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joelsdagger · 1 month ago

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a love so fine || one shot

joel miller x f!reader

for my girl, @dinandwhiskey, happy belated birthday babe! ily so dearly. massive shout out to my beloveds, @phoeberidgers and @pedrospatch for being my eyes, my brain and my heart, without them, i am equivalent to the tin man (they also keep me sane) <33

pairing: jackson joel x f!reader summary: an evening in with your husband helps to quiet the brain noise. warnings: jackson era [around tlou part ii timeline], canon divergent [golfing doesn’t happen and everyone is happy and thriving bc i said so], implied age gap [no specific age for reader but joel is late 50’s], established relationship, HUSBAND joel, DOMESTIC JOEL, sickly-sweet fluff, reader can’t cook [i swear i can], pet names [baby, sweet baby, darlin’, (1) use of the word kiddo, an excessive amount of the use of the word “baby” bc i can’t seem to help myself], JOEL IN A THIGH HOLSTER, dirty talk, unprotected p in v sex, biiiiiiig breeding kink [ruh roh], joel says dagum bc he’s old, hint of a mama kink, praise kink, (1) (2) (3) uses of the word “daddy”, smidgen of begging + teasing, a bit of mocking, angst in the form of internal turmoil [duh it’s me what did you expect], feelings of inadequacy + guilt/shame, hurt/comfort, tinge of sex as a coping mechanism, soft emotional smut, finger sucking, oral [m!receiving], cock and ball worship [girl’s got a big oral fixation let her live], hand kink, blink and you miss subby!joel, switch reader, hint of dacryphilia, gentle–turned–semi–rough sex, soft dom!joel, mean!joel [but the sexy kind], prone bone, doggy style, hair pulling, light spanking, creampie, size kink [joel is huuuge and big and strong and at one point lifts reader onto a counter], & reader has hair long enough to grab. word count: 6.4k dividers by @saradika-graphics

masterlist || ao3 || follow @joelsdaggerupdates for notifs!!

gorgeous moodboard by @here-briefly

Cold air whimpers into the house as Joel steps through the front door when you’re pulling the semi-burnt meat pies out of the oven, the cold nip blanketed by the heat emanating from the cavity. You set them aside, and turn your attention to the pot of soup on the burner, your mom’s old family recipe, when you’re greeted by Joel’s figure materializing behind you. Broad palms splay across the expanse of your back, big, thick arms wrapping around your middle, shivering at the cold bite of his cheek against yours. You sink into his embrace, allowing him to feed off of your warmth.

“Was patrol okay?” you ask, unfocused as your eyes scan over the creased paper for what feels like the hundredth time in the last two hours.

His chin dips. Snow dusts from his head onto your shoulder. “Was fine. Couple of stragglers. Took care of them,” scruff of his face scratches at your neck as he nuzzles into your skin. “You’re home early.”

You hum, your free hand drifts to meet his.“Surprisingly slow day at the clinic. Closed up by six, the staff booked it to the bar afterward.” You tilt your head to rest against his, basking in the crisp scent of snow, pine, and gunpowder on him, one you’ve come to recognize as home.

“Y’didn’t wanna go with them?” he asks, thumb stroking over your stomach.

“Nah, the clinic kicked me on my ass today. Wanted to come home, make somethin’ nice for us,” you say, reaching over the stovetop, turning the rusted knob up a few notches, flame sizzling beneath the pot.

“Already got my something nice,” he purrs, dips his nose into your hair, reveling in the scent of your shampoo as he presses two kisses in quick succession to your temple, broad hands retreating and sneaking into your jean pockets over your ass, squeezing as he leans in to nip at your carotid.

You shrug him off in jest. “Alright, slow your roll, cowboy. You’re pulling my focus here.” His chest rumbles with a laugh against you.

“This one’s still giving you trouble, huh?” his lips pressed up against the shell of your ear as he peers over your shoulder.

You set the wooden spoon aside, opting to let the broth simmer, flavors marry that way. “I just don’t get how she did it. I’ve tried it about a million times. It never comes out right,” you sigh exasperatedly.

He chuckles. “Honey, you’ve been cooking all of what? Five seconds? This recipe’s been in your family for years. Cut yourself some slack here, baby.” He leans against the counter and crosses his arms.

You can’t help rolling your eyes because this isn’t your first attempt. You’re exhausted and hungry, and you know Joel is too. You’re more than capable at work, cleaning up blood from surface wounds, expertly wrapping the occasional tourniquet, extracting bullets lodged in patrollers without even blinking. But in this slice of your life, you know you could be doing more.

He doesn’t hesitate, head wobbles a bit, right shoulder tips, “I know it’s a lot to ask of ya,” he says softly.

You huff slightly. “Alright, alright, enough,” sparing him a quick glance, picking up the spoon again.

“Give it here,” he attempts, fingers motioning to hand over the spoon. You scold him in turn, reluctant to seek his help, something else you seem unable to forgo despite the world going to shit.

“Alright,” he starts, as he moves to wrap his strong arms around your waist. “You. Sit here,” he sets you down on the countertop beside the stove.

“Joooeeel,” you protest and begin shifting your weight in readiness to hop off the countertop.

“Nah–” Joel puts his palm up, intercepting your movements.

You roll your eyes but don’t fight him again, fingers curl under the countertop, legs dangling from the edge as you watch him swirl the wooden spoon in the soup. You bite your lip, a knot curling in your chest. Domesticity is a nice look on him. You often tell him as much, but this time you don’t. “Oh – don’t tell me you can cook now. Much less my own family recipe. You can do everything else, can I have this one damn thing.”

His eyes crinkle at the corners, and mouth tugs up. “Says the doctor who spends all her time fixin’ up everyone else in this town. Could probably do it in your sleep.” He spoons the soup, pinching a sliced carrot in the bowl of the spoon, testing its tenderness.

“Alright, but if you burn it, we gotta eat at the community hall again.” You lean back, your head resting against the cabinet.

He lifts the spoon to his lips, eyes closing as he savors the bite and swallows. “You even taste it? ‘Cause it’s pretty darn good, sweetheart.”

When you don’t respond, he dips his index finger into the pot, strides over to you, and slants himself in between your legs. He taps the bottom of your lip. “Open up,” he commands softly.

You do as he says and close your lips around the digit and hum.

A balanced blend of rich sweetness and delicious saltiness with a hint of tang on the finish dances on your taste buds.

He’s right; it’s pretty good. But you don’t revel in it. Your mind focused on Joel’s lips parting at the sight, his eyes trained on your lips around his finger. You watch him, your lips curving into a smirk as he removes his index finger, swiped clean, and replaces it with his thumb, pushing past your lips and onto your tongue.

One of your hands instinctively reaches up to wrap around his wrist, his head dips slightly lower, lips only a hairsbreadth from yours, woodsy-salty taste of him and the heat from the burner melding together, clouding your mind. You feel the hitch in his breath against your lips, black slowly taking up the hazel hues in his eyes as they stay trained on your mouth, sucking his thumb.

“Good girl,” he whispers softly, almost casually.

You preen at his praise. Teeth barely grazing the pad of his thumb. You can feel the bulge against your belly, sitting firm between layers and layers of clothing, growing more and more evident with every passing second his thumb stays pressed into your mouth.

You release his thumb with a soft pop, biting back a grin, your hand reaching up to card your fingers through his too-long hair, “tastes good.”

You both know you’re not just talking about the soup.

You tuck a curl behind his ear. The corner of his mouth tugs up, and his thumb traces the shape of your lips, lustful eyes focused on yours as his soft lips envelop yours, the hairs of his mustache tickling your face. You giggle into his mouth. Then both his hands cradle your face, the metal of his wedding band bitingly cold against your cheek, you shiver.

Your finger hooks into the holster on his thigh, drawing him in, grinning when you feel the tightness behind his jeans, rock solid, and throbbing. You grind upwards, rolling your clothed cunt against his bulge, a deep groan pours from his mouth into yours. Arousal clouds your senses as you fuse your body to his, nails digging into the leather of his strap, lungs fighting for air between heavy pants until—

A loud sputtering sound from beside you forces you apart, and your heads dart towards the stove.

Shit shit shit.

You hastily hop down from the counter, lunging for the knob, your other hand simultaneously pulling the pot off the burner.

You let out a sigh of relief, “Thank God. It’s not burnt. Think it’s ready if you wanna eat now, or do you wanna run through the shower first?” you ask over your shoulder.

Joel huffs out a quiet laugh, places a firm hand on the small of your back as he reaches for the tethered cabinet above your head, “let’s eat darlin.’”

—

You’d been glancing to and fro between your sketchbook and Joel propped up beside you with a book in bed for the last fifteen or so minutes. The soft glow from the lamp on the nightstand to your left, capturing his features just right for you to doodle them as accurately as you can.

His post shower hair combed back into soft waves, tucked behind his ears and down his neck. It’s getting quite long; curls threaten to slip into the collar of his sleep shirt. He’s long overdue for a trim really, but you love it this way. He won’t admit it, and you won’t remind him, so it stays.

A thin pair of old rimless reading glasses are perched on the scarred bridge of his nose. He’s got his free hand stretched out and resting on the top of your thigh beneath the covers, thumb slowly stroking your skin — always needing to touch you. The hour is quiet. Peaceful. You could stay like this forever with him; bellies full and freshly showered, in bed before ten. If he’ll still have you.

His other hand props up the book holding his attention. An Idiot’s Guide to Space, reads the broken purple spine. The book so small in his big hands. Heat blooms in your chest for the second time, the first when he pulled it out of his nightstand an hour prior. Something he does at the end of each night.

Joel found it on patrol one morning. He kept it to himself at first, tucked away in his top drawer, until you stumbled upon it while putting his folded clothes away. A freshly showered Joel emerged from the bathroom, Ellie’s always goin’ on and on about space. Ain’t got a damn clue about any of it, he admitted shyly.

