#I think it's still him under that aged makeup

[barananduen-blog]

"GUARDIANS OF THE DAFENG" - EP.32

"What is the meaning of life?" "What is the meaning of love?" "What is the meaning of work?" "Wait right here. I'm dying again. We'll continue [our conversation] in my next life"

"hAvE yOu MaDe DoUyInS?"

[beefy-the-stronk]

THE GANG'S ALL HERE LETS GOOOOOO

Finally colored them all 😭 Like I said before, feel free to take any inspo or reference I don't own these chucklenuts

Alrighty design explanation/hc time:

[Edit:] I added an extension cus I forgot to earlier aaa, don't want this huge wall of text to be unchecked

Sam:

- He's partial heterochromatic

- I hc him as mid 30's so he's got some Grey's

- Chubby, but decently built arms

Joel:

- Shirt is ripped because of mouth, i noticed this in his sprite and other people's observations

- gave his shirt stripes cus I wanted him and Sophie to have more distinction in their warthdrobe

Sophie:

- butterfly etching on her pants

- She is missing a tooth, makes sense with her age and rowdyness. Also has a bandaid on top of that.

- she has a big overlayer shirt cus again, helps distinguish her

Dan:

- Fingerless gloves, he's cold but he needs his fingers free to record or play games😩

- he has NO hair anywhere, maybe even has Alopecia

- Wear's a sick denim vest hell yeah

Hellen:

- TALL and also very build like a heavyweight champion (so muscular and a bit of pudge)

- also greying, I personally think hc her as 40

- I am obsessed with how everyone gives her coveralls, so I'm including them. Tho, she mostly wears them during excursions. At the apartment, she takes it off and wears her normal turtleneck and sweats

Xaria:

- she has a nasty scowl and sharp teeth, basically she both a barks and bite.

- some makeup too cus GOTHHH

- she's taller than Dan with the boots on, and is decently built too with strong shoulders

Monty:

- short and it's hard to tell, but I made him chubby under the coat. Unlike Sam tho, his arms are thinner.

- also has sharp teeth, and a scowl

Leigh:

- she has a huge head 😭 yes that was on purpose, her sprite had a beeg head

- she's taller than she looks, but hunches over and crawls a lot

- fun fact: I made her avert her gaze because she looks absolutely horrifying looking forward like everyone else

Rat Baby:

- gave him a lil bandana cus why not

- I think he's relatively big here, like a small dog

Papineau:

- he's not as tall as hellen but he's still huge

- AURA

- no constructive comment but I do find him handsome VuV

Ernest:

- bundled up in many layers

- very thin underneath tho

Roaches:

- he's a bunch of roaches can more can I say lol

Morton:

- he's def just a huge cricket underneath the layers

- he is quite fond of the colorless rubiks cube sksk

[usualsworld]

A Dance of Thorns

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x Reader ༊*·˚

Warnings: cheating; adultery; smut fight; makeup sex; slight dark Anthony Bridgerton; implied age gap; period-typical sexism.

Word Count: 6,000+

Inspired by gothicquill 

Trapped in a marriage of duty rather than love, the Viscountess Bridgerton finds herself locked in a silent war with her husband, Anthony. Once, there had been respect — now, only cold stares and cruel words remain. But when a late-night confrontation spirals into something far more dangerous, buried truths and unspoken desires begin to unravel.

Seated in the dimly lit bedroom, you feel the crushing weight of your title – Viscountess Bridgerton. Once, it had been an honor, a purpose. Now, it feels like a prison. The distance between you and Anthony has grown into an abyss, neither of you daring to bridge it. Nights stretch long and lonely, your marriage reduced to obligation and cold pleasantries.

The door swings open with force, the hinges protesting under Anthony’s impatience. He steps inside, the flickering candlelight casting harsh shadows across his face – tired, frustrated, yet unreadable in that way he has perfected.

"You’re still up?" His voice is clipped, edged with something dangerously close to disdain. He pulls off his gloves with slow, deliberate motions, his eyes never leaving yours. "One would think a Viscountess would have better sense than to waste her time waiting for a husband who clearly has enough burdens without adding to them. Or do you have something pressing to say? More grievances, perhaps?"

You lift your head from where it had been resting against your knees, your body still trembling from earlier sobs. But the sorrow fades as his words settle in. Too cold. Too cruel. Too much.

