#looking at that picture makes me realize that I remember nothing from this time

[from-memphis-with-love]

A Cowboy for Clementine - An Elvis Presley AU Cowboy Fanfic

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

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

Word count: 26,000 (first four chapters)

Chapter 1

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Dearest Clementine, 

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

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

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

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

Yours, Uncle Ned"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"The rig?" asked Clementine, perplexed. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You know her?" demanded Elvis.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

Elvis looked Clementine up and down appraisingly as she approached.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Clementine glowered at him behind his back.

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

Clementine arched a brow. "Magic?"

Elvis' mouth twitched, his eyes glinting with something suspiciously like amusement at her primness. "Figure of speech. I mean this is where we break the horses, mend the tack, store the feed. Pretty much everything that keeps the place runnin' starts and ends right here."

He pushed off the stall and gestured for her to follow. "C'mon, I'll show you the layout. Reckon you'll be spendin' a fair bit of time in here, seein' as how you're aimin' to be a hands-on boss and all."

Clementine chose to ignore the note of condescension in his tone and fell into step beside him. For the next half hour, Elvis led her through the barn and corrals, rattling off details about everything from the hay inventory to the farrier schedule to the breeding records of the small remuda. His taciturn demeanor thawed by degrees as he spoke of Windy Creek's prize bloodlines and the foals he hoped to see come spring. It was clear this ranch was more than a job to him; it was his life's work, his pride and joy.

Despite herself, Clementine found she was hanging on his every word, absorbing the intricacies of a world so different from her own. The easy confidence with which Elvis navigated this domain, the surety of purpose in his every move, was oddly compelling. She could see why Uncle Ned had trusted him implicitly.

As they circled back to the main barn, Elvis nodded to a large fenced pasture dotted with grazing cattle. "That there's the heart of the herd. 'Bout 300 head of prime Hereford. The real moneymakers. They'll be your bread and butter once we drive 'em to market come fall."

Clementine shaded her eyes against the glare, marveling at the sea of dun backs and lowing faces. Never in her life had she been responsible for so many living creatures. The weight of it settled on her shoulders like a tangible thing.

"And you're certain we have enough hands to see them safely to market?" she asked, her brow furrowing. "I won't pretend to be an expert, but it seems an awful lot of ground to cover with just the few men I've seen so far."

"We're a lean crew but we're solid," said Elvis. "Me, Red, a couple fellas who drift through as needed. Ain't never lost a steer yet and don't aim to start now." He cut her a sidelong glance. "Course, an extra pair of hands come drive time is always welcome. You any good with a horse?"

Clementine's cheeks warmed at the challenge in his eyes. "I'm a fair rider," she said, lifting her chin. She had ridden in Central Park quite a few times when she was younger. "Though I'll admit it's been a while since I've sat anything beyond a sedate little mare on a bridle path." 

"Ain't nothin' sedate about the mounts we raise here," said Elvis with a slow grin that did funny things to her insides. "But I reckon we could find you a steady cow pony, get you back in the saddle."

"I'd like that," said Clementine, pulse quickening at the thought of flying across the open range with the wind in her hair. Yearning for speed and freedom and a taste of the untamed life that had always been denied her.

Something shifted in Elvis' gaze, his eyes darkening as they dipped briefly to her mouth. "Bet you would."

The air between them thickened, charged with a sudden crackling tension that raised the hairs on Clementine's nape. For a long, suspended moment, neither of them moved. Clementine hardly dared breathe, caught in the snare of Elvis' penetrating stare. What was happening? Why did it feel as if the very ground had tilted beneath her feet?

Then Elvis blinked and the spell was broken. He took a measured step back, features shuttering. "Best we get you settled in the house," he said brusquely. "Red's probably fixin' to break down the door wonderin' where we got to." 

Clementine swallowed, her tongue darting out to moisten her suddenly dry lips. "Of course," she managed. "After you."

They walked in silence back to the ranch house, a palpable charge still shimmering in the scant space between their bodies. Clementine's mind raced as she tried to make sense of the strange, heated little moment in the barn. Surely it was just a trick of the light, an odd fluke of exhaustion and overwrought nerves. There could be no other explanation for the way her skin had flushed and her stomach fluttered under Elvis' intent gaze.

She was just tired, that was all. Tired and overwhelmed and in desperate need of a bath and a good night's sleep in a proper bed. Everything would seem much more manageable in the clear light of morning. Including a certain confounding cowboy who seemed to swing between hostility and allure at the drop of a hat.

By the time they reached the house, Clementine had convinced herself she had imagined the whole unsettling interlude. Elvis deposited her on the front porch with a perfunctory nod and a promise to have one of the hands bring up a hip bath and hot water. Then he was gone, striding off towards the corrals with that swagger that drew entirely too much of her attention.

Clementine pushed through the door, resolved to put the perplexing man out of her head for the time being. She had more pressing concerns, like acquainting herself with her new living quarters and trying to impose some order on the chaos of this abrupt upheaval.

But as she climbed the creaking stairs to the second floor, dusty carpetbag in hand, she couldn't shake the feeling that her true adventure was only just beginning. That Elvis and Windy Creek Ranch might wind up changing her life in ways she had never dared dream.

With a flutter of nervous anticipation, Clementine stepped across the threshold of her new bedroom, ready to embrace whatever challenges and surprises lay ahead. She could only hope she proved equal to them.

As Clementine explored her new bedchamber, she couldn't help but feel a sense of awe at the rustic charm that surrounded her. The room was simply furnished with a sturdy oak bed, a weathered dresser, and a washstand bearing a chipped porcelain basin. Faded calico curtains fluttered at the open window, letting in a breeze that carried the scent of lavender and distant pine.

It was a far cry from her cozy apartment back home, with its gas lamps and indoor plumbing and nosy neighbors just a thin wall away. But there was something undeniably appealing about this rough-hewn space, with its sense of history and hard-won comfort. She could almost imagine Uncle Ned sitting on the edge of this very bed, pulling off his boots after a long day in the saddle.

A lump rose in Clementine's throat as she thought of her uncle, of the legacy he had entrusted to her. She still couldn't quite believe he was gone, that she would never again hear his booming laugh or see the twinkle in his eye as he regaled her with tales of the wild west. He had been a larger-than-life figure, a beacon of adventure in her otherwise orderly world.

And now he had given her the greatest adventure of all. A chance to build something of her own, to carve out a place for herself in this untamed land. It was a daunting prospect, but also an exhilarating one. For the first time in her life, Clementine felt truly free. Free to make her own choices, to chase her own dreams, to become the woman she had always longed to be.

Oh, there would be challenges aplenty. She was under no illusions about that. Running a ranch was backbreaking work, and she had no experience with any of it. She would have to learn everything from scratch, would have to earn the respect of the men who worked for her. Men like Elvis, who seemed determined to undermine her at every turn.

Clementine's mouth tightened as she thought of the infuriating cowboy. He had made it abundantly clear that he thought she was in over her head, that a city girl like her had no business trying to run a cattle operation. Well, she would just have to prove him wrong. She would work twice as hard as anyone else, would study and practice until she knew this ranch inside out. She would show Elvis and everyone else that Clementine Olivetti was more than just a pretty face in a fancy dress.

With renewed determination, she set about unpacking her trunk. She carefully hung up the simple frocks and sturdy boots she had brought for work, then tucked away the few more fashionable items she couldn't bear to leave behind. Her fingers lingered on a photograph of her parents on their wedding day, their faces alight with joy and promise. She placed it gently on the dresser.

A knock at the door startled Clementine from her reverie. "Come in," she called, smoothing her skirts self-consciously.

The door swung open to reveal a plump, motherly woman with greying hair and a flour-dusted apron. She bobbed a curtsy, her lined face creasing into a warm smile.

"Beggin' your pardon, miss, but I thought you might be ready for some supper. It's been a long day for you, I reckon."

Clementine's stomach rumbled at the mention of food. She hadn't eaten since breakfast, too nervous to do more than nibble on the journey. "That would be wonderful, thank you. Mrs...?"

"Jameson, miss. Ida Jameson. I've been cookin' and cleanin' for Windy Creek nigh on twenty years now. Ever since Mr. Ned hired me on after my dear Henry passed."

"I'm so pleased to meet you, Mrs. Jameson," said Clementine sincerely. "I hope you'll be patient with me as I learn my way around. This is all quite new to me."

"Oh, don't you fret none. We'll get you settled in right quick. Ain't nothin' to runnin' a house once you get the hang of it." Mrs. Jameson's eyes twinkled with kindly amusement. "And don't mind that Elvis none. His bark's worse than his bite. He's just used to havin' things his own way."

Clementine felt her cheeks heat at the mention of the exasperating foreman. Did her consternation show so plainly on her face? "I'll keep that in mind, Mrs. Jameson."

"You do that, miss. Now, let's get you fed afore you faint dead away. I've got a nice beef stew on the simmer and fresh bread just out of the oven."

Clementine's mouth watered at the thought. Suddenly ravenous, she followed Mrs. Jameson down to the kitchen, the delectable scents wafting up the stairs making her stomach growl audibly.

The kitchen was a large, homey space, dominated by a massive cast iron stove and a long wooden table that could easily seat a dozen. Bunches of drying herbs hung from the rafters, jars of preserves lined the shelves, and a motley collection of skillets and kettles dangled from hooks on the walls. It was a far cry from the convenient, modern kitchens Clementine was accustomed to, but there was a cozy charm to it that put her instantly at ease.

Mrs. Jameson bustled about, ladling steaming stew into a blue willow bowl and cutting a thick slice of crusty bread. She set the meal in front of Clementine with a flourish, then poured a tall glass of cool, creamy milk from a stoneware pitcher.

"There you are. Eat up now, and don't be shy about askin' for seconds. Lord knows there's plenty to go around."

Clementine breathed in the savory aroma, her eyes fluttering shut in anticipation. She couldn't remember the last time a simple meal had looked so enticing. Murmuring her thanks, she dug in with gusto, the rich flavors exploding on her tongue.

For a few blissful minutes, there was no sound but the clink of Clementine's spoon against the bowl and the occasional appreciative hum as she savored each mouthful. Mrs. Jameson puttered about, wiping down counters and setting a pot of coffee to brew, a small, satisfied smile on her face as she watched her new mistress eat.

But the peaceful moment was shattered by the sudden bang of the screen door flying open. Elvis strode into the kitchen, his spurs jingling and his hat pulled low over his brow. He drew up short at the sight of Clementine, his eyes narrowing imperceptibly.

"Mrs. J, we got any of that stew left? I'm powerful hungry after wranglin' that new string of horses all afternoon."

"Sit yourself down, Mr. Elvis, and I'll fetch you a bowl," said Mrs. Jameson placidly, seemingly impervious to the sudden tension in the room.

Elvis hesitated, his gaze flicking between Clementine and the empty chair across from her. For a moment, she thought he might make some excuse and flee, but then he shrugged and sank down onto the bench, his long legs stretching out beneath the table.

Clementine kept her eyes fixed on her bowl, her appetite suddenly deserting her. She could feel Elvis watching her, could sense the coiled energy radiating off him like heat from a stove. It made her skin prickle and her heart thump erratically in her chest.

Mrs. Jameson set a heaping bowl in front of Elvis, then tactfully withdrew, muttering something about needing to tend to the laundry. Clementine silently cursed the woman for abandoning her, even as she understood the impulse. The air between her and Elvis was thick with a strange, charged energy that made it hard to breathe, let alone carry on a normal conversation.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Clementine pushed a chunk of potato around her bowl, acutely aware of Elvis' every move as he tore off a hunk of bread and sopped up the rich gravy. She could hear the soft, wet sounds of his chewing, could catch the faint scent of horse and leather and sweat that clung to his skin.

It was all suddenly too much. Too intimate, too unnerving. Clementine pushed back from the table, nearly upending her milk glass in her haste. "Please excuse me," she mumbled, not meeting Elvis' eyes. "It's been a long day and I'm quite exhausted."

She fled the kitchen before he could respond, her cheeks burning and her pulse pounding in her ears. She didn't slow down until she reached the sanctuary of her bedroom, the door slamming shut behind her with a satisfying bang.

Clementine leaned back against the solid oak, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. What on earth was wrong with her? She had never been one to let a man fluster her, had prided herself on her poise and composure in even the most trying of circumstances. But something about Elvis made her feel off-balance, unsettled in a way she couldn't quite define.

It was more than just his rough manners and challenging attitude. There was a rawness to him, a sense of barely leashed power that sent a thrill down her spine even as it set her nerves on edge. When he looked at her, she felt stripped bare, as if he could see straight through her proper facade to the wild, yearning heart beneath.

It was terrifying. And if Clementine was being honest with herself, it was also strangely exhilarating. All her life, she had played by the rules, had done what was expected of her. She had been the dutiful daughter, the demure debutante, the efficient employee. But here, in this rugged land so far from everything she had ever known, she could feel those old constraints falling away. Here, she could be anyone she wanted to be, could chase dreams she had never dared voice aloud.

Even if those dreams involved a certain brooding, impossible cowboy with eyes the color of a stormy sky.

Clementine pushed off the door, shaking her head at her own foolishness. She was being ridiculous. Elvis was just a man, no different from any other. A bit rougher around the edges, mayhap, but certainly not worth losing her head over. She had more important things to worry about, like learning to run this ranch and proving herself worthy of her uncle's trust.

With a resolute nod, Clementine began to undress for bed, her fingers deftly unfastening the long row of buttons down the back of her bodice. She slipped the heavy garment off, sighing with relief as the cool air hit her sweat-dampened skin. She reached for her nightgown, a simple cotton shift that fell to her ankles in soft folds.

But as she lifted the garment over her head, a sudden gust of wind from the open window sent the curtains billowing inward, the fabric brushing against her bare skin like a lover's caress. Clementine shivered, gooseflesh rising on her arms and legs. For a moment, she imagined it was Elvis' hands on her, his callused fingers tracing the curve of her spine, the hollow of her throat, the swell of her breast...

With a gasp, Clementine wrenched the nightgown down, her face flaming with mortification. Good heavens, what was she thinking? She must be more tired than she realized, to let her mind wander down such inappropriate paths. Elvis was her employee, nothing more. To allow herself to entertain such lurid fantasies was not only foolish, but dangerous.

Flustered and out of sorts, Clementine crawled beneath the patchwork quilt, the bed creaking beneath her weight. She thumped the pillow a bit harder than necessary, then lay back with a huff, staring up at the shadowy rafters above.

Sleep. That was what she needed. A good night's rest to clear her head and settle her nerves. Tomorrow would be a new day, full of challenges and opportunities. She would rise with the sun, would throw herself into the work of the ranch with all the energy and determination she possessed. And if her thoughts should happen to stray to a certain dark-haired, blue-eyed cowboy, well... she would just have to deal with that when the time came.

With a sigh, Clementine closed her eyes, willing her racing mind to quiet. But even as she drifted off to sleep, she couldn't shake the feeling that her life was about to change in ways she had never dared imagine. That Elvis and Windy Creek Ranch would test her in ways she had never been tested before.

And that maybe, just maybe, she was ready for the challenge.

Chapter 2

The shrill crow of a rooster jolted Clementine from a dreamless sleep. She sat up with a start, momentarily disoriented by the unfamiliar surroundings. Then memory came flooding back - the long journey west, the startling confrontation with Elvis, the strange, charged moment in the kitchen the night before.

Clementine groaned, flopping back against the pillows. She had hoped that a good night's sleep would clear her head, would settle the unsettling flutter in her stomach whenever she thought of the taciturn cowboy. But if anything, the light of day only made her confusion and trepidation worse.

How was she supposed to face him this morning, after fleeing from him like a frightened rabbit? He must think her a complete fool, a silly city girl who couldn't handle the slightest hint of rough manners. And what must the other ranch hands think, seeing their new boss so easily flustered by their foreman?

Clementine set her jaw, a spark of determination igniting in her chest. No. She refused to let Elvis or anyone else rattle her. She was Clementine Olivetti, mistress of Windy Creek Ranch. She had faced far greater challenges than one surly cowboy, and she would face this one with the same grit and grace that had gotten her this far.

With a resolute nod, Clementine threw back the covers and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She winced as her feet hit the cold floorboards, the chill of the early morning air raising gooseflesh on her arms. Shivering, she hurried to the washstand and poured a measure of tepid water from the pitcher into the basin. She splashed her face and neck, the bracing coolness helping to chase away the last vestiges of sleep.

As she toweled off, Clementine caught sight of herself in the small, spotty mirror hanging above the washstand. Her reflection stared back at her, wide-eyed and a bit wan. The long journey and the stress of the previous day had taken their toll - there were shadows beneath her eyes and a pinched look to her mouth. But there was also a new resolve in the set of her chin, a glint of steel in her gaze.

She was not the same woman who had left New York. The old Clementine would have balked at the idea of manual labor, would have blanched at the thought of getting her hands dirty. But the new Clementine, the Clementine who had crossed a continent to claim her inheritance, was ready to roll up her sleeves and get to work.

With that thought firmly in mind, Clementine set about dressing for the day ahead. She chose a simple frock of sturdy blue calico, the skirt full enough to allow for ease of movement. Over it, she layered a crisp white apron, the bib protecting her bodice from any stray bits of dirt or debris. She pulled her hair back into a practical bun at the nape of her neck, then topped the ensemble with a wide-brimmed straw hat to shield her face from the sun.

Looking at herself in the mirror, Clementine felt a surge of satisfaction. She looked like a woman who meant business, a woman ready to take on whatever challenges the day might bring. With a nod of approval, she turned away from the glass and made her way downstairs.

The kitchen was already a hive of activity when Clementine entered. Mrs. Jameson stood at the stove, stirring a pot of bubbling oatmeal with one hand while flipping pancakes with the other. The air was thick with the scent of frying bacon and fresh coffee, making Clementine's stomach rumble in anticipation.

"Good morning, Mrs. Jameson," she said, taking a seat at the long wooden table. "That smells heavenly."

"Mornin', Miss Clementine," the housekeeper replied, casting a smile over her shoulder. "I hope you slept well. I know the first night in a new place can be a bit unsettlin'."

"I slept just fine, thank you," Clementine lied, not wanting to admit to the restless thoughts that had kept her tossing and turning half the night. "Is there anything I can do to help with breakfast?"

Mrs. Jameson looked scandalized at the very idea. "Heavens no, miss! You just sit right there and let me take care of everything. It's my job to make sure you're well-fed and rested, not the other way around."

Clementine opened her mouth to protest, but the housekeeper cut her off with a stern look. "I mean it, miss. You've got enough on your plate as it is, learnin' the ropes of runnin' this ranch. Leave the cookin' and cleanin' to me."

Chastened, Clementine sat back in her chair, feeling a bit useless. She was used to being busy from sunup to sundown, to having a full day's work ahead of her. The idea of sitting idle while others bustled about made her itch with restlessness.

But before she could dwell on it too long, the kitchen door swung open and Elvis strode in, his spurs jingling with each step. Clementine's heart gave a traitorous leap at the sight of him, her skin prickling with awareness as his gaze landed on her.

"Mornin', Mrs. J," he said, tipping his hat to the housekeeper. Then, almost as an afterthought, "Miss Clementine."

"Good morning, Elvis," Clementine replied, proud of how steady her voice sounded. "I trust you slept well?"

Elvis shrugged, hooked his thumbs in his gun belt. "Well enough. Got a full day ahead, so I reckon I'll sleep when I'm dead." His blue eyes glinted with something that might have been amusement, or might have been challenge. "You ready to get your hands dirty, boss lady?"

Clementine lifted her chin, meeting his gaze squarely. "I am. Just tell me where to start."

Elvis' mouth twitched, as if he were fighting back a smile. "Reckon we'll start with the chickens. Gotta collect the eggs and feed the birds 'fore we do anything else."

Clementine's nose wrinkled at the thought of mucking about in a chicken coop, but she nodded gamely. "Lead the way, then."

Elvis cocked a brow, looking almost impressed by her easy acquiescence. He jerked his chin toward the door, then strode out into the morning sunlight without a backward glance.

Clementine hurried to follow, her heart hammering with a mix of nerves and excitement. This was it - her first real test as mistress of Windy Creek. She could only hope she was up to the challenge.

The chicken coop was a ramshackle affair, all weathered wood and rusting wire. It stood at the edge of the yard, a few dozen scrawny birds pecking and scratching at the dirt around its base. They scattered as Elvis approached, clucking and flapping in agitation.

"Little bastards," Elvis muttered, kicking at a particularly bold rooster who dared to dart across his path. "More trouble than they're worth, most days."

Clementine eyed the birds warily, keeping a safe distance as Elvis unlatched the coop door and ducked inside. She could hear him moving about, the soft cluck and coo of the hens as he gathered their eggs. A moment later, he emerged, a basket hooked over one arm.

"Here," he said, thrusting the basket into Clementine's hands. "Hold this while I scatter the feed."

Clementine took the basket gingerly, peering down at the warm, speckled eggs nestled in the straw. They were still faintly damp from the hens' nests, and they gave off a rich, earthy scent that made her think of new life and green growing things.

As Elvis scattered handfuls of cracked corn across the yard, the chickens swarmed around his feet, pecking and jostling for position. Clementine watched in fascination as they darted and fluttered, their beady eyes bright with greed. She had never seen anything so vibrantly alive, so utterly unconcerned with human affairs.

"They're quite something, aren't they?" she murmured, almost to herself.

Elvis glanced up at her, surprised. "What, the chickens? I suppose so. Never gave 'em much thought, to be honest. Just another chore to be done."

Clementine shook her head, a small smile playing about her lips. "There's a lesson in that, I think. They don't worry about yesterday or tomorrow. They just live in the moment, taking what they need and letting the rest go."

Elvis straightened, dusting his hands off on his chaps. He regarded her with a new intensity, as if seeing her for the first time. "Ain't you just full of surprises, Miss Clementine."

Clementine felt a flush creep up her neck at his words, at the way his gaze seemed to linger on her face. She ducked her head, suddenly fascinated by the eggs in her basket.

"We should get these inside," she said briskly, turning back toward the house. "Mrs. Jameson will be wanting them for breakfast."

She could feel Elvis' eyes on her back as she walked away, could sense the weight of his regard like a physical touch. It made her skin tingle and her stomach flutter, made her feel alive in a way she never had before.

But she couldn't let herself dwell on it. Couldn't let herself get distracted by the way he made her feel. She had a ranch to run, a legacy to uphold. And she would do it with or without Elvis' approval.

With a determined set to her shoulders, Clementine marched up the porch steps and into the kitchen, ready to face whatever the day might bring. And if her thoughts kept straying to a pair of piercing blue eyes and a crooked, knowing smile, well...that was nobody's business but her own.

As the morning wore on, Clementine found herself thrown headlong into the daily rhythms of ranch life. After breakfast, Elvis put her to work mucking out stalls in the barn, a task that left her sweaty and aching but oddly satisfied. There was something soothing about the repetitive motions, the earthy scent of hay and horse, the soft whickers and snuffles of the animals as she worked.

Next came a lesson in saddling a horse, Elvis' hands guiding her through the intricacies of cinches and stirrups. Clementine tried not to think about how close he stood, how the heat of his body seemed to seep into her skin through the layers of her dress. She focused instead on the task at hand, on the supple leather beneath her fingers and the solid weight of the saddle as she hefted it onto the horse's back.

By the time the sun reached its zenith, Clementine was sore and sweat-streaked but buzzing with a sense of accomplishment. She had never worked so hard in her life, had never pushed herself to such physical limits. But there was a deep satisfaction in it, a pride in knowing that she was capable of more than she had ever imagined.

As they made their way back to the house for dinner, Elvis fell into step beside her, his long legs easily matching her shorter strides. Clementine glanced up at him, surprised to find a glint of approval in his eyes.

"You did good today," he said gruffly, as if the words pained him. "Reckon you might just have what it takes to make a go of this place after all."

Clementine felt a warm glow of pleasure at his praise, even as she bristled at the note of surprise in his voice. "Did you doubt it?" she asked archly.

Elvis' mouth twitched, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Let's just say I had my reservations. But you're full of surprises, Miss Clementine. Reckon I'm gonna have to keep an eye on you."

There was something in the way he said it, a hint of challenge and something else, something that made Clementine's pulse skip and her skin tingle. She met his gaze squarely, refusing to back down.

"I suppose you will," she said, her voice steady even as her heart raced. "But I intend to keep an eye on you as well. We're in this together, Elvis. Whether you like it or not."

For a moment, Elvis just stared at her, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he nodded, a glimmer of respect in his eyes.

"Reckon we are," he said, his voice low and rough. "Reckon we are."

And with that, he turned and strode off toward the barn, leaving Clementine to watch him go, her heart hammering in her chest and a new determination burning in her veins.

*

One morning, Elvis gathered the ranch hands for the afternoon's work—a cattle drive to the south pasture to check on the herd and survey the fence lines. Clementine insisted on going along, despite Elvis' skeptical look and Slim’s poorly concealed grin.

Elvis gestured to a small bay mare tethered nearby. "That there is Nutmeg. She's gentle as a lamb and sure-footed on any terrain. Figured she'd suit a greenhorn like you."

Clementine eyed the saddle and tack warily. She knew she was badly out of practice. But she'd be damned if she let Elvis see her falter.

"Lovely," she said brightly, untying Nutmeg's reins and leading her out into the sunlight.

Now came the tricky part. How in blazes did one mount a horse unassisted whilst wearing trousers? Clementine's mind raced as she tried to recall the particulars. There had been talk of a mounting block or some sort of assistance from a groom...

Before she could make a bigger fool of herself, a large, work-roughened hand appeared in her peripheral vision.

"Allow me," Elvis murmured, his breath tickling her ear. 

Clementine stiffened but managed a jerky nod, steeling herself as he gripped her waist and practically tossed her into the saddle as if she weighed nothing at all. Good lord, the man was strong as an ox!

"There now," Elvis said, sounding faintly amused. "Snug as a bug. Let's hit the trail."

He swung aboard his own horse, Rising Sun, with effortless grace and set off at a brisk trot, leaving Clementine scrambling to gather her reins and urge Nutmeg to follow. The mare fell into step readily enough, but the motion of the saddle had Clementine lurching and sliding like a sack of potatoes. She clung to the horn for dear life, her teeth rattling and her hat threatening to fly off with every jolting stride.

“You alright there, city slicker?” Elvis offered with a smirk. 

Clementine scowled at him, her face flushed with exertion and embarrassment. "I'm perfectly fine, thank you. It's just been a while since I've ridden."

"I can see that. You're bouncin' around up there like a flea on a hot griddle." Red, Slim, and Rusty chuckled. 

Clementine's temper flared. "Well, forgive me for not being born in the saddle like some people. We can't all be insolent, arrogant cowboys!"

Elvis' eyes narrowed, his smile fading. "Careful now, missy. That insolent, arrogant cowboy is the only thing standing between you and a long walk back to the house. Might want to mind your manners."

“Aw hell, Elvis, leave the little lady alone,” Slim attempted to diffuse the budding argument.

Clementine knew she should back down, should swallow her pride and apologize. But something about this man just rubbed her the wrong way, stirring up a reckless, contrary streak she didn't even know she possessed.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said sweetly to herself, not expecting anyone to hear her. "I thought I was the boss around here. My mistake."

Elvis' jaw clenched, his hand tightening on the reins. "Boss or not, out here you're just another greenhorn. And greenshorns who don't listen to good sense often end up buzzard bait. So you can either stow that snippy attitude and let me teach you a thing or two, or you can take your chances on your own. What'll it be?"

Red, Slim, and Rusty slowed their horses down, holding their breath and waiting for her answer. Clementine glared at Elvis, her pride warring with her common sense. As much as it galled her to admit it, Elvis was right. She was out of her depth out here and antagonizing her only guide was foolish at best, deadly at worst.

"Fine," she bit out. "Teach away, oh wise one. I am your humble student."

Elvis snorted, shaking his head. "You sure don't make it easy, do you? Alright, first things first—loosen up on them reins. You're holding 'em like you expect Nutmeg to bolt any second. She ain't going nowhere, trust me."

Clementine forced her white-knuckled grip to relax, letting out a shaky breath as the mare flicked an ear back curiously.

"Good. Now, stand up in them stirrups a bit. Let your knees absorb the motion 'stead of your backside. And keep your heels down for balance."

Clementine did as instructed, wobbling precariously for a moment before finding a rhythm. To her surprise, the ride smoothed out considerably, Nutmeg's rocking gait almost pleasant now that she wasn't being jounced to pieces.

"Well, would you look at that," Elvis drawled. "She can be taught. Keep that up and we might make a passable rider out of you yet, Miss Clementine."

Clementine felt an absurd flush of pleasure at his gruff approval. Honestly, what did she care what this uncouth lout thought of her? Still, perhaps it wouldn't kill her to bend a little, to put aside her wounded pride in service of the greater goal. She needed Elvis' cooperation if she hoped to make a go of this venture. Catching more flies with honey and all that.

Red’s mare caught up to hers, and he gently squeezed Clementine’s arm. “Don’t pay old Elvis no mind. He’s always a little ornery in the morning.” 

The four of them rode on in relatively companionable silence, the raw beauty of the landscape stealing Clementine's breath. Towering buttes and mesas rose up from the sun-baked earth, their banded layers glowing red and gold in the slanting light. Gnarled junipers dotted the hillsides, providing scant shade for the cacti and scrub brush that clung tenaciously to the rocky soil. In the distance, a band of wild mustangs kicked up dust as they fled across the flats, tails streaming behind them like banners.

It was a harsh, unforgiving land, but stunning in its austerity. Clementine tried to imagine her uncle Ned riding these same trails, his weather-beaten face creased in a smile as he surveyed his domain. She may not have known him well, but she sensed a kindred spirit—someone drawn to challenge and adventure, to pitting themselves against an untamed wilderness and emerging the victor.

Well, here I am, Uncle Ned, she thought. Following in your boot prints at last. I just hope I'm up to the task.

Lost in thought, Clementine scarcely noticed when Rusty reined in his horse at the crest of a rise, his keen gaze scanning the horizon.

"There," he said, pointing to a distant smudge of brown against the green and gold. "The herd's just over that next ridge. About three hundred head of prime Hereford, Ned's pride and joy. Let's ease up on 'em slow and quiet-like. Don't want to spook 'em into a stampede."

They approached the grazing cattle cautiously, Clementine's heart thudding with anticipation. Her first real look at her newfound livelihood. What would Ned have thought, seeing her astride a ranch horse, ready to take the reins of his empire? Would he be proud or appalled? Amused or aghast?

"You sure you're up for this, Miss Clementine?" Red asked, his blue eyes twinkling with mirth. "Ridin' herd ain't no picnic, 'specially for a greenhorn."

Clementine lifted her chin, giving him a cool smile. "I'm tougher than I look, Mr. Redding. And I'm a quick study. I'll be just fine."

The cattle regarded the riders placidly, chewing their cud and swishing their tails at the flies. Up close, they were even more enormous than Clementine had imagined, their heavy bodies and wickedly curved horns dwarfing the horses. She felt a flicker of unease, remembering tales of cowpokes gored and trampled by unruly steers.

As if sensing her trepidation, Elvis murmured, "Easy now. They're more scared of you than you are of them. These are good, docile beasts, well-used to human handling. Just keep your movements slow and predictable and you'll be fine."

Clementine nodded jerkily, fighting the urge to wheel Nutmeg around and gallop in the opposite direction. She trusted Elvis' expertise, even if she didn't particularly like or respect the man himself. He'd kept this herd thriving for five years—that had to count for something.

They meandered through the milling cattle, Elvis pointing out choice specimens and explaining the finer points of branding, breeding, and husbandry. Clementine did her best to absorb the onslaught of information, her head fairly spinning with talk of bloodlines and feed supplements and market prices.

One thing was becoming crystal clear. She was hopelessly out of her depth when it came to the day-to-day realities of running a ranch. Short of a miracle or divine intervention, Windy Creek would be bankrupt and in ruins within a month under her ignorant guidance.

Clementine's throat tightened with despair at the thought of failing her uncle, of losing this land that meant so much to him. And what of the people who depended on Windy Creek for their livelihood? Red and Slim and Rusty and the other hands she had yet to meet—how could she face them if her incompetence cost them their jobs, their homes?

No, it was unthinkable. She needed help, loath as she was to admit it. She needed Elvis.

Clementine was just working up the nerve to broach the subject when the quiet afternoon exploded into chaos. One moment the cattle were grazing peacefully, the next they were bellowing in alarm, eyes rolling and hooves churning the earth. The cause of their distress soon became apparent—a pair of snarling, yipping coyotes had burst from the underbrush, harrying the herd's flanks in search of an easy meal.

"Damnation!" Elvis swore, spurring his mount towards the threat. "Slim! Red! Rusty! Get after 'em 'fore they scatter the herd!"

Clementine watched in amazement as the cowhands sprung into immediate action, whooping and hollering as they rode to head off the predators. Red in particular was a sight to behold, his enormous frame dwarfing his horse as he thundered after a fleeing coyote, his lasso whirling overhead.

In the midst of the pandemonium, Clementine lost sight of Elvis. She reined in Nutmeg, heart in her throat as she scanned the milling herd for any sign of him. Panic clawed at her insides as horrible visions flashed through her mind—Elvis thrown from the saddle, trampled beneath a hundred hooves, bleeding and broken on the unforgiving ground...

A flash of movement caught her eye and Clementine shrieked in alarm, instinctively wrenching Nutmeg to the side. Too late, she realized her mistake as a coyote darted from the brush directly underfoot, spooking the mare into a wild, twisting buck.

