#I did NOT expect that voice for the man and I do not like it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

solrburst · 3 days ago

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cowboy daddy — bull rider!joel miller x reader

𝒮ummary: At a dusty rodeo under a burning sun, you got lost from your friends and found Joel Miller instead

𝒲arnings: idk how to tag it but reader continues the action after he comes, semi-public sex, oral sex (m! receiving), multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, small town, reader is soft and feral, masturbation, dirty talk, age gap

𝒜uthor’s 𝒩ote: i've been obsessed with elsie silvers' books so i had to do it i'm sorry

𝒲ord 𝒞ount: 14,8k

The sun hung low like a burning brand in the sky, casting gold over the dust that curled and drifted in the air. The grandstands of the fairgrounds were packed, filled with the sounds of country rock and distant hoots from half-drunk cowboys and girls with rhinestones on their jeans. The scent of fried food and sweat clung to everything, thick and familiar.

You hadn’t planned to lose your friends. It was supposed to be a carefree Saturday—a little too much seltzer, too much flirtation, and too many selfies taken under the banner for the “State Bull Riding Finals.” But somewhere between the snack stand and the beer tent, they vanished into the crowd. You didn’t panic, though. You drifted instead, letting the music guide your hips and the heat kiss your skin, your crop top tied just right above your navel, your denim skirt fluttering dangerously high with every step. You knew how you looked, and the trail of glances you left behind proved it.

Then came the roar. A surge of excitement, collective and hungry. You turned, drawn toward it like a moth to fire, and slipped through the crowd until you stood by the edge of the arena fence, right as the announcer’s voice cut clear through the speakers:

“Now y’all hold your breath for this one—eight seconds of hell comin’ up with the one and only, the undefeated, Joel Miller!”

You weren’t expecting him.

The man that strode into the center of the arena wasn’t just some local boy in too-tight Wranglers. No, this one carried the kind of weight that made every inch of the world feel smaller. Broad shoulders, thighs like pistons under faded denim, a salt-and-pepper scruff shadowing a jaw that looked carved out of goddamn Texas itself. His eyes were hidden under the brim of a worn, black hat—but you felt him anyway.

He mounted the bull like he’d done it a thousand times—because he had. The animal twisted beneath him, already wild with rage, hooves gouging the dirt, snorting steam like a demon. The gate opened. Time shattered.

You’d never seen something so fucking beautiful.

The way his body moved with the bull—controlled chaos, all muscle and instinct. Eight seconds felt like a lifetime. The crowd counted down, breathless. He lasted. He always did. And when he dismounted, dust coating the sweat on his arms, his hat flew free—spinning once, twice—before landing at your feet, just on the other side of the rail.

You leaned down, fingers brushing the brim. It smelled like sun, leather, and something darker—masculine in the most dangerous way.

Then you heard his voice. Low and slow, like whiskey poured over ice.

“Looks better on you, darlin’. Keep it.”

Your eyes met his. There was a curl at the corner of his mouth—half smile, half dare.

You gave him a smile as sweet as pie, lashes fluttering just enough to bait the hook.

“Might be the first thing I’ve stolen that no one’s tried to take back.”

He raised a brow, those stormy eyes lingering on you longer than polite. “Well… maybe I don’t want it back.”

Your fingers gripped the hat a little tighter.

And just like that, something started. Not a spark—no, this wasn’t delicate. This was heat and dust and the promise of something wild.

Joel Miller had noticed you. And you weren’t planning on letting him forget.

The fair had started to melt into late afternoon, that honey-colored hour where everything looked softer, slower—like time itself was leaning back with a drink. You’d wandered off from the arena, Joel’s hat snug on your head, brim tilted just low enough to make you feel like trouble. The stalls stretched out along the grass, strung with fluttering pennants and rows of handmade goods—leatherwork, turquoise jewelry, candles that promised to smell like bonfires and bad decisions.

You stood before one of them, idly thumbing a braided bracelet, pretending to care about the craftsmanship while your other hand toyed with a red lollipop between your lips. You liked how it tasted—sugar and cherry—but you liked even more the way men looked at you when you sucked on it slow, tongue tracing the hard curve before slipping it back into your mouth with a soft pop.

That’s when you felt him.

Not saw—felt.

The air changed. Heavy. Like gravity pulled harder when he walked near. You didn’t even have to turn your head to know it was Joel. You felt that same weight you’d felt in the ring—like some old god in denim, slow and carved from dust.

“Heard red’s your color.”

You looked over your shoulder, the sucker shifting between your lips, eyes half-lidded beneath the brim of his hat now snug atop your head. Joel stood there, arms folded across his chest, forearms thick and sun-kissed, his white tee clinging to a chest built to hold sin. He was grinning like he’d been looking for you—and like he wasn’t the least bit surprised to find you right there, in his hat, licking candy like you were born to torment.

“Was wonderin’ when you’d come lookin’,” you said, voice syrupy, playing dumb with your eyes all lit up. “Didn’t think it’d be so soon.”

“Ain’t lookin’ for my hat.” He glanced down at you, gaze slow like a drag off a cigarette. “Figured it found the right head. But I was wonderin’ what a girl like you’s doin’ out here all alone.”

You stepped a little closer to the stall, just enough to make him lean in to hear you better. The lollipop clicked against your teeth as you pulled it free, letting your lips linger on the glossy red tip.

“Didn’t know I was alone. Figured you were watchin’ since the arena.”

Joel’s brows ticked upward, amused. His eyes didn’t move from your mouth.

“Might’ve been. Hard to look away when someone’s wearin’ my hat, suckin’ on candy like that.”

You smiled slow, that soft, sweet expression that always got people to underestimate you. Then, tilting your head, you held the lollipop out toward him between two fingers.

“Wanna taste?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just looked at you, that long, unreadable look that said he was weighing his options—or maybe the trouble you came with. Then he stepped forward, real close, shadows and heat wrapping around you both.

Joel didn’t take the candy. He leaned in, just enough to speak low into your ear, his breath warm.

“Darlin’, if I start tastin’ you, that sucker ain’t the first thing I’ll be wantin’.”

And then he leaned back, not touching you, just looking at you like he already owned your next move. Like he knew you’d follow, whether you meant to or not.

The sucker stayed in your hand. Your heart kicked up under your ribs.

Something in the air snapped tighter between you two.

The tension hummed, a slow-burn kind of heat that didn’t demand anything—it just waited, sure as a storm in a dry sky. Joel stood there in the dying sunlight, all rough edges and coiled charm, and you felt his gaze settle heavy on you again—like you’d been branded by it.

He tipped his chin toward the back of the fairgrounds, where the floodlights were starting to flicker on over a spread of lawn chairs, pickup trucks, and coolers. Laughter drifted through the air, along with the twang of a guitar and the occasional clink of glass bottles.

“We’re settin’ up by the trailers. Cold beer, good company. You oughta come.”

It wasn’t a question.

You twirled the lollipop back between your lips, leaning a little on one hip. That crop top rode higher, teasing the smooth line of your waist. You didn’t say yes right away—no, you let the silence stretch, watching him, letting him want the answer before you gave it.

Then you gave a soft shrug, playful.

“Sure. Long as no one minds me showin’ up lookin’ better than all the other girls.”

Joel chuckled, deep and rough, like a growl wrapped in velvet.

“Sugar, you walked in lookin’ better than the rest. They’ll live.”

You fell into step beside him, the brim of his hat shading your face as you walked across the fairgrounds. He didn’t touch you—but he didn’t need to. The way he moved beside you, easy and tall, the occasional sideways glance full of unspoken things—it was enough.

The closer you got, the louder it became. Three trucks were backed up in a horseshoe around a crackling firepit, chairs and blankets scattered around, and a big cooler overflowing with beer and melting ice. Joel’s buddies were already gathered—broad men with sunburnt arms and worn-out boots, laughing like they hadn’t known hard days.

One of them spotted you and let out a long, appreciative whistle.

“Well damn, Miller. You didn’t say you were bringin’ a dessert.”

Joel didn’t even look at the guy. He just reached over to grab two beers from the cooler, popped them open with a bottle opener hanging from his belt, and handed one to you with a little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Play nice,” he told them, calm but firm.

You took the beer, nails clinking against the glass, and let your lips curl slow around the rim before sipping. You could feel every pair of eyes on you, but your attention didn’t stray from Joel. Not for long.

“So,” you said, tilting your head, your voice a teasing whisper meant only for him, “you always share your toys with the boys?”

He grinned, finally letting his eyes drag slow over you.

“Ain’t a toy if it bites back, darlin’. And somethin’ tells me… you bite real good.”

The night stretched ahead, thick with heat and the smell of smoke and beer. Someone strummed a guitar, another tossed firewood onto the flames. But you? You leaned into the curve of your chair, beer in hand, and let the hat tip forward to shadow your grin.

You were right where you wanted to be.

And Joel Miller? He was definitely lookin’ at you like the game had only just begun.

The fire cracked behind you, throwing golden shadows across Joel’s broad chest. The beer bottle in your hand was sweating, beads of condensation rolling over your fingers as you nursed the last few sips. You’d laughed at some story his buddy Tommy told—something about a steer getting loose and chasing a drunk out of a porta-potty—but your eyes had stayed mostly on Joel. The way he sat, heavy and relaxed, one arm draped over the back of his folding chair like he owned the whole damn county. He hadn’t stopped watching you either.

You swirled the last of your beer in the bottle, then let your voice cut low, sweet, just enough to make him lean in to hear.

“So… where does a cowboy like you sleep on the road?”

Joel didn’t answer right away. Just cocked his head a bit, eyes narrowed, amused and curious like he was tryin’ to read your angle.

You smiled, teasing your bottom lip between your teeth, then looked out toward the edge of the field where a row of trailers sat under flickering sodium lights. You nodded toward them.

“I wanna see it,” you said softly. “Your trailer. Where you sleep.”

Joel’s lips curled into something not quite a smirk, not quite a smile. More like a knowing. His fingers reached down into the cooler again, pulling out another bottle—cold and dripping. He popped the cap against the edge of the metal grate by the fire and handed it to you without a word.

You took it, brushing your fingers along his in a way that said this ain’t innocent.

Then he stood. The firelight caught his frame, tall and cut from something older than time—something that didn’t bend easy. He jerked his head slightly toward the trailers.

“C’mon then.”

You followed, your boots crunching soft in the grass, that little skirt of yours swaying with every step. He didn’t walk too fast. Didn’t walk too slow. Just kept beside you, matching your pace like you’d been walking together for years.

When you reached his trailer, it was exactly what you imagined—beat-up in a charming way, streaks of red dust on the aluminum sides, an old Texas flag decal peeling off the back. He swung the door open and motioned you in with that big hand of his, letting you go first.

The inside was dim, a narrow space full of lived-in scent: leather, sweat, and faint cologne. A small bed in the back corner, sheets messy, denim jacket tossed over the edge. There was a shelf lined with personal things—a few old rodeo belt buckles, a photo pinned to the wall of a much younger Joel, clean-shaven and grinning next to a bull the size of a truck.

You wandered in slow, looking around like you belonged there.

Joel leaned against the doorframe, watching you with arms crossed, his beer dangling from one hand.

“Didn’t figure you were the type to get real interested in travel accommodations.”

You looked back over your shoulder, lips brushing your beer bottle.

“Maybe I just wanted to know where the big Cowboy Daddy, Joel Miller, lays his head down after a long, hard ride.”

He laughs. Loud, and it looked like just the view of you amused him.

His eyes dropped to your legs, then to your mouth. Real slow. That silence fell again—thick silence. The kind that begged for something to break it. A breath. A whisper. A touch.

“You always this curious?” he asked, voice rough.

You turned fully, letting the light from the tiny trailer window catch the curve of your waist, the sweet, sharp smile on your lips.

“Only when it’s worth it.”

Joel took a long drink of his beer, then set it down on the counter. You could feel the shift—he hadn’t moved yet, but something in him had. Like a bull behind the gate.

The air inside the trailer felt tighter than it should’ve—low ceiling, narrow walls, but that wasn’t it. It was the weight of Joel’s stare. The way his shoulders filled the doorway like he was trying real hard not to let anything in—or let you out.

You’d wandered your way to the little counter near the sink, fingers dancing along the edge of a battered cutting board, an old coffee mug, a half-used bottle of cologne that smelled like cedar, smoke, and sin. You took a sip from your beer, slow, savoring it like the pause between heartbeats. You could feel him watching your mouth.

“Ain’t much, but it’s home when I’m on the road,” he said.

You looked over your shoulder, head tilted, giving him that same syrupy smile that made most men melt—and always got them to show their hand.

“Not bad. Cozy. Probably gets a lotta use.”

Joel stepped closer, boots whispering across the linoleum. His voice dipped low.

“Only when I got someone worth sharin’ it with.”

Your lashes fluttered just enough to tease, but your mouth quirked into something sharper. You turned, leaning back against the counter, your hip jutting out just enough to catch his eye.

“Lotta women think they’re worth it, huh?” you murmured.

He didn’t answer. Just stepped in, slow and steady, like you were a skittish mare he didn’t wanna spook—but he still intended to saddle. His hand came up to the counter beside your waist, the other brushing a loose strand of hair from your face.

“Can’t lie, darlin’. Ain’t been starvin’ out here.”

Then his eyes dropped to your lips. And he leaned in.

That smell—dust and leather and just a hint of beer—wrapped around you. His mouth hovered a breath from yours, just close enough to make your pulse skip. You let it hang there. Let him think he had you. Then you tilted your head back—not away, but just enough.

Your eyes met his, a flicker of fire behind the softness.

“You fuck a woman in every town you stop in, don’t you?” Your voice was honeyed, sharp beneath the sweetness. “Flash a grin, tip your hat, make ‘em feel special for a night—then ride out like a ghost.”

Joel didn’t blink. But that smile? It changed. Less wolf, more… curious.

“And you think you ain’t like them.”

“No,” you said, voice velvet-wrapped steel. “I know I’m not. You want me, cowboy, you gotta earn me.”

There was a pause. Heavy and deep.

Then Joel laughed—low and warm in his chest, like he hadn’t heard something that real in a long damn time.

“Well,” he said, drawing back just enough to breathe, “guess I picked the right girl to hand my hat to.”

Your lips curved, slow and wicked.

“Guess you did.”

He didn’t try to kiss you again. Not yet.

But the promise hung thick in the air, clinging to every slow glance, every breath.

And Joel Miller? He’d never had to earn a damn thing before.

But he looked at you like maybe this time… he wanted to.

Your phone buzzed against your thigh, tucked in the waistband of that tiny denim skirt. The vibration broke the heat in the air, snapped the taut string stretched between you and Joel. You looked down slowly, reluctant, fingers brushing over the screen.

[Maddie: girl where the HELL are you?? we lost you like hours ago 😭]

[Maddie: we’re at the Ferris wheel—text me NOW]

You smiled faintly, a little breath through your nose. Damn. You’d forgotten they even existed.

Joel leaned back slightly, still close enough to feel the heat of him, his hand resting easy on the counter beside you. He glanced at the phone, then back at you, one brow raised.

“They send out a search party?”

“Somethin’ like that,” you murmured, tucking the phone away again, your fingers brushing over his wrist as you stepped slightly back—not far, but enough to signal it.

He nodded once, jaw flexing like he didn’t love the idea of you leaving—but he wasn’t gonna stop you, either.

“That friend of yours got a leash on you?”

You gave him a slow grin, stepping around him toward the trailer door, beer bottle still dangling from your fingers. The sway in your hips wasn’t an accident.

“No one’s got a leash on me, cowboy.”

You paused at the door, glancing over your shoulder, eyes lit with something dangerous.

“But don’t worry. I remember the way back.”

Joel watched you go, one hand coming up to rub the back of his neck, his mouth pulled into a smirk that looked equal parts amused and intrigued.

“I bet you do.”

You stepped out into the thick summer night, the fair still glowing in the distance, the sound of music and laughter calling you back. Joel’s hat still sat snug on your head, brim casting shadows over your grin.

You didn’t look back again.

Didn’t have to.

He was already planning on seeing you again.

The morning cracked open mean and loud.

It started with the slamming of a cabinet door. Then the sharp clink of glass bottles rattling in the sink—half-empty, sticky, the smell of stale liquor already thick in the air before the sun had fully risen. You moved through the kitchen with your jaw tight, boots hitting the linoleum with purpose, your little bag slung over one shoulder. Eyes down. Don’t engage. That was the rule.

But of course, your dad was already drinking.

“Where the hell do you think you’re goin’ dressed like that?” his voice slurred out from the recliner, worn leather groaning under his weight.

You didn’t stop moving.

“Out.”

“Rodeo again?” he barked, dragging himself up with a grunt, bottle clutched tight. “What, you think some goddamn cowboy’s gonna fix your life?”

You froze at the door, back to him. Your fingers curled around the strap of your bag tighter.

“You wouldn’t know anything about fixing lives,” you muttered, voice sharp and flat. “You just burn everything down and wait for someone else to clean it up.”

That set him off.

“You little bitch—”

Glass shattered. Something thrown. Not at you—but close enough to make the wall rattle. You didn’t flinch. You’d stopped flinching years ago. Just sucked in a breath, jaw locked hard.

“Mom left you,” you said, voice cold now. “And all you’ve done since is try to drown me in her place.”

Then you turned the knob. Walked out.

The sun outside was blinding compared to the nicotine-stained dark behind you. Your boots crunched the gravel of the drive. But what stopped you wasn’t the light.

It was the rumble of an old truck engine.

And Joel Miller, leaning against the driver’s side, one boot hooked over the other, arms folded across his chest like he’d been there a while. The hat you wore last night still sat snug on your head, shielding your eyes—but you didn’t miss the way his gaze moved over you. Not hungrily. Not like the men who looked too long at gas stations. It was measured. Careful. A quiet, burning kind of look.

“Hey,” he said simply. “Was just about to knock.”

You blinked. A full second passed before your body remembered how to move.

“What the hell are you doin’ here?”

He pushed off the truck, that easy gait of his moving him toward you. He looked good—too good for a morning this fucked. Flannel sleeves rolled to his elbows, jeans dusty, the lines of sleep still soft in the corners of his eyes.

“Asked around town,” he said. “Figured if I didn’t find you, I’d spend the day wonderin’ if you were real or somethin’ I dreamed up.”

Your mouth twitched. Almost a smile. Almost.

He asked for you around the town. Motherfucker.

“You borrow this too?” you asked, nodding to the truck.

Joel gave a low chuckle.

“Yeah. Tommy’s. He’s still drunk from last night. Won’t notice it’s gone ‘til it’s too late.”

The screen door behind you groaned. You didn’t look back. Joel’s eyes flicked to the sound but didn’t say anything—didn’t need to. He’d seen enough.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low now, serious.

You lifted your chin.

“I will be when we’re not standin’ in this goddamn driveway.”

Joel held your gaze for a moment, then stepped back and opened the passenger side door.

“Then get in.”

You didn’t hesitate.

You climbed in, tossing your bag in first. As you slammed the door shut, the house behind you might as well’ve been a hundred miles away. Joel circled the front of the truck, climbing in behind the wheel, the engine growling to life.

The silence between you settled soft. Heavy.

After a minute, Joel glanced over, one hand on the wheel, the other relaxed near the gear shift.

“You don’t gotta talk about it.”

“Good,” you said quickly, cutting him off. Then, after a beat, quieter: “But thanks.”

He nodded. Eyes back on the road.

The truck pulled onto the gravel road, dust trailing behind you like smoke. Ahead, the fairgrounds waited. The noise. The lights. And Joel—Joel wasn’t looking back.

Neither were you.

The truck rolled down the long stretch of two-lane road, the kind that cut through fields and dust like it had nowhere important to be—but today, it had you. The open windows let the wind snake through, lifting strands of your hair, tugging at the brim of Joel’s hat still perched on your head. The same one he’d let you keep the night before.

Your arms were folded tight across your chest, your body turned slightly toward the window, jaw clenched like it had been all morning. That fight still clung to you, like smoke that wouldn’t wash off. Joel didn’t press. He didn’t say a damn thing about the bruised look behind your eyes. But he saw it.

And after a few miles of silence, he decided he’d had enough of it.

“Y’know,” he said, voice easy, drawl thick and smooth, “if you were mine, I wouldn’t let you leave the house wearin’ that skirt either.”

Your head snapped toward him.

He was smirking now, eyes still on the road, like he hadn’t just thrown a match into dry grass.

Your brow arched, mouth twitching like you wanted to be mad—but couldn’t quite stop the smile threatening to crawl across your face.

“You flirt with every girl you pick up outside their daddy’s house, or am I just special?”

Joel let out a low chuckle, one hand drumming against the steering wheel. You saw the way his eyes cut toward you—amused, admiring.

“Nah. You’re special. I don’t chase girls who bite back. Usually I like ‘em soft.”

“And I’m not soft?”

“Not even a little,” he said, slow and glancing at you again, grin spreading wider. “You’re sugar-coated mean, darlin’. All that sweetness up front, but underneath? Ain’t nobody taming you.”

You looked out the window, but the smile finally cracked through. It started small—just the corner of your mouth—but Joel caught it.

“There she is,” he said, real quiet. Like the sound of that smile meant more to him than the rest of the damn day.

You shook your head, huffed a laugh.

“You got a bad habit of knowin’ exactly what to say.”

“No, I just pay attention.”

He reached over, real casual, and brushed his fingers just once against your thigh—low and slow. Not grabby. Not pushy. Just a reminder he was there.

The rodeo grounds were coming into view up ahead. Flags flapping in the breeze, trailers lined up like soldiers, the dust already rising from boots and hooves.

But in that truck, in that moment, there wasn’t any noise. Just the sound of your quiet laughter returning. The faint blush on your cheeks you didn’t bother hiding.

Joel smiled too, his hand slipping back to the wheel.

“Yeah,” he said. “That’s better.”

The rodeo grounds came into focus like a scene from some dusty postcard—trucks lined along the fields, folding chairs popped open under shade tents, the air buzzing with the low drone of generators, country music bleeding from too many speakers at once. Dust rose in lazy spirals with every step of a boot.

Joel swung the truck into a gravel lot behind the competitor trailers. The second he threw it in park and stepped out, it was like blood hit the water.

She spotted him fast—a blonde, tan like leather, long legs poured into skin-tight jeans, with lips glossed up and ready to be kissed. One of those rodeo girls who knew exactly what her hips could do when she walked, and she walked straight up to Joel before you had a chance to even get out of the passenger side.

“Well look who showed up early,” she purred, sunglasses sliding down the bridge of her nose as she looked him up and down. “Joel Miller, back again. Still makin’ bulls look tame and hearts look breakable.”

You rolled your eyes. Subtle, but not subtle enough.

Joel stood easy, relaxed in the heat, arms hanging loose at his sides—but you saw the shift in his eyes. He glanced at you through the windshield. Then back at the woman.

“’Preciate the compliment,” he said, voice even. Then, casual as anything: “But I’m here with my girl.”

You blinked. What?

The woman cocked her head, all that sugar in her smile suddenly turning brittle.

“Oh?”

Joel turned then, motioning toward the truck. His eyes met yours through the open door—steady, warm, the barest flicker of something smug just behind them.

“Yeah,” he said. “She’s the one wearin’ my hat.”

Your heart did a dumb little flip before you could strangle it.

You stepped out slowly, making sure your boot hit the gravel just loud enough to announce your entrance. You didn’t strut—but you didn’t hurry, either. The sun caught the edge of your bare legs, skirt riding dangerously high as you adjusted the hat slightly, just to drive it home.

“Hey,” you said, keeping your tone mild, but your eyes were sharp when you looked at the woman.

The blonde gave a little smirk, the kind that meant she was chewing on jealousy but didn’t want to choke in public.

“Didn’t know Joel had a type.”

“He didn’t,” you said, stepping up beside him. “I’m the exception.”

Joel gave a quiet chuckle, then reached out and rested his hand low on your back—real easy, real sure.

The other woman’s smile twitched, brittle and breaking. She gave a tight shrug, turned on her heel with a swish of hair and attitude, and stalked back toward the trailers.

As soon as she was gone, you tilted your head toward him, lips curving.

“Your girl, huh?”

Joel looked down at you, eyes dark and amused.

“Would’ve said it earlier, but figured I’d ease you into it.”

You snorted, looking away before he could see the way that heat was crawling up your neck.

“You’re real full of yourself, cowboy.”

“Nah,” he said, leaning in just enough to murmur it against the brim of his hat on your head, “just full’a good taste.”

And with that, he stepped around you, grabbing his gear from the back of the truck like he hadn’t just branded you with two words in front of half the damn rodeo.

But that hand on your back? That lingered.

And so did the grin on your lips.

The rodeo grounds buzzed with noise and heat—riders tightening ropes, bulls kicking up dust in their pens, announcers testing mics with long drawls echoing from the PA. Joel slung his duffel over one shoulder, the weight of it resting against his thick frame like it belonged there. He was already shifting into game-face mode—less flirt, more steel. Focused.

You could see it in the way his jaw set, his shoulders squared. All that swagger he wore like a second skin turned just a little more serious.

“I gotta get over to the prep stalls,” he said, jerking his chin toward the far end of the arena where the riders gathered behind the chutes. “Get my gear set, check the draw. You good gettin’ to the stands?”

“The what?” you asked, squinting.

“The grandstands,” he said, half-smiling. “Where my folks watch. C’mon, I’ll show you.”

He reached for your hand without asking, like it was the most natural thing in the world, his fingers curling around yours as he led you through the maze of trailers, hay bales, and riders hollering across the dirt.

The grandstands loomed up ahead—metal bleachers already packed with people in cowboy hats and sunburns, waving programs and drinking from sweaty cups. Joel brought you right up to the fence that divided the crowd from the arena, then turned to face you.

“You sit right up there, center row,” he said, nodding to a spot with the best view of the chutes. “Ain’t hard to find. I’ll be able to see you from the ring.”

You looked up toward the seats, then back at him. His face was in shadow from the sun behind him, but his eyes were clear. Focused. Present.

The air between you turned still for a moment. The sound of everything else—boots stomping, bulls bellowing, distant country music—faded to a dull thrum behind your ribs.

You stepped close.

“Hey,” you said softly.

Joel looked down at you, brows raised.

And then, without asking, you reached up and kissed him.

Not shy. Not sweet. Sure.

Your hand slid up his chest, fingers brushing the collar of his flannel as your lips met his—warm, firm, and steady. Not long. Not sloppy. But full of a promise. You tasted dust and leather and beer and him.

When you pulled back, his eyes hadn’t moved. They stayed locked on yours, quiet heat in every inch of that gaze.

“For luck,” you said, voice low.

He huffed a breath through his nose—half-laugh, half-growl—and smirked.

“If I ride that bull clean, it’s ‘cause of that damn kiss.”

You turned toward the stands, boots clicking against the wood as you climbed the steps. Halfway up, you looked back.

Joel was still watching you.

And even from that distance, you could see it:

That kiss wasn’t leaving his mind anytime soon.

The crowd was already humming before his name was even called.

You sat center row just like he told you, legs crossed, elbows resting on your knees, heart thudding faster than it had any right to. The sun was dipping low, casting long shadows over the arena, and the dust in the air glittered like gold as the announcer’s voice rang out over the speakers.

“Ladies and gentlemen, next up—hold on to your goddamn hats—we got Joel Miller comin’ to the ring!”

The crowd erupted, a swell of hoots and whistles and stomping boots. You didn’t cheer—not yet. You just leaned forward, fingers curling around the edge of the metal seat as the chute gate creaked open and there he was.

Joel.

Mounted on the back of a bull that looked like it was forged in hell—massive, muscles twitching, eyes wild. But Joel sat like stone. Perfect form, one hand in the rope, the other lifted, loose but ready. His legs locked, his core tight. He looked like a man about to go to war with something ancient.

And then the gate blew open.

The bull burst into the ring like a living explosion, hooves slamming the dirt, muscles bucking in furious rhythm. But Joel didn’t falter. Not once. His body moved with the beast like he wasn’t fighting it—like he’d become part of it. The crowd screamed as the seconds counted down, the announcer barking into the mic, but none of that reached you.

You didn’t hear a damn thing.

You just watched him ride.

Eight seconds. Clean. Sharp. Perfect.

When the buzzer sounded, he threw himself off in a practiced dismount, landing heavy in the dirt but already rising again like gravity didn’t matter. The bull stormed off, wrangled by the pickup men, but your eyes were only on Joel.

He looked up toward the stands.

Right at you.

And then, grinning like the devil just gave him permission to sin, he jogged toward the fence—straight across the arena, brushing off the dirt clinging to his shirt and jeans. The crowd was still cheering, but it thinned around you as he stopped right below the railing where you sat.

“Well?” he called up, breathless, chest heaving. “You see that ride?”

You leaned down toward him, your face only a few inches from his. The brim of his hat still sat low over your brow.

“Told you it was the kiss.”

Joel reached up and gripped the top rail of the fence, hoisting himself halfway up with one powerful pull. He was still covered in dust, shirt damp with sweat, curls sticking to his forehead.

“Think I earned another one,” he said, low and rough.

You didn’t make him ask twice.

You leaned in and kissed him right there in front of everyone—hot, full, lips pressed to his like you weren’t in the middle of a cheering stadium. His hand came up, strong and warm on the side of your neck, keeping you there just long enough to turn heads and raise eyebrows.

