesispunk @iheartoldermem @mermaidgirl30 @mountainsandmayhem @sp00kymulderr @brittmb115 @poor-unfortunate-soul9927 @spacelatinos4life @pedge-page @pedropascalfab @readingiskeepingmegoing @sincerelywithheartt @youusunshineyoutemptress @lilasskicker-23 @melsuns00hine @wencontre @pedrofan @suzysface @orcasoul @misstokyo7love @bitchyfestnight @galotti7 @locaparapedrito @harrysrosetatto @bluenightmarepost @mukeovernetflix @pascal-mynightlyobsession @maryfanson @pasc4lfuzz

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gleekto · 2 years ago

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Well this little list had me fall into a really well written story from an author I don't know and a fic I'd never heard of. Big rec to "Come Alive" above - great writing, perfect voicing - a surprise new story after all this time!

Here's a bingo card full of great Klaine fics:

Debut: Days by AllyThePotato

Page Turner: Come Alive by delires

Need Tissues: Stick Season by Blurglesmurfklaine

Unusual Occupation: Witch Wanted by RockItMan

Wild Card: Running in Circles, Coming up Tails by izwordsoup

Summer: Swing, Swing by quizasvivamos

Challenge: Ebb and Flow by maanorchidee

Laugh: these inconvenient fireworks by redheadgleek

Trope I don't normally read: Out of Eden (and the whole 'verse) by wowbright

Thanks for your Bingo card! HERE is the collection (125 fics and counting!) and here is the info for the 2023 Klaine Bingo! ~Lynne

1) Days by AllyThePotato

Blaine lives in San Fransisco, Kurt lives in Lima. They've never met in person, but befriend one another and talk over the phone. They make plans to live in NYC together, but will everything go as planned?

2) Come Alive by delires

1960s NYC: Newly-wed junior advertising exec Blaine Anderson finds a missing piece to his puzzle in the back room of a Manhattan bar. Mad Men era AU.

3) Stick Season by @blurglesmurfklaine

After Finn dies, Kurt leaves everything he knows behind without a trace. His hometown, his family, his boyfriend. When his dad has a medical scare, he returns to Lima, one year after breaking Blaine’s heart with no explanation.

4) Witch Wanted by @rockitmans

Blaine is cursed to not touch anyone, Kurt is the grumpy neighborhood witch. They each have something the other other needs (the thing is love)

5) Running in Circles, Coming up Tails by izwordsoup

Kurt and Adam are married with a seven-year-old daughter, Ellie. "Happily married" is another question. Ellie takes piano lessons from none other than Blaine Anderson, who also happens to be a good friend of Kurt's since college. What happens to them when Adam goes to England to star in a West End musical, leaving Kurt and Ellie in New York? What happens when Blaine becomes a more frequently-seen figure in Kurt and Ellie's lives due to Ellie's piano schedule?

6) Swing Swing by quizasvivamos

The Skanks, Kurt and Quinn, are a thing. Blaine, a bit of a bad boy, is dating that goth girl, Tina. The four best friends are fully immersed in the Emo/Scene subculture, the kids everyone at school calls emo or just plain freaks. As close-knit as a friend group can get, the couples share a lot in common: their love of choir and band, tastes in music and art, partying, going to shows and concerts, getting wasted, and—oh, yeah—each other's partners. They swap sometimes. Because it's cool, and it's hot. Besides, it's just for fun. Then, in the summer before their senior year, they take a life-altering road trip to Cleveland for Warped Tour 2005.

7) Ebb & Flow by maanorchidee

Blaine Anderson is yet another anonymous New Yorker who's trying to get a job in the entertainment industry. His days are filled with auditions, bleak subway rides, piano lessons, and complaining about his annoying next-door-neighbour. But Blaine has a secret that he cannot share with his other friends: he dreams of playing competitive Splatoon 2. He already has a hard time justifying this music degree, so he doesn't need to add an interest in eSports to that. That's why the only person who knows about this, is yet another stranger on the internet named Kurt. The two met in an LGBT Splatoon 2 Discord and became fast friends. Little do they know that they also know each other offline.

8) These Inconvenient Fireworks by redheadgleek

After an unexpected Tony award, Kurt Hummel is Broadway's hottest up and coming star, which comes with expectations and some admirers that won't take a hint. When his best friend Elliott Gilbert suggests that they pretend to date to get the leeches to back off, Kurt takes him up on the idea. It's all working out great - until Kurt starts to fall hard for the dark-haired music director of his latest musical.

9) Out of Eden by @wowbright

As a gay Mormon, Kurt Hummel has decided to go the rest of his life without falling in love. But toward the end of his two years as a missionary in Germany, Elder Anderson moves into his apartment—and Kurt's best-laid plans fall apart.

#fic rec #and I will be checking out some of these others too #also rec to Inconvenient Fireworks by the lovely redheadglee #and of course the perfect Out of Eden (formerly Mormon!klaine) now being posted on AO3

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lushrue · 5 months ago

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currently in my priceghost era and wanted to write something with price as the more submissive one

cw: nsfw, oral (m/m), light scent kink, sub space

john sat back in his chair, huffing out an exasperated breath. fireworks exploded behind his eyelids as he dug the heels of his hands in, trying to push out the ache of eye strain. a cursory glance at the clock on his desk revealed that it had been six hours since he’d sat down to start on the mountain of paperwork on his desk. six hours of rifling through mission reports, briefing memorandums, and recruit personnel files. six hours of squinting to read tiny print because he wasn’t old enough to require reading glasses, thank you very much.

he could feel the familiar burning pain creeping up into his shoulders, a reminder of the horrid posture he’d been sitting in the whole time. he felt stiff, unnaturally so. on top of it all, he felt tired. it wasn’t his usual training-all-day-and-shouting-at-unruly-sergeants type of tired. this sank into his bones, gave his skeleton a weight it didn’t have before. even the thought of dragging his heavy body all the way back to the barracks made his back ache and his temples pulse.