Sometimes he’ll blurt out a fact or two while you’re in bed or padding out of the bathroom. His voice cutting through your reverie –

“Baby, says here you could cross the damn Milky Way in twelve fuckin’ years. Did you know that?” he chances a glance at you.

You chuckle at him. “Yes, I did know that, baby,” shaking your head a little.

“Shit. So it’s just me with the two of you experts?” he asks with a laugh.

You smile to yourself. You don’t tell him that Ellie's the one who told you that little tidbit.

You tuck your pen between the pages and close your sketchbook, laying it on the small table beside you, “We’ll get you there someday, baby,” you tease.

Joel snorts, reaching for your arm and tucking you into his side. You rest your head on his chest, his fingertips softly brushing the skin of your arm. “Quit yankin’ my chain, ‘cause baby, you got no idea what you’re playin’ at.”

Oh. But you do.

You peer up at him, studying the hard lines in his face and the soft gray shadows under his eyes from exhaustion, too much violence.

You shift to dip your head lower down the curve of his belly. Your hand traces a line down his middle, following the thickening trail of hair down his supple belly, slipping beneath the covers, fingertips grazing the outline of his length over gray sweats, hand cupping his semi-hard cock.

Joel flinches, glasses jolt. It spurs you on.

You palm him through his pants, and he hisses through clenched teeth.

“Whaddya doin’ down there, kiddo?” he asks tersely, his gaze lifting over the top of his glasses.

Heat rises to your cheeks. That damn pet name. One that he uses more often these days, when you’re being a pain in his ass. The one that reminds you just how much older he is.

Liquid heat pools between your thighs.

You gaze up at him, “I just wanna play with him a little. Is that okay?” Falsely innocent eyes sparkling, your fingers circling the head of his cock over his pants.

He makes a low sound, and stirs. “Darlin’ if I ever say no to you, you take my revolver n’ use it on me.” A hint of playfulness in his tone.

You giggle softly. “As fun as that would be, cowboy, that’d deprive me of my happiness,” fingers pulling the blanket and his sweats down in one fluid motion, revealing his hardening cock.

Deft fingers now stroking through your hair. “Lemme guess. That happiness got more to do with my dick than anythin’ else?” he asks, lips curling with a soft laugh.

You don’t respond, you suspect the smirk that quirks your lips is answer enough for him. Your head dips lower; grabbing the full length of him in both of your hands — so fucking big. Your lips close around the wide head, and you hum.

He rests the book on his stomach, tucks an arm behind his head, and watches you as you get to work on his length. You pull your lips off him. “You want me to continue? You better keep readin’ that book of yours, Miller,” you say firmly.

A blush creeps up his thick neck; watch as his Adam’s apple bops in his throat. “Yes, ma’am,” raising the book again and continuing where he left off.

Satisfied, you shift to move down the mattress, the sheets moving with you and bunching at the foot of the bed.

Your mouth gets back to work on his cock, now fully stiff in your grasp, head swollen and flushed red. Your lips curling around it, your other hand wrapped around the base, fingers barely wrapping around the thick girth of him. You lathe a wet kiss to the tip, and then suction the mushroom shape of him hard, an obscene sound filling the quiet of your bedroom. The heavy weight of him pulses and leaks onto the pink softness of your tongue. You lap up the salty precum leaking at the slit and in your periphery, catch Joel fisting the corner of your pillow. He’s panting, shaky breaths escape him while he attempts to read. You smirk around him. He likes it like this; slow, lazy – sloppy.

Your gaze drops back down as you pull off him and dip your head down to his low-hanging balls, heavy and already set to burst. You take one in your mouth, the tip of your tongue slowly draws circles along the thin, stretchy flesh, while your other hand slowly pumps the long length of him. You feel a strong hand meeting the back of your skull, fingers sewn through the strands of your hair, his muscles beneath you tightening.

You feel the heat of his gaze, almost impossible to ignore, it urges you on. Your other hand cups his other ball, gently fondling the heavy weight of it, fingers gently twiddling the skin. You suckle softly at his sac, eliciting a strained whimper from Joel, his hips cant upwards, cock twitching in your face.

“Fuckin’ love them,” you whisper, turning your attention to the other, laying a soft kiss on the underside of his ball. That one is just for you.

“Yeah?” he exhales. “Keep goin’ then, baby,” fingers curling around the back of your neck, instructing you with the faintest bit of pressure.

Your eyes glance up in time to find him dragging his other hand down his face, book now stacked haphazardly upon the others on his side table. His glasses sit low on the tip of his nose, eyes shut tight, dark brows pinched. All his features meld together in pleasure as he loses himself in you.

You asked him to continue reading but you can’t deny this is what you wanted all along. He looks beautiful like this; in the soft golden glow in the bedroom, tan sun-freckled skin all bare for you, mouth ajar and chest heaving with ragged breaths, veins in his neck thick and prominent as his chin tilts upward. The sight makes you ache.

You never minded this. Matter of fact, you love it. Giving. Taking care of him, encouraging him to chase after something he wants. You never used to enjoy it before but Joel Miller so rarely takes. So rarely selfish. And seeing strong, stoic men, your man, come apart for you just from your mouth makes you rub your thighs together to soothe the brimming ache.

Joel Miller – the man who despite the kinder, slower years spent in Jackson and never once hesitating to lend a hand to those in need, who still had a mean reputation, allowing himself to revel in the feeling of you taking care of him. The hard lines of his usual scowl gone from his face and replaced with twisted lines of pleasure. Letting himself take take take and being shameless in doing so.

You suck hard on the ball in your mouth and he moans loudly, feel it draw up between your lips. “Oh – fuck – that’s good,” his head topples back against the headboard with a hard thud, “so good,” he breathes.

Your clothed core tightens, feel the ruined material cling to your lips.

And because you can. You pull off him and give the head of his cock a little wet kiss.

You blink up at him to find him watching you with bated breath, hazel eyes blown completely black. You gather saliva beneath your tongue, let a strand drool, and land directly on his slit. Joel’s entire body shivers, hips thrusting upwards into the air on instinct, his fingers in your hair tighten, blunt fingertips digging into your heated skin. “Dagum you’re good at that, baby.”

You smile and pump the length of him slowly, twisting upwards and running your thumb over his tip. Your mouth retakes its place on his length, lips stretching open around the bulbous head as you ease your head lower and lower on his length, pushing him in, in, in past your gag reflex. Tears prick at your eyes, pushing him in until his cock coaxes the back of your throat; you gag around him, and Joel groans raggedly at the sound. He loves it. You lift your head and hum around him as you begin bopping your head up and down the length of him, your fist pumps what you can’t fit into your mouth. And Joel whimpers, and jerks, hips canting to meet every bob and every stroke, every lick and every kiss.

A tear cascades down your cheek when you swallow, the silken walls of your throat tighten around him, and at that, Joel makes a pained noise. “Get up here,” he growls, his hand drawing your mouth off him.

You prop yourself up, shove up his shirt to lay wet kisses up the trail of his graying hair. Your mouth dips left of his belly button, pecking the deep scar, an unwelcome reminder of his fall that nearly ended in fatality.

Your lips press a kiss south of his belly button before you tongue at it. You feel the muscles in his belly quiver beneath the softness of your tongue, goosebumps ghosting his skin, your hand still wrapped around the thick girth of him — it pulses in your grasp. “Fuck– You’re gonna make me come,” he tugs at your neck again, dragging you up to straddle his lap.

“That’s kind of the point here, baby,” you say as you pepper the whiskered corners of his mouth in little kisses. “I wanted you to come in my mouth.” You brush your lips against his, and he chuckles. The hand still at the base of your neck holds you there as his tongue sneaks into your mouth, licks along the line of your gums to taste the salty flavor of himself, you moan in unison.

He’s still panting when your fingers run through his tousled hair, feeling droplets of sweat at his temple. You kiss at the shadows under his eyes, glasses long forgotten somewhere. Joel’s tongue flicks the corner of his lips, thumbs away the tear beneath your eye then at the thin string of saliva clinging to the skin on your chin and he presses another quick peck to your lips, and against your lips.

“You look so goddamn sexy like this,” he whispers softly, before pushing his lips to yours once again.

You smile against him. “That mean I can continue?” you whisper.

You feel his lips twitch, he peels your shirt from your body, then his, and then his hands find your hips, swiftly flipping you over, his broad form towering over you. “Got another idea, little mama.”

“Like what daddy,” dropping your voice at the word “daddy”. You’ve never thought to try the nickname out but you know you’ve plucked a chord when you feel his cock twitch between your bodies and you’re mentally kicking yourself that you’ve waited this long.

Who knew Joel Miller, at the ripe old age of fifty-nine would realize he had a daddy kink.

A low growl slips from his lips, “say it again.”

You bite back a grin that threatens to pull over your lips, your chest blooming at the thought of Joel Miller growing so comfortable with you that he’s unashamed in asking you for things that make him feel good. You want nothing more than to give that to him, so you do.

“What are you gonna do with me, daddy?” you ask, feigning seriousness.

“Might need to stuff that slutty mouth of yours again,” the amber in his eyes so warm and filled with lust.

You shrug, exaggerate a sigh, “I wouldn’t complain.”

He shakes his head but you catch the creases around his eyes, feel the low chuckle reverberate through the slats of his ribs.

“No, you wouldn’t,” he begins and his fingers hook around the waistband of your panties, “but like I said, I’ve got other plans for you tonight.”

“And what exactly do those plans entail, daddy?” you ask, your fingers ghost over his shoulders, up his neck and into his dampened temples. A smirk tugging the corner of your lips at the slow drag of your underwear down your legs.