When you finally pulled away, your mouth tingling, breath caught in your chest, Joel grinned.

“Told you I’d ride clean.”

“Told you,” you whispered, “you had to earn me.”

His eyes narrowed, smirk curling wider.

“Think I’m startin’ to.”

And with that, he dropped back down into the arena dirt, tipping his head once as he turned and walked off—leaving behind a roar of noise, a cloud of dust, and you, heart pounding, smile wide, and lips still tingling with his.

The announcer’s voice boomed over the loudspeakers, barely cutting above the thundering crowd:

“And with a score of 92.7, your winner tonight—Joel Miller!”

The stands erupted, boots stomping against metal bleachers, hats flying into the air, people slapping each other’s backs and hollering like they’d all known him forever. You didn’t holler, though. You just smiled—slow and sure—watching him stand there in the dirt, backlit by the last lick of sunlight, dust curling around his boots like smoke around a flame.

He didn’t milk it. He wasn’t the type to throw his arms in the air or shout victory.

He just looked up toward the grandstands. Toward you.

And that was louder than anything else.

Later, after the arena started to clear out, after he shook a dozen hands and signed a few shirts for sweaty, wide-eyed kids, Joel found you again. You were leaning against the side of his borrowed truck, arms crossed, that crooked smile playing on your lips.

“So,” you said, “gonna ride off into the sunset or what?”

He snorted, grabbing a bottle of water from the backseat and downing half of it in one go.

“Sunset can wait. My back’s soaked through and I’m covered in three layers of dirt and pride.”

You quirked a brow. “What’s your plan then?”

“Trailer,” he said simply. “Gotta get outta these clothes before they stick to my ribs.”

He paused. Looked at you. “C’mon. Ain’t askin’ for anything. Just… I don’t feel like goin’ back there by myself.”

That last part was quieter. Almost under his breath. And it hit a little deeper than you expected.

You didn’t say anything at first. Just pushed off the truck and nodded.

“Alright, cowboy. Lead the way.”

The walk back was quiet, the noise of the rodeo fading behind you like a dying song. The trailers sat in a crescent under strings of yellow lights, buzzing soft with mosquitoes and late-night air. His was toward the end, the same beat-up metal box you remembered from the night before.

He opened the door and stepped inside first, shrugging off his gear and tossing his gloves onto the counter. You followed him in, the door clicking shut behind you.

Inside, it was quiet and warm. The smell of leather and sweat thick in the air, mixed with something softer now—something like soap and the faint echo of cologne on his clothes.

Joel peeled his shirt off with a grunt, the cotton sticking to his back before finally sliding free. His skin glistened, damp with sweat, the muscles in his back catching the low lamplight as he tossed the shirt aside. You watched him without shame, eyes tracing the curve of his spine, the faded scars that whispered stories you hadn’t heard yet.

“Told you I wasn’t gonna do anything,” he said without turning, voice low, rough. “But hell, if you keep lookin’ at me like that…”

You smirked, stepping closer just enough to grab the water bottle he’d left on the counter. You brushed past him, cool plastic trailing his bare side.

“Didn’t say I didn’t want to look,” you said lightly.

He turned then, a towel slung over one shoulder, hair damp with sweat, chest rising and falling slow.

“You want me to step out while you clean up?” you asked, though your voice wasn’t exactly eager to leave.

Joel shook his head.

“You stay.”

And so you did.

You sat at the edge of the bed while he toweled off, pulling clean clothes from the little cabinet above the sink. A fresh shirt, soft with wear. Loose sweats that clung to his hips in the right ways. No tension. No pressure. Just quiet.

He didn’t try to impress you now. He didn’t need to.

He just let you be there.

And somehow, that felt more intimate than anything else could’ve been.

The trailer filled with the soft, rhythmic hiss of running water—the kind of sound that drowned out everything else, muffling the world to a low, warm hum. You sat on the small bench by the narrow bed, one leg crossed over the other, his hat still resting comfortably on your head, tilted just low enough to shade your eyes.

Joel had disappeared behind the thin sliding door at the back of the trailer, the space where the cramped little shower was hidden—barely big enough for a man his size to move in without bumping an elbow or two. You heard the low creak of the faucet handle, the thunk of something (probably his elbow) knocking into the wall, and then the sound of water hitting skin.

The image came easy—him, head bowed under the spray, steam curling around thick shoulders, water gliding down the ridges of his back, dripping over the curve of his spine, soaking into the faint trail of hair that disappeared beneath his waistband. You didn’t try to fight the heat curling low in your belly.

But still, you stayed put.

Mostly.

You glanced at the wall separating you from him, lips twitching as the water shut off with a sharp squeak. A beat passed. Then the door creaked open again.

And there he was.

Joel stepped out, steam rolling into the trailer behind him, clinging to his skin like a second layer. A single white towel was slung low around his hips, barely knotted, just enough to keep from slipping—though not by much. Droplets still clung to his chest, trailing down the defined lines of muscle, soaking into the towel’s edge. His hair was damp, darker with water, a few strands clinging to his temples. His jaw was freshly scrubbed but shadowed, that permanent 5 o’clock scruff giving him a wild, worn edge.

You didn’t look away.

Not even close.

He caught your gaze instantly. And for a moment, he just stood there, towel hanging on his hips, heat lingering on his skin—and something darker sparking behind his eyes.

“You enjoyin’ the view, or should I come back out with jeans on?” he asked, voice low, a teasing rasp undercutting the question.

You tilted your head, slow smile blooming on your lips as you leaned back on your hands, legs still crossed.

“Depends. You plan on droppin’ that towel anytime soon?”

Joel huffed a quiet laugh through his nose, shaking his head as he moved toward the little drawer near the bed, pulling it open and grabbing a pair of soft, well-worn gray sweatpants and a black T-shirt.

“You’re trouble,” he muttered, not even trying to hide the grin.

“So I’ve been told,” you said lightly, watching as he turned just slightly—just enough for the towel to shift low, low enough to flash a dangerous line of hip, the kind of line that invited sin and poor decisions.

You bit your bottom lip and looked away finally—just long enough to breathe.

He noticed.

“Ain’t doin’ it to tease,” he said behind you, voice quiet but rough. “Didn’t think you’d mind.”

You looked back at him. Really looked.

The towel still hung in place, barely. His eyes, though? They weren’t pushing. Not hungry. Not leering. Just watching you like he wanted to be seen, like it didn’t bother him if you looked—so long as you were the one lookin’.

You stood slowly, walking past him to grab the water bottle you’d left on the counter, brushing close enough to feel his damp heat radiating off his skin.

“I don’t mind,” you said, voice soft but pointed. “But you already knew that.”

Joel didn’t move. Just let you pass. But when you turned back, he was still watching you with that low-burning, steady heat.

He didn’t need to touch you to make you feel it.

And even when he turned to pull on his clothes, that damn towel still clinging for its final seconds—your eyes followed.

You weren’t in a rush to look away again.

Joel pulled the soft black T-shirt down over his head, the fabric clinging for a moment before settling across his broad chest. He scrubbed the towel through his damp hair, chest still faintly damp, his scent filling the narrow trailer—soap, skin, something deep and warm that made the air feel heavier.

You sat again, this time perched casually on the edge of the little bench, watching him with that same half-smile playing on your lips. You weren’t trying to be subtle, and he wasn’t pretending not to notice.

As he tucked the last of his things back into his bag, Joel glanced your way.

“Alright,” he said, rolling his shoulders. “You dragged me to the grandstands, into a kiss, and halfway to hell with that look you keep givin’ me. Think it’s only fair I let you pick where we go next.”

You tilted your head, expression thoughtful now. The playfulness dulled just a little as something softer crept into your gaze. Not shy. Just real.

“There’s a place,” you said. “Bit of a drive.”

Joel raised a brow, one arm hooking around the back of his neck as he leaned against the counter, waiting.

“There’s a lake. Little ways outside town, tucked in the woods off the back roads. Ain’t many people know about it. My mom used to take me out there sometimes. After she left…” you hesitated for a moment. “I started goin’ there alone. Just to breathe.”

Joel didn’t speak right away. Just nodded, slow, understanding etched in the hard lines around his mouth.

“Sounds like the right kind of place.”

“It is,” you said, eyes flicking up to meet his again. “I don’t usually bring people there.”

He stepped closer, one hand resting easy on the edge of the counter beside you.

“You don’t usually do a lot of things you’re doin’ lately, huh?”

Your lips curled slightly, and you gave a slow shrug.

“Guess you’re the exception too.”

That earned a real smile from him, wide enough to show the edges of his teeth.

“Alright then,” he said. “Show me this lake.”

You nodded, standing again as he grabbed the keys off the hook near the trailer door.

“You drive,” you said as you passed him, brushing your shoulder just slightly against his chest. “But you better not bitch about the roads. They get rough near the trail.”

Joel opened the door with a huff of amusement.

“Darlin’, you think I’m scared of a little dirt road after ridin’ a thousand pounds of pissed-off bull?”

You glanced back at him as you stepped into the cooling evening, boots hitting the grass with that same lazy sway in your stride.

“Fair. But just wait. This place don’t like to be found easy.”

Joel grinned as he followed you out, locking up the trailer behind him.

“Neither do you.”

And with that, the two of you disappeared into the slow-falling dark, headed down a road most people wouldn’t bother finding… but Joel Miller was already the kind of man who chased what others couldn’t hold on to.

The drive took a while—long enough for the heat between you two to settle into something slow and comfortable, like sun-warmed honey. The roads had narrowed into little more than dirt paths wound through tall trees, the kind that curved and dipped like the woods themselves were trying to hide something.

And then the lake appeared.

It wasn’t big, not something you’d find on a map with a name and a dock and a rules sign hammered into the ground. Just a deep stretch of water nestled quiet among the pines, still and shining under the blush of the setting sky. Fireflies already winked in the tall grass, and the air smelled like earth, summer, and something faintly sweet.

Joel killed the engine.

You slid out first, stepping onto the wild grass barefoot now, your boots left in the truck. The hat—his hat—still sat on your head, tilted at an angle that made your eyes almost smug beneath the brim.

He followed slower, still moving like a man who expected the ground to shift beneath him at any second, always carrying tension in his shoulders. But when he looked around—at the water, the trees, you—some of that weight seemed to roll off him.

“Well,” he muttered, “hell. You weren’t lyin’. Place is damn near perfect.”

“I don’t lie, Joel. I just don’t share easy.”

You dropped into the grass with a soft oof, stretching out on your side before propping yourself up on an elbow. Joel eased down beside you, one leg outstretched, the other bent just enough for balance. His arms rested behind him as he leaned back, eyes on the water.

For a long second, neither of you said anything. It wasn’t awkward. Just… settled.

Then you spoke.

“So,” you said, voice a little softer than your usual sass. “Tell me somethin’. What made you wanna travel the country to get thrown around by angry livestock for a livin’?”

Joel chuckled, the sound deep in his chest.

“You make it sound like I’m out here tryin’ to get killed for fun.”

“Aren’t you?”

“Nah. I’m just too damn stubborn to do somethin’ safe.”

You raised a brow.

“That’s the whole reason?”

Joel shifted, pulled a blade of grass from the ground and started to twist it between his fingers.

“Nah… My brother and I, we grew up rough. Ranch work, every kinda odd job you can think of. When I was sixteen, this old guy down the road—real bastard, had a mouth like a belt sander—he paid me fifty bucks to ride a bull named Whiskey Jack ‘cause his regular guy didn’t show.”

“And you said yes?”

“Hell yeah. I needed gas money and I was dumb as rocks.”

You laughed, leaning into the side of his arm.

“So you just climbed on?”

“Didn’t even have the right boots. Slid right off that bastard after three seconds and nearly cracked my jaw on the chute rail. Thought I’d never do it again.”

“But?”

“But next week I was back. And I stayed on for five seconds. Then six. Then eight.”

You were grinning now, teeth catching your bottom lip.

“So, what—you just fell in love with the pain?”

Joel looked over at you, eyes dark but amused.

“No, sweetheart. I fell in love with the fight. The noise, the crowd, the way it all goes quiet when the gate opens. Nothin’ else exists in that moment but holdin’ on.”

You let that sit for a second, staring at him.

Then you smiled.

“You’re deeper than you look, Miller.”

He snorted.

“Don’t tell anyone. I got a reputation to uphold.”

You scooted just a little closer, your bare leg brushing his denim-covered thigh.

“Don’t worry,” you whispered. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

Joel looked down at you, and for a moment, he didn’t smile. Didn’t smirk. Just looked. Like maybe he’d found something even quieter than the inside of that ring.

“Thanks for bringin’ me here,” he said low. “Even if it’s just to make me spill my life story.”

You grinned, head tilted.

“I didn’t bring you here to talk, cowboy.”

Joel’s brow rose, interested. “No?”

“Nah. I brought you here so you’d shut up and let me admire how good you look in the moonlight.”

Joel laughed then—deep and warm—and leaned just a bit closer.

“Darlin’, you keep flirtin’ like that, I’m gonna forget we’re sittin’ next to a lake and not a motel bed.”

You batted your lashes, all mock-innocence.

“Who said anything about stoppin’ you?”

And just like that, the quiet between you turned electric again—laced with heat, with laughter, with something new simmering slow beneath it all.

And the lake just sat there, still and calm, reflecting back the kind of night you both weren’t ready to end.

The air had turned thick with silence again—but not the peaceful kind this time.

It was charged. Hot. The lake shimmered under the rising moonlight, pale and glass-still, but everything between you and Joel felt like it was rolling just under the surface, waiting to break.

You stared at him, really stared. His face softened in this light—less hardened cowboy, more man. His jaw was still shadowed, lips still curled in that half-damn smile, but his eyes had stopped playing games. They were locked on you. Watching you think.

And you’d thought long enough.

Your fingers brushed against his knee, light at first—then firmer, a glide up over the denim toward his thigh as you sat up, knees tucked beneath you in the grass. Joel didn’t speak. Didn’t move.

He was waiting.

And you didn’t ask.

You just leaned in and kissed him.

Hungry. Desperate. Like every look he’d thrown you today had carved away your patience until nothing was left but fire and need. Your lips crashed into his, full and open, tongue sliding against his in the kind of kiss that tasted like possession. Your hand gripped the back of his neck, fingers threading into the damp curls there, holding him close like you’d waited your whole goddamn life to finally stop holding back.

Joel groaned into your mouth, low and broken, his hand coming up to your waist, squeezing—firm, possessive, like he’d wanted to do it since the minute he saw you in that skirt. You didn’t give him room to talk, didn’t give him breath. You kissed him like you were trying to drag something out of him. Something real.

You pulled back just enough to whisper against his mouth, your voice dark and breathless.

“I’m so fucking tired of pretendin’ I don’t want this right now.”

Joel’s chest rose hard beneath your hands, his breath hot as it hit your cheek.

“Then don’t pretend.”

You kissed him again—deeper. Slow but dirty, the kind of kiss that made the world tilt, made your thighs squeeze tight where you knelt in the grass. His hands slid up under your top, rough palms skimming hot skin, but he still held back. Still let you lead, like he knew you needed to.

You dragged your lips down to his jaw, kissed the scrape of stubble, bit lightly beneath his ear.

“You drive me crazy, Joel,” you breathed. “You look at me like you wanna ruin me… and then don’t.”

He laughed—dark and low, voice cracked.

“Don’t tempt me, sugar.”

“Who says I’m temptin’?” you murmured, dragging your teeth over his throat. “I’m beggin’.”

He groaned again, louder this time, and the sound of it settled deep in you. His hands clenched around your hips like he was fighting every damn instinct in his body.

And still… he didn’t pull you down. Didn’t flip you over. He just kissed you back like it meant something. Like he’d waited just as long to feel something real.

The grass was cool against your knees, but your body burned like fire beneath the moonlight. Joel lay back on his elbows, legs spread wide, sweatpants shoved low on his hips, chest rising with uneven breath as you settled between his thighs.

He was already hard—thick and heavy in your hand as you gripped him, your touch bold, unforgiving, like you weren’t here to tease anymore. No more pretending, no more playing soft. You wanted him wrecked—and he knew it.

Your lips hovered just over the head, and you let your breath hit him before your tongue did. He twitched at the heat of it, groaned low in his chest as your tongue flicked once—slow, deliberate—then again, dragging up the underside with purpose, tasting sweat, salt, skin.

“Shit,” Joel muttered, his head falling back, hand sliding into your hair. “You ain’t takin’ it slow tonight, huh?”

You looked up at him through the brim of his hat still perched on your head, eyes glinting, mouth curling just slightly around him.

“Don’t want slow,” you breathed, voice thick. “Want to feel you lose it.”

And then you sank down.

Your mouth took him deeper, stretching wide as your jaw opened around the weight of him. The sound was obscene—wet, eager, your spit mixing with every movement as you took him farther, one hand gripping the base, the other pressed to his thigh to keep him right there.

Joel’s groan was rough and sharp, pulled straight from his gut.

“God damn, girl—”

You didn’t stop. Your head bobbed, slow at first, then faster, your rhythm building with every low curse that slipped from his mouth. You wanted him undone, trembling, wrecked by the feel of your throat tightening around him, by the wet heat and the way your tongue curled under the tip just right.

You moaned around him, and the vibration made him jerk, his hips flexing before he grabbed the back of your head and groaned again—trying not to thrust, not to take control.

“Keep lookin’ at me like that and I swear—fuck—”

You held eye contact, never breaking it, your lips stretched around his cock, cheeks hollowing with effort and hunger. Spit dripped down your chin, shining in the moonlight, but you didn’t wipe it. You let it stay, let him see the mess you were making of yourself for him.

And he watched you—eyes blown wide, mouth parted, chest rising like he was already chasing the edge.

“You want it that bad, huh?” he growled, voice hoarse, fingers tightening in your hair. “You want me to come down your throat?”

You moaned again—louder. A yes without words, mouth full and greedy.

You could feel it in him—the tension, the twitch of his hips, the way his muscles coiled. He was close. You didn’t let up. You sucked harder, deeper, filthy sounds filling the still night around you.

Joel choked out a broken curse, his head falling back as his grip on your hair tightened.

And then he came.

Hard.

His body tensed, jaw clenched, a guttural groan ripping from his chest as you swallowed every bit of it, never pulling back, never breaking eye contact. You kept going until he twitched from overstimulation, until his thighs trembled beneath your palms.

Only then did you finally pull off—slow, messy, a string of spit and release still clinging to your lip.

You wiped it with the back of your hand, licking it off as you grinned.

“Told you,” you whispered, breathless. “I don’t do things halfway.”

Joel was wrecked—chest heaving, eyes dark, his voice barely a growl.

“Jesus… You just ruined me.”

“Good,” you whispered, crawling up to straddle his lap. “That was the plan.”

You were still straddling his lap, the curve of your thighs flush against his hips, your breath ragged, lips wet from where you’d ruined yourself on him. Joel’s chest rose slow beneath you, and he looked up at you like he hadn’t caught his breath yet.

But something had shifted in his gaze.

That control you took? He was about to take it back.

His hand slid up your bare thigh, slow, possessive—fingertips dragging just under the edge of your skirt. He didn’t ask. Didn’t check. He just looked at you, that rough kind of stillness settling over him. One hand cupped your jaw, thumb brushing your lip.

“Open,” he said softly, and when you parted your mouth, he slipped his thumb in—watching you suck it, wet and slow, your eyes locked to his.

“Good girl.”

His voice dropped lower, a gravel drag through your spine.

Then both hands moved. One grabbed your waist, grounding you in place. The other dipped between your thighs, fingers sliding under the hem of your skirt and dragging the soaked cotton of your panties to the side.

“Look at you,” he muttered, voice thick. “You’re drippin’, darlin’. You got that messy just from suckin’ me off?”

You couldn’t answer. Didn’t have to. Your body spoke for you—hips twitching at the first touch of his fingers sliding through your slick, teasing just outside where you needed him.

He leaned in, lips grazing your throat, the stubble on his jaw scraping your skin in the best kind of burn.

“Want you to ride somethin’ now,” he murmured. “And I ain’t talkin’ about my cock… not yet.”

His middle and ring fingers slid inside you—slow at first, deliberate, curling deep with that exact kind of pressure that made your spine arch. You gasped, thighs twitching around his wrist, and he grinned.

“There it is,” he whispered.

He didn’t move them yet. Just kept them buried in you, palm flat against you, thick fingers pulsing with subtle pressure—making you feel the stretch, the shape, the slow burn.

“Now ride.”

You met his eyes—your lips parted, chest heaving, legs trembling—and obeyed.

Your hips rolled down against his hand, grinding slow over his fingers, deeper, needier. Joel didn’t move them for you. He just let you do it, watched you work for it, mouth half-open, eyes burning.

“Fuck,” he muttered, watching the way you rocked on him. “Look at you, baby. Filthy little thing, makin’ yourself come on my fuckin’ hand.”

Your hands clutched at his shoulders, fingernails digging into muscle as you moved faster—moaning, riding the pressure, the angle of his palm hitting your clit just right with every roll of your hips. His fingers curled, and you cried out.

“That it?” he growled. “Right there?”

You nodded, desperate, lips trembling.

“Say it.”

“There—fuck, Joel, right there—don’t stop—”

He didn’t.

He kept his fingers steady, curling deep, his thumb pressing tight against your clit, grinding up into you as your rhythm turned frantic—your thighs shaking, body tensing, that release building sharp and fast, right under your skin.

“You gonna come for me?” he growled, lips at your ear now, voice tight. “Right on my fuckin’ hand like a good girl?”

You shattered.

The orgasm hit you hard—hips jerking, hands clutching him like a lifeline, your moan drawn-out, unrestrained, wrecked. Joel held you through it, didn’t pull his fingers out until your body trembled and your head fell against his shoulder, gasping for breath.

Slowly, so slowly, he slipped his fingers free—and brought them to his lips.

Sucked them clean, watching you the whole time.

“Tastes like trouble,” he said, voice hoarse. “Think I’m startin’ to like it.”

You laughed against his neck, dizzy and full of heat, your voice wrecked.

“You haven’t even seen half of what I can do.”

Joel smirked.

“Then don’t stop now.”

The lake shimmered in the dark like a secret, moonlight sliding across its still surface, broken only by the occasional flick of a bug or ripple of wind. Joel sat back in the grass, legs stretched, fingers flexing in the leftover heat of you still pulsing down his hand. His shirt clung slightly to his chest where your body had leaned against him, his breath still ragged, pupils still blown.

You leaned back, breath shallow, looking over your shoulder toward the water. The corners of your mouth curled like you were about to say something wicked.

“I wanna swim.”

Joel raised a brow, still catching up. “Now?”

“Mmhm.” You slowly pulled the hat from your head and set it on his chest. “You stayin’ here, cowboy, or you comin’ in?”

But you weren’t waiting for an answer.

You stood, legs shaky but defiant, skirt still hitched high from where he’d had his fingers buried in you. Your shirt clung to your back, your thighs gleamed in the moonlight, and you walked toward the edge of the lake like it owed you something.

And then—slow, deliberate—you grabbed the hem of your top.

Joel sat forward.

You peeled the shirt off, over your head, dropping it in the grass without looking back. No bra. Just bare skin kissed by the moon, your back arched slightly, your hands slipping down to the waistband of your skirt.

You pushed it down slow. Tantalizing. Unashamed. The cotton panties followed, dragged down over your hips and thighs until you stood at the lake’s edge completely naked, moonlight painting every inch of you in soft silver and shadow.

You looked back over your shoulder, eyes gleaming with something half-feral, half-mocking.

Calling him again, but silently.

Joel was frozen for a second. Just a second. Then he stood, slow and deliberate, his eyes never leaving your body. The shirt was off in one pull. The sweats dropped low. But you were already stepping into the water—hips swaying, the cold making your nipples stiffen, your breath hitch just enough to make him twitch with want.

The lake swallowed you, one step at a time, until the water came to your breasts. You turned, hands skimming the surface, watching him through heavy lashes.

“You gonna keep starin’,” you said, voice low, sultry, “or you finally gonna come in here and do somethin’ about it?”

Joel’s voice was thick, hoarse.

“You keep undressin’ like that in front of me, girl, I ain’t gonna be doin’ a damn bit of swimmin’.”

You gave a dark little laugh, then waded deeper—slowly, deliberately, until you dove under and came up slick with water, your hair darkened and clinging, your body gleaming wet in the moonlight.

You looked like sin. Wild. Untouchable.

Joel stepped into the water, muscles coiled, hands flexing like he wanted to grab you the moment he got close enough. The chill made his breath catch, but his focus never broke—he was locked onto you like a predator scenting blood in the water.

You swam backward, just out of reach, teasing.

“You look like you’re thinkin’ real hard, Miller.”

“Tryin’ to decide if I wanna drag you under or pin you against that rock right there.”

“Who says you can’t do both?”

His eyes darkened further. Your body ached from the inside out—not just from what he’d done, but from what you knew was coming next.

Joel was in front of you now, chest heaving. He reached out, grabbed your waist under the water, and pulled you flush to him with one sharp motion.

Skin on skin. Wet. Hot.

Your legs wrapped around his waist like instinct, and you grinned, wicked and wild.

“Told you I don’t share my lake,” you whispered, mouth against his jaw. “But maybe I’ll make an exception… just this once.”

Joel growled low in his throat, lips finding your neck, his hands gripping your ass beneath the water, dragging your hips tight against the hard length of him pressing into your stomach.

“You’re gonna be the fuckin’ death of me.”

“Then die slow,” you breathed, biting his earlobe.

And just like that—the lake stopped being peaceful.

It became a battlefield.

And you were already winning.

The water wrapped around you both like silk—cool, dark, quiet—but the heat between you was anything but. Joel’s hands were tight on your waist, holding you against him, your bare chest pressed to his, soaked skin sliding on soaked skin, every breath shared, every heartbeat tangled.

You were weightless in the water, legs around his hips, the hard length of him pinned tight between your bodies. And your mouth—god, your mouth—was all over his.

You kissed him like a storm. Not sweet. Not slow. Your lips crushed against his with the hunger of someone who’d waited too long, wanted too hard. His beard scraped your chin, his tongue met yours in deep, messy strokes, and the water sloshed around you as your bodies moved, tangled, greedy.

Joel groaned against your mouth, one hand slipping down to your ass, squeezing hard again, grinding you against him, while the other cradled the back of your head, keeping your mouth right there, right where he wanted you.

“Fuck, baby,” he growled between kisses. “You don’t stop, I ain’t gonna last.”

You smiled into him—wet and smug—then leaned back just enough to see his face. Moonlight cast silver across his cheeks, but his eyes were pure black heat. You dipped one hand between your bodies, under the water.

He gasped—sharp—as your fingers wrapped around him.

“Then don’t stop me.”

Your grip was sure, smooth beneath the surface, the water letting your hand glide effortlessly along the hard length of him. You stroked him slow, tight, then faster, just to feel the twitch in his thighs, the catch in his breath. His head dropped to your shoulder, teeth grazing your skin, groaning like he was pained by how good it felt.

“Goddamn,” he muttered, voice rough in your ear. “You do that again and I’m takin’ you right here in this fuckin’ lake.”

“Thought that was the idea.”

Your hand pumped him harder now, teasing your thumb over the head, squeezing just enough to make his hips stutter in the water. His breath hitched again—sharp, torn from him—and his hands tightened on your waist, fingers bruising as he fought for control.

“You tryna make me lose it, sugar?”

You leaned in, bit his lower lip, then whispered against his mouth:

“I wanna watch you lose it.”

And you kept stroking—relentless, greedy, your own body rocking slightly with the water, breasts pressed to his chest, your core aching against his stomach. You felt the tension coil in him, deep in his abdomen, his thighs starting to tremble under the pressure of holding back.

He kissed you again—hard—like it was the only thing keeping him grounded, like if he let go of your mouth he’d lose himself completely.

And with your hand wrapped around him under the water, you were in control now.

“You close?” you whispered, lips brushing his.

“So close,” he growled, eyes screwed shut, hips twitching under your hand.

You stroked him harder, faster, water slapping softly between your bodies.

“Then give it to me,” you whispered, voice dark, low. “I want it, Joel. Right here.”

The lake no longer felt like water—it felt like heat, like tension about to snap.

Joel snapped.

In a flash, his hand was in your hair, fisting it, dragging your head back with a sharp yank that forced a gasp from your lips. His other arm scooped under your thighs, lifting you in the water like you weighed nothing. He slammed your back against the nearest slick rock jutting from the waterline, your legs still wrapped tight around him.

“You want it?” he hissed against your mouth, hot breath sliding down your throat. “You want it that filthy, that rough? Right here in the fuckin’ lake where anyone could see?”

You nodded, panting, eyes wide, lips parted—shaking and ready.

“Do it, Joel. Take me.”

His hand slid between your bodies, gripped your thigh and yanked it higher, opening you wider as he thrust forward and buried himself in one brutal, claiming push. You cried out—loud, no shame, no restraint. He didn’t wait for your body to adjust—he knew what you wanted.

And he gave it to you.

Hard.