Anger replaces grief, sharp.

You push yourself to your feet, wiping at your face as if scrubbing away the last traces of vulnerability.

"Oh, forgive me, my lord," you bite out, the title twisted into something venomous. "Forgive me for wanting to lay eyes on my husband, if only for the briefest of moments before he disappears again into whatever… obligations keep him so very occupied."

Anthony stills, his expression impassive – but you know better. You see the flicker of tension in his shoulders, the minute clench of his jaw. He knows exactly what you mean.

Your marriage had never been one of love. That was no secret. It had been arranged, convenient, expected. But at the very least, there had been respect.

Once.

Now, there is nothing but silence, suspicion, and resentment.

Anthony exhales sharply, shaking his head. "Spare me the dramatics." He steps closer, slow and measured, like a predator sizing up prey. His gaze is unreadable – cold and calculating, yet laced with something far more dangerous.

"You knew what this was from the beginning," he says, his voice low but weighted. "Affection was never a requirement. Duty, however, is. Or have you suddenly forgotten the role you so readily accepted?"

The words cut deep, but you refuse to let him see it.

A bitter laugh escapes you, though there is no amusement in it. "Readily accepted?" you echo, incredulous. "I was a child, Anthony. A child promised to a man with power enough to shape my entire future before I could even dream of choosing it for myself."

His expression flickers, something shifting in his eyes. But it’s gone before you can name it, replaced by that same indifferent mask.

Your hands tremble, but you refuse to back down.

"You had a choice," you push, your voice rising. "You, with all your influence, all your control. If this arrangement was such an unbearable weight, you could have ended it. But you didn’t."

His jaw tightens, and you know you’ve struck a nerve.

"So don’t you dare stand there," you seethe, stepping closer now, "and act as if you are merely a victim of circumstance. You made your choices, Anthony."

Anthony’s jaw clenches tighter, his chest heaving with restrained emotion. The anger he felt moments ago shifts into something more complex, something he can’t quite identify. Your words sting, cutting through the layers of indifference he has built around himself.

He looks at you – really looks at you – and sees the exhaustion in your eyes, the frustration in your clenched fists. He sees the person he married, the one who stood by his side through the years, even when things were far from easy.

You lower your head as soon as the words leave your lips, your breath unsteady. But before you can retreat into yourself, his hand tilts your chin up once more.

Your gaze meets his, locking onto the dark depths of his eyes. Your own irises glisten, tears pooling but refusing to fall. They are born from too much – sadness, anger, exhaustion, frustration.

He watches you, his expression unreadable. There is no sharp retort, no immediate rebuttal. Just a steady, almost contemplative calm in his eyes, as if weighing something unspoken between you both.

You bite your lower lip, the silence stretching too long, too heavy. Waiting.

Waiting for him to say something. Anything.

Anthony’s fingers caress your chin, the touch surprisingly gentle, in contrast to the fire in your earlier exchange. He watches you intently, his gaze never leaving yours, and for a moment, just a moment, the intensity in his eyes falters.

Then, his thumb brushes the corner of your lip, smoothing over the indentation left by your teeth. The gesture is an unconscious one, born from something he doesn’t quite understand himself.

He opens his mouth, his throat feeling tight with emotion, and murmurs, "Why must you always challenge me?"

"You are the Viscount," you say plainly, your voice steady, unwavering. "If I don’t challenge you, no one else will have the courage to."

You hold his gaze, refusing to back down.

"I am simply fulfilling my role as a wife, husband," you say, your voice steady, almost matter-of-fact.

"So, that’s the only reason, then?" he asks, his thumb still tracing your lower lip with surprising tenderness. He seems almost in a trance, his gaze fixed intently on your mouth.

He leans imperceptibly closer, his voice lowering to a whisper. "Is it fun? Driving me up the wall? Testing my limits?"

"I manage the household. I tend to our guests. I handle the simpler matters. I build connections. And I…"– you tilt your head slightly, as if stating the most obvious fact in the world – "I challenge you."

Your words hang between you, deliberate, undeniable.

He freezes, his jaw tensing, his nostrils flaring. There it is, out in the open, his most shameful secret. His chest heaves, his body rigid, caught off guard by your unexpected mention of his indiscretions.