He doesn’t answer. His hand cups your mound, feels the sticky wet at your opening, your body jolts at the first fleeting sliver of attention your hungry cunt’s received all night. “Pussy’s this wet all ‘cause you blowin’ me, hm? You like it that much, baby?” He cocks his head, a smug grin plastered on his face.

A blissful sigh falls from your lips, he encourages you further when he guides the head of his cock to your messy pussy.

You arch and squirm and moan on instinct, the agonizingly slow drag of his cock through your puffy folds meticulous in measured movements. Your head falls back, fists clenching, pussy fluttering, and Joel just smirks.

“Yeah she likes that, don’t she?” he asks, his hazel eyes burning into yours.

Your heart falls. A wanton moan slips past your lips. You want to respond. You do. But you can’t ignore that sudden, all too familiar spike of fear beginning to flare in your chest.

His hand cups your chin almost immediately. Joel knows you all too well. Before you even know it yourself, he sees it in the storms in your eyes, the slight tremble of your fingers, the sudden rapid rise and fall of your chest. Joel’s observant, always functioning on high alert. He’s helped you through moments like this over the years, and both of you thought they were long gone. But the guilt and shame claw their way back tonight, decidedly paying a visit.

“Hey. Stay with me, honey,” he implores, brows pinching.

Unbidden tears prickle your eyes. Your eyes slip shut. I can’t. You want to say. It’s too much. The sharp blackening teeth of shame sinking into your skin, gnawing a hole low in your belly. How do you tell your husband that even after six years together you’re still afraid to put yourself first. Afraid that if you do, he’ll abandon you just as everybody else has. How do you tell him that even though he’s never shown you he has any intention of doing so, you’ve made yourself believe that he will. That small noise in your brain ugly, rotten. And no matter how hard you try you can never seem to quiet it. How do you tell him that all you want is for him to fuck you. So hard he brings you to tears. To quiet the noise. Stamp out the flame. But you can’t seem to form the words. Can’t bring yourself to tell him and maybe even worse, you still don’t understand why after all these years spent with him. I don’t know how.

He hinges forward, broad form crowding yours into the mattress, hands find yours beside your head, a soft clink ricochets in your ears when the metal of your wedding bands meet.

“Talk to me, baby, what is it?” he whispers, his cock still gliding through your lower lips.

“I–” your stammering cuts off into a soft whine, eyes flittering.

“What?” He cocks his head, warm breath fanning across your face.

Your guilt-ridden mind screaming at you to scramble for words. To get him to understand. Little do you know, he does. Has for a long time. Your past often makes you forget. Here. In the now, he reminds you.

“I can’t–” you sigh when he kisses the corner of your mouth, “Joel– I–”

“I– I– I–” Joel mocks above you. “Can’t use your words cause you’re only thinking of my cock ain’t ya?”

You keen at that, cheeks bloom. He’s right. Only you rarely ask for it.

“Always want it, but you never ask for it. Been your husband for two years and I still oughta show you I ain’t ever leavin’, is that it?”

You mewl all petulant and small.

He reaches to bring your left hand to his mouth, pressing a fleeting kiss to the cold metal of your wedding band. “Y’know m’all yours, sweetheart. Haven’t I shown you?” He presses another kiss to the band. “Or these mean nothin’ to ya?” A hint of smirk passes over his lips as he lays a third kiss to your fingers, your skin ablaze.

They mean everything to you. He means everything to you. The words die on your tongue but he knows. He’s only teasing you because he needs to hear it, needs to hear that honey sweet giggle to bring you back to him. And although you wish he didn’t have to, you can’t deny that his persistent efforts make you feel just as desirable as the day he slanted his mouth over yours and made you his forever. Long before solemn vows and makeshift wedding venues. Before ratty ‘his and hers’ bath towels and engraved silver bands. He claimed you as his and he as yours and even still, it doesn’t seem to be enough. Your mind slips and the pulp of his forefinger traces down your sternum, follows the line of your stomach, goosebumps rising in its wake.

“Joel–” you giggle quietly, and his eyes gleam.

“Ah. There she is,” he says so softly in that honey Texan drawl that makes your stomach fall away.

His hand flattens, broad palm drifts down the softness of your belly and settles beneath your navel, the cold bite of his wedding finger making you quiver.

His dark eyes flicker. “How about I really fill you up? Hm?” His hand drifts further south, grips the root of his cock between your bodies, glides the underside of his cock, featherlight, through your swollen lips, the angry red almost purple tip bumps your throbbing clit before he slides it back down through your folds, letting the head catch at your drooling hole. “You wanted to know what I plan on doin’ to ya? M’gettin’ my wife pregnant. Give my sweet baby a baby? Would you like that?”

The rest of what he wants to say lingers on the tip of his tongue, mulling around in his mouth, show you, I ain’t goin’ nowhere.

Your breath hitches, eyes go wide. Your thoughts are clouded by him. Your belly swelling, carrying your child. His child. Yes. Yes. Yes. You want it. You want it with him.

You breathe out a desperate moan, “God, yes. Joel. Yes.”

His cock, heavy and thick, still glides through your messy folds, the head of his cock catching, catching, catching at your hole, coating his length in webs of your slick. The sweet sound of your wet echoing loudly in your shared bedroom.

“That sound like I wanna leave you?” He asks gruffly.

You shake your head vigorously, your hips canting upwards, chasing after him.

You hiss when his tip bumps your clit. You pout at him. “Joel. You’re being mean–” your words tapering off into a soft sob.

He laughs at that, presses the incredibly wide head in, then back out and up again, “Not being mean, baby. Just tryna get you outta your head s’all.” And he says it like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Like breathing. Your chest swells. He’s right fucking there. Right in front of you. But it seems as if there is no end in sight for the longing you feel for him.

“You want it? You oughta ask for it nice, sweet baby,” he says simply.

Your pout grows more petulant, but you concede. You’re always the first to let up between the two of you. You’re easy for him that way.

“Joel, please fuck me. Need you to fuck me, please,” you plead, words slipping into a soft moan.

His eyes scan your face, feel his lashes flutter against your skin. He lines himself up at the opening of your cunt. “I will. I always fuck you well don’t I?”

You nod numbly, biting your lip and guiltily averting your gaze. Finger tracing up a line up his strong thigh, over his soft belly that protrudes over his still hard cock, circle the scarred tissue on his lower abdomen.

He takes your hand in his, lays a kiss to your palm before settling it to cradle his own face. “M’gonna fuck you real good, sweetheart. Remind you how good you are for me.”

You make a soft sound that halts his movements, fingers squeezing his. “I want it hard, Joel,” you say. And he nods in understanding. Always meeting you where you are. There’s no halfway with him. He sits back, gently taps the side of your thigh, turn around.

You do as silently requested and twist; your stomach and chest meet the sheets, body prone on the mattress — your favorite way of taking him.

He presses his body weight into you, his entire form enveloping yours while his hand dips south to line himself up. He thrusts forward, moaning in unison as he breaches and stretches you wide, quelling the ache when he fills your cunt in one sharp thrust. He bites your shoulder on instinct, and your eyes pinch shut in response. Joel sets a blistering pace that has your cunt constricting around him. His soft belly is flush to the small of your back, feel the sweat sliding between your bodies, welcome tears spill from your eyes, and the guilt that sat in the pit of your belly turns molten.

“That’s it, thatta’girl,” he grits into the dampened space behind your ear.

His words make you clench, and in response, his hand finds the nape of your neck, fingers curling and smothering your face into the mattress, and you practically sing for him in return. Your legs clamp shut, limiting the space he has to fuck into you and he groans so beautifully for you. His hand sneaks around your front, scrubs expertly at your throbbing clit, and your vision begins to blur, fists clutching the linens so tight you’re tearing them.

“Oh god, Joel,” you cry out, the intense pleasure beginning to overwhelm you.

“That’s it–fuck–” he grunts, “make–me–so damn–happy, baby–fuck, never—never–known it before you,” Joel rasps, punctuating every word with a sharp thrust.

You mewl and writhe beneath him in tandem, and then his massive hand grips your face, angles it towards him so your lips meet his, his index finger in your mouth, hooked behind the line of your gums to take take take. Your body jolts as his cock kisses your womb on every brutal thrust.

“Joel, harder, please, harder,” you beg against his lips. So fucking desperate for more.

He pulls out suddenly; a lewd, wet squelch of gaping emptiness escapes your cunt when it closes around his absence. He takes you with him, collecting you in his arms and moving the two of you up the bed and guiding you to your knees, facing the headboard. His chest fuses to your back again, knuckles brushing the globe of your ass as he parts the flesh to sink into you once more. Your head topples back onto his shoulder, buries his face into the crook of your neck, muffling the guttural moan that elicits from him as you take him deeper.

He lays a harsh slap to your ass, then firmly grips the plush flesh, soothing the sting with a rough squeeze. And then, his right hand finds a home on your hips, dull fingertips digging into your lush flesh. Your head turns, mouth meeting the hinge of his jaw. Your right hand reaches for his scalp, carding a hand through his sweaty curls to pull him closer as you babble breathlessly, fuck–I lo–I love you. I love you, Joel. Joel. Joel. Joel.

He chants in turn, I love you, baby, my sweet baby. I’m not goin’ anywhere. M’not. I swear it, branding each word with messy kisses to your temple. His left hand interlocks with yours, wedding bands clinking, kissing at the close. Your cunt flutters around him when he recites the same words he groaned into your waiting mouth on your wedding night, God, you’re so good for me. S’ you n’ me sweetheart. You n’ me. Always and forever.

His hand releases your right hip, fingers tangling painfully into your hair at the base of your neck, pulling on the strands to drag your mouth to his. He slants his plush lips to yours, a deep groan pours from his mouth into yours when you squeeze around him. His cock grazes that spongy spot he made his long ago, and your hips push back, meeting him thrust for thrust, wanting more. His thrusts grow harsher, faster, stronger, until pain and pleasure coalesce. The pressure of his massive, unrelenting length battering your wasted cunt makes the room spin, vision waning.