The water slapped against your bodies with every savage roll of his hips, his chest flush against yours, teeth gritted as he fucked into you like he’d been starving. You were already raw, already oversensitive from grinding on his fingers, but now—

His hand stayed tangled in your hair, pulling, keeping your throat exposed while his mouth marked your skin with open, wet kisses and bites that bordered on bruises. You dug your nails into his back, clawing at him as your legs locked around his waist.

“Look at you,” he snarled, voice all gravel and sweat. “So fuckin’ pretty… cryin’ on my cock, beggin’ me like it’s the last thing you’ll ever feel—”

“F-fuck, Joel—yes—yes, I want it like this—don’t stop—don’t you dare stop—”

He slammed into you harder, each thrust driving a helpless sound out of your throat, your voice turning ragged as your body shook against the rock.

“You feel that?” he growled in your ear. “That’s mine. You’re mine.”

“Yours,” you gasped, barely able to speak. “Yours, Joel. Fuck— don’t let me go—”

His rhythm broke, hips faltering, hand moving from your hair to your jaw, gripping your face as he kissed you—devoured you—growling low in his throat like a man unhinged.

“You come with me, baby,” he hissed. “You feel me come inside you—say my fuckin’ name—say it—”

“Joel,” you cried, shaking. “Joel, fuck, I’m—”

You came hard, clenching around him, body arching off the rock as the wave of it hit, loud, messy, feral. Joel followed with a grunt that turned into a half-roar, slamming deep as he spilled inside you, holding your hips tight, driving himself as far as you could take him—like he wanted to leave a mark.

The lake rocked around you, quiet now but for the sounds of panting, the water lapping gently against the shore.

He didn’t pull out right away.

Didn’t speak.

Just held you there in the moonlight, still trembling against him, your lips against his throat, your body wrecked and soaking and satisfied.

“Holy fuck,” he finally whispered, voice rough as sandpaper.

And he kissed you again.

Your bodies stayed locked in the water—his chest heaving against yours, arms still tight around your waist, your thighs wrapped snug at his hips. The night air clung heavy to your wet skin, steam rising between the heat of your breath and the chill of the lake. Moonlight danced on the rippling surface, but beneath it, the tension didn’t fade.

Joel was still inside you. Softening slowly. The aftermath of that raw, ruthless high pulsed through both of you—but you weren’t satisfied. Not really.

Not yet.

He leaned his forehead to your shoulder, chuckling low, exhausted.

“Jesus… I need a fuckin’ minute.”

You smiled, wicked and wet, dragging your fingers through his curls as you whispered close to his ear.

“You’re not gettin’ one.”

“Sugar,” he huffed, voice ragged and rough. “I just emptied every damn drop I had in me.”

You rocked your hips once. Just enough. Felt the stretch of him still inside, not ready… but not unwilling.

“You didn’t pull out,” you murmured, rolling again, slower this time. “You’re still in me. That means I can go on.”

Joel groaned. One of those deep, broken sounds, like your words physically hurt.

“You’re evil.”

“No,” you breathed, biting down on his jaw, “I’m needy.”

You gripped his shoulders and started to move.

Slow.

The water cushioned you, made everything slicker, smoother. His cock wasn’t hard—yet—but it was there, thick and sensitive, twitching with every shift of your hips. You moved carefully, deliberately, grinding yourself against him with slow rolls, feeling him start to twitch, to grow again.

He hissed between his teeth, hands flying to your waist.

You moaned, soft but sharp, mouth right at his ear.

You kissed him—open, messy—tongue sliding against his as your hips kept rocking. The water sloshed between you. You felt him hardening again inside you, inch by inch, your body coaxing him back from that edge of spent exhaustion into something new.

Joel cursed into your mouth, bucked his hips once in reflex. His fingers dug into your ass now, squeezing.

“Goddamn, girl. You ain’t human.”

You laughed—a low, breathy sound against his cheek—and sat up straighter on his lap, water dripping down your chest, your back arching as you ground down harder, the tip of him brushing deep inside.

“Not right now,” you whispered. “Right now I’m just a hole wrapped around your cock.”

His hands snapped to your hips.

And his breath caught like he was ready to burn again.

The water rocked around your bodies, small waves rippling out into the darkness as you rode him—slow, deep, relentless.

Joel leaned back against the rock, lips parted, eyes glassy and dazed as he watched you above him. His hands stayed on your hips, fingers slipping on your soaked skin, but his grip was loose now. Weak.

You were in control.

And you wanted it that way.

He was hard again—not as thick, not as furious as before—but enough. Just enough. Enough for you to keep him inside, to grind down on him and take what you needed while he stared at you like you’d stolen every last thought from his head.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he breathed, voice hoarse. “You’re gonna bleed me dry.”

You didn’t slow. You clenched around him harder, dragging your body in slow, punishing circles, the water rocking with your movement. Your hair clung to your cheeks, dripping onto his chest as you leaned down, breath ghosting over his mouth.

“Good,” you whispered. “I want every last drop.”

Your pace picked up, steady and deep, your thighs trembling now, knees digging into the smooth lake stone under the water. The friction of him inside you was maddening—your body raw from the first time, aching now, but you didn’t stop.

You couldn’t.

You bounced harder, breathing faster, fingers clawing down his chest as you started to unravel again. Joel’s head fell back against the rock, neck exposed, eyes fluttering half-shut.

“You feel so good,” he groaned. “So fuckin’ tight… baby, I can’t—can’t even move…”

“You don’t have to,” you panted, riding him now with broken rhythm, your voice shaking. “Just lay there. Let me come on your cock like it’s mine.”

His hips twitched, barely a thrust, more like a reflex—but it was enough. The extra push made you cry out, your fingers gripping his shoulders, your whole body tensing around him.

“Joel—fuck—I’m coming—”

And you did.

You collapsed against him, arms locked around his neck, your thighs shaking as you pulsed around him, drawing him in deeper, milking every inch. You buried your face in his throat, moaning into his skin, your whole body melting against him as the orgasm shook through you like a fever.

Joel didn’t say a word.

Didn’t need to.

He just held you there—soft, drained, wrecked—his cock still buried in you, twitching weakly, his hands twitching where they gripped your ass.

You stayed like that, tangled and soaked in moonlight, floating half in the water, half in each other.

He finally exhaled, voice a ghost against your cheek.

“You’re gonna be the death of me.”

The lake was still as glass when you finally pulled yourself off of him—slowly, shakily, his cock slipping free with a quiet, spent twitch. Joel groaned low in his throat, head still tilted against the rock, arms splayed out in the water like he couldn’t remember how to move. He looked wrecked. Beautifully, fully wrecked. And you? You were trembling and grinning, your thighs sore, your skin tingling with the kind of heat that lingered long after the fire burned out.

“Stay there a while,” you murmured, breathless, voice tinged with a wicked edge. “You look real pretty like that.”

He gave a lazy half-laugh, half-growl as you turned away, water lapping at your waist as you waded back to shore. Every movement sent more water dripping down your bare skin—between your thighs, down the insides of your legs, slick and unmistakable.

You reached the grassy bank and stepped out, skin glistening in the moonlight. The wind kissed your body and made you shiver, but you didn’t flinch. You just walked with slow purpose across the soft grass to where your clothes lay strewn—discarded like old thoughts.

You picked up your panties first, still damp from before the lake even touched you. Slid them up over your thighs, pulling the soaked fabric snug between your legs, ignoring the slick mess beneath that still clung to you.

Then came the skirt.

It stuck to your wet skin, the denim heavy and damp as you shimmied it up your hips and fastened it. Your shirt followed, clinging to your chest as you pulled it over your head, your nipples pressing clearly against the cotton, soaked through.

No fixing your hair. No shame.

You moved with the quiet confidence of someone who knew they’d been the storm that ruined a man and left him grateful for the wreckage.

You glanced back toward the water as you slid Joel’s hat back onto your head—tilted low, eyes shadowed, smirk curling your lips.

He was finally standing now, sluggishly dragging himself to the shore, water pouring down his body. Still bare. Still caught somewhere between pleasure and exhaustion. His eyes met yours—and lingered.

You held his gaze as you adjusted the skirt’s hem with two fingers, smoothing it over your hips.

“You comin’?” you asked, voice sweet as sin.

Joel exhaled hard through his nose and dragged a hand down his face.

“Hurry up, cowboy. I wanna watch you die slow.”

And with that, you turned away from the lake, walking barefoot through the wet grass—clothed but still wild, soaked to the skin and grinning like a woman who knew exactly what kind of chaos she carried in her hips.

He followed.

The ride back was quiet—but not awkward. It was the kind of silence that came after something intense, after bodies had been pushed past their limits and souls tugged just a little too close together.

You sat curled in the passenger seat, legs pulled up, arms wrapped loosely around your knees. The denim of your skirt was still damp, sticking to your thighs, your shirt clinging to the curve of your back. Your skin smelled like water, grass, and him. Joel’s hat was still on your head, pushed back slightly now, exposing the bruised swell of your lips and the mess he’d left in your expression.

He didn’t talk much. His hand rested on the top of the wheel, fingers drumming every now and then. His other was in his lap, tapping idly, like he had too many thoughts and not enough words. The headlights cut through the darkness in long silver beams, washing the trees in and out of view.

The town came into sight quicker than you expected—familiar signs, empty roads, cheap lights flickering over storefronts that shut hours ago.

And then your street.

He pulled up in front of your house without a word, engine idling.

You didn’t move to open the door.

Just sat there in the hush between you, watching his profile as he stared out the windshield, jaw tight again. The easy charm from earlier had slipped somewhere on the drive. All that slow, hungry mischief replaced now with something heavier.

You finally broke the silence, voice softer than you meant it to be.

“You stayin’ in town? Or was this all just a ride through?”

Joel didn’t answer right away.

Didn’t look at you.

“Nah,” he said eventually, low and blunt. “I’m movin’ on. Next stop’s Amarillo.”

You felt something in your chest shift—small and sharp.

You nodded slowly, turning to look out your own window now. The porch light buzzed, flickering faintly. You hated that sound.

“Figures,” you muttered. “You ride in, break the bull, break the girl, then disappear.”

Joel’s voice came rough beside you.

“That what you think this was?”

You looked back at him, your face unreadable.

“I don’t know what this was.”

He didn’t speak. Just stared at you now, eyes darker than before, not angry. Not sorry either.

Just honest.

“I don’t stay long, sugar,” he said, voice lower. “I don’t belong in one place. And I don’t drag people along when I go.”

You leaned forward, resting your forearms on your knees, watching the keys jingle slightly in the ignition.

“So that’s it?”

Joel shifted in his seat, glancing over at you again. His jaw flexed, lips parted like he wanted to say something else.

But he didn’t.

Just reached up, touched the brim of his hat still on your head—soft, a little trace of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Keep that. Somethin’ to remember the ride.”

You looked at him for a long second. And though you weren’t the crying type, something pulled tight in your throat. Not sadness.

Just… that ache that came when something good wasn’t meant to last.

You opened the door, boots hitting the gravel.

And as you stepped out, you didn’t say goodbye.

Didn’t slam the door.

You just walked up the drive with his hat still on your head, knowing damn well he was watching you the whole way.

And in the silence behind you, the engine eventually rumbled low… and carried him away.

It had been twenty-six days. You’d counted—at first without meaning to, then because you couldn’t stop.

Twenty-six days since you felt his hands on your body.

Since he kissed you like he needed oxygen and you were the only air left in the world.

Since you rode him in a moonlit lake, shaking, soaked, and so wildly yourself it scared you now.

You told yourself it was just a passing thing. He was a drifter, a rider, a man made of dust and distance. Joel Miller didn’t stay. He warned you. And you weren’t the kind of girl who chased after someone who made it clear they wouldn’t look back.

But the hat still sat on your nightstand.

You hadn’t worn it since the night he left. It felt wrong, like it only had power when he put it on you. So it stayed there, untouched, a reminder you pretended not to look at every morning.

And then—on a Wednesday that felt like any other—you walked out the back door of the small diner you worked mornings at, still wearing your apron, the sky thick with heat and early sun, and you saw him.

Leaning against a familiar truck.

Same one. Same dented door.

He was wearing a soft gray shirt, jeans that looked road-worn, and boots with dust that didn’t belong to this town. His arms were crossed, and his eyes—those goddamn eyes—were already locked on you the second the screen door banged behind you.

You froze, one hand still gripping the door frame.

“You son of a bitch,” you whispered, heart slamming against your ribs.

Joel didn’t smile. Not yet. His face was unreadable, jaw clenched, tension in his shoulders. Like he’d driven through three states without breathing right. His voice when it came was low, tired, real.

“Couldn’t get you outta my fuckin’ head.”

Your throat closed up. Everything inside you twisted—heat and ache and something dangerous.

“You said you don’t stay. Said you don’t drag people along.”

“I don’t,” he said, stepping forward. “But I ain’t been the same since I left. Couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t ride right. Couldn’t even look at another girl without seein’ you in my lap, smilin’ like you owned the fuckin’ world.”

You blinked, breath shallow.

“So what, you here to pass through again? Get your fix, then disappear?”

Joel moved until he was right in front of you, towering, heat rolling off him in waves.

“I didn’t come back to fuck you.”

“No?”

“I came back ‘cause every mile I put between us felt like a mistake. And I don’t do regret. Never have. But you—” he exhaled hard, hands flexing at his sides, “—you got in me. Deep. And I ain’t runnin’ from it anymore.”

You stared at him. Your lip curled into a slow, dangerous smile.

“Took you long enough.”

Joel’s grin broke through finally—sharp, boyish, relieved.

“Still got that hat?”

“Sittin’ by my bed,” you said, stepping close enough for your voice to drop. “Right where I left it.”

He touched your cheek then. Rough hand, gentle grip.

And this time, when he kissed you?

It wasn’t a goodbye.

It was a beginning.

Joel’s lips were still on yours when he pulled back just enough to breathe—barely an inch between your mouths. His thumb was brushing along your jaw, calloused, reverent, like he still couldn’t believe you were standing in front of him again. Like maybe he’d been dreaming you every night on some godforsaken highway, and now he was scared he’d blink and wake up alone again.

“I ain’t good with words,” he murmured, voice thick, low, “but I been drivin’ on autopilot for weeks, thinkin’ about your voice, your laugh, the way you look at me like you know what I’m gonna say before I say it.”

You didn’t move. Just let his words settle over your skin like a second heat.

“Thought if I got far enough, I’d stop thinkin’ about you,” he said. “But you got inside me like roots. Stuck.”

You tilted your head just slightly, teasing, though your voice shook under it.

“You here to tell me you love me, Miller?”

He huffed a dry laugh, but there was something raw under it.

“I don’t know what the hell this is. But I know I don’t want it without you.”

Then he looked at you fully, steady and real.

“Come with me.”

The words hit different. They weren’t casual. They weren’t a question tossed into the wind. They were solid. Heavy. And they landed deep.

Your breath caught, heart skipping once.

“You serious?”

“I don’t say shit I don’t mean,” he said. “It won’t be easy. Livin’ outta a truck half the time. Worn beds, bad food, long roads. I’m not a man who settles—but I’ll make space for you. I want you in my seat. Next to me. Laughin’, bitchin’, wearin’ my damn hat like you own it.”

He stepped even closer, hand curling around your waist.

“You ride with me, I won’t leave again. I’ll stay—wherever you are.”

You blinked once, swallowed hard.

Then you smiled. Slow. Dangerous. Certain.

“Drive me home. Gimme ten minutes to grab the hat and some clothes.”

Joel grinned like the tension finally broke.

“That’s my girl.”

And just like that, your world shifted again. Not by force. Not by fate.

By choice.

His.

And now yours.

#joel miller #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfic #joel miller fanfic #the last of us #pedro pascal smut #the last of us fanfic #joel miller smut #smut #joel miller x reader #gia writes joel ⋆ 𐙚 ̊.#gia writes smut ⋆ 𐙚 ̊.

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dollyswishingwell · 21 hours ago

Note

hihi :3! First off lemme just say that I absolutely adore your writings they’re all so good I’ve spent the past few hours just reading thru all of them! And secondly I wanted to make a request for the obsessed LADS with an MC who’s pretty compliant with them from the start like “oh you wanna lock me away and make me ur pretty little house wife? Sound like a dream <33” or something like that basically an MC whose equally obsessed with them :)

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ I like this

𝒲𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒻𝑜𝓇 ˙⋆✮ Rafayel, Zayne, Xavier, Sylus, Caleb

𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 ˙⋆✮ fluff, crack? this is literally me cause i wouldn’t be fighting shit lmao

> ࣪𖤐.ᐟ You’re quite happy with this new arrangement

𝙍𝙖𝙛𝙖𝙮𝙚𝙡 °‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

From the moment you stepped foot in his world, barefoot on the marble floors of his seaside estate, sunlight catching on your smile like it was made just for him, Rafayel knew. He didn’t need to break you. Didn’t need the slow, aching game of manipulation, coercion, or seduction.

No. You looked at his claws and kissed them. You saw the cage and asked for silk curtains and plush pillows inside.

And gods, he fell.

“You’re not going to run?” he asked that first night, a little disappointed, a little curious, watching you lounge across the velvet divan he had carried in just for you.

“Why would I?” You tilted your head. “You’re rich. You’re pretty. You adore me. And I get to stay home and be pampered like a princess? Honestly, I should be paying you.”

He blinked. Then burst into delighted laughter, sharp and glittering like shattered candy glass, before pouncing on you in a flurry of silk and perfume.

“You’re mine,” he purred, nuzzling into your neck like a smug cat. “Don’t say things like that unless you want me to go and have the entire staff fired for even looking at you.”

“Do it,” you hummed, brushing your fingers through his hair. “Let’s go full tyrant.”

He did.

Rafayel stopped pretending to function in society entirely. His meetings became virtual, or more accurately, delegated. His manager Thomas despaired.

He had you now. Why would he ever leave?

He got addicted to watching you drift through the estate in your soft pastel robes, tiaras in your hair just because, calling him pet names and snuggling up in his lap while he painted. You’d tell him what new shell you wanted for the fountains. What gem color suited your mood today. What dress you wanted copied in ten colors.

“D’you think we should get married?” you’d say casually, flipping through a designer catalogue. “Or should I stay your scandalous mistress forever? Like, hidden flower in the tower kinda vibe.”

“Wife,” he corrected immediately, voice laced with possessive heat. “You’re mine. You deserve the castle. The ring. The surname.”

He proposed three hours later. A box of seven rings, each more ridiculous than the last.

You picked the heart-shaped one with the pink sapphire. Naturally.

Now, no one dares question why you’ve vanished from the public. Why the estate security is tighter than a vault. Why the man known for his detached cruelty is now painting seashells with “my darling girl” scratched into the backs.

𝙕𝙖𝙮𝙣𝙚 ⋆꙳•❅‧*₊⋆☃︎ ‧*❆ ₊⋆

Zayne expected resistance. Not because he wanted it, but because he was used to it. He’d prepared for the fights, the escape attempts, the begging. He’d even gone as far as reinforcing the estate with biometric locks and deleting your Hunter Association credentials behind your back.

But then you looked up at him with wide, adoring eyes the morning after he made you quit your job, and just… smiled.

“So I don’t have to risk my life anymore,” you said softly, curling into his lap like it was your natural place. “You’re just gonna take care of me forever?”

He paused. Scalpel-steady hands twitching.

“…Yes.”

You beamed. “Good. I hated those missions. They made me miss you too much.”

He blinked once. Twice. His jaw ticked.

“…You were going to come back to me,” he said quietly. “Always.”

“I was yours before you even asked.”

You tilted your head, eyes glimmering. “But I like that you made sure. That you made me stay.”

From that moment on, Zayne never questioned the decision again.

He gave you the master bedroom and moved his office into the suite next door, because you liked being able to sleep in his shirts and sneak into his bed whenever you wanted. He stopped accepting surgeries on weekends, because that was “your time.” Spa treatments. Cooking for you. Holding you on the couch while you rambled about the adorable new heels you bought with his money.

You’d kiss him in the mornings before he left and whisper:

“Don’t be late. Your pretty wife gets lonely.”

He became militant about punctuality.

You never questioned his control. You welcomed it. Handed him the leash with both hands. Every new rule, every vitamin he made you take, every tracker sewn into your dresses and discreetly implanted bracelet,

You adored it.

“I like it,” you once said, curling beside him in bed while he checked your vitals on his tablet. “When you act like I’m breakable. Like I’m something precious.”

Zayne looked at you like you’d just opened his ribcage and whispered inside his heart.

“That’s because you are.”

He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“If anyone ever tried to touch you… I’d put them in the ground myself. Slowly.”

You just smiled and murmured, “I know. That’s why I married you.”

𝙓𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙧 ⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆

Xavier genuinely thought he’d have to be careful with you.

He’s weird. Awkward. He lives in a world of wanderers and underworld corpses and secret identities. His penthouse is too big. His life too strange. He’s… not normal.

So when he told you, quietly, half-asleep on your stomach, words mumbled into your back, that he didn’t want you leaving anymore…

That he was going to make you quit your job…

That you’d never have to work or worry again, but in exchange, you’d be his,

You didn’t flinch.

You just rolled over and looked at him like he’d offered you the moon.

“Wait, really?” you whispered. “I can just stay here? Be your pretty wife and wake up with you every day?”

He blinked. Slowly. “…Yes.”

“Done,” you beamed, snuggling against him. “I thought you’d never ask.”

He short-circuited.

Ever since then, Xavier has been in a near-constant state of dreamlike bliss. You wanted to be kept? You wanted to stay tucked in his arms in that oversized bed, scrolling outfits for the association Gala while he trailed kisses up your back?

“Pick the blue one,” he murmurs, voice thick with sleep and devotion. “Matches your eyes. Looks good when I hold you.”

He installed a custom closet for you. Got the entire place redesigned for your taste. A garden on the top floor, because you said you liked “something soft to look at.” A full kitchen even though he doesn’t cook, because you like baking him things and feeding him from your fork.

And when he’s in Lumiere mode, when the world is cruel and sharp and demanding, he comes home to you.

Crawls into your lap like a lovesick cat.

You always cradle his face. Cup it gently and murmur:

“Who do you belong to?”

“Who kisses your forehead when you fall asleep?”

“Who’s always going to be here, waiting?”

He’s so hopelessly in love it physically hurts.

𝙎𝙮𝙡𝙪𝙨 ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𓅨⋆｡°✩

Sylus had everything, wealth, connections, a global weapons empire. He thought love would be an indulgence. A vulnerability. Something to manage.

And then he met you (again).

Sweet, gorgeous, ambitionless in the best way, perfectly content to let him build your world for you. You didn’t resist when he said you’d never work again. Didn’t fight when he said he didn’t trust anyone to protect you.

You smiled and asked if you could pick the color of your new closet.

“You’re not going to fight me on this?” he’d asked one evening, watching you admire your new pink diamond ring.

You gave a soft laugh, nestled into his lap like you belonged there. “Why would I fight the man who wants to pamper me, protect me, and make me his spoiled little wife?”

His red eyes darkened.

He kissed you so hard he left you dizzy.

From that moment on, he spoiled you mercilessly. Twelve armories worldwide? Now thirteen, one converted into a private resort just for you. Every gala dress custom-designed. Entire floors in luxury department stores cleared just so you could browse in peace.

And you, his darling little thing, you fed into it.

“Buy it,” you’d murmur, brushing your fingers along a jewel you wanted. “For me. Just to show everyone whose name I moan when I’m in your bed.”

He’s never signed a wire transfer so fast.

He adores how you never try to take the power from him. You respect it. Crave it. You let him rule, but you reign at his side. When he hands you your card, you kiss his knuckles. When he orders security to shadow you in public, you smile and wave at them sweetly.

When he comes home from business drenched in blood and smoke, you’re waiting on the couch in your silk nightgown, holding a wine glass and purring, “All done, my love? Did they behave?”

You don’t flinch when he talks about toppling rivals. You don’t question when you’re moved to a different penthouse in a new city overnight.

You just smile and say, “As long as you’re there, it’s home.”

𝘾𝙖𝙡𝙚𝙗 ⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

Caleb had been preparing for war.

Not military strategy, you.

He was ready for the heartbreak. The betrayal. The screaming. The way you’d fight tooth and nail when he finally took you. Locked you in his Skyhaven penthouse. Made you his and no one else’s.

Because you had always been free. Beautiful. Untouchable.

And he had always watched you. Protected you. Loved you in the way no brother, no soldier, no man should. From the shadows. With a military-grade obsession.

So when he brought you home after that final mission, bloody, injured, nearly lost, and told you you’d never leave again…

You looked up from the plush penthouse bed, eyes heavy with painkillers and love and whispered,

“Good. I only want to be yours anyway.”

He froze.

You blinked. Smiled. Reached for him with trembling fingers.

“I hated being away from you,” you breathed. “Please don’t let me go again. I’ll be good. I’ll be your pretty little housewife.”

He didn’t speak. Just cradled your hand like it was made of glass. Like you might vanish.

From that day forward, Caleb changed.

No longer cold. No longer quiet. No longer the stoic colonel hardened by war.

You brought out the boy in him. The one who used to blush when you shared a blanket. The one who used to memorize every little thing you liked. The one who used to dream about kissing you, marrying you, keeping you locked in his arms forever.

Now he had it.

You padded around the penthouse barefoot in his oversized shirts. Asked him if he liked the pink lipstick you wore. Curled into him on the couch while he planned missions, whispering,

“When will you be back? I get lonely without you, you know.”

“I’ll call off the deployment,” he said immediately.

You laughed and tugged him down for a kiss.

You encouraged his obsession. You made it beautiful.

You didn’t just accept your gilded cage, you helped him decorate it.

Matching rings. Matching loungewear. Little domestic rituals that made him feel like he had you in every lifetime.

“I belong to you, Caleb,” you murmured one night, forehead to his. “I always have. Even before you took me, I was yours.”

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yourstrulynobody · 1 day ago

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[Draft] Im officially dubbing this AU "Celestial Emergency" since I just want the Celestials and Penumbras to get along man is that too hard to ask

Note: the way I post these is out of order of the timeline, but I will show the correct order eventually (sorry. I like jumping a lot :'>...)

[FAKE SAMS EP] "Sun and Eclipse's TALK"

(storyline of ep under cut)

(this fake ep is inspired by EAPS ep "ECLIPSE IS SORRY! In VRChat" :3)

——————

Eclipse never wouldve expected his sudden indecisiveness on wanting to leave this dimension fully—he always intended to leave this new dimension after the cure was found and made, yet when it was, Eclipse didnt feel like going back. His kids looked so happy here. How could he strip that away from them? But then comes in his promise to Solar Flare, that he'd come back once everything was complete, and in addition to that was how he made his intentions of leaving after everything clear to the Celestials.

So seeking out Terra's advice before leaving tomorrow was a mistake, a shiver that ran up Eclipse's spine when Terra said these words:

"Apologize to Sun before you leave."

...

Apologize... to Sun.

She has to be kidding.

Him being able to admit that Moon—hell, even Solar and Monty—can be smarter than him sometimes were already vomiting words he didnt know he would say. Outloud. In the same room as them.

And his capability to even mutter a half-assed apology to Cosmos didnt mean he could do the same with Sun, yet Terra insisted he could.

So here he was, welcoming himself into Moon's (was it Moon's?) House where he immediately spots Sun, settled onto the couch with his knees to his chest. He seems to have been crying for quite some time as evident by how he would wipe his eyes clear of tears.

Sun's white optics then focus on Eclipse's red ones, although the other bot appeared a bit blurry due to the tears. An uncomfortable stare between them would take over, raising the tension of the room.

Maybe he couldve done this tomorrow and not in the late evening, but no turning back now.

"..wrong timing?..." Eclipse's low voice breaks the awkward silence, drumming his fingers on his thigh.

Sun nodded, sniffling and letting out slow, shaky breaths. Whether Sun was just tired or too upset, he didnt seem to be in the mood to be aggressive with Eclipse, but he did seem to be concerned for Eclipse as he has been for a while. Why?

"H-hows the, uhm—the...." Sun leaned onto the couch, exhaling softly while he finds his words. He pulls on his rays, taking deep breaths. "The—t-the virus?.. Cure?.."

Eclipse keeps an eye on Sun while he makes his way over to the yellow bot, but hesitates to go further when he reaches the couch. He stands awkwardly beside it, his hand gripping the arm of the couch tight. "..Its been fine... Didnt Moon inform you?" His tone is rough around the edges, unable to put his defenses down despite Sun's vulnerability.

"Yeah, but I just... wanted to know for myself."

Sharp claws retract to allow numb fingertipes to claw more on the arm of the couch, and Eclipse sucks his teeth as he looks away, recognizing the worry that came from Sun despite everything Eclipse has done to him. Or maybe it was just because Sun was tiring himself being up this late.

"Why do you care?.." Eclipse grumbles, unable to control the harshness. He cursed under his breath, his fingers digging into the couch's arm further.

For a moment, silence embraces them tightly and continues to when Sun merely shrugged at the question.

"You... dont know?"

Sun shakes his head.

Eclipse blinks, his grasp on the couch releasing. How could Sun not know why? Well, in all honesty, Eclipse himself didnt know why he treated Cosmos that way before... so maybe those acts of major emotion came from Sun, leading to confusion after on why so.

"Whatever." He scoffs as he plops onto the empty spot beside Sun, his upper body forward to rest his elbows on his knees while his other pair of arms awkward crossed on his stomach.