his mind had been running a million miles a minute for the past week. it seemed like there was an urgent task lurking around each corner, waiting to demand his full attention. nothing could wait until tomorrow, nothing could be put on the back burner until something else was completed. everything needed done yesterday and he found himself struggling to keep up. if only the world would stop spinning for five minutes, he thought to himself. then I could catch up. it was at that moment he remembered the one man who could bring his world to a halt, if only for a little while.

price had a complicated relationship with his lieutenant. the two of them were…something to each other. they’d both chosen not to put a label on it, simply for the fact that it didn’t need one. their relationship was symbiotic, one hand washing the other for the sake of cleaning both of them. it was a fact of nature that simon was there for john in the ways that he needed, and john repaid simon in turn. in their eyes, relationships like that didn’t need a label. barnacles don’t call the whale it hitches a ride on their lover; a clownfish doesn’t commit to the anemone that provides it shelter. they simply exist in this moment in time to serve a purpose for one another, and that was that.

the captain raised himself from his chair, dragging his heavy feet down the hall towards simon’s office. john knew that simon was up to his nose in paperwork just the same as him. the two of them had talked at length over a pack of cigarettes about how a paper trail was inconvenient at best and dangerous at worst. they both had a nasty habit of putting it all off until later and having to burn the midnight oil more than once to make up for it. his knuckles rapped four times against the door, the rhythmic pattern of it identifying who was knocking. simon had developed it, a way to know that the person on the other side of the door was important enough to put down the pen.

he was met with a gruff “come in” from the lieutenant, his fingers trembling slightly as they closed around the doorknob and twisted. when he pushed the door open, the sight of simon, maskless, greeted him. it was rare for simon to go anywhere on base without at least the balaclava on, but the state of his hair showed that he’d just pulled it off. on nights like these, simon didn’t wear it. it was far too important to john to be able to see his face. simon’s eyes were soft, gentle, as they took in the way john stood in his doorway. shoulders slumped, the lines on his face deeper, the bags under his eyes heavier. simon could read any man like a book, but when it came to his captain, he knew things no one else had ever gotten close enough to know. there was a look in john’s eyes, a certain helplessness that was reserved only for him.

“rough night?” simon asked, leaning back in his office chair and nodding to John to close the door. john did as instructed, a dry chuckle bubbling out of his chest. “you don’t know the half of it,” he replied, voice raspy. he sounded as worn as he looked. it reminded simon of the dirt caked into the tread of his boots, stomped on a thousand times before finally getting to rest. simon just grunted in reply, picking up the pen from his desk. he made a small tick on the report he was reading to mark his place before turning his full attention to his captain. “would you like to talk, or not talk?” simon asked, his words laced with a meaning only the two of them could discern. john met his gaze, a weight seeming to lift off of his shoulders as he made his decision. “not talk.”

simon nodded in understanding, the movement curt and quick. it was almost tactical the way the two of them moved around each other. simon took up his position on the small sofa in his office, parting his legs shoulder-width apart. he took one of the pillows from beside him, holding it out to john as he circled around to his own position. john took the pillow, placing it on the floor between simon’s feet, and lowered himself down onto it. he grunted as his knees hit the tile floor, the blow gratefully softened by the fabric and stuffing. they’d quickly discovered that it was a necessary part of this routine.

“you solid?” john looked up to find simon’s eyes on him, the deep brown of his irises laced with concern. the captain swallowed down the lump forming in the back of his throat, his eyes stinging with unshed tears. “solid,” he replied, his tone short. he didn’t want to concern himself with how he felt. not now, not when it all felt too big to handle. simon simply nodded, raising a hand to rest on the back of john’s head. he guided it to his thigh, letting john rest against him for a moment. john didn’t want to talk, and that was fine with simon. he usually did all the talking on nights like these anyway. hours upon hours of silence left him with a lot to say.

“you deserve this, y’know,” he said, stroking his fingers along the length of john’s scalp. “deserve to put down the reins for a bit, have someone else take ‘em up.” john shivered under simon’s touch, goosebumps rising on his arms. it was never true in his own head, but when simon said it, john drank it in like it was gospel. he nodded, his cheek rubbing against the fabric of simon’s fatigues. “i deserve this,” he repeated softly, voice strained with the weight of the emotion he was keeping in.

simon nodded in approval, pleased with john’s acceptance. in the beginning, when they’d first started this little ritual, the captain had done everything he could to keep simon at arm’s length. he’d never stay for long once he’d been given what he needed and eye contact was scarce. now, john had reconciled with the fact that sometimes, he didn’t want to be in charge. sometimes, he needed someone else to tell him what to do. taking orders was as natural as breathing for him, especially when giving them felt like a burden he couldn’t bear. “that’s a good lad,” simon praised, his voice rumbling low in his chest. “you know just what ta do, don’t you? meltin’ in a puddle at my feet.” john’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment, turning his head to press his face into simon’s thigh.

simon just chuckled. his boy could be awfully shy when he wanted to be. “look at me,” he commanded. john felt a shiver down his spine at simon’s tone. it wasn’t the same one he used with the sergeants, or when he was training the recruits. it was reserved specially for him, a low timbre that rattled around his brain and dislodged any unwanted thoughts still hanging around. the captain turned his head up, hazy blue eyes meeting simon’s dark chocolate ones. “so beautiful. ya know tha’? most beautiful thing on God’s green earth, on your knees for a nasty bugger like me.”

