you don't even have to turn to know who it is. the weight of his presence is unmistakable. gajeel sits there with his arms crosses, expression already irritated, like just existing in the same space as you is an inconvenience. you can’t help to notice the way the air seems to shift. you tell yourself it’s annoyance, but your pulse betrays you for a second.

mira brightens. “perfect timing! gajeel—”

“no.” he cuts her off immediately. “whatever you're about to say, the answer's no.”

you raise a brow. “relax. nobody asked you for anything.

he gives you an unimpressed look. “good. keep it that way.”

you open your mouth to fire something back, but that's when makarov appears—tiny and somehow always in the right place at the right time.

“it's settled.” he says, snatching the request slip from your hand. “you two will take this mission together!”

you and gajeel speak at the same time. “what!?” “hell no!”

he ignores the both of you, stamping the paper.

gajeel stands up, jaw tight. “i'm not babysittin' a rookie!”

“rookie!? i don't need a babysitter, weirdo!”

he turns to glare at you. “then stop pickin' missions above your pay grade.”

“who do you think you are!?”

makarov clears his throat. “you leave at dawn.”

gajeel growls under his breath, something low and annoyed, and stalks off toward the back of the guild. you watch him go, pulse ticking faster than you want to admit.

gajeel...

you've seen him around enough to know the basics. he's loud when he wants to be and built like he could punch through a wall just because it annoyed him. he's always scowling, acting like everyone else is wasting his time. he’s the kind who doesn't bother pretending to be friendly.

you're not intimidated. just observing.

he's tall, broad, all sharp lines and metal. his piercings catch the light when he moves. his hair is a mess in a way that looks intentional. his shoulders are tense, like he's one second away from snapping at someone else.

he's a walking headache. and now you're stuck with him. but at least he's strong, there's no denying that.

it's not like you need him there though.

meanwhile, gajeel doesn't look back. he doesn't need to. he can feel your stare burning into him. rookies got a mouth on her. great. just what he needed.

he shoves his hands into his pockets, jaw ticking at he moves through the guild.

he hates that kind of attitude. or at least, that's what he tells himself.

he grumbles under his breath, something about “brats” and “stupid missions” and “master losing his damn mind.”

⋆ ˚｡⋆ ꩜˚

dawn creeps over magnolia in a pale wash of blue, the kind of early morning light that makes everything look colder than it is. the guild doors groan when you push them open, and for once, the place is quiet. no shouting, no explosions, no brawls. just the faint smell of last night’s spilled drinks and the low hum of a building that never really sleeps.

you’re already there, leaning against the wall with your bag slung over one shoulder. you’ve been up for a while. not because you’re excited, but because you refuse to be the one he waits on. you’d rather die.

the air is crisp, biting at your cheeks. you shift your weight, tapping your fingers against your arm, trying not to think about how long this mission is going to take. probably days. days. multiple days. with him.

you hear him before you see him.

heavy, deliberate footsteps. slow, like he’s daring the floor to complain. like he’s annoyed the sun had the audacity to rise.

gajeel steps into view, and he looks exactly the same as yesterday. irritated and unimpressed, like the world personally inconvenienced him. his hair is a mess, his piercings catch the faint light, and his expression says he’d rather be anywhere else.

he doesn’t look at you. not even a glance. he just adjusts the strap of his pack and walks past you like you’re a lamppost.

you push off the wall.

“nice of you to show up.” you say, voice flat.

“the old man said dawn. this is dawn.”

“barely.”

“don't care.”

you fall into step beside him, matching his step without trying. he notices—you can tell by the slight twice in his jaw—but he doesn't comment. he just keeps walking, long strides, shoulders still tense, like he's trying to outrun the fact that he's stuck with you.

the road out of magnolia is quiet. the silence between you isn't peaceful, but thick and sharp. like the air itself is waiting for one of you to snap.

you catch yourself glancing at him from the corner of your eye, and when he finally looks back, you look away, he walks like he’s expecting a fight. like he’d be disappointed if he didn’t get one. his expression is permanently set to annoyed and you’re starting to think that’s not an act—that’s just his face.

he doesn't look at you after that. not even once. ignoring you is easier than acknowledging you exist.

fine.

you adjust your bag, loud enough for him to hear. he doesn't react. so, you kick a rock down the path... nothing. you clear your throat. aaand nothing.

“are you always this fun to travel with?” you mutter.

he snorts. “you ain't travelin' with me. you're just walkin' in the same direction.”

you roll your eyes. “wooow, charming.”

“not tryin' to be.”

“you'd fail anyway.”

that gets him—not much, but enough. his head tilts slightly, like he’s deciding whether you’re worth snapping at. he chooses not to. or maybe he chooses to save it for later.

either way, the silence after is heavier.

the forest path stretches ahead, long and winding. you’ve got hours before you reach the first campsite. hours of this. hours of him.

the sun climbs higher, burning off the morning chill. the forest thickens around you, branches arching overhead, the air is warm and humid. bugs buzz. leaves crunch. and gajeel’s footsteps are somehow louder than all of it.

he doesn’t slow down. not once. he continues to walk like he’s trying to prove something. maybe that he doesn’t care if you keep up.

you keep up anyway. you're not giving him the satisfaction.

after a while, you say, “you always walk this fast, or are you trying to ditch me?”

“if i wanted to ditch you, you wouldn't be here.” he says without looking back.

“wow. threatening.”

“wasn't a threat.”

“sounded like one.”

he grunts and keeps walking.

you just smirk to yourself. annoying him is easy.

and by the time the sun starts dipping, you’ve reached a clearing. it’s not ideal, but it’s flat enough, quiet enough, and far enough from the main path to avoid trouble.

you drop your pack. “this'll do.”

gajeel grunts something noncommittal and starts setting up his tent. he doesn’t offer to help with yours. you don’t bother asking. you struggle with one of the poles for a second, and you swear you hear him scoff under his breath.

you glare at him. “got something to say?”

he doesn’t look up. “nope.”