Before the quietness would ruin their conversation, Eclipse would slip out what hes been trying to bury in his throat, words hes often had trouble saying:

"Im sorry."

A moment passed.

"For..." Eclipse groans in frustration, hanging his head lower. His rays attempt to bury themselves into his head, but they could only retract so much, so they fold around his face instead, hiding his shame. "Im sorry for everything." He practically spits out, his tone dismissive.

Sun doesnt respond to that, letting the suffocating guilt and regret overcome the two of them—Eclipse, mainly.

It felt as though he was literally being crushed by all his mistakes, forcing his bent posture to worsen. Hes spoken time and time again about how he was just like the Eclipse before and that, though he was a copy, he 'was no different from him'. But now hes starting to feel like how New Moon felt: the mistakes of your former self transferred onto you to fix. Except Eclipse's 'former self' was this recognized villian who was callous—

"Youre now the person I knew you were capable of being." Sun finally says.

Eclipse's posture straightened with his head turned to Sun, his eyes wide. His fingers grasp his pants tightly, his lips pursing as though he was trying not to do something...

"Man..." Sun smiles, his head tilted to the ground. "Moon and Monty owe me."

..but then Eclipse lets out a snort, caught off-guard by the revelation. He leans on the couch as he snickers behind his hand, trying his best to muffle his laughter to not wake anyone.

"Dammit..." he curses under his breath, laughing still.

Sun pulls his own legs closer to his chest, his rays spinning like a fan around his head in amusement. "Yeah, there kinda was—there was a bet on if youd change and all that. I remember it, but I dont know if Moon does. Monty might, but theyll deny it.

"But seriously," Sun looks over at Eclipse, his white optics so visible in the shadows, making Eclipse see how soft Sun's gaze had gotten. "Youve changed so much... but I... I-I dont know if I'll be able to forgive you at the moment, but..." The corners of his lips tug, his smile widening. "..I know I will.

"..Do you wanna have breakfast with us tomorrow morning?"

Eclipse forces down a smile and nods. "Sure. I'll take the kids with me since theyve been upset when they found out we'd be leaving soon."

A yawn escapes Sun just after he chuckles, making him sink further on the couch. "Figured as much..." His eyes fight back sleep, drifting open and close every few moments until he eventually slumps.

There was... this part of Eclipse that made him act suddenly—was it his parental instincts or a Moon thing?—though he hesitated at first; he swiftly got Sun into his arms, cradling the now sleeping bot tightly and delivered him back to his room upstairs. He found himself tucking Sun in with practiced moves—courtesy of his sons asking him to help them rest every night.

And for a moment, he takes in the scene in front of him, unsure how to react to any of it. Unsure how to take in Sun's calmer features in comparison to his usual sassy demeanour, showing a side Eclipse thought Sun left years ago.

Maybe Eclipse did have a chance of making up with them, to be their family. After all, theres no harm in expanding family... But how would everyone in the other dimension react? To realize the missing man will return home, but that home isnt with them?

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yourislandgirl · 20 hours ago

Text

.𖥔 ݁ GYM RAT’S GF ᵎᵎ ୭˚. || 박성훈 x fem!reader || headcanons || 18+

summary: what it says on the tin; hc’s on what it’s like to date gym rat park sunghoon, the sfw AND nsfw

genres: fluff, crack, suggestive, smut (mdni), non idol!sunghoon, est. relationship

warnings: swearing/cursing, attempts at humour, intentional lowercase, skinship (making out, manhandling), bit of sweat (in case you find that gross .. but seriously, you read the title, you should've clocked that), sunghoon looking illegally attractive, he's a tease, inaccurate representation of gym rats bcs i am not one by any means — your author relies on hot girl walks ( ◡̀ ◡́)ᕤ

smut tw: fingering, overstim, p in v, no protection (don’t be a fool, cover your tool), lowkey exhibitionism, ..more manhandling (oh to be manhandled by this man), sorta switch!hoon? basically he's not picky, oral (f rec.), creampie, lil bit of dirty talk, pet names (babe/y, pretty girl), lmk what i missed !!

w.c: 1.7k

[archive]

after he started working out more, sunghoon discovered his favourite way to annoy you (let’s be real, he is definitely that kind of boyfriend) at any given moment, he won’t hesitate to abruptly lift you off your feet

there’s something very enjoyable about how you gasp or maybe even yell a little from the shock before hurriedly trying to hold onto his shoulders or arms as a way to stabilise yourself

as if he’d ever let you fall, he’d scoff, lowkey offended that you’d even think such a thing

“how could i ever drop you? you are the one thing that fits perfectly in my arms. there is literally no way.”

eventually, you get used to it — when you hear the quiet muffle of his footsteps coming behind you, it’s almost a guarantee, a good 90% chance, that he’s gonna wrap his arms around your torso or hold your waist and lift you off the ground

by the third time where you’ve given him zero reaction, he’d probably start sulking

“am i really that predictable?”

you’d shrug, “what did you expect?”

he’d loosen his grip ever so slightly, shifting you in his arms, changing the hold he has on you. one minute you’re sat on his shoulders, the next minute your hands are clinging around his neck like a lifeline, legs tossed over his arms, bridal style.

he’d fully smirk at your shrieked gasp. evil.

⋆ ───── 𝜗𝜚 ───── ⋆

but the real surprise comes when he’s exhausted from a particularly gruelling workout (sjdhfjsjdjd leg day) and all he wants to do is flop on top of you

you’ll be chilling on the couch, maybe reading a book, maybe binging something, and you hear the door open and in walks your boyfriend

hair damp, feet dragging behind him, a lazy smile etched on his face when he sees you laying there

it’s like the perfect invitation

before you realise it, he’s kicked off his shoes, dropped his bag, and carefully climbed on top of you

“i’m so glad you’re home, baby.” his voice would be deep, muffled, the exhaustions palpable.

the most comforting place for sunghoon after a hard day at the gym is with your legs tangled together, his head nuzzling into the gap between your neck and collarbone

the warmth of his breath next to the slight chill of his post-shower-hair would make you shiver, but it was worth it when you hear the deep sigh that escapes his lips

immediate relaxation, the most at peace he’s felt all the day is right there in your arms

“i needed this so bad..”

his limbs could be aching, his feet and fingers stinging, but none of it matters when he’s being held by you

⋆ ───── 𝜗𝜚 ───── ⋆

he likes to try and get you to come with him to the gym

regardless of what your workout routine is, he’ll try and shift his own workout ever so slightly if you’re there

if he can, he’ll bring the hand weights over to where you are, sitting on a bench near you, probably cracking jokes in between sets

if you’re doing your own weights he won’t even hesitate to spot you

you could complain saying you don’t need one, the weights are manageable, but when you take one look at the way he’s hunched over you, his eyes trained, focused on your movements, you don’t bother saying no to his help

it’s kinda hot, you have to admit

any hint of hesitation in your hands, any sort of tremors and he’s right there, ready to lift them off if need be

he’s also the best motivator as well

a lot of gentle praise coupled with teasing jabs that have you glaring, face warm and a vendetta to push through just to be done with it and give your boyfriend a smack on the shoulder

⋆ ───── 𝜗𝜚 ───── ⋆

he adores when you hold his arms, like, half the reason why he works out and tones his biceps so religiously is because it feels ridiculously nice to have his gorgeous girlfriend hanging off his arm

with your smaller hands holding him while you guys are side by side, it’s unreal how much of an ego boost he gets from this

when you guys are out on walks, or even when you’re just cuddled on the couch, the inability to keep your hands off him is what he’s counting on

and honestly, who could blame you?

like, normally, people would hold hands when walking beside their partner, but not you, no you needed to have your arm wrapped around his bicep

“s’my arm comfy, pretty girl?”

you’d smirk off to the side, reminding him how this was his fault entirely.

“i know,” he’d lean closer, kissing your temple, intentionally flexing a little to watch you get flustered

nsfw from this point on !!

⋆ ───── 𝜗𝜚 ───── ⋆

now THIS MAN his need to carry you out of nowhere quite literally leads into you guys making out while he’s lifting you up

i’m talking against walls, doors, floor to ceiling windows, a fucking bookshelf idk

the fact of the matter is that you drive him absolutely insane, the kind of crazy that has him whispering against your ear in strained groans going “i need you right now.”

there’s something about his desire being so untamed in those moments, his hands are firm, and warm and the way his lips chase after yours like he will starve if his tongue isn’t inside your mouth

⋆ ───── 𝜗𝜚 ───── ⋆

be ready to be propped up on his knee, one arm wrapped around your waist to steady you while his other hand just trails across your back or chest

like he needs to feel you, he’s a very tactile person, and he’s savouring every gasp and every choked whisper you let out when his fingers venture further down

the kind of cocky bastard that enjoys feeling just how soaked you are from the mere act of kissing and rubbing up against each other

he’d obviously tease you about it too “fuck, babe we haven’t even made it to the bed yet.”

with this kind of foreplay, he tends to lose track of time because he just likes the feeling of you against him, carried by him

it’s sort of a possessive thing lowkey, like he enjoys how effortlessly he can hold you

⋆ ───── 𝜗𝜚 ───── ⋆

this effortless possessiveness shows itself in other areas too — he’s the kind of guy that would become lost in the feeling of chasing his release that even if you already came, he’s not slowing down till he’s there too

you’d be squirming beneath him but he’s got his strong arms around you, he’s propped up on his forearms, his bicep’s like right beside your face and you could be clawing at it but man is not stopping till he’s seeing stars and then collapsing on top of you

and yeah, he likes staying in there, the kind of guy to whisper about how good you were and how perfect you feel while he’s catching his breath

⋆ ───── 𝜗𝜚 ───── ⋆

on days where he feels tired from his workout, he usually settles for cuddles, but this time it’s all on you

you’ll see his taught muscles slick with sweat, his half-lidded eyes, the way he groans with every sentences from the post-workout-ache … and all you can think about is taking him right then and there

again, no one would blame you, you have a very fine man for a boyfriend

so after a few cuddles and a little kissing, you find a way to get up on top of him and sunghoon would immediately know what’s to come

“i’m so tired, pretty...” his eyes are already closing, words a little slurry as he fights the sleep but you give him a kiss on his jaw, lean closer to his ear and whisper about how you’ll help him feel better, just leave it all to you, and he’s eating out of the palm of your hand

it’s undeniably one of the hottest things he could ever do — lean back, one arm behind his head, watching you in a daze while he groans under you, abs flexing with ever move of your body

⋆ ───── 𝜗𝜚 ───── ⋆

when it comes to oral, he’s the kind of guy to pull you back for more when you’re overstimulated and squirming away

if you really can’t take it he’d definitely stop, but from the sounds of things and the way you’re tugging his hair or mewling his name? yeah, he’d definitely be the type to say “where’re you going? you can take it, baby, come on”

his hands would tug you closer by your hips, arms wrapping around your thighs, holding you in place

⋆ ───── 𝜗𝜚 ───── ⋆

his dirty pleasure scenario that he will UNDOUBTEDLY accomplish (it’s like on his mental bucket list) is to make you cum in the gym shower or locker room

this man is just waiting for the opportunity, it’s kinda cute

eventually, when you guys do find the chance to have the gym showers all to yourselves (which only happened because sunghoon dragged you to the gym bright and early in the morning yes it was that serious), he’s making sure you’re all ready by kneeling down in the shower and giving you the kind of head that has you biting the palm of your hand because there’s no way in hell you want to get caught in this position

this man is relentless

the water is warm, stifling almost, and yet you feel a multitude of temperatures — the heat of the slowly fogging shower stall, your sweat sticking to your neck and chest, the icy ceramic tiles against your back and the almost electric surge from sunghoon’s tongue

one of your legs is slung over his shoulder and the only thing keeping you upright is the firm hold he has on you

eventually, he’ll grab your hand and pull it away from your mouth entirely because “babe, what’s the point of tasting this good if others can’t hear what they’re missing out on?”

he’s a menace, and you’re about to have the best orgasm of your life

a.n: someone said that everyone on enhablr is churning out sunghoon content now and it's a sunghoon domination or smth and they could not have been more right ohhhmygod sunghoon content has been fuelling me these last few days i am concerningly in love with this man jfc

nsfw perm taglist: @oceanstide — @sheepsgf — @enjakey — @jaylaxies — @tobiosbbyghorl

2025 © yourislandgirl

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twovialsofamortentia · 3 days ago

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a little bit about how james loves sleeping, with you. 🛌

By the time you had woken up and dragged yourself into the common room, it had started to rain. It was early, so you were in search of a solution to the emptiness in your bed as a means of soothing yourself back to sleep.

“James.” you murmured, leaning in the doorway at the bottom of the stairs.

James smiled when he turned towards you, taking you in from where he was standing in the little kitchenette. Your hair was messy, and your nostrils flared as you yawned deeply. You in the morning was James’ favourite version of you, because it was exactly the type of sickly sweet domestication he’d spent so long yearning for.

He nodded, knowing by the way you were hugging yourself that you were cold and wanting him to come back to bed.

“I know, darling.” James told you softly. “Go on and get back in bed, I’ll be there in a minute.”

You nodded tiredly, yawning again as you turned on your heels and padded barefoot back up the cold stairs, which probably didn’t help. You got back into bed and shut your eyes again until the door clicked open.

By the time James had levitated one cup of tea- yours, he was carrying his own in the same hand as his wand, a very rehearsed and often-failed strategy that had previously caused the death of many mugs- the rain had slowed.

When you first stirred to wakefulness because of the absence of warmth next to you, the rain had been hammering on the thin glass windows, rattling the ancient panes in their frames, even the one above your bed, which was cracked open slightly.

Now, though, the rain had settled. It wasn’t hammering anymore. It had no bite, literally just falling languidly out of the sky, as if someone was in the clouds dropping fistfuls of it so it was slipping through their fingers slowly, like sand.

There was a rain gutter next to your window. It was old. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t. This morning it was working, so you could hear gushes of water trickling down the end of it every so often, racing, like they were chasing a rat down the pipe.

When James climbed back into bed, he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against him and kissing down the bare skin of your neck.

“I’m just warning you, love,” he began quietly, not needing to speak above a whisper because his lips were next to your ear. “I have got practice in half an hour.”

You hummed, irritated. A presentation of your disapproval that James would be getting up and leaving you. Again. He laughed quietly, apologising with a kiss to the exposed skin of your shoulder. Then to the skin on the nape of your neck. Then your throat, then your jaw, then his hand was sliding over your stomach and down it, making you shiver.

You expected James to make you part with your underwear, and slip his fingers through your folds, but you quickly realised he was just making you think that. Not actually doing it. He was teasing you, and instead his hand hooked over the inside of your thigh, pulling you closer, if at all possible.

“Don’t whinge.” James insisted. You could hear in his voice he was grinning because your skin was running hot from his touch. “Stay in bed, if you like. I’ll be back after.”

“You’ll come get back in bed with me?”

“Course I will, my darling.”

James would have been the stupidest man on the planet not to get back in bed with you, to take any chance with you he had to slip between the sheets and hold you to his chest, hear your breathing slow as the warmth of his arms sent you back to sleep the way it always did.

You drifted off, and this time, James’ leaving didn’t wake you. What did wake you was when he came back, and rolled you over onto your front, encouraging you to lay on his chest as he wrapped an arm around you. Whatever he murmured to you, you didn’t hear, because you were trying to maintain enough tiredness to drift back off to sleep. It didn’t take a genius to know that it was I love you.

James didn’t mind you not being awake. Even though he had so much to tell you, and was now trying to commit it all to memory so that the story would still be equally as funny for you when you woke up. Even though he was worked up, and would have quite liked to kiss you, and pull you on top of him, and guide your hips over his own so that his name would tumble from your lips. Instead of waking you, James just settled down, content to hold you and maybe doze off himself.

Because while James loved sleeping with you, he loved sleeping, with you, much better.

#james potter #james potter x y/n #james potter x you #james potter fluff #james potter x reader #james potter x fem!reader #marauders #marauders era #dead wizards from the 70s #dead gay wizards from the 70s #harry potter #dead gay wizards #wizarding world

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winterswift · 1 day ago

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can we pretend?

pairing: bob reynolds x f! reader.

summary: when you asked bob to pretend to be your fake boyfriend, you had no idea you'd fall so hard for him.

word count: 4,4k.

tags: fake relationship, pining, this is sort of grumpy x sunshine, except that instead of grumpy, he is shy and introverted. he fell first AND harder, mentions of y/n, a lot of fluff, sentry makes his appearance (kind of).

—there are mentions of a man harassing the reader but nothing overly excessive.

a/n: english is not my first language so there might be grammatical mistakes. this took longer than i expected, but i'm happy with the end product. the fake relationship trope is one of my faves, and i was quite excited to use it in a Bob fic. i hope you like it :).

Bob couldn't help but observe you. He didn't intend to do it; he was meant to be reading, but the sound of your voice distracted him. There was a man nearby, possibly too close to be regarded proper.

You did not appear to be comfortable; your body was rigid and your eyes darted around in search of an escape. Every time he approached closer, you took a step back.

He understood how it felt because he felt the same way with practically everyone. But he wasn't used to seeing you like this; you used to be confident, a ray of sunshine whose demeanor didn't quite suit with the grim New Avengers. He didn't like seeing you like that, small and insecure, almost afraid.

He felt compelled to do something, but he wasn't the sort to harm, so he waited. When the man left and you breathed a sigh of relief, he continued his reading. He pretended he hadn't noticed your footsteps approaching.

“Bob!" you exclaimed. You were overjoyed to see him; normally, no one reacts that way when they meet him. Except for you. "I was looking for you."

You settle next to him with a huff, your cherry smell overwhelming his senses. He adored your perfume but would never express it aloud. "I need to ask you a favor," you said, blushing as if embarrassed.

"What can I do for you?" he inquired, anticipating that you would want a book, as you occasionally did.

"I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend." He almost didn't understand you because you spoke so fast. He gazed at you with wide eyes.

"What?"

"Please!" you begged, anxiously. "I'd do anything for you. I will buy you anything you want, but please say yes."

He wasn't sure it was a good idea; he wasn't exactly boyfriend material, but seeing your eyes almost to tears, he couldn't turn you down. Not if you looked at him like that.

"F-fine," he agreed, hesitantly.

You let out an enthusiastic giggle and threw yourself into his arms with such vigor that you nearly knocked him off the couch. He gave you a few pats on the back before pulling away.

He wasn't used to that type of affection, especially after what had taken place in New York, but that was just how you were, warm and dazzling. You didn't appear concerned that he would use his powers on you.

"Thank you so much, seriously, it means a lot to me," you stammered. "It's just for a couple of days, until that guy stops bothering me. I've told him several times that I don't want to go out with him, but he will not take no for an answer. I'm desperate.”

He was enraged at the thought of someone making you uncomfortable; he told himself that he would pay more attention to that man and would not allow him to get near you. He may not have been the most intimidating member of the team, but he was confident he could get him off your back.

"Don't worry, I'll help you." Your thankful smile made it all worthwhile.

He had absolutely no idea what he was getting into.

The following days went by normally, but Bob noted the small changes. You appeared to want to spend more time with him; nothing was overstated; you simply sat next to him at breakfast and smiled. Sometimes you'd sit next to him as he read.

You never interrupted him because you were too gentle for that; instead, you remained by his side as a warm and soothing presence. You never compelled him to speak, you never exceeded his space; you were simply present. He appreciated it.

He began to feel safe by your side, not that he hadn't before, but that he did so more frequently.

It was one of those days when they simply existed next to each other that you started a conversation.

"Bob," you called, and he noticed your soft tone. "Are you sure you want to do this?" I know I practically forced you to say yes, but you may always decline. I don't want to make you uncomfortable; if you don't want to, I can ask someone else if-”

He had noticed that you spoke too quickly when you were nervous, which he found very adorable.

"No!" stopped you, and he grimaced instantly, realizing he had sounded overly enthusiastic."It doesn't bother me; if I hadn't wanted it, I would have said no. It's fine, really.”

That was only half the truth; it wasn't that he couldn't say no; rather, he couldn't say no to you.

“Good,” you replied with a relieved smile. "Thank you again; you really help me a lot."

"There's nothing to thank me for," he told you with a little smile. "Did you see him again?"

"No, I've been avoiding the places he usually goes," you answered, visibly annoyed. "I know he comes a couple of times a week, but I'm not sure when."

"Don't worry, we'll keep an eye on it," he assured you.

Bob kept his promise to her. The next day, he had asked Yelena for a list of everyone who worked for Valentina. The former assassin lifted her eyebrows and smiled, but said nothing.

It took him some time to find him, but there he was. His name was Daniel, and he worked on the tower's repairs. None of the workers were permitted to enter the floor where they lived, but this man seemed to disregard the rules in order to come closer to you.

Daniel had not returned to the tower, but that did not prevent him from staying near to you. It was embarrassing how closely he followed you like a lost puppy, but he wanted to guarantee your safety.

He didn't see him until a week later, when he was bothering you again. As you attempted to distance yourself from him, your face flushed with discomfort.

"Come on, beautiful, just one date," he urged, smiling condescendingly. Bob had a brilliant gleam in his eyes before approaching you.

You saw a tiny shift in his posture: his steps were firmer, and his hands were no longer fidgeting. His eyes no longer avoided you; they focused on you with such intensity that you blushed.

He approached you with a smile, standing next to you and wrapped his arm around your waist, drawing you closer to him.

"Hello, darling," he whispered, kissing your forehead. You attempted to hide your amazement; Bob had never been so affectionate with you, and even though you had technically asked for it, you had no idea how to react. "And who are you?"

Daniel swallowed hard, clearly intimidated. "I'm a friend of Y/N," he explained, shaking his hand. "Daniel."

Bob grasped his hand harder than needed. "How strange, she never mentioned you," he said, smiling. "I'm Robert, her boyfriend."

You tried to disguise a smile by hiding your face in his shoulder. You didn't realize Bob could be that petty.

Both enjoyed Daniel's annoyed expression; from that perspective, they appeared to be a loving couple. Nobody would assume they rarely touched hands.

"I don't want to take up more of your time, Daniel," you said. "See you later."

You instantly grabbed Bob's arm and pulled him out of the room. You did not want to spend any more time with that man. You spoke once you had gotten far enough away.

"That was incredible!" you exclaimed, laughing. "Did you see his face?"

Bob's shyness emerged at that moment. "Yeah, I hope that keeps him away from you."

"I hope so," you sighed. "Thank you, Bob."

He grinned at you, with a lovely blush on his cheeks. You wanted to express your gratitude for everything he was doing for you, so an idea began to shape in your thoughts.

"Hey, do you want to get out of here?" you said. The glitter in his eyes revealed the answer.

You led him to a new café that had opened a few blocks from the tower. When you heard out it was a cat café, you immediately felt Bob would enjoy it.

And you were not mistaken.

His smile when a kitten approached him warmed your heart. Bob surrounded by kittens was not an image you wanted to forget.

You took care of his order, and when you returned with two coffees, he was holding a little cat against his chest. You snapped a picture before he could resist.

"What are you doing?" he asked you.

"You two looked too adorable," you said with a smile. "I couldn't help it."

Bob shook his head with a smile, rebellious strands of hair fell over his eyes. You wanted to tuck it behind his ears, but you lacked the courage.

Both of them drank their coffees silently; you didn't want to press the conversation, and Bob was distracted with the kittens. You were astonished when he talked first.

"Can I ask you something?" You nodded slightly to encourage him to speak.

"Why me?" he questioned. "Why did you choose me?"

The question threw you off; choosing him felt natural, even instinctual. Furthermore, you did not want to confess that he was perfectly your type.

You inhaled deeply. "Because you are a good man, Bob. You are sweet and gentle, and you know how to listen to others. You make them feel seen. Not to mention that you're handsome," you admitted. "Who wouldn't want to have you as a boyfriend?"

You blushed beneath his gaze; he gazed at you as if you were the sun peeking out from behind the storm, as if you were something that only happens once in a lifetime. Doubt appeared in his eyes; he didn't believe the sincerity of your remarks, but you were speaking from the heart.

When he saw you weren't going to change your mind, he smiled at you; it wasn't exaggerated or overly bright. It was a warm smile, the type that brings out people's beauty and makes you want to get closer to them.

You wanted to be close to Bob.

Something shifted between you two that day, an unsaid understanding, an invisible string forming between you. A gravitational pull that neither of them could resist.

But not everything is perfect.

What about their little getaway? It was the cover of every magazine at the time. Their faces and furtive smiles had been shot, revealing the intimacy of the moment to everyone.

Valentina had something to say about it.

The woman showed up in the tower with a stomach-churning smile. You didn't like the glow in her eyes, and your body was screaming at you to get away from there.

Bob and you exchanged perplexed looks when she threw a magazine at you that had you on the cover.

"My little superhero lovers, I wanted to speak to you.”

They were certainly in big trouble.

You approached Bob, unintentionally seeking the reassurance his presence brought. Valentina must have noticed their fearful expressions when she spoke to them.

"Oh, don't worry, I'm not angry," didn't help them relax. "In fact, this is perfect. Two Avengers in love is just the type of PR we need right now. People enjoy good romance.”

You shifted uncomfortably; you two were not even dating. You would not be in that position if you hadn't made that idiotic request.

"But we don't—" you attempted to say.

"I don't care if you love each other or barely tolerate each other," she exclaimed, frustrated. "I need you to sell it to the public. Next Friday, there will be a charity gala; I need both of you to attend and be the perfect pair. Mel will send your outfit within a few days.”

Both attempted to object, but a single glance from the woman hushed them. "I'm not asking you. Do not fail.”

With that, she went out the door.

"I'm sorry, Bob," you apologized instantly. "This is my fault, I should have realized they were taking pictures of us. You don't have to go; I can tell Valentina that this was entirely my idea, and-"

"Hey, Y/N, breathe," Bob interrupted you, holding your hands. It's not anyone's fault; besides, I agreed to do this, remember? We're now a team, and I'm not going to leave you alone.”

Your frown softened as he spoke; he always manages to calm you down.

"What about the party?"

"We just have to show up there, I think I can survive a party," he told you. "Only if you go with me."

"Deal done," you said with a smile.

It was the night before the gala and you couldn't sleep, the mattress sank uncomfortably under your weight, the sheets that wrapped around you made you feel suffocated. Every time you closed your eyes, thousands of scenarios where everything went wrong began to emerge.

You took a couple of breaths, trying to calm the rapid beats of your heart. You couldn't help but feel anxious; generally, the public events you attended never ended well.

You began to reflect on the previous several weeks, thinking about how the situation had slid out of your grasp. You hated yourself for doing this to Bob.

Bob had been nothing but kind to you, and he chose to help you even though it was not his responsibility. Bob who gazed at you as if you had hung the moon and stars for him.

You had no idea what to deal with those feelings, and you never expected to feel anything for him. Of course, he was always handsome to you, but a relationship required more than just that.

And yet, there you were. Unable to resist your heart's longing for him.

You wanted to be the one who made him laugh out loud and earned his trust. You wanted to see the gorgeous blush that appeared on his cheeks whenever someone complimented him, and you wanted him to take you in his arms and never let you go.

However, he most likely did not feel the same way. You were sure that Bob was too kind to reject you, if you had the courage to declare your feelings and stop pretending.

Soft knocks on your door distracted you from your thoughts, and you reluctantly got up, wondering who was calling you at such a late hour.

Bob's blue eyes gleamed when he saw you, his hair was ruffled, and the deep black circles under his eyes made him appear exhausted. You raised an eyebrow when you saw the pillow he was holding under his arm.

It seemed that you had called him with your thoughts.

"Sorry," his scratchy voice from sleep made you shudder. "I didn't want to wake you, it's just that I couldn't sleep and didn't know what else to do."

You gave him a slight smile before opening the door. It was Bob's first time in your room, and he couldn't help but notice every single detail that made the space yours.

"Don't worry," you murmured, gesturing to the mess of blankets that composed your bed. "I couldn't sleep either."

Bob gave a tiny mumble of understanding; he was too nervous to say anything. Your scent was everywhere, and it was driving him insane.

You stifled a yawn as you took his hand and dragged him to bed. Bob followed you with unsteady feet, and the sight of you with tired eyes and a soft-looking pajama made his heart race.

They lay down with a good gap between them, but after a few minutes, you couldn't help but desire to be closer to him. You moved around, placed your head on his shoulder, and rested your arm on his stomach. You let out a relieved sigh as you felt the warmth of his body on yours.

Bob remained completely still; it was the closest they had ever been. Your breath tickled his skin. He lovingly enveloped you in his arms, and you almost fell asleep immediately.

He noticed your serene expression, the contour of your nose, your slightly parted lips, and how you clung to him. Unconsciously, he began to touch your hair, finding it difficult to understand that someone could feel secure with him.

"Y/N," he muttered, afraid to wake you. You made a sound that resembled an response. "Are you nervous?"

"A little," you sighed. "I don't trust Valentina's intentions, and it's my first time attending a gala with a partner. Well, you are not actually my boyfriend, but for them—"

Bob's laughter interrupted you. "I got it," he said, smiling at you. "To be honest, it's the first time I've attended an event like this. So I'm nervous, too."

Your fingers intertwined with his, and your thumb caressed his knuckles. "Don't worry, they'll love you," you remarked in a sleepy voice.