john wanted to protest, to assure simon that he was far from the nastiest bugger he��d ever knelt for, but the words wouldn’t come. thoughts swirled around in his head like smoke, thin and incorporeal. he tried to grasp at them, but his hands went right through. all he could do was hum and shake his head. simon shook his head, lips rounding in a soothing shushing noise. “don’t think. let me do tha’ for ya.” he placed a finger under john’s chin, stroking him like one would a cat. john’s eyes fluttered shut, letting the feeling of simon’s calloused trigger finger against his throat lift the weight of reality that hung heavy on his shoulders.

slowly, john’s head started to drift off into a much nicer place. it was softer, gentler. mission reports and recruit files fell to the wayside, briefings and emails and memorandums were long forgotten. all there was, in this moment, was him and simon. simon caught every moment of john’s slip, the way his jaw went slack and his eyes stared beyond him. he admired the way john’s eyes seemed to sparkle, admiration shining bright in them. when the stresses of the outside world fell away, all that was left was simon. the lieutenant shifted his hand, dragging his finger up john’s jaw until his hand came to rest on the crown of john’s head. the weight was comforting and grounding, keeping him tethered to the earth.

“tha’s a good boy,” simon praised, his thumb stroking john’s scalp. the captain practically purred, pressing his head up into simon’s touch. it felt nice and his one-track mind wanted more of it. simon shifted on the sofa, sweatpants growing tight. something in john’s far-away gaze made him chub up, the way he was so vulnerable and trusting beneath him. here, simon held all the power. “jus’ needed a li’l stress relief, hmm? needed your simon to get ya through.” john nodded, drool leaking against simon’s thigh.

simon chuckled at the sight, reaching forward and wiping some of the spit from the corner of john’s mouth. with a gentle motion, he pressed his thumb to the seam of john’s lips, pressing insistently. john’s mouth fell open and simon pushed his finger in, letting his thumb rest against john’s tongue. the way his lips closed around the digit made simon groan. he’d quickly discovered that his boy had an oral fixation, always needing something in his mouth to keep him occupied. all those damn cigars, he’d figured. john hollowed his cheeks, eyes fluttering shut as he bobbed his head on simon’s thumb. he whined low in his throat when he realized it wasn’t quite what he needed, shifting impatiently on the pillow.

“settle, lovie. i’ll give ya what ya need soon enough. jus’ wanna enjoy the sight of ya.” simon leaned back against the sofa, utterly transfixed by the man in front of him. john’s tongue curled around simon’s finger, teeth lightly scraping the skin. with his eyes heavy-lidded, he looked the very picture of debauchery, letting go and giving simon his soft underbelly. drool pooled in the corners of his mouth, wetting his lips and cheeks. if simon thought hard enough, he could pretend that it was his cock between john’s lips instead. he groaned aloud at the mere image, cock tenting his sweats. he used his free hand to push the waistband down, dragging his boxers down with it.

john opened his eyes, teeth digging into the flesh of simon’s thumb as he caught sight of what he truly wanted. he could smell the musk coming off of the lieutenant, thick and heavy in his nose. he pulled his head back and released simon’s thumb, leaning forward to mouth at his cock. his tongue trailed along the protruding vein at the base, humming softly when simon shivered with delight. simon’s head fell back against the wall, his eyes screwed shut as his cock twitched. precum dripped down his shaft, the tip red and angry at having been ignored thus far.

simon cupped the back of john’s head, coaxing him to look up. john met simon’s gaze, baby blue eyes pleading for permission. “this what you wan’, baby? want this fat cock down your throat?” simon asked, voice rough and gravelly. john nodded, the stimulation of his cheek against simon’s cock making his thighs clench. he couldn’t find the words, mouth moving to beg, but simon shushed him. “none o’ that. not gonna let my best boy go without,” he cooed, adjusting his hips so that the tip of his cock laid against john’s lips.

john’s tongue darted out, lapping up the precum that was beading up. it was salty and bitter, but he drank it in like the sweetest ambrosia. simon moaned loud, the sound coming from low in his chest. he’d long since given up on trying to be quiet on these nights. there was hardly anyone around, and if there were any nosy recruits, he’d shut them up with latrine duty. “tha’s it, right fuckin’ there,” he groaned, hips bucking to press his cock deeper into john’s mouth. “take it all, lovie. know you can, so good for me-”

simon’s words were cut off when john took him to the hilt, the captain’s throat rumbling with a satisfied moan. electricity shot up his spine, simon’s hands scrambling for purchase on the sofa. the pleasure was heady, thoughts dissipating like clouds and the room spinning like a carousel. as pent up as he was, it only took a few minutes and a well-timed swallow for simon to lose himself. he spilled down john’s throat, pearly-white spend shooting into the back of his mouth. john drank it down, needy moans vibrating around simon’s cock as he sucked him through his orgasm.

the moment simon’s soul came back into his body, he eased john’s head back, tapping his cheek to coax him to breathe. john was panting, eyes glistening with tears from all the times he’d gagged. his cheeks were flushed, a cum-drunk expression on his face. simon was satisfied, and it seemed john was too. needs fulfilled for each other, symbiotic relationship solidified. john took his moment of rest, catching his breath before parting his lips again. simon acquiesced, placing his softening prick on john’s waiting tongue. there was no need for pleasure, no work to be done. the two of them could rest here like this for as long as they needed, basking in the glow of the moment they’d shared. “good boy,” simon praised breathlessly, petting john’s hair. “keep it warm for me, tha’s it.”

a few hours later, once they’d parted ways and john had settled in for bed, he found a different kind of weight had settled on his chest. perhaps these nightly routines were more than just quid pro quo, but no matter. simon could help him figure it all out later.

#call of duty #cod smut #cod #cod fic #captain john price #john price #captain price #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #priceghost #ghostprice

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justmehernthemoon · 2 years ago

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stray italian greyhound just came on shuffle and reminded me of one fandom mystery that will always plague me… what happened to the TIF writers. where did they go .