“Give it to me, baby. Come with me. I got you darlin’,” he chants as he pounds into you. “Let go for me, honey. C’mon. Show me you’re mine. Need to feel this pussy come for me. Let go, Let go.”

Your walls pulse and Joel moans, low and breathy, something deep in his chest crumbling. You feel his cock jerk inside you, desperate and holding holding holding for you to meet him there. His teeth nip your ear and it’s all it takes for you to fall apart. Your navel tenses, cunt fluttering around his length, as you come with loud broken moans of his name, and he swallows them with deep groans of yours. He breaks, his fist slamming against the oil painting above the bed while he empties himself inside you, his cock spitting his cum at the mouth of your womb.

Your body goes limp against the painting, thighs still trembling against his, his body going lax against yours. Your head drops forward; tacky skin of your forehead meets the sticky surface with a soft thud. Joel groans lowly against your neck, chest heaving as he sears wet kisses to the top of your spine as he comes down.

You stay like that for a while. When Joel’s chest stops heaving, he rolls off you, and when your breathing slowly returns, you flop to the mattress by his side.

You turn to face him, your chest sticking to his, tacky skin glistening with sweat in the moonlight from the window across the room.

He cradles the side of your face in his palm, the pad of his thumb wipes away the tears before pressing it into your mouth. You nip at it gently on instinct, and Joel laughs.

“I don’t got another round in me tonight, baby,” voice throaty and gruff. You giggle and call him an old man.

And he grumbles something that sounds a lot like, m’not that old. To which you quip, whatever you say, grumpy old man.

Joel scoffs. “Yet you still like suckin’ this old man’s cock, ain’t that right, sweetheart?” His hand tracing a line up and down your spine.

You hum blissfully.

A beat passes, and with a smirk on his lips, his hand wanders to your drippy slit, you whine when he dips two fingers inside your cunt — still sore and puffy, still gaping.

He presses deep, the cold nip of his wedding ring inside your cunt making you jolt. “Thought you said you couldn’t go another round, old man?” You say, a little breathless.

His wicked smirk broadens. “I did. That don’t mean the same for you though.”

A gush of his cum pours out of you, coating his ring in your joint mess as his fingers pump in and out of your gaping emptiness.

He grunts and pulls you on top of him. “I said I'd give you a baby, didn’t I? I intend on keepin’ my promise. We oughta make sure it takes”.

For hours, Joel made no effort to pull out of you. He fucked into your used, wet heat with his fingers. And he didn’t stop. Not until the snowflakes sprinkling outside your window turned into darts of rain that softly pelted against the glass. Not until the swirl of pale gray and muted blue in the sky washed away into a blush of dusty pink and petal violet, the sun splitting the clouds on the horizon, a sliver of sun peeking between the curtains and spilling across worn sheets, shrouding your silhouette in a soft golden light. And maybe just maybe, this time, it’ll finally take. And with it, maybe that flame of fear is snuffed for good. Always and forever

#the way i rewrote this so many times it gave me carpal tunnel #so not cool #anyway ciao!#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #jackson!joel x reader #husband!joel #game!joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #noelle's workshop

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silverskyeline · 6 months ago

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ੈ♡˳ imagine riding cowboy!logan. 18+

logan loves how you look when you ride him, particularly tonight, watching his cowboy hat shake every time you slam down on him. he'd placed it upon your head the second you settled down on his cock.

his hands are planted on your hips, kneading the soft flesh there as he watches you pump up and down on his throbbing length. those calloused thumbs rub back and forth against your skin, a silent praise while his gaze through hooded lids remains fixated on you.

he watches, mesmerised, catching small glimpses of your flushed face beneath the hat. it suits you, he thinks, more than it does himself. logan can't quite make out your features underneath the shadow of the brim, but he can hear the moans that slip out each time you let yourself glide down onto him.

"that's it," he coos, "take what you want. . ."

you plant your hands on his fuzzy chest, attempting to gain some leverage as you lift yourself higher, trying to get him impossibly deeper.

"greedy lil' thing, aren't you?" logan groans, lifting his hips on your next fall to really drive into you, "yeah, just like that. . . fuck, you look so good up there for me."

your head spins with his praise, his compliments and you work yourself harder. you clamp around him, eyes fluttering closed as you raise your hand, placing it on the base of his hat to keep it steady on your head.

"c'mon, ride me," he rolls his hips, teasing you as if you're not already working yourself to the bone on his length, "ride me, pretty thing, get yourself off on my cock."

if he didn't feel so fucking good, you'd bite back at his teasing. gripping his hat, you tilt your head back and moan into the air, bouncing with practiced ease. you take him so well, your body remembering every throbbing vein and impressive length.

his eyes drift across your face as you expose it to him, your head tilted back with the moonlight illuminating your features finally. he grins, something about seeing your face twisted in pleasure while wearing his hat has his cock twitching inside you, watching you use him to cum. . .

he'd chase this sight forever, fuck you forever, if he could.

logan promptober day 6 - cowboy

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alphabetatoes · 1 year ago

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a.n.: told yall id do it at some point (happy early birthday to me)

c.w.: mdni, 18+

cowboy!nanami who works as a ranch hand on the gojo family estate. as a daughter of the gojo heads, you meet the young man on his first day. immediately swept away by his charm, you know you’re done for. and he falls like putty through your hand, enamored by your kindness. the fact that he’s absolutely gobsmacked by your beauty is a plus

cowboy!nanami who’s calloused hands are ever smooth on yours when he goes to draw your attention, careful not to scare you. his nimble feet working with horses make him stealthy, and unsuspecting to those he approaches.

cowboy!nanami who makes a habit of bringing you the fresh eggs and dairy he harvests each day, as he takes note when you mention how much you enjoy baking.

and cowboy!nanami gets to reap the fruits of his labor, as you bring him new goods to try out during his breaks. the compliments drip from his tongue as he gushes and exalts your talents. he’s never been more certain that his love language comes in the form of food than when he’s reveling in the delectable treats you’ve brought him.

cowboy!nanami who builds up the courage to ask you on a date. a polite (and beautifully scenic) picnic on the estate, with wine from the orchard and fresh produce from the farm. and it's quite the juxtaposition how the stoic cowboy needs to build up the confidence to ask you on this date, nervous as to not overstep.

cowboy!nanami pushing back a strand of hair that falls in your face, moving it out of the way to paint a clear canvas as he leans in for a chaste kiss. you grasp onto his broad shoulders for better footing, and cowboy!nanami knows he's done for.

those calloused hands once again returning as cowboy!nanami draws circles over your clit. the tender motion sending shock waves of electricity through your body. and how cowboy!nanami praises his pretty girl for taking his fingers so well.

the gentle burn of how cowboy!nanami’s cock stretches you doesn't go unnoticed, but his gentle guidance adds a new level of pleasure to the experience. he looks at you with nothing but adoration, smitten by the way you’ve not only taken him, but allowed him to see a more intimate part of you.

cowboy!nanami guides you through your orgasm, his praise continuing as you ride out your high. and cowboy!nanami makes it a point to clean you up after, drawing you into him in comfort as you slowly drift off to sleep.

#jjk #nanami x reader #nanami smut #nanami kento #jjk x reader #nanami kento x reader #divider by saradika

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beloved-little-coffee-shop · 2 years ago

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Pick a song and tell your ocs back story from how their parents met.

Alone and Forsaken - Hank Williams and Drifting Cowboy

Tw! Suicide, gun, blood and illness mentions.

I dunno if saying "Bastard child" is a tw but it's just me saying that they weren't married when they had Cirius.

We met in the springtime when blossoms unfold

Cirius' parents had just met... They fell in love almost instantly.. He claimed he'd never fall in love.

The pastures were green and the meadows were gold

But she claimed that she'd help him figure out his emotions. He hid his love from her..

Our love was in flower as summer grew on

When he confessed, they were together for a year, and had a bastard child. Cirius was born.

Her love like the leaves now have withered and gone

A few years after Cirius was born, she got ill... Cirius was only 5, almost 6, when his mother passed away...

The roses have faded, there's frost at my door

His father couldn't cope with his love's death...

The birds in the morning don't sing anymore

Soon, in the winter when Cirius was 6, his father grabbed his own gun,

The grass in the valley is starting to die

And when Cirius came into his father's room, there was blood splattered on the walls.

And out in the darkness the whippoorwills cry

Cirius ran out and dialed 9-1-1, sobbing and pleading for help.

Alone and forsaken by fate and by man

He explained how his father had shot himself and he was sobbing the whole time.

Oh Lord, if you hear me, please hold to my hand

The paramedics arrived at his house but... His father couldn't be saved.

Oh, please understand

His father passed when he was only 6.

Oh, where has she gone to? Oh, where can she be?

When Cirius was 16 he started working at Étincelle coffeehouse.

She may have forsaken some other like me

He met a few nice people but... Regardless of having those friends and co-workers..

She promised to honor, to love, and obey

He still felt alone.

Each vow was a plaything that she threw away

It was 4 years of working in the coffee shop and he payed for a decent apartment...

The darkness is falling, the sky has turned gray

He would still feel alone no matter who he was around.

A hound in the distance is starting to bey

He would always wonder how his parents would act if they saw him,

I wonder, I wonder what she's thinking of

Like he was? Working at a coffeehouse.. in an apartment alone..

Forsaken, forgotten without any love

No girlfriend... Not even a roommate.

Alone and forsaken by fate and by man

One day, the day he turned 29,

Oh Lord, if you hear me, please hold to my hand

He didn't feel alone. He made a friend. And he didn't feel alone anymore.

Oh, please understand..