"It's not their opinion that matters to me," he murmured, but you were already asleep.

Bob let out a defeated sigh and closed his eyes. He instantly fell asleep with you beside him.

When you awoke the next morning, your bed was empty, but you were holding a pillow that did not belong to you.

They both ignored one other all morning, they were embarrassed and too frightened to engage in normal conversation. And the team's relentless taunting of you did not help.

Since they discovered you were in a "relationship," the comments haven't stopped; they never miss a chance to make you blush with their words.

So you decided to hide in your room until it was time to go to the party; however, you still needed to prepare.

You took your time showering and perfuming your body; Valentina had hired numerous people to do your makeup and hairstyle, so you didn't have to worry about it.

The makeup enhanced your looks; they applied an eye shimmer to you that complimented your clothing and made your glance appear more alluring. Your hair was done with gentle waves that cascaded down your back.

You couldn't help but huff at the color of the dress, yet it was still perfect for you. Valentina did her best.

The cloth was comfortable and hugged each curve of your body. It truly made you feel beautiful.

They gave you matching shoes and jewelry, and once you'd completed changing, you glanced in the mirror. You took a deep breath, attempting to settle your nerves. You needed to think that everything would be alright.

You strode down the hallway with your head held high, attempting to radiate confidence. Bob was probably waiting for you in the common area, so you increased your pace.

You spotted him before he noticed you. You were left breathless.

He was dressed in a black suit that appeared to be tailor-made, fitting perfectly around his shoulders and the muscles in his arms. His hair was slicked back with gel, and you were surprised to see that he hadn't shaved; his stubble appealed to you.

He spotted you at that very moment. You gave him a little smile when you saw his open mouthed expression.

His gaze swept over your body, admiring how the dress highlighted your beauty, hugged your physique, and made you appear like a goddess descending to earth.

"Golden?" he inquired with a playful smile, admiring the hue of your garment.

You rolled your eyes. "Well, I'm supposed to be Sentry's girlfriend, with the power of a thousand suns, blah blah," you stated as you approached him. "I had to match, you know?"

"What-what are you doing?" he stammered as you placed your palms against his chest.

"You have your tie crooked," you said, removing the knot with ease. Bob held his breath as you completed your assignment. "Done."

"Easy, Bob, I don't bite," you winked. He murmured something you didn't understand before offering his arm to let you start your way to the door.

"Let's get out of here."

The venue was full, and the sound of so many voices mingling assaulted your ears. You gripped Bob's arm a little tighter.

He was equally nervous, his body shivering slightly against your side. You felt compelled to soothe him, so you entwined your fingers with his and gently squeezed them.

You moved closer, your lips brushing across his ear. "Breathe. We're in this together."

He offered you a faint, strained smile, but it was enough for you. His arm wrapped around your waist, warm and firm, as you both entered the building.

All eyes were on you, the star-crossed lovers, as Valentina had described you. Something about you grabbed attention: your silent complicity, the way you orbited one other, and your inability to stop looking at each other.

Nobody would ever suspect it was a meticulously planned performance. Or that's what they wanted to believe, but you knew some things couldn't be faked.

Bob let you lead the discussions, watching with interest as you enchanted others with your charm. He only spoke when necessary because he still struggled with social interactions. Instead, he remained by your side, always with you.

He hadn't missed the looks some men gave you, so he made certain they knew you weren't alone. That someone was looking after you, even if he was aware you didn't need it.

The night flew by as you both approached the bar for a drink. The lights had darkened, and there were a few couples dancing. You had a small grin on your lips and a sparkle in your eyes, as if you wanted to dance but didn't dare to ask.

Bob didn't want to pass up the opportunity, even though he didn't like the thought of so many people watching him. He extended his hand to you in a subtle invitation. You could barely conceal your surprise.

"Come on," he said, guiding you onto the dance floor. You restrained a smile.

"I didn't know you liked to dance," you joked, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and drawing closer to him.

“I'm a terrible dancer," both of them began to sway to the beat of the music. "But it would be a crime not to dance with you."

“Smooth" you chuckled as he spun you around. "Thank you, you are the perfect partner."

When he glanced at you, his eyes had a golden shine in them, but you didn't say anything; you just smiled and put your forehead on his shoulder. That simple act of confidence touched Bob's heart.

Your hair tickled his chin, and your perfume dulled his senses. Your skin felt warm where his hands touched you, and the steady ebb and flow of your breath helped him stay grounded.

He genuinely wanted to kiss you, but he didn't dare. Not there, not where they were exposed to the eyes of others. So they continued to dance, till their feet hurt.

And when you were bored of the music and the people, you proposed leaving. It wasn't your first time attending an event in that building; you were familiar with the space and knew you had to show Bob the view from the terrace.

You led him along the empty hallways, hands clasped and bursting into little giggles of hardly restrained joy. You could feel the excitement in the air, the expectation of what could happen.

The cool night air sent shivers down your spine, as you walked closer to the balcony to take in the view; you'd always enjoyed seeing the city at night.

"Isn't it beautiful?" you stated, feeling Bob's warmth next to you but not taking your gaze away from the city.

"It is," he said, staring at you.

Bob took advantage of your distraction to look at you, noting the way the moonlight reflected on your features, the sparkle in your eyes, and every mole and freckle on your skin. He gazed at you as if he wanted to remember you forever.

You were heartbreakingly beautiful, and it took his breath away. And, God, he loved you with such devotion that even the worst parts of himself yearned for you.

"Are you okay?" you asked, your fingertips gently brushing against his knuckles. "I hope tonight wasn't too much for you."

He shook his head slightly. "It was...fine. I had fun, how about you?”

"I always have fun when I'm with you, Bob," you remarked, smiling sweetly.

His heart raced, and he knew he needed to kiss you. He couldn't leave the night without trying the taste of your lips.

"I've wanted to do something all night," he said, his voice dropping an octave. The intimacy in his tone caused you to lean closer to him.

"Oh, really?" you inquired with bright eyes. "What is it?"

"This," he said, and then he kissed you.

He kissed you desperately, like a beast eager for you, as if he wanted to take every breath that left your lips and claim it for his own.

He claimed your lips as if they were all he needed to survive. And perhaps it was.

His fingers trembled as he grabbed your waist, not out of nerves or fear, but out of barely restrained despair. For the desire to explore your skin.

The world melted away under his touch, the sound of the city scarcely audible in your ears; on that lonesome terrace, only he and you existed.

Your lungs burned, but you didn't want to let go, so you clutched to him tighter, wrinkling the neck of his shirt with your fingers. Bob's arms gripped you securely, and you knew he wasn't going to let you go either.

Your heart raced as his darker eyes met yours, he placed his forehead to yours. They remained motionless for a minute, the only sound coming from their heavy breathing.

You let out a giggle. “God, I like you so much. I'm glad I asked you to be my fake boyfriend.”

Bob laughed, and his chest vibrated against yours. "Yeah, maybe we should change that," he told you. "What do you think? Do you want to be my girlfriend? This time, for real."

"I would love to," you smiled, sealing your words with a kiss.

Asking him to pretend to go out with you was the best decision you'd made. And as for Daniel, let's just say your boyfriend made it clear to him that you were no longer available.

thanks for reading!

#thunderbolts #marvel #fanfic #bob reynolds #bob reynolds x reader #bob reynolds x you #bob reynolds x y/n #bob thunderbolts #sentry #the sentry x reader #sentry x reader #marvel fanfic

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trulyumai · 1 day ago

Text

too soft for your own good

—Synopsis: Remmick is finally brought in with a warm softness. The evening unfolds with a quiet domesticity—soft candlelight, the smell of fresh herbs, and the clink of silverware over a lovingly prepared dinner. He can’t eat, of course, but he sits across from you like a man who once had a family, who’s almost forgotten how to live like this. He watches with an aching reverence as you move about the kitchen, barefoot and warm, bathed in the gentle familiarity of home. You ask nothing of him. He expects you to flinch, to fear. But you don’t. Not once. And in that stillness, that trust, something fragile begins to take root. —Warnings: Talk of violence, blood.

He doesn’t touch the plate.

Just sits there, long fingers folded on the edge of the table, watching you with a stillness that hums like tension wire. You’re standing by the stove, dish towel slung over one shoulder, hair pinned back in a loose twist, humming like always—some old tune that feels like it belongs to the house more than to you.

You serve two bowls.

You always do.

You ladle out red beans, set down thick slices of buttered cornbread, pour iced tea until the glasses sweat. You do it like muscle memory, like prayer. Because even if he doesn’t eat, the gesture matters. The illusion of it. The hope.

Remmick watches your every move like he’s memorizing a ritual. Like your hands stirring the pot are some holy liturgy he’ll never be clean enough to speak aloud.

The kitchen is warm—alive. Smells like garlic and thyme, like something bubbling low and soft for hours. The air clings to you, golden with lamplight, sweat at your temple catching the glow. It’s cruel, in a way. How human you are. How here.

He, by contrast, is all silence and restraint.

No breath.

No heartbeat.

Just that faint unnatural pallor beneath his eyes, the kind that deepens the longer he sits too close to heat.

“Smells good,” he says. His voice is smoke—thin and quiet, something that slips under the door and vanishes before it can be answered.

You glance up. “I can make you something else. If it’s the garlic—”

He stops you with a small shake of his head. “I ain’t hungry.”

But he is.

God, he is.

Just not for what’s on the table.

Your eyes linger on him. His collar is open. No tie. Just the pale line of his throat and the faint stain of dried blood at the seam, nearly scrubbed clean. He looks better—less like a corpse, more like a man caught halfway between hunger and salvation.

You sit.

He watches the steam rise from your bowl.

Your spoon clinks gently. The softest sounds in the world, but to him it’s thunder. Because it reminds him he doesn’t belong here. Never really did. And yet—

“You used to?” you ask suddenly. “Eat, I mean?”

A pause.

He nods. Slow. “Years back. Another life.”

“What did you miss first?”

He thinks about it.

“The feeling of fullness,” he says. “Not even the taste. Just knowin’ you’d had enough.”

You nod, quiet, spoon paused halfway to your mouth.

He reaches out. Doesn’t touch the food, but lets his hand hover near the plate like the heat from it might singe him into something real again.

“I still remember what it’s supposed to taste like,” he murmurs. “Cornbread. Real butter. Salted beans. I close my eyes and it’s there, like a ghost.”

Your throat tightens.

You push your bowl closer to him anyway.

He looks at you like you’ve just offered him something impossible.

“Humor me,” you say. “Just hold the spoon.”

He does.

Awkwardly at first. Like it’s foreign in his hand. Like it burns with its memory of purpose. But he lets it dip into the beans, lift, steam curling upward in a soft spiral that kisses his wrist.

He doesn’t bring it to his lips.

He just holds it there. Eyes locked on the bowl.

“I used to eat like this on Sundays,” he says, like he’s somewhere else now. “Mama’s table. Window open. Cicadas loud as hell. Always had sweet tea, and my uncle used to say if the cornbread didn’t crumble in your hand, it wasn’t worth a damn.”

You smile.

“He’d like this one,” you offer.

He laughs—but it’s a small, strangled sound. Half-buried. Something folded up inside him, trembling.

“You don’t have to pretend,” you whisper.

But he does.

He wants to.

Not for you—but for himself. For the boy he used to be. For the man who might’ve had a kitchen like this, with a woman humming across the room and oil popping in a skillet, and the holy silence of two people who don’t need to speak to be full.

He sets the spoon down carefully.

“I can’t eat,” he says, finally. “But if I sit here long enough, I think maybe I almost remember how it feels.”

You rise and move behind him. Lay your hand on his shoulder. He leans into it, slow and soft, eyes fluttering shut.

“You’re here,” you murmur. “That’s all that matters.”

The beans go cold. The cornbread stiffens at the edges.

But Remmick?

He stays.

Lets the illusion wrap around him like a warm quilt. Listens to the tick of the stove, the song of your breath. Pretends, for one long, golden moment, that this is his house too.

And in that stillness, in that fragile peace, he is full.

The kitchen’s long gone quiet. Dishes rinsed, lights dimmed to a low glow. The air still smells faintly of thyme and scorched sugar.

He hadn’t left.

You didn’t ask him to.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Now he sits on the edge of your couch, long legs bent, hands folded between his knees like he’s afraid to unfold too fast and shatter the moment. The living room hums with warmth. You pad in barefoot, skin still dewy from the bath, the thin fabric of your robe clinging like a second skin. Every step is deliberate. Every breath careful.

He doesn’t look at you—not at first. Just stares at the floor like it holds the answers to all the questions he won’t let himself ask.

“I can hear it,” he murmurs, low and hoarse. “Your blood.”

You stop in front of him.

He doesn’t lift his gaze, but his hands clench tighter.

“It’s not just sound—it’s… a pull. Like somethin' remembering its way home.”

You kneel between his knees. Slowly. Gently.

His eyes rise to meet yours—and God, they’re starving. Not red. Not monstrous. Just desperate. Heavy with restraint. Guilt. A hunger he’s buried so deep, it’s gone feral in the dark.

“Remmick,” you whisper.

He shakes his head. “Don’t... Darlin'. You don’t know what you’re—”

But your fingers reach for his. Steady. Grounding.

“I do.”

He closes his eyes. A tremble runs through him—like a shiver breaking loose from the spine.

“You think this is kind,” he says. “But it’s not. It’s giving in. And once I do—once I taste—”

“You won’t hurt me.”

He laughs, but it’s hollow. “You don’t know that.”

“I do.”

You reach up, tilt your head.

The robe slips just slightly, revealing the slope of your neck. That tender spot just beneath the ear. The place where your pulse flutters like a moth trapped in your throat.

His breath catches, ragged and dry.

You wait.

You don’t coax. Don’t beg.

You just are. Calm. Present. Offering.

He leans forward, slow as death, slow as forgiveness.

His lips ghost your skin. Not a kiss, not yet. Just a reverence.

Then a breath. Sharp. Inhaled like incense.

“Say stop,” he whispers. “Say it and I’ll—”

You don’t.

You tip your head farther, baring yourself with a softness that borders on holy.

He groans, quiet and wrecked, and finally sinks in—not with violence, but with ache. With restraint so taut it might break him apart. His fangs pierce skin like a prayer, and for a moment the world stills.

No pain.

Just heat.

Just the throb of your pulse against his lips, the way his hand cradles the back of your neck like you’re something breakable and beloved. His other arm slides around your waist, pulling you closer—not out of hunger, but out of need.

The kind of need that says don’t leave me here.

You let him drink. Not much. Just enough.

Enough to stop the shaking. Enough to soothe the ache behind his eyes. Enough to remind him he’s still tethered to something human.

When he pulls back, he’s shaking. His mouth red, his pupils blown wide, and yet—he looks cleaner somehow. Less haunted.

Your blood stains his lower lip.

You reach up slowly, wiping it away with your thumb.

#fluff #x reader #fanfiction #possessive #possesive love #remmick #remmick sinners #remmick x reader #remmick x you #jack o'connell

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emeraldserenade · 1 day ago

Text

Glass Pilot ~ Robert "Bob" Floyd

synopsis: You were used to people ignoring you, never noticing what you did. But then there's the entire Dagger Squad, especially Bob.

tw: fem!reader, reader has glass child syndrome, reader's callsign is Mouse, Iceman lives because I say so, age gap (reader's 25 and Bob's 32), reader is under 6 foot (I'm sorry to my tall readers), reader punches two creeps in the bar, reader's dad own jets, mostly fluff but angst thrown in, barely edited.

fic, ficlet, drabble, request

Something about Robert Floyd makes me want to write until my fingers cramp. Also, sorry for not posting yesterday. I was in a lot of pain and I ended up at the ER at 8am this morning. Turns out I have a kidney stone way too early in life, going to the urologist Monday to find out more.

➽──────────────❥

When you were called back to TOP GUN, you weren't expecting much from the others. You figured it would be the same it always was, you'd stay in the background, do what you were told, and never disobey orders.

It's how you got your callsign, you never spoke unless someone spoke to you, thus Mouse is what people called you. You didn't hate it, it could have been worse, but you also didn't love it. You figured most people didn't like theirs, but you also couldn't be sure.

You were able to float around the bar without people noticing you, you watched as a pilot named Bob get noticed, yet not you. You were used to it, you could even stand by the pool table and not one person said anything to you.

Not until you ended up being seen by Callie, "Mouse!"

You floated over to her, your smile making it's way on your face. She was about the only person you've met that didn't care about how quiet you were. She seemed to just like your company and you were ok with her talking to you. "Hi, Halo," you greeted her, your voice barely heard over the loud music.

You let her talk to you for a while before you walked away and to the bar. You ended up sitting a few seats away from an older man, you eyed him for a moment before realizing who he was. You wanted to say hi, to introduce yourself before what you assumed was his class the next day. But you were too nervous, you didn't want to take his attention away from someone else that might deserve it more.

"What do they call you?" You heard him ask, you turned your head to him and stared for a moment.

"Mouse, sir," you replied and he laughed while nodding. "Are you the one they got to teach us?"

"I am, Captain Pete Mitchell, Maverick," he stuck his hand out and you shook it. The conversation died and you awkwardly stood, waved to him, and left the bar. You would beat yourself up about it once you get to your childhood home, the one your parents left to you when they moved to Florida.

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You were in the back, awkwardly sitting next to someone who introduced himself as Rooster, when Pete walked in. You watched as a blond's face fell but you looked away before he could notice.

You were flying with Callie and Neil, you watched as they decided to take the tone from Pete for you and decided it was time to stop playing nice. You knew you could get in trouble for flying the way you were about to, but you once told Callie and Neil that if they sacrificed themselves, you wouldn't let it go to waste. "That's a tone, Maverick," you softly called into the radio.

He let out a disbelieving laugh, "That it is, Mouse."

You climbed down from your jet and were met with Callie wrapping her arms around your neck. You smiled as you gently wrapped yours around her waist and she laughed. "You did it, Mouse!"

You nodded as you pulled away, watching as Pete walked over to Hondo for his 200 push ups. "Let's go see this!" Neil grabbed your arm and pulled you along, you awkwardly stood by Neil and Callie as you watched Pete start his push ups and Hangman, as you heard someone call him, finish his.

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"You got Maverick out?" It was a female voice, Natasha, you met her once before. You were standing in the room where everyone was waiting for Pete to finish his push ups and pick another group.

"Oh, uh, yeah," you affirmed as Pete walked in from his push ups.

"That was impressive, Mouse," Pete told you as he walked in and you ducked your head.

"Uh, thanks," you quickly told him, moving to sit in the far corner as he called another group of pilots. You stayed in the corner, watching as everyone got interested in the next round of pilots.

Bob was watching you though, the way you played with your own fingers and tapped your palm with the opposite hand's fingers every now and again. He noticed you the night at the bar, how you walked so delicately it seemed like you were floating. How you could stand in a group full of people, yet never noticed. How the only time he saw you smile and talk at the bar was when someone interacted with you first.

He noticed how only Callie and Neil were the only people who talked to you for seemingly no reason. How you always seemed shocked when they asked how you were doing and how you would always say you were fine. Bob also saw the way you did what he did, you watched others. You noticed what they did and how they held themselves.

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By the end of the day, you were the only one to successfully get Pete out. You were up in the air for the second time, this time flying with Natasha and Bob. You took a deep breath as you heard Callie talk into the radio, presumably through the added radio in the watch room. "Mouse, show them why you're here even though you're only 25," Callie told you.

"Ok," you mumbled, narrowing your eyes and recalling the way that Natasha and Bob flew earlier in the day. You flew with the two, listening to the way Bob and Natasha called out where Pete was. You dropped, fast, before swopping up and flying straight at Pete while he tried to lock onto the others. "That's a tone, Maverick," you called, a little louder then last time.

There was another laugh, more proud sounding, "It is, isn't it, Mouse?"

Callie and Neil met you as your climbed down the ladder of your jet again. This time, the rest of the pilots were with them, and you got hugs from more than just Callie. "Holy shit, Mouse! That's twice!" Callie squealed into your ear and you grimaced.

"That's two for two," Neil told you and you pursed your lips a little.

You gently pulled away from Callie with a small head shake. "It's nothing, really," you brushed the praise off, but then there was aggressive and offended shouts.

"Woah, Mouse!" It was Hangman, Jake as you learned was his given name, that shouted the loudest. "That's not nothing, you've got Mav doing 400 push ups in one day," he told you and you scrunched in on yourself as he freely roamed his eyes over you.

You brushed the words off with practiced ease again, "I couldn't have done it without the expert flying of Omaha and Phoenix." It seemed to do the trick as the attention turned from you and onto the others, but Bob approached you as you slunk to the edge of the group.

Bob kept his eyes off you, rightly assuming that his full attention would make you a little uneasy. "You're a good pilot, I don't know why you're so insistent on brushing off praise."

His words caught you off guard, and you shrugged as you talked. "I just don't deserve all of it."

"You're the one with the tones," Bob shook his head but you only shrugged again as Pete walked back into the hangar. The group celebrating still but Pete bypassed them all and stopped in front of you and Bob.

"I was warned about you, Mouse. Told that while you're quiet and sweet, you're not the same in the sky," Pete raised an eyebrow at you and you just stared at him.

You wracked your brain for a response, "I'm just flying the way I need to." Bob looked at you as you deflected more praise, even praise coming from your instructor.

Pete raised his eyebrow at you, "I was told about that too."

"About what, sir?"

"You're good at what you do, you never disobey orders, yet you never seem to accept compliments when given," he replied and you shrunk in yourself.

"Oh, uh," you were saved from having to answer by Jake yelling over to Pete.

"How were your push ups, Mav?" Jake taunted and Pete turned to look at him.

"You say that like you're the one to make me do them," Pete said and you took the time to walk with Callie back to the locker room.

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The Hard Deck was extra packed tonight, tag chasers were everywhere. You stayed at the bar, your phone securely tucked away so you wouldn't have to pay for the bar. Penny was cautiously eyeing some of the men in a booth, you made a silent vow to step in if needed.

You two both watched them approach the young college student to your left, she had been asking you for drink advice the whole night. Her 21st birthday was the day before and this was her first time going to a bar.

"What's a pretty lady like you doing alone?" The creep got into her face and you automatically spoke up, nervousness be damned.

"She's not alone," you told him, eyeing him and his friends.

"Oh, there's enough for both of you here," he told you and you raised an eyebrow. You watched his friends close in and try to grab the girl, you didn't think before you landed a punch on the main guys face.

"Oh!" You gasped as you heard the sickening snap of his nose and watch him fall to the floor. Every head turned to you as you stood there with your hands over your mouth, you turned to his friends who looked pissed. They grabbed their friend and hauled him out, not even bothering to say anything to you or the girl.

"Are you ok?" The girl grabbed your hand and pressed her cold cup into your knuckles. The bar slowly went back to normal and you looked at Penny who just smiled and gave you a thumbs up, telling you that it was ok and you could stay.

"Yeah, I'm fine," you told her, letting her obsess over your knuckles. You had learned earlier in the night that she was a premed major and that she was always wanting to help in any way she could.

"Holy shit, Mouse!" Jake approached you with the others in tow. "You got that guy down in one punch!"

You shrugged as the girl pulled the glass away and gently pressed over your knuckles. "It's nothing, he had it coming," you told him as the girl pressed a kiss to your knuckles.

"It might be physiological but I still feel like that should help, they're only bruised," she told you and you narrowed your eyes as you saw Jake gear up to say something.

"Don't, she just hit 21 yesterday," you told him, the most aggressive he's heard you since meeting you. Jake backed off from her and you took your seat again as everyone else gave their impressed words before going back to their spots.

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Bob was getting out of his car at the same time you did the next morning, and rushed to walk in next to you. "That was impressive last night, the punch," Bob told you and you pursed your lips into a sorta smile.

"He was being a creep and grabbed Sarah, he deserved it," you told him, and Bob realized that was the closest to accepting a compliment you would give.

You ended up closer to the front, sitting behind Bob and Natasha. Callie was sitting down next to you as you listened to the others talk.

"A man flies like Maverick here, or a man does not come back," Jake said before turning to Natasha. "No offense intended," he added on.

"And somehow, you always manage," Bob added on from his spot in front of you.

"Last I checked, only one of us has gotten Maverick out, not once but twice, and Mouse ain't no man," Neil piped up from his spot farther in the back.

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You were flying again, this time with Bradley. There was some easy to spot tension in the way Bradley and Pete flew. You got tired of it and did something that was going to get you in trouble with Admiral Simpson.

You dropped again, swooped up, flew dangerously between the two, round to face straight down, and locked onto Maverick before swopping to the side before you collided with either. "That's a tone, boys," you announced but before they could answer, Admiral Simpson jumped onto the radio.

"Lieutenant y/l/n, my office now," he told you and you started to fly back to the hangar.

Admiral Beau Simpson was standing in the hangar with Admiral Tom Kazansky as you climbed down, you pursed your lips at the idea of how much trouble you were in. "You're a dangerous flyer, what you did could have ended horribly!" Simpson didn't even wait until you were out of the hangar to start yelling at you. You just stood at attention and took his words. "You're praises have been sung by every CO you've had, we were told you never disobeyed orders!" You wanted to tell him you disobeyed no orders, that your only order was to try and get Maverick out again, but held your tongue as you stood at attention.

"But, it was impressive and perfectly executed," Kazansky cut in, you didn't move. You just stood there and noticed your fellow pilots start to slowly gather. "Not even Mav has the guts to pull that move, where did you learn that?"

"My dad, sir," you replied and watched him raise an eyebrow.

"Your father?"

"Yes, sir."

"Is he a pilot too?"

"Not in the way you're thinking, sir," you told him.

"Care to explain what you mean, Lieutenant?" Simpson asked.

"He's owned jets my whole life, sir. F-16s that he bought and refurbished himself, he's a mechanic. I got my license at 16 and I've been flying since then. I learned that move right before basic training while flying with him, sir," you explained and saw the intrigue on both of their faces.

"Well, then, at ease, Lieutenant," Kazansky told you and you automatically relaxed your stance.

"I'm not in trouble?" You questioned and saw the annoyance flash on Simpson's face.

"No, you're not," Kazansky told you and you let your shock cross your face. "Just, don't do it again," he added and you quickly nodded. "You're dismissed," he told you and you quickly thanked him and scurried off, ignoring the looks from your fellow pilots.

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"Are you coming to The Hard Deck?" Bob questioned as he walked next to you, you were told you weren't to fly for the rest of the day but you stayed at base because you had to.

"No, not tonight," you told him, wanting to go home.

"Not even after you've kept your title as only person to get Mav out?" Natasha ended up on your other side and you suddenly wished the ground would open up and suck you in. Their had to be other people who deserved their attention more than you.

"It's not as impressive as you guys keep saying it is," you rushed out before scurrying off to your car. Natasha and Bob both stood there, dumbfounded.

"It's not either of you," Callie said from behind them where everyone else was gathered. "She's quiet, always has been. It's my she's called Mouse, you never hear her until she makes a noise. It's why her flying is impressive, she doesn't show off and she knows how to fly in the perfect way to stay hidden until she strikes. I tried to get her callsign changed to Reaper for that reason, but she's too quiet for anyone to take me seriously," Callie explained, her eyes trailing your car.

"Do you know where she's staying?" Natasha had an idea.

"Yeah, why?" Callie questioned, her eyes moving to Natasha's face.

"I think we should bring the party to her," Natasha told the group.

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You had your lips pursed as you looked at your full living room, the entire group, including Tom, as he insisted you call him, and Pete, where there. "So, you're all in my house because?"

"Because you've gotten my out three times, yet refuse to let us celebrate you," Pete supplied and you tensed minutely but Bob noticed. He was the only one who thought it was a bad idea but no one listened to him.

"I've said it's no big deal," you told him but there was a wave of disagreements from the others. "It truly isn't!" Your eyes found Bob's and saw the quiet disagreement in them. "Fine, but you're all watching this movie I want to watch with me," you told them, a chorus of ok following your words.

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"Holy shit!" Jake jumped at the jump scare from his spot on the floor with his feet thrown over Javy's legs, everyone was sprawled across your living room with snacks and drinks. Bob and you were pressed into your overstuffed chair together with Bob's feet kicked up on the empty space on the ottoman that Mickey had laid out on. Your feet where resting on Mickey's lower back, him telling you the pressure of your heels helped the pain he had. Ruben was on the floor next to the ottoman, sharing Mickey's candy you had given them. Pete and Tom were on your couch with Billy and Neil, the four were the calmest.

"Bagman, shut it!" Natasha told him from her spot on the loveseat with Callie, both holding pillows to their chest. Everyone else was thrown around the floor with various pillows and blankets you got them. You were watching The Nun, it wasn't even that scary but there were a lot of jump scares.

"Do you want more popcorn?" You lowly asked Bob, your shared bowl almost empty. He quietly nodded and you got up, you asked Mickey the same question as you leaned down to grab his empty bowl. He nodded, his eyes never leaving the TV and you walked to your popcorn maker. It was one of the nostalgic looking ones, it was pretty new and was turned on to make new popcorn for your impromptu movie night. Your parents had gotten it right before they moved out but left it just in case you wanted it.

You turned back to the TV just as another jump scare happened and shouted along with a good chuck of the others. "Oh god!" Your eyes widened as you shouted and Jake looked at you.