"If I didn’t, you would live comfortably on your pedestal of certainties. You would continue treating me like nothing. And you would keep spending your nights with whores."

You spit the last word like venom, sharp and cutting, daring him to deny it.

His hand falls from your chin, clenching into a tight fist by his side. For a moment, he doesn’t respond, the silence in the room palpable, charged with something he can’t quite name.

When he speaks, his voice is low, rough with barely controlled emotion. "What, did you think I was going to deny it?"

"Of course not. Why would you deny it?" you say, almost amused. "It’s the truth, and everyone knows it."

You shrug, feigning indifference – though you both know better.

"When I attend afternoon tea with the other ladies, Anthony, they all talk about it."

You tilt your head, watching him, watching for the flicker of something – guilt, irritation, anything. But he gives you nothing.

"Everyone knows the great Viscount Bridgerton works tirelessly, and when he isn’t working, he’s fucking whores."

The words are laced with mockery, punctuated by a humorless laugh.

"You think I don’t smell it? That I don’t see the marks on your neck?"

Before he can step away, you reach up, your fingers gripping his collar. In one swift motion, you yank it aside, forcing him to stumble – just slightly.

Even you are surprised by your own strength.

As his shirt is suddenly jerked to the side, Anthony stumbles forward, his body colliding against yours. He catches himself in the nick of time, his hands braced against the wall, trapping you between him and the stone. His chest rises and falls under your touch, his breathing labored and ragged.

"You seem awfully preoccupied with my…escapades," he bites out, his tone sharp, his eyes glittering with unsuppressed anger. "Are you jealous?"

"Me? Jealous?" You tilt your head slightly, your eyes darkening as a slow, knowing smile curls on your lips. "Don’t worry, husband… a mutual betrayal doesn’t hurt."

You bite your lower lip, watching him, daring him to react.

It’s a bluff, of course. But Anthony is barely home for more than five hours a day – how could he possibly know the truth?

Two can play this game.

His eyes flash darkly, your words hitting him square in the chest. "Mutual."

His gaze flickers down to your mouth, his own lip curling into a sardonic smile. He leans in closer, his body pressing against yours, pinning you between the wall and his unyielding frame.

"You expect me to believe that you’ve been unfaithful all these years?" he asks, his tone dripping with doubt.

His hands move to your waist, his fingers digging into your skin, possessive and demanding. "Or are you just bluffing, wife?"

"However, husband…"

"I don’t expect you to believe anything," you say sweetly, tilting your head ever so slightly, your eyes wide, innocent – dove eyes. "You’re free to believe whatever you like."

Your voice is light, almost playful. But then –

Your expression shifts, the softness melting away like a mask slipping from your face. Your eyes narrow, sharp as a blade, the look of a woman who knows exactly where to strike.

"Before I was a Viscountess, I was a Marquess," you remind him, your tone softer now, but no less dangerous. "My family is wealthier than yours. And if there’s one thing I never run out of, it’s connections… and money."

The words spill from your lips like a secret shared between friends, a quiet whisper laced with something dark, something dangerous.

Then, you feel it – his grip tightening at your waist.

There it is. The seed of doubt, the tiniest crack in his unshakable confidence.

Your words echo in the silence, and he stiffens. No. He couldn’t possibly believe that you had taken a lover, could he? And yet, the image of you with another man – any other man – makes him see red.

He grips you tighter, his fingers bruising your skin, but he doesn’t care. That possessive part of him, the one he tries to keep contained, is rearing its ugly head. He hates the idea of another man with you, just as you hate the idea of him with any other woman.

The tension between you is like a taut wire, stretched thin, ready to snap. His chest heaves, his heart pounding with a mix of possessive anger and denial.

"Are you telling me you’ve been using your connections and money to… what exactly?" he growls, his voice low, barely above a whisper. "Is this your way of getting back at me? By paying someone to warm your bed while I’m away? By betraying me just as I have betrayed you?"

You merely shrug in response, offering nothing but a sharp, ironic smile. Then, without warning, you press your hands against his shoulders and shove.

He isn’t expecting it.

Anthony stumbles backward, the force sending him down onto the bed behind him. A rare moment of vulnerability – one you savor.

Now, you stand before him, tall, unyielding. But you don’t stay there for long.