But he'd always remember the day he lost his mom. The day he lost his dad.

#song lyrics #alone and forsaken - hank williams #and Drifting cowboys #care for a coffee?(ooc)#oc lore #Spotify

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moonstruckme · 6 months ago

Note

could i request poly!wolfstar or poly!jily where they’re pursuing reader and reader accidentally matches with them (like matching costumes) at a halloween party?

i think the teasing and flirting would be so cute!! 🥰

Thanks for requesting!

cw: mention of alcohol, smoking, Sirius makes lame and humorously objectifying jokes

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 1.5k words

You arrive to the party late, the Gryffindor common room already bustling by the time you and your friends have finished doing your last-minute costume alterations. There are glowing pumpkins floating on the ceiling, someone has charmed the room so that a thick layer of fog drifts along the floor, and the air already smells slightly of booze and cigarette smoke.

You lose Lily’s attention immediately, but that’s to be expected. You’re more than accustomed by now to her searching for her boyfriend whenever you enter a room. What’s unexpected, however, is her reaction when she finds him.

“Uh oh.”

“Uh oh?” You look at her, following her gaze to the couch across the room. “Oh. Oh, no.”

Lily laughs. “It sort of seems like fate, doesn’t it? I think it’s sweet.”

Sitting on their usual couch are the marauders. James, predictably, is wearing a costume matching Lily’s; they’ve both come as cowboys. Unfortunately, Sirius and Remus are sitting next to him dressed as pirates.

You’re also dressed as a pirate.

“It’s not sweet,” you moan. “If I go back up, do you think Marlene will make me some of her fake blood? I can change and be a vampire instead.”

Lily hums. “Think it’s too late for that, babe.”

She’s looking back towards the couch, where the boys have already caught sight of the pair of you. Sirius is beaming something atrocious, and even Remus looks amused while his boyfriend waves you over exuberantly.

Lily takes your hand in hers, tugging you with her as she goes to them.

“Howdy, darlin’.” James puts on an exaggerated southern drawl as you approach, opening his arms to his girlfriend.

“My, my,” says Sirius as you sit between him and Lily, “don’t you look nice.”

You ignore the warmth that brings to your face. “The point wasn’t really to look nice.”

Your costume is thrown together from things you already had, the only thing that really distinguishes you as a pirate being the bandana you’ve tied around your head. Remus appears to have gone a similar route, although the white shirt he’s tucked into his pants looks a bit more on-theme than yours and he’s clearly been forced to wear an eye patch which is currently flipped up so that it’s not covering anything. Sirius, of course, does nothing halfway. He’s wearing a billowy black top that’s been unbuttoned nearly to his navel, more belts and buckles than you knew one person could have, and a captain’s hat he surely bought just for the occasion. Altogether, you make a fairly fearsome group.

“Not sure you can help it, gorgeous.” Sirius winks at you. “You always look nice. Did you plant a spy to find out what you needed to wear to match us, then?”

You roll your eyes good-naturedly. “I should probably be asking you that.”

“Must’ve just been fate,” Sirius says. It’s so close to what Lily said that your cheeks blaze, but you also don’t know if you quite believe him. Remus, too, turns to give his boyfriend a questioning look.

Sirius catches it and scoffs, holding up his hands. “I didn’t! Honestly.”

Remus nods, appeased. In a less booming voice than his boyfriend’s, he tells you, “You do look very nice.”

“Thanks.” You catch yourself fingering the ends of your hair like a nervous schoolgirl and tuck your hands underneath your thighs. “So do both of you.”

Sirius grins knowingly, and you have to fight the urge to shove your face into Lily’s shoulder for refuge. He knows as well as you do that for all of his brazen flirting, it’s Remus’ quiet sincerity that flusters you the most. You’re not sure when it started, exactly, but it’s been clear for some time now that both boys are interested in you. You’re not sure in what capacity—they could want to take you to bed for one night, integrate you into their relationship, or anything in between—but as of yet you’ve neither encouraged nor discouraged their advances.

“Thanks, dollface.” Sirius gives a winsome crack of a smile. “You know, I’ve already acquired some booty, but I wouldn’t mind winning some more.”

“Sirius…” Remus groans.

You feel your eyebrows pinch. “Some what?”

“You know, like pirate’s loot? My booty.” Sirius sidles closer to Remus, giving his thigh a solid pat.

Remus’ eyes narrow. “I will leave you here and go back upstairs right now.” It sounds as though this is not the first time this has been threatened.

“I worked hard for it!” Sirius defends himself.

You cover your mouth against an appalled giggle. “It?”

“I toiled, and I fought, and I had to battle many other fearsome ships! It’s mine.”

“Remus,” you stage whisper, “blink twice if you need help.”

Remus’ smile blooms, but when he starts to blink Sirius objects, “Oi!”

“No,” you correct him, “you’re supposed to say ‘arr.’”

Sirius is grinning again, too, clearly chuffed that you’re joking around with them even if it is at his expense. “If I say ‘arr,’ you’ll agree to be my second booty for the rest of the night?”

“I won’t make any promises. But it would be persuasive.”

He growls enthusiastically, “Arrrrgh!” and slams his fist down on the table. The sound it makes is enough to tear James and Lily’s attention away from each other.

“Merlin,” says James. “Did’ya hurt yourself there, Pads?”

“No,” Sirius replies, but he gives his hand a little shake.

Remus, rolling his eyes, takes it and kisses the side. He brings it into his lap for safekeeping. Your heart gives a painful little throb.

You must have some stupid lovestruck look on your face, because Lily peers around James to see you better, a smile playing on her lips. She knows about your crushes on the two boys, just as well as she knows that you haven’t decided what to do about them yet. But that doesn’t mean she doesn’t like to help you along.

“Come on,” she says to James, standing and taking him with her. “Let’s dance, and I’ll let you pretend to lasso me.”

James beams. “Yes!”

You watch them go while Sirius seizes the opportunity to move to your other side, the three of you taking up the entirety of the couch.

“Phew,” he sighs, swinging his feet over the armrest.

“You may want to take your legs out of the fog,” Remus suggests, also using the new space to bring his feet onto the couch. “It gets sticky after a while.”

You frown but do as he says, pulling your feet from your shoes so that only your socks are on the couch. And sure enough, when you touch a finger to your ankle it feels like there’s an odd sort of coating over it.

“I thought it was just fog,” you say.

“It was supposed to be,” agrees Sirius, “but James entrusted the task of making it to Marlene, and there are some who think she might’ve laced it with some sort of drink.”

“I’m some,” Remus owns.

You smile. “So is the point that you should be able to…drink the fog?”

“No clue.” Sirius leans over the edge of the couch. “Let’s find out.”

“Sirius, no,” Remus says weakly, trailing off when it’s clear the other boy won’t be deterred. You both watch as he sucks in what fog he can, closing his mouth around it. “That’s disgusting, everyone’s been walking around in it.”

“I think it might be brandy,” Sirius muses. “It’s faint, though.”

Remus frowns. “I’m not kissing you until you brush your teeth.”

Sirius grins. “Yes, you are.”

“We’ll see, won’t we?”

“Wouldn’t you rather just get your own drink?” you ask Sirius. “Rather than sampling the faint traces of brandy that have been touched by other people’s shoes, I mean.”

“Oh, rest assured, gorgeous, I’m all covered.” Sirius picks a cup up from the table. He seems to notice at the same moment that you don’t have a cup of your own. “Would you like one, though?”

You glance to the table cluttered with alcohol and mixers, a throng of students clustered around it. “I’ll get one in a bit.”

“Let me.” Sirius stands. He edges around the table, stopping to pinch your chin affectionately and give his boyfriend a kiss. “Rem, my love, keep her company, would you?”

“You don’t have to,” you object. “I can get it.”

“No, don’t be ridiculous. A pirate has to take care of his booty, hasn’t he?”

“I never agreed to that!” you call after him. In a quieter voice, you add, “And I don’t think that’s how the relationship between a pirate and their booty works.”

“Let him go,” Remus advises you. You startle a bit when his hand finds your knee, resting there in fond commiseration. “If he’s going to degrade us like this, he can at least bring us drinks.”

You feel your lips tilt. “Are you really going to let him call you his booty all night?”

“Probably.” Remus shrugs, his eyes finding his boyfriend across the room. “Anyway, it’s nice not to be alone in it. As far as he’s concerned, you’re already his as well.”

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d3stinyist1red · 7 months ago

Note

out of everyone on yandere town, yan cowboy is definitely my favourite <3

YESSS IKR HES SO CUTESYY

yan cowboy who wants you to ride him badly

yan cowboy who first meets you when you stumble upon his farm, literally the cows were gonna jump ur ass until he popped up

"hey there, sweets! What'cha doin' around here?" He asks, looking at you with a tilted head as he pat the cow's head. "U-uh, sorry i just-" you got interrupted by the cowboy laughing at ya.

"ma, why do you seem so nervous? It's alright!" He said grinning down at you, he wraps an arm around your shoulder and introduces himself.

yan cowboy who is now ur buddy, talking to you every second of his fucking day like damn lil bro chill

yan cowboy who you began seeing everyday, coincidences piling up. No matter where you went, he was there, lingering just at the edge of your vision.

yan cowboy who wants you to ride with him and his horse everyday, holding onto your waist as he leads the horse on where to go, your back to his front, slowly rubbing himself against you.

yan cowboy who is a possessive and jealous freak. Any interaction you have with others, specifically other men, makes his jaw clench and his eyes narrow. He might not say anything at first, but you’ll notice how quiet he has gotten.

yan cowboy who confronts you about the man you were hanging out with earliar

"Hey darlin', what was that man tellin' you? Why were you talkin' to him? Do you think hes better than me? Sweets, im sorry. Darlin' lets talk about this, okay?"