"I feel validated now that Mouse has been scared," he mumbled and you took a deep breath to calm down. You walked back to your seat, leaning down to place Mickey's bowl back on the ground where he's been keeping it, before sitting back down and kicking your legs up again.

You glanced around, noting the comfort you got from seeing a bunch of people who were so determined to celebrate and praise your accomplishments. You looked back to the TV, not noticing the look full of love Bob was giving you.

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The dynamic changed after that and you found yourself on the beach playing dogfight football. You were in a pair of shorts and found a swim suit top in your old clothing that still fit. You brought extra for Natasha and Callie at their request. You laughed as Bradley did a silly little victory dance but cheered the loudest when Bob won the game. "Way to go, Bobby!" You yelled as he was lifted up, he caught your eyes and gave you a bright smile.

"Bobby? I see you, Mouse," Callie told you and you gently shoved her, you had gotten used to being noticed and cared about.

"Oh, shut it," you laughed as Bob was put down. You took a deep breath as you calmed your racing heart as Bob walked to you.

"You called me Bobby," Bob said and you nodded, you could tell he was more amazed than annoyed.

"Would you prefer Bobert?" You questioned but cut him off. "Wait, too late, I'm calling you Bobert," you sing songed and he just smiled at you.

"Ok, fine, honey," he told you and you gasped as he walked away.

"You can't just call me that and walk away, Bobert!" You called after him, the name lighting laughter throughout the group.

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You started going to The Hard Deck more and people started to notice you more. It felt odd, no longer able to float around like you were a ghost. But you enjoyed it, enjoyed being included and openly loved by friends. However, you didn't enjoy the looks, the hungry and lust filled looks from non-Navy men in the bar. "You know, you're body's a ten but your face is a," the brazen man didn't get to finish his statement before the last person you expected punched him, Jake.

"Hey, that's the future Mrs. Floyd your insulting, and no one insults Mouse without consequences," Jake growled and you stood there confused but seething.

"You Mr. Floyd? Cause you could do so much," you cut him off this time, your fist connecting squarely with his jaw. Effectively popping it out of place as he screamed and hit the floor.

"Actually, that's Mr. Floyd," you pointed to Bob before pointing to yourself. "And I'm the one that just punched your jaw out of place," you hissed, gripping him by the shirt to pull him to be level with your face. He was barely taller than you, maybe an inch, and he was scrawny. Despite that, it was obvious you were strong, it took a lot of strength to punch a jaw out of place. "Now, I am going to push your jaw back in place. You're not going to scream like a little bitch, and then you're going to leave. Nod if you understand," you told him, he quickly nodded and you pushed his jaw just right to pop it in place before shoving him away from you and watching his run off with his tail between his legs.

"Damn, she could eat you alive, Bob," Neil laughed and you spun to face the others. Your hand red and angry but you were more worried about Penny walking over.

"I'm about to yell at you two, look scared and nod," she informed you, letting you two know she wasn't mad in the slightest. "You two cannot just punch a guy in my bar!" She started yelling. "I don't care that you're Navy pilots, next time I'm kicking you two out!" She added before turned and storming away.

"She flies like a pro, she punches harder than expected, yet she's called Mouse," Javy shook his head in amusement and you gave him an awkward smile.

"I also needlessly defended Hangman," you shrugged, not knowing what else to say.

"Well, darling, it was hot," Jake slung his arm over your shoulders and you gently jabbed your finger into his side. He jumped away from you with a small yelp.

You walked to the booth Bob was sitting him and took the seat next to him, he quietly hoped you didn't notice how turned on he was. "I hope Hangman saying you were my future wife wasn't awkward for you," Bob told you.

"Was it for you?" You looked him in the eyes, the first time you've ever initiated eye contact.

"No, more embarrassed that you're finding out about my crush this way," he told you, able to read the fact that you liked him just as much as he liked you.

"Good and don't be embarrassed," you gripped the collar of his shirt and pulled him to your lips. It was immediately intense and breath taking and when you pulled away, you finally noticed the cheers.

"Way to go, Mouse!" Callie cheered and you smiled against Bob's lips.

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You wanted to say it all disappeared, that you suddenly believed that you deserved people's attention and love. But it didn't, you still found yourself standing on the edge of a group and brushing off compliments. And worse of all, you found yourself slowly starting to pull from Bob as the mission grew closer.

It all came to a head when the mission actually happened, you weren't too surprised that you weren't picked for it. You figured that even if there wasn't favoritism with Pete and Bradley, Bradley would be picked for the effortless way he flew with the others.

You lingered by Bob, wanting to apologize for pulling away to tell him to be safe. But you didn't want to overwhelm him, so you started to walk away. "Honey," Bob gently grabbed your arm and pulled you a little away from the others. "What's wrong?"

You gently shook your head at him, "We will talk after you're back. You need a clear head for this," you told him.

"I won't have a clear head knowing there's something wrong," Bob gently argued back.

"It's just, what's going to happen to us after this? What happened if you," You looked down at the place the toes of your shoes were gently kissing his, not able to finish the question.

"You know I can't promise to make it back, but I'm going to try. And when I get back," you didn't miss the fact that he said 'when' and not 'if'. "We will make this, whatever we are, work. Letters, FaceTime calls, random trips to the other, taking leave at the same time to visit each other and go on vacation, applying to the same stations for a chance to get put together, we will work it out. That I can promise," he told you, his hands grasping yours.

"Ok," you whispered. "Just, come back to me, alive. Hurt, broken, scared, I don't care. Just come back alive," you begged, you knew he wouldn't promise, that he couldn't promise.

"I'll try, Honey, I'll try," Bob told you, pressing a quick kiss to your lips before separating.

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You met Bob, Natasha, Ruben, and Mickey down on the landing strip once you could. You were in Bob's arms faster than you should've been but he didn't care. He just hugged you tight and spun you to make up for the kinetic energy from your run.

"You're ok?" You pulled back, even with the nerves for both Bradley and Pete, you had to know.

"I am," he told you, easing your worries. You pulled away completely and tackled the others into a group hug.

"Mickey, get your ass in this hug," you called to the WSO who tried to avoid your grasp. Natasha was pressing her face into your neck as he hugged your waist as tight as possible while Ruben has his arms wrapped around both you and Natasha from your right side.

"What about Bob?" Mickey argued but came to your left side to wrap his arms around the three of you anyway.

"Bob," you just said his name and then his arms were circling all of you as he pressed his chest to your back. The five of you stood there for a moment, just soaking up the comfort.

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Pete and Bradley made it back and you made a mental note to tell Jake good job for helping them. There were celebrations everywhere and once Pete and Bradley had their moment, you forced the two into a group hug as well.

"Just accept your fate, boys. She'll hug you until you hug her back!" Callie told them over the noise and they listened, hugging you back.

You pulled away with a small smile, you didn't say anything but you figured they got the message. You let they go about their business as you found your way through the crowd to the edge. Bob met you there not even moments later, his arm wrapping around your waist and pulling you into his side.

"You came back," you breathed out, the tension you've been carrying for weeks finally falling.

"I did, I came back for you," he used his hold to turn you towards him as he did the same. His face was a little flushed from the excitement and good celebrations happening but his smile was that soft one you've gotten used to.

"You know, I could reprimand you two for relations within a squadron," Simpson ended up next to you two and you quickly pulled away from each other. "But, I'm not going to. When we get back, you two, along with the others, will be asked to stay on the North Island for the foreseeable future to train new recruits. If you take the job, I'll give you two the proper paperwork for whatever you two call this," he told you before leaving.

"Looks like fate is in our favor," you told Bob, pulling him into a kiss by the collar of his flight suit.

➽──────────────❥

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tinyinkblots · 2 days ago

Text

My Sweet, Sweet Boy

In honour of plotting a BobxOC fic, I went ahead and wrote, well, the smut first, sort of like an avant-première. No Thunderbolts* spoilers! (I LOVE BOB) Tags: mdni, unprotected sex, p-in-v, oral (m receiving), fingering, virgin!Bob, fluff (if you squint), overstimulation (Bob), praise kink (Bob/if you squint) & cockwarming at the end (lightly mentioned), fem!OC Word count: 4.4k (of pure smut)

How innocent could a man in his thirties really be?

When Rae blindfolded Bob and told him to wait on the bed, that she had a second gift for him—he didn’t overthink it. Not at first. He just smiled that soft, self-effacing smile, the one that never quite reached his eyes, and did what she asked.

Because he never expected much for his birthday. It had been years since anyone remembered, let alone celebrated his birthday. What was there to celebrate, when all he saw in the mirror was a failure, a man who had wasted countless second chances, breathing the air he didn’t deserve?

But Rae didn’t see him that way.

She looked at him like he was a blessing. Like loving him wasn’t a curse. Like he was the miracle, not her.

And for once, all the noise in his head—the guilt, the fear, the ever-present echo of you don’t deserve this—went quiet when the blindfold slipped off. As his eyes adjusted, the first thing he saw was her: on her knees, lips painted in that vivid, sinful red that always made his pulse spike.

His breath hitched. “Rae—what are you—”

She tilted her chin down, playfully gesturing to herself as she smiled. “Happy Birthday,” she said.

She sounded confident, looked and acted like some grand seductress, but her heart was racing. Everything she planned—every move she was about to make—came from research. A lot of research. And porn. Too much porn. But none of it could fully prepare her for the way he was looking at her now.

Rae got the idea after a conversation following a heated kiss that left them tangled in the sheets, panting and buzzing. She'd asked, voice a little shy:

“Have you ever… had someone go down on you?”

“No,” he stammered, voice cracking a little. “I don’t—I mean. No.”

And Rae always remembered what Bob told her, even the littlest details.

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to.”

That stopped him. His lips parted like he might argue again, but she leaned in and pressed a kiss to the inside of his thigh. He flinched, shocked by the contact, and groaned softly, the sound involuntary and hoarse.

“I want this,” she said again, voice lower now. “I’ve been thinking about it for weeks.”

Bob swallowed hard. “I’ve never… I don’t know what to do.”

“You don’t have to do anything,” she whispered, trailing her fingers up his hardening bulge. “I’ll take care of you.”

He let out a broken breath. “Rae…”

Her fingers curled around the waistband of his sweatpants, and Rae hesitated for half a second, not because she was unsure, but because she wanted to savor this. The look on his face. The way his chest rose and fell, tight with anticipation.

Then she tugged gently. “Lift your hips for me?”

Bob obeyed, cheeks flushed, arms tense at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them.

She eased his sweatpants and boxers down together, slow and careful, dragging them past his hips and thighs before throwing the bundle over her shoulders. His cock bobbed free—already half-hard, flushed and thick—resting against the soft line of his stomach. His size almost made her gasp but she bit down on her bottom lip to keep quiet, not wanting to scare Bob, who was clearly feeling more nervous than she was.

Instead, kissed the mole on his left hip and then, with the lightest flick of her tongue, she licked a slow stripe up the underside of his cock.

Bob gasped like he’d been shocked.

“Oh,” he choked out. “Oh god—”

Rae grinned wickedly around the head of his cock, her lips wrapping around it just long enough to swirl her tongue. He was already leaking—salty, hot, the taste sparking a nameless hunger inside her. She pulled back with a wet pop and looked up at him through her lashes, breathless and whiny as her tongue flicked against her bottom lip.

“You taste so good,” she moaned as she dragged her thumb over the slit of his cock, watching him shudder.

She pressed her palm firmly to his thigh, grounding him. “Easy,” she whispered, her voice low and coaxing. “I can show you how good this’ll feel, but you need to behave, baby.”

Bob let out a groan, and Rae could feel how hard he was trying—his thigh tensed beneath her hand, fists curled in the sheets as his chest rose and fell like he was running.

And then she leaned in again, lips just brushing the head of his cock, her breath warm and sweet where he was most sensitive. She didn’t rush—didn’t take him into her mouth yet, just hovered.

Close enough to drive him crazy.

“Good boy,” she said before taking him back in her mouth, down her throat.

His entire body shuddered—a full-body, helpless tremble that ran down his spine and bled into his thighs. Like the praise short-circuited something inside him.

He fisted the sheets hard enough to threaten a tear, forearms trembling with restraint, and his back arched slightly, hips twitching like he was trying so hard to stay still. His jaw slackened and his lips parted.

A soft, broken sound slipped out—half gasp, half moan—his eyes fluttering shut for a moment like he couldn’t bear how good it felt, how intoxicating it was to be praised like this.

And then he looked down at her.

God help him.

Rae was staring up at him with half-lidded eyes, dark and glossy and fixed entirely on him. Her mouth was wet, slick with spit and the shine of his precum smeared across her lips—a sight that made his stomach clench violently with arousal.

“You’re doing so good for me… my sweet, sweet boy.”

The praise dripped from her lips like honey, slow and thick, curling around his mind until it drowned out everything else. His cock twitched at the pet name, the last thread of rationality snapping as her words buried deep into his chest. All he could think about was being good for her, pleasing her, hearing her say it again, and again, and again.

My sweet boy.

His thoughts were a mess, heat and want tangled together, as her mouth worked him over. Every glide of her lips, every flutter of her throat had him gasping, panting, his eyes clenched shut as if the pleasure was too much to bear.

He was thick and heavy on her tongue, and she had to breathe through her nose as she took him deeper. Bob let out a strangled moan as he looked at her and felt like the world had stopped. His chest caved inward, breath caught somewhere between worship and horror.

“Rae—Rae, I can’t—”

She didn’t stop. She kept going, even when her eyes watered, even when her throat fluttered and her jaw ached. She gagged once, just barely, and the way he shuddered at that—

He didn’t mean to thrust.

But he did—once, but too deep.

She choked violently around him, and the sudden tight clench of her throat sent him straight over the edge.

Stars exploded behind his eyes.

Bob made a sound unlike anything he’d ever made—a half-shouted groan, strangled and raw. His body bowed forward, hands gripping her shoulders like it was the only thing anchoring him to reality as his cock throbbed violently in her mouth, spilling down her throat.

Rae’s body hummed with arousal and she could feel it gathering between her thighs. She wanted to touch herself, the taste of him overwhelming her senses—too sweet, too salty, too hot—and he made her feel like one of those actresses she saw while researching. Glamorous women writhing under perfect lighting as they pleasured their partners, all sighs and desperation; she thought it was simple exaggeration to fulfill male fantasy but here she was, pussy clenching around air, drunk on the taste of his cum.

After swallowing all she could, she finally pulled away, lips swollen and the lipstick long gone, a thin string of spit and cum clinging between her mouth and the head of his cock. Her eyes were glassy and cheeks streaked with tears.

And yet, she smiled.

A proud little smile that made his stomach and his cock twitch, already too sensitive but still caught in her spell.

Bob looked at her and forgot how to breathe.

He didn’t know whether to feel guilty for hurting her, or aroused beyond belief that she looked so willing for him.

She didn’t wait—didn’t give him a moment to catch his breath. Her hand found him again, fingers curling around his still-swollen length. He wasn’t fully hard, not yet, but he twitched under her touch, already stiffening as she stroked over the flushed, oversensitive skin. Saliva slipped from her lips, warm and wet, beading at the head of his cock before gliding down his length, mixing with the slick already coating him.

“Rae—wait—” he gasped, hips jerking back instinctively.

Rae wrapped her pretty lips around his cock again, slurping loudly as she cleaned the mess she made, swallowing every single drop of his cum that she had missed.

“Oh God—Rae, no—I can’t—” Bob whimpered. “I just came—Rae, please—I can’t—oh God—”

But she was already moaning around him. Already sucking greedily, hollowing her cheeks as her tongue teased along the slit. And that sound—that sinful hum that made her throat vibrate around him—made him feel like a madman.

Bob’s body went rigid as she took him deeper, the head of his cock hitting the back of her throat.

And he saw stars again.

“Rae—I’m—too sensitive, you’re gonna—oh God—”

His thighs clenched, groaning and panting, his hands clutching the sheets like lifelines. But he didn't stop her—couldn't. The way her throat fluttered around him, gagging just a little as she pressed forward again?

He felt his vision go white at the edges.

“God, you’re gonna kill me,” he gasped, voice cracking, tears in his own eyes now.

She pulled back just long enough to catch her breath, lips glistening and drooling. She didn’t wipe it away. Didn’t need to.

If he hadn’t promised to behave, he would’ve hauled her up and kissed her right then, just to taste himself on her tongue, to feel her skin pressed against his, her heartbeat thudding against his chest, her scent flooding his lungs like oxygen.

She flashed him a crooked, knowing smile, wicked with purpose, and then she went back to work—slow and deliberate, the suction just enough to unravel him completely. It pulled broken sounds from his throat, noises he didn’t recognize as his own, so pathetic, so helpless. His body trembled beneath her touch, and when he came again—too fast, too hard—she took it all, swallowed every drop.

This time, before she could reach for him again, before her hand could touch his twitching, too-sensitive cock, Bob pulled her up.

“Come here,” he murmured, voice still shaky.

Rae let out a surprised squeak as he tugged her upward, wrapping his arms tight around her waist and pulling her against his chest. He fell back into the pillows with her on top of him, completely spent, like gravity had finally reclaimed him.

She blinked. “Are you okay?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Just held her, one hand spread wide between her shoulder blades, the other cradling the back of her head like he wasn’t ready to let go yet. His heart was still pounding under her cheek, wild and uneven.

“I think my soul left my body,” he mumbled.

Rae laughed, the sound muffled against his collarbone. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re dangerous,” he shot back, still breathless. “I almost had a heart attack.”

“You wanted me to stop?”

“No,” he said too quickly, squeezing her a little tighter. “Definitely not.”

There was a beat of silence, warm and sweet and humming with leftover adrenaline. Then Bob asked, a little too carefully, “Where… where did you learn how to do that?”

Rae pulled back slightly, just enough to look at him. His cheeks were flushed, still pink from exertion, and there was something boyish about the way his brows were knit—like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know the answer.

She tilted her head, smiling gently. “I didn’t.”

“You—you definitely did,” he said, eyes wide. “That was—like—you’re telling me that was …”

“Research,” she explained. “A lot of late-night Googling.”

He stared at her.

“And maybe some videos,” she added with a shrug.

Bob’s lips parted. “You did all that… for me?”

“Of course.” Rae smiled, brushing a thumb along the slope of his cheek. “I’d do anything for you.

Bob’s breath hitched. He blinked, like the weight of her words hit him somewhere deep.

“You mean that?”

“Of course I do.”

There was something raw in the way he looked at her now. Like he wasn’t sure what to do with that kind of devotion—like no one had ever offered it to him so freely before.

They lay like that for a while—Bob half-dazed, Rae tucked against his side, fingers tracing idle patterns along the line of his abs.

She felt the shift before he spoke—how his hand that had been resting harmlessly on her waist twitched slightly, like he was thinking about something and trying to decide if he had permission.

Then, carefully, his voice, low and hesitant, he asked, “Are you… not wearing underwear?”

Rae smiled into his shoulder. “I was,” she murmured. “Took them off when I changed into this.”

She leaned back just enough to look at him, letting the silk of her nightgown shift slightly, thin straps slipping along her shoulder, the hem riding high on her thighs.

Bob blinked. His gaze flicked down, salivating at the sight of her milky skin.

“Can I… touch you?” he asked after a moment of hesitation.

Her heart skipped—was it anxiety or excitement? “Yeah,” she answered, trying to mask her eagerness. “You can do whatever you want with me.”

He let out a breath like he’d been holding it, and his hand—warm, calloused but unbelievably tender—slid down, moving from the curve of her hip to the dip of her thigh. He hesitated there, fingers splayed wide.

She guided him, gently pressing her hand over his and shifting it higher. “Here,” she coaxed him. “A little more.”

Bob followed her lead, his fingers brushing against the bare heat between her thighs, and he gasped—like he hadn’t been expecting her to be this warm, this… wet. And he felt dizzy, knowing that she got this wet just from sucking him.

“Feels… incredible,” he breathed out.

She pressed her hand lightly over his again, guiding his middle finger to her clit. “There. That’s the spot.”

He nodded slowly, eyes fixed on her face, and started to move—small, tentative circles, gentle at first like he wasn’t sure how much pressure to use.

But then his fingers adjusted, finding a rhythm that made her breath catch, squeeze her eyes shut, the movement smooth and just right, like instinct was taking over. Like he’d been born knowing how to touch her.

“Just like that,” Rae moaned, breath hitching. “You’re doing so good, Bob.”

Bob’s eyes flicked up to hers again, wide and reverent, as if he couldn’t believe the noises he was pulling from her. Like this moment was sacred—and to him, it was.

His touch grew more confident, more exploratory, and when she rolled her hips just slightly into his hand, his mouth fell open with awe.

“You’re so soft,” he murmured. “And warm. I… I didn’t know it would feel like this.”

She bit her lip, trying to stay quiet, but it was hard—the gentle swirl of his fingers, the way he watched her reactions like they were a map he was trying to burn into his mind, it was all too much.

“You’re a fast learner,” she breathed out.

He smiled, bashful and amazed. “Guess I just needed the right teacher.”

Rae laughed softly, hips twitching as he grazed her clit just right again. Her thighs trembled a little. “You're gonna make me cum if you keep doing that.”

His gaze darkened just a little—was it purely lust or something darker? More desperate? He craved to see her come undone in his hands, to hear her scream out his name.

And with the way he was touching her now, she was close to doing so.

His eyes never left her face. He looked like he was trying to memorize her—every twitch of her brows, every gasp, the way her lips parted when he circled just right.

Rae whined, hips shifting restlessly as she guided his hand lower, her own fingers wrapped gently around his wrist. She trusted him to follow.

And he did.

His fingers slid in slowly—two of them—careful and deliberate, and her body welcomed the stretch, the heat, the intimacy of it. She gasped loudly, feeling full.

A guttural sound tore free from his throat as he felt how warm, how soft she felt around him. He stilled for a moment, just to feel the way she pulsed, the quiet clench of her body drawing him in further.

“Is this okay?” he asked, voice soft with care.

Rae could barely nod. “Yes. Please—don’t stop.”

He kissed her shoulder, then her cheek, his thumb finding its rhythm again just above where his fingers moved inside her—gentle, steady, so achingly tender. His eyes stayed locked on hers, watching every reaction like she was something holy.

Her thighs trembled around his hand, her hands gripping at his shoulders now, her body caught between wanting to move and needing to hold still.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he whispered. “So beautiful.”

She nearly cried at how sincere he sounded, his words tugging at her heart.

Unbeknownst to Rae, Bob also had a trick or two up his sleeve—something he read somewhere a lifetime ago. He curled his fingers just right, and her body seized around him, a strangled scream ripping from her throat.

The squelches got louder and louder as he continued on, and she would’ve felt embarrassed for being so needy, so wanton if he wasn’t fucking her so good with his fingers. So, she tugged his bottom lip with her lips before kissing him to hide the sounds that she was making.

When she broke the kiss, her head fell back, a scream tearing from her throat as her cunt clamped down hard around his fingers. Her voice trembled, fraying at the edges as she moaned his name again and again like a broken prayer.

“…You okay?” he asked quietly, blinking like he couldn’t believe what he’d just done.

Rae exhaled a laugh against his neck before pressing a tender kiss. “You’re not allowed to be this good on your first try.”

Bob flushed. “I just… paid attention.”

She leaned up just enough to kiss his cheek. “Remind me to make you ‘pay attention’ more often.”

“I can do that,” he said, perking up enthusiastically.

Bob gently pulled Rae on top of him, cradling her against his chest. The moment was tender, still and raw—the taste of intimacy dizzying, like drinking on an empty stomach. And desire stirred low in his stomach, curling tighter with every breath she took—her cunt was leaking over his cock, and he felt himself hardening again.

Bob swallowed thickly. “Rae?”

“Mhm?”

He lifted his fingers to his mouth, and he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “Can I…?”

Rae knew what he meant. Her breath hitched, chest fluttering. She nodded, unable to speak, watching as he slid his fingers past his lips, moaning softly as he sucked them clean.

“Oh god,” he groaned. “You taste so sweet.”

Her sweet, innocent Bob.

She felt like the Devil for corrupting such a pure, innocent soul, but she found herself moving, slave to desire and lust, swinging a leg over his hips, and straddling him.

He let out a laboured breath. She looked radiant like this: bare thighs framing his hips, nightgown rumpled around her waist, lips swollen and red from sucking his cock.

His fingers brushed along the outside of her thigh. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured.

She rocked her hips and his breath stuttered, the hard length of him slipping against her soaked folds, her slick coating him inch by inch. It pulled yet another broken sound from his throat, somewhere between a whimper and a plea.

Rae flushed, not knowing where she found the courage to be so daring and controlling, but she didn’t look away.

Her hand curled around his cock again, and she sighed, guiding him to her entrance. Slowly, she sank down, inch by inch, moaning openly at the stretch. Her walls burned around him, fluttering and pulsing with every inch she took.

Bob gasped, his hands flying to her thighs, back arching off the bed. Every muscle in him went taut, trembling. “You’re so—god, Rae—you’re so tight. So soft—”

She leaned down to kiss him, to soothe him, her breath still trembling. “Look at me,” she whispered, cupping his jaw gently.

And he did—wide-eyed and awestruck.

“You okay?”

He nodded vigorously, unable to speak. There were no words that could describe the emotions brewing inside him. It was more than love, wilder than lust—it gripped him like madness. He was given a taste of heaven—he had offered his innocence to his goddess, who then showed him what it meant to be wanted. To be loved.

And not for the parts of him he hid, but for all of it. For his quiet, hesitant heart. For the way he trembled under her touch. For the way he gave himself over so completely, so vulnerably, with nothing but trust in his eyes.

Rae smoothed his hair back gently, her fingers combing through the strands as he tried—and failed—to breathe evenly. And when she started to move, a slow roll of her hips, testing the rhythm, his head tipped back into the pillows with a low, wrecked groan.

Endless moans spilled from her lips, mixed with whimpers whenever his cock brushed past the soft, spongy spot inside her.

His hands slid up from her thighs to her waist, breath catching as he felt her clench around him. Rae's rhythm faltered—just slightly as her hips stuttered in their slow, steady roll. Her breath hitched.

She gasped. “Oh—” eyes fluttering shut, her thighs trembling where they pressed against his sides.

As she lifted herself again, ready to sink back down, Bob’s grip tightened on her waist. She stilled above him, blinking in surprise.

“Bob?”

He didn’t answer, just looked up at her and then, suddenly, his hips snapped upward, catching her off guard. Her breath hitched, a sharp cry escaping her lips as he hit deeper than before; the pressure was sudden, toeing the edge of too much and not enough all at once.

She tried to move—instinctively—but his grip tightened yet again, anchoring her to him, holding her in place as he thrust up again and again and again, relentlessly, in a way that made her head spin.

The sensation maddened her as he kept brushing that spot inside her, the one that made her toes curl and her breath catch in her throat. Her hands scrambled against his chest, nails digging deep into his skin. He didn’t flinch. He welcomed the sting, relished it—like her pleasure was something he wanted to etch onto his flesh.

“Bob—” she gasped. “I—what are you—”

“You looked like you needed help,” he murmured, voice thick with heat, rough around the edges. A little breathless. A little smug. Like he couldn’t believe he was the one doing this to her.

As he drove into her with a ruthless rhythm, making her moan in pleasure and in pain, the knot coiled deep in her belly finally snapped. Her mouth fell open in a silent cry, body seizing as pleasure tore through her in crashing, unstoppable waves. Every muscle locked, every nerve alight—her release all-consuming.

And Bob felt it: every pulse, every flutter of her cunt gripping his cock like a vice. The intensity stole the breath from his lungs, forced a strangled moan from his throat. She clenched around him again and again, and he swore he could feel her heartbeat inside her walls, dragging him closer to the edge with each desperate squeeze.

His control shattered.

A low, broken moan tore from his throat as he sloppily thrust into her a couple more times, driven purely by instinct and need, chasing the high that tore through him with raw, blinding force, as he spilled deep inside her.

“Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck—”

Rae’s back arched as he continued to fill her, thick pulses of cum spilling deep inside her, making her gasp as her body trembled around him, greedy and grateful all at once. She was still convulsing, her walls fluttering in the aftershocks of their shared release, when she collapsed onto his chest. His arms came around her, strong and grounding, holding her close.

For a long, blissful moment, Rae and Bob just stayed there, wrapped in each other’s arms, breath still uneven, skin warm with the afterglow. He hadn’t moved—still deep inside her, still holding her like he didn’t want to let go—and she was content to stay just like that, her cheek resting against his chest.

Then she shifted slightly, just enough to poke his cheek with one finger.

“Where did you learn how to do that,” Rae asked, cocking a brow..

The confident Bob—the one who’d taken control, driven her to the edge and right over it—was gone. In his place was the flustered, sweet man she adored, cheeks turning red.

“It just felt like the right thing to do,” he muttered, lips twitching as he fought off a bashful smile. “This might be the best birthday present ever.”

“Glad you think so,” Rae murmured, eyes fluttering shut again. “I don’t think I’ll be able to walk tomorrow.”

It was painfully clear that Bob had no idea just how… big he was. While Rae didn’t have much experience herself, courtesy of a hypocritical father who preached purity while practicing none of it, she still knew enough to recognize he was well above average. The lingering ache between her thighs was proof enough.