#like were they always among us back in the day or.#these inconvenient fireworks #tif #1d

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walkingnearfoxes · 1 month ago

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Your Animal (Edward Rutledge x Reader)

Rutledge takes you on vacation and has abandonment issues. That’s it that’s the plot. Warnings for smut, mentions of violence, gross men at clubs, and sleeping with the leader of a terrorist organization.

When Rutledge first mentions Cabo, you assume he’s joking. You’re in his latest safehouse and wrapping a shallow stab wound near his wrist. He refuses to explain the injury’s origins. You’re sure he would be able to dress it perfectly fine himself, but as he has told you on more than one occasion, he prefers your more delicate hands to his own.

“One of the finest resort cities in the world,” He tells you about Cabo with a playful brow wiggle. “Wanna come along?”

You don’t have time to answer before your brother cuts in. “Absolutely not.”

Rutledge scoffs and waves his uninjured hand dismissively. “Ignore him. It’s perfectly safe.”

You shake your head as you finish taping over his bandage. “Don’t think that’s in my budget.”

“All expenses paid, of course.” His free hand moves to settle over yours, his long fingers tapping gently against your knuckles. “You’d be doing me a favor. I’ll be bored out of my bloody mind.”

You arch a brow, but don’t move your hand away. “Bored in one of the ‘finest resorts in the world’?” You mock with a poor imitation of his accent.

Rutledge shrugs with a grin that’s gotten you into trouble countless times. “Never really liked beaches. You are always entertaining.”

You don’t have more time to banter when your brother diverts the conversation back to the logistics of their team’s latest “mission.” Their ability to speak in code right in front of you is as impressive as it is irritating. It makes you wonder about the conversations behind closed doors, whether your brother wants you closer or farther away from his leader. It doesn’t seem to matter, regardless; Rutledge likes you, and so you stay.

The next time you’re alone with the corporal, Rutledge is sneaking into your room at two in the morning. He isn’t afraid of your brother’s reaction to this affair, but it would be an inconvenience; your brother is an integral part of the team and, more importantly, Rutledge trusts him. You also have a sneaking suspicion that Rutledge enjoys the normalcy of coming to find you. For a moment, he isn’t a man with trauma that leaves him shaking at the sound of a firework. He’s just a boy chasing after the girl he fancies.

And fancy you he does. The clock has just ticked past three in the morning when he has a hand clamped over your mouth and his head buried between your legs. He’s been down there for ages, but moves his tongue with the lazy slide of a man who has all the time in the world. Rutledge is nothing if not patient; he knows exactly how to kiss your clit or curl his fingers to make you come, but he’s intent on teasing you until you squirm. He pushes his tongue inside of you slowly, and when you squeal against his palm, he decides to repeat the motion over and over again. It’s a blissful torture that sets your body on fire, and it’s only his hand over your lips that keeps you from waking your brother - and perhaps the entire safehouse.

When your eyes are starting to roll back, Rutledge finally takes pity on you. He replaces his tongue with three fingers and fucks you with a pace that would have you screaming if your voice had such power left. He sucks down on your clit with precision, growls against your cunt, and you fly over the edge. Your hips arch up at your orgasm and he allows it, simply following your motions to keep the pleasure sustained as long as he can. When you flop back onto the bed fully sated, he smirks against you and slowly pulls out his fingers.

“Christ, sweetheart,” Rutledge purrs. He sucks his fingers into his mouth to clean them before gently removing his hand from your mouth. “Making me work to keep you quiet, eh?”

You give a lazy mutter of nonsense in reply, which just makes him laugh. He busies himself with kissing his way back up your body and gives a playful bite to your ribcage. Then, he speaks, “Come to Cabo.”

You had nearly forgotten that earlier conversation. You lift your head to look at him as he continues his slow crawl up your body. Your hands gently curl through his hair, and his eyes close fondly at the touch. He would never admit how starved for gentle touch he is.

“Is it really safe?” You ask quietly.

His eyes are still closed as he replies. “It’s a resort city, ‘course it is. Just don’t go wandering in the jungle without me.”

You give his hair a little tug. “I mean…with everything you do.”

He slowly creaks his eyes open, trapping you under that gorgeous gaze. If your brother is careful about leaving you in the dark, Rutledge keeps you blindfolded. He wants you within arm’s reach so he can push away if need be. You aren’t naive; you understand enough to know that his plans are dangerous - not only to him or your family, but to the world at large. Every tiny piece of information you’re able to gather makes that more evident. But damn him, he’s a spark. He can take any battlefield and carve it into a portrait that will lead you to a better world. He is merciless, but he is pragmatic, and you fear you fell under his spell long ago.

“I’m a security specialist for a reason,” Rutledge reminds you in a murmur against your skin. “You’ll be safe. It’ll be a fun little vacation. I promise.”

You hesitate, and he dares to widen his eyes like a kicked puppy. You chuckle softly. “Fine. I’ll come.”

He grins to bare his teeth and settles over you, brushing his lips across yours. “Damn right you will. Again, and again, and again.”

~-~

Rutledge was not exaggerating about all expenses paid. From the moment you land in the city - after a first-class plane ticket, of course - you are treated like royalty. A secure vehicle brings you to the most expensive resort in the city. You drive to the most luxurious suite, which you will of course share with Rutledge. The suite’s balcony has a jacuzzi that overlooks the Pacific’s turquoise waters. Rutledge promises you there will be time to partake in that particular luxury, but not yet. Your bags barely touch the room before he’s whisking you to a private club on the other side of Cabo. The club is nothing like the dark, swampy basements you recall in college. It is entirely outside under a series of air-conditioned tents that lead down to a private beach. You’re sure that if you sniff hard enough, you’ll smell gold in the air.

Rutledge feels the need to assure you that it’s a quick stop to see some old friends, but it’s obviously more than that. He keeps one guard with you, and you notice several other familiar faces dotting the wealthy scene. If there’s anything you learned quickly in your connection to Rutledge, it was that he had very many friends in very many important places.