Clementine felt herself slipping, her tenuous grip on the saddle horn failing as Nutmeg crow-hopped and whirled beneath her. She had one instant of sickening clarity, the knowledge that this was going to hurt, before the ground rushed up to meet her with stunning force.

The impact drove the air from her lungs in a whoosh, black spots crowding the edges of her vision. Dimly, she registered the thud of approaching hoofbeats, the bawl of frightened cattle, someone shouting her name with increasing urgency.

"Clementine! Clementine, goddammit, answer me!"

Rough hands seized her shoulders, rolling her onto her back. Clementine blinked up at Elvis' ashen face, his blue eyes wide with fear.

"I'm... alright," she croaked, wincing at the stabbing pain in her ribs. "Just had the wind knocked out of me."

"You're hurt," Elvis said roughly, his fingers coming away from her temple sticky with red. "What the hell were you thinking, pulling a stunt like that? You're lucky you didn't break your damn fool neck!"

"I was thinking that I didn't particularly want to be some coyote's dinner," Clementine snapped, struggling to sit up. "What was I supposed to do, let it take a chunk out of Nutmeg?"

"Better the horse than you!" Elvis shot back. "Christ almighty, do you have any idea what it would've done to me if you'd been killed on my watch? On your first day here?"

There was something raw and desperate in his voice, an emotion Clementine couldn't quite name. She stared at him, struck speechless by the intensity of his reaction.

Before she could formulate a response, the sound of pounding hooves announced the return of the other cowhands. Red reined up hard beside them, his ruddy face creased with concern.

"Miss Clementine! You okay? We saw you take that spill and feared the worst!"

"I'm fine, Red," Clementine assured him, accepting Elvis' hand up with as much dignity as she could muster. "Just a little tumble. No permanent damage."

Rusty looked skeptical, eyeing the bloody gash on her forehead. "That's gonna need some doctorin'. We best get you back to the house and have Juanita take a look."

"I said I'm fine," Clementine insisted, swaying slightly as a wave of dizziness washed over her. "There's no need to fuss."

Elvis made a wordless sound of frustration, scooping her up into his arms as if she weighed no more than a sack of flour. "Stubborn woman! You're gettin' patched up and that's final. Rusty, ride back to the ranch and tell Juanita to put the kettle on and set up a place on the porch.”

"Yessir, boss!" Rusty wheeled his horse and took off at a gallop, stirring up a cloud of dust.

"Slim, you get this heard settled and head on back when you can. Red, you lead Nutmeg back. I'm takin' Miss Accident-Prone here home before she finds more trouble to get into."

Elvis plunked Clementine onto his saddle and swung up behind her, caging her in with his long arms. She opened her mouth to protest the indignity of it all, but a stern look from those flinty blue eyes had her subsiding into sullen silence.

The ride back to the house seemed to take an eternity, every jolt and jostle sending fresh sparks of pain through Clementine's battered body. She could feel the heat of Elvis' chest at her back, the tickle of his breath ruffling her hair. It was unsettling, being in such close proximity to him. Like trying to relax with a loaded gun at your temple.

By the time they reached the ranch yard, Clementine's head was throbbing and her stomach was churning alarmingly. Black spots swarmed her vision as Elvis lifted her down from the saddle, his hands exceedingly gentle for all their strength.

"Easy there, darlin'. I got you."

Clementine leaned into him, too woozy to protest the endearment. He smelled of leather and sweat and something uniquely male, a scent that made her pulse flutter in a way that had nothing to do with her injuries.

She was only vaguely aware of being carried up the porch steps and settled onto a low cot, clucking female voices buzzing around her like concerned hens. Cool hands smoothed her brow, a damp cloth dabbing at the sticky mess at her hairline. The sting of alcohol made her hiss, flinching away.

"Hush, child," crooned Juanita, the middle-aged Mexican woman who served as the ranch’s de facto doctor-slash-veterinarian. "This will clean the cut, keep it from putrefaction. Drink this now, for the dolor de cabeza."

A cup was pressed to Clementine's lips, bitter tea laced with something sharper, medicinal. She gulped it obediently, desperate for anything to dull the relentless pounding behind her eyes.

Gradually, blessedly, the pain receded to a distant ache, her limbs growing heavy with languor. Clementine felt herself sinking into the downy embrace of the cot, the muted sounds of the ranch fading to a distant hum. Just before oblivion claimed her, she thought she felt the calloused touch of a hand smoothing her hair, the gruff timbre of a voice rumbling something that sounded suspiciously like "rest now, wildcat."

But it was probably just a dream, a product of her exhausted, concussed brain. Elvis Presley would never be so tender, so solicitous. Not to her. Not in a million years.

*

Clementine slept, and did not dream at all.

She awoke slowly, surfacing from the depths of unconsciousness like a diver ascending sunlit waters. Her head felt muzzy, her mouth dry as cotton, but the pain had faded to a faint, distant throb. Blinking gummy eyes, she struggled to focus on her surroundings.

She was lying on the cot on the front porch, a patchwork quilt tucked around her legs. The sun was setting in a blaze of orange and pink, the long shadows of the outbuildings stretching across the yard like grasping fingers. Somewhere nearby, a lone cicada buzzed in the cooling air, a herald of the approaching dusk.

"Well now, look who's back among the living."

Clementine turned her head, wincing at the twinge in her neck. Elvis was seated in a rocking chair a few feet away, his long legs stretched out before him and his hat tipped low over his eyes. He looked relaxed, indolent even, but Clementine could sense the coiled energy beneath the languid facade, the watchful tension of a predator at rest.

"What happened?" she croaked, struggling to sit up. "How long was I out?"

"Couple hours," Elvis replied, leaning forward to hand her a tin cup of water. "You took a pretty good knock to the head when that mare bucked you off. Juanita cleaned you up and dosed you with one of her concoctions. Said you'd be right as rain after some rest."

Clementine sipped the water, frowning as memory returned in fits and starts. The coyote, Nutmeg's panicked thrashing, the sickening weightlessness as she flew through the air...

"The cattle!" she exclaimed, slopping water down her front in her agitation. "Did they scatter? Was anyone hurt?"

Elvis shook his head, a faint smile playing about his lips. "Nah, we got 'em rounded up and settled quick enough. And other than a few bumps and bruises, everyone came through just fine. Except for you, a'course. Damn foolish stunt you pulled out there."

Clementine bristled at the censure in his tone, even as a tiny part of her acknowledged the truth of it. "I was just reacting on instinct. I didn't want Nutmeg to get hurt."

"And I didn't want you to get dead," Elvis retorted, a sudden edge to his voice. "Do you have any idea how close you came to dying today? How it felt to see you layin' there in the dirt, bleedin' and still as a corpse? Christ, Clementine, you 'bout stopped my heart."

Clementine stared at him, caught off-guard by the admission.

She flushed, both at the scolding and the backhanded compliment. "Yes, well, I suppose I've learned my lesson about playing the hero. Ranch work is a sight more dangerous than minding a shop or keeping accounts."

To her surprise, Elvis chuckled. "Reckon that's true enough. But you showed some real grit out there today, greenhorn or no. Not many city gals would have stuck it out like you did."

His praise, grudging as it was, warmed Clementine down to her toes. She ducked her head to hide her pleased smile, suddenly very aware of his nearness, of the way his knee brushed her hip through the quilt.

"I guess I'm tougher than I look," she said, aiming for nonchalance.

"Guess you are," Elvis agreed. Something in his tone made Clementine look up, her breath catching at the intensity in his blue eyes. For a long, charged moment, they just stared at each other, the air between them fairly crackling with an unnamed tension.

Then Elvis blinked and looked away, clearing his throat gruffly. "Best you get some more rest," he said, rising from the rocker. "I'll have Ida bring you up some supper later. Holler if you need anything."

And with that, he was gone, leaving Clementine alone with her whirling thoughts. She lay back against the pillows, her heart racing and her skin tingling where his gaze had lingered. What on earth had just happened? One minute Elvis was his usual gruff, scolding self, the next he was looking at her like... like...

Like a man looks at a woman he desires, a traitorous voice whispered in her head. Clementine shook the thought away, scandalised. Surely she was imagining things, seeing more than was there. She and Elvis were like oil and water, always rubbing each other the wrong way. He tolerated her for the sake of the ranch, nothing more. The idea that he might feel something deeper, something tender and passionate and real... it was impossible.

Wasn't it?

Clementine groaned and turned her face into the pillow, suddenly exhausted. Her head ached abominably, and her heart felt like a bird beating its wings against the cage of her ribs. She needed sleep, needed time to sort through the jumble of her emotions and the strange, unsettling effect Elvis Presley seemed to have on her good sense.

But even as she drifted off into a fitful doze, Clementine couldn't shake the memory of his eyes on hers, intense and searching and full of something that looked achingly like longing. It haunted her dreams, that look—a promise, a challenge, a invitation to something thrilling and terrifying and utterly forbidden.

Something Clementine knew she shouldn't want... but lord help her, she did.

She wanted it with every fiber of her being.

*

Over the next few days, as Clementine recovered from her injuries, she had ample time to reflect on her growing feelings for Elvis. It was maddening, the way he seemed to invade her every waking thought. She would be in the middle of some mundane task—shelling peas with Ida in the kitchen, or mending a torn shirt in her room—and suddenly his face would swim before her mind's eye, those piercing blue eyes and that crooked, knowing smile making her stomach flutter and her cheeks heat.

It was ridiculous. It was inappropriate. It was... inevitable, if Clementine was being honest with herself. From the moment she'd first laid eyes on Elvis, standing tall and proud on the porch of Windy Creek Ranch, she had felt the pull of him. The attraction, the fascination, the infuriating urge to crack that stony facade and see the man beneath.

But it was more than just physical allure. As the days turned into weeks and Clementine settled into her new life at the ranch, she began to see glimmers of the real Elvis: the loyal friend, the tireless worker, the unexpected jokester. Oh, he could be maddening, with his gruffness and his stubborn pride. But he could also be unexpectedly kind, unbelievably patient, and downright entertaining when the mood struck him.

Like the time he'd caught her trying to sneak a peek at his guitar, the one he kept propped in a corner of the bunkhouse. She'd been sure he would scold her for snooping, or worse, laugh at her clumsy attempts to pluck out a tune. But instead, he'd just shaken his head and smiled that crooked smile of his, then sat down beside her and showed her how to hold the instrument, his callused fingers guiding hers over the strings until she could pick out a passable melody.

Or the night he'd found her crying in the hayloft, homesick and overwhelmed and halfway convinced she'd made a terrible mistake in coming to Windy Creek. He hadn't said a word, just sat down beside her and pulled her into his arms, letting her sob into his shirt until she was spent. Then he'd tipped her chin up and looked into her eyes, his own gaze fierce and tender all at once.

"You're doing just fine, Clementine," he'd said, his voice low and rough. "You're right where you're meant to be."

It was moments like those that made Clementine's heart ache with a longing she couldn't quite name. A yearning for something more than friendship, more than partnership. 

Something that felt suspiciously like affection.

But it was impossible. She and Elvis were too different, too stubborn and set in their ways. They would drive each other mad within a year, Clementine was sure of it. And even if by some miracle they could make a go of it, there was still the ranch to consider. Windy Creek needed her, needed Elvis. They couldn't afford any distractions or entanglements.

No, it was better to put such foolish notions out of her head. To focus on her duties and her goals, and let her heart's desire remain just that—a secret, wistful dream.

But oh, how she dreamed.

As the weeks passed and Clementine grew stronger, she threw herself into life at Windy Creek with renewed determination. She rose with the sun each morning, joining Mrs. Jameson in the kitchen for a hearty breakfast before heading out to tackle the day's chores. She rode herd with the cattle, mended fences with Red and the boys, even tried her hand at roping and branding.

She still felt hopelessly out of her depth at times, but she was learning fast. And she had Elvis to thank for that. He was a patient teacher, though a demanding one. He pushed her hard, expecting nothing less than her very best effort. But he was also quick with a word of praise when she got something right, or a steadying hand when she faltered.

Slowly but surely, Clementine could feel herself changing. Growing tougher, more resilient. The blisters on her palms turned to calluses, the ache in her muscles to a pleasant sort of soreness. And though her prim city dresses were a thing of the past, she found she didn't miss them all that much. There was a freedom in denim and calico, a practicality that suited her new life.

She knew she still had a long way to go before she could truly call herself a rancher. But for the first time since arriving at Windy Creek, Clementine felt like she might actually belong here. Like she was exactly where she was meant to be.

And if her gaze still strayed to Elvis more often than it should, if her heart still raced at his nearness and her skin tingled at his touch... well. That was her secret to keep. Her cross to bear.

But lord, what a sweet burden it was.

*

One evening a few months later, as the sun dipped low on the horizon and painted the sky in shades of gold and pink, Clementine found herself alone with Elvis on a bluff overlooking the ranch. She'd gone up there to get away from the noise and bustle of the house for a while, to let the peace of the prairie soak into her bones and ease the remnants of the day's tension.

She hadn't expected Elvis to follow her. But then, he seemed to have a knack for turning up wherever she was. A coincidence, she told herself each time. Just a quirk of ranch life, two people whose paths were bound to cross often. It didn't mean anything.

But as Elvis came to stand beside her, his shoulder brushing hers as they looked out over the rolling expanse of Windy Creek, Clementine felt that old familiar flutter in her chest. The hitch in her breath, the skip of her pulse.

It meant something. It had to.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The only sound was the wind rustling through the grass, the distant lowing of the cattle in the pasture. Clementine breathed it in, let it fill her lungs and settle in her bones. This place, this land. It was a part of her now, as vital as her own beating heart.

"It's beautiful," she murmured, almost to herself.

Elvis hummed in agreement, his gaze never leaving the horizon. "Never get tired of this view. No matter how many times I see it."

Clementine glanced at him, struck by the wondering note in his voice. "You really love this place, don't you?"

Elvis nodded slowly. "It's in my blood. Has been since I was old enough to sit a horse. Used to dream about having a spread like this, a place to call my own." He paused, his jaw working as if wrestling with some inner debate. Then, quietly, "Never thought I'd find someone to share it with, though."

Clementine's heart stumbled, then began to race. Surely he didn't mean... no. He couldn't have. 

They rode home in silence. 

Chapter 3

The sun beat down on Clementine's back as she rode across the pasture, her eyes scanning the herd for any signs of trouble. It had been just over a year since she'd arrived at Windy Creek Ranch, and in that time, she'd learned more about cattle and cowboying than she'd ever thought possible.

She'd also learned a thing or two about herself. Like the fact that she was stronger than she'd ever given herself credit for, and that the wide-open spaces of the West felt more like home than the bustling streets of New York ever had.

As she turned her horse back towards the ranch house, Clementine couldn't help but smile. Despite the long days and the hard work, she'd never been happier. She had a purpose here, a place where she belonged.

She had Elvis. 

Of course, he was as quiet as ever. Truly, the strong and silent type. But somewhere along the way, through all the disagreements and teasing, a comfortable companionship had grown between them, and Clementine was grateful. 

She dismounted in front of the house, handing the reins off to one of the ranch hands. "Take good care of him, Johnny," she said, giving the boy a pat on the shoulder. "He worked hard today."

Johnny grinned, his freckled face beaming with pride. "Yes, ma'am, Miss Clementine. I'll give him a good rubdown and some extra oats."

Clementine nodded, grateful for the enthusiasm and dedication of her crew. Over time, the workers at the ranch had become like her family. In addition to Red, Slim, and Rusty, there was Johnny, the eager young newcomer; Hank, the grizzled old-timer who'd been working the ranch since before Clementine was born; Juanita, the no-nonsense veterinarian who kept the animals healthy and her affable husband Gerónimo; Ida, the motherly housekeeper and cook whose fried chicken was legendary around these parts; and a handful of other steady, reliable hands.

She made her way into the house, sighing with relief as the cool shade enveloped her. She had just taken off her gloves and settled down at her desk to go over the day's receipts when a letter caught her eye. It was postmarked from New York.

Clementine smiled as she unfolded the pages, eager for news from home. But before she could read more than a few lines, the door burst open and Elvis strode in, his face grim.

"We got trouble," he said without preamble. "Rustlers hit the Falling Tree Acres last night. They're missing a dozen head."

Clementine's blood ran cold. Rustlers. The scourge of the open range, the nightmare of every rancher west of the Mississippi. She had heard the stories, had listened to the ranch hands swap tales of cattle thefts and midnight raids. But she had never thought it would happen here, in their peaceful valley.

"Are you sure?" she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Elvis nodded grimly. "They found tracks this morning, out by their western pasture. Looks like the bastards cut the fence and drove off a dozen head in the night. Took ‘em 'til now to make sure there weren't no stragglers."

Clementine sank back into her chair, her knees suddenly weak. A dozen head. It didn't sound like much, but she knew that every animal counted, that even a small loss could be devastating to any ranch. 

“What’ll they do?” she asked, hating the tremor in her voice. "What if the rustlers come here?"

Elvis sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. "Ain't gonna be easy. These rustlers, they're smart. They know how to cover their tracks, how to disappear into the wilderness like ghosts. We could spend weeks chasin' 'em and never see hide nor hair."

Clementine's heart sank even further. Something had to be done, but... weeks of fruitless searching, of neglecting the ranch and the rest of the herd? They couldn't afford it, not now. Not when they were just starting to find their footing. Then again, they needed to do something about it—prevent any losses before they happened.

But then, a sudden thought struck her. A memory of something her uncle had said, long ago, when she was just a girl. Something about the importance of neighbors, of community, of banding together in times of trouble.

"What about the other ranchers?" she asked, sitting up straighter in her chair. "Surely we're not the only ones who have been hit by these rustlers. What if we joined forces, pooled our resources and manpower?"

Elvis looked at her in surprise, as if the idea had never occurred to him. "You mean, like a meeting?"

She took a deep breath, her mind already racing. "Yes," she said, standing up from her desk. "Let's get the word out. I want every rancher in the valley here tonight. We need to figure out a plan."

Elvis nodded, his jaw tight. "I'll send Rusty and Johnny to spread the news. You want me to ride over to Big Sky, let them know?"

Clementine hesitated, remembering the last time she'd seen Nathaniel Hawthorne. The man had been cold and dismissive, making it clear that he didn't think much of a woman running a ranch. But Big Sky was one of the largest spreads in the area, and they needed all the help they could get.

"No," she said finally. "I'll go myself. It's time Nathaniel and I had a little chat."

Elvis's eyes narrowed, but he didn't argue. "Alright then. I'll hold down the fort here, make sure everything's ready for tonight."

Clementine nodded, grateful for his support. She knew that Elvis had his doubts about her plan, but he trusted her enough to follow her lead. It meant more to her than she could say.

She rode hard for Big Sky, her thoughts churning as she tried to come up with a way to convince Nathaniel Hawthorne to join their cause. The man was as stubborn as a mule, and twice as mean. But if they had any hope of stopping the rustlers, they needed Big Sky on their side.

When she arrived at the ranch, she was surprised to be greeted not by Nathaniel, but by his son Aaron. The young man was a few years older than Clementine, with sharp hazel eyes and a no-nonsense air about him.

"Miss Olivetti," Aaron said, his tone cool but polite. "I'm afraid my father is indisposed at the moment. What can I do for you?"

Clementine dismounted, dusting off her hands on her skirt. "I'm sorry to hear that," she said, though she wasn't entirely sure she meant it. "I've come to talk to him about the rustler problem. We're calling a meeting tonight, and I was hoping Big Sky would be represented."

Aaron’s eyes narrowed, and Clementine got the sense that she was being sized up. "I see," the young man said finally. "Well, I can't speak for my father, but I'll be there. Big Sky takes the rustler threat very seriously."

She rode back to Windy Creek feeling accomplished, like they might just have a chance against the rustlers after all. But as the sun began to set and the ranchers began to arrive, Clementine felt her confidence waver.

The main room of the ranch house was crowded, the air thick with tension and the murmur of voices. Clementine looked around at the gathered men, recognizing most of the faces. There was Jake McAllister from the Circle B, his weathered face set in a scowl. Tom Hawkins from the Rocking H, his fingers drumming an agitated beat on his thigh. Hank Brewster from the Lazy J, his shoulders slumped with weariness. Of course, Jake Dawson from Falling Tree Acres was there, too, hopping mad. And a half-dozen others, all looking to her for answers.

Her own men were there as well—Red and Slim and Rusty, their expressions grim. And a few more she'd come to rely on over the past year: Jeb Thompson, a grizzled hand who could coax a calf from the orneriest of heifers; young Billy Turner, eager to prove himself; and Lyle Davis, quiet and steady, with a gift for gentling horses.

But there was one face Clementine didn't recognize—a woman, standing slightly apart from the rest. She was tall and slim, with honey-blonde hair and sharp blue eyes. When Elvis saw her, he stiffened, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face.

"Katie," he said, his voice carefully neutral. "Didn't expect to see you here."

The woman—Katie—smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Desperate times, Elvis. My father and Aaron sent me in their stead." Aaron Hawthorne. Katie was Aaron’s brother, and Nathaniel’s daughter. 

There was a story there, Clementine could tell. A history between Elvis and this Katie Hawthorne. But now was not the time to dwell on it. They had bigger problems to deal with.

As if on cue, Tom Hawkins spoke up, his voice tight with anger. "We all know why we're here. These rustlers are bleeding us dry, and something needs to be done about it. But I think we ought to wait and see." A murmur went around the room, heads shaking and fists clenching.

"And what good would hunkering down do?" demanded Sam Johnson, his fists clenched at his sides. "They'd just pick us off one by one, like lambs to the slaughter. No, we need to take the fight to them, hit them hard and fast before they can hit us again."

"Are you out of your mind?" Nathaniel Hawthorne's voice cut through the din like a knife. "You're talking about going up against armed men, men who won't hesitate to put a bullet in your back. It's suicide, plain and simple."

"I say we let the law handle it," said Hank Brewster, his tone weary. "It's their job, ain't it?"

Jake McAllister snorted. "The law? You mean Sheriff Hodges? That old drunk couldn't find his own ass with both hands and a map. We'd be better off hiring a pack of coyotes to guard the henhouse."

A ripple of uneasy laughter went through the room. Clementine frowned, her patience wearing thin. They were getting nowhere with this bickering. Soon, the men all erupted into argument, voices rising and tempers flaring. Clementine looked from one angry face to another, her heart sinking. This was exactly what she'd been afraid of—that the ranchers would be too divided, too set in their ways to find common ground.

"We have to do something," she said, her voice ringing out clear and strong. "We can't just sit back and watch everything we've worked for be taken away."

"And what do you suggest, Miss Olivetti?" Katie asked, her tone faintly mocking. "That our men go out there, guns blazing, and get themselves killed?"

Clementine opened her mouth to retort, but Elvis beat her to it, his deep voice cutting through the din like a knife.

"Seems to me," he said slowly, "that we don't have much choice in the matter. Either we take the fight to the rustlers, or we sit back and watch everything we've worked for get stolen out from under us. I don't know about y'all, but I ain't too keen on the second option."

A heavy silence fell over the room, broken only by the occasional cough or shuffle of feet. Clementine could see the indecision on every face, the warring impulses of self-preservation and solidarity.

But then, slowly, heads began to nod. Shoulders straightened, jaws set with determination. "The man's right," Jake McAllister said grudgingly. "We can't just sit back and let them pick us off one by one. We have to stand together, or we'll all fall alone."

There were murmurs of agreement from around the room, a sense of purpose beginning to take hold. Clementine felt a surge of pride and gratitude, her eyes seeking out Elvis's across the sea of faces. He met her gaze steadily, something warm and reassuring in the blue depths.

"Alright then," Elvis said, his voice ringing out with confidence. "Let's get to planning. We'll need every able-bodied man who can ride and shoot. We'll track the rustlers to their hideout, and we'll make sure they never trouble us again."

The meeting broke up soon after that, the ranchers dispersing to make their preparations for the evening. As she was lighting a candle, Clementine caught a glimpse of Katie Hawthorne deep in conversation with Elvis, their heads bent close together as they spoke in low, urgent tones.

Something twisted in Clementine's gut at the sight, a flare of jealousy that she didn't quite understand. But she pushed it down, focusing instead on the task ahead. There would be time to worry about Katie Hawthorne later. 

*

Later that evening, Clementine found herself wandering the quiet halls of the ranch house, her mind too full of worries to settle. She was just about to open the cupboard when she heard a noise from the living room, a soft clink of glass on wood.

Curious, she padded over to the doorway, peering into the dimly lit room. Elvis sat at the table, a half-empty bottle of whiskey in front of him and a troubled expression on his face. He looked up as she entered, his eyes widening in surprise.

"Clementine,” he said, his voice rough. “What are you doing up?”

She shrugged, suddenly feeling self-conscious in her nightgown and robe. “Couldn’t sleep. Too much on my mind, I guess.”

Elvis nodded, his gaze dropping to the glass in his hand. "I know the feeling," he said, taking a swig of whiskey. 

Clementine's heart clenched at the weariness in his voice, the vulnerability he so rarely showed. "You don't have to go tonight, you know," she said softly, reaching out to lay a hand on his arm. "The other men can handle it. You've done enough already, Elvis. More than enough."

He looked up at her then, something fierce and determined in his eyes. "Ain’t no way," he said, his voice low and intense. "I promised your uncle I'd look after this place, Clem. I ain't about to break that promise now."

Clementine felt a rush of warmth at his words, a flutter of something deeper and more complicated than gratitude. But she tamped it down, focusing instead on the danger ahead.

"It's going to be risky," she said, her voice wavering slightly. "I don't want you getting hurt on my account, Elvis. I couldn't bear it if something happened to you."

He covered her hand with his own, his skin warm and rough against hers. "Good thing I ain't planning on gettin’ hurt, then," he said, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Besides, it’s just a search party. We ain’t gonna do no shooting tonight. We’re just gonna track the rustlers, that’s all.”

Clementine laughed, the tension draining out of her in a rush. "Well, I suppose I can live with that," she said, her eyes sparkling. "Just promise me you'll be careful out there, alright?"

"I promise," Elvis said, his voice solemn. "And you promise me, Clementine. You’ll be waiting when I get back?"

She nodded, her throat suddenly tight. "I promise," she whispered, meaning it with every fiber of her being.

They sat like that for a long moment, hands clasped and eyes locked, the silence stretching out between them like a promise of its own. And then Elvis cleared his throat, releasing her hand and standing up from the table.

"Best get some rest," he said, his voice gruff. "Got a long day ahead of us tomorrow."

Clementine stood as well, her heart racing as she followed him to the door. "Goodnight, Elvis," she said softly, her hand on the knob. "And thank you. For everything."

He paused, his hand coming up to brush a strand of hair back from her face. "Anytime, Clem," he murmured, his eyes soft. "Anytime at all."

And then he was gone, the door closing softly behind him, leaving Clementine alone with her thoughts and the pounding of her own heart.

*

The ranch house was quiet that night, the usual bustle and chatter replaced by a tense, watchful silence. Clementine wandered the halls like a ghost, her mind spinning and her heart aching.

She couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong, that some disaster was looming just beyond the horizon. And she couldn't help but wonder if she had made the right choice, staying behind while her men out to face the danger alone.

She found herself in the kitchen just as dawn was breaking, staring blankly at the coffeepot as it burbled and hissed on the stove. She couldn't remember how she'd gotten there, or why she'd come. All she knew was that she needed something, anything, to take her mind off the worry and the fear.

And then, like a miracle, Elvis appeared in the doorway. He looked haggard and worn, his face lined with exhaustion and his eyes shadowed with some dark emotion. But he was alive, and whole, and Clementine felt her heart leap with relief.

"You're back," she breathed, stepping forward to meet him. "What happened out there? Did you find them?"

Elvis shook his head, his jaw tight. "No. We rode hard all night, followed their trail as far as we could. But they're clever bastards, know how to cover their tracks. We lost the scent somewhere around Coyote Creek, and by then it was too dark to go on."

Clementine's heart sank, disappointment and frustration welling up in her throat. "So what now?" she asked, her voice small. "What do we do?"

Elvis sighed, running a hand over his face. "We start again the day after tomorrow, at first light. Keep searching until we find them, or until we can't search no more."

He looked at her then, his eyes dark and intense. "I need you to be strong, Clementine. I need you to keep this place running, keep the men in line. Can you do that for me?"

Clementine swallowed hard, forcing down the lump in her throat. "Of course," she said, her voice steadier than she felt. "I'll do whatever needs to be done, Elvis. You know that."

He nodded, something like pride flickering in his gaze. And then, to her surprise, he reached out and pulled her into his arms.

Clementine stiffened for a moment, unused to such displays of affection from the taciturn cowboy. But then she melted into him, her hands fisting in the back of his shirt and her face pressing into the warm, solid strength of his chest.

"I'm scared, Elvis," she whispered, the words muffled against his skin. 

He tightened his hold on her, his chin resting on the top of her head. "I know, darlin'. I'm scared too. But we can't let that fear control us, you hear me? We gotta be strong, for each other and for this ranch."

Clementine nodded, drawing in a shuddering breath. And then, before she could lose her nerve, she tilted her head back and pressed her lips to his.

The kiss was quick and chaste, a gentle exploration that made her heart race and her blood sing. Elvis made a low, desperate sound in the back of his throat but before things could go any further, he tore himself away, his breath coming hard and fast. "I’m sorry. I shouldn’ta done that." he said, his voice rough with wanting. "We can’t. I ain’t gonna take advantage of you.Not when we both don't know what tomorrow might bring."

“I—you’re right.” Clementine knew it, even as her body screamed in protest. She stepped back, wrapping her arms around herself as if to ward off the chill of his absence. "I'm sorry," she said, her voice trembling. "I don't know what came over me. It's just... the thought of losing you..."

"Shh." Elvis placed a finger over her lips, silencing her. 

"Don't talk like that. We're gonna make it through this, you and me. And when we do, we'll have all the time in the world to figure out what this is between us."

Clementine nodded. 

He leaned in, pressing a soft, chaste kiss to her forehead. "But for now, we gotta focus on the task at hand. We gotta be strong for the ranch. Can you do that for me, Clem?"

She looked up at him, her heart in her eyes. "I can. I will."

He smiled then, a real smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes and made her heart skip a beat. "That's my girl. Now, let's get some rest. We got a long day ahead of us tomorrow."

*

The first rays of the sun were just beginning to paint the sky in shades of pink and gold when Clementine stepped out onto the porch, a rifle slung over her shoulder, two pistols at her hip, and a steely glint in her eye.

The ranchers were already gathered in the yard, checking their tack and loading their saddlebags with grim determination. Elvis stood at the center of the group, his black hat pulled low over his brow as he issued last-minute orders and instructions, saddling his mount quickly and efficiently.

He looked up as she approached, his eyes widening in surprise and something like consternation. "What do you think you're doing? I thought I told you to stay put," he demanded, striding over to block her path. "You ain't comin' with us, Clementine. It's too dangerous."

She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze squarely. "The hell I'm not," she said, her voice ringing with conviction. "This is my ranch, Elvis. My land, my cattle, my responsibility. My men. And I'll be damned if I'm going to sit back and let someone else fight my battles for me."

He opened his mouth to argue, but she cut him off with a sharp gesture. "I know what you're going to say," she said. "That I'm just a woman, that I don't know how to handle a gun or ride with a posse. But you're wrong, Elvis. I've been learning this past year. I can shoot as straight as any man here, and ride twice as quick."

Red’s face split into a big, knowing smile. Elvis elbowed him, and his ruddy companion stood ramrod straight. She saw the flicker of surprise in Elvis’ eyes, too, the grudging respect that warred with his instinctive need to protect her. But she wasn't about to back down, not now, not when so much was at stake.

"I'm coming with you," she said, her voice low and intense. "And that's final. You can either accept it, or you can try to stop me. But either way, I'll be riding out of here at your side, come hell or high water."

For a long, tense moment, Elvis just stared at her, his jaw working as if he were chewing on a particularly tough piece of rawhide. Then, slowly, he nodded, his eyes glinting with something that might have been pride, or exasperation, or a little bit of both.

"Alright, then," he said gruffly. "But you stay close to me, you hear? And if I give you an order, you follow it, no questions asked."

They rode out in a thunder of hoofbeats, the sun high overhead and the wind whipping at their faces. Clementine could feel the adrenaline coursing through her veins, the thrill of the hunt mingling with a cold, creeping fear. She knew that they were riding into danger, that there was no telling what they might face out there on the open range.

But she also knew that she was not alone, that she had Elvis and the others by her side, ready to fight for what was theirs, and that knowledge gave her the courage to keep riding.

They rode for hours, following the rustlers' trail across the rugged terrain. The sun beat down on them, the heat shimmering off the rocks and the scrubby brush. Clementine could feel the sweat trickling down her back, the dust caking her face and hair. But she hardly noticed, her mind focused on the task at hand, on the need to find the stolen cattle and bring the thieves to justice.

It was nearly sundown when they finally caught sight of the rustlers' camp, a thin plume of smoke rising from a hidden canyon up ahead. Elvis called a halt, his hand raised in warning.

"We'll have to go in on foot from here," he said, his voice low and tense. "Can't risk them hearing us coming."

Clementine nodded, her heart pounding in her chest. This was it, the moment of truth. She slid from her saddle, her legs stiff and sore from hours of riding. She checked her rifle, making sure it was loaded and ready, then fell in behind Elvis as he led the way toward the canyon.

They crept through the underbrush, the only sound the crunch of their boots against the dry leaves and twigs. Clementine could feel the tension in the air, the sense of impending danger. She knew that the rustlers would be armed, that they would fight to keep their stolen herd. But she also knew that they were outnumbered, that the posse had the element of surprise on their side.