"boy i literally just asked him wheres the nearest wingstop"

"why? are you hungry? Because I have some meat for you could eat-"

yan cowboy who makes you the center of his world, if you dont talk to him hes GONNA AND WILL have a bad day, grumpy and pissed off until you talk to him

yan cowboy who has a garden his mother owns, and always gives you flowers, your favorite ones

yan cowboy who literally every woman wants bc hes fine asf, strong, and BRO HES SWEET TOO LIKE HELLO??? but he only needs you. Whenever hes talking with another woman, he always drifts his eyes away from her to try to find you, not paying attention to whatever the woman was saying

yan cowboy who literallys gets so hard whenever he sees you bend down to get some strawberries you planted, already knowing he was gonna fist himself inside his car

yan cowboy who always gives you handwritten notes

"hello n/n! I might not be able to see you today because of my mother telling me ive been slacking off since ive been leaving early from farming. But darling, you know I can't stay away from you for so long! I need to see you! Anyway baby, I left you some cash, treat yourself, aight babes? - Your lovely cowboy <3"

yan cowboy who sees you growing some plants in the hot sun and immediatly panics, he runs over to you with an umbrella. A UMBRELLA BRO

"darlin'! Its so hot out here for you to be outside! Come inside, love!"

"bro ive only been outside for 3 minutes"

"3 minutes too long! Now cmon and rest! Ill do the work, lovely!"

yan cowboy who helps you when you barely started growing plants and stuff, guiding you with his hands ontop of yours, his chin on your shoulder.

yan cowboy who sees you carrying a heavy bale of hay, and immediately scolds you

You wipe the sweat from your brow as you lift the bale of hay, determined to carry your weight on the farm. Your cowboy always helps you with everything like bro i could be independent too hoe. You’ve seen him do this like a thousand times, and you’re confident you can handle it too bc ur a bad bitch period

But before you can take more than a few steps, a shadow falls over you, and you feel a firm hand on your arm. You glance up, and lowkey you were scared it was gonna be schoolboy69 lowkey but nah their infront of you was your cowboy, eyes narrowed in a mix of worry and frustration. He was practically glaring at you, mad that you picked up something without his help, even if you picked up something as heavy as a bag of cookies he would be mad and see red like alpha dawg sigma 4000

“What do you think you’re doin’, darlin’?” His voice is low, but you still heard the irritation in his voice.

“I’m just helping out,” you say, trying to brush it off as no big deal. “It’s just a bale of hay, I'll can handle it.” You said shrugging, about to walk past him until you felt the heavy hay get off your shoulders in a quick manner.

that lil bitch took the hay and walked away but not before blowing u a kiss and saying "i love u n/n, get ready for tonight bc imma need u to blow my back OUT-"

yan cowboy who always is complimenting you, doesnt even matter if your in ur christmas pjs from 2016 he will say "id lowkey eat you out in that"

yan cowboy who is ur obsessed boy who luvs you more than he should<3

yan cowboy who is ur such cowboy who couldnt be more lucky to have you with him! <333

GUYS IM BACK FROM THE DEAD BITCHESSS

GUYS YALL COULD SEND REQUESTS BUT ITS GONNA TAKE A LITTLE BIT BC IM STILL WORKING ON OTHER DRAFTS LIKE THESE

GUYS WHO HAS YAN WINDERBREAKER MANHWA BOOKS PLS I NEED JAY JO AND OWEN

#yandere x reader #yanderemalexreader #clingy yandere #soft yandere #tw yandere #yandere x darling #yandere blog #yandere boyfriend #yandere #yandere male #yandere cowboy #destinys worksss<333

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cruel-as-sin · 20 days ago

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oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god

this is SO well written and im SOOOOO INTRIGUED OMG

i need more NOWWWWWWWW

the setup is just phenomenal, the image of logan fighting off a bunch of assholes in a bar… mmfmm (btw if you haven’t watched australia yet, you should, there’s a bar fight scene…)

godddddd

the plot is just. PERFECT. and feeds into my wildest fantasies of wanting to be hunted by him sorry what who said that

no seriously though the concept is peak the execution is peak the building tension and the realizations on both ends, PEAK.

him fucking finding me with the paper in hand??? MDBXGSHSDB and then clicking his tongue at me as he pulls his shirt back on

my heart was pounding (and something else has a pulse too-)

this is just so perfect. why is there a three thousand dollar bounty? who put it up? why pick logan specifically? so many questions!!!! im dying to know!!!

and he’s just so hot. you write him so phenomenally and it makes him SO much more attractive (which i didn’t even know was POSSIBLE but you’ve achieved it)

i’ve been so excited for this series and this chapter did NOT disappoint. truly incredible work as always van and i cannot wait to read more <3

Love and Bounties- Chapter 1

Cowboy! Logan Howlett X F! Reader

The Sun Rises in The East

An ominous presence has arrived to your quiet town

A/N: Oml this came out SO long...Hope you all enjoy! <3

Warnings: Alcohol, smoking, violence- barfights lol, blood and injury descriptions, Logan being a flirty menace, reader is described to have curly hair, probs some history inaccuracies lol bear with me

Series Masterlist

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1911, Harrodsburg, Kentucky

The sun rises in the east, and sets in the west.

A growing town known as Harrodsburg, resting in between the valleys and hills of the mountains in the East side of the States. A town of agricultural farming and horse trade. Developing, but not quite having met the qualities of bustling metropolis that its neighbor cities have become.

It was quiet, and just small enough that everyone almost knew everyone else. The town was a middle ground- a city slipping into the country, a place smack between the old and new century.

In the distance, an ominous, lone figure perched on a horse observed the small town with keen eyes. A cigar set between his teeth, he puffed on it- a strong taste of earthy smoke filling his tongue. He tipped his cattleman forward over his eyes, the glare of the afternoon sun was bugging him, and he brought his hand down to his chin, scratching his beard thoughtfully as he considered the quaint little town.

His horse, a beautiful mustang he tamed not too long ago, bobs her head with a swish of her tail. Impatient with her rider as he continued to observe the town below in silence. She was the color of cinnamon- hence, her name. Cinnamon. With a long mane the color of dark chocolate. He took delicate care of her- as a man should, for a creature that carries him for miles and miles of land deserved respect.

He glanced down at her, reaching a gloved hand down to soothe the heifer, a small pat of her head, before petting her mane. He looked back at the town, removing the half finished cigar from his lips and discarding it to the ground.

He tugged at the reins, clicking his tongue as an order and leading her to walk down the path of dirt that led to a muddy road, hoof prints and tracks of wheels belonging to carriages left behind. Soon the trees that surrounded the road began to thin out, and the town came into view- bustling with folks enjoying the sunny day.

As he reached the outskirts of town, he took notice of the folks around. An old man with graying hair and scars on his face singing an old, sad tune as he shoveled soil into a wheelbarrow. To his right, a tired mother with a young boy and girl, arguing and shoving each other- only to immediately stop as the shadow of the lone cowboy towers over them as he walks by. A group of men smoking on a wooden porch stare him down past the brim of their hats- challenge set in their eyes.

The townsfolk regarded him with caution.

He was used to it. The judgemental stares as people realize that trouble has come to their little town. They were right.

Trouble was one of many things that this man could be called. He was many things, a cowboy, a gunman, an outlaw, a bounty hunter. He was anything a job called of him to be, if the moneys right.

He found the saloon- smack in the center of the town. On one side of the bar, hitching posts for folks and their horses and donkeys, opposite to the few automobiles parked along the building.

How modern.

He hopped off of his horse's back, grabbing her reins and tying them to a hitch, encouraging her to drink some water set before her in an old water trough while he began to search the packs hanging off the saddle, noting supplies he needed to pick up.

Just from the looks of it- he could tell it was one where people look out for one another. One that will put up a fight to protect its own. He knew to tread carefully, not to draw suspicion. Don’t make it obvious what he’s here for.

He happened to look up when he noticed a lone woman walk by. Pretty thing she was. He has an eye for em’; He couldn’t help it.

Bouncy curls that fell past her shoulder, pretty eyes, and pretty lips - soft and delicate. A pretty, flowy dress- a tad scandalous for a woman her age to be wearing, with bare shoulders and an exposed collar that left little to imagination- surely a barmaid, or a woman of the cloth. She carried a crate that he couldn’t see the contents of with both hands, and she was watching him all the same.

Maybe, he could enjoy some recreational time before he does what he came to do. It had been a long journey after all.

“See something you like darling?” He calls out in a heavy tone, a small smirk plastered on his face.

She raised a brow, “Relax cowboy, I was checking out your horse.” She teased, before winking. His smirk faded, turning into something curious. She continued on her path, but Logan didn’t stop watching her until she disappeared from the road. He was fascinated by the bounce of her curls, the swish of her dress as she walked with confidence.

He shook himself out of her spell, deciding that he’ll track her down later. A smile like that doesn’t just go unforgettable in his mind. First- he needed a drink, and information.

Once sure that Cinnamon was secured, he made his way up the steps of the saloon, where he could hear raucous laughter and joyful music playing inside.

It was crowded. Filled with men and women busying themselves with entertainment on a sunny Saturday afternoon. The air was thick with booze and tobacco. Men playing poker, or chatting merrily around tables and bar tops with pretty showgirls sitting on their laps fake laughing at their jokes with their arms hanging around their necks.

A few of the patrons took notice. Watching as Logan slithered through the tables and the crowds. Sizing up the stranger, a few whispers spread through the bar as more people took notice. The chatter didn’t stop, but became quieter in his presence.

He settles down at a lone table in the far corner. He didn’t need more stares, the judgemental looks that he already was met with outside. People were likely already gossiping about this handsome stranger, wondering what had brought him into their quiet town. It wouldn’t be long till the news spread, until someone recognizes him.