Rutledge sets a drink next to you after a short excursion to the nearest bar. It’s a flute of liquids that spiral between reds, oranges, and yellows. There’s even some glitter floating at the bottom. You blink, lowering yourself closer to the table to examine it better. “The hell is this?”

He chuckles. “Waterloo sunset, apparently. Give it a shot.”

You take a tentative sip. “Hm…it’s like fruit punch mixed with tequila.”

Another carefree laugh. “Is that a good thing?”

Your smile is sly as you take another sip. “I’m not mad about it.”

Rutledge cups the back of your head to press a quick kiss to your forehead. “Bond with Milton a moment, love. Got a few faces I need to chat up.”

Milton, your guard for the night, sits across the table. He’s a redhead built like a tank. You know he has a twin brother who is somewhere amongst the crowd. They’re both more than a little rough around the edges, but they’re amongst the few that Rutledge is comfortable leaving to watch over you. You would typically be with your brother, but Rutledge conveniently asked him to stay back from this trip.

You’re about halfway through your waterloo sunset when you notice Milton glancing at the bar. It’s hard to tell if something has caught his attention or if he’s just bored, but you offer a smile regardless. “You can move around, you know.”

He gives you a look from the corner of his eye. “Trying to get me in trouble?” He asks, his French accent thick.

“I can survive a few minutes without getting assassinated,” You assure him. It’s hard to feel like you’re in any danger when half the people in this club are tipsy middle-aged men in white suits. “Go on. Get a beer or something.”

Milton hesitates, his fingers drumming on the table. Finally, he sighs and gets up. “I’m grabbing a pint. Do not move.”

You give him a salute, and giggle at the eye roll it earns you. As he makes his way over to the nearest bar, you scan over the crowd. Rutledge is invisible when he wants to be, so you’re not surprised that you can’t spot him. You look back at your drink and find yourself with company. Middle-Aged Man in White Suit #45 is sitting across from you with a grin that immediately sets off warning bells.

“Now what’s a gorgeous thing like you doing all alone?” He asks in a combination of accent and drunken slur.

You sober your gaze and push your drink carefully away from you. “I’m not alone.”

“Sure look alone to me,” He leans in close enough you can smell cigar smoke on his breath. “You looking for someone to take care of you?”

You have not journeyed this far without knowing how to fight. You measure the man up, and while you see he’s no physical threat to your capability, you don’t know who he is. He may be someone influential whom you shouldn’t punch in the nose. Before you can decide the appropriate course of action, a hand lightly cups the back of your neck. You immediately know it’s Rutledge.

“Sorry for the wait, darling,” He growls. You don’t need to turn around to know his striking blue gaze is levelling your visitor; the drunken man looks moments away from shitting himself. Rutledge lightly squeezes the back of your neck. “C’mon. We’re leaving.”

You don’t wait. You give the stranger a glare of your own before turning to follow Rutledge. He keeps his hand on the back of your neck, a gentle guide through the crowd that keeps him close to you. A glance up at him as he moves to walk beside you gives you enough of an insight into his mood. Every muscle in his body looks clenched. He only pauses on his way out the door to speak with Milton. The guard is holding a pint in his hand, and you’ve never seen his face look so pale. Rutledge claps his free hand onto the man’s taller shoulder. “Brother…I love ya,” He murmurs. “But if you ever leave her like that again, I’ll take your eye out.”

With that, he leads you to your awaiting vehicle and is silent.

Rutledge says little on the ride back to the hotel. He gives the driver directions, but he barely looks at you. You’d be more concerned about him being angry with you if he weren’t insistent on keeping physical contact. His hand stays on your knee for the whole ride. Even when you get to the hotel, he keeps a hand on your hip or your shoulder as you walk to your suite. Finally, when you’re both securely in the room and he knows for sure that you’re both alone, he lets go. After a long moment of silence where you’re not sure whether to move closer to him or give him his space, he decides for you. “Go try out that hot tub.”

You hesitate. “What about you?”

He offers a half smile. “Be right behind ya.” When you continue to wait, he nods to the door. “Go on.”

You oblige. You don’t bother with a swimsuit, not when this room is high enough up where the only one who could see you has already mapped out every inch of your body. Even without looking at Rutledge, even without turning around, you can feel the way his eyes crawl over you. You ignore the shiver it gives you and make your way to the hot tub. The controls to it are fortunately easy to navigate, and you can step into the warm waters quickly. You can feel the instant soothing to your muscles and sigh in bliss. Your gaze moves to the balcony view. Sunset is beginning to shift into dark blue shades over the waters. The waves are calm tonight, and maybe they always are in a paradise like this; you could get used to it.

Approaching footsteps bring you back, and you turn to find Rutledge joining you. He’s fully naked, and you take your time appreciating the sight. His muscles are lithe on a body decorated in scars. You both joke about the age difference between the two of you, but no one can guess his real age. You know how quickly and how accurately the man can move; he may have left the open battlefield, but he’s still a soldier.

He settles across from you with his tattooed arms resting against the side. The tub is big enough that you’re both able to lie down on your backs, but you can feel his knees nudging against yours. His gaze moves to look out at the view. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” You murmur, your voice tentative. “More importantly, are you okay? Was that asshole someone important?”

Rutledge shakes his head. “No. Just a prick,” He murmurs. “But he could have been…”

His voice drifts off, and his hand clenches against the tub. You speak tentatively. “I’m fine. Nothing happened.”

He doesn’t answer for a long moment. “I know. But something could have.” He slowly holds out his right forearm, his palm up. “You see this tattoo?”

It’s a silly question. The tattoo takes up most of his arm. It’s a skull with two arrows shooting through an open mouth. In learning not to ask about his scars, you also refrain from asking about his tattoos. You nod your head slowly.