As they neared the edge of the canyon, Elvis held up a hand, signaling for them to stop. He peered over the edge, his eyes narrowing as he took in the scene below.

"They're down there, alright," he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. "Looks like they've got the cattle penned up in that box canyon. I count six men, maybe seven."

Clementine swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry. Six men. Six armed, desperate men who would stop at nothing to keep what they had stolen. She knew that the odds were in their favor, that they had the rustlers outnumbered and outgunned. But she also knew that anything could happen in the heat of battle, that there was no guarantee that they would all make it out alive.

She looked at Elvis, saw the grim determination in his eyes, the set of his jaw. And she knew that he was thinking the same thing, that he was weighing the risks and the rewards, the need to protect their own against the danger of the unknown.

"What's the plan?" she asked, her voice steady despite the hammering of her heart.

Elvis took a deep breath, his gaze still fixed on the canyon below. "We'll split up, come at 'em from both sides. Jake, you take half the men and circle around to the north. Tom, you take the other half and come in from the south. Clementine, you're with Jake. I’ll go straight down the middle, try to draw their fire and give the others a chance to get in close."

Clementine felt a sudden, sharp fear at his words, a sense of dread that she couldn't quite shake. She knew that Elvis was putting himself in the greatest danger, that he was using himself as a distraction to give the others a chance. And she knew that she couldn't let him do it alone.

"I'm coming with you," she said, her voice brooking no argument.

Elvis looked at her, his eyes widening in surprise. "Clementine, I don't think—"

"I'm not asking, Elvis," she said, cutting him off. "I’m coming."

For a moment, Elvis just stared at her, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he nodded, a flicker of something like pride in his eyes.

"Alright then," he said, his voice gruff. "Let's do this."

They made their way down the steep slope of the canyon, the loose shale and gravel sliding beneath their feet. Clementine could hear the low murmur of voices from the camp below, the soft lowing of the penned-up cattle. Her heart was pounding in her ears, her palms slick with sweat on the grip of her rifle.

As they neared the bottom of the canyon, Elvis held up a hand, signaling for her to stop. He peered around the edge of a boulder, his eyes narrowing as he took in the scene.

"Alright," he said, his voice low and tense. "On my signal, we move in. You stay close to me, you hear? And if things start to go south, you get the hell out of there and don't look back."

Clementine nodded, her throat too tight to speak. She knew that he was trying to protect her, that he was willing to lay down his life to keep her safe. And she knew that she couldn't let that happen, that she would fight to her last breath to keep him alive.

Elvis took a deep breath, his hand tightening on the grip of his pistol. Then, with a nod to Clementine, he stepped out from behind the boulder, his voice ringing out across the canyon.

"Drop your weapons and let the cattle go!" he shouted, his pistol leveled at the nearest rustler. "You're surrounded and outnumbered. There's no way out!"

For a moment, there was silence, the only sound the low moan of the wind through the canyon. Then, with a shout of defiance, the rustlers opened fire, their bullets whizzing past Clementine's head and shattering the rock at her feet.

She dropped to the ground, her heart pounding in her chest. Beside her, Elvis was returning fire, his pistol barking in the still air. She could hear the shouts and curses of the rustlers, the panicked bellowing of the cattle as they milled about in their makeshift pen.

Clementine leveled her rifle, her hands steady and her aim true. She squeezed the trigger once, twice, three times, watching with grim satisfaction as the rustlers fell, clutching at their wounds.

But then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw something that made her blood run cold. Elvis, locked in hand-to-hand combat with one of the rustlers, his gun lying forgotten on the ground.

The man was huge, easily a head taller than Elvis and twice as broad. He had a knife in his hand, the blade glinting wickedly in the sun, and a feral grin on his face as he bore down on the smaller man.

Clementine didn't hesitate. She got up from her position, charging towards the two men with a shout of fury. She leaped, tackling the rustler around the waist and sending them both tumbling to the ground.

They grappled in the dirt, the man's knife slashing at the air as Clementine tried to wrestle it from his grip. She could hear Elvis shouting her name, could feel the impact of bodies hitting the ground all around her as the battle raged on.

And then, with a final, desperate twist, she wrenched the knife free. The man lunged for her, his eyes wild with rage and desperation, but Clementine was faster. She plunged the blade into his chest, feeling the sickening give of flesh and bone.

The rustler's eyes went wide, his mouth opening in a silent scream. And then he was falling, his body hitting the ground with a dull, final thud.

Clementine staggered to her feet, her breath coming in great, heaving gasps. She looked around wildly, taking in the scene of carnage and chaos.

All around her, the canyon exploded into chaos. The posse had burst from cover, guns blazing as they bore down on the rustlers. She could hear shouts and screams, could smell the acrid tang of gunpowder on the air. Bullets whizzed past her head, kicking up puffs of dust at her feet. 

It seemed to go on forever, that nightmarish battle in the heart of the canyon. But in reality, it was over in a matter of minutes. The rustlers, outnumbered and outgunned, threw down their weapons and surrendered, their hands raised in supplication.

Clementine sagged with relief, her knees suddenly weak. She looked around, taking in the scene of carnage—the bodies sprawled on the ground, the wounded men groaning in pain, the cattle milling about in confusion.

And then her gaze fell on Elvis, and her heart stopped.

He was lying on the ground, his face pale and his eyes closed. There was a spreading stain of red on his shirt, a wound in his chest that pulsed with each labored breath.

"No," Clementine whispered, stumbling forward on numb, leaden feet. "No, no, no."

She fell to her knees beside him, her hands shaking as she pressed them to the wound, trying desperately to stem the flow of blood. Elvis's eyes fluttered open, glassy and unfocused.

"Don't you dare," she said fiercely, her tears falling hot and fast on his face. "Don't you dare leave me, Elvis Presley. Not now, not like this."

*

"Somebody help me!" Clementine shouted, her voice raw with desperation. "Please, he's hurt, we need to get him back to the ranch!"

The others crowded around, their faces grim as they took in the sight of their fallen comrade. Tom Hawkins knelt down on Elvis' other side, his fingers searching for a pulse.

"He's alive," he said, his voice tight. "But he's lost a lot of blood. We need to get him back to Windy Creek, and fast."

Clementine nodded, her vision blurring with tears. 

“Put him on White Lightning!” Rusty cried, “Clem’s horse is the fastest.” She watched as the men lifted Elvis onto the back of her horse, his head lolling limply against his chest. She wanted to go to him, to gather him into her arms and will the life back into his broken body. But she knew that she couldn't, that she had to be strong now, for him and for herself.

"I'll go with you," said Jake, swinging up into his own saddle. "Red and Tom, you, round up the herd and head on back. The rest of you, tie the rustler up. We'll meet you there."

The ride back to the ranch was a blur, a nightmare of dust and sweat and clenching fear and Elvis’ limp form cradled against her chest as she urged White Lightning onward. She could feel his blood soaking through her shirt, could hear the rattling wheeze of his breath in her ear. 

But she refused to give up hope, refused to let the fear and the despair take hold. Elvis was a fighter, a survivor. He would make it through this. He had to.

They reached the ranch just as the sun was setting, the sky painted in shades of orange and gold. Clementine leapt from the saddle, shouting for Juanita and the ranch hands as she half-carried, half-dragged Elvis inside.

"Help him!" she demanded, her voice tight with fear. 

Mrs. Jameson hurried over, her face creased with worry. "They took him straight up to his room, miss. Juanita's with him now, doing what she can to stop the bleeding. But he's in a bad way, I won't lie to you."

The next few hours passed in a haze of activity and dread, the ticking of the clock on the mantel the only sound in the silent house. Juanita worked tirelessly, cleaning and stitching and bandaging, her face set in grim determination.

*

It had been hours, and Clementine had no news. "I need to go to him, Ida" she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I need to be with him."

The housekeeper nodded, her eyes soft with understanding. "Of course, miss. You go on up. I'll see to the hands and the stock."

Clementine managed a grateful nod, then turned and fled into the house, her heart pounding and her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. She took the stairs two at a time.

She burst into Elvis' room without knocking, her eyes wide and wild as she scanned the dimly lit space. He was lying on the bed, his shirt torn open to reveal the ugly, seeping wound in his chest. Juanita was bent over him, her hands bloody as she worked to staunch the flow.

"How is he?" Clementine asked, her voice thin and reedy to her own ears. "Will he... will he live?"

Juanita looked up, her dark eyes unreadable. "I don't know, Clem. He's lost a lot of blood, and the bullet's still in there. I've done what I can to clean and bind the wound, but he needs a real doctor, and soon."

Clementine nodded, her throat too tight for words. She sank down onto the edge of the bed, her hand reaching out to brush the sweat-soaked hair back from Elvis' brow. He was burning with fever, his skin hot and dry beneath her palm.

"Oh, Elvis," she whispered, the endearment slipping out before she could stop it. "What have they done to you?"

She sent Red to fetch Doc Jamison from town, his saddlebags laden with all the medical supplies they could spare. And then there was nothing to do but wait, and pray, and hope against hope that Elvis would pull through.

The sun rose and set, the hours bleeding into days.

Clementine sat by Elvis's bedside, holding his hand and whispering words of encouragement. She barely slept, barely ate, her whole world narrowed down to the rise and fall of his chest, the fluttering of his eyelids, the faint pulse at his wrist.

And then, on the eighth day, a miracle. Elvis's fever broke, his breathing easing and his color returning. He opened his eyes, blinking up at Clementine with a weak, crooked smile.

"Hey there, darlin'," he rasped, his voice hoarse from disuse. "Fancy meeting you here."

Clementine let out a sob, tears of relief and joy streaming down her face. She threw herself into his arms, burying her face in his neck and breathing in the warm, familiar scent of him.

"Don't you ever do that to me again," she whispered fiercely. "You hear me, Elvis Presley? Never again."

He chuckled softly, his hand coming up to stroke her hair. "Yes, ma'am," he murmured. "I promise."

*

The next morning, Clementine awoke to Elvis screaming in agony. Before long, Doc Jamison was at his bedside, procuring a large needle from his medicine bag and injecting it into the patient’s arm. Clementine watched with bated breath as Elvis slowly settled back into a comfortable sleep, floating in the twilight of morphine.

She sat at his bedside, keeping vigil, praying for him. At one point, he whispered something.

"Marry me," she thought she heard. "Be my wife, Clementine.

Chapter 4

Clementine sat at her desk, sorting through the mail that had arrived the previous week. Among the various bills and correspondence, one letter caught her eye. The familiar handwriting on the envelope made her heart skip a beat. It was from Bonnie.

With trembling fingers, Clementine opened the letter and began to read:

"My Dearest Clemmie,

I hope this letter finds you well and thriving in your new life at Windy Creek Ranch. I miss you terribly, and the city feels empty without your laughter and companionship.

I have exciting news! I've decided to take a break from the hustle and bustle of New York and come visit you at the ranch. I long to see the beautiful landscapes you've described and meet the intriguing characters you've mentioned in your letters.

Expect me to arrive within the next fortnight. I cannot wait to embrace you and hear all about your adventures.

Your loving friend, Bonnie"

Clementine clutched the letter to her chest, a wide grin spreading across her face. The prospect of having Bonnie at the ranch filled her with joy and excitement. She couldn't wait to show her best friend around and introduce her to everyone, especially Elvis.

Elvis. The thought of him made Clementine's smile falter. Since his injury, their relationship had been strained. She had been tending to him diligently, changing his bandages and ensuring he was comfortable. However, every time she tried to bring up his morphine-induced mumblings, Elvis would change the subject or feign exhaustion.

A knock at the door startled Clementine from her thoughts. "Come in," she called, setting the letter aside.

To her surprise, Katie Hawthorne stepped into the room, her blonde hair perfectly coiffed and her blue eyes sparkling with mischief. She looked ravishing in an emerald green day dress, the hue making her cheeks look all the more rosy.

"Good morning, Clementine," she greeted, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything important."

Clementine forced a smile, trying to ignore the twinge of jealousy that Katie's presence always seemed to evoke. "Not at all, Katie. What brings you here?"

Katie sauntered over to the desk, running her fingers along the polished wood. "I was hoping to visit Mr. Presley. I heard he's recovering well, and I thought he might enjoy some… new company."

Clementine's stomach churned at the thought of Katie spending time alone with Elvis. She knew there was a history between them, but the details remained a mystery. "I'm sure he would appreciate that," she managed to say, her voice strained. "He's in his room, resting."

With a nod and a triumphant smile, Katie swept out of the room, leaving Clementine alone with her thoughts. Unable to concentrate on her work, Clementine decided to take a walk around the ranch to clear her head.

As she stepped outside, the warm sun and gentle breeze greeted her. The sound of laughter caught her attention, and she spotted Red and Slim engaged in a lively conversation near the stables.

"Miss Clementine!" Red called out, waving her over. Clementine made her way over to them, eager for a distraction. "You're just in time. Slim here was about to share a story about the time he singlehandedly fought off a pack of coyotes."

Slim grinned, puffing out his chest. "It's true! I was out on the range, minding my own business, when suddenly..."

But as Slim launched into his tale, Clementine found herself only half-listening. Her mind wandered to the conversation she had overheard earlier between Katie and Elvis. She had been passing by Elvis' room when she heard their voices, low and intense.

"You can't keep avoiding me, Elvis," Katie had said, her tone pleading. "We have a history."

"That's exactly why I'm avoiding you, Katie," Elvis had replied, his voice tired. “Yeah, a history. As in, it’s in the past, and it needs to stay there."

Katie had scoffed. “I know you don't mean that…”

But she had hurried away before she could hear Elvis' response, her heart racing and her mind reeling. What exactly had happened between them? And why did the thought of them together make her feel so uneasy? Feigning a stomachache, Clementine gently extracted herself from Slim and Red and started back for the house.

Lost in her thoughts, she didn't notice Ida approach until the older woman placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Miss Clementine, you look troubled," Ida said, her kind eyes filled with concern. "Is everything alright?"

Clementine sighed, offering Ida a weak smile. "I'm fine, Ida. Just a lot on my mind, I suppose."

Ida nodded, understanding dawning on her face. "It's about Mr. Elvis and Miss Katie, isn't it?"

Clementine's eyes widened. "How did you know?"

Ida chuckled softly. "I've been around long enough to notice things, Miss Clementine. And I can see the way you look at Mr. Elvis, and the way Miss Katie looks at him too. Frankly, I’d look at him that way too if I were younger,” she chuckled.

Clementine felt her cheeks heat up. "I don't know what you're talking about, Ida."

The housekeeper smiled knowingly. "It's alright, Miss Clementine. You don't have to pretend with me. I know it's not my place to gossip, but I feel like you should know the truth about Mr. Elvis and Miss Katie."

Curiosity got the better of Clementine, and she found herself leaning in closer. "What truth, Ida?"

Ida glanced around to make sure they were alone before lowering her voice. "Mr. Elvis and Miss Katie were engaged once, years ago. They were young and in love, or so they thought. But then Miss Katie got it into her head that she wanted to see the world, experience life beyond the ranch. She left Mr. Elvis behind, broke his heart into a million pieces." She wrung her hands. “Oh, it was pitiful!”

Clementine's heart sank. "I had no idea," she whispered, her voice trembling.

Ida patted her hand reassuringly. "Mr. Elvis was never the same after that. He threw himself into his work, closed himself off from the world. But then you came along, Miss Clementine. I've seen the way he looks at you, the way he smiles when you're around. You've brought light back into his life."

Clementine felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes. "D-do you think he still loves her?"

"Miss Clementine, you listen to me. You are a smart, strong, and beautiful young woman. Any man would be lucky to have you." Ida shook her head firmly. “And just between you and me... if I were Mr. Elvis, I’d tell Miss Katie to go on and git.”

Clementine nodded, blinking back her tears.

The housekeeper smiled warmly. "You’re gonna be just fine. Now, why don't you go and check on him? I'm sure he could use some company."

Taking a deep breath, Clementine squared her shoulders and made her way back to the house. She climbed the stairs to Elvis' room, her heart pounding in her chest. She raised her hand to knock on the door, but hesitated when she heard voices coming from inside.

"Hold still," Katie's voice was soft, almost tender. "This poultice will help with the pain."

There was a moment of silence, followed by a sharp intake of breath from Elvis. "Ouch! Careful, Katie."

"Don't be such a baby," Katie chided, her tone playful. "You've had worse."

Clementine's stomach churned as she imagined Katie sitting close to him, her hands gentle on his skin. She knew she shouldn't be eavesdropping, but she couldn't seem to make herself move.

"Why are you here, Katie?" Elvis asked, his voice strained.

"I wanted to see you," Katie replied, her words measured. "It's been a long time, Elvis. Too long."

There was a pause, and Clementine could picture Elvis looking away, his jaw tight. "Things have changed, Katie. I've changed."

Katie laughed softly, the sound making Clementine's skin prickle. "Have you, now? The Elvis I knew would never have let a little thing like a flesh wound keep him down."

"The Elvis you knew is gone," he said, his voice firm. "I'm not the same man I was back then." He paused. "I mean it, Katie," Elvis was saying, his voice strained. "I can't do this with you. Not anymore."

"But Elvis…" Katie pleaded. "Don't throw it away for some city girl who doesn't understand you like I do."

Elvis scoffed.

Katie laughed bitterly. "You're a damned fool, Elvis Presley. She'll never love you like I do."

The sound of footsteps approaching the door made Clementine jump back, her heart racing. She quickly ducked into a nearby room, pressing herself against the wall as Katie stormed out of Elvis' room and down the stairs.

Clementine waited until she heard the front door slam before exhaling shakily. Her mind was spinning with everything she had overheard. Did Elvis really mean what he said?

Shaking her head, Clementine decided to focus on the one thing she could control—her work. She made her way downstairs and out to the barn, determined to throw herself into the daily chores and put all thoughts of Elvis and Katie out of her mind.

As she mucked out the stalls and fed the horses, Clementine found herself falling into a comfortable rhythm. The physical labor was soothing, allowing her to clear her head and focus on the task at hand. Before she knew it, she was hours deep into her tasks, the sun was setting, and it was time to head home. 

As Clementine climbed the stairs, she heard voices coming from the kitchen. Slim’s reedy, high pitched one and... Elvis’ baritone drawl? Clementine crept closer to feed her curiosity, staying out of sight. 

"I don't know what to do, Slim," Elvis was saying, his voice strained. "Katie showing up here has thrown me for a loop."

"You still got feelings for her, boss?" the wiry man asked, his tone sympathetic.

There was a pause, and Clementine held her breath, waiting for Elvis' response.

"No," Elvis said finally, his voice firm. "What I had with Katie is in the past. But having her here, stirring up old memories... it's messing with my head."

"What about... Clementine?" Slim asked, and Clementine's heart skipped a beat at the mention of her name.

"Clementine..." Elvis said, and there was a tenderness in his voice that made her pulse race. "She's special, Slim. I ain’t never met anyone like her. But I don't know if I'm ready for something new, not with all this baggage from my past."

Slim clapped Elvis on the shoulder. "You gotta do what's right for you, boss. If you ask me, don't let a good thing slip away because you're too scared to take a chance."

Clementine skulked away before they could discover her, her mind reeling with what she had overheard. Her heart was heavy. Somehow, she had expected Elvis to say that he loved her; that he was ready for a relationship. That he recognized how she felt, and he felt the same. But...

She was so absorbed in her thoughts that she didn't hear the sound of hoofbeats approaching the front yard until a familiar voice called out, "Clemmie!"

Clementine popped her head through the window, her eyes widening in disbelief. There, sitting astride a beautiful chestnut mare, was Bonnie, her fiery red curls blowing in the breeze and her green eyes sparkling with mischief in the golden hour.

"Bonnie!" Clementine exclaimed, dropping her pitchfork and rushing forward to embrace her friend. "What are you doing here? I thought you weren't arriving for another week!"

Bonnie laughed, hugging Clementine tightly. "I couldn't wait that long to see you, darling. I hopped on the first train out of New York and made my way here as fast as I could."

Clementine stepped back, taking in the sight of her best friend. Bonnie looked radiant, her cheeks flushed from the ride and her smile as wide as the sky. "I can't believe you're really here," Clementine said, shaking her head in amazement.

Bonnie grinned, linking her arm through Clementine's. "Well, believe it, darling. I'm here, and I'm ready for an adventure. Now, show me around this ranch of yours. I want to see everything!"

Clementine laughed, feeling lighter than she had in weeks. With Bonnie by her side, everything seemed brighter, more manageable. She led her friend around the ranch, introducing her to the horses and the cattle, showing her the sprawling fields and the cozy bunkhouse.

As they walked, Clementine found herself pouring out her heart to Bonnie, telling her all about Elvis and Katie and the confusion she felt. Bonnie listened intently, her brow furrowed in concentration.

"It sounds to me like you're in love with this Elvis fellow," Bonnie said finally, her tone matter-of-fact.

Clementine sputtered, her cheeks turning crimson. "What? No! I mean, I care about him, of course, but love? That's ridiculous."

Bonnie raised an eyebrow. "Is it? Clemmie, I've known you since we were in pigtails. I've never seen you this worked up over a man before. And from what you've told me, it sounds like he feels the same way about you."

Clementine sniffed, wiping away a stray tear. "You really think so?"

Bonnie nodded firmly. "I do. And I think you need to talk to him, Clemmie. Tell him how you feel. Life's too short to let love slip away."

Clementine took a deep breath, letting Bonnie's words sink in. She knew her friend was right. She had to talk to Elvis, had to tell him how she felt. Even if he didn't feel the same way, at least she would know.

"You're right," she said finally, squaring her shoulders. "I'll talk to him. Tonight, after dinner."

Bonnie grinned, squeezing Clementine's hand. "That's my girl. Now, let's go find some trouble to get into. I've been cooped up on that train for far too long."

Clementine laughed, feeling a rush of affection for her friend. "I think I know just the thing. How do you feel about a little horseback riding?"

Bonnie's eyes sparkled with excitement. "Lead the way, darling. I'm ready for anything."

As they made their way to the stables, Clementine spotted Red and Slim leaning against the fence, deep in conversation. 

Red's eyes widened as he took in Bonnie's fiery red curls and sparkling green eyes. 

Bonnie smiled, holding out her hand. "I’m Bonnie, Clementine's friend from New York."

Red took her hand, holding it a beat longer than necessary. "New York, huh? What brings a city girl like you out to our humble ranch?"

Bonnie laughed, her eyes sparkling. "Oh, you know. Adventure, excitement, the chance to see my best friend in the world."

Red grinned, leaning in closer. "Well, I can certainly promise you adventure and excitement, Miss Bonnie."

Slim rolled his eyes, elbowing Red in the ribs. "Ignore him, Miss Bonnie. He's all talk and no action."

Red chuckled, his cheeks flushing slightly. "I don't know about that, Miss Bonnie. I do my best to make all our guests feel welcome."

Bonnie raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corners of her mouth. "Is that so? Well, I guess I'll just have to see for myself."

As Bonnie and Red continued their flirtatious banter, Clementine felt her spirits lift. It was good to see her friend getting along so well with the ranch hands.

Suddenly, a shout rang out across the yard. "The fence is down! The cattle are escaping!"

Clementine's heart raced as she saw the herd of cattle stampeding through the broken fence. "We have to round them up!" she cried, running towards the stables.

Red and Slim were already saddling up their horses. "Miss Clementine, you and Miss Bonnie take the north pasture," Red called out. "Slim and I will head south. Rusty, Billy, head east. We'll meet up at the old oak tree."

Clementine nodded, swinging herself up into the saddle. Bonnie followed suit, her face set with determination.

They rode hard, the wind whipping through their hair as they chased down the errant cattle. It was a minor crisis, but it forced everyone to work together to resolve the issue. Finally, after several hours of hard work, they managed to herd the last of the cattle back into the pasture.

Exhausted but triumphant, Clementine, Bonnie, and the ranch hands made their way back to the house for a very late dinner. As they entered the dining room, Clementine was surprised to see Katie sitting right next to the head of the table, where Elvis always ate.

"Katie!" Miss Ida exclaimed, setting down a steaming pot of stew. "I'm so glad you could join us for dinner."

Katie smiled, her flaxen hair gleaming in the candlelight. 

"Thank you for the invitation, Miss Ida. It's been far too long since I've had a proper home-cooked meal from someone skilled such as yourself."

Bonnie leaned over to Clementine, her voice low. "Who's the blonde?" she whispered, her eyes narrowing slightly.

Clementine sighed. "That's Katie Hawthorne, Elvis's ex-fiancée. She's came to visit today while he recovers."

Bonnie raised an eyebrow, her expression skeptical. "I see."

As they sat down to eat, Clementine found herself seated directly across from Katie. The blonde gave her a saccharine smile, her blue eyes glinting with something like malice.

"So, Clementine," Katie said, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "How are you finding life on the ranch? It must be quite a change from the big city."

Clementine forced a smile, determined not to let Katie get under her skin. "Well, my first year here has been really great even though I’m not used to small towns. It's been an adjustment, but I'm loving every minute of it. Everyone here has been so welcoming and kind." Bonnie squeezed her best friend’s hand for encouragement.

Katie's smile tightened, her eyes flicking to Elvis' empty seat. "Yes, well, that's the thing about small towns. People can be so... provincial. They don't always know what's best for them."

Clementine bristled at the implication. "I think the people here are perfectly capable of making their own decisions," she said, her voice cool. 

Katie laughed, the sound grating on Clementine's nerves. "Oh, you poor thing. You really think you know this town, don’t you? I’m the one with history here." The implication was clear. “I’m the one who’s always been here for hi—this town.”

Clementine felt her temper flare, but she refused to rise to the bait. "Well, maybe the townsfolk are looking forward to the future."

Katie's eyes flashed with anger, her pretty face twisting into a sneer. "You have no idea what you're talking about," she hissed, leaning forward. "He—the people out here don’t want change. They like things the way they’ve always been."

Clementine's heart clenched at Katie's words, but she refused to let the other woman see how much they hurt.

Just as Bonnie was about to give Katie the what-for on behalf of her best friend, the door creaked open, and Elvis stepped into the room. He was still pale and wan, but there was a newfound strength in his step.

Clementine's heart skipped a beat as Elvis's gaze met hers. “Oh, Elvis! You’re feeling better! Look who came to see us, my best friend Bonnie—” 

His gaze landed on Clementine, and a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. But then his eyes shifted to Katie, and the smile faded, replaced by a look of wary concern.

Katie immediately stood up, rushing over to Elvis' side.

"Elvis, darling, you shouldn't be out of bed," she cooed, slipping her arm through his. "Come, sit down and let me take care of you."

Clementine watched as Elvis allowed Katie to lead him to the table, her heart sinking as he sat down beside his ex-fiancée. She knew it was foolish to read too much into it, but she couldn't help the twinge of jealousy that twisted in her gut.

Bonnie, never one to let an awkward moment pass, leaned forward with a mischievous grin. "So, Elvis," she said, her voice carrying across the table. "Tell me, what's a handsome cowboy like you doing running a ranch all by your lonesome?"

Elvis choked on his stew, his eyes widening in surprise. The other ranch hands snickered, their faces red with barely suppressed laughter. “Nice to meet you too, Bonnie.”

“Do pray tell,”Bonnie grinned.

"Well, I... uh..." Elvis cleared his throat, clearly taken aback by Bonnie's forwardness. "I'm not running it alone, y’know. I have a whole team of hardworking folks helping me out."

Bonnie nodded, her expression serious. "Of course, of course. But still, it must get lonely out here sometimes. Don't you ever wish for a little companionship?"

Clementine kicked Bonnie under the table, her face flushing with embarrassment. But Bonnie just laughed, clearly enjoying the effect she was having on the usually unflappable Elvis.

As the dinner wore on, Bonnie kept up a steady stream of witty repartee, peppering Elvis with questions about life on the ranch and his plans for the future. The other ranch hands could barely contain their laughter, choking on their food as Bonnie's New York City directness clashed with Elvis's stoic cowboy demeanor.

Finally, as Miss Ida brought out a steaming apple pie for dessert, Bonnie cleared her throat and made an announcement. "I've been thinking," she said, her eyes twinkling with excitement. "I'd like to stay at the ranch for a while longer, if that's alright with you, Clementine."

Red, who had been hanging on Bonnie's every word throughout the meal, sat up straighter in his chair. "That's great news, Miss Bonnie," he said, his voice eager. "I'd be more than happy to show you around the ranch, if you'd like."

Bonnie smiled, her cheeks dimpling. "I'd like that very much, Red. Thank you."

As the evening wound down and the ranch hands began to disperse, Clementine found a moment to slip away from the table. She stepped out onto the porch, taking a deep breath of the cool night air.

"Clem?" a voice called out softly from behind her.

She turned to see Elvis standing in the doorway, his face illuminated by the warm glow of the lanterns. "Elvis," she said, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "I wasn't sure if you'd be joining us tonight."

Clementine couldn’t take her eyes off him. The soft light seemed to dance across his chiseled features, accentuating his rugged good looks. Though he had been bedridden for weeks, his strength was coming back, broad shoulders filling in and his color no longer ashen. 

He stepped out onto the porch, his heavy boots echoing on the wooden boards. Her breath hitched in her throat. She’d cared for him devotedly during his recovery, never once believing he’d succumb. And now here he was, the picture of vitality. His piercing blue eyes met hers and he gave her a smile that made her heart skip a beat. 

"I couldn't miss Bonnie's grand debut," he said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "She's quite the character, ain’t she?"

Clementine laughed, nodding in agreement. "That she is. I hope she didn't make you too uncomfortable with all her questions."

Elvis shook his head, leaning against the railing beside her. "Not at all. It's refreshing to have someone around who speaks her mind so freely. Reminds me a bit of you, actually."

She felt her cheeks flush at Elvis’ words. She couldn’t deny there was something between them, the way his eyes seemed to see into her very soul. Being so close to him did strange things to her insides. She glanced up at him shyly through her dark lashes.

“I'm not usually so outspoken,” she murmured. “Something about this place brings out my wild side.”

Elvis grinned, his white teeth flashing against his tanned skin. “No need to apologize. I like your wild side.” His voice dropped lower as he leaned in. Her breath caught in her throat. Elvis found it hard to look away from her upturned face. There was an alluring earnestness about Clementine that called to him. He knew he should restrain himself for propriety's sake, yet he couldn't help but envision what it would feel like to kiss her rosebud lips.

"It's a rare quality in a woman," Elvis murmured. He leaned in slightly, drawn in by her floral scent. Clementine's breath caught, but she did not pull away. The air between them simmered with possibility. One kiss could change everything.

Clementine felt a blush creep up her cheeks at the compliment. "I don't know about that," she said, ducking her head. "Bonnie's always been the brave one, not me."

Elvis reached out, tilting her chin up gently with his finger. "You're braver than you give yourself credit for, Clem," he said, his voice low and earnest. "Look at everything you've accomplished since you arrived at Windy Creek. You've taken on challenges that would make most people turn tail and run."

Elvis leaned closer. Close enough for Clementine to feel his heartbeat thrumming. He shivered. “And... and you saved my life. I never said thank you."

Clementine's heart raced at his touch, at the intensity of his gaze. "I couldn't have done it without you," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. "You've been there for me every step of the way, even when I didn't deserve it."

Elvis shook his head, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "You've always deserved it, Clementine. You're an amazing woman, and I..."

He trailed off, his eyes searching hers in the dim light, causing a shiver to run down her spine. Her heart raced as she silently hoped for his lips to meet hers.

But then, the sound of a throat clearing behind them broke the spell. They turned to see Katie standing in the doorway, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her eyes were bright with hurt and anger.

"Oh, I’m sorry. Did I interrupt something?" she asked, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "Just wanted to say goodnight before I turned in."

Clementine felt a pang of guilt at the hurt and anger in Katie's eyes, even as a small, petty part of her rejoiced at the other woman's obvious jealousy.

"Not at all, Katie," Elvis said, his voice cool and distant. "We were just getting some air."

Katie's gaze flickered between them, a bitter smile twisting her lips. "Of course you were," she murmured. "Well, don't let me keep you. Goodnight, Elvis. Clementine."

With that, she turned on her heel and stalked back into the house, leaving Clementine and Elvis alone once more.

Clementine sighed, rubbing her temples wearily. "I'm sorry about that," she said, her voice apologetic. "I didn't mean to cause any trouble between you two."

Elvis shook his head, reaching out to take her hand in his. "You ain’t got nothing to apologize for, Clementine," he said, his voice firm. 

Clementine's heart leaped at his words, at the unspoken promise in his eyes. She opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, the sound of footsteps behind them made them both turn.

Ida stood in the doorway, a letter clutched in her hand. "I'm sorry to interrupt, Miss Clementine," she said, her voice apologetic. "But this just arrived for you. It's from New York City. Looks important."

Clementine's brow furrowed as she took the letter, her eyes scanning the familiar handwriting on the envelope. As she read the contents, her face grew pale, and she felt a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach.

"What is it, Clementine?" Elvis asked, his voice concerned. "Is everything alright?"

Clementine swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry. "Y-yes," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

But it wasn't.