“then stop making those noises.”

“then stop bein' a brat.”

you bite back a retort, mostly because you can’t think of one fast enough. he smirks. barely, but enough to piss you off.

the fire crackles between you as night settles in. you sit on opposite sides, not talking, not looking at each other, but somehow still aware of every shift, every breath, every flicker of movement.

he’s a wall of muscle and metal in the firelight. you’re a spark waiting to catch.

and this is barely day one.

⋆ ˚｡⋆ ꩜˚

it's officially day one, and morning comes with a thin layer of cold clinging to the air, the kind that seeps into your clothes and makes every movement feel stiff. you crawl out of your tent, blinking against the pale light filtering through the trees. your back aches from the ground, your hair is a mess, and you’re already annoyed. mostly because you can hear him.

gajeel’s been up for a while. you can tell by the way the campsite looks. the fire is gone, his tent already packed, the faint metallic clink of his gear shifting as he moves. he’s staring into the woods like he’s waiting for something to jump out so he can punch it.

he doesn’t look at you when you step out. he doesn’t say good morning. he doesn’t even grunt.

you stretch your arms over your head. “did you sleep at all, or did you just sit there and brood until sunrise?”

“didn’t realize you were takin’ notes.” he says without turning.

“i’m not. just trying to figure out if you’re always this pleasant.”

“i ain’t pleasant.” he says, standing and brushing dirt off his hands. “and i ain’t tryin’ to be.”

“trust me, i noticed.”

he shoots you a sideways look—brief and unimpressed—then turns away again.

you pack your things, ignoring the way he keeps glancing over like he’s waiting for you to mess something up. you don’t. you refuse to give him the satisfaction.

when you’re ready, he jerks his chin toward the path. “we’re movin’.”

“i can see that.”

“then move.”

you bite back a retort and follow.

the deeper you go, the more the forest feels wrong.

yesterday’s path was open, sunlit, almost peaceful. today, the trees crowd closer, branches twisting overhead like they’re trying to choke out the sky. the air feels thicker, heavier, like it’s pressing against your skin. it's odd how the forest seemed to change completely…

you feel it before you say anything—the wrongness. the sense of someone's magic power.

“you feel that?” you ask quietly.

“yeah.” he says, voice low. “been feelin’ it since we woke up.”

you blink. you didn’t expect him to admit that.

“what is it?”

“somethin’ off,” he mutters. “somethin’ watchin’.”

you swallow, but you don’t let him see the way your shoulders tense. “great… love that.”

“rookie like you should be scared.” he smirked.

“i’m not scared!”

“you should be.”

you glare at him. “you’re really bad at pep talks.”

“i ain’t givin’ one.”

you’re about to snap back when something catches your eye—a scorch mark burned into the ground in a perfect circle, the dirt blackened, the grass dead, the air still faintly warm. you crouch beside it, running your fingers along the charred edge.

“this wasn’t in the mission report...”

“reports are written by idiots.” gajeel mutters, stepping past you to inspect the perimeter. “this ain’t natural.”

“you think it’s magic?”

“i know it is.”

you look up at him. “from what?”

he straightens, eyes narrowing as he scans the trees. “something—someone. gotta be.”

you blink. “you’re sure?”

“yeah. monsters don’t make patterns like this. people do.”

you stand, brushing dirt off your hands. “so, someone’s doing this on purpose.”

“looks like.”

you exhale slowly. “great.”

he snorts. “still think you can handle it?”

“still think you can tell me what i can handle?”

he steps closer, towering over you. “yeah. i do.”

you don’t back down. “then you’re wrong.”

the air between you crackles—hot and irritated and... too close. he scoffs turning away and muttering something under his breath that you are sure is an insult. you follow anyway.

you don’t get far before the first creature hits.

you only see a blur of moment, and the thing suddenly bursts from the bushes—wolf‑like but bigger and twisted. its eyes glow, its teeth are too long, its body warped by something unnatural. you barely have time to react before it lunges. you dodge left, rolling across the dirt, summoning a sword. gajeel is already moving, metal coating his arm as he slams into the creature with a snarl.

“stay back!” he barks.

“not a chance!”

you dart in, striking at its flank. it screeches, whipping around toward you. gajeel grabs it by the scruff, yanking it back and slamming it into the ground. “i said stay back!”

“i said no!”

the creature thrashes, claws slicing the air. you duck under one swipe and drive your blade into its side. it howls, convulses, and collapses... then just disappears into thin air. the silence returns, heavy and ringing. you’re breathing hard. he’s breathing harder.

you wipe your blade on the grass. “so that’s what we’re dealing with.”

“that was a small one.” he says, voice flat.

you blink. “small?!”

“yeah.”

great...

you barely have time to catch your breath before the next wave hits. this time it’s two—maybe three—shadows darting between the trees, circling, testing. you tighten your grip on your weapon.

they strike at once. coordinated, fast, smarter than they should be. one lunges at you, another at him, a third flanking from the side. you block the first, duck the second, and kick the third away. gajeel slams another into a tree, metal spikes erupting from his arm. you slice through another’s leg, sending it crashing to the ground.

you pant, wiping sweat from your forehead. “they’re being directed.”

“yeah,” he growls. “guys nearby.”

“how close?”

“close enough to piss me off.”

“...everything pisses you off.”