“In Afghanistan, I lost my two best mates in a single explosion,” Rutledge says softly. It’s the most detail he’s ever given you about his time in war. “One minute there, laughing with me…gone the next in a pile of rubble.”

You reach out to him without a second thought. Your fingers gently trace the line of the right arrow up to the teeth of the skull. “I’m so sorry.”

“This tattoo’s for them. Cliche as shit, but I’m no artist,” His eyes have moved down to follow your finger’s movements. Based on the way his eyes soften, the tracing soothes him. “It’s funny how we’re damn near ordered to love our brothers, but no one tells you what to do when you lose them.”

Rutledge shifts to meet your eyes. The frustration from earlier is gone, replaced with a gentleness, or a fear, you have never seen from him before. “I can’t lose you, sweetheart. I…I can’t.”

You turn your wrist to gently hold onto his forearm. “You won’t. I’m right here, Eddie.”

He blinks in clear surprise. Then, his lips slowly curl into a boyish smile. “Eddie?”

You flush. Up until now, you’ve only ever called him by his last name. “Is that okay?”

He chuckles softly as he steadily becomes at ease. “Yeah. I just haven’t heard that in a long time,” He lifts his arms out. “C’mere.”

You go to him. You settle between his legs, and he’s quick to sit up so you straddle his thighs. The moment you’re comfortable, his lips are on yours. He kisses you gently, savoring the way it feels to share this private moment with you. His fingers curl gently through your hair and keep you close to him. It’s so easy to get lost in these kisses. You aren’t sure when they begin to be less of an exploration of you and more of a need, his teeth gently nibbling at your bottom lip. He shifts his hips up, and you feel the familiar press of his hard cock against your hip. You can’t help but smile as you pull away from his mouth enough to speak. “Hello there.”

“Can’t walk around naked and expect anything less, love,” Rutledge murmurs as his hands tighten on your hips. “But I can be good if you’re not inclined.”

You answer by slowly moving yourself up and over his cock. His lips gently part, and he massages his hands along your sides. You sink yourself onto him slowly, and his eyes fall shut in bliss. Rutledge is lost in you, leaving you to decide the pace. You ride him slowly with your hands on his shoulders. It’s a leisurely pace at first, but it has him moaning breathlessly. He buries his face against the side of your neck and suddenly thrusts up hard. You gasp and take the cue, grinding down on him now. It pushes his hips perfectly against your clit so with each met thrust, you feel another roll of heat. Water is sloshing over the sides of the tub, and his hands are holding your hips tight enough to bruise, but you don’t care. If anything, it just makes you chase after the pleasure faster.

“You’re perfect,” He groans against your skin, his lips placing sloppy kisses and bites along your neck. “Fuckin’ perfect. I can feel that little cunt clenching, love. Go on ahead. Take it from me.”

He’s always a bit of a rambler when he’s close, but you enjoy listening to him. His voice always seems to be what finally pushes you over, and this time isn’t any different. You sigh breathlessly as an orgasm finds you, your nails digging into his shoulders. He must have been waiting for you because he follows right after with a loud moan of your name. His stuttering hips work you both through it the best he can until you both finally still against one another. When you’re able to gather yourself, you instinctively move to get off of him, only for his grip on your hips to tighten.

“Stay a bit,” He murmurs against your neck, his softening cock still inside of you.

You smile and brush a hand through his hair. He purrs quietly against your skin. “Guess we have time,” You murmur.

Rutledge kisses over a bruise he’s left behind on your neck. “All the time in the world.”

#my writing #edward rutledge #edward rutledge x you #edward rutledge x reader #g20 film #what am i doing #no i did not analyze his tattoos via screenshots leave me alone

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cheesus-doodles · 1 month ago

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New Year with You

Yandere Rollo

Masterlist | TWST Masterlist | Letters

‎‎

continuation from my other Rollo fic Letters, but can be read as a standalone as well!

good time to mention that I have been and am on a current semi-hiatus as I've kind fallen off all my fandoms at the same time, but i'm slowly working my way back! thank you for your support so far!

Two hours and forty five minutes down, fifteen minutes left.

“Still can’t believe you actually came all the way,” you said over the cup of hot chocolate copper between both hands as you glanced around the Isle of Sages' crowded main town square, the stone paved area jam packed with people inching past each other. This was certainly no place that one would usually find the Nobel Bell’s Student Council President. “I can’t even spend all night here. You shouldn’t have.”

But Rollo could hear the genuine appreciation in your voice for all his efforts, if you were even trying to hide it. “It’s no bother,” the white-haired boy responded, his usual purple robe and striped cap having been forgone for an elegant black long coat and pressed trousers, one pale hands tucked into a pocket and the other holding a matching cup as narrowed green eyes tailed a laughing couple who brushed past you. Tainting your perfect otherworldly self with their disgusting stench of a magical world they could never run from, a sin he would have incinerated them for, but he took a deep breath and tore his eyes away. Focus. “Barely an inconvenience.”

A lie.

The sheer amount of arrangements Rollo had to make just to be present here aside from the letters with strict instructions to you was something he would never disclose. The previous trip he made a week ago to scout out the place that he told his vice president was a research trip, the contingency plans he had in place so that your wretched schoolmates wouldn’t interrupt him, the entire flow of activities, locations and conversations he had all planned out in his mind in the weeks leading up to this - but you didn’t need to know any of that.

No, everything had been carefully planned with one goal in mind: to make sure you had the perfect countdown with him. Nothing that Malleus and his cronies would be able to top.

Lifting his cup to thin lips to take a careful sip, the stoic Noble Bell student watched steam curling lazily into the windless air, the hustle and bustle of the masses blending into the background as people jostled for the best spots to catch fireworks. Filthy magic-laden fireworks, but Rollo had already scouted a quiet spot where you would have an unblocked view. He just had to make sure that you stayed till then.