Taglist: @whositmcwhatsit  @ellie-24  @arrolyn1114 @missmaywemeetagain  @be-my-ally  @vintageshanny  @prompted-wordsmith @precious-little-scoundrel @peskybedtime @lookingforrainbows @austinbutlersgirl67@lala1267 @thatbanditqueen @dontcrydaddy @lovingdilfs @elvispresleygf @plasticfantasticl0ver @ab4eva @presleysweetheart @chasingwildflowers @elvispresleywife @uh-all-shook-up @xxquinnxx @edgeofrealitys-blog@velvetprvsley @woundmetender @avengen @richardslady121 @presleyhearted @kendralavon7 @18lkpeters@lookingforrainbows @elvisalltheway101 @sissylittlefeather @eliseinmemphis@tacozebra051 @thetaoofzoe @peskybedtime @shakerattlescroll @crash-and-cure @ccab @i-r-i-n-a-a @devilsflowerr@dirtyelvisfant4sy @elvislittleone @foreverdolly @getyourpresleyfix@gayforelvis @headfullofpresley @h0unds-of-h3ll @hipshakingkingcreole @p0lksaladannie @doll-elvis @tacozebra051 @richardslady121 @jaqueline19997 @myradiaz@livelaughelvis @deke-rivers-1957 @atleastpleasetelephone @sloppiest-of-jos

#elvis presley #elvis fanfiction #elvis #elvis fanfic #elvis fans #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presley fanfic #elvis presley fic #elvis fic #elvis x oc #elvis au #alternate universe #alternate universe fanfic #wild west fanfic

[dotster001]

Eric Venue

Summary: Vil x gn!reader (technically). Vil has always found your mannerisms to be endearing. They are less endearing when they are evoked by his father.

A/N: NEW DILF DROPPED AND I HAVE ZWRO SHAME AWOOGA!!! Special thanks to @animepaniclover122403 and @l1ls4y0 for being my eyes on the inside and getting me pictures. Warning, I'm on the EN server so I know absolutely nothing about Eric Venue so this may be very out of character.

Note: It's in my pinned post, and I've mentioned this in a couple posts, but if this is the first of my stuff you've read, I view NRC as an actual college, so reader here is 18+. If it makes you more comfy, imagine it as grad school age.

Vil remembers the first time you met him. You wouldn't look directly at him, opting to stare at the floor as you mumbled incoherent sentences. Not a clear thought left your mouth.

Were you scared? Intimidated? Or, worse, did you not like the way he looked? That last possibility kept him up longer than he'd be proud to admit.

When he moved in with you during SDC training camp, he watched you walk into a wall three separate times. It was that third time that he realized what the situation was. You were flustered. How absolutely adorable.

Over the course of the weeks, you were eventually able to say more than three words to him. You continued to have issues looking directly at him, but he didn't mind that. It was cute. And a little bit of an ego boost.

Now the two of you were thick as thieves. And, in a teasing mood, he decided to ask you about your initial reaction to him. 

As expected, you couldn't look directly at him, staring at the floor as you fidgeted with clasped hands.

Then he heard, barely above a whisper, “I've never seen anyone who is as beautiful as you.”

His heart fluttered. He knew you well enough now to know that you were from another world…

Which meant…

He was more beautiful than anyone you'd ever seen in two worlds.

“Sometimes…sometimes I can't look directly at you because when I look at you I…I can't think, and my mouth goes dry.”

Adrenaline rushed through him, and he couldn't fight off the vicious grin as he cruelly took your chin in his hand, and forced you to look at him.

“You are so adorable.” Then, to absolutely destroy what little calm you had left he pressed a kiss to your nose. You immediately crumbled, your only life line the hand still holding your chin, as he hid his laugh behind a delicate hand to his mouth.

And now? Now he'd invited you home with him for summer break. He'd planned every day's outfit down to the hour, hoping to absolutely destroy you with his casual attire. Not that it was ever truly casual, but that was by design.

And, by the end of the summer, you'd ask him out, and he'd graciously accept. And then you'd live happily ever after.

He forgot to account for one thing…

“It's a pleasure to meet you. I've heard quite a bit about you,” his father said with an amused smile, as he pressed a light kiss to each of your cheeks.

Vil knew immediately. Your eyes flicked to his father's, then your entire being crumbled.

“H-h-h-hi, Mr. Venue-”

"Oh please. No need to be so formal. Call me Eric.”

“E-E-E-”

“Father! I thought you had a meeting today,” Vil cut you off quickly, an unconcealed tinge of irritation to his voice. Not that you'd notice. You were too far gone, your face unsubtly turned down to your feet.

“I did, but I'd be a poor host if I didn't come meet your- what are they again?” His father smirked, a challenge in his eyes.

“I'm-I’m his-”

“Y/N’s my guest. My guest. No need to be a host, I have it all taken care of.”

Vil and his father smiled at each other for a moment. A moment too long apparently, because you ended up trying to speak again.

“Thank you for letting me stay in your home,” you whispered, barely audible.

“It's not a problem!” He reached out for your hands, taking them in his own, his thumbs gently caressing your knuckles. “It's wonderful that my son has people that are important to him. Would you, perhaps, like to stay forever?” 

In a move very much like one of Vil's, Eric gently tipped your chin up to meet his gaze. Vil watched your face fall under the spell he himself often placed you under. It took everything inside him not to act like a child in a rage. Instead, he placed his hands on your shoulders, and quickly steered you away.

“Y/N is very tired so I will show them to their room,” Vil said. “As I said, I will be their host, no need for you to take time off.”

His father laughed as he quickly shoved you into a nearby guest room. Not even the one he had intended to put you in. But he had to get you away from his dad.

“He smelled nice,” you whispered.

Of course he did. His father smelled of mahogany and expensive cologne. When he was little, that smell meant home. Now that smell meant-

“He was so pretty,” you said with a rather nasty voice crack.

Vil grunted. Grunted! Sevens, the effect you had on him.

Just as his father had done, he took your chin in his hand, and said, firmly, “You're min-my guest. Not his. So try to keep your attention on me.”

You looked at him with big innocent eyes. Vil fought back a distressed, lovesick sigh.

“Understood…but…what if,” you bit your lip, and Vil knew whatever was about to come out of your mouth would give him gray hair. Though, clearly that would be something you would like.

“What if, you shared me?”

He stared at you, opening and closing his mouth a couple times.

“I could be both of your guests!”

“What! Do you know what you're saying?” You had to! At least a piece of you had to, or you wouldn't be continuing the conversation. 

“I don't feel safe answering that question,” you said, your eyes narrowing in suspicion at his attitude.

“I'll be blunt, Y/N,” he said firmly. “You cannot date my father.”

“I never said-”

“You didn't have to. It's written all over your face.”

You opened your mouth to protest, closed it, huffed, looked away, then you turned back to him.

“Why not?”

Vil’s jaw dropped. He sputtered, then exclaimed, “Are you seriously asking why you can't date my dad?”

“He's a dilf,” you shrugged.

“You also can't look directly at him!”

“I can change-”

“Doubtful.”

“Wow, okay. I see what this is. You are intimidated by the thought of me as your step parent.”

“You can't be my step parent!”

“I knew it! You're scared of me wearing the pants between the two of us!”

“No! You can't date my dad, because you are supposed to fall for me!”

You blinked at him. He pinched the bridge of his nose between two perfectly manicured nails. There went his summer plan.

“Oh.”

“Oh?” He sighed heavily. “Oh, as in, you feel the same? Or oh as in, awkward, leave me alone?”

You looked away, and Vil was certain if he felt your cheeks, they would feel feverish.

“I-er-ugh.”

“Take your time,” he hummed his amusement coming back to him.

You glared at him, before crumbling again, and mumbling some gibberish. 

“You can't even talk to me, but you think you can handle my father?”

You glared at him, then took a calming breath.

“I like you too.”

“Thank sevens,” he pulled you in for a hug, holding back a snicker as he felt you tremble a little.

“You smell good, too,” you muttered, before hiding your face in his shoulder. He could feel his pride swelling.

But only you could bring it down just as quickly as you brought it up.

“Why can't you share me?” your tone sounded innocent enough, but he groaned as he pushed you out at arms length. 

“I absolutely forbid you from flirting with my father.”

“I have two hands, so I could hold both of your hands at the same time!”

“Y/N, do not make me use my unique magic on you,” he warned. He watched you glare at him, but you quickly lost your composure as he reopened his arms to you, and you buried yourself against him.

He had a whole summer to keep you away from his father.

Wonderful.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #vil schoenheit #vil schoenheit x reader #eric venue

[screampied]

gojo planned to confess his love to you on valentine’s day.

he had the entire thing set, he was anxious, pondering just what your reaction might be. you were forever on his mind — even now, he was picturing your smile, imagining you returning the words and accepting your gifts. his heart swooned at the thought, the feeling of you finally returning your feelings to him. he’s had a deep love for you as long as he could remember.

“she’s gonna say it back, she’s gonna say it back.”

he repeated those words in his head like a mantra.

just the thought of your name made gojo’s heart race at such a speed. he was in love with you. he figured today would be the perfect time to tell you, smother you with compliments, decorate pretty roses in your hair and maybe snag a polaroid picture with you to keep in the back case of his phone.

although, once he finally meets up with you, he’d never know how foolish he really could have been.

you’d be somewhere outside by yourself, perhaps sitting on the grass and soaking in the humid sun with the most gorgeous relaxed expression. he texted you prior that he wanted to tell you something, very subtlety.

he felt his heart beat pick up at the sheer sight of you—you were so effortlessly pretty. trapped in your own little world. gojo trods his feet up to you, hiding his hands behind his back with a gift he had prepared for you. it was a necklace with a bunch of your favorite candies inside. he also had a cheesy card that read, “do you have a name? or should i just call you mine.”

it made him snort, he found the idea off of google.

as he kept making his way towards you, dragging his feat, he’s repeating his sappy speech a million times in his head. he straightened his tie, reaching for his pocket to grab a rose out of his pocket before he stopped once he saw geto approach you …

with a kiss.

gojo had a slow reaction, he felt like his breath got snatched from his chest. a tough snatch to where he could barely breathe. geto stroked a thumb against your chin before after a few brief seconds, he pulls away. you smiled at him before geto surprised you with a big box of what appeared to be a gift.

“oh..” gojo mutters, feeling trapped, as if his feet was stuck in place. you looked so happy, he started to feel stupid. he’s so ensnared into his own loud screaming thoughts that he doesn’t even realize that you’re standing in front of him now.

“satoru. hey. you wanted to talk to me about something?” you utter, glancing up at him, wondering why his body language was so awkward and stiff.

his jaw tightened before he blinks twice, sighing out a soft. “huh? oh that—oh, it’s uh, nothing,” and then he forces a fake smile on his face. he was too late to win your heart, and it costed his own to be shattered into a million glass pieces.

“are you sure?” you pry.

he gives you a nod, and you literally slip from his fingers the minute you turn your heels to walk away. gojo felt numb, tears started to swell into his eyes as he brought the gift up to his chest.

a single tear runs down his cheek as he watches you walk off into the sunset with geto, cursing to himself mentally that that should have been him. he had a force smile, because in the end — at least you were happy.

“happy valentine’s day,” he sniffles, knowing the true meaning of heartbreak at that particular moment. “i still love you.”

#★vegasbaby. #tehe #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #gojo x you #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojou satoru x you #gojo angst #jjk angst #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #jjk fic #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jjk x you #jjk drabbles #jujutsu kaisen angst

[writingoddess1125]

You get a very dumb cat that loves Simon

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Gnreader and Beans the Cat!

Fluffy Fluff Corniness! 🌽

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Or Gofundme

• Being the long term partner to Simon 'Ghost' Riley definitely had its up and downs. One of the downs however is how lonely you'd get when he left for missions

• So after a particularly long Mission were your love was gone for months, you decided that a pet was a good way to help cope with the worry and hollowness.

• You'd gotten a cat from a shelter and had it for only a few weeks before Simon returned. One thing you had realized in the short time you had owned the cat was... he wasn't the brightest

• After returning from picking Simon up from the airport and sharing in more kisses then you knew was possibly Simon walked through the door with a happy sigh at being able to return home till he spotted the changes and the cat sitting dead center of the livingroom-

• "What the Hell is that thing?" He says gesturing to the feline staring up at him with his tongue hanging out.

• "I got a cat!" You say cheerfully, Gesturing to the feline he was staring at. Simon stares at the cat. Watching it blink one eye then another as he took a heavy breath.

• "His name is Beans!" You said cheerfully, Simon raiding an eyebrow at this. Before looking back at the cat and could clearly see there was no greater thought behind the damn things eyes as he meowed at him.

• Simon closed his eyes like he was trying to keep himself from either laughing or crying at the same time-

• "Fucken Hell-"

• He finds Beans to be a constant reminder that some creatures don't need brain cells to survive. The cat while sweet is a fucking idiot, it likes to stare at nothing get what you call 'Zoomies' at the most random times and it perplexes Simon how the damn thing survived more then a day. Especially when it clips a wall during one of these Zoomie moments and he has to turn away to keep from laughing.

• The only time he gets mad at it is when he's doing the Dirty with you and feels a pair of eyes staring at him. Turning his head to see God Damn Beans in the doorway staring at the two of you getting it on.

• "Damn that fucking cat-"

• After a few weeks home and with Beans, Simon wakes up from a terrible nightmare/panic attack. Panting as the shadows of his mind had creeped in on his dreams and plagued him with fear and reliving the worse in his life.. Getting up gently as to not wake you he ventures down to the living room to sit and watch TV to hopefully settle his mind just enough to sleep.

• He sighs still sweating from the panic attack and takes a seat on the plush old couch, Running his hand over his naked face as he tried to relax- feeling the itch to grab his balaclava just to add some security to his troubled mind. He heard the gentle sound of bells catching his attention as he watched Beans get up from his fluffy cat bed and walk to him.

• Jumping onto his lap Beans began to gently knead Simon's chest and stomach region. He remembered you saying this was called 'Making Biscuits'

• "Tryin' to comfort me eh?" He questioned as he gently began to pet the cat who was continuing its late night action.

• After a while of this which did distract Simon enough to feel the panic attack start to fade away, Beans curled up high on his chest and begun to purr loud and hard. Vibrating the whole man's chest like a old school massager.

• He felt himself start to relax as the gentle sound of purring began to lull him to sleep, his hand still on the back of the cat gently as he drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

• The next morning when you get up you walk downstairs to see Simon sitting on the couch with Beans still asleep on his chest, curled in a relaxed ball under his warm hand.

• You take at least 100 pictures of this.

• After that night Simon is more okay with the cat and Beans just adores Simon now. Following him everywhere and sleeping on the soldier at every opportunity.

#x reader #cod thoughts #cod ghost #cod x reader #ghost cod #cod mw2 #cod mwii #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #cod x gn!reader #cod x male reader #cod x female reader #ghost x you #ghost x y/n #ghost x male reader #call of duty imagine #call of duty #call of duty thoughts #call of duty ghosts

[starkeyisthelastname]

could you write meeting drew at the airport and go ask for a selfie and like minutes later you're sucking him off in a bathroom stall? thank youuu

The airport was quiet for it being the middle of the night, your flight delayed, had you wondering around the small book store near your gate to find something to pass the time. Picking one out, you headed up to the small check out stand where a man stood in front of you, paying for something. You glanced at him twice before realizing who it was. His buzzcut, his structured jawline, and gorgeous blue eyes that shimmered as he spoke.

Drew Starkey from one of your favorite shows happened to be standing before you and you were trying your best not to fan girl. You were about look away went you saw ocean eyes look back at you, a soft smile playing on pink lips.

You blushed, looking down quickly at the ground. You’d didn’t even want to ask for a picture but how many times in your life would this happen? “I’m sorry to bother you, but do you think I could take a selfie with you?” You asked, voice quiet.

Grabbing what he paid for, he nodded. “Not a problem at all.” He said, stepping closer to you. You could smell his cologne, wanting nothing more than to experience getting a hug from him. Taking out your phone, you opened the camera and stood beside him to take a picture. You felt his hand pulled you closer, resting on the small of your back as he smiled. It was the way his eyes looked at you when he pulled back that left your panties feeling damp and cunt fluttering.

“I normally don’t do this..” Drew said, breath hushed as you placed his cock in your mouth. It was big, stretching your lips open as you steadied yourself on the floor of the bathroom. Not the most ideal place, but you didn’t care. “You are prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.” He mumbled.

You hummed around him, wanting to do nothing but please the gorgeous actor. You were almost afraid this was a dream you would soon wake up from. Your eyes looked up at him, not believing that this was happening. His fingers laced through your hair, keeping you close as you moved your mouth up and down.

“Fuck.. you are good, pretty girl.” His voice in a low groan which only made you wetter.

You pulled back, giving him a smile as you were determined to make this a face he remembered. “Thank you.” You said sweetly, rubbing the tip along your lips.

Drew chuckled, taking his own length in his hand to slide back in your wet mouth. “You are gonna make me take you with me.” His voice low as you took his cock further down your mouth.

#drew starkey #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey smut #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron prompt #rafe cameron blurb #obx #obx smut

[risuola]

ENTRY #1 ♡ F. READER X GOJO SATORU

My crystal tears and my heart’s beat, And all the pieces of my soul’s depths, I lay my dreams upon your feet, Please be careful taking your steps.

cw: angst-ish, arranged marriage!au, slight age gap (reader's around 22, Satoru is 28), loveless marriage, brief mentions of blood and toxicity — 1,9k words

a/n: starting a new series while two other are hanging in the air and hundreds of wips are waiting for being written? yeah, that's me, but hey, I needed to start something new to get my creative juices flowin'. this one's gonna be a series of entries, a diary if you will.

series masterlist

When you were younger, a girl innocent and little, blissfully unaware of the world around you, you wished to marry a prince. Influenced by tales told by your mother and tv shows you watched with big and curious eyes, you had a vision of the ceremony straight out of a dream. A magical display of love and the path of rose petals and feathers through which you were meant to stride in a dress made of satin and lace – white and elegant. You also saw him, the man that your heart would choose and desire. A prince handsome and kind, who would love and protect you even if by doing so, his life would be on the line. You were too little to be aware of the naivety of the dreamy pictures in your head.

Sometimes you wished to turn back time and once again step into the shoes of the innocent you who never got to know sadness and fear. Sometimes you think of it with a bittersweet smile, reminiscing the way you used to go about your days without care about the world around. With mild regret you reminiscence the moment you learned that everything around you was–

“I’m talking to you. God damn it, are you deaf?”

“I heard you.”

–a lie.

You were a late bloomer but besides the judgmental looks you were receiving left and right from the elders of your clan, you also owe it the beauty of your prolonged childhood. Few years of freedom that you lost the memory of how it tasted and yet, you like to go back to it and drown in the pictures it left in your mind. Whilst all of your siblings were training and learning, fighting and risking their lives against the cursed spirits, you brought shame to your family. There was no place for someone without a cursed technique in a world of sorcery and you were made painfully aware of it at the day of your tenth birthday. That was also the end of your childhood and the day you wish to forget. You remember how the smiles of your parents turned into frowns and the soft, melodic tone of your mother became harsh and never got back to how it used to be. The tales and cookies vanished and what was left was nothing but suffering and degradation.

“Oh, did you?”

It took you six years of training to awaken the technique that later on was called the most powerful in the history of your clan. Six years of days and nights filled with sweat and tears, six years of bloody knuckles and bruises but also, it took six years of your determination to prove all of them wrong. Despite being the youngest of four siblings, you were able to stand against the worst of curses with nothing but a sword and raw power when everyone else relied heavily on the cursed techniques. You were strong and skilled, you were trained and fearless but still, you were looked down. A shame. To your family you were nothing but a shame.

And then, suddenly, you became a pride. You were on everyone’s mouths; you were talked about as if you were the most expensive and rare diamond. Years of harsh treatment you received suddenly became forgotten because once your technique awakened, you became the strongest in your clan, surpassing your siblings, your parents and everyone else who bore the same name as you. Suddenly other clans were talking about you too, with curiosity and fear. Suddenly, you became someone. But somehow, it didn’t make you happy. Once you realized that the world you were born into wasn’t a tale you always thought it is, you lost the ability to enjoy it. Maybe the pain of what you had given to become a true sorcerer rendered you unable to fully appreciate the adulthood, but you found it hard to see the light, when the darkness seemed to embed itself into your soul.

“You know what? Fuck that. I’m leaving.”

Ah yes, the marriage. With years that had passed since you were young and naïve, you stripped yourself of the dreams of sharing a life with a prince, but a part of you still hoped for love and calm. A part of your heart wished to settle with someone you’ll trust and care for. Someone who will ground you in the world of constant danger and for years you thought that you will find a man with whom the stressful life of sorcery will be a little kinder, a little less scary, a little more bearable. It was a child in you, a faint spark of juvenile carelessness that never died down, even in the darkest of days you endured.

You let out a deep sigh and allowed your lids to close. Your head leaned forward, forehead restless against the cold doors of the kitchen cabinet. The loud thud of doors snapping shut echoed in your ears for few moments and then it became silent. An earie cacophony of nothing but your own breath and soft ticking of the clock on the wall next to you. For a moment you thought about how many times you relived this very same situation already. The cold detachment, harsh exchange of words and then he’s gone. A salve of ruthless stabs that never seem to hurt less and the sound of your own voice forming sentences you wouldn’t think of if the circumstances were different.

First time you saw Satoru Gojo was many years before you truly knew who he is. It was a picture that you noticed by accident, somewhere in the papers your parents had spread out on the coffee table. He was a young boy back then. You remember the impression he made on you. He looked cold, intimidating, unapproachable. He looked like someone you’d never think of becoming friends with. You were young, just barely nine years old and he was already fifteen. He was already the strongest and even though you weren’t actively involved in the world of sorcery, you knew his name.

And then, many years later you sat in front of him. While the elders of your clans discussed the importance of the arrangement that was planned within the sorcerer’s society, Satoru was resting on a couch unamused, with his legs crossed and eyes covered by a layer of white bandages. You watched him, analyzed his lack of interest and the veil of cold arrogance with realization that everything you wished for was never on the table for you. During the two long hours of conversations that were about you and yet no one asked for your opinion, you and Satoru didn’t exchange one word.

You heard his voice actively directed at you for the first time during the wedding ceremony. It was small, very private and filled with people that you mostly didn’t know. It was far from perfect, though pretty in a way. Under the cautious watch of the most important figures of sorcery, you said the vows that made you feel nothing and yet meant so much. The words of promise, that for anyone else meant love and safe future, to you meant status and the name. You became Gojo. You became a wife to the strongest man in the world.

Now it’s seven months after the wedding and the day you and him moved together. The apartment you shared was filled with both yours and his belongings and yet it didn’t feel like home. It lacked the atmosphere of love and understanding and on days like this, you were losing hope it will ever feel different than miserable.

That day was nothing out of ordinary when it came to your marriage. Yet another fight, yet another beeline he made to leave you alone in the empty house. You always argue. There was no warmth between the walls of the apartment, there was no care and respect. Instead, there were snaps and insults, there was silence and avoidance. The large bed in what was meant to be a shared bedroom was occupied only by you, while Satoru preferred to sleep on a couch even though his tall frame was way too big for it. Besides one very brief and formal kiss you shared during the wedding day, you never kissed again. There was no holding hands, no incidental touches, no nothing that would convey any sort of feeling and only times your bodies made contact was when he grabbed your wrists in anger or when your shoulder hit his arm while you were passing by.

Truth is, you had no idea what Satoru was talking about that morning before he left. You were lost in thoughts, but you could only imagine he was mentioning the meeting he needed to attempt in the evening. He probably won’t be home until late and once he’ll come back, he’ll be annoyed by elders and for that, you couldn’t blame him. Whenever you face the elders of jujutsu community, your blood pressure raises as well and you’re quite calm by nature. That being said, if unlucky, you’ll be the one to take the hit of his anger.

Your fingers run across the golden band that adorned your finger. It was an absentminded motion that became a habit of sorts, helping you gather the thoughts, calming your mind. The cold feel of metal allowed you to let go of the stress and forced you to suck it up yet again.

Two hours after the morning fight, you found yourself surrounded by the familiar buildings in the Jujutsu tech area, watching your husband from afar. Satoru was in the middle of teaching students, if whatever the hell he was doing could be called teaching. Megumi was resting next to him as some other kids were fighting on the training field. The sound of wooden swords colliding echoed between the woods that surrounded the expanse of the school zones. Gojo was looking as careless as ever, calm and smiling – a sight that you almost never see unless he’s facing someone else. He was chatting with his almost-son, shouting some advice to the sparing students and going about his day as he usually does, but one thing was different.

 “Satoru,” you called his name as you went down the stairs to reach the spot where he was standing. He noticed you, you knew that. He most likely knew about your appearance way before you even got to see him, but now he chose to actively ignore your presence as his light blue eyes stayed focused on the field instead of landing on you.

“What brings you here?” He asked and you could tell how the tone of his voice changed from the friendly sensei to your husband’s rough approach. He wasn’t happy with your visit; you weren’t welcome near him and everyone knew that. The fact of your marriage being arranged wasn’t a secret and it also wasn’t a secret that it was Gojo’s clan decision, not his own. Satoru felt some sort of humiliation that despite him being the strongest, he was stripped of a choice who to spend his life with and you, as his wife, were paying for his resentment.

“I brought you this,” you replied, reaching your hand towards him. His eyes landed on your palm and you noticed a ghost of relief that washed over his features when he took the band of black fabric from your hold. His blindfold, that you realized was ripped – he left at home in the morning. That was most likely what he was talking to you about because once you cleaned up after the breakfast, you noticed the band and his broken glasses left on the coffee table.

“So you were listening,” Satoru said quietly and securely covered his eyes.

“I wasn’t.”

#𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐲 ♡ #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #jjk fanfiction #gojo #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #satoru #jjk x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x y/n #gojo x you #gojo satoru x you #satoru x you #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru x reader #gojo x y/n #gojo satoru x y/n #satoru x y/n #gojo angst #gojo satoru angst #satoru angst #gojo arranged marriage #jjk arranged marriage #gojo fluff #gojo fanfiction

[httpdwaekki]

migraine | b.c.

summary: you were known to have pretty intense migraines but chan is there to help you feel better.

wc: 1.9k

warnings: no warnings, just pure fluff, tad bit of hurt/ comfort, sweet channie as always, and in true ashton fashion far too many petnames lmao. very lightly proofread (p.s. i am in my wolfchan lover arc, need him immediately.)

a/n: omg ashton got lost in the sauce again? * gasp* shocker! yeah this took me way too long to write but whatever. i actually don't hate this which is crazy but this is self indulgent because i get some pretty intense, nasty migraines that can last a couple days and it sucks. but if you suffer from the same thing i hope this can bring you some comfort and also i recommend a gel cap that you put in the freezer. an actual game changer, trust. anyway, i hope you enjoy! remember to eat, drink water and take your meds, ily <3

*lowercase intended*

my library

(pictures are not mine! credit to owners!)

you had some pretty nasty migraines, no secret to you or chan. they last anywhere from a few hours to a few days and while there were things to help lessen the pain and pressure, sometimes you just had to ride it out.

this was unfortunately one of those times. now usually you would call chan as soon as you felt the first telltale sign of a migraine . this time however, you didn’t, you knew he was busy with work and didn’t want to interfere with that. but you were selfishly starting to regret that decision as everything you were doing did nothing to help.

it seemed like everything did nothing but increase the pressure in your head, spreading to your face. in a last ditch effort to get some sleep you put on some migraine music, pressed a cold compress to your eyes and pulled wolfchan to your chest.

the soft plushie smelled faintly of chan’s cologne, the only thing actually helping you relax. but it also made you miss the aussie man, wishing he was by your side, rubbing your temples, softly lulling you to sleep.

you didn’t even realize you were crying until you felt a warm tear drip down to your neck. you knew you had to calm down or you risk making everything worse but you couldn’t. you were overwhelmed by the pressure in your head and frustrated with nothing helping to release it.

you felt selfish and guilty but you knew you needed chan, you felt like you were going insane without him. hesitantly you moved the compress from your eyes, grabbing your phone.

despite the brightness being on the lowest possible setting, you felt a sharp pain behind your eye as the screen turned on. you unlocked your phone, clicking chan’s contact, you quickly typed out a message.

to channie <3 :

hi, i’m so sorry to ask but i really don’t know what else to do, i have a migraine and nothing's helping. i know you're working but is there anyway when you finish up at the studio you could come over? even for a little bit, if not i totally get it, just thought i’d ask, love you bug.

you hit send, locking your phone, placing it on the soft sheets, placing the compress back over your eyes. a few minutes passed before you felt your phone buzz beside you. you move the cold compress once more, bracing yourself for the light from your phone.

from channie <3:

can you call me jagi? i don’t want you to keep looking at your phone screen, love you too sweet girl.

you click his contact once more, hitting the little phone icon next to his name causing the calming music to stop, a loud ringing replacing it. this caused you to wince and quickly lower the volume before putting it on speaker so you could place the cooling pack back over your eyes.

it didn’t take long before he picked up. “hi my baby, what’s going on?” he asked softly.

“my head hurts,” you started, words slightly slurred. “it’s really bad channie.” you take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down. “i’ve tried everything and nothing’s working, i don’t know what to do.” you softly cried, tears making their way down your cheeks once more.

“okay angel okay, take a deep breath, i need you to relax for me okay? i know it hurts but it’s gonna hurt worse if you’re upset.” you hear rustling in the background.

“i’m just finishing up a few things here and then i’m gonna head over, okay sweetheart?” you respond with a soft whimper, followed by a quiet, “okay.” you press the pack further into your eyes, chasing the coolness that is quickly leaving the gel filled pack.

“do you want me to stay on the phone with you till i get there?” he asks softly, packing his bag.

“yes, please.” you mumbled. “okay baby, just keep breathing and focus on me, okay? i’m gonna pick up some food on the way too, okay?” you hummed in response, rolling over, pushing the soft plushie to your cheek, breathing in the familiar scent.

“everything okay?” you hear changbin ask in the background. “yeah, y/n has a migraine, so i’m going to help her.” chan responds.

“oh no, i hope she feels better, let us know if you guys need anything.” you hear han chime in, your heart swelling at the boys concern.

“will do, thank you, i’ll see you guys later.” you hear him open the studio door making his way into the hallway.

“you still with me, jagi?” he asks softly. “yeah, i’m here.” face squished into the soft fabric. “alright sweetheart, i’m gonna mute for a bit just until i get to my car, okay?” he asks, the elevator dings in the background, signaling its arrival.

“okay.” you say sleepily. “i love you baby, i’ll be right back.” you hear him press a button in the elevator. “love you too bub.” your words slurring slightly.

after chan muted, you felt yourself slowly succumb to the exhaustion, phone positioned next to you on the sheets, wolfchan tucked safely against your cheek, you, curled up in a soft blanket .

that is exactly how chan found you about 25 minutes later as he walked in your room, the space dimly lit by the oil diffuser sitting on your bedside table. he left the take-out bags sitting on your kitchen counter, fresh compress and cold water in hand. he gently places the water on your desk, making his way over to you.

he grabs your phone, ending the call before turning off the relaxing music. he sits next to your sleeping form, gently taking the warm pack off your face. he places a kiss on your forehead before placing the fresh compress on your eyes.

you tense for a moment, before relaxing as the cold begins to relieve the tension once more. you stir awake from the sudden change in temperature. “channie?” you asked, sleep laced in your voice.

he places a hand on your hips, his thumb rubbing soothing circles to the area. “hi, my baby,” he whispers. “how are you feeling hm?” he asks, continuing the soothing motion. you move the cool pack, grabbing his free hand, in this lap, threading your fingers together before placing a kiss on the back of his.

“better now that you’re here.” you murmured, giving him a small smile. he smiled back before leaning down and placing a kiss on your forehead.

“i got you some ramen, i’m gonna go grab it for you okay?” you nodded, him standing, still keeping your hand in his. he leans down to press a soft kiss to your forehead before placing the compress back over your eyes, grabbing the warm one to put back in the freezer .

he gives your hand a light squeeze before walking away. you relax into the soft mattress below you while chan goes to grab the hot soup and some medicine just in case.

he walks in with the tray, setting it on your desk next to the cold water collecting condensation on the wood below it. he makes his way over to you, sitting next to you once again, gently lifting the pack off your eyes. “there she is,” he placed a hand on your cheek, setting the compress next to you.

“hi baby.” he smiled, softly stroking your cheek. you give him a small smile back before turning your head slightly to place a kiss to his palm. “can you sit up for me please?” you nod softly before slowly moving to lean against the wall behind you.

“careful jagi.” he whispered, quickly placing a hand behind your head. “thank you, bug.” you mumble, adjusting the pillows behind you, placing wolfchan in your lap . chan stands up once more, placing the water on the tray before bringing it over to you.

“thank you, chan, you really didn’t have to do all this.” you say, guilt creeping up on you once again. he shakes his head. “nope, none of that. i’m your boyfriend, this is my job.” he places the tray on your lap, taking his place next to you once again.

“plus, i love taking care of you. if you need me, i’m there. any time, any place, simple as that.” your heart swells, you feel a lump form in the back of your throat. “you can’t say stuff like that when i’m like this, i’ll cry.” you play with the plushie’s ears before feeling a finger lift your chin.

“i love you, and i’ll always be here for you, no matter where either of us are, okay?” he said, looking into your eyes, with nothing but love and sincerity. you nod, “i love you too.” he smilled, carefully leaning over to place a kiss on your forehead.

“now, you need to eat, i got your favorite.” he says, picking up the hot soup, opening the lid, before separating the chopsticks. he dips the wooden sticks in the soup, giving it a stir before grabbing some of the noodles.

he gently blows on the steaming noodles before offering it to you, container under it to catch any dripping soup. you giggle, “you know i can feed myself right?” he frowns, pushing the noodles and container closer to you. “eat.”

you smile before opening your mouth, accepting the food he so generously offered you. a smile made it’s way onto his face, feeding you a few more bites. he placed the container back down, chopsticks resting in the soup, before grabbing the medicine and water.