Slowly, you lean down, lowering yourself to his level, your face inches from his.

"Let this be a reminder, husband," you murmur, your voice silk wrapped around steel. "If you are venom, I can be the very viper itself."

Your lips curve into something between a smirk and a warning.

"Don't test me."

The sudden shift in power dynamics leaves him reeling. He finds himself on the bed, pinned beneath your gaze, his breath catching in his throat as you hover over him, your face mere inches away.

He opens his mouth to retort, his usual sharp tongue ready with a scathing response, but your words silence him.

"Vixen," he mutters, his tone a mix of begrudging reverence and irritation.

He knows it. This woman, the woman he married, the woman he calls his wife, is a viper in disguise. Sharp. Dangerous.

"I’ll be sleeping in the other room," you say casually, as if the last few minutes hadn’t just been a battlefield.

Rising to your full height, you turn on your heel and stride toward the door. When you swing it open, you’re met with the wide-eyed stares of several servants – clearly caught in the act of eavesdropping.

Their eyes go wide in panic, and they immediately scatter, hurrying away as if they hadn’t been standing there, hanging on to every word. You watch them for a beat before letting out a short, amused laugh.

Still, a thought lingers at the back of your mind – Had you gone too far?

You had just all but confessed to adultery, a bold-faced lie, but one that Anthony doesn’t know is a lie. And knowing him, he will not let it rest. He will dig, search, turn the entire ton upside down in pursuit of this phantom lover.

Oh well. A problem for another day.

You lift a hand and beckon one of the maids forward with a single finger. The poor girl hesitates before approaching, eyes downcast, as if terrified of being caught in the crossfire.

"Prepare the guest room at the end of the hall for me," you order smoothly.

Meanwhile, Anthony feels a strange mixture of disbelief, irritation, and… something else. Something more primal, more possessive.

"Like hell you are." He gets to his feet, his gaze following you as you walk toward the door, his eyes dark and intent. He barely registers the scattered servants, too focused on you.

When you turn and order the servants to prepare the guest room, Anthony bristles. No. You aren’t doing this, not tonight. Not tonight after that conversation.

He stalks after you, the sound of his footsteps echoing in the hallway. "You’re not leaving this room." His hand shoots out, grabbing your wrist. He whirls you around, your back colliding against the bedroom door. The force of it sends a sharp jolt up your arm, but it is nothing compared to the way your heart is racing now.

His grip is firm – borderline painful – and his expression is dark, his jaw clenched so tight you can see the muscle twitching there. His body is close, too close, trapping you against the door, trapping you in him.

"Yes, I am leaving, Mr. Bridgerton," you say, your voice steady despite the shock flickering in your eyes.

Your heart stumbles over a beat – you hadn’t expected him to grab you. Let alone throw you back against the wall.

For a brief moment, you simply stare at him, processing the sudden shift.

"I’ve already asked Clara" – the maid you had summoned – "to prepare the room for me."

Your tone is cool, as if stating the obvious. As if his grip on your arm, the way his body towers over yours, is of no consequence. "There is nothing more for us to discuss tonight."

Anthony’s grip tightens, his free hand slamming down on the wall beside your head, effectively caging you in. His brown eyes are stormy, filled with a mix of anger, frustration, and something else, something dangerous. He leans in, his lips hovering dangerously close to your ear.

"Oh, there’s more to discuss," he growls, his voice a low rumble that sends shivers down your spine. "And we’re not finished until I say we are."

While Anthony continues his performance, Clara – poor Clara – remains frozen, eyes wide in fear. You neither move nor breathe, trapped between the two most relentless forces in this house.

The Viscount and the Viscountess.

Two worlds colliding.

You exhale sharply, throwing your head back in frustration before shooting a sharp look at the petrified maid.

"You may go. You’re dismissed for the night," you order, your voice rigid but controlled. No need to turn this into an even bigger spectacle.

Because by morning, the city will be buzzing – whispers of the scandalous Viscountess Bridgerton and her alleged affair, rumors of how her husband laid hands on her in a fit of rage.

Wonderful. Just wonderful.

The moment Clara disappears, your attention shifts back to Anthony. Your gaze is pure fire – dark, untamed – like a predator watching its prey.

His body becomes a barrier against yours, blocking any chance of escape.