And yet, even through the soreness, even though her hips were aching from his iron grip, all she could think about was how good he’d felt in her mouth—heavy, warm, filling her like he was made for it. She found herself already looking forward to the next time she could taste him, to watch him fall apart for her all over again.

“I’ll carry you,” he offered without hesitation.

“Yeah, and let the others find out what we did?” she snorted. “Absolutely not.”

As if on cue, a muffled shout came through the wall: “WE HEARD EVERYTHING!”

Rae groaned and buried her face in Bob’s chest. He blinked, looking absolutely horrified.

“Oh no.”

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greenwitchfromthewoods · 13 hours ago

Text

bird in a cage. l Joel Miller

Summary: you were offered to leave Jackson and Joel

Warnings: +18 smut, at the beginning fluff, some tears, pregnant Reader, Nathan and some unpleasant situations

A/N: .

your feedback is very important to me and I thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. 🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

short stories from life. [masterlist]

"She's moving."

"She's fidgeting because she can hear you."

Joel's hand, with spread fingers, rested on your bare stomach. It was early and the sun was lazily falling into your bedroom, while you were still lying in bed, enjoying the day when you didn't have to rush anywhere.

Your daughter was incredibly mobile, especially in the mornings and when she heard her father's voice. Joel loved these moments when it seemed that she reacted with movement to his every word.

"I love it when she does that." he mumbled, looking at your face with admiration. "You do such a wonderful thing. And at the same time you look so beautiful..."

"Don't say that, or I'll cry. You know perfectly well that anything is enough to make me cry." you replied, scratching your nose and stretching.

"I'm sorry." He moved his face to your stomach and kissed it tenderly. "A little bit more, little one, we'll see each other soon."

“Thank you so much, Joel!” you suddenly sobbed, and he looked at you in horror. You covered your face with your hands, clearly sobbing and sniffling.

Joel should be used to it by now, especially after you burst into tears on Jackson’s main street when you saw a little kitten, or when you almost burned the cookies. Joel and Ellie had both agreed that they always liked them well done, so you’d finally stop sobbing.

He moved up and tried to move your hands away from your face. “Baby, are you okay. I’m sorry, I didn’t think you’d…”

“You’re always so sweet to her…” you sobbed, wiping your wet cheeks with your hand. “And she always reacts when she hears you. And I’m so scared for her, for us, for everything we have…”

He kissed your wet cheek, then took your hand and kissed the back of it. “You’re doing great, baby. You’re so brave.”

A mix of sobs and laughter escaped your throat. “I’m scared as hell, Joel…”

“I know… If it makes you feel any better, I’m scared too.”

“Joel Miller. The man who took my girl.”

Joel looked around and saw the man he expected to see soon. Nathan was standing a few feet away from him, busy stacking wood in the woodshed.

“She’s not something you can take.” he mumbled, taking off his gloves and straightening up.

A smile appeared on Nathan's face. They both circled each other for a long time, watching each other, but neither approached first. Joel because he promised you he wouldn't do anything until Hayes did something dangerous or something that scared you, and Nathan because he was having fun watching Joel's growing frustration. But the day was approaching for him to leave Jackson, and that was why he had come to your house.

“Yeah, sure.” Nathan replied, shoving his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. “She’s nice, right? Pretty, useful. You weren’t bored when she’s like this now.” He chuckled, making a gesture with his hand that was supposed to mimic your baby bump.

Joel didn’t answer. He watched Nathan very carefully, trying to figure out what he wanted to achieve. He clearly wanted to provoke him.

“She told you about us?” Nathan raised his eyebrows in interest. “We have quite the story. Did she tell you what we went through together?”

“Yes, she did.”

Nathan nodded. “She wasn’t like she is now. She could have done great things.”

“She does, we just have different priorities.” Joel’s voice was calm, though inside he could feel himself starting to boil. “Why did you come? She won’t talk to you.”

Hayes narrowed his eyes. “You won’t let her?”

Joel shook his head. “It’s her decision. I have no control over her.”

The man watched him with interest. “You have no control over her.” He repeated calmly. “So if I talked her into leaving Jackson…”

He flinched. Too nervous, too sudden, and Hayes saw it right away, waiting for it.

“Are you scared, Miller? Afraid your bird will fly away if you take your eyes off her? Playing house and you can’t even be sure she’ll be inside when you get back, huh?”

“Listen, I don’t know what you’re trying to do, but I’m not letting you hurt her.” Joel hissed, feeling his body tense up.

“Why do you think I want to hurt her? She’s my girl, my sweet girl. I’m sure if I just lifted a finger, gave her a sign, she’d drop everything.”

“She won't.”

“Are you sure, Miller?”

“I know her.”

Nathan nodded. “Oh, right.”

He took you dancing at the Tipsy Bison because he knew how much you liked it. You also needed to clear your head, be with people. Soft music was playing outside, where some people were sitting in the warm evening air, drinking beer. The summer dress you were wearing accentuated your bump, and although Joel had always thought you were beautiful, he couldn’t take his eyes off you even more now.

You danced the first dance with him, then the second. Your arms around his neck, your fingers playing with the ends of his hair. Damn, he felt like the luckiest guy in the world. His whole world encased in one person.

“Joel!” Tommy patted his shoulder. “Shane brought some whiskey, would you like some?”

He rolled his eyes, but you smiled at him, your shoulders slumping slightly. "Go." You patted his chest lightly. "Have fun."

"Are you sure?"

Tommy smiled at you. “You’ve got him wrapped around your little finger. Jesus!”

"Oh! I guess it runs in the family, huh?" you giggled. "Go."

He kissed your hand, winked at you and was already walking away with Tommy. You found a seat at one of the tables and soon Maria and Benji sat down next to you. The atmosphere was really nice. People were taking advantage of the moment of relaxation to talk and laugh.

"You look beautiful."

A shiver ran down your spine. Nathan. He took advantage of the moment Maria and Benji left, quickly taking their place. He took a sip of his beer and his gaze moved from the dancing people to you.

"We're leaving tomorrow." he said.

"Good luck." you replied. "Still planning on going south?"

He nodded. Finally the words that had been sitting there for a long time left his lips. "Come with me."

"You've got to be kidding." you snorted.

"No way. Come with me. How long do you think Jackson will protect you? And Joel?" he rested his hands on the table, watching you carefully. “He’s old. He won’t protect you.” He noticed how you furrowed your brows and pursed your lips. You unconsciously placed your hand on your rounded stomach. “I’ll take care of you both.”

“She’s not yours.” you hissed.

“But she can be.” Nathan smiled. “You’ll be defenseless with a little baby. I can protect you.”

You stared at him, completely stunned. You couldn’t believe a single word he said. Nathan’s proposal seemed so idiotic to you that you didn’t even know how to react to it. But you finally found your voice.

“I won’t leave Jackson. Or Joel. Or Ellie. And she,” you ran your hand over your stomach, “will never be yours. She has a father who loves her more than anything. You don’t know what Joel and I have been through. All of us.”

“There’s a safe and strong zone down south.”

"Then go there! For God's sake, go and don't come back!" you stood up abruptly. The music changed tempo to a faster one and no one noticed. "I don't know how you could think..."

Joel's voice came from behind you, soon a warm and familiar hand was on your back, "Are you okay?"

You nodded quickly. "Nathan just wanted to say goodbye. He's leaving tomorrow."

Joel cleared his throat. "Good luck then. Can we go?"

"Yeah, let's go home."

You hadn't gone far when you heard his voice again. "I'll wait for you in the morning. You're worth it. My offer is still..."

"You fucking bastard!" Joel growled. At the last moment, your fingers tightened on his arm and you stopped him from moving towards Hayes. He was furious and he didn't even feel how tightly you were holding him.

"Come on, Joel. Please," you said. "Just let it go."

He listened to you, but with great difficulty you led him out of the Tipsy Bison, feeling the eyes of people who had noticed what had happened. Finally, the fresh air touched your face. You didn't stop at the entrance, instead grabbing Joel's hand tighter and pulling him down the street towards your house.

You didn't talk, both of you too angry and excited about what had happened. Joel regretted not punching Nathan in the face, you regretted stopping him. The shit Hayes was saying was only meant to divide you, you knew that very well. After all, he was leaving, and you and Joel had your own lives here.

"Fucking bastard!" Joel growled as the door closed behind you, finally letting out his anger.

"He's leaving." You replied, taking off your shoes and going to the kitchen to get a drink of water. You quickly drained your glass. Joel followed you, watching you carefully. He still worried about you, he still had a lot of concern inside of him.

“Are you okay?” you nodded. “What he said was…”

“I know.” You cut Joel off and looked at him. Your eyes were shining, your chest heaving with each deep breath. “I would never leave you and Ellie, you know that. Right?”

“Of course, baby.”

Another nod. “That’s good. Now… Kiss me, Joel.”

He didn’t have time to take a single step or move. You walked up to him, took his face in your hands, and kissed him hard.

“I want you. Now.” You whispered between kisses, and his hands immediately landed on your hips.

“Are you sure, baby?”

“Yes. And I don’t want to wait.”

Your fingers quickly unbuckled his belt as his lips roamed your neck. He was already hard when your ass slid into his boxers to stroke him. It was quick. He turned you over almost immediately. Your hands came to rest on the kitchen sink as he pulled up your dress, pulling down your panties.

“Fuck! You’re so wet…” he sighed as he ran his fingers through your folds. “Tell me if you want to stop.”

“I won’t.”

You wanted to feel him inside you. You wanted to feel relief. The tension that had been building inside you for days had reached a critical level, and the fact that Nathan would be gone again only brought you relief. You wouldn’t be you without Joel, without what you had created together. The future was uncertain, but with him you were ready for every next step. You felt alive, loved, needed, supported. Joel had given you all of that.

“You’re mine…” he panted in your ear as you came, and you knew he was telling the truth.

☆☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

taglist, i think: @picketniffler @orcasoul @bbyanarchist @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @somedayheaven @underneath-the-sky-again @callmebyyournick-name @hiroikegawa @mandaloriankait @mmmunson @grace-928 @umadirectioner @libraryofneith @princess76179

#pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller x reader #the last of us #short stories from life series

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orellazalonia · 2 days ago

Note

hii!

since i saw that you’re taking request, can i request bucky having sex with reader for the first time since he’s free from hydra

thanks alot💕

Hello there, love. I do appreciate the request. However, I must say I’m not the most comfortable (or experienced) in writing hardcore smut or NSFW scenes like that. Therefore, I tried to fulfill your request within the boundaries of what I am capable of and hope you enjoy it!

I did try searching for stories similar to what you wanted. However honestly, if you look up the tag “Bucky Barnes Smut” you’d find a lot of amazing pieces by many wonderful authors. Happy reading!!!

Yearning Warmth

Summary: The first time Bucky initiates something more with you. (Bucky Barnes x reader)

Disclaimer: MINORS DNI. Light NSFW, Intimate Scene(s)/Writing. You are responsible for the media you consume.

Word Count: 1.5k+

Main Masterlist

The apartment was quiet in the way only early mornings could be. Still and heavy with sleep, but alive with the promise of healing. You sat cross-legged on the couch with a steaming mug in your hands, wearing a too-big hoodie that didn’t belong to you.

It was his, worn soft at the sleeves, smelling faintly of laundry detergent and something colder, metallic. But it was his. And he’d let you wear it.

You’d met Bucky Barnes six months ago. Not the Winter Soldier, not Sergeant Barnes, but the man just trying to remember how to breathe again in a world that didn’t flinch every time he blinked. You weren’t an Avenger, not some high-ranking agent assigned to keep tabs on him. You were just… you. A friend of a friend. Someone who’d offered him coffee the first day he showed up to Sam’s VA group meeting in silence. Someone who hadn’t looked at him like a ticking bomb.

You’d become something steady in his life, in a time when the ground beneath him never seemed to stop shifting. At first, he didn’t talk much. He just watched, nodded, and occasionally offered a small smile that always seemed to vanish before you could fully register it. But you saw the effort, the cracks in his armor. And you didn’t try to fix him. You just showed up.

Movie nights. Long walks when the city felt too loud. Dinners shared mostly in quiet until he began to speak. Conversations about the 40s. About Steve and Brooklyn. About nightmares that left him staring at the ceiling, heart pounding like gunfire. You never asked for more than he gave. And maybe that was why he gave you everything. Slowly, uncertainly, like a soldier dismantling a bomb he’d once called his own heart.

Now, six months in, he was staying more nights at your apartment than his own. He left a toothbrush here. A pair of socks. A dog-eared paperback he never admitted he liked.

He hadn’t touched you, not really. Not like that. He held your hand sometimes. His kisses were soft, hesitant, like he was still unsure if he was allowed to want something gentle. Sometimes, he’d touch your cheek and linger, gaze so intense it made your breath catch. But when things got too close, when the air thickened between you, he always pulled away. Apologized with his eyes before words even had a chance.

You understood though. He had ghosts, scars beneath the skin that memory could still tear open.

But something was different lately.

He stood in the hallway now, quietly watching you from the doorway. The way he always did when he didn’t want to wake you but couldn’t help himself. His hair was damp from the shower, curling a little at the ends. He wore a black shirt and gray sweats, both clinging to the strength of a body rebuilt for war, but now searching for peace.

“You always get up before me,” He murmured, voice still thick with sleep.

You looked up at him, gave him that soft smile, the one he once told you made his chest feel “too full.”

“You always need sleep more than me.”

He stepped into the room slowly, like he still half-expected something to snap. But it didn’t. It never did. Not with you.

“You’re warm,” He said, sitting beside you, fingers brushing against yours on the mug. “You always are.”

“Comes with being human,” You teased gently.

But he didn’t laugh. Not really. He just looked at you, deeper than usual, his hand now resting fully on yours.

“I think I’m ready,” He said quietly. His voice trembled just slightly, as if he wasn’t sure he had the right to say it out loud. “I want to… with you. If you still want me.”

Your heart beat a little faster. Not with expectation or pressure, but with the weight of the moment. Of everything he had gone through to get here. Of everything he was still fighting to reclaim.

You set your mug down. Reached for his hand. His real one first. Then the cold one, the metal one he always seemed hesitant to offer.

“Only when you’re ready,” You said, voice warm. “Only if it’s what you want.”

He looked down at your hands wrapped around his, one flesh and one forged.

“I want to remember what it feels like,” He whispered. “To want something. And have it… be good.”

You leaned forward, resting your forehead against his. Breathing him in. Grounding him.

“It can be good,” You promised. “We’ll make sure of it.”

His breath shuddered softly against your skin, and for the first time since he came back to himself, Bucky Barnes allowed hope to settle in his chest.

He kissed you like it was the first time he’d ever touched something fragile and wanted to keep it whole.

His lips were tentative against yours, unsure. You could feel the restraint in him, like he was holding back a flood he wasn’t sure you were ready for, but you were. You kissed him back gently, steadily. There was no rush, just the rhythm of shared breath and time-earned trust.

Your hand came up to cup his jaw, feeling the faint stubble under your fingertips. His eyes fluttered shut, and he leaned into your palm like he was starving for human contact. Safe, welcomed contact. You could feel the tension in his shoulders, in the careful way he gripped your waist like he thought he’d hurt you if he pressed too hard.

“You’re not going to break me,” You whispered between kisses.

“I’m not worried about breaking you,” He murmured, voice low and cracked. “I’m worried something in me will break.”

You brushed your nose against his. “Then let me help hold you together.”

That seemed to do something to him. A shift. A crack. A breath of relief through old fear.

He kissed you again, deeper this time. Still slow, but with more confidence, more heat that had been buried for too long. Your fingers tangled in the hem of his shirt, and he let you lift it over his head. The room wasn’t cold, but goosebumps rose across his skin anyway.

His body told a story even his silence couldn’t. Scars, some faded, some newer, moved in patterns across his chest and back like a map of wars he hadn’t wanted to fight. Your fingers traced one near his ribs, soft and reverent, never flinching.

“I’m not ashamed,” He said suddenly, quietly, like a confession he’d never dared speak.

You looked up. “I’m proud of you.”

Something in his throat worked at those words. His hands found the hem of your hoodie—his hoodie, and he paused. Waiting. Asking without asking.

You nodded, helping him lift it off you, letting him see you as you were: unpolished, raw, and trusting.

He kissed you again, but this time, his hands explored slowly. He touched like a man trying to memorize, not conquer. There was no rush. Just quiet understanding. Tenderness in the way his metal fingers grazed your shoulder, the way his flesh hand skimmed your spine like he was grounding himself in every inch of you.

When you moved to the bedroom, it wasn’t frantic. There was no tearing of clothes, no hurried gasps. It was soft. Purposeful. Like the world outside had finally gone quiet for both of you.

He took his time with you, worshiped really. Every kiss he pressed to your skin was a thank-you. For your patience. For your kindness. For being the one who hadn’t given up on him when he couldn’t look in the mirror.

He hovered above you at one point, breath ragged, eyes searching yours like he needed to make sure again.

“Are you sure?”

You nodded, holding his face in your hands. “I’ve never been more sure.”

And when he finally sank into you, it was with a soft gasp that cracked at the edges. He stilled, completely overwhelmed by the moment, by the intimacy, by you. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, holding him to you, whispering soothing things against his ear until he started to move again, slow and unsure, but growing steadier with every breath.

It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t choreographed. But it was real. Beautiful in the way only hard-won love could be.

He buried his face in your neck at the end, trembling slightly as the world narrowed to the rise and fall of your chests pressed together.

You stayed like that for a while, tangled in limbs and warmth, and your fingers moving gently through his hair.

Eventually, he whispered, “You make me feel human again.”

You kissed his forehead. “You always were. You just forgot for a while.”

His arms tightened around you, like he never wanted to let go again.

And for the first time in what felt like a century, Bucky Barnes fell asleep not as a weapon, not as a ghost, but as a man in love. Safe in the arms of someone who saw him not for what he’d done… but for who he was becoming.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fic #marvel x reader #marvel fic #bucky x you #light smut #minors dni #minors do not interact #not safe for minors #bucky barnes smut #intimate writing

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written-in-flowers · 1 day ago

Text

Secrets and Desires: Rafe x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Rafe x Fem!Reader

Genre: Smut, enemies to lovers,

Word Count: 5k

Summary: When the world's worst person discovers your secret, you have two options: give into your hidden desires or risk utter embarrassment and shame.

Tags: dub-con, consensual non-consensual (shifts from dub con), blackmail, force relationship, enemies to lovers, mutual pining, forbidden romance (sort of?), public sex, outdoor sex, rough sex, vaginal fingering, nipple play, spanking, spitting, name calling, hair pulling, doggystyle, dom!rafe, sub!reader, sex worker!reader,

****

“You’re sure you don’t want one of us to go with you?”

“Yeah, you’d be walking into enemy territory, YN.”

Pope and JJ stared at you with concern, both of them carrying plastic grocery bags in their hands. You walked alongside them with a small case of beer in one hand and another bag in the other. You should have expected their natural chivalry to come into play.

“I’ll be fine, guys,” you insisted with a soft laugh. “Really, it’s not like I’m walking through the club. It’s the golf course. It’s all old people who aren’t concerned with what I’m doing there.”

“That’s not always true,” said Pope. “That place is crawling with Kooks, and they look for any excuse to mess with us.”

He wasn’t wrong. The thought did cross your mind when you initially agreed to help deliver goods across the island. Pope’s father, Heyward, obtained things from the mainland and sold them to people. He usually employed the help of his son’s friends to get things out to the customers. This time, you offered your own help. Just because you’re a girl didn’t mean you couldn’t handle a bit of manual work. The case weighed close to nothing, and the bag felt light. While JJ and Pope got places closer to where you all lived, you’d been given The Island Club on the other side of the island in the Figure Eight neighborhood.

You didn’t particularly care for the elite families of the island. All of them were arrogant, spoiled, entitled brats who had more money than they knew what to do with. They looked down on working class people like you and your family. While your mother cleaned houses and your father slaved away on a fishing boat, they sat in their fancy waterfront homes without a care in the world. It stirred up a resentment that neither side backed down from. Fights often broke out between them. It only took a few rude words, and suddenly fists went flying. You’d argue Kooks often went after Pogues, since most of your kind didn’t bother with them. They’re too busy grinding to care what a bunch of losers in loafers and polo shirts thought of them.

“Look,” you stopped to look at them once you reached the street, “I promise you guys I’ll be fine. Nothing’s going to happen to me. I can take care of myself pretty well, I think. Besides, I need money so I kind of don’t have a choice right now.”

“Haven’t you been doing housekeeping with your mom though?” asked JJ. “You said you were making a killing off of it.”

You hesitated for a moment. You’d forgotten you’d told the gang you’d started cleaning houses with your mom when they noticed the cash in your wallet. A voice in your head told you that telling them how you really got it was a bad idea. The boys would tease you and Kie would be disappointed that you’d stooped to ‘selling’ yourself. You had the argument prepared in your head: you aren’t physically giving anyone anything; you only take pictures or videos for horny lonely men. Modesty aside, men did flirt with you and if life gives you lemons, you make them pay to see you naked.

“Yeah, but most of that goes to our house and bills,” you said. “I want some spending money of my own.”

“At the risk of, you know, having to deal with Kooks?” asked JJ.

“Yeah, and remember Rafe.”

The name alone gave you pause. Immediately, a picture of a young man with dirty blond hair and a sly grin came to mind. The Kook Prince took up space in your head in a way no other guy did, and you hated it.

“Rafe’s not a problem,” you said quietly, forcing out memories of every interaction from your head.

“Um, he is? The dude sticks to you like fly paper whenever he sees you,” JJ continued. “He’s always…like, all over you and flirting with you. Sure, you’re usually with us so like he doesn’t try anything but what if he catches you on your own? He’s bigger and stronger than you.”

You could hear the insinuation between the lines. Guilt and shame kept you from muttering, ‘Oh, if only somebody would’.

“I can take care of myself, you guys,” you said instead.

“We know you can, YN,” JJ said worriedly, “But Rafe’s different. The dude’s a fucking psychopath. He isn’t going to care that you’re a girl.” He then made a final decision when you got to your car. “I should go with you. You know, protect you.”

“You have your own deliveries to make, JJ,” you said softly. Something deeper than friendly concern lingered in JJ’s bright eyes. “I’ll see you guys later.”

“Be careful,” he warned.

“Will do!”

While you found their concern endearing, you didn’t see the real problem. Sure, Kooks liked to give Pogues a hard time whenever they shared a space, but nothing particularly bad ever happened to you. The worst you’d gotten was rude comments or cat-calls from boys, which you dodged and handled perfectly fine. You weren’t scared of a bunch of rich kids in bermuda shorts and boat shoes. Starting your old, beat up car, you drove towards the Island Club. Mrs. Norton requested the food be taken to the club’s kitchen, and she’d have somebody pick it up from there. God forbid she interact with a Pogue. It worked out for you since Linda and Susan might sneak you a plate when you show up, and you wouldn’t have to deal with Mrs. Norton’s annoying yapper of a dog. The possibility of running into any Kooks you knew was low, and that worked out for you just fine.

‘But Rafe’s different. The dude’s a fucking psychopath. He isn’t going to care that you’re a girl.’

JJ’s words of caution came back to you during your drive. Like a fly around spilled soda, Rafe Cameron constantly hovers over you until shooed away. This left you rattled at times. Rafe never actually touched or did anything inappropriate to you. He never threatened to hurt you or even said anything particularly nasty. But, he didn’t have to do that to annoy you. Him being a Kook and you being a Pogue, you’d think he’d have no interest in you outside of the usual bullying. At first, you believed his shameless flirting as a joke to get under your skin. A guy like Rafe couldn’t possibly really be interested in you. Yet, certain times made you think otherwise.

‘Go out with me, YN. I’d treat you like a princess.’

‘Ditch those Pogue losers and hang with me. I got some good shit you could try.’

It struck you as odd when this happened. He’d sound so sincere. You’d notice a certain light come over his eyes when he spoke to you. Like JJ said, he gravitated towards you when you came into contact. You caught the sense that once he saw you, nothing else mattered. Suddenly, you became his entire world and he only wanted to be around you. Oftentimes, John B, Pope or JJ told him off for talking to you. When you thought about it, there wasn’t much harm in simple conversation. You bet plenty of Kook girls would love his attention. Every time, you deny your interest and make an off-hand comment about him. But, every once in a while, the guy weaseled his way through and lived there rent free.

Because, Kook and Pogue rivalry aside, Rafe was good looking. You never admitted this to a soul, not even Kie. To say it out loud was to admit that you desired somebody you should hate. Rafe tormented your friends constantly. He bullied them and beat them at times. He’s a psycho who hurts people to make himself feel more powerful. You should not want him or even think about him. But, he snuck into your head whenever you made content. Him and his strong arms and large hands came to you while you squirmed and wiggled around on your bed. The fantasy brought you to the hardest of climaxes, then doused you in ultimate guilt.

‘He’s a creepy jerk,’ you heard Kie, another friend, say in your head. ‘Do you see how he looks at you? It’s weird.’

Yes, you did know how he looked at you. Sometimes, he stared with fondness and longing in his eyes, and other times with pure lust. Both left you shaken and aroused at the same time. Did you sometimes wonder what it's like to be a Kook and have financial security? Yes. Was Rafe Cameron sometimes in those daydreams? Also yes. It intrigued and sickened you, like watching a car wreck or seeing a particularly violent scene on television. You could not stop thinking about it regardless of how you felt. But, you knew better. You came from different worlds, and truly, he lusted after you, not loved you.

How would you feel if he did, though?

Driving in through to the Figure Eight, your phone buzzed in the cup holder. Taking a quick moment to look, you smiled at the notification.

‘24 new comments, 23 tippers, 17 new subscribers!’

Curiosity got the better of you while you waited at the light. Honestly, when you first created your OnlyFans account you didn’t think you’d make much money off of it. You’d seen people much better looking than you flounder in numbers, but you’d learned that had to do with mid-level content and poor promotion. After much trial and error, figuring out your niche and what worked, you started doing surprisingly well. Not only on OnlyFans, but on your other secret socials. While you did used to worry somebody might figure out it’s you, you learned with heavy makeup techniques, wigs, and angles, you could hide your identity pretty well. The money and comments came pouring in right after that.

‘You look so pretty all tied up!’

‘Let me ruin you, baby.’

‘I have a gun I could stick up that slutty cunt.’

Every picture and video further cemented the idea that this must stay a secret. It’s one thing to merely be taking suggestive photos. It was another to make videos choking on large dildos until you cried or photos of you naked with dirty words written on your body. What you’re into might shock people, and you cringe with embarrassment when you think about their reactions.

You pushed it from your mind as you continued your way to the country club. You thought about ideas for your next spicy bundle when you started walking through the golf course. A long expanse of hills and sand dunes, the Kooks could rest and relax while hitting small white balls into holes. You didn’t see many people, and those you did see were too far away. Good. You didn’t want any of them invading your creative process.

‘Maybe I should do something with a gun,’ you thought as you trekked down a long sandy path alongside the course. ‘But where would I get a fake one? Costume store? Perhaps a knife is better?’

“Hey, can I have one of those?”

Of course fate put him in your way today. Absent his usual gang of friends, your guard went even higher when you saw Rafe. Perhaps you should have let Pope or JJ walk you after all.

“No,” you said, trying to hide your shaky voice. It was uncommon to find Rafe alone. The Kook Prince was rarely ever without his lackeys. However, you saw him golfing solo. “These aren’t for sale.” You tried moving past him, though in vain.

“Not even one?” He said, getting in your path. “You have so many, and I’m parched.”

“They’re not mine,” you replied, glancing around for signs of another person. Nobody. The closest person was too far away and engrossed in his golf game. “Somebody’s already paid for these. The club is right over there. I’m sure they’ve got plenty for you to drink.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” he blocked you with his golf club. Long and thin, you didn’t want to think about what he’d do to you with it. “Can’t you just give me one? It’s not like they’d notice.”

“I’m sorry, but no. Can you please-”

“-What’s a cute thing like you doing making deliveries anyways?” he cut you off, getting closer.

“Pope is my friend and Heyward pays me,” you answered, stomach churning. Surely, he’s here with somebody. Kooks travel in packs like wolves. “I need the money.”

He scoffed, eyes scanning over your tanktop and jean shorts. You saw the lust building in the pale blues, stripping you down to nothing. “I know a few ways you can make some extra cash, sweetheart,” he said as he lifted your chin with the club, voice low and sensual. “I’d be a regular for sure.”

“You’re disgusting,” you hissed, pushing his golf club away and starting to walk off.

“You know,” he came up beside you, walking backwards to keep his eyes on you, “If you were my girl, you wouldn’t have to make deliveries. I’d take care of you.”

“I don’t need taking care of. I’m not a baby,” you retorted. “Besides, you’re a Kook and I’m a Pogue.”

“Okay, and? I’d make an exception for you.”

“Thanks, but no thanks.”

“Come on now,” he moved in step with you, getting closer than he should, “Just imagine it: you and me.”

You wouldn’t. You shouldn’t.

“I’d buy you nice things-” he began casually.

“-I don’t need nice things-” you forced yourself to say.

“-We’d go out to fancy places-”

“-I hate fancy places-” Not entirely true.

“-We’d go on vacations together like to Aspen or Nassau-”

“-No thanks-” a vacation did sound lovely after working so much.