“take these.” he placed them in your hand, opening the water as you dropped the pills in your mouth. he hands you the water, watching as you greedly gulp down the cool beverage. “ how are you feeling, angel?” he asks gently.

“it still hurts but i think eating and drinking definitely helped.” you smiled, handing him the bottle. “ good, i’m glad. eat a few more bites then we’ll lay down, okay?” he says, picking up the soup once more.

you end up finishing the ramen before he grabs the tray and the now warm compress. “do you want a cold one?” he asks holding up the pack.

“yes please.” you nod slightly. “okay, get comfy, i’ll be right back jagi.” you smile laying back down as he leaves the room.

he comes back, shortly after, with a fresh compress and another bottle of water. he places the water next to your diffuser, placing the compress over your eyes. he circles the bed, climbing under the covers.

he lays down, pulling you into him, placing your head on his chest. you place your arm around his wait, hand slipping under his shirt, rubbing your thumb across his soft skin.

he brings his hand up, rubbing soft circles on your temples, placing kiss on the top of your head. “sleep jagi, we can shower when you wake up okay?’ you nod slightly against him.

“thank you, channie. i love you, more than you know.” you mumble, tightening your arms around him. “i love you too baby, i’ll always take care of you, okay?” placing one last kiss to your hair.

that’s how you stayed for the rest of the night, wrapped up in each other’s arms. the pressure in your head, slowly releasing, finally able to relax.

reblogs/feedback are appreciated! i hope you guys enjoyed!

do no repost

#bang chan #bang chan imagine #bang chan fluff #bang chan x reader #bang chan fic #stray kids #stray kids fic #stray kids drabble #stray kids x reader #stray kids imagine #stray kids fluff #ash's library

[dcxdpdabbles]

Alfred's Boy Part 3

Bruce rarely had a full night's rest. In fact, he thinks that it's been a full two years since he last had more than eight hours of consistent slumber. Unlike Tim, who just forgo the recommended sleeping amount, Bruce found time to take naps throughout the day because, as much as he hates to admit it, he's not as young as he used to be.

This is why Bruce is rather displeased to be awoken when he finds himself with a chance to have a full night's rest. It felt like he barely closed his eyes at the tender time of nine o clock pm- with no cases waiting for him, his children agreeing to take his patrols, and the wonderful tea that Danny had poured him to help with backpain-he thought nothing would ruin it.

He forgot he had children for a moment.

At three in the morning, he woke to Tim, half in his Red Robin uniform, crouching like a cat about to leap, his unmasked face staring a few inches away from Bruce's nose. It took everything in Bruce to not react on instinct and take a swing at his son.

He only just bites back the scream by sheer willpower. His son doesn't seem to notice his heart trying to leap out of his chest as the boy leans back, sitting on the pillow Bruce likes to use to build a protective wall against the other side of the floor.

Tim's voice was raspy with sleep and maybe even hints of madness. "Oh good, you're awake. I have an emergency."

"Wha?" Bruce asks, half unsure if he is hallucinating. "What's wrong."

"Danny found his photo album."

"Danny has a photo album?"

"Yes. I made it. I took all the pictures."

"Okay? Why is that bad, chum? Was it supposed to be a surprise present for him?"

Tim tilts his head, his somewhat unfocused eyes staring at Bruce, and for one moment, he wonders if Tim got a concussion out in the field. He disregards the idea a moment later. Alfred would have notified him, and if not, Danny wouldn't allow Tim to wander alone.

Bruce could still remember Duke's wide eye awe as Danny followed him around when he got hit a little too hard a few weeks ago. The butler in training had even slept in his room- on the floor on an air mattress- and Duke had looked mortified and smug for as long as it took to get over his injury.

Alfred had to make it very clear no one was allowed to deliberately get a concussion to his other love-struck children.

Tim's nose wrinkles as a slight blush appears on his high cheeks. "No. He didn't know I was taking pictures of him. That's why it's bad he found the album. "

Bruce closes his eyes. He loves his son, he really does, but he can't handle this right now. He takes a few blissful seconds to pretend he never became a single dad of nine before he pushes his eyelids apart to give one of his middle children a firm scolding. "Tim, chum, the light of my life, that's a crime."

"It's not! I didn't follow him around outside the manor." Tim argues.

Bruce reaches a hand up to rub the space between his eyes. "Tim, you can't just take pictures of people without asking them."

"Why not? I've done it before. To you, Dick, Jason, Steph, Alfred, Damian, Harper, Cullen, Duke, and Cass, but she usually catches me and poses so it doesn't get her in her authentic state of being like I usually want to get but-" Tim says, counting the people on his figures before he seems to realize that he was sidetracked and shakes his head. He gives Bruce a pitiful pout. "He doesn't even mind. He said they were lovely and artistic!"

Of course, Danny wouldn't even blink at a creepy photo album of himself hidden in one of his employer's rooms. That boy didn't care that he found the Batcave while dusting, so taking everything in stride was a default.

"Tim, it's still not okay. You have to ask him from now on if you can take pictures." He holds up a hand when Tim opens his mouth to no doubt argue. "You can ask him if you can take pictures of him throughout the day to capture his authentic side without it being a crime. Now explain what the emergency really is."

Tim's teeth snapped close with a snap. "That was the emergency. He found it, and now I have to leave the country. Go underground for a few months. Maybe fake my death."

"You literally don't have to do any of that. Danny said it was okay right? He isn't one to sugarcoat things. He wouldn't claim it was fine if he didn't feel that way."

"No, Bruce, you don't understand. He already thinks I can't swim. Now he finds a book of him covered in hearts? Tim Drake needs to die." Tim says, dragging his hands down his face, and Bruce flips the covers back.

Gesturing to them, he deadpans. "Tim Drake needs to sleep."

"But my fake death needs to be planned-"

"Cullen and Harper get back tomorrow. Do you want to stress Danny more by adding your fake death to this?" Bruce watches the moment his argument wins because it's as if all fight leaves Tim's body, and his son slumps to the side. His head falls on a pillow, and he's already fast asleep.

He had been running on fumes again, it seemed.

Sighing, Bruce man hands his son into a more comfortable position, unclips his cape, and tucks the blankets around his son's shoulders. He settles back into his side of his bed- Ever since Dick came to live with him, Bruce had, over the years, claimed the right side of the bed so the left would always be open for any of his children suffering from nightmares.

He closes his eyes; Tim's peaceful face snuggling into Bruce's softest pillow reminded him why he became a single father of nine. His heart swells with love as he gives back into sleep's warm arms.

A few seconds later, his door is kicked open by Harper. She puts all her lungs into her greeting. "What's up, Old man! Who's the new kid!?"

Bruce glances at his clock and realizes it's now eight in the morning. Harper and Cullen had arrived hours earlier than planned- probably because Harper had refused to sleep and completed the drive home. He looks at Tim and finds his son curled into a ball, still dead to the world.

"That's Danny," He says in a hushed voice, gesturing to her adoptive brother. When Harper sees Tim, she visibly quiets, ensuring her heavy metal boots don't stomp on the ground as she walks over to him. "He's Alfred's foster son. He was removed from his last home because his parents were dangerous to his safety. Alfred will house him as a favor for his old contact. The contact code name is Clockwork. Danny talks about him a lot so you may hear that name for a while."

"Whoa. " She says, sobering up. Bruce can see memories of her birth father playing behind her eyes as she frowns. "That's shitty. Poor guy, no wonder he seemed sad to the bone."

"You met him?"

"Yeah, he jumped Cullen and me in the main hallway."

Bruce's mind buffers for a second. "What?"

"I know! The dude has skill, but it makes sense if he is Alfred's. He thought we were breaking in and took us out before I realized we were in danger. Once he got a good look at our faces, though, he practically threw up apologizing." She pauses. "Is he straight?"

No. Bruce thinks feeling cold, not another one.

"I believe he's bi. Why?"

Harper shrugs, smiling. "I think Cullen may have a crush on him. I was iffy about it since I thought he was another of your kids. You technically aren't our dad since I'm still Cullen's guardian, but you let us live here for free, so you like a dad? Glad it's not an issue."

Bruce wants to cry. What was it with Danny and seducing his children (in the eyes of the law or not, Cullen is Bruce's boy)? "There may be an issue. See, Danny has a few admires right now and he's- "

"That sounds like your issue, not a Cullen issue," Harper says, narrowing her eyes. Bruce winces when he notices her arms crossing over her chest as when firmly plants her feet a few inches apart. She only stands like that when she's protective of Cullen, which means she finds his comment offensive.

"I'm not saying Cullen doesn't have a chance." Bruce corrects realizing where the issue was. Harper's arms loosen slightly. "I just meant that right now, Danny isn't in the right mental state to be dating."

Harper's arms drop. "Yeah, I wasn't interested in dating after I became emancipated, either. Had a lot going on. I'll talk to Cullen about it. Make sure he gives Danny space."

Finally, one of his kids is on his side! "Thank you, Harper."

She waves a hand dismissively. "Don't mention it. Hey, how did Clockwork and Alfred meet anyway?"

Bruce shrugs. "I never asked."

"Why?"

"It's Alfred. " He says like that is an explanation enough, and it is. Harper accepts it as such, nodding along. She tilts her head back and mentions wanting to shower, then take a long nap. She leaves the room as silent as a shadow, but not before telling him Danny and Cullen are making pancakes for everyone.

Bruce doesn't want to get up, but he must be the period romance villain and rip his son away from the staff. He slips out of bed with great effort and prepares for the day. A quick bathroom break, and a change into a casual suit, lead to Bruce walking down to the kitchen.

There he spots Danny smiling gently at Cullen, who is in an excited rant about his latest reality tv show. Around them is a spread of breakfast foods- Danny always cooks the food of various cultural backgrounds. He apparently learned from Clockwork and found it important everyone had at least one piece of home per meal.

It's heartwarming domestic. Bruce needs to ruin it.

"How did Alfred and Clockwork meet?" Cullen asks, stopping Bruce from dramatically bursting into the room. It's mostly because he has been wondering the same thing for weeks, and Danny seems to know.

"Alfred got haunted when he picked up Clockwork's pocket watch in an antique store," Danny responds.

That answer didn't explain anything. In fact, it just created more questions. Bruce wants to wait a little more, see if Danny adds more information, but he watches as the bulter in training places strawberries on heart-shaped pancakes and then drizzles chocolate. He puts the plate in front of Cullen, and the other teenager swoons.

Yeah, Bruce needs to stop that.

"Good morning, boys." He calls, watching the two turn to him. They each give him a greeting, but Danny is noticeably more polite. Danny moves away from Cullen to serve Bruce. He adds blood pudding alongside his Batarang-shaped pancakes as Cullen sulks about losing Danny's attention. Bruce takes a bit of those first, closing his eyes in bliss.

Blood pudding, just like Alfred used to make.

Speaking of Alfred, his loyal butler arrives then. Seems like Bruce wasn't the only one catching up on a night of undisruptive sleep. His oldest friend gives both boys a once over, Danny pouring tea and milk and Cullen staring at him lovingly- and raises a brow, leaning down to whisper in Bruce's ear.

"I say, it seems Danny has collected another one."

"Please don't."

"Denial will not make it less true. It's how I wound up haunted."

"Alfred, what does that mean?"

#dc x dp crossover #dcxdpdabbles #Alfred's boy #Part 3 #cullen row #Harper Row #They were away on a trip #Danny likes to cook #Clockwork taught him #The lore of Alfred and Clockwork is a hot topic in Wayne Manor #Danny breaking hearts again #Tim was half crazy from sleep deprivation.

[ilycosy]

❝ DO YOU MIND ? ❞ | LUKE CASTELLAN

pairing : luke castellan x child of calliope!reader

summary — being the child of the mother of all muses, you're used to affections. boys and girls flock to you like you're a sweet, lovely thing, but they soon drop it when they realize that you're nothing like a muse. what happens if the camps precious, golden boy starts talking to you?

warnings : reader is a little toxic under their politeness, reader is also described to be feminine but there's no specific prns! luke is also kind of obsessive? he wants reader so bad.. not proofread (that's for babies /j)

aﾉn — i haven't written in a long time so bare with me, nor have i written for the pjo fandom ever (though ive been in it for a while..) this is also vv self indulgent (daughter of calliope here <3) so sorry if this isn't relatable ♡ lowercase intentional :)

being the child of the mother of muses has always been annoying— you've never had a break to just be. whether it be people chasing after you, or people who envy the attention you attract. there was always something, which you resented extremely.

if people were asked about you, they'd have only good things to say. you're beautiful, lovely, polite; but not a muse. it sometimes got annoying that it mattered so much to people, having others constantly talk about how you were never romantic.

you seemed to be uncomfortable with it at the very least, very few felt the resentment you held for love. those few could never confirm it though, having you reassure them that you're just a private person. ("there's no need for grand things, dear. i love you without such things." you'd say, through gritted teeth.) which is what might have drew luke castellan to you.

he saw through the politeness, observing you almost ever since you got claimed. he can picture when you got claimed, your embarrassed smile when an apollo girl had written a song for you. publicly performing it, you had lit up; literally. you were fifteen then— nothings changed in these past years.

luke can't remember all the times you've been confessed to, having songs, poems, even paintings done of you for your affection. but he can remember all the times he watched your facade crack; the way your smile stretched too wide to be real, your eyes dimming when you realized it was just another confession, or how you seemed to never interact with aphrodite boys anymore.

he finds it amusing mostly, how could such a pretty thing resent something people would kill for? either way, he finds himself being drawn in like you're a siren. the way your eyes darken at the mention of your mother, how you reapply gloss whenever you're nervous— he could go on really.

"are you going to eat that?" he finds himself asking you before he can stop himself, pointing at the yogurt bowl right next to your plate. he has half a mind to make sure he doesn't clam up when you look up at him, fluttering your lashes.

you gently push the bowl towards him, continuing on your morning like the best swordsman in the camp isn't talking to you. he pauses for a moment, licking his lips as he thinks of a reason to prolong this conversation.

fate seems to be on his side though— his brother, chris, being to busy talking to clarisse to even glance his way. he sits down, looking across from you as he eats the yogurt. he almost forgets that staring is rude.

"do you mind?" you ask, raising an eyebrow at him as you take a bite out of your crossiant. somewhat annoyed by the curly haired boy, your leg bounces steadily. "do i mind what?" he asks, like he's stupid— for some reason, you can't help but let your annoyance take over.

"why are you here," you start, pointing at the empty table. void of friends, you always sit alone until somebody claims they're in love with you. "you usually sit with your brothers and annabeth."

he shrugs at your questioning, not being able to find it in himself to hold back a teasing remark. "you know where i usually sit?" he asks with a small small, but the glint in his eyes show a certain smugness that gets under your skin.

you smile back at him, stretched too far and there's a bite in your voice hidden under honeyed words. "bye castellan," you croon sweetly. "hope you find your way back to your seat!" is all you give him, a morsel of fake attention that sends him reeling.

the next day, you wake up a bit later than normal. rising from your bunk around nine means you've missed breakfast, a deep feeling of anger surges through your core in a flash before you stretch and get dressed for the day.

when you leave the hermes cabin, you're stopped by a familiar figure. tall, brown hair, and a stupid smug grin. "hey angel," luke almost sings with how pleased he sounds with himself. "i have a presant!"

he reveals a crossiant and cold coffee, the faint warmth of the once fresh crossiant eases the deep feeling in your core even more though the coffee makes you want to vomit. "i don't like coffee." you state, taking a bite of the baked good. "but thank you, castellan."

he barely has time to respond with a you're welcome or an im sorry before you're smiling, too wide for his liking, and walking away. he debates following you, trying to talk to you like he's desperate for a friend. but he decides against it, wondering how to keep a conversation going with somebody that hates being sought after.

a week passes of the same routine— luke catching you at odd moments during the day, offering you little things to keep you around for a moment longer. you find it annoying, but keep a pleasant attitude anyways, it certainly helps that he's not bad to look at.

a small rumor spreads through camp, luke castellan having a crush. it barely takes the day for people to speculate that it's you.

it almost disappoints you, not having expected the camps favorite to fall so easily— doesn't he have any other girls? you debate on telling him that you're not open for relationships right now, having been in so many already, you could very easily blame any one of your exes.

but you don't have the chance to reject him the next time you see him because he's talking already, smiling at you like you'd fall so easily. "do you wanna help plan an activity with me?" he asks, offering you a delicious smelling tea.

"why would you want me to do that?" you question him, almost allowing yourself to have a genuine lazy smile but you just force a docile confused tilt. you sip on the tea, the once tart raspberries are now sweet in the tea mixing with a hibiscus flavor.

you're too busy drinking to notice him begin talking, he's mid laugh when you tune in. "— maybe you could help with setting up the theater?" he suggests, you pretend like you know how you got into a full conversation with him by subtly trying to exit it.

"why not have the apollo counselor help?" you say sweetly, setting the tea down and turning your full attention onto him. he feels sick to his stomach at how you look at him, soft features with a sugared tone. your eyes look at him like he's below you, like he's a nuisance, and for some reason that might be his favorite part.

he searches your face for a moment, glancing at your cold eyes before he chuckles. "maybe i want to spend time with you," he smiles like a cat, curling on his face with a pride that shouldn't make you as heated as it does. "i think you want to spend time with me too, yeah?"

you almost roll your eyes at his suggestion, but unable to squeeze out of this one without being mean, you agree to help him.

it only takes a couple weeks to fix up the theater due to the lack of counselors wanting to help, so it's safe for the younger kids to have a play— after that, it's back to the apollo children to plan. you sit back on the stage floor, sipping on a water bottle as you bask in the cold dusk breeze. "do you mind?"

a voice speaks from behind you, rasping slightly. you don't even have to look to know who it is, "no, castellan." you say, because you can't think of a reason for why you would mind.

luke sits himself down next to you, his knee brushing yours as he looks down at your water with a stare that could only be described at halfway pathetic and endearing. "here," you say, handing him the bottle. "i don't need you to die of dehydration on me."

he takes it gratefully, drinking it almost empty in three big gulps that make you roll your eyes with a small scoff. "did you just scoff?" he questions, an odd excitement in his voice.

you quickly try to deny it, hands coming up to animate how you didn't scoff or anything of the sort. but he already has a grin like he's drunk of the noise, "you definitely scoffed! that was so funny," he says with a loud laugh that makes you shush him, afraid of other campers hearing.

"i don't know why you hide that." he mumbles on your hand, fighting the temptation to lick it so you release him. those thoughts subside when your pretty eyes look up at him in confusion, "your annoyance." he clarifies.

"im not annoyed," you say, a bit defensively as you pull your hand away from him. "bit rude of you to say that, castellan."

he rolls his eyes in response, one of his arms coming behind you to rest on the stage. you can feel the ghost of it barely grazing you, "you're definitely annoyed," he says matter-of-factly. "you're almost always annoyed, or angry."

you fight back a scoff, but then give up. rolling your eyes you turn to him, searching his face for how he noticed, why he's doing this— but you come up with nothing. "why do you care?" you almost snap at him, drumming your fingers on your knee.

"i don't," he says like it's obvious. "im the same way." there's a beat after he says it, a silence that seems more comfortable than awkward like it should be. admitting his anger to you felt like a breath of fresh air, because he knew you'd understand him.

you bite your bottom lip, turning to face him. "that hatred," you start, almost in disbelief that you finally have the opportunity to talk about this. "it doesn't go away huh?" the question is phrased more like a statement, barely asking for confirmation.

he nods, not speaking as he watches you. there was no need for an explanation on what the hatred was, he knew as soon as you began talking. the gift from your mother was never really a gift to you, a burden of what it means to be a demigod is all it was.

you never knew what was genuine, or what was your mothers doing. but you felt a sense of ease with the hermes boy, nothing like all your previous relationships. "do you think it's bad," you mumble, almost ashamed.

"do you think it's bad that we feel this way?"

your question is softly spoken, genuinely interested in his opinion. he feels himself almost feel guilty for you, but he can't lie. "no," he wraps an arm around your waist. gently bringing you closer. "i think we might be the only ones in the right."

he says it with such confidence, a lack of guilt or unease in his voice that it makes you smile. not a sweet one, but a prideful one. one that could reflect the pride of a god, finally validation for the deep seated resentment that almost quenches that thirst for revenge.

minutes of silence pass by, the sun fully set as you lean your head on his shoulder. inhaling the pine and deep smell of his cologne, you hum. "are the rumors 'round camp true?" you ask.

he feels a small blush creep up his neck and ears, spreading across his face as he realizes that you heard about those. he never meant for his half-brothers to over hear a private conversation (said private conversation was in the bathroom, luke washing his hands while chris talked loudly about how he could get clarisse to go on a double date if he'd just ask you out already.)

"uh," he laughs awkwardly, his fingers drumming on the soft skin of your waist. "do you mind?"

you can't help the small smile that spreads across your face, "no." is all you need to say before his wet lips are on yours. hungry and desperate for your attention, which you give him without another thought.

#cosywriting #luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x you #luke x reader #luke castellan fic #luke castellan fanfiction #luke castellan fluff #castellanswrld

[am-i-interrupting]

Affection | Vox x Fem!Reader

Summary: Vox and Valentino get into it. Vox looks for a way to get payback and stumbles upon you. He didn’t expect you to actually care.

Warnings: sex work, a bit of a mommy kink

He was used to the petty yelling, the constant spats, even the object throwing. What crossed the line was when he had to replace his screen.

Vox and Valentino got into a lot of arguments, normally started by the latter instead of the former. This one was bad though. Vox didn’t even want to think about it but it was all that was on his mind.

He was angry.

He was angry because it was easier to be angry rather than something else, something more vulnerable. He didn’t want to and couldn’t afford to be vulnerable right now. He had to hold onto this anger so he didn’t go crawling back to Valentino.

Currently, he was at his desk, looking through documents about ads that were just waiting for Vox’s stamp of approval. He stumbled upon yours and he paused.

He recognized you. Why?

He copied your name into a search bar and looked at your Sinstagram profile. Flipping through the pictures, he found one of you at a bar and that’s when he remembered.

Valentino tried to contract you and you’d basically laughed at him. You’d tossed back a shot and then turned to Valentino, asking if he needed you to pay for it since he was clearly so desperate for new recruits as he was only preying on people too stupidly drunk to realize how bad of an idea it was to say yes. Oh, he remembered Valentino seething that night.

He approved your ad but he couldn’t get you out of his head. He opened the closed tag again as he actually read through your ad.

You were advertising music. Which, when say side by side with your Sinstagram made sense as he saw a picture of you with Verosika Mayday. There wasn’t really anything interesting on the advert.

He scrolled up to the top of your Sinstagram in order to look at them in order from most to least relevant. That is when he caught sight of a link in your bio. He clicked it.

He was brought to a website. He wasn’t sure what he expected but he did raise an eyebrow nonetheless. It was an escort sight. A home page that had you and several other people scantily dressed with a description of what every person and the services you offered.

Maybe he was being more vindictive than he thought because he immediately clicked on the tab that sent him to your page and booked a time with you.

It was far out, months away in fact. He honestly had forgotten about it until he got an email the week before asking if he was still available and inviting him to a pre-session consultation. Not willing to back out and have it potentially mess with his image, he made the time.

He logged into a video call several days later and was greeted with you in the middle of putting on your makeup.

“Well, hello, Mr. Vox,” you said with a soft purr. He replied with a formal greeting of your name. “You’re a busy guy and I’m a busy gal so I’ll keep this quick. This is just a little meeting for boundaries. I know it bothers some people to make them in person so I’ve found this to be an easier way.

“I’ll go first. No hickies, no bruises, no scratches, no cuts, no burns, just no marks. It might be pretty and fun in the moment but it costs me later. Not everyone enjoys having sex with someone who’s clearly had it with someone else not long before. It may be part of my work but people do like an illusion.

“I don’t do bondage where I’m the one tied up. It’s nothing personal, just a safety issue. On the topic of safety, if you bring in anything that could be used as a weapon. I’m done and you’re leaving. All I need from you is that pretty little body of yours and payment. I’ll provide the rest.

“On the topic of payment, I know you’ve already made your upfront payments for this little consultation. The rest can be brought when you come in cash. Any questions so far?”

He surprised himself by saying, “Not so far, no.”

You we’re far more thorough than he thought. He’d bought time before but it was never this professionally done, even by Valentino’s standards. Granted, with Valentino’s sex workers, there was really only one rule, payment upfront. He didn’t give a fuck about anything else.

You though? You had clearly given this a lot of thought on all parts.

“Good, I’m glad,” you said. “Those are my hard rules. Everything else is a little more flexible. So, tell me, what is it you want from tonight?”

“To have a good time.”

“Of course, we all want to have a good time, Vox, but I’m talking specifics. Don’t be naive,” you said. “I have full confidence you know better. Maybe it’d be easier if I told you what I’m best at.”

The lid of your lipstick clicked closed. You looked at the camera, looking at him directly on his screen by proxy, for the first time.

“I can do just about anything your cold, dead heart desires but I enjoy specific things more than others. I’m a bit of a dominatrix, I’d you will. I enjoy the power and control of giving people what they need instead of what they want. How does that sound to you?”

“It sounds to me like a very overlord thing to do,” he replied.

“Not there yet,” you said. “So, is that the role you prefer to play?”

“It’s one I play often.”

“Yes, I’ve gathered that but do you prefer it?”

Vox didn’t know why he didn’t just say yes. He should have. It went with his image to say yes and that’s why he was still agreeing to do this even though he and Valentino weren’t on the worst of terms right now.

He hadn’t crawled back to Valentino yet. It’d been one of their longer spells away from one another. Five months without even falling back into bed once.

Perhaps that’s why he said what he said. He was pent up. He hadn’t had time to unwind and the person he normally would go to for that he was still upset with. That’s the reason he’d go with anyway.

“It’s the role I play most often,” he said.

“But is it the role you like?” you asked. When he didn’t answer you smiled, a more genuine one than any flirty or sarcastic one you’d shot his way before. “Stubborn, I’ll keep that noted.”

“I am not—“

“You’re proving my point. Now,” you stood up and rummaged through a drawer he couldn’t see, “pick a set for me.”

For the next several hours, Vox felt like he couldn’t focus. He was nervous. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d been nervous over a one night stand.

He left early, leaving his assistant with double the workload but he didn’t care. He just needed to be out of the building.

He took Vark out on a walk to pass time but it still went by so slowly. It took what felt like days for it to finally be time to leave.

He’d call it considerate that he left without his usual suit jacket, waistcoat, and tie but in reality, he felt so hot, constricted with them on.

He traveled through the cameras and arrived at the address he’d been given, not a single person having seen him.

He knocked on the door and that sense of security was promptly shattered when it opened and he heard someone say, “Holy shit!” in response to seeing him.

He glared at the offending person as he stepped in. He recognized them from being pictured on your website. They quickly spun around and continued doing whatever it was they were in the process of.

He was led to a room which when opened revealed you inside. You were wearing a shear robe that gave him a peak at what was hiding underneath.

“I was promised secrecy,” he said. “Not to be gawked at by the employees.”

“So you don’t want to be gawked at me?” you asked. You smiled at your own joke. “Everyone here is under contracted lock and key to not say a single word about what goes on inside these walls. You’re image will be fine.”

“Contracted?”

“You said I had the makings of an overlord,” you replied. “Why are you suddenly surprised that I have contracts? Don’t worry, I assure you they’re much more ethically sourced than your co-worker’s.”

He rolled his eyes.

“Speaking of,” you said as you took several steps towards him, “why are you here? I’d imagine you could have any of Valentino’s contracted cash free. Why waste it on me? I’m not exactly cheap.”

You held out your hand and he reached into a pocket to retrieve the other part of your payment. You swiftly began counting it.

“You fuck one of Valentino’s pets, you’ve fucked them all,” he said. “They’re all too scared to be any fun after a while.”

“As much as I know that’s a true statement—“ you put the cash in a drawer of the bedside table— “I don’t believe it.”

He felt his eye twitch. “And what exactly would you—“

“Why don’t you take off your shirt and lay on the bed?” You walked towards him and ran your hands up his torso. “Or I could take it off for you.”

You began unbuttoning his shirt and for some reason, it made him drop all his irritation. When you finished, you bent down and licked all the way up his torso. You kissed and nipped at his collar bone.

His hands went to your sides but you spatted them away. The shirt fell to the ground.

You looked up at him, like you were daring him to kiss you. However, when he went to do just that, you stepped away.

“On the bed face down, mister,” you told him.

He huffed. Despite his mind telling him to grab you and pull you in for a kiss, take you and remind you of who exactly you were messing with, his body followed your instructions.

The mattress dipped as you straddled him. Something popped open (he tensed), a bottle clinked as it was set on the table, and then the sound of you rubbing your hands together went through the air.

Your hands, warm against his skin and slick with oil, began to rub up and down his back.

“Why are you here, Vox?” you asked. “I’m not stupid. I keep up with the news. Did you think I wouldn’t notice that the day you made an appointment was the same day you updated your status to single again? It’s still single now so what happened?”

“Nothing happened,” he said.

“Uh-huh, and the fact that you visibly tensed as soon as I mentioned Valentino is just a coincidence,” you said. “Everything you say in these walls stays within them.”

“You’re the one who made the contracts,” he said. “You’re not under them.”

“True, but—“

You began to apply pressure with your thumb, grinding your thumb and hand in circles along his back.

“Oh, fuck.”

“—I also made them,” you said, basically repeating his words. “It means I place value in confidentiality.”

“Or covering you’re own— oh, fuck, right there— your own ass.”

“I could be.”

You leaned down and he felt toy trap his entire torso beneath you. He liked the feeling. He liked the feeling of you over him.

You got close to his face, “But I think we both know I’m not.” You moved back and he mourned the feeling as soon as it was gone. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. You’re just very obviously tense and not just physically.”

You punctuated your sentence by rolling the palm of your hand at the base of his neck before squeezing it lightly. He couldn’t hold back a moan at the feeling of some tension leaving his body.

You continued on like that in silence for a while. You were working out the knots in his muscles and he was basically putty beneath your hands.

He’d never been treated like this before. He had couldn’t remember the last time he felt loose. There was always some kind of feeling of unease he constantly carried.

He didn’t even know he needed this because he’d never known that he could have it.

You leaned to once again lay over him but this time he could feel the entire weight of your body instead of just your warmth. You wrapped your arms underneath his shoulders and placed a kiss to his neck.

“Are you alright to continue?” you asked him as you nuzzled against his shoulder blade.

“I—“ He tried to search for some witty or snarky remark to make but all he could come up with was, “Yes.”

You cooed at him and slipped your hands out from underneath him to rub his back as you got off him. “Using your words, what a good boy,” you said and he hated, hated how that made him feel so warm inside. “Can you turn around for me? Yes, good.”

He closed his eyes and refused to look at you. You laughed but it didn’t feel mean. That didn’t make him feel any less embarrassed, however.

You did a wider, full handed version of the back massage you’d given him to his front as you began to roll your hips against his. He couldn’t hold back a whine.

“Oh, so pretty,” you said. “Such pretty noises from such a pretty boy.”

“Fuck,” it came out weak and pathetic.

Well, it was fitting then because that’s how he felt, weak and pathetic. Such simply praise shouldn’t be so effective.

“How does that feel?” you asked. “Come on, be a good boy. Tell me. Tell me how to make you feel good, baby.”

You were kissing on his neck and shoulders now.

“Good,” he choked out.

You hummed against his skin.

He could feel his fingers flex. His arms moved. He stopped them. He wanted to touch. He should be able to touch. He should be able to do what he wanted. He was the fucking Vox, overlord and creator of the biggest tech company in Hell. He shouldn’t need permission to do something.

You grabbed his hands and brought them up to the knot of your robe.

“You can touch me, baby,” you told him.

A whine forced its way out of his throat no matter how much he tried to keep it at bay.

He opened his eyes and you were so beautiful, grinding against him like you were made to. He could feel his cock straining against his pants. He wanted them off.

He settled for untying your robe. It fell to reveal the deep blue set he’d chosen for you earlier that day. It was sheer enough to show off your nipples through the cross crossed pattern of the bra. There was a silver chain that draped between the cups and further framed your breasts. Some traps went around your torso as part of the garter belt which held up your similarly colored stockings. You looked gorgeous.

You laughed and guided his hands up to your waist. Then up to your tits.

“I love the way you keeping whining for me,” you said. “You’re like a little pup.” Your eyes honed on his neck and your hand followed your gaze. You pressed on his neck, just enough to add some pressure. “That neck of yours looks like it was made to be collared and leashed.”

“Oh fuck.”

You leaned closer to his face. “Would you like that, baby?”

His fingers twitched around your breasts. He rubbed his thumbs over your clothes nipples as a silent apology. “Please.”

“Oh, such good manners.” You applied more pressure to his neck, not enough to cut off his air supply. He arched into your touch. “But not tonight. Some other time, I promise. I’ve got a feeling I’ll be seeing you plenty, baby.”

You went to nip at his neck. His hands wrapped around to your back to hold you in place. Your own traveled down his torso and to his belt.

You undid it. You pulled down his pants but not his underwear. You slipped from his grasp.

You put your hands on either side of his bulge and ran your fingers over it. His legs spread open further as he tried to push up but you quickly put an end to that little action.

Your hands on his hips, you hovered your head over him. You licked a stripe onto the fabric. You began to suck him off with the barrier of his boxers.

He knew he was whining. His eyes wanted to screw shut but he kept them open, too transfixed by the visage before him.