He’ll get some dumbass trying to challenge him on the streets, causing all sorts of chaos. Being the man he was, he’ll accept it gladly.

Click. Aim. Bang.

He settled back in his seat, the old chair groaning against his weight. He let out a tired sigh, reaching into his vest- made of worn leather, with an imprint across it from the bandolier that always sits slung over his chest.

He pulled out a paper, folded and tucked inside a pocket of the vest and unfolded it carefully. He tuts quietly as he reads it- the bounty he received. Mailed directly to him. Whoever sent it knew where he was that day because he didn’t have a place to stay- a wanderer through cities and towns.

It was sketchy as hell. It’s not the first time he’s been hired for a job, but normally he gets approached by an actual person looking to talk details about the job- not a courier with a telegram. Some 10 year kid looking terrified to set foot in the bar he was settled in for the day.

A message, addressed to him directly;

It shared details about a woman living in this town, who makes herself a doctor. Her name, and a few discreet details of her looks - not helpful whatsoever, but it isn’t his first rodeo.

JAMES L HOWLETT -(STOP)-

A BOUNTY IS BEING OFFERED TO YOU -(STOP)-

SHOULD YOU ACCEPT AND COMPLETE A PAYMENT WILL BE MADE TO YOU IN AMOUNT OF THREE THOUSAND DOLLARS-(STOP)-

It was sketchy- but the money, lord the money would be enough to settle him for life if he so desired. It would be a long tiring trip, considering he had been in a little town called Jefferson in Texas at the time- over two week trip to the town of Harrodsburg, and will be a similar trip back to the West- which will be a pain in the ass since bounties aren’t typically eager to go with him anywhere.

Once again, the money- assuming it’s true, and worth it. Too good to pass up.

He didn’t ask questions about his work, easier that way- couldn’t help but be curious though. What has this woman possibly done to warrant a bounty of three thousand dollars? Furthermore, why pick him to do this job, he was singled out. He may be greedy, but he wasn’t dumb.

Something has arisen, however it doesn’t matter as long as he gets that cash in hand.

“Would you like something to drink, stranger?”

He looked up from the paper, a waitress stood there with a big smile, blonde curls, and piercing blue eyes, which trailed over his handsome face. Pretty hazel eyes, strong jaw, and sculpted nose. He was used to the looks, he knew he was a handsome man. Never really paid mind to it though, unless he found something pretty and willing.

He took a deep inhale. “Bourbon.” He says leaning forward on the table. She nods a playful tilt of her head as she gives him another pleasant grin- which unnerved him a bit, walking away back to the counter. He turned his attention elsewhere, not noticing her leaning over and whispering something to another man seated at the bar who was nursing a glass of whiskey.

He folded the telegram back up, sticking it back in his vest before dropping an arm on top of his lonely table, tapping his fingers rhythmically along the wood as he turned to observe the windows- shutters pulled shut but streams of light still came through the cracks of the wood- where he could see the hazy dust and smoke floating around the air.

Lost in thought, he didn’t notice the man at the bar counter had stood up, making his way towards him.

“You!”

Logan turned his head, an impassive expression on his face as he queried a brow.

“I know who you are.” The man slurs. “Get out of here!”

Logan tilted his head, a smirk growing on his face as he sensed a fight would happen- just not so soon. Suppose he’s becoming more and more infamous every day.

He’s gained a reputation in his years. Countless jobs, missions, and confrontations. He’s got posters of his face going from the west to the east of the states- even stretching into Canada and Mexico. He’s overheard people telling his stories- A heist of a train traveling through multiple states, a quickdraw duel with a mayor, and the time he pitted two gangs against each other- to be the only one standing after the dust settled.

He’s a busy man.

“No, I don’t think you know who I am bub.” Logan leaned forward. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be talking to me right now.”

“You’re a bad man.” He sneers. “A killer, a thief-!”

“Go sleep it off pal.” Logan warns, his smirking fading into a scowl. “Before you do something you regret.”

“I’lll make you regret ever coming here-” He lunges after Logan, who stood up from his chair - a loud crash as both the chair and table fall to the ground.

“That's the best you got you drunk asshole?” Logan taunts as he dodges a punch- only to be tackled immediately after.

The patrons of the bar begin yelling, a few whooping and cheering.

The struggle ensued, as the drunken accuser pushes Logan into the shutters, breaking them open as Logan’s is nearly pushed out the window- startling an old woman as she was walking by. He's pulled back in, and a punch is landed across his face.

He fights back, punching his attacker back- and knocking him out clean to the floor. By then, chaos has erupted throughout the bar- as most men, drunk on booze have taken this as their sign to fight their buddy next to them. Multiple men gang up on Logan- defending their KO'd brother on the floor.

Logan- no stranger to fight held himself steady. Using various tools at his disposal, he broke a chair over one man's back, and tossed the other over the bar counter. The angelic waitress from earlier screams and jumps onto Logan's back, hitting on his chest and shoulders in a febrile attempt to injure him.

“Get off me lady!” Logan shouts, attempting to shake her off, until another woman comes over and begins a cat fight with the waitress as she tears her off Logan's back.

Bottles are thrown across the bar, crashing against the wall. Logan attempts to make a quick exit alongside one wall, avoiding the two men fistfighting each other. A knife was thrown, slamming into the wall inches away from Logan's face, as he watched with wide eyes, the handle vibrate from the recoil.

He ducked under the knife, pushing past two more drunken men, who fell to the ground wrestling each other. He caught the words of one of them accusing his enemy of sleeping with his mother. Yikes.

Logan nearly made his escape- except the drunk from earlier, who started the whole thing had woken up not long after being knocked out and trailed Logan through the bar, grabbing the knife that was stuck in the wall.

“Asshole!” Logan heard him yell, and turned just as the knife came down, slicing down his arm, where red began to bleed through the cut, quickly soaking through the white sleeve of his shirt. Logan hissed from the pain, jumping back- just when several men barged in- one grabbing Logan and pulling him back out into the bright sun and fresh air.

“Can’t go one goddamn day without a fight breaking out around here.” The stranger mutters under his breath as he helps the slightly disoriented cowboy down the porch of the saloon. “Christ, your arm okay pal?”

“S’It look okay?” Logan sneered, his hand moving up to apply pressure to it, hissing at the stinging sensation through gritted teeth. He’s had worse, but damn it hurts.

“Just trying to help. You should see the doc.”

He was begrudgingly dragged to the so-called doctors house. Forced to walk through streets until reaching an empty road where a lone house stood tall, surrounded by trees and wildflowers. A small garden growing various vegetables sat in front- and he spotted a small pen nearby, where he heard the bleating of goats.

Nice place.

Logan- distracted from the pain in his arm- and grumpy he never got his drink and got a fight and a slash to the arm instead- ruining a perfectly good shirt by the way, didn’t put two and two together right away when he arrived.

“Doc!” The stranger calls out to the house as they approach it- a man who introduced himself as Oliver; not as tall as Logan, with short brown hair and clean shaven face and adorning suspenders. Oliver was rambling as they made their way to the doctors house- which Logan tuned out for the most part. Only picking up that the doctor was sweet, and a bit quirky as some people say. Not traditional in a sense.

He opens the screen door to the house without knocking, holding it open for Logan. “Doc? Got some work for you.” He calls out into the house as he steps inside after Logan.

“I don’t need a doctor pal, I’m fine.” Logan mutters, leaning against a small table by the door and removing his hand to observe the bloody wound. Oliver grits his teeth, sucking air through them as he put his hands on his hips, pointing to the arm and shaking his head

“Ya gonna lose that arm to uh…What they call it…”

“Sepsis.”

A woman's voice made them raise both their heads.

You leaned against the frame of the archway that led into your living room, a wet rag in hand as you just finished cleaning your kitchen- in which you had been thinking about how happy you were to finally have a quiet Saturday;

Of course good things never last long.

You tilted your head and you smiled, observing the two men standing in your foyer.

“Whatchu bring me now Oli?” You straightened yourself, walking over to Oliver and the injured man- the tall, handsome one you saw earlier who had clearly been mentally undressing you when he saw you walk by. He had a dangerous look about him, and looks like you were right.

Logan stared at you in surprise, wide eyed and lips slightly parted. You would have thought he just fell in love by the way he stared at you. Logan's eyes trailed down your body, still in the pretty dress you still had on from earlier. Now that he’s got a closer look at you, you are definitely a beaut, heavenly in the way the light from the windows of your home glows with sunlight around you. He didn’t think when he saw you earlier that you’d be a doctor of all things.

“Another casualty of Morgan's Saloon.” Oliver smiles, a certain shine in his eyes that Logan noticed Oliver has when he looks at you. “I guarantee you, there’s going to be more heading here soon.”

“Figures.” You scoffed, shaking your head, you stepped past Oliver, placing your hand on Logan's shoulder as you observed the cut. “Ouch! How did this happen mister…”

“Call me Logan.” He gives you a charming smile, leaning closer to you, hand coming up to tip his hat respectfully.

“Logan.” You raised an eyebrow, now putting your hands on your hips, tipping your chin back as you look up at him with a playful expression. “What happened at the saloon?”

“What always happens.” He smirked. “The arm’s fine darling, no need to fuss over me- much as I ‘preciate the attention of pretty woman like you.”

“How about you let me decide if your arm is okay.” You say sweetly, waving for him to stand up.

“Need me for anything?” Oliver asks you, you shook your head- the curls of your hair bouncing with your movements, politely waving him off.

“No, just make sure no one killed each other back there.” You muttered, shaking your head, as you began to lead Logan through your home and into your kitchen.

Pulling out a chair from your kitchen table, you pat it and motioned for Logan to sit who obliges, taking off his cattleman hat and setting it on the table.

“You mind taking off your vest and shirt so I could get a better look?” You ask as you walk across the kitchen, opening cabinets and pulling out small containers filled with medicine, bandages, and more and setting them onto the table behind Logan.