‎‎

Time had flown by like water - you had been here at 9.30pm sharp, as per requested by his latest letter, but he had managed to burn and wheedle down the hours and minutes to just the last few minutes to midnight. Presenting the bouquet of flowers and your favourite pie that he had brought for you: ten minutes. A leisurely stroll around the fountain, followed by a planned sit and chat: another seventy-five minutes down. The queue for hot chocolate: thirty minutes, the queue carefully joined behind two individuals who hemmed and hawed at the counter.

“Are you at least staying until the countdown?” He asked smoothly as he turned away from the fountain that occupied the center of the square and began to walk. You followed, because of course you did, and Rollo slowed his stride when he noticed you doing those little short runs to keep up.

“Um, I don’t know,” you answered uncertainly as the two of you came upon the small alcove built into the old stone wall, with a scattering of couples lingering along the sidewalk bordering the mariana. “Some of my friends are hosting a countdown party back at Ramshackle-”

Rollo sneered before he could catch himself, though he decided to simply play into it instead of making up excuses; you would certainly see through his act before he’d be able to convince you otherwise, considering what he had attempted to already do to them back in Fleur City. “You wouldn’t be able to make it back in time,” he stated coolly, free hand shooting out to steady you when you stumbled on a protruding stone tile. “Not without…running. Fast.”

You gaped for a moment at him, before bursting into giggles. No doubt not only at his awkward pause, but also the absurdity of a mage suggesting running. He hadn’t rehearsed that, but the way your face lit up as you laughed made the stutter slightly more bearable. “Alright then,” you agreed. “Guess I’ll head back after the countdown instead.”

Well. That was easy enough. Another milestone in his disruption of Malleus’ plans achieved.

‎‎

The view here of the town square was impeccable, because of course it was. On one side, a gentle breeze blew in from the sea, the horizon where sea and sky met lost in the dark of night, the glittering reflection of stars swallowed by the dancing waves washing up against the sea cliff far below. And on the other, the town floor spread out beneath the two of you like a picnic mat, the numerous people mulling about blending into waves, their conservations and the music from the live band blending into the hustle and bustle of a busy background that only grew and grew into an almost coordinated swell of numbers as midnight approached.

“Three! Two!” Rollo kept silent as he watched you cheer along. “One!”

Your eyes shimmer in that unmistakable way that betrayed your excitement as fireworks whizzed into the sky, bursting into a multitude of colored flowers with a life on their own granted by magic. The Noble Bell Student Council President reaches over to gingerly tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear in a calculated move. “Happy New Year.”

“Happy New Year!” You returned, toasting your cup at Rollo and giggling when the cocoa from your cup splashed slightly onto the ground, before returning to admire the blooming fireworks against the starry night sky. “They’re beautiful!”

“Indeed.” The white-haired boy replied without glancing away from you. His plan to rid the world of magic and Malleus was advancing nicely with every play he made, but maybe, he had some space for you, where you had wheedled yourself into the hollow in his chest.

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ma1dita · 1 year ago

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trouble always finds me

a 'partners in crime' installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader next -> entropy words: 1.7k summary: (pre-established relationship) The one where he could tell you were trouble from the day he met you. Luke’s perspective on trouble & how they first met! think trouble’s origin story (Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader) warnings: none, fluff? Mr. D being a clueless dad lol also guys they’re 14 here a/n: welcome back to the trouble!verse hehe i was inspired by Mr. D being a bit of a jerk to Percy so that the kid doesn’t off himself. Similar concept but with Luke after he first gets to camp (posted 1/19/24, erm unedited and not beta’d so forgive me in advance)

—

You were always trouble, Luke knew that from the day he met you.

Walking into Camp Half-Blood, worn out and weary after days of trying to not become harpy food, his arm was slung protectively over Annabeth’s shoulder as they were led onto the campgrounds. So many pity-filled eyes were focused on them after hearing what happened to Thalia, but the camp seemed promising, filled with other demigods who can resonate with what they’ve experienced. Luke thought it was too good to be true, but anything’s better in comparison to the streets they came from. You, however, looked at them in interest from afar, a playful expression on a pretty face watching their every move like him and Annie were shiny new toys to play with.

He was so sure something was off with you.

Had to be, from the deranged glimmer in your eye that would appear when something bad would happen at Camp. He’d seen it in action a couple of times before you set your sights on him— setting off fireworks during capture the flag, replacing salt with sugar in the kitchens, cutting Mr. D’s hair in his sleep; all of this causing campers and staff alike to run amok and figure out who to penalize. Each time he’d find you enjoying how it all played out, excitement brimming on the cusp of revealing yourself as the culprit as he watched you bite your tongue. But as a mischievous kid himself, he wondered why you hid it. You preferred to orchestrate the show, to make a spectacle for your personal entertainment, and with a smile too soft to be considered guilty, you were a convincing actress.

The other campers in 11 told him you’d been unclaimed for half a year now, keeping to yourself and making a safe haven within the busy cabin. You were a klutz to say the least, bringing chaos to Camp Half-Blood with a cool disposition, and you hardly seemed interested the one time Luke tried to say hi as he took the bunk next to yours.

So why the hell wouldn’t you lay off of him?

At first it was small, shoulder bumps and raised eyebrows whenever he piped up in a conversation. That, he could deal with. Luke’s a tough guy, having gone through more than a typical 14-year old would.

But then it just got annoying.

Glitter in his shampoo, his laundry load dyed purple, and shoelaces knotted together to make him stumble— things meant to be more of an inconvenience rather than an actual problem. Luke wasn’t sure what to make of it, or what to tell you. No one wants to be the new kid creating trouble, but you didn’t seem to have a problem with that.