Your own eyes were closed. Your hands, perfectly constraining his boxers, were wrapped around his hips. The tips of your perfectly manicured hands were digging into his skin. Your tongue lulled out and lavished him.

He could cum from just this alone.

However, as soon as the thought came to him, you pulled away.

“No, no, no, please, please, let me come,” he said, words flowing from his mouth before he could stop them.

“Aw,” you said with a chuckle, “begging so soon? How sweet. Don’t worry, baby, you’ll get to come soon. I’ve just got to see that little dick of yours first.”

The small bit of degradation mixed with all the praise made him twitch.

He’d never gotten any negative comments on his dick before. Rather the opposite, Valentino had tried several times before to talk him into at least faceless camera work but he didn’t want to think of the moth right now.

You pulled his underwear down to reveal his cock. It was length, a deep blue like the rest of him except were it was flushed vibrantly at the tip. He was already leaking pre-come. Milky white against his flesh.

You leaned over to lick it up. His eyes rolled back at the simple action.

Your smirked before you took him all your mouth at once. You slowly pulled up and let your teeth pull at the hood of his tip.

“Shit, shit, shit!”

He thrusted up into what was now just air as he twitched, his whole body convulsing but he didn’t come. He was on the verge though.

You shushed him as you stroked his inner thigh with your nails.

“Be a good boy for me and hand me the lube,” you said before you began sucking on the skin above his pelvic bone.

His hand went to your hair as he closed his eyes and moaned. It took him a moment to open them again but you didn’t seem to mind. He didn’t feel rushed.

When was the last time he hadn’t felt rushed while having sex? He couldn’t even remember. It was always about getting back to work as soon as possible or Valentino’s quick hits. It was never really about him. It was about getting rid of his boner or Valentino’s as soon as possible.

He liked this. He liked this feeling of. . . being cared for?

God, he was so fucking pathetic. He could feel tears filling his eyes as he reached for the lube on the bedside table.

“Are you alright, baby?” you asked. “Do you need to stop.”

“Fuck, please don’t.”

“Okay, we don’t have to stop. We can keep on going,” you said as you poured some lube into your hands. “You just keep on being a good boy for me, alright? You can cry if you need to, baby. It’s okay to cry, you know.”

That permission made it worse. He felt his face flush as tears began to stream down his face. This was pathetic. He was pathetic. He shouldn’t be crying. He’d rarely ever cried. Much less during sex, especially sex that he was enjoying.

“Can you bend your— oh, such a good boy,” you said.

You hooked his bent knees over your legs and pulled him into your lap.

You wrapped your hands, covered in warm lube (when was the last time someone had took the time to warm up lube before touching him?), around his cock and began slowly twisting your hands up and down. He couldn’t stop the weak thrusts.

“I’m sorry,” he said, repeating the phrase like a prayer.

“Shhhh, baby, it’s okay,” you told him, petting his thigh. “You take what you need. You’ve been so good for me. So good. You deserve it.”

“Fuck.”

He threw his head back against the pillow and then looked down at you. He immediately met your eyes, so soft and understanding. It made his stomach queazy.

He watched as his dick slowly was covered then revealed by your hand. It curved around him so perfectly, glistening with a mixture of lube and the pre-come he was leaking. You twisted your hand in just the right way.

You covered his cock and then revealed the head. You thumb lingered and smeared the pre-come at his tip. The point of your nail ever so gently grazed his hole and that’s what did it.

The lights flickered in the room as he spasmed and came. His screen went blank as he blacked out.

A few seconds later, he came to with you by his side with a glass. You tilted his head up and cupped your hand under his lips as you forced him to drink, any water that spilled was dropped in your hand.

You grabbed a cloth and wipes at his screen.

“Are you okay, baby? Was that good?” you asked and he could only mutely nod. “Good.”

You went to pull him into an embrace but stopped and looked down at your body. “Do you wanna clean me up or do you want me to do it?”

He followed your gaze and saw his come covering your torso, a bit of it even clinging to your bra. He leaned to lick it off you. You reclined onto the thrown of pillows and let him, stroking his shoulders and arms as he did.

He licked up to your bra and then was met with the rough contrast of the lace-like fabric compared to your smooth skin. He reached around and undid the bra. You let it fall and he licked where the come had been. Then he began sucking on your breasts.

“Oh, fuck,” this time it was you.

Spurred on, he reached down between your thighs and began stroking. You were wet, so fucking wet. His fingers slid through your folds with no hint of resistance.

He rolled your clit between two knuckles.

“Oh, so good for mommy,” you said as you continued petting him. “So good.”

He whined at both the praise and the title you had given yourself.

He began stroking you with a different purpose now. He needed you to come. He looked up at you, still sucking on your tit. He needed to see it.

Your breath quickened. Your pets turned into a tight hold. It was your turn to whine as your head rolled back and your mouth lulled open.

“So good! So good for me, baby, just like that,” you said right before you became incoherent. You groaned and moved up into his touch.

He went back to the tower feeling better than he could ever remember. The set you’d worn tucked into his pant pocket. You insisted, saying you had plenty of other sets. Who was he to refuse?

“Where the fuck have you been?” Velvette asked.

“Out,” he said as he walked passed her, in no mood for her screeching.

“For over two hours with your location turned off? You didn’t even answer your fucking phone,” Valentino said, voice raising to nearly as yell towards the end.

“Yes,” Vox said as he continued walking.

He heard Valentino laugh as he must have seen the lingerie set in his back pocket. “Were you really so busy fucking a hole that you couldn’t answer me? I hope they were good.”

“Better than you ever were,” Vox said before he closed his bedroom door, unwilling to let his lax mood be ruined.

A few months later, Vox was still going to see you. Absolutely hooked and you both knew it but so were you. You didn’t even made him pay but he still slipped money into your pocket or your bra so he wouldn’t have to face the fact that he was getting attached.

That was all thrown out the window when you released a new song. He wasn’t even halfway through watching the music video before he disappeared and found you, pulling you in for a bruising kiss and you knew exactly why.

The imagery in the music video was obvious. Pink smoke trying to creep into your studio only to be blocked, a deep blue body, TV screens everywhere. Then there were the lyrics:

I can give my babe affection without any type of infliction

You were just an intermission but I’m the center of attention

I’ve got him collared and leashed right where he needs to be

He’s down on his knees begging me with please

Better than any of his fantasies

Yeah, I’ve got his attention without infliction

#for the song I’m thinking chrissy chlapecka vibes just FYI #hazbin vox x reader #vox x reader

[chososdiscordkitten]

Obsessive!Choso♡ pt3

pt 2 here content: Choso refers to reader as his gf- other than that no use of pronouns. mention of reader wearing lipstick, obsessive crush to stalker arc :>

(a.n) this is slowly becoming a fic and I don't hate it. I felt lack of inspo last night and did a deep dive into what stalkers do- the red flags before they start the actual stalking lol

taglist: @flam3bird

Obsessive!Choso who almost felt his heart burst when he saw you wave hi at him when you walked into class. Smile on your lips as you walk down to your seat. Hearing your friend speak a little louder than a whisper while taking a practice test, seeing you look back at him and make a face almost asking him, ‘can you believe what she's saying?’ before turning around again, watching your friend lean in close to you and keep pestering you. His eyes watching you turn your phone on under your desk, ‘During a test? What are you thinking-’ he thought, mentally scolding you.

Obsessive!Choso who almost died when he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket, pulling it out and seeing that you had texted him. ‘can u hear her from all the way over there ?’ reading it and hearing your voice. The realization of, ‘you were thinking of me?’ making him slouch in his seat, feeling his heavily pieced ears start to warm. Staring at your text, looking down at you, noticing you had the conversation still open. ‘Are you waiting for me?’ he asked you in his mind. Quickly screenshotting the notification before opening it, ‘yeah, i can.’ he typed, sending it and seeing you turn your head and smile at him. Seeing you look down at your phone, his heart beating quickly when he saw the typing bubble show up. ‘she keeps asking me what the answers are’, smiling when he saw that your auto capitalization was off, another thing you two had in common. ‘is this not a practice test?’ he typed, thinking how crazy it is that he was talking to you. To you! Person of his dreams, everything he wanted in a partner. You. The person who always greets him with a warm smile, who's always nice to him.

Obsessive!Choso whose heart skipped a beat when he saw you move your shoulders, indicating that you were trying not to laugh. ‘I make you laugh?’ looking down at his phone and seeing you had texted again. ‘dont think she knows that’  you replied, putting your phone away and getting back to the paper in front of you. Making sure to remember to ask you why you're friends with someone like that. ‘You're not the same kind of person- or even on the same level mentally. So why would you be friends with someone who does nothing but bother you?’  Thinking he knew everything about your friendship with this person. 

Obsessive!Choso who went to the campus coffee shop, in hopes that maybe you'd be there. Knowing from your instagram stories that you usually came to pick up a coffee after one of your classes. Only this time you weren't here. Pulling out his trifold wallet before paying, looking to see he didn't have any cash, trying to find his card. “Pretty girlfriend.” the cashier said, breaking the awkward silence while looking at the photo of you in his wallet. “Sorry?” he asked, looking at them when he found the piece of plastic. “Your girlfriend-” they continued, eyes pointing at the picture. The sentence made him flustered, not paying attention that some people notice small things like that. Smile on his face as he mumbled a quiet ‘I know.’ before tapping his card onto the screen. 

Obsessive!Choso kept those few words in his mind whenever he caught a glimpse of his wallpaper. ‘My girlfriend.’ he'd think, smile on his lips when he would refer to you as that.

Obsessive!Choso saw a picture of your laptop and a notebook next to it in your story. Knowing you were home, knowing that you were waiting for him to text you, you had to be right? Opening the google doc on his computer, seeing that you were on it as well. A few minutes of him watching your cursor type a sentence and delete it. Before seeing a message from the upper right corner of his screen. A message from you, ‘Hey, I know it's late. But I hit a wall with this stupid project- could I call you?’ he read, eyes widening at how right he was. Clearing his throat at how forward you were being. Call? As in on the phone with you? 

Obsessive!Choso who almost choked when he heard your voice on the phone. Pressing the phone closely to his ear, closing his eyes with a smile when he heard you say- “Heyyyy”, not being able to find the words to say to you. A small ‘hi’ leaving his throat. Hearing you let out a small giggle before hearing you place your phone down. “So i'm on the doc- and I saw you were on it too-” you started, Choso pictured you. Sitting in front of your laptop, smile on your face while speaking. He could tell by just your voice that you were smiling, smiling while talking to him.

Obsessive!Choso who desperately wanted to record the conversation- well, more like record your voice. He wasn't the one speaking a whole lot. You had gotten used to filling the silences he left in the air, being able to tell that he wasn't much of a talker. But little did you know that he was thinking longer replies, but only thinking them. Smiling when he’d hear you ask a question. You started reading aloud what you had written- making sure it sounded right. Choso accidentally let out a low ‘Mhm’ while hearing you read, closing his eyes in regret when he heard you stop. “You sound so different on the phone-” you started, almost a whisper. He exhaled quietly in relief when he heard your fingers start to press onto the keys of your computer. The call didn't last longer than 20 minutes, you just wanted to ask him his opinion on if what you had so far sounded smart or not. But in his mind, the only real reason you called was to speak to him- to hear him. 

Obsessive!Choso who felt like he could die when you told him ‘thank you’ for his help. But when you mumbled a tired, “Goodnight Choso-” before you hung up, made his cheeks flush and his heart pound in his chest. The first time you had ever said his name. Immediate regret filling his gut when he remembered he didn't record it. But he would always remember it, always keep it close to his heart in memory. 

Obsessive!Choso was walking to the campus coffee shop after class. Seeing you speaking to some guy- probably one of the so called friends you choose to surround yourself with. Slowing his pace when he saw you slowly backing away from him- and nodding no at him. Seeing this guy, reach for your arm, speaking over you as he stepped closer. Even from a distance he could see your face look uncomfortable. At that moment, Choso didn't know what came over him. He walked over- more like storming over. His face full of anger, slapping a sweet smile onto it when he saw you look over at him. “I was just about to go find you.” Making sure to keep a sweet tinge in his tone when he spoke to you. Smile of relief on your face when you saw him. Dark eyeshadow and combat boots almost making you feel safe. A quiet ‘hey’ trailed from your lips, feeling the stranger's hand fall from your arm, taking a step back. “Me too, I wanted to bring up-” you started. Rambling about what the professor had taught today, noticing the guy back off before walking away. Seeing you exhale before looking at his face. “Thank you.” you whispered, looking down at your shoes. “A friend?” he asked, his tone deeper than before. Using the same tone he spoke to you while on the phone. “Absolutely not-” you smiled, looking back up at him. “Just some guy from my public speaking class. He's been bothering me since the first day.” You laughed, seeing him crack a small smile, his hands fidgeting with his rings. “Are you busy? I was just about to go grab a coffee-” you started, looking away from him in the direction of the same coffee shop he was going to.

Obsessive!Choso who thought; ‘Aren't you forward. Trying to spend more time with me?’ as he nodded no, “I'm not.” he replied, his hands in his pockets.

Obsessive!Choso who was convinced you were starting to feel the same way he did, even if it was only a week since they paired you together. I mean, who would ask someone if they wanted to have coffee with you? “Sorry if you had plans- or whatever.” you started, walking slowly next to him. “I didn't.” he mumbled, hearing his boots drag onto the concrete. “The least I could do is buy you a coffee!” you exclaimed, ‘No need to thank me- who else but me will protect you from all the horrible men in the world?’ Choso thought, looking over to see you, remembering all the people who have been broken by men who didn't love them. Knowing that you would never have to worry about those silly things with him. 

Obsessive!Choso who purposefully switched the two coffees you had paid for- in hopes he'd be able to share an indirect kiss with you. Knowing if he tried to pay, you'd see the picture of yourself he had in his wallet. Sitting down at one of the round tables, heavily ringed hands around the cup as he looked at you pick up his coffee. Making a face when the sour taste hits your tongue. “I think they switched our cups-” You smiled, pushing his cup towards him. Seeing him mutter a feigned ‘Oh’ as he gave you the correct cup. His eyes focused on the light print of lipstick you had left on the black lid. “I could get you a new one- I know some people are huge germaphobes.” You smiled, taking a sip from your cup to wash the bitter taste from your mouth. “There are worse things in the world than sharing a drink with someone.” He murmured, slouching in his seat, seeing you give him a sweet smile in return.

Obsessive!Choso who took one sip of his coffee, only to assure you that it was okay that you had drank from it. Who felt his knee start to bounce with anticipation when he felt the satiny feeling of your lipstick on his bottom lip. Hearing words falling from your mouth, but not listening to them. Thoughts of how technically that was your first kiss with him. Seeing your phone light up on the table, hearing you sigh loudly. And it continued to light up- repeatedly. “Jesus- this girl doesn’t know how to take a hint.” You exhaled, picking up your phone and typing something. ‘Must be the girl from class.’ he thought.

Obsessive!Choso whose lips moved before his brain could process what he was saying. “The girl from class?” he asked, seeing you look up at him and smile. “Yeah- she keeps trying to come over to my house for a sleepover.” You placed your phone down, “That girl is the epitome of peaked in highschool.” You mumbled, Choso finally found an opportunity to ask you. “Why are you friends with her?” he questioned, seeing you inhale at his words. “I chose this college to get away from all the bullies and all the pretentious people who would live the same boring suburban lives.” You started, “And to become myself- to find myself.” You mumbled, looking away from him. “Imagine my disappointment when I got here and it was full of superficial delta chi’s-” You laughed, seeing him return a smile to you. Humming in response to your words. “I was never good with confrontation- The idea makes me anxious and uneasy.” seeing him look at you with his head in his hand. Eyes half lidded while listening to you. His pointer finger tracing doodles onto the table. Liking the way you opened up to him, letting him get to know you. Being able to hear your unfiltered thoughts, not the bullshit you over thought before you posted on your story. 

Obsessive!Choso who paid close attention to what you were saying, hanging onto every word that fell from your lips. Feeling yourself cringe at how you just aired out your business to someone who was practically a stranger, not knowing why it was so easy to speak to him. Somehow never sensing any judgment or lack of interest in what you said. Feeling a wave of relief whenever you were able to speak to him- a real person who didn't care about people's opinions. “Honestly I don't know why I'm still friends with her- I've tried to sit in other seats, hoping she wouldn't sit next to me in that class anymore.” You spoke, finally answering his question. ‘I know. I watched you every time you moved seats.’ Choso replied to your words mentally. “I think the reason I'm failing that class- is that I can't focus on what is being taught because she's in my ear the entire time.” You smiled, easing up on the heavy topic. ‘Aha. I knew you were failing- just like me.’

Obsessive!Choso wanted to suggest that you to sit next to him, knowing your childish friend won't follow you if you did. “Failing?” he asked, eyes scanning your features. “Yeah, I was hoping this-” You sighed, “stupid project would help my grade at least a little.” Closing your eyes and leaning back into your chair. ‘Ask me. Ask me and I'm yours. Ask me to help you.’ he thought, fighting off his excitement when you looked at him. Lightbulb practically popped up above your head, “You're doing good in class, aren't you?”  you asked, smile on your lips as he nodded yes without thinking. “I know that we were only paired for this assignment- but would you be ok with helping me study?” You smiled, eyes so bright he swore he could see the universe in them. “Of course.” He smiled, seeing you exhale and look down at the table with a smile.

Obsessive!Choso who almost let out a small giggle when he saw your face flush. ‘Are you- blushing?’ he asked himself. The question you asked him didn't make him nervous. He understood most of what was being taught, but he didn't have the energy to physically write the essays, and besides- Choso preferred spending his free time thinking of you. Not of the stupid course work that he didn't need for real life. Trying to get to know you better through your social media. Dissecting every single photo you posted. Zooming into the background of your bedroom, seeing if he could find anything worth researching. A band poster, a shirt on the floor, a stranded bottle of nail polish he could buy so he would match with you- anything that would let him see you. The real you- not the person that you pretended to be with the fake friends you had. The person he saw a flicker of that day at the cafe. The person you came to this college to become.

-

pt 4 here

(PLS LET ME KNOW IF U WANNA BE TAGGED IN THE NEXT PART PLSSSS) omg thank god I posted this. I am alr writing pt 4 I don't CARE. this is my new passion, wrote this while listening to 'Such Small Hands- La Dispute' Choso thinks this is all fun and games, what happens when he sees I am crazier than he is ?

#jjk #choso kamo #jjk choso #choso my beloved #choso x reader #jujutsu kaisen choso #college au #non curse au #emo choso #sfw jjk

[touyasdoll]

Like a Sister

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x best friend's little sister!reader

! Disclaimer ! NO INCEST. NO STEPCEST. absolutely nothing against those who write/read that, but this isn't that and I just wanna make that clear <3

Word count: 5k

Warnings: reader is Kiri's adoptive younger sister. I always try to make everything as inclusive as possible, so pls let me know (politely!) if I failed somewhere. fem reader, alcohol, intentionally making someone jealous, reader is wearing a skirt & a charm bracelet, reader gets picked up, missionary/intimate sex, no real prep, lots of feelings involved

Notes: I'm so sorry that this took literally over a year, but I hope that you enjoy it <3

Heartbeats & Handgrenades Masterlist

Your big brother is always looking out for you. You two have been close for as far back as you can remember and he’s always been very protective of you, because the absolute worst thing that he can think of is seeing you get hurt, so he does whatever he can to prevent that. 

It’s sweet, of course, and you love him for it. Eijirou is the best sibling that anyone could ask for. It’s nice having someone who cares enough to look out for you the way that he does. 

However. 

The problem is that he does so damn good of a job trying to look out for you that he ends up scaring off most of the guys you’re interested in. 

It started back in your school days. You’re only a year younger than your adoptive big bro, so you almost always attended the same school. But the moment that he put two and two together and realized that boys had taken an interest in you? It was like his protection skills leveled up. It was as if he had developed a sixth sense for when a cute boy was talking to you. He was always just around somehow. 

It went beyond your time in school though. It’s now become a sizable problem for you well into your adulthood. The same routine over and over again. The guy you’re talking to finds out that you’re the Red Riot’s little sister and suddenly they’re ghosting you for fear of ending up on his bad side. They’ve seen what he’s capable of. Well, physically capable of. In actuality, you don’t think that anyone who did cross you would get more than maybe a stern talking to from the “fearsome” hero. You can’t really blame them though. Most people don’t look at the rock hard hero and think of him as the teddy bear that you know him to be. 

The worst part is that doesn’t even realize that he’s essentially a chronic cockblock and you haven’t ever had the heart to tell him. Not that you think you want to. It is a bit of an awkward conversation to broach with your elder brother. How are you supposed to tell him that him being terrifyingly good at his job is what’s causing all your dick appointments to cancel on you? Especially when he thinks that you’re still such a sweet girl too. Such an innocent girl. Thankfully, he is incorrect there. His brawn doesn’t scare away absolutely everyone that you’re interested in. You’ve had plenty of practice by ways of shallow dating app hookups and bad decisions made after one too many at the bar. But it’s not like you’ve ever brought anyone home to meet the family, so he’s none the wiser to your ways. 

You’ve never so much as mentioned anyone you were seeing to your brother, which is fine by him. In his humble opinion, no one’s good enough for you anyway, which is something that he has expressed multiple times; it’s not a secret that’s what he thinks. He’s more than prepared to see you as his pure, innocent little sister forever.

Bakugou though? He has a lot more trouble picturing you as innocent.

He’s spent too many nights fisting his cock to the thought of your tight pussy wrapped around him. He’s imagined the taste of you on his tongue one too many times to see you as the virginal sweetheart that his best friend believes that you are.

He hates himself for it too. Hates that he always ends up here, furiously stroking himself while suffocating the sound of your name on his lips into his pillow, lest his roommate—your brother—hear him. Hates it. 

Because as much as he lusts after you, he loves you more. He's had to insist to Mina, who can see through his ruse and has called him out of it before, that he loves you like a sister, but in truth, he loves every little thing about you far beyond that. The sound of your laugh, listening to you talk about your interests, even the face that you make when something’s bothering you. He knows it immediately, because all he does when you’re around is watch you. He wants to know what upsets you, so that he can avoid it, so that he can fix it. So that he can make you happy, because that’s all that he’s ever wanted for you. Happiness. 

He couldn't tell you when it started, this little crush of his. As far as he can recall, he's always been drawn to you. You, who would always tag along with the rest of the gang back when you were all in high school. Who never seemed put off by his abrasive personality, even though it was certainly much worse back then. Who, even still today, always offers him a smile and makes his day just a bit brighter with only your presence.

He also couldn't tell you how he felt. First, he had no idea if you felt the same. He liked to think that he was fairly emotionally intelligent, good at reading cues and all that, but when it came to you, he was clueless. And he wasn’t sure that he’d be able to take the rejection. 

Little did he know that you were trying to make it obvious. Your innocent schoolgirl crush had turned into something that ran much deeper than that after so many years of knowing Bakugou. Much like your brother, you immediately saw past his tough exterior and came to realize that he's actually one of the most caring and thoughtful people that you've ever met. He's always looking out for others, and you’ve noticed that you are no exception.

He saw you out on a date once, which was the point. You went to his usual coffee shop with some guy, because you knew that he would be there after his shift for an afternoon pick-me-up. You had hoped that it would make him jealous. That maybe you could get a sense for whether or not he harbored the same feelings that you did. Whether or not he had the same recurrent  thoughts about the feeling of his skin on yours. You just wanted to know; you wanted an inkling of something to prove that maybe he was just as interested as you. 

He did seem irritated beyond that typical gruff facade of his, but he also seemed genuine when he pulled you aside and told you that your date wasn't worth your time. Of course, he'd been right too. Not too long after Bakugou had scooped up his order and bolted, the idiot in question started visibly ogling other patrons in the cafe.

He was always right. About everything. It would honestly be annoying if he wasn't so good at giving advice. You knew that you could always go to him with even the silliest of problems and he'd offer you an attentive ear and a few words of wisdom that you never would've considered on your own. He had a knack for solving your every dilemma. 

Which gives you a wicked idea. 

He's always helped you out before. So why can't he help you with this little problem that you're having now?

Feeling a stroke of genius, you hatch a plan to send Bakugou signals that he can't miss.

You check the time on your phone. 2:16 PM. Your brother still has plenty of time left during his patrol shift and Katsuki is most likely at the apartment all by himself. 

///

Half an hour later, you’re rapping your knuckles against the apartment door and before you can even drop your hand back to your side, the door’s swinging open. 

Bakugou stands before you in gray sweatpants and a loose muscle tank that may have been a sleeved shirt at one point, but now it’s been cut nearly all the way to the hem on both sides. His face twists in confusion as he looks down at you.

“Didn’t your brother tell you he was workin’ today? He won’t be home for another couple hours.”

“I know,” you say simply, shrugging and clasping your hands behind your back as you stroll inside the apartment. “I came to see you.”

“Me?” He asks, sounding slightly incredulous, though he covers it by clearing his throat. “Why? Ya need somethin’?”

“Yeah, actually. Do you have a minute?” 

You go ahead and slip your shoes off by the door before making yourself comfortable on the couch, fanning out your short skirt, so that it drapes across your thigh just right when you cross your legs. 

“I’ve always got time for you.” 

He shrugs, sauntering over to take a seat on the opposite side of the couch. He angles his body to face you as he sprawls out, his muscular arm laying over the back of the couch, fingers almost near enough to touch your shoulder. 

“What’s goin’ on?”

It’s hard to focus on his question when you can see so much of his bare chest beneath his altered tank top, but his voice pulls your eyes to his face and your brain, thankfully, catches up. 

“I’ve just been having some boy troubles,” you admit, a soft pout pursing your lips together. You don’t miss the glance that he steals at them. 

“Well, that’s your problem,” he scoffs. “Stop dating boys and trying dating a man for a change. Boys are just gonna break your heart. A real man’ll treat ya right.”

“By a real man, do you mean someone like.. you?” 

You ask so blatantly that it makes his head spin. He doesn’t even register your hand on his knee until a full two seconds later; he’s too busy trying to process whether or not you actually said what he thinks you said. He looks down and you swear you can sense the nervous energy radiating off of him as he lifts his hand to rest it atop your own. He doesn’t want you to stop touching him, but he’s already picturing folding you in half right there on the couch and he respects his best friend too much to ever do something like that to his sister. Or at least, that’s what he keeps telling himself.

“Someone like me, yeah,” he says as he starts to push your hand away, but he can’t bring himself to actually do it. 

He presses his hand down on top of yours and finds the nerve to meet your gaze, which he immediately recognizes as a mistake. That little smile on your lips. The sense of longing that he’s almost certain he can see in your eyes. They’re both dwindling his resolve down to nothing. 

“Well, why not you?” You shrug, daring to slip your hand up to his thigh. “Why can’t I have you, Katsuki?”

He can’t believe how simple you’re making it sound. As if you two could be together just like that? What would Kirishima think? What would he do? He’s at a loss for words. He can think of reasons to say no, but all that he wants to say is yes. 

“Out of every man that I’ve ever met, you’ve always treated me the best,” you say as you look down at your hands, placing your other one on top of his. “You’re always here for me when I need you. You look out for me. You actually seem to care about how I’m doing. You even pay attention to the little things like how I take my coffee or even when I wear a different perfume. Why shouldn’t I be with a guy who does all of that?”

His heart is pounding in his chest. He’s never actually felt his pulse move quite this fast and considering his line of work, that’s saying something. He opens his mouth, trying to find a way to refuse you, but he can’t. He just can’t. 

“You should,” he starts, brows knitting together with regret. “You absolutely should and you shouldn’t settle for anything less, but I don’t.. I don’t know if..”

His lips press together in a hard line. He can’t even say the words. You tilt your head and the disappointed look on your face just about kills him right there. 

“It’s okay, I understand. I thought that..” you trail off, looking down as you start to pull your hands away. “I’m sorry. I must’ve been misreading things.”

“No,” he says quickly, sandwiching both of your hands between his own as you lift your head to meet his eyes once more and he finds relief in the hope that he finds there. “No, that’s not it. I,” he sighs. “You didn’t misread anything. I like you. Goddamn, do I fucking like you..”

HIs ruby eyes search your face, a melancholy smile just barely turning up the corners of his mouth. You hold your breath, trying to prepare yourself for the inevitable ‘but’ that you feel coming. 

“But I don’t know if I could do that to your brother.”

Your shoulders slump and your face falls too, eyes averting to focus on a spot on the floor as you nod your head. You would try to mask your disappointment, but you can’t seem to. Even in this scenario, being Red Riot’s little sister hinders your romantic prospects. 

“I was hoping that because it’s you it wouldn’t be an issue,” you say quietly, retracting your hands as you stand up. “I’m really sorry for bothering you with this. Just don’t even tell him that I was here, please. I’ll get out of your hair before I embarrass myself further.”

You turn to leave and he flies to his feet, reaching out to take your hand and spin you around to face him. His impressively large form looms over you, sizing you up with a genuinely curious expression. 

“What do you mean by that? Because it’s me?”

“I don’t know.” You shrug, looking up at him with those doe eyes again. “I just figured that if ever there was a guy that he thought he could trust would treat me right, it’d be you. He respects you more than anyone else he knows. He’s known you forever. He even still looks up to you. If you don’t meet the standard in his eyes then.. I don’t know that anyone ever will.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that. He just stares down at you with knit brows and a scowl on his lips, rendered both pensive and frustrated by just how much sense it makes. He can’t deny that. But he also can’t ignore the seemingly infinite amount of times that Kirishima had warned every single member of their friend group growing up that you were strictly off limits. 

Then again. You’re an adult. He’s an adult. And he’s always thought that his friend was a bit too overbearing when it came to your dating life. He gets where he’s coming from; he doesn’t want you dating an asshole, but they’re on the same page there. And this is different. Right? What you’re saying makes sense. He’d never hurt you. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he did. Kirishima would understand this logic, wouldn’t he?

He hoped so.

You’re waiting for him to say something. Do something. Anything. Finally, he seems to snap out of his thoughts and he tugs on your hand, pulling you closer to slip his arm around your waist as his hand leaves yours to cup your cheek. He kisses you the way that he’s wanted to for so, so long and it feels too right to seem like the wrong decision. 

It happens so fast that you’re caught off guard. It takes a moment for it to register that this is actually happening, but when you realize, you kiss him back with just as much passion. All that tension is broken, shattered to pieces to leave nothing but a sense of all encompassing need in its place. You press your hands to his chest, fingers tightening around the fabric of his tank to tug impatiently. You’d both waited long enough. You’d both waited long enough for this and it was becoming evident just how little patience the both of you had left by the way that you’re hands are greedily exploring each other’s bodies. 

“Are you sure about this?” He manages to mutter between feverish kisses as his hands start to skim beneath your top. “Because I don’t think I’ll survive it if you end up changin’ your mind on me, princess.”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life,” you reply without hesitation, reaching down to pull your top off completely before you reach back to unhook your bra. 

You lean in to kiss him again, but he pulls back to take in the sight of you. He’s dreamed about this moment for too long, but it’s clear now that his imagination hasn't been able to do you justice. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he says so sincerely that it makes you stop for a moment as your cheeks grow warm. 

You lean in again to grab the hem of his shirt, giving him a chaste kiss before you lift it over his head and toss it aside. Your fingertips explore the shape of his abs, traveling up and over his chest until your hands are pressed behind his neck to pull him in once more. 

“So are you,” you murmur against his lips, capturing them again to slip your tongue into his mouth. 

His large hands find the small of your back before they dip lower to cup your ass. He flips up your skirt and groans when he feels the warmth of your bare skin, massaging your cheeks with a firm but gentle touch. His confidence seems to be growing as quickly as his erection has. You think to yourself that he must not have anything beneath his sweats with the way that you can feel his cock prodding at you.

He helps you shed the rest of your clothing, tugging your panties off along with your skirt before he lifts his arms to let you lift his tank and toss it aside. He’s thoroughly worked up and ready to go, but nothing could have prepared him for the feeling of your palm against his throbbing member. His breath hitches and the noise he makes almost sounds pained. All he can think about is having you wrapped around him. He nearly forgets to breathe as he bucks his hips into your touch. A whine even slips from his lips.

“You really don’t know what you do to me,” he murmurs, eyes closed and hands greedy as they knead the fat of your ass again. 

“I think I have an idea,” you reply, wearing a playful smile as you cut to the chase and tug his sweats down to wrap your hand around his fully exposed and swollen cock. 

He suddenly stoops down to grab you behind your thighs, effortlessly lifting you up onto his waist as he silences you with a commanding kiss. He steps out of the sweats now pooled around his ankles and carts you off to the bedroom. 

Your arms are wound tight around his neck and neither one of you seems to want to come up for air. Even when he lays you down, he keeps his lips moving against yours. You part your legs and his fingertips skim along the outside of your thigh as his hips start to roll. He can’t even pretend that he’s in control of them as his tip begins to press against your slit, begging to part your lips and slip right inside of you. 

“Do it,” you beg, the plea hardly a whisper as you continue crashing your lips into his. “Please, Katsuki. I’m ready, I promise. Just fuck me already.”

You shift your hips forward and, as much as he wants to take his time with you, he can’t help himself when you manage to nudge the head of his cock inside of you. He immediately gets lost in the warm, wet, and welcoming sensation of your walls. You apparently weren’t kidding when you said you were ready. He drags his hips back and then allows himself to be sucked in as he slowly sinks himself inside. 