“you’re not wrong.”

you keep moving deeper into the forest, following the trail of scorch marks and twisted tracks. the air gets heavier, the trees darker, the silence thicker. you don’t talk much. the forest feels like it’s listening.

when you finally stop for the night, the clearing feels too open and exposed. you drop your bag with a groan, muscles aching from the fights. gajeel sets his things down with a grunt, already irritated by the campsite, the mission, the forest, you... everything.

you set up your tent. he sets up his. the fire crackles between you, casting sharp shadows across his face. it pops, sending a thin spray of sparks into the air.

the clearing feels too quiet, like the trees are holding their breath. you sit cross legged near the flames, pulling out your rations, trying to ignore the way gajeel keeps glancing around like he’s waiting for something to jump out again.

you tear open a packet of dried meat. “so...” you say, chewing slowly, “what’s your brilliant theory on this person? besides ‘they piss me off.’”

he snorts. “that’s still my theory.”

“how smart!” you say sarcastically.

“shut up.”

you smirk and toss another piece of food into your mouth. “seriously. what do you think they’re doing out here? controlling the creatures? experimenting? trying to summon something?”

“don’t care.” he mutters, leaning back on his hands. “whatever they’re doin,’ i’m gonna break their face.”

“of course you are...”

“thanks.”

“that wasn’t a compliment.”

“i know, idiot.”

you roll your eyes and dig through your bag for something else to eat. “i swear, if tomorrow is worse than today, i’m turning around and—”

crunch.

you freeze.

slowly, you turn your head.

gajeel is chewing. more like munching.

your blade is gone.

you stare at him. “did you just—”

he crunches again. loudly. obnoxiously. like he’s doing it on purpose.

“—eat my sword!?”

he shrugs, still chewing. “tastes weird.”

“it’s metal!”

“yeah. weird metal.”

you gape at him. “...you can't be serious.”

he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, completely unbothered. “shouldn’t leave snacks lyin’ around.”

“that wasn’t a snack!”

“looked like one.”

you glare at him across the fire. he glares back, but there’s something almost smug in the way he leans back, arms crossed, like he’s proud of himself for annoying you.

you grab a stick and jab at the fire, muttering curses under your breath. he watches you for a moment, then says, “you got more of those?”

“no! not for you!” you snap.

“whatever. it tasted like crap.”

you whip your head toward him. “don't eat my weapons!”

“stop makin’ ‘em look like food.”

“they don’t look like food!”

“they do to me.”

you groan, dragging your hands down your face. “i hate this mission.”

“same.”

“i hate you too.”

“good.”

you glare at him again, but this time there’s a tiny, unwilling twitch at the corner of your mouth. not a smile, but the ghost of one, the kind that slips out when someone is so stupid you can’t even stay mad properly.

he sees it and his eyebrow lifts. “somethin’ funny?”

“no.”

“sure.”

“shut up.”

he smirks enough to make your pulse tick faster in irritation.

the fire crackles again between you, the forest humming with distant sounds. that person is out there somewhere, twisting creatures, warping the woods, watching...

and right now, it’s just you, him, the fire, and the lingering taste of steel on his tongue.

you sit there for a while, poking at the dirt with a stick, trying to pretend you’re not listening to every shift of the forest. gajeel sits across from you, arms crossed, eyes half‑lidded but alert in that way that says he’s not actually resting—he’s waiting.

the silence stretches, tight and restless.

finally you mutter, “i’m going to sleep before something else tries to eat us.”

“alright.” he says, like he’s been waiting for you to shut up.

you stand and head for your tent. you unzip it halfway before glancing back at him. he hasn’t moved. he’s still staring into the trees like he’s daring something to come out.

you duck inside.

the tent is small, cold, and smells faintly like pine. you settle onto your bedroll, pulling your blanket over your shoulders. you close your eyes.

you last maybe two minutes.

because something moves outside. something light, quick and deliberate.

your eyes snap open.

you sit up, listening hard.

another sound... a soft scrape, like claws dragging across bark.

you summon another sword since that idiot ate your other one.

and before you can unzip the tent, the flap jerks open from the outside.

you nearly stab him.

gajeel blocks your hand with one palm, unimpressed. “relax.”

“don’t just—” you lower your voice, “—barge into my tent!”

“somethin’s movin’ out there.”

“i heard!”

“yeah, well, you weren’t doin’ anything about it.”

“i was listening!”

“you breathe too loud to listen.”

you glare. “i do not—”

he steps inside.

just enough to crouch in the entrance, but he’s big, and the tent is small, and suddenly he’s right there. his shoulders brush the fabric. his knee bumps yours. his face is inches from yours, you can see the glint of his piercings, the way his eyes narrow when he’s focused.

you freeze.

you're caught off guard by how close he is, how warm he feels in the cold tent, how his breath ghosts across your cheek when he speaks.

“somethin’s circlin’,” he says, voice low. “small. fast. not attackin’. just watchin’.”

you swallow, pulse ticking faster. “the person?”

“maybe.”

he’s still too close.

way too close.

you shove him to get space. “back up!”

he blinks, thrown off for half a second. “the hell was that for?”

“you’re— you were—” you gesture vaguely at the air between you, flustered in a way you hate. “too close.”

he stares at you like you’re the weird one. “i was tellin’ you somethin’.”

“you can tell me from outside.”

“i ain’t turnin’ my back to the dark while you’re in here half asleep.”

you open your mouth, then close it. because that’s… annoyingly practical. not sweet or protective. just him refusing to be ambushed while you’re unaware.

he huffs. “whatever. just stay alert.”

“i am alert.”

“you weren’t.”

“i was!”

“you weren’t.”

you shove him again. “ugh, get out.”

he rolls his eyes and backs out of the tent, muttering something. maybe another spew of insults.

you zip the tent shut, cheeks still warm, heart still beating too fast for your liking.

you lie down again, thin blanket pulled up to your chin. you don't sleep easily, but eventually the exhaustion wins.