Maybe you were a Hermes kid like him, but of that, Luke wasn’t so easily convinced—months of living in 11 would mean you’d learn all of the tricks of the trade, so it couldn’t automatically mean that you were related (a part of him also hoped you weren’t be half-siblings, or else the fact he couldn’t stop thinking of you would be slightly awkward). Perhaps a child of Apollo? When you weren’t being difficult, he’s seen you sprinkled in sunlight, usually humming a tune under your breath. Yesterday it was a song from the Sound of Music, and though he only remembers bits of a memory from a movie night with his mom years ago, he put his combat gear on slower just to hear you finish the song.

Whatever you were, it was bound to be troublesome.

—

At this point in life, Luke hasn’t had many comforts while on the run. To him there’s no such thing as action without reason, without meaning. Five years of running and not looking back makes this son of Hermes realize that he hasn’t had a chance to take a breath until he got here. It’s hard to let down your guard when you’re always supposed to be keeping watch.

He wriggles under his covers trying to relax himself before bed, purple socks sticking out of the scrappy hand-me-down blanket, and he hears a small giggle from the bed next to his. Luke shifts his weight onto his side, eyes darting to your direction in the quiet of the dark cabin.

“Nice socks.”

He blinks. Were you talking to him? His toes wiggle playfully, prompting more of your melodious laughter as he chews at his lip before he responds.

“Guess I’m getting used to them.”

“You’re getting used to a lot of things around here. That’s good,” you whisper, and thinks he can see you concocting something sinister in that brain of yours—he’s on the edge of the mattress hanging onto your every word as he realizes this is the most you’ve spoken to him.

“You did this. Why?” he says, more of a statement than a question. Why would you go out of your way for someone like him?

“Are you mad about it? Luke, right?” you mutter, a calm expression on your face shrouded in moonlight, and for a second he wonders if you actually don’t know his name until he notices the upwards quirk of your lip.

Luke catches himself then, and the realization hits him like a blow to the chest— he’s not angry at all. If anything, he hasn’t had the time to feel anything negative with the antics you’ve been pulling. You’ve proven to be quite the distraction to his circumstances, and he can’t remember the last time he’s thought about Thalia or his mom since he got here. The melancholy falls on his countenance like a better-fitting blanket than the one he has on, and your words pull him from his thoughts before they can suffocate him again.

“Sorry about your sister. I lost someone right before I got here too. My mom.”

This, he can tell, is not acting. Your eyes flicker to a polaroid strapped in the space underneath the top bunk above your head, two blurry figures huddled together in a memory.

“I’m sorry.” He’s not sure what to say. In the silence that follows, he swallows audibly. Everyone’s been worried about Annabeth, including himself that he hadn’t even thought of his own emotions being on display for everyone to see. Luke never thought you of all people would notice.

You shrug, “S’not your fault. I know when people are acting though. If you know I’m the one who’s been starting shit, why haven’t you told anyone?”

Luke almost laughs at that, a rough exhale leaving his lungs as he watches your hands clutch your quilt.

“It’s pretty entertaining, I guess. You’re annoying, but I don’t mind it. Kept my mind off of things.”

He watches you smile in the shadows now, and it shines—all lips, teeth, and sheer mirth that makes his chest feel a little lighter. A real smile from you, one that doesn’t hide your true intentions.

“I’m glad. Mine too.”

The next thing you do confuses him further, but from what he’s gathered you’re always full of surprises. You chuck your quilt across the space between your bunks, and the end of it smacks him in the face as he grunts.

“Here. Keep it,” you chuckle a bit loudly, the both of you hearing a Shhhhh… from somewhere in the dark cabin.

“What… Why? Are we friends now?” Luke mumbles jokingly, inhaling the soft scent of berries and fresh linen. His purple laundry load smelled like this too.

“No.”

“Then why are you giving me your stuff?” he says, but still curls up underneath the handmade quilt stitched from memories of a past life, of motherly love and gentle hands. He doesn’t have anything like this, so he settles into this feeling of comfort instead, even if it wasn’t his memory to hold. You go quiet at the sight of him, eyes fluttering and chin tucked into the pink and purple fabric, and he looks as soft as a normal 14 year old boy should.

“It’s getting boring in here. Gonna have to change it up soon, I think,” you mumble, turning away and shutting your eyes before he can say anything else.

—

The next day, you get caught putting a month’s supply of bubble bath into the lake, but Luke’s convinced you did it on purpose. All of camp is standing on the shore, watching you wave at them from a river tube as Chiron and Mr. D yell at you in exasperation—finally revealing yourself as the troublemaker they’ve been searching for.

“Get on the beach this instant, young lady! You have no idea how much trouble you’ve put us through!” Mr. D’s voice echoes across the lake, his immortal form almost filtering through his frustration before you laugh in his face, unthreatened by the Olympian.

“Good thing I get it from you. Hello, dad!”

Jaws drop as everyone turns to look at Mr. D, the realization hitting his face as he points at you, his brain moving a mile a minute. Though you resemble your mother, your actions are all him. You revel in the grand reaction, looking up to see a purple thyrsus surrounded by grape leaves float over your head.

“Nice outfit, kid. I don’t think purple is your color. She do that to you too?” Mr. D notes Luke’s wine colored cargos and socks clashing against the harsh orange of his shirt as he pushes past him, scratching his head at the idea of another kid. Poor guy said two was the limit in a lifetime and he gets a grinning teenage girl who dares him to do something about it. He hasn’t raised a lot of girls….

“I don’t know. I guess trouble always seems to find me,” Luke laughs lightly, watching kids of all ages jump into the bubbly lake water happily. The glowing ember of his eyes are relaxed for the first time in a while— an inviting flame catching your own as you stare at him from across the sudsy water. Trouble, he thinks, a smile settling onto his face—how fitting.

He’s spent a lot of time running. But perhaps this time, he’s finding reasons to want to stay.

—

"After all, we are nothing more or less than what we choose to reveal." - Sylvia Plath

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