The both of you let out a sigh of mutual relief and he pushes himself up, placing his hands on either side of your body to stare down at your perfect face. He gives another roll of his hips and struggles to keep his own eyes open, so that he can watch the way yours fall shut and how your face twists as the pleasure courses through your body. He thinks to himself that it has to be one of the best things that he’s ever been blessed enough to see and he knows that he needs more. He needs to make you feel better than anyone else ever has. 

So that’s what he does. 

His lips connect with every inch of your skin as he languidly thrusts in and out, allowing you to fully cherish every glorious sensation. The feeling of him stretching you out so slowly, filling you up as his hips gently connect with your own. The loving kisses peppered all the way from your temple to the valley of your breasts. The soft yet sinful sounds of him losing himself within you, his hot breath tickling the shell of your ear as he sinks inside yet again and realizes he never wants to pull out. 

You return his gentle touches in kind. Your hands blindly travel along his body, exploring his back, chest, and biceps at a leisurely pace, eager to offer him as many wonderful sensations as he’s lavishing you with until you feel a tightening deep within your belly that inspires you to clutch tight to his back, nails imprinting half moons into his flesh as your legs tighten around his hips. 

Without a word, he knows what you need and he gives it to you. 

He readjusts, propping himself up further to allow himself more leverage, which he uses to his full advantage as he starts drilling into you, steadily increasing his pace with each thrust of his hips. He tosses his head back, letting out a guttural groan and the odd curse word as his movements become more sloppy, but in the best way. 

The both of you become completely tangled up with one another, a mesh of two bodies become one as you move in tandem, trading fervent kisses and wanton moans back and forth until your overcome by pleasure. 

Your hands find the fabric of his comforter, now mussed atop his once neatly made bed, and you hold fast to it as your spine bows. Everything is rigid and all too much for a brief second before euphoria explodes throughout your every nerve ending, sending you into a glorious spiral. You call his name again and again in your bliss, too far gone to find any other words. They’ve lost all meaning. You beckon him closer with each utterance and every maddening pulse of your walls around him. He hardly has time to appreciate your orgasm for all it’s worth before his own hits him like a freight train. 

“F-fuck!” He growls, overwhelmed by the force with which he cums.

He doesn’t even have the sense to think about pulling out, much less the time to do it before he’s pouring every last drop of his seed deep inside your cunt. He hangs his head, enveloping you in his arms as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, smothering it in kisses as he pants and groans through his release. 

Eventually, you both slow to a halt, but you don’t disconnect right away. You exchange more tender touches and gentle nuzzles back and forth, content to maintain your proximity while your blood slowly begins to cool and the thrumming in your chests starts to dissipate, though both of you are pleased to find it never goes away completely. Not like it ever had before when you were around one another, but now that both of you know how the other feels, it’s different. It’s better. 

Everything is better. 

He opens his mouth to speak, to finally breathe life into those three little words that have died on his tongue countless times throughout the years in his cowardice, but the sound of the lock on the front door clicking open has them perishing yet again. 

He freezes, realizing that there’s likely no way out of this now. You’re just as petrified, holding stock still until you hear the door swing open and both of you spring into action. Bakugou clambers off of you to snatch a pair of boxers from his drawer, hopping into them as he swings his bedroom door shut while you scramble beneath the covers to at least protect your modesty. Thankfully, your brother isn’t able to take a peek inside the room. You just hope that he doesn’t recognize your clothing piled beside the coffee table.

“Shit, I guess I should’ve told you I was comin’ home early. Sorry, bro,” Kirishima laughs as his heavy boots can be heard venturing into the living room. “I’m gonna go take a shower. Pretend like I’m not here.”

You breathe a sigh of relief, but it's minimal. You know you have to go and go fast. 

“I’ll get your clothes,” Bakugou says quietly, listening at the door for the click of Kirishima’s. 

You nod and sit up in the bed, waiting for him to return and hand you your outfit before you slip out from beneath the covers to dress. He does the same, stepping into the same sweats and tank top that you’d torn off of him earlier. 

“M’sorry about this,” he mutters, nodding towards the door. 

You shake your head, walking closer to wrap your arms around his middle as you tilt your head back and smile at him. His arms fold around you to pull you snug to his chest. You rest a hand on his cheek and pull him into a kiss that’s as sweet and deliberate as he had been with you and he’s grateful for it. He’d been half afraid that you’d scurry away and pretend as if this hadn’t even happened.

“Don’t be. We’ll figure out how to tell him together, okay? I just don’t want it to be this way.”

“Right. I don’t either. We’ll figure it out,” he repeats, his lips turning up in a smile that softens as he studies your features. “We’re gonna have to, because I love you.”

His admission renders you speechless, your eyes widening as heat creeps up the back of your neck. The pulse of your heart starts thumping in your own ears again, hammering throughout your every blood vessel as you will yourself to snap out of it. 

“I love you too,” you blurt out unceremoniously, though you know you mean those three little words and the smile on his face says that he knows it too. 

“I’m not working tonight. I can come by in a little bit?” He suggests, hopeful that you’ll agree and how could you not?

“I’ll make us dinner,” you confirm, smiling ear to ear as you lean in to kiss him once again.

He tightens his hold on you, finding it more and more difficult to let you go the longer that he has you in his arms, but reluctantly, the two of you soon part and he knows that you have to leave. 

He pokes his head out to ensure that the coast is clear before he guides you out of the room and you hurry out the door, turning to blow a kiss over your shoulder before you head down the hall, giddy as you’ve ever been. 

Bakugou tidies up his room, mulling over an excuse to offer his best friend until he and Kirishima both end up in the kitchen together. 

“Seems like you’ve had a pretty good afternoon, huh?” Eijirou grins and bumps him on the shoulder before he ducks into the fridge for a beer. “Who’s the girl? Anyone I know?”

“Nah, just some girl from the gym. Don’t think you’ve seen her around.”

He feels terrible lying, but he figures it’s for the best, just for the time being. He’ll come clean eventually. No harm, no foul, right?

“Well, good for you, man. It’s good to see you puttin’ yourself out there. I was gettin’ a little worried about you being chronically single,” he jokes, chuckling as he travels into the living room to get comfortable on the couch and flip on the tv. 

“Ha, yeah.” He nods, though he’s unable to even look his friend in the face as he snatches his water bottle and heads for the door. “I’m actually going over to her place for dinner, so I’ll probably be back later, but don’t wait up, okay?”

“Okay. Have fun, man,” Kirishima calls back, smiling genuinely as he waves him out the door. 

That is, until he notices the small charm on the floor in front of him. He leans forward to pick it up and isn’t difficult for him to put two and two together. The clothes he’d spotted earlier had seemed familiar, but he didn’t think much of it. This, he couldn’t dispute. He knows this charm, because he had gifted it to you just last week as an addition to the bracelet that always adorned your wrist. And, as far as he knew, you hadn’t been over to their place since last month, yet here the charm was. 

He doesn’t know what hurts more, that two of his best friends felt like they had to sneak around behind his back or that one of them had just lied to his face about it.

I know I didn’t have to end it this way. the impulsive thoughts won today and I’m sorry about it ajdhsh but thank you so much for reading!! 💕 take a forehead kiss on your way out *mwah*

#tw alcohol #bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader smut #bakugo x reader smut #katsuki bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader #mha smut #bnha smut #bnha x reader smut #mha x reader smut #katsuki x reader #bakugou smut #bakugo smut

[ghostlyloversworld]

.｡.｡:∞♡*♥ making me love you! ♥*♡∞:｡.｡

Percy Jackson! X Fem! Persephone Reader

Idea! - the son of Poseidon and daughter of Persephone realizing that they aren't so different after all.

Waring! Cussing

Song Get him back! By Olivia Rodrigo

One, two, three Wait, is this the song with the drums?.

Percy groans as he tossed and turned in bed. He couldn't sleep that night, which was unusual for the demigod considering he's usually fast asleep drooling.

He pushed the blanket off him. He puts his feet on the ground, why was tonight so warm for no reason?. Gods he hated it ".. " his breathing steadily

I met a guy in the summer and I left him in the spring He argued with me about everything He had an ego and a temper and a wandering eye He said he's six-foot-two, and I'm like, "Dude, nice try".

But he was so much fun and he had such weird friends And he would take us out to parties and the night would never end Another song, another club, another bar, another dance And when he said something wrong, he'd just fly me to France So I miss him some nights when I'm feeling depressed 'Til I remember every time he made a pass on my friend Do I love him? Do I hate him? I guess it's up and down If I had to choose, I would say right now.

The son of Poseidon sighs as he walks to his bathroom. Tyson was fast asleep across the other hallway. He tried to find the light switch in the dark, but he struggles to find it for a good moment until the little 'click! ' noise when he found it he had switched the little switch up words.

He finally turns the water on. He let's it run for a good while before he finally splash water on his face. He turns the water off before grabbing a rag he softly pats his face with the rag. He took a good moment to look at his face, he sighs and runs his hands through his Raven hair.

But he wasn't the only one up. The daughter of Persephone was also up. But she was sitting down. At docks her feet swinging back and forth as she watched the water under her feet. Don't worry she had her shoes on making sure they didn't get wet with the water. She thinks that the water was just the right temperature but she wasn't going to try and figure out.

I wanna get him back I wanna make him really jealous, wanna make him feel bad Oh, I wanna get him back 'Cause then again, I really miss him, and it makes me real sad Oh, I want sweet revenge And I want him again I want to get him back, back, back.

As she sits there looking at the water. She hears the smooth voice of the son of Poseidon. "Can't sleep? " he asked as he walked up to her ".. Are you stalking me?" She asked him as she looks at the water "what? no.. I don't stalk people" he laughs at her question

"Hmm m'kay.." She sighs before she looks up at the boy who had one streak of white in his hair. "You still drool in you're sleep.. But I don't say it to not let you down hardly" she smirks he rolls his eyes "oh shut up.. You're also not pretty when sleeping.. " he laughs. "Ah so you do stalk people" "no I don't I already told you this " he sighs "that's stalking when you watch people sleep" she stats.

But that was last night. Now it was Morning.. She and Percy stayed up talking about nothing important. Just being teenagers.. The usual teasing, just a hint of flirting and just being idiots. They were at breakfast. At their tables. So when the daughter of Persephone looks up from her plate.

She saw Percy shoved blue pancakes in his mouth. She smirks and rolls her eyes before looking down at her plate again. He sat with Tyson . His half brother the boy who was a actual big sweetheart who was scared of Satyr's she actually felt bad for Tyson. The poor Cyclops

But when she saw the way the Cyclops face lit up with happiness. She smiles she had looked up in time to see it

So I write him all these letters and I throw them in the trash 'Cause I miss the way he kisses and the way he made me laugh Yeah, I pour my little heart out, but as I'm hitting "Send" I picture all the faces of my disappointed friends Because everyone knew all of the shit that he'd do He said I was the only girl but that just wasn't the truth And when I told him how he hurt me, he'd tell me I was trippin' But I am my father's daughter, so maybe I could fix him.

She fixed her hair. She looks away not wanting to seem like a creep but it was a little to late because Percy had saw her staring. He smirks and rolls his eyes

I wanna get him back I wanna make him really jealous, wanna make him feel bad Oh, I wanna get him back 'Cause then again, I really miss him, and it makes me real sad Oh, I want sweet revenge And I want him again I want to get him back, back, back.

Actually he already knew everytime she would look their way.

I wanna key his car (I want to get him back)I wanna make him lunch (but then I, I want to get him back) I wanna break his heart (but then I, I want to get him back) And be the one to stitch it up (but then I, I want to get him back) Wanna kiss his face (but then I, I want to get him back) With an uppercut (but then I, I want to get him back) I wanna meet his mom (but then I, I want to get him back) Just to tell her her son sucks (but then I, I want to get him back).

Tyson kept talking so happily. Not even noticing the staring girl. But it wasn't like she was trying to be rude. She just wanted to make sure they were okay. And laugh at Percy when he shoves blue pancakes in his mouth. God he was so stupid but she loved him. Wait what? She loved him?

I wanna key his car (I want to get him back) I wanna make him lunch (but then I, I want to get him back) I wanna break his heart (but then I, I want to get him back) And be the one to stitch it up (but then I, I want to get him back) Wanna kiss his face (but then I, I want to get him back) With an uppercut (but then I, I want to get him back) I wanna meet his mom (but then I, I want to get him back) Just to tell her her son sucks (but then I, I want to get him back).

So after lunch when breakfast had ended and everyone went their own ways. She finally found him training by himself. She walks up to him " jeez sea boy" he looks over at her "what flower girl" she smirks "oh just being my favorite as always. Mwah" he laughs "what the fu-. " she looks at him "don't cuss. There is kids around" she smirks

I wanna get him back I wanna make him really jealous, wanna make him feel bad Oh, I wanna get him back 'Cause then again, I really miss him, and it makes me real sad Oh, I want sweet revenge And I want him again I want to get him back, back, back.

He laughs more "oh so you're so considered for the children. "Aye.. Those kids are innocent right now" she laughs. Great minds think alike. "Oh wow" he laughs so hard that his face was red "jeez you're blushing over me" she teased him "maybe " he shrugged. "Or maybe you're just to pretty for me" he shrugged.

I'll get him, I'll get him, I'll get him, I'll get him back Get him back, come on, come on I'm gonna get him so good, he won't even know what hit him He's gonna love me and hate me at the same time Get him back, girl, you better get him back I don't know I got him good, I got him really good.

#x fem!reader #pjo #fem reader #x female reader #percy jackson x reader #tyson percy jackson #grover underwood

[f1nalboys]

Gotcha Something - Bo Sinclair

Bo Sinclair x Fem!GN!Reader

something short and sweet! happy valentines day guys! enjoy this thing ive been cooking up for a bit and failed at the execution <3

WORD COUNT: 1513

WARNINGS: nice gift gone sexual fr, bo is a perv but hes OUR perv, photos of reader in sexual situations, brief descriptions of wounds and past abuse from bo, stockholm syndrome is our readers defualt setting now, reader has the same scars as bo, bo calls reader his 'girl' but no genitals are mentioned. some nsfw photos and a hint of recorded sex but nothing actually graphic. slight somno mention in one photo. mostly proofread but hey im just a guy

“Happy Valentine's Day, darlin.” Bo places the package onto your lap, sinking down onto the couch beside you. You glance at him with a cocked eyebrow and he grins, something sinister hidden underneath the charming exterior. “What? You ain’t expect me to getcha something?” He asks, placing a large hand over his heart, tsking at you. “You’re my girl, remember?”

He purrs into your ear, the springs of the couch creaking with his shifting weight. He taps the package with his fingers and sits back, waiting. You pick the gift up carefully, letting out a hum at the weight of it. “You wrapped it in newspaper?” You ask, a hint of teasing in your voice, and he snorts, shrugging. “Did a pretty good job, honestly.”

He watches you with an amused expression as you carefully untape the package, pulling the leatherbound photo album out with an awe-filled gasp. “I do good?” He asks you smugly as you fawn over the barely-decorated cover, fingers brushing over the black sharpie. ‘You and I through pictures’ was written in his familiar scrawl, all capital. “Fixed up that old camera I had, been taking photos. Figured I should put it to use.”

“I love it already.” You say and you mean it, you do. You can’t quite remember the time before him, before Ambrose and the suffocating walls of the garage and his house. Leaning over and giving him a quick kiss on the cheek, you look back down at the photobook with a small smile. Flipping it open to the first page you gasp, the smile falling as you stare down at the first photo.

It was a polaroid of you. Taken from behind in the garage, you look at yourself looking at the wall of fan belts, one hand down by your thigh, the other reaching upwards to grab one of them. Whoever had taken this photo, Bo you assume, had been hiding from you, the camera taken at a lower angle, the corner of the counter in the bottom left of the frame. Your eyes drag down to the scrawled message just below the photo. 

“July 17 ‘20. First Time Meeting.” 

“You looked so fuckin’ sexy that day.” Bo whispers, his arm sliding across your shoulder to bring you a little closer to him. You keep looking at the photo. “Knew I had to have you. You remember that?”

You nod your head slightly. “Mostly. It’s hard to remember anything before the garage.” You admit, looking at him. His smile falters, his jaw setting, and you’re quick to continue talking, a flash of panic in your chest. “But I remember meeting you! Your smile, your charm, you know?” You say, forcing a smile, eyes searching his. “I thought you were so cute, I just needed your help to make a move, right?”

“That’s right.” He says, and your shoulders dip as you breathe out in relief. You look back at the photo album, letting your finger trail down your frame in the photo. “Glad you broke when you did,” he purrs into your ear, his hand on your upper arm squeezing tightly for a moment. “That way I got to keep ‘ya. Would’ve been such a waste otherwise.” You hum, agreeing with him. Of course you agreed. Before Bo, you had too many opinions, too many thoughts in your head. He helped you realize your place wasn’t out there in the world, dealing with the headaches of everyday bullshit, it wasn’t here by Bo’s side, helping him get through the day and letting him put up with you. “Keep goin’.” 

He sounds excited, leaning forwards to grab his pack of cigs and lighter from the coffee table, lighting one and taking a puff as he watches you flip to the next page. This photo is dated a day later, but the photo makes you wince. You were strapped to the chair in the garage, your face cut to hell, duct tape over your mouth, your eyes filled with tears and fear. You can barely make out the red and raw skin on your wrists and ankles due to the grain and you let out a shaky breath when Bo’s fingers lovingly run along your wrists, the warped skin warm to his touch. 

You glance up at him and see his eyes transfixed onto your wrists, a pleased smile on his lips. “You used to cry for so long,” He whispers, pressing his thumb against the scar, the cigarette dangling from his lip. “In the beginning. Used to piss me off, kinda like a dog whinin’.” He chuckles, finally letting go of your wrist. “Kinda turned me on, though. Hearin’ you beggin’ me to let you go, to undo your wrists…” 

“Yeah, I know it turned you on,” you say with a slight laugh, tapping the next photo, dated a month and a half later. “See? You even wrote ‘Our First Time’ on it.” This photo does bring a smile to your face. Your face is covered by your hands, dried blood on your wrists, your legs spread wide for him. Your shirt hung off your shoulders and if you think hard enough you can hear the sound of his knife cutting through the fabric. Bo’s jean clad legs could be seen in the bottom of the frame where he was positioned in between your legs. They were unbuttoned and showed off his freckled stomach and the thick line of hair that disappeared under his boxers. 

He had been surprisingly gentle that night, lighting the melted down candles and playing jazz on the stereo upstairs. Bo had laid you down on the dirty mattress, his eyes taking in every single inch of your body, his grip only tightening when you attempted to cover yourself. It had been the turning point for you in some strange way, seeing that side of him. It made you realize that he had been telling the truth; you did love him. 

“Still just as tight,” he says, his attempt at a compliment as he takes control of flipping through the album. Each photo causes you to blush harder, squirm in your seat. A photo of his cock inside you, bruise marks on your thighs. Another showed you on your stomach, wrists held back by his belt, hand prints on your ass. You strapped to the chair with a smile on your face and a fresh cut on your cheek. You looking up at the camera through your eyelashes and a pleading look. A photo of you sleeping and his cock pressed between your lips.

And those were just the photos where you were mostly aware of the camera. 

The end of the photo album had three photos to a page, a quickly scrawled date and word next to each one. The photo of you in the kitchen wearing Bo’s button up shirt at the stove was captioned ‘10/13/21. Cooking.’ The one of you asleep in Bo’s bed was captioned ‘11/08/21. Sleeping.’  You fixing up Bo’s mechanics uniform, 12/23/21. Sewing. You reading a book on the couch, 1/02/22. Relaxing. You with Vincent and Lester at the kitchen playing a boardgame surrounded with pizza and beer, 5/28/22. Game Night. You hunched over a cake with your tongue poking out and a piping bag in hand taken from the hallway, 9/18/22. My Birthday.

“You really took all these?” You ask, glancing at him. He seems a little bashful now, his cigarette smoked down to a stub for once. He shrugs, putting the cigarette out onto the ashtray and settling back against the couch. “I love it, Bo.” You say, your voice cracking slightly. “This was sweet.”

“Yeah, well… figured you deserved it.” He says with a roll of his eyes, eyeing you carefully. Sure, some of the photos were perverted, and it chronicled exactly what he put you through in the very beginning, but it showed that he had planned to keep you from the very beginning. You give him a quick kiss, deepening it by placing your hand on his chest. “Really loved it, huh?” Bo teases, kissing you back. He gives you a sideways smirk when you move to straddle him, his hands instantly resting on your hips.

You fiddle with the top button of his shirt, biting back your own pleased grin. “For your gift, I was thinking…” Bo cocks an eyebrow at you as you trail off before you lean in, whispering in his ear. “Maybe you can get that camcorder from Vinny and use it tonight? Whatever you want?”

“Whatever I want?” He asks, amused, his grip on your hips tightening slightly. His eyes are dark. “Guess I need to do sappy shit for ‘ya more often then if it gets ‘ya like this for me.” He grabs your hand, bringing your wrist to his lips quickly before he’s gently pushing you off of him. “Get on to the bedroom. Don’t think about takin’ those clothes off; I want the camera to see it all, darlin’.”

#f1nalboys writing #f1nalboys masterlist #f1nalboys works #bo sinclair #house of wax #slashers #slasher x reader #bo sinclair x reader #valentines day fic #bo sinclair x y/n #slasher x y/n #house of wax 2005

[honestly-mad-person]

YOU'RE MY SECRET

｡･:*˚:✧ pairing: Xavier x fem!reader

｡･:*˚:✧ genre: smut (oral sex, vaginal sex, moans, orgasm, wet sounds, first sex)

｡･:*˚:✧ word count: 7,7K (The biggest story, yeah)

｡･:*˚:✧ a/n: When I was writing the story, I couldn't throw away the storyline of Chapter 8. How does he feel when he sees MC? Is he afraid of losing her again or will his unwavering love for her guide him through the stars so that your eyes can meet again?

In this story, I tried to describe the MC's inner feelings as if it were familiar to her. It's like it was there, but she can't remember. She'll never remember.

I want to answer MS's question about his experience on behalf of Xavier about his chastity:

"I imagined you many times, I imagined your body, and I studied a lot to fulfill the most intimate desires of your soul at the right time."

In a way, he was virginal. But next to you, he could not restrain his predatory nature.

This has nothing to do with the original character and is entirely my take on the situation.

Enjoy your reading! See ya next time!

The sun outside the window was already sinking below the horizon, filling the living room with a warm, golden color.

Looking at the cityscape, your gaze shifted to the blond haired boy sitting across from you at the table. There was a rustle and his fingers turned the page of the book. Silence reigned in the room again, broken only by barely audible breathing.

Looking at his face, as always serious, you were not thinking about your book, but about how attractive he is. His features seemed softer in the evening sunlight.

Xavier's eyes smoothly moved from one side of the page to the other, absorbing the text and occasionally they closed for a moment. Whenever this happened, his eyelashes fluttered like butterfly wings.

Propping his head with his hand, he was constantly reading a book he had recently bought in a bookstore. You had one of his personal books from bookshelf.

The sight of him made the corners of your lips turn up. An outstanding young man. An experienced hunter. And part-time your boyfriend. However, there was something strange about him.

Somehow, you were watching a movie in the evening, cuddling. When your hand accidentally landed on his thigh, near his private area, he winced and looked down to tell you that your hand was not where it should be and asked him to remove it.

Confused, you looked at him. Up close, you could see how he shyly looked away, and the tips of his ears flashed a blush.

Suddenly, a thought flashed in your head. Did he have someone before you?

It would be awkward to ask him about it. Besides, he never told you everything directly. You should have asked him about what interested you in him, as Xavier immediately changed the subject.

Although you were officially a couple, there was nothing beyond kissing. Xavier never even kissed you deeply. Just sweet and innocent kisses on the lips.

Today, you wanted to know the truth. The truth that he tries so hard to hide from you.

In a moment you realize that his blue eyes are watching you. Coming back to reality, you blinked a few times.

— What? – asked Xavier, keeping his hand on the page he was just reading.

— What are you talking about? – you asked, not understanding the reason for this question.

— You… – he said quietly, drawing your gaze to his lips. – You’re looked at me...

— Indeed?

— Yes, – nodding his head, his lips barely parted. – Do I have something on my face?

— No, nothing like that, – you continued with a smile. – You just look even more beautiful in the evening light.

Hearing these words, Xavier looked away in embarrassment towards the window. He does it again. He tries not to look at you when you make him blush.

— Hey, Xav, – you called softly, tilting your head to the side.

— The sun is setting beautifully, – he said absently, without turning his head.

Looking at the horizon, you saw a really beautiful picture.

The sun was already half visible, and the sky surrounding it exploded with incredibly beautiful colors, iridescent from yellow-hot to purple. The clouds shone in the evening light, shimmering with a pearly sheen.

Suffocating at this beauty, you didn't immediately realize that you had fallen into another Xavier trap.

Mentally slapping yourself on the forehead, you turned your gaze back to him. Predictably, seizing the moment, he plunged back into his reading. It's tricky. Very clever.

— Xavier, – you said confidently, breaking the silence.

— Yes? – raising his head, he looked at you as if nothing had happened before.

— Tell me, do you have experience with women? – directly asking, you leaned towards him, placing your hands on the table. – And don't even think of running away from it.

— What do you mean by… – Xavier fell silent, looking into your eyes, fascinated by their beauty and brilliance.

— What I said, – was the answer immediately. – Have you kissed a woman for real?

Xavier was silent. His eyes slowly wandered over your face, sometimes going down, then going up. Soon, he spoke.

— Yes, with you – his look changed a little, but you couldn't understand what was wrong with him. – To be more precise, today at lunch and before going to the shopping center.

Stunned by this, you let out a heavy breath, forcing your eyebrows raised in surprise to fall back to their usual place.

— I'm not asking about myself, but in general, – clarifying, your gaze was fixed on him.

A shadow of embarrassment fell on his face and touching the tip of his nose with his fingers, he reluctantly answered.

— Not sure it happened to anyone but you…

— Not sure if it wasn't?

Under such pressure, Xavier looked away again. This time, not only his ears were red, but also his cheeks.

You got tired of this uncertainty, so you got up from the table, pushing your chair back.

A new noise caught Xavier's attention and he tensed up noticeably as he looked at you as you approached him. He mechanically pushed his chair back, sitting facing you.

— What?... – he didn't have enough time to finish his question, because the tips of your fingers touched his jaw, gently tracing the skin to his chin.

This small action made him lift his head and look into your eyes, which you could see the sunset in if you looked closely.

— Let's play a game, Xavier, – you said quietly, as if afraid that someone else might overhear your secret conversation. – The game is called "Don't look away."

— I don't like the name of this game anymore, – replied Xavier, feeling the warmth of your fingers and realizing that he won't be able to protect himself from you for long.

— Look into my eyes and don't look away, okay? – your fingers started moving again, releasing from his chin and barely touching his skin, moving down his neck, making him shudder briefly.

— What are you doing? – he said quietly, again visibly blushing.

His eyes continued to look into yours. A slight shiver went through your body at the realization of what exactly you wanted to do.

The tips of your fingers gently touched Xavier's neck and in the silence of the kitchen, in which there was still the smell of lemon cookies baked by you at the request of the owner of the apartment, you could clearly hear his uneven breathing.

Lowering your gaze, you looked at your fingers exploring every inch of his skin. Noticing that Xavier turned his head to the side, you sharply raised your eyes to his face.

— Xavier, I can look away and you can't, – you remarked, waiting for your eyes to meet again.

— I don't understand why you're doing this, – he asked quietly, clearing his throat.

You felt the vibration of each word with your fingers, shifting your gaze from his eyes to the fingers resting on his neck.

— I want to play with you, – you answered, continuing to move downwards, following your hands, which were kissing down from the neck to the chest.

You felt the soft fabric of his homemade sweater, which he didn't wear almost every day. Sometimes, you saw him wearing other clothes. You had some doubts if Xavier knew how to use a washing machine, but today you could smell the pleasant smell of air conditioner all day. It was hard not to keep from poking my nose into his chest and inhaling that magical smell of freshly washed clothes.

A heart beat under your fingers. It rattled a little faster than it should have, but you chalked it up to the closeness between you.

As your hands dropped below your chest, his hand grabbed your wrist. Looking up, you looked into his eyes.

Confused, he looked at you.

— Stop, – he said, still holding your hand.

— Xavier, – you said, bringing your face closer to his. – Don't move.

His eyes widened when you got close enough to barely touch his lips with yours. His weak breath touched your lips, fearing to somehow harm you.

Smirking the corner of your lips, you closed your eyes as you kissed him. Your wrist was squeezed tighter, but ignoring it, you touched the back of his neck with your other, free hand. A tremor was felt under your fingers. Your heart skipped a few beats and moaning softly against his lips, you pulled away from him, breaking the kiss.

Taking in Xavier's eyes, filled with confusion and curiosity, you smiled again.

— Do you want more? – you asked and received in response his silent nod of the head. – Then let go of my hand and sit tight, okay?

Your voice sounded gentle, as if you were asking your dog to obey your commands.

Fingers reluctantly parted, letting go of your wrist and placing his hands on his lap, Xavier continued to look into your eyes.

— Good boy, – you purred contentedly, connecting your lips again in a kiss.

Placing your hands around his neck, your fingers slowly trailed up her rear, causing another wave of shivers. Plunging them into your hair, you lightly squeezed it. From this, you felt a barely audible moan on your lips.

Your heart pounded in your chest again, causing the tips of your ears to light up.

This innocent, at first glance, reaction of Xavier caused you to have the dirtiest thoughts about him. The way you controlled him, the way he responded to your touch, all of it made the warmth of his stomach rise.

Unable to resist, your tongue defiantly ran between his lips, demanding that he let you inside.

Fidgeting, Xavier hesitated for a few seconds, but after your fingers tightened on his hair, he obediently let you pass.

A moan of pleasure echoed through the kitchen and you weren't sure which one of you had created it.

Your tongue explored new territory, teasing with his tongue. Xavier didn't respond to your actions, giving you the upper hand in this little game. It made you even more convinced that he was a virgin. Soon, you felt a weak and unsure response from him.

Surprised, you broke the kiss and pulled away from him, breathing heavily.

— Did I… do something wrong? – he asked innocently, looking into your eyes.

When Xavier returned your kiss, you felt the air in your chest suddenly run out and you felt a little dizzy.

Looking down at his hands, which were clenched into fists, you felt dizzy again. For unknown reasons, you wanted to touch them, so that they would gently caress your cheeks, neck, chest, stomach, and even in your mind you imagined these fingers buried deep inside you.

Your body responded to such thoughts with an appropriate reaction. Blushing, you looked up at Xavier and looking into his eyes, you felt your underwear getting wet.

— Oh, you're blushing, – he remarked in his voice, still looking at you.

— It's hot, that's all, – dismissing his words, you were about to remove your hands, until suddenly he grabbed your wrist again.

Looking at him with a dumb question, you watched as he pressed your palm to his cheek, staring at you.

— Please don't go, – he whispered softly, rubbing against your hand, holding it gently with his hand. – Did I do something wrong?

Your brain shut down. Xavier looked at you with the same "puppy" look. Mixed with your lewd thoughts about him and the way he was gently rubbing his cheek against your hand, it made you freeze in place, not giving you a chance to resist such critical damage.

There was a sharp sting in your chest and you, red as a tomato, pulled out your hand, pressing it to your chest.

— Xavier, you! – suffocating from his mercy and the shame of your thoughts, you continued to mumble something incoherent. – Bamn…

Xavier just tilted his head to the side, looking sadly at you, still holding his hand where your hand was for a few seconds.

After giving you some time to cool down, Xavier reached out a hand in your direction, not daring to touch you.

You looked at his fingers, then at his face. He wasn't looking at you anymore. His gaze, filled with sadness and pity, was fixed on his outstretched hand, which seemed to be trying to grasp something in the air.

Your heart throbbed again and, exhaling, you took his hand. He suddenly looked up, looking into your eyes.

— Just a little more, – you said and, approaching him, stood between his legs, wrapping your arms around his neck.

His head was at the level of your stomach. Still hesitant, he gently wrapped his arms around your waist, pressing his cheek against yours.

With a smile on the corner of your lips, your fingers gently scratched his head, going through his hair, while your gaze was directed at the already faded sky.

— I'm sorry if I did something wrong, – Xavier suddenly muttered, pulling you away from the view.

— No, you didn't do anything wrong, – you immediately assured, blushing again at your own thoughts.

A few more kisses like that and you could really pounce on him as if you were hungry for a plate of hot and delicious food.

You were drawn to him like a magnet and it was difficult for you to resist this force. You understood this best when Xavier returned your kiss.

— Then why did you stop touching me? – he asked again in his innocent voice.

It made you shudder. Fingers froze.

— Well, it's hard to say... – trying to find words, you mumbled under your breath. – Well...

— I want more, – came to your ears as Xavier's hands fell on your thighs and gently, but firmly, sat you on his knee.

Squealing, you looked into his eyes and wanted to pour him a whole wagon and a small bucket of outrage about this, but when you met his gaze, you froze. He seemed normal, but something was still wrong.

You saw in his eyes a vague reflection of yourself in the evening rays. The longer you looked, the stronger the attraction to him became. His eyes, like a black hole, pulled you deeper and deeper.

You were pulled out of this trance by his hand, which touched your burning cheek.

— You're looking at me like that again… – Xavier said in a quiet and calm voice.

— H-how? – you asked, touching his palm with your fingers.

— As if there is something on my face, – shrugging his shoulders, he gently stroked his cheek with his thumb. – So… are you going to continue your game or not?

Biting your lip, you felt your face flush again.

— Why do you blush so often? – asked Xavier, looking into your face.

— It's not as important as the fact that… – you paused and exhaled, relaxing. - I don't want to play anymore...