“Any excuse to see me shirtless, huh?” He asks in a coy tone, turning his head to the side, a playful grin on his face as his eyes watched you busy yourself around the kitchen.

You froze, rolling your eyes at his flirtation and not responding to it. It’s a common interaction with most men brought to your home. You however, were more concerned to make sure he doesn’t bleed out or die of sepsis inside your kitchen that you just cleaned. You went to another cabinet and pulled out a glass and some liquor, setting it aside, before stopping to put your hair back, going to wash your hands in the sink- while also filling a bowl with water and clean rags.

Logan looked forward again, and began working on shedding his bandolier, vest, and shirt- now ruined with blood. He groaned a bit, the feeling of the discarded cloth wasn’t pleasant against his wound. He discarded them to the floor and sighs as he settled into the chair. You walked to his side, holding out a glass of whiskey. He looked at it, then you.

“Well, thank you sweetheart.” He purrs, happily taking the glass from your hand. He does a small toast to you, before sipping it- savoring the burn of the liquor on his tongue- finally getting that drink he hadn’t stopped thinking about since he’s arrived in this town.

“You’ll need it.” You hummed, as you walked around him, grabbing another chair to sit on as you grabbed the wet rag from the bowl, squeezing out the excess water and you began to gently wash the blood away. He flinched from the cold temperature of the water. “Sorry,” You smiled apologetically to him. “It’ll take too long to warm it up.”

“I can take it.” He mutters, looking down at his drink, before taking another swig. It was silent as you worked to clean him up, observing the long cut down his bicep to his elbow. Meanwhile, he observed your house. Nice, pretty- definitely a sign of a lived-in woman. “So, doc, how a girl like you get into a business like this?”

“Mm. Long story.” You say. “I like helping people, is the short of it.”

“You don’t look like a doctor.”

You tipped your head up at him. “Yeah? and what should I look like?”

He glanced at you, realizing he was digging himself a grave by the challenge in your eye. “Mm, I don’t know.”

“No no, clearly you have some notions of what a doctor should look like…Share it with me.” You encourage, with a playful tone in your voice as you resume cleaning his arm.

“Nah, I don’t think I will.” He grinned, shaking his head. “I suppose I just uh…” He looked at you, his voice turning low. “Never seen a lady so beautiful, be a doctor, of all things before.”

“Mmhm.” You barely respond, not wanting to fuel his attempt to flirt.

“Some lucky guy make an honest woman out of you?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “No...” You tittered.

“Shame. Dame like you should have someone taking care of you.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I can take care of myself.” You retort, tipping your chin up at him. He smirked.

“Yeah…” His eyes trailed down, not being very discreet as he checked you out. “Ain’t nothing wrong with being taken care of though, sweetheart. Look at what a nice thing you’re doing for me.”

“This nice thing is my job.” You raised your brows at him. “I took an oath when I became a doctor. Do no harm, help anyone to the best of my ability.”

“Yeah…” His smirk slowly faded. “So you like helping people huh?”

You were silent, as you thought about what he said, playing back old memories. Patting his arm dry with a new clean rag, giving you a clear view of the cut on his arm. You nodded. “Yes. I do.” You were sincere in your tone.

You looked up at him, meeting his eyes. He had a more serious look, something thoughtful. Like he was considering your words.

“Well, you don’t need stitches.. That's the good news!” You set back, looking away to break the building tension. “I’ll just clean it out, wrap your arm up and you’ll be good as new.”

“Thanks doc.” He turned his head away from you, his finger tapping along the glass. You took the chance to observe his face.

No, you couldn’t deny he was quite handsome. He had pretty eyes, and a nice deep voice that sounded like honey and whiskey to your ears. Clearly a brute creature, but at least he was respectful enough to you.

“You get into a lot of fights Logan?” You asked. He looked at you again, and you motioned with your hand the various scars along his body. He looked down at what you were pointing at. You didn’t need him to tell you though, you were able to tell the moment you laid eyes on him outside the saloon. He was a wanderer- a cowboy. Every scar told a story.

It should sway you, it’s clear he’s dangerous. He had a revolver on his holster- inches away from your knee. You couldn’t help but be drawn to him though.

“It happens.” He says with a shrug, finishing off his whiskey. “Misunderstandings.”

“Yeah? What do you do to cause so many misunderstandings?”

He looked at you, expecting to find judgement, something critical, in your eyes. Yet you looked at him with no judgement- no, he saw something more unfamiliar in your expression. Kindness.

“Nothing you should worry about.” He says gently.

You nodded, and returned to his arm- grabbing a bottle of antiseptic and cotton rag and began applying it to the large cut. He let out a hissing noise, wincing from the sting and turning his head away.

“Damn that smarts.” He grunts, gritting his teeth and shaking his head.

“Sorry. That’s why I gave you a drink.” You continued to thoroughly apply the antiseptic to the injury. “You’ll want to keep this clean- don’t be swimming in any rivers or lakes. Have a doctor check up on it in a few days- make sure there’s no infection and I’m serious- you don’t want to lose that arm.”

He hummed. “Got it.”

You gently lifted his arm up, informing him to hold it up while you began to wrap it gently with a bandage roll.

“So do you uh, work out of your house?” He asks. You nodded.

“People are more comfortable that way I feel.” You say. “Lot of the time when you’re sick you don’t want to sit in a room filled with needles and scary looking chairs and all. The only issue is the occasional need for surgery, injuries worse than yours, I need a sterile field, infections run rampant enough already. I have a room down the hall for that if needed, which fortunately isn’t often, but with all the farms around here- stuff happens with the machinery.”

Logan listened intently, his eyes observing the kitchen before he glanced down at the vest he left on the floor- which occurred to him. A woman, and a doctor, sitting right next to him.

Logan wasn’t a good man. This felt completely shitty though.

“So, what’s your name darling? Don’t think I caught it” He asks casually.

You told him your name, not noticing the way his eyes darted over to you, staring you down with intensity- if you had looked at him right then, you would have seen a flash of guilt. His eyes darted away before you could see it.

“Pretty name.”

You shook your head with a smile, “Thank you, Logan.”

Money’s money.

He turned his head fully to look at you. You felt tension return between you. Logan's eyes seemed to pierce through you, and you were hypnotized by them. You cleared your throat, standing up and pulling off your gloves- sticking them into the bowl of dirty water- which you’ll clean and sanitize later.

“You’re all set.” You inform him, smoothing out your dress as you speak. “Do you need anything for the pain?”

“Another glass of whiskey will do just fine.” He grumbles looking away.

You let out a small laugh and nodded, walking around him, the heel of your boots clipping on the hardwood as you grabbed the bottle of whiskey- and topped off his glass as he held it up to you.

“You look tired Logan.” You say as you set the bottle down. “Why don’t you get some rest? You can lie down on the couch, I have a bedroom as well if you’d like some privacy and something more comfortable?”

“I’m alright.” He stands up, and you see his muscular figure. Trailing from his Adams apple, down to his chest and stomach, brawny, hairy, he clearly was strong and you could appreciate that as a woman and a doctor.

You hadn’t paid much attention to it earlier, seeing he was a patient and you were focused on taking care of the wound first. Now that he was okay, you could certainly appreciate the specimen before you. It bloomed a heat in your cheeks and you looked away, suppressing a bashful smile.

“Mind if I use the bathroom?” He asks.

“Oh, yeah, sure.” You nodded, you walked across the kitchen with him following- and you pointed down a small hall. “The door on the far right.”

“Thanks darling.” He says, a charming smile shot your way as he walked past you. Your eyes glanced down to his pants, heavy with a holster resting over on his hip. The revolver you weren’t looking at though.

Nice ass!

You blinked at the thought, shaking your head as you walked back to the kitchen, beginning to clean up, grabbing the items that Logan carelessly discarded to the floor when he came into your kitchen.

A slip of paper fell out between the clothing items, and you reached down to grab it. It had unfolded when it slipped out of the vest, a paper that looked like a telegram.

You aren’t nosy, really, but a quick glance and you noticed something familiar between the printed words. You read it as you stood up- and your stomach sank with your blood running cold. You read the telegram message- addressed directly to him, with details of you, your job, your home.

Three thousand dollars?!

This man was here for you- and acted like a flirt, a friend, to your face. You left the door open for anyone no matter the danger, always able to handle yourself, a handsy drunk, a hysterical child- you’ve seen it all.

A bounty hunter?

He’s in your home, alone, with you. You weren’t sure how you could get out of this one.

You didn't hear him behind you as you stared at the paper dictating your inevitable kidnapping.

“Well, look at what you found, sweetheart.”

You turn around, jumping at the sound of his voice. You clenched the paper in your hand as you stepped back from him, feeling like there was a frog in your throat.

His expression was serious. You didn’t see remorse, guilt, nothing and that pissed you off more than scared you. He sighed, reaching to grab his shirt, observing the cut and blood-stained cloth, and clicking his tongue, before pulling it back on. Then grabbing his vest.

You watched him as he dressed himself, nervously looking back where your backdoor was- calculating how far you could get from him, find a weapon perhaps. Your eyes glanced down at the revolver on his hip.

Realistically, you’re fucked.

You watched him pull the bandolier over his shoulder, and then grabbed his hat, before he looked at you with an unimpressed expression. “Well darling. How is this going to play out?”

You press your lips together, straightening your shoulder and holding your head high. “Surely you don’t think you could just kidnap me, with as many people around here as there are. What, you’re just going to sling me over your shoulder, shoot your way back into town on your horse and carry me off to god knows where?”

#cas recs #new fantasy unlocked: cowboy logan getting a bounty on me #my predator/prey daydreams are getting out of hand…#new late night thoughts to drift off to sleep to fuel!!!#mwah #<— a logan kiss for you van

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