“-And I’d spoil you because my girl only gets the best,” he finalized. He stepped in your way again, staring at you almost lovingly. “Not to mention, I’d fuck every coherent thought out of your head whenever you wanted.”

This statement struck something in you that you buried deep down. “You just have to make it lewd, don’t you?”

“I can’t help it when I’m looking at you,” he winked with a laugh.

“You’re so…” you shook your head, laughing softly in disbelief. Walking ahead of him, you said, “Why don’t you go back to playing golf or whatever spoiled rich boys like you do and leave me alone?”

You let out a sudden yelp when something hooked your shorts and dragged you back. Beer case and bag falling into the sand, you stumbled back and hit his hard chest. Golf club trapping you by the waist, he held your jaw with his gloved hand. All breath left your body, and you tried getting it back in quick breaths through a tight windpipe. You pushed against the club pressing into your stomach, but he was so much stronger than you. Like you always imagined in your dark fantasies.

“I wouldn’t make you do anything you haven’t done before,” he said in your ear, a caress in his voice as he spoke. “You fuck those Pogues in The Cut. Why won’t you fuck me, hm? You think you’re too good for me?”

“Let me go,” you whimpered, struggling against him.

“No,” he grunted, “Not this time. You’re gonna pay for being a fucking cocktease.”

He clapped his hand over your mouth before you could scream. Your body flushed in a cold sweat as he dragged you into the dense shrubbery near the path. Heart hammering in your chest, you prayed for salvation but ached with anticipation. A cocktail of arousal and fear stirred as his body pinned you to one of the thicker trees. In the dark shade of the small woods, you wouldn’t be seen from the empty pathway a few yards away. Rafe discarded his golf club, confident that you wouldn’t escape him, and grinded his hips to your ass. The dark desire lingered in your lower gut, snaking its way to the center. You felt his lips press to your shoulder, kissing from the curve to your neck.

“Rafe,” you wriggled in his hold, fingers gripping the bark of the tree and sandals sliding in the dirt under you, “Stop it. Please.”

“No. Not when you got me this worked up,” he groaned, hands going under your top. The contrast between the two hands tempted that desire more. The ungloved hand felt smooth, while the glove lightly scratched across your side. “You look so sweet and cute all the time. I can’t help it.” You cried out when the two hands caught hold of your breasts, making you struggle. “I can’t control myself when I see you.”

That tense pressure you knew well started building once his hands fully cupped you. The thin cotton bra did nothing to hold back your stiffening nipples, or shield them from Rafe’s thumbs. You clenched your jaw to fight it off. You can’t allow this to happen. You can’t give into him so easily. Lord knows what he’ll say when he’s finished. He’d go and tell all his friends you’d given it up to him without a fight. He’ll tell them you threw yourself at him, portraying himself like the self-proclaimed king he is. But, his hands continued stroking your arousal, the sensation purring like a spoiled housecat. He knew exactly where to touch to disarm you. You swore he knew your body better than you did. Your tanktop lifted over your tits, Rafe tugged down your bra beneath them and groaned softly in your neck. The supple flesh filled both his hands, molding to their grips and squeezes like dough. The different hands worked together to entice the desire lurking within you more. It brought shivers down to your core, making you writhe against him. You couldn’t stop yourself from memorizing his touch. His rough thumbs constantly rolled your nipples and the palms that cupped them so nicely. You wondered what his mouth felt like on them. You’d do anything to feel it.

“So much better than I imagined,” he moaned in your ear, digging his erection against your ass. Big. You could tell from the length sticking between your cheeks.You forced yourself to not grind back into it. “If only we had more time,” he kept one arm across your chest while the other went further down, “Then I can play with them longer.”

“No, no, no,” you cried, trying to escape him despite the growing need. “Rafe, let me go.”

“But we’re having such a good time, baby,” he said, “We can’t stop now.”

You clenched your thighs to keep his hand out, though there was no need. He went for the button and zipper first. You shook your head and tried pushing his hands away as they worked on the button. Fingers hooking around the palm, you forced it off you though this hardly worked. His strength worked against yours easily, hands managing to overcome your own. Images of what he had planned lined up with videos you watched at night. Helpless girls with duct tape on their mouths and wrists crying as a masked man uses their body how he pleases. Girls weeping and pleading before a hard cock is forced down their throat. Every time you wished it was you being treated that way. You mirrored a lot of them in your own content, knowing how much your subscribers liked it. You told each one you pictured them doing it to you, but you really only saw Rafe.

“I don’t know why you’re fighting me this much,” he said, easily undoing the button and ripping down the zipper. “Isn’t this what you like? Isn’t this what turns you on?” He pushed the side of your face into the tree, holding you by the neck as he yanked down the waistband of your shorts to your thighs, “Or should I have brought duct tape and thrown you in the back of my truck instead?” He laughed when you stopped moving. “You really thought nobody would ever know, huh?” He hungrily kissed up your neck to your ear, “You shouldn’t wear your normal clothes in your videos. Somebody might recognize them and realize it’s you, and then where would you be?”

No way. No. Fucking. Way. Dread kept you frozen in place, the fear taking you out of the moment right away. How had he known? You studied his words and realized what he meant. Your Hello Kitty shirt. A magenta sleeveless t-shirt that hung from your shoulders, you’d worn it the other day to a party at The Boneyard. Rafe had been there. He’d seen it. He’d even commented on it, telling you how it’d look better on his bedroom floor. Was that when he made the connection or was it later on? He knew this secret that your friends did not. He’d hold it over your head now.

“What? You didn’t think your little double life would stay a secret forever, did you?” he asked in your ear, hand running down your back to your ass. “I’m there surfing the CNC tag on Twitter, right? Just minding my business, my dick in my hand, and wanting to see a sweet girl get wrecked by a total stranger,” he gave one cheek a smack, sending ripples through you, “When I see this one video from a profile I didn’t know. No face, but she was on her knees, only wearing that cute shirt while riding a big dildo.” His gloved hand started pinching your nipples again while the other groped your backside. “She was crying and saying it was too big. She said cute things like ‘stop it hurts’ and ‘don’t make me keep going’. She kept looking off camera as if somebody behind it was making her do it. I don’t think I came so much before.”

You knew what video he was talking about: a teaser for a story video you’d filmed. In it, you pretended as if someone behind the camera was making you film the video. It’d gotten tons of views and pleas for similar videos.

“After I came so hard I couldn’t see straight for a second, I realized I knew that girl,” he pulled your panties aside to reveal your wet sex. “I recognized the shirt. I knew the voice even though she tried disguising it by talking in a higher pitch. It was you.” He kissed the space beneath your ear, thumb rubbing your nipple, “My YN. I then found out that you had an OF and Pornhub account where you posted more stuff like that. It’s almost embarrassing how much I spent on your content.”

Rafe held you by your hair, ponytail wrapped around his hand as he forced you to arch your back. You tried shimmying away when his hand cupped your sex, fingers rubbing the pooled wetness there. The thought of Rafe spending his daddy’s money on you did give you a stroke of pride. You bit down on your lip when he slid two fingers between the lips, caressing the button hidden inside.

“I know I got the biggest hard on when I realized it was you,” he said as he stroked your throbbing clit. You heard him spit to make you even wetter. “Sweet, innocent YN whose so soft spoken and dainty,” he smirked when his rapid touches made you shift against the tree, “Taking pictures of herself doing the naughtiest things imaginable. I never would have guessed that of you.”

“Rafe, just stop. You don’t have to do this,” you wept, moving around on his hand and moaning softly.

“Fuck yes,” he groaned in satisfaction, “Say that again. Beg me to stop. Tell me it hurts and you want me to stop.” He shoved a finger deep inside, pressing right up into you and you tightly gripped the tree. “I want to hear you beg.”

“Please,” you said, adding a whimper for the extra effect. “Rafe, stop,” you made a futile attempt to push his hand away which made him chuckle. “Take it out. I won’t tell anybody, please, stop.”

You forced yourself not to focus on how his finger massaged your walls in each push or how he reached right up inside you. Plenty of guys did this before. It didn’t make him special in any particular way. But, as his gloved hand groped your breast and his other hand sunk a second finger inside, you swore it became mind bending. He didn’t move with the delicate, gentle touches of other guys. They always treated you like a porcelain doll, handling you gently and treating you nicely. They listened to what you wanted, which you guess you liked sometimes. Unlike them, Rafe didn’t seem to care much for tenderness. His finger went fast and deep, palm slapping your ass in each move. The entire experience pulled you out of reality. You always imagined it, but didn’t think you’d ever do it or it’d happen to you.

“I think someone is about to cum for me,” he groaned in your ear, tweaking your nipple and fingering you faster. “Are you about to cum, baby? Hm?”

“No-No,” you said, eyes closed as your orgasm approached.

“You’re right, you’re not,” he said, “Because you’re cumming on my dick first.”

“No! No, Rafe, please!” you gave a panicked voice that you knew aroused him more.

“Shut up,” he smacked your ass hard, earning another cry, “You’re getting this either way, so you just stay put and take it.”

You let out a pitiful whine when he removed his fingers. A sudden emptiness came before something thick pressed to your pussy. Rafe rubbed and tapped himself on your clit, the tip lightly kissing the nub each time he slid over it. You hated how wet he’d made you with almost no effort. You hated knowing he’d likely hang this over your head whenever you met. Logic told you to scream out for help or force him to stop somehow. Yet, the heat flaring in your cheeks and radiating between your thighs argued against that. It yearned to have him fully inside. You’d wanted this for longer than you’d care to admit. It’s why you stayed still when he fully sheathed himself in your cunt.

“That’s it,” he said, keeping you against the tree as he continued the pace of his hand. “That’s it, slut. Take all of it. Take every fucking inch of me.”

“Raf-Rafe,” you wept, embarrassment mixing with your desires, “Please…”

“‘Please’ what? ‘Please fuck me like the slut I am, Rafe’? Is that what you wanted to say? Hm?” he asked, giving your ass a harsh slap. “Don’t worry. I’m gonna do that. I’m gonna fuck you like this all the time.” He held you by your hair, his fingers keeping a good grip on you, “Because this is mine now, you understand?” He spanked your ass again, the sound loud and the sting sharp. “Your holes are mine to fuck whenever I want. You could have made this easy and just been my girl; let me take you out, treat you nicely, be a good boyfriend to you, and all that but no. You didn’t want that. You wanted to be treated like the slutty Pogue you are, so that’s what you’re getting.”

His shaft stretching you out, the length filling you completely drove you crazy with need. You thought your entire body might have been electrified with how his tip brought constant pangs of pleasure. The hand in your hair moved back to your throat, fingers grasping each side as he cut off a bit of air. Soon enough, the only sounds either of you heard were his hips slapping against your ass and your restrained moans. The head of his cock kept pushing right to your g-spot, as if it knew where it was the entire time. Each time they met, you felt yourself getting closer to your climax. Your eyes kept casting over to a breakage in the foliage nearby. Anybody walking by might hear you two and peek inside. Would you call out for help if they did? Buckets of pure bliss poured into you as Rafe changed angles and went deeper, nearly bouncing you on his length. You didn’t want him to stop despite your weak pleas.

“Please, no, stop…Rafe, please stop…”

“But we’re both so close, baby,” he said, free hand starting to work on your clit. “I can tell by how you’re squeezing my dick. Cry all you want; I know how much you’re loving this right now.”

“No, I’m-I’m not,” you tried squeezing your thighs together to keep out his hand but he managed a finger. You sobbed when it began flicking the small pearl up and down in time with his cock. You made weak attempts to push him off, even though you needed him closer. “I’m goin-going to tell some-someone.”

“Who would believe you?” he challenged, his voice bringing you to the edge. “Who’d believe a slut Pogue over me? Peterton would take one look at you and know you wanted it. Because you do,” he started going faster, moaning along with you as he grew closer, “Deep down you’re a little whore that can’t get enough dick.”

“I’m going to tell her and you’ll get into a lot…a lot of trouble…”

A sudden sensitivity hit your clit as your orgasm came. Your entire body quaked, and you lost feeling in your legs for a moment, unable to stop as it rushed over you. That singular pulsing in your body became your only focus, followed by the way his finger kept teasing your clit as you came. You couldn’t recall the last time anyone made you cum this way. His grip on your hip tightened, and you felt him start giving a few final thrusts.

“Don’t,” you wept, shaking your head as you knew what he was going to do. “Not inside. Please, Rafe, not inside.”

You tried pushing him away but it was too late. With a few low groans and hard shoves, that thick warmth started shooting into you. You felt him stiffen right behind you, his warm body pressed up to yours. Giving whimpering cries, you hid your face in the crook of your arm. Rafe did not even stop once he finished. He withdrew just to rub over your oversensitive clit, gathering up leaking cum to push back inside. You didn’t want him to stop. You barely scratched the surface of what Rafe Cameron was capable of doing to you.

“You did it inside,” you said, voice muffled by your arm.

“You’ll get a mouthful next time,” he breathed heavily, head resting on your shoulder.

Finally, he withdrew and released you. You stayed against the tree as if it were the only stable thing left. Shame once again filled your gut. You didn’t want to think about what your friends would say if they learned what you’d done. They’d be shocked to say the least. Yet, even with the embarrassment, you felt satisfied. More than with any other guy.

“This is what you’re going to do now, slut,” he said in your ear, keeping you trapped in his arms, “You’re going to delete your little OF account. You’re going to take down your Twitter and Instagram.”

“I can’t. I need the-”

“-I don’t care. You’re my girl now, and nobody sees you naked except me,” he forced you to turn around and face him. He put his hand back between your legs, rubbing your sore sex gently. “You only take your clothes off for me. You only get on your knees for me. You only let me touch you,” he whirled his middle finger around your clit again, making you tremble, “In exchange, I don’t tell the entire island how YN Hanes, neighborhood darling, is secretly a horny slut that posts nudes of herself on the internet for money. I mean, I think it’s a pretty good deal, don’t you?”

Two sticky fingers found their way in your mouth, sliding sweet and salty goodness on your tongue. Your eyes stayed on his as you cleaned his fingers of your combined juices. Letting the digits dragging out of your mouth, you made sure he saw your tongue flick to the end. By his heavy eyes and parted lips, you knew he wanted more.

“You couldn’t just ask me out like a normal guy?” you smirked, reaching for his waistband to bring him closer.

“Why? This was much more fun.”

He sealed your lips with his, the kiss soft and warm before he deepened it. His mouth stayed locked to yours as he lifted your shorts back over your panties again, buttoning them for you. You hummed, kissing him back passionately while he fixed your bra and top back as they were. His hands massaged your lower back and sides, soon going underneath to lift you up. Being in his arms blocked out the rest of the world. In this special place, neither Kooks nor Pogues existed. It was you and him. What he’d done might be terrible by most people’s standards, but you couldn’t wait for him to do it again. Your legs wrapped around his waist, arms slung over his shoulders, you stayed firmly in his embrace as you both kissed.

How many times in your life will you meet someone who does what Rafe just did?

****

A/N: yaaay my first Outer Banks fic! Of course I pick Rafe because I can't help myself when there's a hot villain around. I hope you guys enjoyed this juicy little slice, and I look forward to doing more <3

#rafe cameron #outer banks #drew starkey #obx fanfiction #rafe fanfiction #rafe x reader #drew starkey fanfiction #drew starkey fanfic #outer banks fanfiction #outer banks fanfic #outer banks season 1 #outerbanks s1 #rafe smut #rafe cameron smut

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feelmyskinonyourskin · 22 hours ago

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Judex, Judicum, Infantem - Chapter 10

(Eventual)Reader x Matt Murdock x Frank Castle

previous chapter | next chapter | series masterlist | my masterlist

summary: You confront Matt about his lies and reflect on how you want to proceed with both men and parenting your baby.

warnings: AFAB Reader. Pregnancy. No use of Y/N. Angst and arguing.

w/c: 3,028

*I never give permission for my fics, manips, or any other original creation I post on Tumblr to be copied, posted elsewhere, translated, or fed into any AI program. The only platforms I currently post on are Tumblr and AO3. Thanks*

Crash.

The toaster hit the wall behind Matt’s head and crumpled into fragments of metal and springs with a clang as it hit the floor. He barely ducked out of the way in time, not expecting to have an appliance thrown at his head first thing after arriving home from a pointless meeting. He instantly went into fight mode, ready for whatever attack was next. It came in the form of your fists, banging against his chest as he stumbled backwards.

“You bastard. You absolute bastard!” you shouted, not ceasing in your wailing while Matt just flinched back and took it “You knew! You knew where he was the whole time and you lied to me!”

“Sweetheart, I—”

“What did you expect to happen Matthew!? That I’d never find out? That we’d just be a happy fucking family while you held onto this lie?”

Matt licked his lips with force, waving a hand up in surrender as he stammered trying to find the right words. You landed another shove to his chest, agitated by his silence.

“Hey hey, baby. Ease up.” Frank cooed, coming up behind you and taking both of your wrists, restraining you against his chest as you tried to continue your attack on Matt.

Running a stressed hand through his hair, Matt gulped as he attempted to find the words. He hung his head in defeat, face scrunched up as tears began to flow.

“I wanted to protect you.” he spoke, voice tight with remorse

“Protect me from what? I don’t need protecting from anything except maybe your stupid fucking ego!”

“From him!” Matt pointed accusingly to Frank who still had his strong arms around you

“I told you, Frank would never hurt me!”

Matt chuckled, shaking his head.

“No. But, do you think Frank is ever going to stop? Do you really want our daughter in that kind of danger?”

“Oh and Daredevil’s daughter would be safer?!”

“I’m not him anymore.”

The audacity of Matt’s statement hit you like a foul ball at a Yankee’s game— rude, unexpected, and errorus. The lump in your throat remained unmoved but didn’t dare morph into crying. Yet. Only rage came out in the way your voice quaked as you spoke.

“You were last night, even though you told me you were done.”

“I know—”

“You lied to me about Frank.”

“I know.”

“You said you loved me.”

“I do.”

No court room had ever seen him so frazzled, no witness on the stand was ever crossed with such hesitation. The confident lawyer and the vicious vigilante faded away to a broken man who was scared and raw. The real Matthew. The tremble in his voice almost broke you, almost compelled you to forget the anger and hurt and want to reach out and comfort the man you loved.

“I can’t hear your heartbeat Matthew. I don’t know what to believe.”

“We were happy. You said you were happy. You said you didn’t need him.”

“I was.” you replied “We were. But he still deserved to know.”

Frank was thankful he was still standing behind you, unable to hide the way his teeth nearly ground into pieces from how tightly his jaw gripped at your lack of denying that statement.

“You said you didn’t need him.”

Frank knew it was true. You didn’t need him. Shit, you didn’t need Red either. You were brave and tough and fierce and it was why he fell for you in the first place. He wouldn’t have left you if he thought you weren’t capable of a life without him.

So why did those six little words shake his foundation so much? He hovered, unsure of his place in this discussion. Taking a step back so that his hands only brushed the sides of your arms, his calloused finger tips running up and down in an attempt to soothe you or himself, he wasn’t sure.

“You asked me to stop looking for him. And I did.” Matt continued to explain, rambling words falling out of his mouth like a bag of marbles spilling down a staircase “But then Hector was murdered and the bullet casing at the scene had a skull logo on it.”

“So what, you couldn’t find him for weeks as Daredevil, but suddenly the honorable Matthew Murdock Esquire needs to find a vigilante and what? All Frank’s contacts start talking? I find that really hard to believe. Did you even look for him before then?”

“I did. I swear I did. And yeah, New York’s criminals don’t want to talk to the guy who puts them in jail. But a defense attorney starts asking the right questions…” he trailed off

You shook your head in disbelief, unsure what to even say.

“I found him. But, this was after you asked me to stop looking for him. I didn’t know if you wanted— I— There’s no excuse, but I just—”

Your shoulders felt heavy with exhaustion and you thoughts felt foggy and jumbled. While you still had plenty to say, you were just so done arguing. It felt laborious to even hold yourself upright, like you could just fall back and collapse into Frank’s embrace. The tears had finally started to flow as you audibly exhaled while Matt stuttered his lame excuses.

Matt hated when you cried, but the sting of knowing it was of his own making was like rubbing salt into road rash. The burden of disappointing you weighed heavily on him as he listened to your sniffles and the sound of defeat in your voice.

“I wanted to do what was best for you. For us. For the baby.” Matt continued, barley able to whisper through his tears

“And I don’t get a say in that?”

“I know. Sweetheart, I’m sorry. I made the wrong call.”

Finally, an apology. Took him long enough.

Unable to even look at Matt anymore, you turned to Frank, stone faced and somber behind you. It’s like he was staring right through you and seeing the yearning behind your eyes for the version life you had not even 36 hours earlier. Where you and Matt existed in a little bubble of joy and normalcy and ease. But there was no going back. Frank had returned to your lives and Matt had torn down the very foundation of your relationship.

“You’re being awfully quiet.” you commented

“Ain’t my fight.”

His voice came out in puffs, winded and tired from having to restrain you. A reminder of how he came back to you all broken and bloody. A reminder of how much healing he had left to so still. You wondered about the bruises and scars you couldn’t see.

The air in the room felt tight and stuffy and the pounding of your heart in your ears drowned out the sounds of Matt’s sniffling. You skin itched and your tears burned and the only word in your head was “run.”

“I’m going for a walk.” you stated decidedly, pushing past Matt and throwing on the first pair of shoes by the door.

Neither of the men stopped you, letting you grab your keys and slip out the door without another word.

“You gonna follow her?” Frank asked

“Why? Like you said, she’s a big girl. She clearly wants to be alone right now. And I’m in the dog house enough as it is.”

The fresh air on your face invigorated you as you strode down the street. You didn’t have any real sense of where you were going, simply hooking a right as soon as you stepped out of your building. By the time you’d gotten a few blocks, your tears had dried and you were starting to feel better.

Weaving through crowded streets until you reached a busy intersection, the beautiful stone wall of Central Park sat in front of you. You continued onward, feeling the tension begin to melt away as the green trees and the lush park surrounded you.

It was busy on the path as you made your way through. The park was filled with families on a day out and afternoon joggers. You didn’t realize which direction you were headed until you heard the music, abrasive and slightly off-key tones of accordion and a clunky piano playing a nauseating melody. Only when you rounded the bend did you realize where you were.

The Central Park Carousel.

You found an open spot on one of the green benches facing the ride, sitting down with a heavy sigh. You knew it was probably some sign from the universe that you ended up where Frank’s whole world fell apart, your own teetering on some weird precipice itself. There was some grand metaphor or ironic statement to be drawn between the situations, but your brain was too full to even begin to verbalize it.

You wondered if the spirit of Maria Castle was hanging around, hoping to divine some of her wisdom so that she could guide you towards clarity.

“Maria, girl? What am I even doing?” you asked to the sky

There was no answer.

You watched the scene around you unfolding; families all laughing and enjoying a fun-filled day, kids running around without a care in the world, their perfect little giggles cutting through the abrasive music.

This would be your life soon, a little precious face to make memories with, to fill your days with joy and laughter and fun. The thought warmed your heart, filling you with a sense of ease.

Still, there was a heavy presence to your joy, reflecting on the two men who are making this chapter of your life melancholic.

You could do it alone. Send them both packing, get their drama out of your way and handle things yourself like you always have. Maybe Colleen would let you work remote and you could buy a place upstate, raise your daughter in a quiet life. You didn’t need either of them, that you absolutely knew for sure.

“Will you tie my shoe?” a small, squeaky voice cut through your trance as you felt a tug on your shirt.

You turned to see small boy, not even five years old, sat beside you and swinging his feet as he stared up at you. He had a sweet round face, big brown eyes that reminded you of Frank’s, and a broad smile that featured a missing front tooth that made him look like a little hockey player. You looked down when he pointed at his foot, navy shoe lace dangling undone from his left Bluey sneaker.

“Sure thing, kiddo.” you patted the spot between you and he swung his foot up and rested it on the bench, waiting for you assistance

“Are you here alone?” you asked “Where are your parents? Or your nanny? Or?”

“No. My dads are around here somewhere.”

The little boy seemed totally unfazed by the fact that he didn’t know where his parents were. You shook your head with a chuckle, thinking about how you were the exact opposite when you were his age and would wail in panic if your mother even disappeared around a corner for a moment.

“Why don’t we hang out here together for a little? I’m sure they’ll turn up soon.” you commented, eyeing up the situation to make sure he didn’t go too far and get even more lost

“Okay. They said we could ride the horses today!” he said pointing at the carousel and eyeing a particularly shiny white horse statue as it went around

“Yeah? Are you having a fun day in the park with them?” you asked him

If an adult didn’t show up to claim him soon, you spotted two bored looking teenagers in head to toe khaki, emerald green central park logo embroidered on their shirts and hats as they guided families in and out of the line for the carousel. The walkie-talkies strapped to their hips could call in back up and help get this kid back to his parents.

“Yeah! We come to the park all the time! It’s my favorite! They said to find a mom if I ever get lost.” His slight lisp came out as his voice got higher in excitement, you suspected from the missing tooth. It was too cute.

“Yeah?”

Even though you weren’t a mom yet, you were glad he thought you looked trustworthy enough and that it was you he found and not someone with worse intentions.

“Do you like Bluey?” you asked, pointing down at the shoe you’d just tied

“It’s my favorite show! Daddy and Papa said this summer we can get an Australian Shepherd just like—”

“Noah!”

The both of you turned to see a man jogging up the hilly path towards where the two of you sat. Similar to every other parent surrounding you, he looked to be in his-mid forties and wore a simple pair of jeans paired with a neat green polo shirt and very comfortable looking sneakers. The outward sign of panic in his eyes made it obvious he was one of this boy’s parents, but the way he moved his feet gently let you know, this was not the first time this sweet kiddo had wandered off.

“Papa!” the little boy squealed with excitement, running into the man’s arms

“Where did you go bud?” his father asked with concern, scooping him up to hold him “We told you you can’t just run off!”

“You said we could go ride the horses!”

Another man joined them shortly after, also relieved to see Noah found and in one piece, and they walked off as a family to get in line for the carousel. You watched as the three of them laughed together, playing some sort of eye-spy game to keep the boy occupied and distracted from getting bored in line while waiting for their turn.

You swore if you blinked, they would magically turn into Frank and Matthew, just how you pictured each of them would be with your daughter.

A happy family.

Yeah, you could do it alone. But you didn’t want to.

You loved Matt. Seeing the care and dedication he’d given you since discovering your pregnancy gave you enough hope that you could get over his recent transgressions and move forward together to be happy again.

And despite your complicated feelings for Frank, you knew he would be an excellent father to your child regardless of where the two of you stood with each other.

Being a family together and giving your daughter three people in her life who loved her dearly was worth figuring this all out.

By the time you left your spot, now determined and sure, the sun was bright on the horizon as it began to set and cast the city in a harsh glow.

You turned the key gingerly, wondering what scene would be waiting for you behind the door. Someone could be heard moving around the kitchen and the broken pieces of toaster had been cleaned up from the entryway, but nothing else seemed to be out of place.

As you made your way down the hall, you paused just outside the door to the spare bedroom— the one that would soon be transformed into a nursery. Amongst Matt’s braille printer and various items for when he needed to work from home was a pile of blankets and Matt’s pillow, laying on the ground. It shattered your heart, seeing that he voluntarily kicked himself out of your bed and made other sleeping arrangements until the two of you could make up.

When you stepped into the main living space, the most amazing smell hit your nose. Notes of pepper and tomato filled the air and made your stomach growl.

Frank was sitting on the sofa, nose rising from your copy of an Agatha Christie novel he once called “fuckin’ boring” to watch you enter. Looking even healthier than this morning, there was a flush to his face and the bruises that littered his cheek bones were now fading to a warm yellow. He’d obviously showered too while you were out. His beard looked clean and soft as it tickled the top of his clean, grey henley and his hair a little more tamed. Seeing him look so much better sent a flicker of worry through you that once fully healed, he would change his mind and disappear again. But it faded as soon as you saw the soft smile that grew across his face at your reappearance.

Matt occupied the kitchen, the culprit behind the delicious scent that covered the apartment. He didn’t flinch when you stepped into the room, having listened to your heartbeat coming towards home since the last half block. But still, he ducked his head, humbly avoiding your stare with his imaginary tail between his legs. Even as mad as you were, you couldn’t help but notice just how handsome he looked. His hair was tousled, a little disheveled from the rigor and heat of playing chef. Still half dressed from work this morning, his slightly unbuttoned shirt showed just enough chest and cross necklace to tease you. The way his rolled up sleeves perfectly framed his arms would have made your mouth water if whatever he was cooking wasn’t already doing it.

“I made dinner.” he offered with a soft voice “Figured you haven’t eaten yet today.”

He wasn’t wrong and it almost pissed you off how well he knew you.

The heaping plate of spaghetti bolognese he set on the island in front of you was clearly his olive branch. The first of many steps towards making up for the hurt and the lies. It was a cheesy gesture, like a greeting card that cost too much. But still, you wanted to give him the chance to make things better and this was a start.

As you sat to begin eating, Frank joined you, taking the stool next to yours. Matt also passed him a plate, then leaned against the counter to tuck into his own. For a while, the only sounds in the apartment were the scraping of forks against plates.

“So,” you finally spoke up “we need to talk.”

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