Your words madeXavier freeze. Even his stroking stopped. He looked into your eyes silently.

— I don't want to play with you, I want to kiss you again, – clarifying, your palms touched his face and your lips quickly found what they needed so much. Its warmth.

The last line of defense was destroyed. What you had planned as a scouting mission to get information turned into the fact that you couldn't tear yourself away from his lips.

They seemed so familiar, so warm and welcome that it was really hard to stop even for a second.

Xavier pushed you away ever so slightly, but still gently, occasionally breaking the kiss to give the two of you a chance to take a few gulps of fresh air before your lips pressed together again.

Losing your head from the desire this boy was awakening in your body, you melted every time your tongues intertwined in a passionate dance. He absorbed you, absorbed like a black hole absorbs light, without letting it out.

The only thing you longed for, what you reached for at this moment, was Xavier. His lips, so hot from many kisses, his tongue, which was already confidently responding to you, his hands, which hugged you with a firm grip, pressing you to him.

Your knee touched his groin and moaning into his lips, you felt that you weren't the only one turned on. Breaking away from him with difficulty, you looked at his face, stained with blush. You were both breathing heavily as you looked at each other. Xavier didn't move, as if he was afraid that you would run away if he made even one move.

Your hand rested on his chest and slid down. Looking into your eyes, Xavier barely furrowed his brows, still breathing heavily.

— What are you... – he didn't have time to finish the sentence, as a moan that broke from his lips resounded in the room. – Damn…

His eyebrows came together at the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes, he leaned towards you, resting his head on your shoulder. Your other hand rested on his back, stroking his spine with the tips of your fingers. You heard a muffled moan again as your other hand traced his cock through the fabric of his house pants. What you felt confused you a little. You didn't expect that Xavier would turn out to be… a little bigger than you imagined.

You tried to imagine him in your mouth, you thought about whether he would at least enter.

You were pulled out of your thoughts by another moan and an arm wrapping around your waist, digging his fingers firmly into your side. Taking a deep breath, you felt dizzy and tinnitus again. Tomorrow you will definitely find bruises from his fingers on your body.

— Xavier, – you whispered into his ear, as if he were a child seeking refuge on his mother's chest. – Do you hear me, Xavier?

— Mgh… – he groaned, barely nodding his head.

— Relax, – your lips touched his ear, sending shivers down his body.

It even seemed to you that this tremor was heard below as well, as if his member also twitched at the signal of the body.

— Please, – he whispered hoarsely, not taking his eyes off you. – Don’t go…

Something about his words made you wince. Why did he ask you not to go? Why did he say that? Did you give him any reason to think that? Was it something else? Blinking, you couldn't clearly define the reason that could cause these words. Your lips touched his temple, giving him the softest kiss full of love.

— I won't go anywhere from you, – you answered, feeling how tightly he gripped your waist. – I will always be with you.

He flinched at your words. You stopped, still keeping your hand on his already wet pants from the pre-ejaculate.

His head slowly lifted from your shoulder. Meeting his eyes, you felt your heart freeze. You saw longing, fear and need in his eyes.

— What... – not being able to say anything else, you felt an extremely strong desire to comfort him.

Your lips met his again, when you were about to remove your hand from his erection, until suddenly, he stopped you from doing so, placing his hand on yours.

Breaking the kiss, he pressed his forehead against yours, touching the tips of his nose.

— Please… – he whispered, barely shaking his head.

You lost your mind not only at his physical proximity, but also at how defenseless he seemed.

— Xavier, – you whimpered softly, pressing your forehead against his.

No matter how much you wanted it, but gently pushing him away from you with your free hand, you looked into his eyes.

— Let me go, – you asked, looking at your waist. – I won't go anywhere, I promise.

Xavier put a lot of effort into letting you go. His brows came together again at the bridge of his nose as his fingers parted, giving you your freedom. His eyes were locked on you as you rose from his lap.

Xavier looked as if he was ready to rush after you at that very second if you suddenly disappeared from his life. You had rarely seen him so tense and it broke your heart.

Slowly kneeling down in front of him, you placed your hands on his hips.

— Everything is fine, you have nothing to worry about, – stroking him, you felt how his left leg twitched.

— You… – Xavier whispered, touching your shock with his fingers. – You don't need to do this...

— Shh, – drawing sharply, you rubbed against his arm, running your fingers up his thighs. 

Groaning, Xavier covered his eyes. His hand barely felt as your fingers caught on the elastic of your pants.

— Xavier, – you just said his name, when suddenly he lowered himself a little lower, for your convenience.

Smirking the corner of your lips, you pulled at the elastic, pulling Xavier's house pants down. Underneath them you saw dark blue boxers, in which his excited member was clearly visible with a wet stain on them.

Your lips touched his shaft through the fabric. Xavier groaned again, breathing heavily.

You understood that he wanted it. I wanted you to take it sooner. I wanted to be in you faster. Fill you with myself. Cling to your body and never let go. And it made you happy. Be glad that your desires were mutual.

Pulling off his underwear, his slender member was in front of your eyes, barely twitching with excitement. A transparent pearl of pre-ejaculatory substance was visible on the head. Having examined him completely, you saw a vein that swelled like a snake on him. Your insides groaned with desire and wasting no time, you took yours. The tip of the tongue passed over the vein.

Xavier's moans echoed throughout the kitchen as you held his base with your fingers and sucked his hot cock into your mouth.

— God, yes.. yes.. S-so hot.. – he moaned, throwing his head back every time his cock was fully inside, brushing the tip of your throat. - P-please, please, don't stop...

You didn't plan to stop. You wanted everything he could give you. Everything, to the last drop. You will suck everything out of him.

You felt how his cock, pulsating, rubbed against your tongue and stopped somewhere in your throat. Suppressing the tears that rolled into your eyes, you with even greater efforts did everything to bring Xavier maximum pleasure.

The wet sounds from each plunge of his cock into your mouth merged with Xavier's moans and echoed off the walls, dissolving into the air.

— Oh fuck… – Xavier whined, running his fingers through your hair. – D-don't stop... Please... please, I… I need to… please..

His whimpers and moans made you flow harder, harder as the head of his cock slid into your mouth. His fingers gripped your hair tighter, helping you move your head.

— Please… – Xavier kept whining, moving his hips to meet you.

You were no less crazy from his actions than he was from yours. Your swollen lips slid over his shaft, sucking more and more. You gave him what he wanted and you liked it.

— Fuck, p-princess, – Xavier threw his head back with a trembling voice. - I so want... to cum…

In the mix of the wet smacking of your lips against his cock, you opened your eyes wide, looking at him with a look of complete debauchery. Your mouth began to work even faster until your fingers, forming a ring, moved from below, from his base up, until they met your lips.

You swallowed his cock like your life depended on it. You desperately needed to get his cum. You needed her.

— P-princess! – Xavier whined, trembling under your lips like an autumn leaf in the wind. – Wait! Stop, please!

Ignoring his pleas, you looked up at him, the way his eyes rolled in pleasure and the way he tried to push you away from him.

Your hands rested on his hips as your lips pressed into a ring around his cock. The tip of your nose touched his groin every time you swallowed.

— Please, please, stop, I.. I'm coming soon, – Xavier begged you to stop, unable to watch the way you ate him down below.

In response, you tightened your fingers around his pants, pressing your entire tongue against his length, enveloping him in the warmth of your wet mouth.

Gritting his teeth, Xavier tried to keep himself from letting his cum down your throat. You both fought. He was fighting not to cum, but you demanded it from him.

Your mouth, your throat, your tongue, which so kindly received his cock, did not give him a chance. In the process of another absorption, his hips twitched and made a movement to meet your mouth.

Xavier let out a soft whimper and you felt the hot cum rush down your throat. After swallowing some of the liquid, tears welled up in your eyes. Too deep, too much. But you accepted him. Taking every drop he gave you, flooding your throat and mouth with his cum.

Feeling him twitch inside you, you slowly let him out of your mouth, squeezing the shaft and head with your lips one last time.

Looking up, you saw Xavier leaning back in his chair, breathing heavily. His fingers still gripped the edge of the table as his other hand covered his face.

You felt the remains of the sticky sperm on your tongue and swallowed it along with the saliva, licking your lips.

— Xavier? – quietly speaking his name, you stroked his thighs, but he did not answer you. – Did you fall asleep?

Giggling, you got up from your knees and were about to touch his hand with yours, until suddenly he grabbed your hand first.

With a quick movement of his free hand, Xavier dropped everything on the table to the floor. There was the sound of falling books and the clink of a broken plate of lemon cookies.

You didn't have time to look at the mess Xavier had made from putting you on the table like you were a rag doll. The table creaked piteously as the hi's hands rested on its surface. Immediately, he pressed his hips against you as if he had always been between your legs.

— Let me show you how I can work… – he whispered, his lips falling on your neck.

This time, your sonorous moans filled the room as his lips left small, burgundy kiss marks and teeth marks on you again and again. As if mad, he bit your skin, licked it with his tongue and then bit again. Arching your back from his every movement, you felt how he lit a real fire in the bottom of your stomach.

His hand crawled under your shirt and went up to find your breast.

You moaned even louder as fingers pinched your nipple, playing with it.

— Xavier! – with a voice hoarse from excitement, you bent over to meet him.

His hands pulled your shirt up and leaving your neck alone, his lips kissed your breasts, squeezing them with his fingers. Xavier moaned softly in unison with you as his lips covered one nipple then the other. The hot tip of his tongue caressed the tip, sucking it into his mouth.

Throwing your head back, you whimpered, not knowing where to put your hands. The feel of him squeezing your breasts, biting them, made your body squirm beneath him.

His lips left new marks on your skin as they trailed down.

— Why do you look at me so often with your eyes... – he rasped, running his entire tongue from that navel up to the stomach, looking at you with eyes full of desire.

Breathing heavily, you barely felt any movement from Xavier, giving you some time to rest. Your breasts, swollen and covered with traces of his kisses, rose up from the accelerated breathing and shook from a strong heartbeat.

Xavier waited patiently for an answer as he moved up to your face, looking at your red hot face, eyes closed, lashes fluttering and lips swollen from the kisses and what you had done to him a few minutes ago.

— You hear me? – Xavier rasped, leaning down to your lips, barely touching them.

— Ahhh.… – you moaned without opening your eyes and reached for a kiss, until suddenly he pulled away from you. – What?...

When your eyelashes fluttered again and you opened your eyes, you met his gaze with his extremely beautiful blue eyes.

— Why do you keep looking at me with that look of yours? – he repeated his question, running his hand over your cheek.

— What look? – your voice also sounded hoarse, but it didn't bother you much.

— A look like… – Xavier held back the growing desire in himself, which could be seen by the emotion his face was now expressing.

Furrowing his brows, he shook his head as if remembering your eyes at that moment. Licking his lips with the tip of his tongue, he looked at you with a faint smile at the corners of his lips.

— You look at me like I'm your dog, – he said, pressing himself against your crotch.

Your eyes widened as you felt his cock turn to hard again, rubbing against you.

Xavier was leaning against the table, barely breathing as he stared into your eyes as his hips moved on their own. Throwing your head back, you closed your eyes, moaning softly.

— Xavier, I didn't… – you started searching for words to excuse yourself, but feeling fingers on your cheek, you opened your eyes, looking up at him.

— If that's what you want, I'll be your dog, – he said, confidently maintaining eye contact. – I will.

Your heart froze for a second when the meaning of what was said came to your mind. Your body, excited by his touch, stretched like a string.

— I'll be your dog, – Xavier repeated in your ear, pressing his body against you.

The table creaked pitifully again as his hips began to slowly rub against you as his hot breath burned your ear.

— X-xavier… – you begged, shaking under his weight.

— Do you want me to bark for you? – he whispered with a hint of fun in his voice. - Woof, woof…

— Stop, please… Ah… – his hip movements became faster, making you whimper even more at the feeling of his cock rubbing against you through the fabric of your pants.

— Princess… – Xavier whispered, pulling away from you and looking into your eyes that clearly read an uncontrollable, raging desire, he moaned softly, narrowing his eyes. 

In your thoughts, you really compared Xavier to a puppy. You took care of him, fed him and stroked him when needed. Now, there was nothing in him that combined him with that Xavier - sweet, shy and funny.

From one look at him, you felt how every cell of your body burned, how your womb wanted him inside, how your lips wanted his lips, how your body wanted to be pressed by his body, you felt how you needed Xavier.

Xavier, who one moment is looking at you in confusion at your next stupidity, and the next he's caressing your breasts with his tongue.

Almost crying with excitement, you nodded your head.

- Good! Xavier, I beg you, please, – you begged, arching your back and feeling his arousal below.

— Then let me satisfy you in a way that only I can, – his voice sounded in your ear and after kissing the corner of your lips, he lowered himself down.

Biting the tip of your finger, you lifted your head as you watched as Xavier trailed a wet trail of kisses down your body.

He stirred your butterflies even more when his lips stopped below the waistband of your pants. Looking up at you, he unbuttoned first the button and then the zipper, pulling the tab down. His hands carefully pulled your pants off your thighs, leaving you in your panties.

Feeling the fabric slide down your ankles, you bucked your hips shyly. Seeing this, Xavier gave you a surprised look, but without saying anything, he leaned into your stomach. Lips gently touched the skin, causing goosebumps.

Hitting your head on the table, you felt the heat from his lips. His hands touched your thighs and after stroking the tender skin, his fingers tightened.

A moan escaped your lips as Xavier jerked you closer to him, to the edge of the table which creaked once again. His gentle stroking made you feel more comfortable and without realizing it, you relaxed.

— Good girl, – Xavier whispered, his nose touching the fabric of your panties before pulling them off you. – I'm going crazy from your smell...

— Stop it… – you whispered, ashamed of his words.

He just giggled at your response.

The cold air touched your skin as Xavier carefully removed your panties and dropped them on the floor. Kneeling in front of you, he let out a stifled moan, inspecting your lust-soaked pussy.

— I want… – he said, wrapping his arms around your hips and pressing his lips to yours.

As if you were electrocuted, you bent over, groaning. Feeling his tongue moving between your folds, touching your clit, you lost the ability to breathe.

His tongue moved slowly, mixing your juices with his saliva. When his tip hit your clit, he lingered on it, pressing lightly. Your body responded to Xavier's caresses with even stronger tremors. His arms draped your legs over his shoulders, gripping your trembling hips.

Licking every millimeter of your pussy, he reveled in your moans that erupted from the depths of your chest. He tormented you with his rhythm, making your back arch every time his tongue touched your clit. Moaning from the pleasure he was bringing you, his tongue circled around the pearl for his lips to gently suck your clit.

— God, Xavier, please… – breathless and feeling dizzy, you grabbed his hair, squeezing your hips. – So good... Ah, please... Faster...

Your whining mixed with the wet sounds and spread throughout the kitchen. His fingers tightened on her hips and he obediently sped up, moving his tongue. Your eyes sparkled with pleasure. Holding him to you with trembling hands, you felt that you were already on the verge.

— Xavier, nghh… Yes, so good! Don’t... ah.. Don’t stop... – you fell silent, arching from the sharp shock of the current throughout your body, which started from the bottom of your stomach and spread throughout your body.

Your entire consciousness has been compressed to a single point. To the point below, which your sweet dog licked mercilessly with his tongue. A wave of shivers slowly rolled over you. Your body shook, your thighs squeezing Xavier's head in orgasm, threatening to crush him. Hitting your head on the table again, you sobbed, feeling that Xavier didn't think to stop there.

Letting go of his hair, you tried to somehow crawl away from him, but his firm grip on your hips prevented you from doing so.

— Stop, – you begged quietly, shaking from his tongue, still absorbed in the orgasm.

Squirming on the table, tears of pleasure fell from your eyes and it wasn't until you sobbed that Xavier stopped. His tongue trailed over your entrance, oozing your pleasure. He collected every drop, leaving nothing behind. You could feel his tongue inside as he moved inside you and losing the ability to breathe, you clenched your teeth.

— Yummy, – Xavier said, pulling away from you.

Barely finding the strength to raise your head to look at him, you clenched your whole body. With his usual calm expression on his face, he licked his lips with the tip of his tongue, wiping his wet chin with his fingers before licking the remains of your orgasm off of them.

Throwing your head back, your gaze went to the ceiling. You felt exhausted. Your head was spinning with pleasure, your heart was pounding wildly, and your body still sometimes shuddered. There was a rustle and Xavier's face appeared in your field of vision.

You moaned as you felt his cock brush against your pubic bone, his lips falling to your neck again.

— Xav… – you begged hoarsely and quietly, slowly regaining control over your body.

— Yes? – he mumbled, hiding in the crook of your neck.

— I... I want you… – you said, wrapping your weak arms around his neck, pressing him to your chest. – Please…

You felt him tense under your hands. Moaning softly, he pressed against your body for a while longer, inhaling your scent. Pulling back, he slipped out of your arms and looked into your eyes.

— You… are you sure? – he asked, swallowing loudly.

You nodded and looked down, touching his neck with your fingers, smiling gently.

— I want to belong to you not only with my heart, but also with my body, – looking into his wide-open eyes again, you smiled even wider. – I want to give you everything I have: my thoughts, my love, my body, my desires, my pleasure, my life...

He shuddered at the last words. His look changed. It became darker. You looked again into the black hole that swallowed you.

— Say it… – he whispered, looking into your eyes. – Say it again... Please...

— I want to give you everything, – you repeated, holding back your laughter. – From my thoughts to my life. It's all just for you.

His lips pressed greedily into yours. The salty taste of your orgasm made your head spin again. You went crazy with the realization of how hard he worked to make you cum and the heat spread again in the lower part of your stomach.

Xavier's tongue immediately entered your mouth, taking complete control of the kiss, causing you to moan into his lips. You began to gasp, unable to fight his onslaught. Your hands touched his neck, shoulders and went down to his chest, reaching his cock.

You heard a moan as your fingers brushed against his shaft as your hips desperately tried to get into a position to drive him into your lap, but without Xavier's help you were having no luck.

After breaking the kiss, he barely touched your lips with his for some time, breathing heavily.

— Xavier, please.. move, – you whispered, almost whining against his lips.

Without answering, he moved his hips away from you, allowing you to direct him. Your heart pounded as the head of his cock thrust into your passage.

— Please, – you begged again as Xavier looked into your eyes, increasing the distance between your faces.

— I won't be able to stop, – he muttered, blushing.

— I don't want you to stop, – you shook your head sharply, taking his face in your hands. – You have to make me yours, remember?

A light flashed in his eyes and moving one hand to the edge of the table, above your head, he supported his cock with the other, penetrating you. Your womb met his hot and wet, making you both gasp at the sensation.

Leaning towards you, you touched your foreheads to each other and closed your eyes, enjoying the merger. Your hands were still holding his face as his cock slowly stretched you from the inside, filling you up.

— Xavier… – you whispered, feeling your walls squeeze his throbbing length inside you.

— Oh... fuck.. it's so tight inside you, – he whimpered and, letting go of his cock, let him enter the end on his own, putting his hand on your waist.

In those brief seconds, you felt as if the whole world had disappeared, leaving the two of you alone. Nothing but him inside you. When his head touched your cervix, you finally let out a moan of pleasure. At first, you were uncomfortable with his size, and knowing that, Xavier made a frantic effort not to thrust into you immediately. Even with a blinding desire for you, he still cares about your comfort.

— How do you feel? – he rasped, raising his head and looking into your eyes.

You took a short breath, nodding your head. Moving your arms around his neck, you pulled Xavier closer to you, wrapping your legs around his waist. His nose nuzzled into the crook of her neck and his hips began to move slowly. Your soft moans blended together as Xavier pressed his body against you, bumping into your cervix.

Scratching his neck with your nails, you enjoyed every second of him being inside you. Your bodies were tightly connected inside. Your walls wrapped around his throbbing cock, making you hear his heavy breathing against your neck mixed with whimpers.

— It's so tight, – Xavier whispered, wrapping his arm around your waist. – I can't... think...

Your hips moved to meet his, urging him to speed up.

— Xav... faster... – closing your eyes, you restrained your moans to say these words and soon, you felt the friction become more intense.

— I won't stop, – he said, obediently complying with your request.

Your body arched beneath him every time his full cock disappeared into your womb. The sounds of bodies slapping against each other, the creaking of the table and your babble were music to your ears.

With each thrust, heat engulfed your body. It was becoming difficult to breathe, the head was spinning more and more, and the skin was slowly covered with a thin layer of sweat. Suddenly, Xavier was out of your arms and towering over you, he threw your legs over his shoulders, keeping your hips in the air.

You moaned loudly. when the cock was thrusting into you from a new angle. Grabbing the edge of the table with your hands, you looked into Xavier's eyes. In them you saw his darkest desires, his need for you. Each of his thrusts was accompanied by the creaking of the table. His gaze wandered lustily over your body, lingering on your bouncy breasts, which teased him with their appetizingness, decorated with crimson marks, went down to your waist, which also showed bruises from his hands, and finally, his gaze caught the small bulge at the bottom of your stomach , which appeared every time he penetrated you to the end.

— My princess, – he moaned, looking into your eyes again and squeezing your hips tighter. – I love you, I love you, I love you unconditionally.

Barely understanding what he was saying, you looked at him with a clouded look of pleasure, wanting to press into him again. Sobbing in pleasure, you reached out one of your hands to him, choking on scarlet moans.

— Please... I want... – whining, you once again pushed him on this table. – I need...

Releasing your hips without slowing his pace, he leaned into you, letting your hands grip his neck. Your lips met in a kiss again, exchanging saliva.

Your bodies were sticky with sweat, but that didn't stop Xavier from pounding into you faster and faster. You weren't worried about whether or not you'd be able to walk tomorrow, just like Xavier didn't doubt that he'd be carrying you in his arms all day. A wild desire took hold of your minds, causing your bodies to move in a frenzied rhythm of love.

Xavier drove his cock into you, wet with your juices, slapping his balls against your ass, met the obstacle in the form of the cervix and returned with a low growl to repeat the same actions. Slipping his hand between your heated bodies, he touched your clit. Almost crying with pleasure, you scratched his neck, shoulders and back, not knowing where to go. The air in your lungs was running out as fast as he was fucking your cunt. Your vision became blurry, everything was spinning and the only thing you felt was the near end.

Xavier's voice was whispering something in your ear, but it was hard to make out. Grabbing air with your mouth, you felt as if a little more, a few more thrusts and your body would collapse under his onslaught.

— Xavier, – you whined hoarsely under him, feeling extremely dizzy. – Nghh...

Your brain short-circuited and your body was covered by an explosion. Arching in the back, you squeezed your whole body. Clinging to Xavier with your limbs, you didn't give him a chance. Cursing in your ear, he tried to hold on, but your walls squeezed him too hard. He crashed into your thighs, plunging deep into you and finished with a loud moan, flooding you with hot cum. His hips gave a few thrusts as if he was trying to push as much of his family into you as possible.

Your body was shaking with orgasm, but your grip on Xavier slowly loosened. Soon, as your consciousness returned to reality, hot streams of tears flowed from your eyes.

Hearing your soft sobs, Xavier jerked up, still buried deep inside you. Confusion and excitement were reflected on his sweat-dampened face.

— Princess, – he asked in a husky voice and, clearing his throat, took your face in his hands. – Why are you crying? Are you hurt? What happened?

You looked up at him with a smile, feeling his fingers wipe the tears from your red cheeks. You couldn't answer now. Shaking your head negatively, you looked into his eyes. Panic and incomprehension grew in his gaze, which almost made you cry even harder.

Clenching his teeth, he pressed himself against your body, touching his lips to your shoulder.

— I'm here, – he whispered, feeling how you occasionally squeezed him in you. – I’ll always be with you.

— Xav...

You took a deep breath, trying to calm your feelings, and wrapped your weakened arms around his neck.

— Yes, princess? – he answered, pressing closer.

— So you weren't a virgin? – you whispered hoarsely, gently stroking his back.

He noticeably raised his head and looked into your eyes.

You thought I was... - his eyebrows went up in surprise. - Why?

— We just had sex for the first time... in our relationship.

— I've been saving this moment for a better time, because you deserve the best first time, – his voice was muffled and his breath burned your neck. – But you decided to rush this moment. 

He laughed and poked himself in your neck again. 

— Okay, but, – you stopped stroking him after a moment. – If you're not a virgin, and you said you had no one before me, then…

You felt Xavier relax against you. The table cracked under your weight and you groaned in indignation, but you couldn't stay angry with him for long. 

— Did you fall asleep? – you shook your head and hugged him tighter, deciding that five minutes wasn't that long. 

 When he wakes up, he will take you to bed and clean up the mess he had made. Just 5 minutes.

— I'll never let you go, – Xavier said in a sleepy voice. – It doesn't matter where you go, how far you will be, I will always find you.

— Pretender…

— No way…

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace xavier #xavier #love and deepcpace x listener #loveanddeepspace #xavier x reader #xavier smut

[avtrbee]

love game. i

summary: he has never been a good husband, but a century in captivity might change his mind

pairing: morpheus x love!reader

tw: dark!morpheus hehe, mention of rape is you squint but i kinda emphasized that its not? toxic relationships (?)

a/n: gif aint mine. idk where this is fic going. this is the literal example of head empty, no thoughts just my love for men groveling at my feet. hopefully you like them too

“Where is my wife?” he asked, glancing at Lucienne. “Had she abandoned me too? Surely she has sensed me by now…”

His librarian gives him an uncertain look. “My lord, my lady will only come if you summon her. It has been that way for centuries.”

He looks up the ceiling of his palace. There were holes where the roof has fallen, letting sunshine through the throne room. On the damp corners, weeds had slipped through the pristine walls that he had built. His palace looks like a broken heart, thrown away and abandoned. He wonders if this is what she felt like. “Then I summon I shall summon her.”

You came a few seconds after he had said the words.

Lucienne is the first thing you see. She is standing up straight with her hands behind her back- the perfect picture of formality except on her face was a smile wider than you have seen her in a century. Lucienne does not cry, professionalism forbids her so, but you know that if she could he would have tears running down her face in joy. Her heart tells you so. Lucienne’s heart tells you more- the love for her master who has some back.

She bows to you, and steps aside. You cannot help the relief in your face as you see your husband. You blink twice waiting for him to fade away just to be sure.  “You’re back,” you whisper in awe, walking towards him quickly. “Forgive me for not coming sooner, my lord, I had to make sure.” Your eyes widen a fraction at your mistake. “Not that I doubted you, husband, I-”

You meet his eyes and you halt. “Are you alright?”

The Dreaming stills. Even in its decaying form its realm remembers its master. Not a single dust threatened to fall, and every speck of dust held its breath. “I was captured.” Dream stares at the ground as he speaks. His voice was a quiet rumble with anger evident in his face. 

Captured? You wanted to ask, along with the thousands of questions that bombarded your head. How in the world did an Endless become prisoner? But you held your tongue. Knowing your husband, his pride is wounded and irritable. He is frustrated to retreat to the Dreaming to lick his wounds, and even humiliated that he came back significantly weaker than when he left.

Instead, you swallow the concern down your throat and settled for the sight of him. He looked the same as he had always been, but something has changed. This you are certain. 

“Welcome back, Dream Lord.” You greet with a smile and a small bow. It was a smart statement. No mention of his time in absence or your misplaced concern, only your relief that he is back in the Dreaming. You turn your heel to leave, when he spoke up.

“You’re leaving already?” 

Your eyes snapped back at him suspiciously. From the corner of your eye you see Lucienne exit the room, but you did not dare to take your eyes off the Dream Lord. He has never complained of your departure before. Some days you think he wishes you left as soon as you arrived. “Yes,” you nod. “I have my duties to attend to. You have called and I have come. I have done your bidding.”

“I-” Something passes in his face, like a shadow of sadness. “That is not what I meant.”

You look at him, confused, but smiled and nodded anyway. “Then how can I serve you, my lord?”

The dream lord looks at you like you had caused him pain. “Love,” he says, and you almost flinch in surprise. He had never said your name so gently before. In fact, you realize that this is the first time you have even heard him say your name. You were only ever ‘wife’, never ‘Love’, you were…nothing. “I…I apologize. I have not been a good husband to you.”

Your mind flies back to the wedding you have blessed before he had summoned you. The groom and the bride looked so happy, so in love. With your blessing you knew their marriage would be a successful one, the kind that would last until the end of their lifetime. If only yours were the same.You quickly shook the thought away from your head. You are not the naive girl you once were.

Instead, you shake your head. For a moment, you wonder if he would forgive you for taking a step towards him, but you decided against it after recalling what had happened last time. “You are not a cruel husband, Dream.”

You have seen first hand what cruelty is. Men and women pray to you constantly to make their spouses love them, if only they would stop hurting them. But your husband had never hurt you. He wouldn’t dare. And you would not let him.

He gives you a rueful smile. “Then what kind of husband am I if my wife can’t even take a step towards me?”

You suck up a breath. So he had noticed that. The king of dreams is not cruel, but he is cold. You had tried once, when you were first married. Arranged marriages rarely bared fruit to love, but there were some exceptions if they tried enough. You had greeted him, every day, sat beside him every morning to break your fast, walked along with him despite his obvious annoyance. For a few years you visited his realm everyday, had greeted his mornings with the sweetest kiss and at the end of your night, opened your legs when he saw fit, letting him take you whenever he wanted. But eventually, you have resorted to only come when he calls you. He never calls because he misses his wife. More often than not, he has a command to give and expected you to obey. 

“I realize now that you did not ask for this marriage, and I had forced you into it.” In a surge of courage, he held out his hand silently asking for yours. For the first time in a long time you saw nervousness in his eyes, anxious to see your response. You knew that you had every right to stand still, and no one would fault you for it. But you slowly gave your hand anyway. 

You were surprised to know that your husband’s hand was warm. Had you expected him to feel cold? When was the last time you had even touched him? When was the last time he had touched you?

Relief was splattered in his face. Dark eyes lock with yours as he ever so slowly raised your palm to his lips. “How callous have I been to subject Love to a loveless marriage?”

“You did not force me to do anything,” you insist, eyes locked at your hand on his, at the spot his lips had kissed. “You didn’t wish for this marriage either.”

“But I did not have to be so unkind.” Slowly, he dropped your hand to your side and took a step back. You did not know how to feel at the loss of his touch. “In my cage, I had plenty of time to ponder on the things I have normally ignored. I had often wondered how cruel my captors were for keeping me inside my cage for so long but haven’t I done the same to you?” 

You gulped.

“Have I not made you feel unwelcome in a realm that is yours as much as it is mine by law? Haven’t I made the Dreaming your cage, Love?” He asked, eyelashes touching his cheek.

“My lord,” you say in alarm as you process his words. “The Dreaming is a haven compared to what you’ve went through. The Dreaming is a haven compared to anything.”

It did not go unnoticed by you both that you did not deny Dream’s first statement. The Dreaming has never felt like home to you for it has given you nothing to be tied down to it. Its wonder had never failed to welcome you every time you visit, but you do not stay too long. Home is warmth, and the Dreaming has always been so cold to you. Home is your own realm, an endless pink sky like a never ending sunset across the horizon. 

“Forgive me,” your husband whispers. And to your horror, you watch in shock as the King of Dreams bend down on one knee followed by the other. This time you touch him, not caring about the consequences. You grip his arms and attempt to pull him back up, but he stubbornly remains rooted on the ground. 

Your head whips to the exit Lucienne left at and to any other possible entrances to his throne room. It is simply unheard of to have an Endless kneel to someone who is lower to them. You have never even heard of an Endless kneeling before. Your mind races at the thousand possibilities of who might witness your husband beg. Oh, what if Desire came in- ?

“There is no one here, they’ve all gone away in my absence” Dream says, his voice steady like he wasn’t down on his knees for you. “Lucienne is in her library absorbed in her work. You’re all I have left. You’re all I’ve always had. Forgive me, Love.”

Flashes of forgotten cooked meals, cold nights, deserted company and a millennium worth of loneliness flashes in your mind. You have always been so neglected. Is this it, then? Were you to throw away everything because he learned humility after a century?

“There is nothing to forgive, my lord.” You say, eager to get this conversation over and to have your husband just stand up.

“Morpheus,” he corrects with a sad smile. Your response echoes in his head and he did not need confirmation to know that it was a lie. How are you still so loyal? “Then forgive me anyway.” He compromises on your behalf, even when kneeling. He knew you would deny your lie if he asked. 

“Alright.” 

Your shoulders sag and sigh in sheer relief when Morpheus finally stands back up. You can him from head to toe just to be certain he is well before reminding yourself that your hands are still gripping his leather sleeves. You release them immediately, but he caught you wrists before you could pull away.

You flinch, and his eyes soften in regret. I am not scared, you want to say, I’m just not used to you touching me. 

“Have I made you fear me so?” His grip on your wrists in gentle. If you wanted to pull away he would let you. But you let him hold your wrists at the thought that this might be the last time in a long time you will feel him. Might as well relish in it. “I will do better,” he vows. “I will be kinder, more gentle. I will do right by you this time.”

You tug your wrists away from his grasp slowly. “I must return to the waking world, my lord. My duties await me.”

Lie. You hear no prayers, no human calling for your help.

You’ve seen this trick before. You’ve seen mortal men promise the same sweet things to their wives only for them to hurt them once again. A few pretty words is not enough to erase a millennium of memories. 

You turn your heel and walk out of his throne room. Morpheus lets you. 

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#morpheus x reader #the sandman x reader #dream the endless x reader #dream x reader #sandman x reader #dream of the endless #the sandman #morpheus imagine #the sandman imagine #dream of the endless imagine