⋆ ˚｡⋆ ꩜˚

morning drags itself into existence like it's struggling. the light is thin, barely pushing through the canopy. the forest feels heavier today, like it remembers you from yesterday and is waiting to see what you’ll do next.

you crawl out of your tent with a yawn that turns into a groan. your back aches, and the cold bites at your ankles. you’re already annoyed, which is impressive considering you haven’t even seen him yet.

you don’t have to wait long.

gajeel is standing a few paces away, arms folded, weight settled into one hip like he’s been carved into the scenery. he’s not looking at you, but the slight tilt of his head tells you he noticed your presence the second you moved.

of course he's up early.

and he doesn't bother to turn. “finally. forest ain't gonna wait for you to finish your beauty sleep.”

“good thing i don't need it.”

“could've fooled me.”

you just scoff, packing your tent with more force than necessary. he watches you out of the corner of his eye, trying to figure out what kind of problem you’re going to be today.

when you’re done, he jerks his chin toward the trees.

you fall into step beside him, matching his pace without trying. the forest swallows the two of you quickly, branches knitting overhead until the light dims to a muted green haze. the air feels thicker today, humming with leftover magic that prickles against your skin.

and the the deeper you go, the more the world shifts. scorch marks bloom across the ground in spiraling patterns, some still warm when you brush your fingers over them. trees lean at unnatural angles, bark split open like something clawed its way out rather than in. whoever this person is.. they’re manipulating the forest.

you crouch beside one of the marks. “this one’s fresh.”

gajeel steps beside you, his shadow falling over your hands. “too fresh.”

you glance up at him. he’s scanning the trees, jaw tight, eyes narrowed. the shift is subtle, but it changes the air around him.

“just stay close.” he grumbles.

you open your mouth, but the words never make it out. the forest answers first. a low, guttural snarl rolls through the trees, deeper than anything you heard yesterday. the ground vibrates under your boots. gajeel's head snaps toward the sound.

you barely get a breath in before something explodes out of the bushes.

it's similar to the one you saw yesterday, but so much more deranged. it's tall, it's spine jagged, its mouth is split too wide, with teeth way too big to fit inside its mouth, teeth glinting a neon red.

gajeel immediately steps in front of you as the creature lunges. he tells himself it’s just instinct, this is his job, but somehow your presence pushes him to fight harder.

gajeel meets it head on, sputtering out many of his attacks, but it barely flinches.

your attention shifts to the shadows darting between the trees. smaller, but fast and coordinated, circling like they're waiting for an opening.

“behind you!” you shout.

he whirls, catching one by the throat and hurling it into a tree so hard the trunk splinters. you slash at the second, blade scraping across its skin. it screeches, recoiling, then darts back with a new fury.

the big one charges again, barreling straight for you. you brace, sword raised. but something slams into your side from behind.

claws hook into your skin, teeth snapping inches from your ear. you're yanked off your feet so violently the world blurs. you hit the ground, dragged across the dirt, branches whipping your arms and legs as the creature hauls you deeper into the forest

you groan, kicking wildly. you hear gajeel roar your name, but the sound is swallowed by distance.

you summon another weapon, one of your biggest, and drive it up into its throat. it convulses, collapsing in a heap. you yank it free, panting, adrenaline burning through your veins.

your arm throbs, deep hot pain. you glance down. your clothes are ripped, there's blood dripping down your arm, and your back aches from being dragged.

great.

you turn around, trying to make sense of your surroundings. the trees look twisted, like they're guarding something. the air is heavy, and there's a heavier magic that lingers in the area. that's when you see it.

a dark opening between two massive boulders, half hidden by vines. a cave? or something pretending to be one.

“what the hell...” you cough, getting up to step closer.

could this be the source of everything going on in this weird forest? it feels like it's thrumming lightly, as if it has a heartbeat...

a twig snaps behind you, and you quickly whirl around.

gajeel bursts through the trees, eyes blazing. he looks wild, but you're sure you look even worse.

when he sees you standing there, alive, his expression doesn't soften. it sharpens.

“the hell is wrong with you!? i told you to stay close!” he snaps, stomping towards you.

you shove him in the chest. “you think i wanted to get dragged off!?”

“you should've been payin' attention!”

“i was!”

he steps closer, towering over you, eyes dark. “you almost got yourself killed!”

“i handled it!”

“you're bleeding.” he scoffs.

“it's nothing—”

he grabs your wrists, lifting your arm to inspect the wound. you yank it back.

“don't touch me! if you paid attention, this wouldn't have happened!”

you're breathing hard. he's breathing harder. the air between you crackles— anger, adrenaline, something hotter under both.

you break eye contact first, turning toward the cave. “whatever. i found something.”

gajeel's eyes roam across your back. your ripped up clothes, your skin flaring up.... you were clearly in pain. not to mention your bleeding arm.

then he follows your gaze. “we ain't goin' in.”

“what? but—”

“don't be an idiot. we're goin' back to camp. patchin' you up. then we deal with whatever this is tomorrow—”

“no way! let's just storm the place right now!”

“don't be a damn brat, you're hurt—”

“i can handle it!”

he scoffs, grabbing onto your uninjured arm, and dragging you back toward camp.

“not with that attitude.”

“what does that have to do with anything!?”

he scoffs again—harsher this time—turning back to look at you. “y'think you're tough shit? you're not fuckin' immortal. we're going back, whether you like it or not!” he spits.

that shuts you up. and something about that makes him smirk.

the walk back is tense, silent and charged. every time your arm throbs, you curse under your breath, and every time you stumble, he makes sure you don't fall over.

when you finally reach camp, he drops down with a thud.

“sit.”

your pulse jumps at his tone. you hate that it does, but you reluctantly sit.

he grabs one of the aid-kits he brought along. he kneels in front of you, pulling out bandages. you try to pull your arm back, but he catches it, steady and firm.

“hold still.”