"So tell me, husband," you taunt, your voice as cold as a sharpened blade. "What else is there to discuss?"

Anthony’s eyes burn, ignited by your provocation. Without hesitation, he steps forward, eliminating the last shred of space between you, pressing his body against yours. He can feel the frantic beat of your heart, can taste your resistance.

"You really want to know, wife?" His voice drops to a deep timbre, a low growl vibrating through you.

The hand that once braced against the wall slides up to your cheek, a surprisingly gentle touch, completely at odds with the fury in his eyes.

"Then let me make it very clear for you…"

His fingers trace a slow path down your neck, a touch so light, so careful it almost contradicts the fierce hunger in his gaze.

You bite your lip, swallowing the gasp that threatens to escape. No, you will not give him that satisfaction.

"You," he pauses, savoring the moment, watching the way your breath stutters, how your chest rises and falls unevenly, "are not sleeping in the guest room tonight."

His hand drifts to your waist, possessive, determined. His thumb grazes the sliver of exposed skin in your nightgown.

"You’ll be sleeping in my bed."

Your eyes narrow, laced with judgment as they meet his.

"Now, you want me." Your smirk lands like a sharp slap.

"Funny," you murmur, your voice laced with mockery. "Not too long ago, you wouldn’t even think of touching me. But now that you think another man has…"

You lean in, defiant, even with his grip restricting your movements.

"You’re pathetic, Viscount."

His fingers tighten on your hip – a silent warning to watch your words. He’s teetering on the edge, patience wearing thin, worn down by every sharp-edged provocation. He’s not used to this – not to being challenged, to being resisted. And, damn it, as much as it infuriates him… it also excites him.

A low, dangerous chuckle slips from his lips.

"Oh, pathetic, am I?" He leans in, his mouth hovering over yours. "Let’s see who’ll be pathetic tonight, wife."

His fingers slide to your chin, forcing you to look at him. His face dips, nose brushing along the side of your neck as he breathes you in, inhaling your scent like a drug.

"You think you can just accuse me, challenge me, and I’ll let you go?" His whisper brushes against your ear, hot, laced with a quiet threat.

"Oh no, darling." His voice drips with arrogance. "You won’t get rid of me that easily."

His fingers glide from your face to your hair, tangling in the soft strands before giving a sharp tug, forcing you to expose your throat.

Before you can react, his lips claim your skin – teeth grazing, bites marking, just enough to steal your breath.

He doesn’t stop.

His mouth carves a burning path, invisible marks seared into your skin, as if branding you with a single truth: Mine.

You bite your lower lip, fighting to keep any sound at bay. But it’s useless.

Because he knows.

He always knows.

He feels the way your body trembles, the way your breath shudders. A satisfied smile ghosts over his lips as he presses a kiss to the pulse point in your throat.

"You can pretend all you want, wife," he murmurs, voice thick with possession.

His lips trail along your skin, his hand slowly traveling up your body, a touch balancing between tenderness and dominance. "But I know the truth."

A gasp escapes you, involuntary, tangled with a whisper.

"I hate you…"

You breathe it out between ragged sighs, your eyes fluttering shut against the pleasure. Your hand moves to his right shoulder, fingers finding rigid, tense muscles beneath them.

And he laughs.

And then, without hesitation, you dig your nails in.

Low, rough.

Like a man who has already won.

A sharp, stifled hiss escapes Anthony's lips, the pain blending seamlessly with pleasure. Your nails, digging into his skin, only fuel his desire. His grip on your hair tightens, pulling just enough to make you gasp.

"Hate me? No, darling," he murmurs, his voice thick with need as his lips resume their slow, tormenting assault on your neck. "You can try, but you will fail. We both know you can't resist me any more than I can resist you."

The sharp pull on your scalp intensifies, the sting spreading like fire. The pain – blistering, exquisite – sends a jolt straight through you. A moan tumbles past your lips, raw and unbidden, your body betraying you.

He knows you. He knows you've always liked a little pain.

Your hips move instinctively, rolling forward, meeting his. The friction, the heat – it’s intoxicating. His body, firm and unyielding, presses against yours, and through the thin fabric of your nightgown, you feel everything.