“i don't like this. i can do it my self—”

“don't care. i said hold still!”

he cleans the wound with a surprising gentleness. his fingers are warm against your skin, calloused but careful. you look away, hyperaware of how close he is.

“don't be dramatic.”

you just scoff.

when he wraps the bandage around your arm, his knuckles brush against your skin. you inhale sharply. his eyes flick up for a second, enough to make your stomach twist.

he ties the bandage off, sits back on his heels, and says, “there. try not to get dragged off again.”

you just tsk, looking away.

he stands abruptly. “now, get some sleep.” he gruffs.

you're now in your tent, lying back, heart pounding, irritation pooling in your chest.

tomorrow is going to be worse.

⋆ ˚｡⋆ ꩜˚

morning arrives reluctantly, dragging a dull light across the forest as if the sun is exhausted from dealing with the two of you. you shove your way out of the tent with a groan, your back aching, arm throbbing ligthly beneath the bandage he wrapped yesterday.

gajeel is already awake, as always, crouched near the dead fire. he glances up the moment you step out, eyes flicking to your arm before he looks away again.

“you good?” he asks, words tasting unfamiliar in his mouth.

you roll your eyes. “i'm fine.”

he just snorts, not bothering to hide the disbelief.

“right. now we're headin' back to that cave. and you're stayin' closer this time.”

“ugh, don't start with that again!”

the walk back to the cave is suffocatingly quiet. the scorch marks from yesterday are still there, some are fresh, and the air continues to hum with magic.

when you reach the entrance, the ground vibrates faintly beneath your boots.

“stay behind me. for real this time.” he says.

you grumble, trying to walk ahead, but he grabs your wrist, firmly enough to stop you.

“i ain't arguin' with you about this.”

“stop trying to boss me around.”

“you're a damn brat.”

you're about to talk back, but a whisper erupts from the cave. something that sounds like “leave.”

you swallow hard. “that's creepy.”

“no kiddin'.” he mutters, stepping forward. you follow.

the cave is even colder than the forest, the air thicker with magic. the walls pulse faintly, veins of glowing red energy running through the stone like blood vessels. every step echoes too loudly, as if the cave is listening.

you walk deeper, the light dimming until the only illumination comes from the glowing veins in the walls. The air grows heavier, pressing against your chest. You hear something skittering across the ceiling, but when you look up, nothing is there.

you grip your weapon tighter. “I hate this.”

“good.” he mutters. “means you ain’t bein’ stupid for once.”

you elbow him. “shut up.”

he elbows you back—lightly, but enough to make your breath hitch. “make me.”

you’re about to snap something back when a figure appears at the end of the tunnel.

a silhouette, tall, still and... watching eerily.

“what the hell is that?”

“dunno. stay behind me.”

the figure flickers—like a candle flame in the wind—and disappears.

you blink. “what the—”

another whisper. “turn back.”

gajeel grabs your arm. “we ain’t turnin’ back.”

you walk deeper.

the figure appears again—closer this time. a man, hooded, face obscured, hands glowing with the same red energy that pulses through the cave walls. he stares at you both.

you raise your weapon. “who are you?”

he doesn’t answer.

gajeel steps forward. “you the one controllin’ the creatures?”

still no answer.

the man lifts his hand.... and vanishes.

you curse under your breath. “i hate when they do that.”

“stay sharp,” gajeel mutters. “he’s playin’ games.”

you move deeper into the cave, the air growing colder with every step. the walls pulse faster now, the veins glowing brighter. you hear footsteps behind you, but when you turn, nothing is there. you hear breathing that isn’t yours. you feel eyes on your back.

you whisper, “this place is messing with us.”

“it ain’t the place,” gajeel says. “it’s him.”

you reach a chamber at the end of the tunnel—a wide, circular room with a glowing sigil carved into the floor. the hooded man stands at the center, hands raised, magic swirling around him like a storm.

he turns slowly, finally revealing his face—pale, sunken eyes, a twisted grin.

“you should not have come.”

gajeel cracks his knuckles. “too late.”

the man unleashes a blast of magic that shakes the entire cave. you dodge, rolling across the floor as the sigil flares to life. gajeel charges, slamming into the man with enough force to crack the stone beneath them.

you join the fight, striking at the man’s defenses, dodging blasts of corrupted magic that scorch the air. the chamber trembles, rocks falling from the ceiling. the sigil pulses faster, brighter, threatening to explode.

you shout, “he’s drawing power from the cave!”

“yeah, i figured!” gajeel roars, punching through a barrier of red energy.

you slash at the sigil, disrupting the flow of magic. the man screams, staggering. gajeel seizes the opening, slamming his fist into the man’s chest with enough force to send him crashing into the wall.

the sigil flickers, then dies.

the cave goes silent.

the man collapses, unconscious.

geez, that was easier than you thought! those weird wolves were harder to deal with than this guy.

you pant, wiping sweat from your forehead. “is he dead?”

“no,” gajeel mutters, grabbing the man by the collar. “but he’s done.”

you drag him outside. the moment you step into the forest, the air shifts. the heaviness lifts. the trees straighten. the scorch marks fade. the forest exhales, returning to normal.

you sigh. “finally.”

gajeel drops the man onto the ground. “mission’s done.”

you nod, exhausted. “good.”

he looks at you—really looks at you— and his expression shifts. “you okay?”

you bristle. “i’m fine. i handled it.”

“you didn’t handle shit.”

you glare. “you’re impossible.”

“you’re a pain in my ass.”

you shove him. “i hate you.”

he grabs your wrist, pulling you closer. “good. hate me all you want. still saved your ass.”

you rip your arm free. “i didn’t need saving!”

he scoffs. “keep tellin’ yourself that.”

you storm back to camp, furious. he follows, muttering curses under his breath.

when you reach camp, you stop dead.

your tent is shredded. torn apart. claw marks everywhere. fabric hanging like ribbons. the inside is destroyed—bedroll ripped, belongings scattered, everything ruined.

you stare, disbelief turning into fury. “you’ve got to be kidding me.”

gajeel exhales slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. “when did that happen?”

“i don't know!” you snap, rounding on him. “my tent is destroyed!”

“yeah. i can see that.”

“what am i supposed to do now?”

he shrugs, though his jaw tightens. “you’re sleepin’ in mine.”

you whirl on him. “no i’m not.”

“yes, you are.”

“no.”

“yes.”

“no!”

he steps closer, towering over you, voice dropping into something that vibrates through your bones. “unless you wanna sleep out here with whatever tore that up, you’re comin’ in my tent.”

“i hate this mission.” you whine.

he doesn’t flinch. he just stands there, broad and immovable, waiting for you to accept the reality you’re both stuck with.

you huff, crossing your arms. “fine. whatever. but if you snore, i’m leaving.”

“you ain’t leavin’,” he mutters, already turning toward his tent. “you’d get eaten in five minutes.”

“i would not.”

“sure.”

you glare at him, but the look he gives you back is even sharper—a silent warning that he’s done arguing about where you’re sleeping. you stomp into the tent first, and the moment you duck inside, you realize just how much of a mistake this is.

the tent is tiny. embarrassingly tiny. it barely fits him—and now you’re supposed to share it.

you drop onto the bedroll with a dramatic huff, determined to claim as much space as possible. “this is ridiculous,” you mutter.

gajeel ducks in after you, and the entire tent seems to shrink around him. he has to hunch to avoid brushing the ceiling, and when he settles down beside you, the bedroll dips so much you slide toward him.

you shove yourself back into place. “stop taking up all the room!”

“i ain’t takin’ up anything,” he mutters, stretching out. “you’re the one sprawlin’ out like a damn cat.”

“maybe if you didn’t have shoulders the size of a barn door—”

“maybe if you didn’t have an attitude the size of magnolia—”

you whip around to glare at him. “my attitude is perfectly reasonable considering i’m stuck in a tent with a metal chewing troll.”

he raises a brow. “troll? really?”

“yes, really. you stomp around, you grunt, you eat things you’re not supposed to—”

“i ate one sword.”

“you ate my sword!”

“shouldn’t have left it lyin’ around.”

you shove his shoulder. “you’re insufferable.”

he shoves you back—not enough to hurt, but enough to make your breath catch. “and you’re loud.”

“you’re rude.”

“you’re dramatic.”

“you’re ugly.”

that one lands.

his eyes narrow, slow and dangerous. “say that again.”

you lift your chin. “ugly. hideous. unpleasant to look at. pick one.”

he leans in, voice dropping. “you’re real brave in a tiny tent.”

“i’m brave everywhere.”

“no,” he says, inching closer, “you’re mouthy everywhere.”

you scoff. “oh, please. you wish you could handle my mouth.” and the second the words leave your lips, you realize how they sound.

his expression changes—not softening, not amused, but sharpening, like a blade catching light. “that so?”

“i didn’t mean it like that!” you snap, heat rushing to your face.

“sure you didn’t.”

“i didn’t!”

“you’re a terrible liar.”

you shove him again, harder this time. “you’re a terrible person.”

he catches your wrist mid‑shove, fingers wrapping around it with a grip that’s firm and unyielding. “keep talkin’.”

“i will.”

“keep insultin’ me.”

“gladly.”

he pulls you closer without even trying, your knees bumping his, your breath tangling with his in the warm, cramped air. “you’re real confident for someone who almost got dragged off and eaten today.”

“i handled it.” you repeat.

“again, you didn’t handle shit.”

“i handled it better than you!”

“you nearly died.”

“you nearly annoyed me to death.”

he grabs your other wrist before you can shove him again, pinning both against the bedroll. your breath stutters, your pulse jumping violently. he leans over you, not touching anything but your wrists, but somehow it feels like he’s everywhere.

“you’re a brat,” he says quietly, voice low and rough. “a loud, reckless, stubborn brat.”

you glare up at him, refusing to look away. “and you’re a controlling, arrogant, metal‑headed jerk.”

“good,” he murmurs, leaning closer, “now we’re gettin’ somewhere.”

“let go of me.”

“no.”

“gajeel—”

“you wanted to run your mouth,” he says, eyes locked on yours, “so go on. finish what you were sayin’.”

your heart slams against your ribs. “i said you’re a jerk.”

“and i say you’re a brat.”

“say it again.”

he does—slower, deeper, like he’s testing how far he can push you. “brat.”

heat shoots through you so fast you almost forget how to breathe.

he watches the reaction, eyes darkening further. “yeah,” he says softly, “that’s what i thought.”

you swallow hard, your voice barely steady. “you’re full of yourself.”

“nah,” he says, leaning in until his forehead nearly touches yours, “i just know when someone’s beggin’ for attention.”

“i’m not—”

“you are.”

you twist under him, trying to pull your wrists free, but he pins them harder, his breath brushing your cheek, his voice dropping into something that vibrates through your bones.

“and you’ve been beggin’ for someone to shut you up since the second we left magnolia.”

your breath catches, but you refuse to let him see it. “you’re delusional.”

“am i?” he murmurs, leaning in until his forehead brushes yours, his grip tightening around your wrists. “cause every time you open that mouth, you prove me right.”

“you’re full of yourself,” you snap, twisting under him again. “you think i want your attention?”

“i know you do.”

“i don’t.”

“you do.”

“i don’t—”

he cuts you off by shifting his weight on you, pinning your wrists above your head with one hand, his body lowering just enough that you actually feel the heat of him everywhere at once. the tent shrinks around you, the air thickening, your pulse hammering so loud you’re sure he can hear it.

“keep lyin’ to me,” he says quietly, “and i’m gonna show you exactly what i mean.”

you glare up at him, defiant to the last second. “try it.”

he doesn’t hesitate.

his free hand slides to your jaw, fingers firm, tilting your face up toward his—not rough or gentle, just claiming space you didn’t give him permission to take.

“let’s see how much attitude you’ve got left.”

then he kisses you, like all this time he was waiting for an opportunity to really shut you up. you whine, tongues roughly lapping against each other. it felt less like a kiss and more like another round of an argument. his hand slides down to your neck, squeezing, more so testing.

your cheeks and body are hot as his weight presses on top of you. your hips unintentionally buck up. he grunts in response, grinding into you. his grip tightens just enough to remind you he’s in control, but the heat between you is undeniable. the cramped tent feels even smaller as your bodies press together, breaths mingling in the charged air.

“you sure you hate me? you’re so responsive,” he chuckles into the kiss, a slight mocking tone in his voice.

you pull away, but there’s really about an inch between your faces. “i do! you’re insane…”

his hand slides down again, just to smack your ass, pulling a moan from your lips. he grins when he hears you, “‘course you’re into that shit.”

“what is that supposed to m— eahn!”

another smack.

“exactly what I said.” he grins, hand now cupping your clothed pussy. he can feel the wetness seeping through your thin pants.

you whine, pawing at his shirt, arching into his touch.

“don’t be an asshole!”

“well y’r already melting into an ‘assholes’ touch.”

your scoff quickly turns into a moan when he teases you through your pants.

“how long have you been wet? slut.”

“hah— i’m not—”

“not what?” he mocks.

“shut up!”

he slaps your pussy this time.

“answer the question.”

“ahn! i-i haven’t—”

another slap.

“c’mon, you’re soaking wet. jus tell me and I’ll give ya what you want.”

“i don’t want anything— you’re crazy…”

“oh really?” he teases taking his hand off your pussy, making you whine pathetically.

“hah— okay okay! been wet this whole time— i… i wan’ it.”

you’re a brat, but a cute brat. he can’t deny you with that cute lil pout you have on your face. it’s like you were already fucked out just from his teasing. his hand returns to your pussy, rubbing you through the fabric.

“yeah? tell me more.”

“more!? you’re so annoying!”

he just grins, hand easily sliding under your pants to find your poor throbbing pussy. he teases your sopping hole, fingers not quite inside yet.

“gajeel…”

“tell me how much ya want this or else I’ll stop.”

your face instantly turns sour. how did we even get here!? he’s annoying… an arrogant, insufferable weirdo. so…

why are you so turned on right now!?

you glare at him, torn between wanting to shove him away and just give in. but your pussy speaks for you, clenching around nothing while his fingers are practically a millimeter away.

“ugh… please.”

“you can do better than that, brat. what happened to ‘I want it?’” he mocks again, that annoying grin plastered on his face.

“i… I want it. please. want you—”

you can’t believe something like that just slipped out of your mouth—to gajeel of all people—but your thoughts are wiped away when his huge fingers slip inside of you. your hands grip onto his bicep, and you’re just now noticing how huge he is. something about that makes your heart stutter.

gajeel was also in shock. he couldn’t believe he was crammed into a tent with you, of all people. especially with his fingers shoved inside your tight cunt. something in his chest twisted when you mewled those words to him, like you needed him. you were cute when you listened, and that thought makes him snort.

he’s supposed to be annoyed. he didn’t even want to come on this shitty mission. but instead, he finds himself watching the way your lashes brush your cheeks when his fingers pump in and out of you.

maybe getting dragged into this mission wasn’t so bad after all.

“feel good, brat? talk t’me.” he coos, adding his thumb in the mix, rubbing your neglected clit.

“yesyes—gajeel! feels so good..”you whine, nails digging into his skin at the overwhelming pleasure.

“shit— clenching on me already. gonna cum?” he groans, fingers pumping faster. he leans down, kissing at your neck, trailing up to your ear.

“yeaah! haah— gonna cum!” you moan.

you’re literally moaning in his ear in this position, and it just makes the tent in his pants tighter. fuck, you sounded insane. “shittt…,” he groans when your pussy starts to gush on his fingers.

you’re both quiet for a moment, the air thick with everything unsaid. you come back from your orgasm, huffing. you suddenly turn on your side, pushing him away.

“..well, thanks, i guess.” you say, but you couldn’t even hide the blush on your cheeks or stop the thumping in your chest.

gajeel just stares at you like you were crazy.

“we’re not done brat. I needa cum too.” he tsks. he grips onto the hand that was attempting to push him away, manhandling you so you were face down ass up.

you barely have time to process his words before he yanks your hips back into place, the movement rough enough to steal your breath. his grip is firm, fingers digging into your waist like he’s keeping you in place.

“hey—!” you snap trying to shove yourself upright.

“you don’t get to act like you’re done just ‘cause you got what you wanted.” he cuts in, voice low and gravelly, the kind of tone that vibrates straight through your spine.

you scoff, heat rushing to your face. “i didn’t want anything from you.”

“sure,” he mutters, dragging you back down when you try to rise again. “that why you were screamin’ my name like the forest was on fire?”

your face burns hotter. “shut up.”

“nah.” he says, leaning over you, his chest brushing your back, his breath hot against your ear. “you don’t get to tell me to shut up after runnin’ that mouth all day. stop tryin’ to deny yourself when you were just enjoying yourself.”

goosebumps crawl over your skin at his voice. and the worst part is that he’s right. you were enjoying yourself. more than you want to admit, more than you’ve ever let yourself feel around someone who gets under your skin this badly.

you hate that you don’t hate it.

“don’t go quiet on me now,” he murmurs, his breath brushing the shell of your ear. “not after all that noise you were makin’.”

your face burns. “shut up.” you say again.

“there it is,” he says, amused. “there’s the brat i know.”

something about that makes your chest tighten in a way that hits low and sharp.

he’s being gentle. holding you like you’re something he’s trying not to break. his grip is firm, sure, but there’s a looseness to it now, a hesitation, a space he’s leaving on purpose. he’s giving you room to pull away.

your breath hitches, chest thumping… and you realize he’s not bad as you thought he was. you huff, softer this time, and you push back into just enough that your body fits against his in a way that leaves no room for misunderstanding.

his hands tighten instantly. “so that’s how it is?” he chuckles, voice dropping into something low and rough. “now we’re getting’ somewhere.”

“god… shut up. jus…fuck me already.”

he chokes. seriously, how can you go from being all cute and flustered to being a feisty brat again. you’re impossible…

“atta girl,” he grins, his hand smacking your ass. he shoves off your pants and panties with ease. he’s too impatient to rid himself of his own clothes, so he lowers his pants down enough so that his cock springs free, slapping against your ass and soaking pussy.

you mewl, looking back at him. you can’t see much in this position. but even then, you can feel how big he is.

gajeel thinks you’re doing this on purpose. you’re a fucking seductress, looking up at him like that. he guides his cock into you, groaning instantly at your tight cunt clenching around him.

“fuckk… so tight. yeaah..”

you moan at the delicious burning stretch, hands clenching onto the messed up bedroll beneath you. he lets you adjust for a moment before rutting into you.

you felt so full.

“ahhn! soo good—” you whine, back arching when he continues his pace.

“goddamn— hah—” he pants, hands groping your ass, humming when you arch further into him, “fuck... good girl.” he says, smacking your ass.

he’s pounding into you with a bruising grip on your ass. your pussy was tightening around his pussy so good— and your moans of pleasure were just riling him up even more.

“brat, squeezing my cock so tight— shit…”

“ahn— hah! gajeel…!”

“gonna let me cum in this pussy? fuck all my cum in ya—mmh…”

“hah— yes..! yes—”

your mind was numb, moaning in pleasure, eyes lidded, hands clawing at whatever you can grip on.

“gajeel! ‘m gonna cum—!”

“yeah?” he grins, giving your ass another smack, “shit, c’mon baby, cum with me.”

you don’t know why, but your heart stutters at the petname, and you’re gushing all over him again. he quickly follows, spurts of cum settling inside of you.

the tent is quiet besides the sounds of breathing and shifting. he looks at you and grins, that slow ‘too pleased with himself’ kinda grin. he reaches for you, and his touch is gentle, annoyingly so.

you squirm. “stop being weird.”

“weird?” he hums, wiping you off with a patience that does not match the man who you bickered with the whole mission. “i’m bein’ nice.”

“that’s the weird part.” you mutter, cheeks burning.

he snorts. “yeah, well… don’t get used to it.”

“i’m not,” you snap back, even though you haven’t pulled away from him. you could, but you don’t.

he notices. and his grin widens just a little.

“you’re real quiet again,” he says, voice low, teasing. “what happened to all that bark?”

“shut up,” you mumble, softer this time, nudging his hand away but not really meaning it.

“there she is,” he murmurs, amused. “my little brat.” he mockingly coos.

you glare at him over your shoulder, but half‑hearted. “don’t get any ideas. i’m not your anything.”

“sure,” he says, tossing the cloth aside and settling back like he’s already decided something.

you open your mouth to argue but the words don’t come out right. they stick in your throat, tangled with the heat still buzzing under your skin. you scoff instead, turning to position yourself comfortably in the tent.

he shifts beside you, and you feel the warmth of him at your back even though he’s not touching you, and it makes your shoulders tense automatically.

“move,” you mutter, scooting an inch away.

“i ain’t even touchin’ you,” he grumbles, adjusting his arm so it doesn’t brush yours. “tent’s just small.”

“then make yourself smaller.”

he snorts. “yeah, sure. i’ll just fold myself in half.”

“you’re taking up all the room!”

“you weren’t complaining a minute ago,” he tsks.

your face burns up, “shut it.”

you glare at the tent wall, cheeks burning, heart thudding too fast for someone who’s supposed to be annoyed. but neither of you move away.

⋆ ˚｡⋆ ꩜˚

the walk back to magnolia is quiet, but not awkward. it’s the kind of quiet where every time your shoulder brushes his, you pretend it didn’t happen, and every time he glances at you, you pretend you didn’t notice.

by the time the guild comes into view, you’ve already told yourself ten times that nothing is different.

you push the doors open first, stepping inside. the guild is loud, chaotic, exactly the same as always. and for once, you’re grateful.

you head toward the bar, but he’s right behind you, close enough that you can feel the heat of him at your back. you shoot him a look over your shoulder.

“can you not walk so close?”

“i ain’t even touchin’ you,” he mutters, grabbing a seat beside you anyway.

“you don’t have to sit next to me.”

“didn’t know you owned the stool.”

you roll your eyes, but it’s weaker than usual. “you’re annoying—”

“nah, I’m just tired,” he cuts in, stretching his arms behind his head. “’cause someone kept wigglin’ all night.”

your face heats instantly at the reminder of last night. “i was not—!”

“sure.”

you glare at him, but it’s half‑hearted and he knows it. he leans back, watching you with that same infuriating, expression he had in the tent.

you look away first.

mira passes by, humming to herself, glancing at the two of you. “oh! you’re back. how’d it go?” she asks, and you just nod and mutter something in response. she doesn’t question it,  and the rest of the guild is too busy arguing, drinking, or throwing chairs to care.

and somehow, that makes the air between you and gajeel feel even heavier.

you clear your throat. “don’t get any ideas. last night didn’t mean anything.”

“didn’t say it did.”

“good.”

“good.”