Anthony exhales sharply, his grip on your waist turning possessive, his fingers sinking into your skin. His free hand slides up, resting just below your ribs, anchoring you to him. His forehead nearly brushes yours as his dark eyes, wild and smoldering, lock onto your own.

"You want me, don't you?" His voice is a low rasp, teasing, taunting. "You can deny it all you want, love, but your body betrays you."

"Oh, really?" His voice is still low, dark. "You actually think you just want me for pleasure?" His lips hover over yours, his breath hot against your skin. "You think I don’t see through you? Through this cold, detached façade you cling to so desperately?"

Your jaw clenches at the pet name, anger flashing in your eyes. "I want you the same way I want others." Your voice is sharp, cutting, meant to wound. "Only for my pleasure."

The words hit him like a challenge. His fingers flex against your hip, his grip tightening just enough to remind you of his strength.

The loose neckline of your nightgown shifts dangerously, fabric slipping, baring more than intended. You bite your lip, gaze locked onto his, refusing to let him see just how much this – he – is affecting you.

He moves swiftly. Before you can react, his hands capture your wrists, pushing them above your head, pinning them against the wall.

Your breath stutters.

His eyes flicker downward, darkening as they take in your disheveled hair, your flushed cheeks, the way your chest rises and falls unevenly. He drinks in the sight of you – vulnerable, defiant, completely at his mercy.

"What are you going to do now, Mr. Bridgerton?" You ask, your voice laced with defiance, deliberately refusing to call him husband, refusing to call him Anthony.

The way you say his name – or rather, the way you refuse to – sparks something dangerous inside him.

His jaw tics.

"Now?" he growls, his voice rough, thick with frustration and something deeper, something unspoken.

"Now, I'm going to remind you who you belong to."

Before you can respond, his hands leave your wrists only to seize your waist in an iron grip. In one swift movement, he lifts you, carrying you across the room with long, determined strides.

The door slams shut behind him with a forceful kick of his boot.

You barely have time to process before you feel your back collide with the mattress, the air leaving your lungs in a sharp gasp. The irony isn’t lost on you – look how the tables have turned.

You push yourself up onto your elbows, your breath uneven, your pulse wild. Your gaze meets his, and in that moment, nothing else exists.

His gaze is dark and unrelenting as he takes a lingering moment to drink her in – disheveled, flushed, sprawled out across their bed. The sight of her like this, breathless and defiant, only feeds something primal inside him, a hunger sharpened by the way she looks at him with both defiance and undeniable want.

He steps forward, slow and deliberate, his body taut with tension, every movement exuding dominance. "You think you’re in control, sweetheart?" His voice is a low growl, smooth and dangerous. "You’re not. Not here. Not in my bed."

His hands move with practiced ease, undoing his belt without ever breaking eye contact. The sharp sound of leather sliding free from the loops cuts through the air, a silent warning. He lets it drop to the floor carelessly before rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, exposing his forearms, his movements precise and methodical. His fingers work deftly at the buttons of his shirt, revealing golden skin and hard muscle beneath.

You shift, rubbing one thigh against the other, the sight of him – unraveling, controlled yet lethal – sending a rush of heat through you. He is effortlessly beautiful, intoxicating in the way only a man who knows his own power can be.

He steps to the edge of the bed, towering over his wife, looking every bit the predator you refuse to admit that you want. His voice is deep, unwavering.

You part your lips, dragging your teeth over your lower one as you exhale through your nose, your expression shifting into something smug, defiant. You want to obey, to let yourself sink into the moment, but the idea of handing him that victory so easily is unbearable.

"Lose the nightgown." It is not a request. It is a command.

"If you really think I –" A gasp rips from her throat, sharp and unbidden.

Anthony’s patience has never been his strong suit. He moves without warning, his fingers catching on the delicate fabric of your nightgown and tearing it apart as if it were paper, the sound of shredding fabric filling the air.

His eyes are feral, burning with possession as he discards the ruined silk, his body moving over you, his presence all-consuming. He leans down, his lips hovering just above yours, his breath mingling with your own.

"You were saying, love?" His voice is silk and steel, rough with amusement and something deeper.

You barely have time to react before he presses against you, forcing you down against the mattress, his warmth searing against your bare skin. The solid weight of him steals your breath, leaving you utterly trapped beneath him.

"You’re unbelievable," you breathe, your pulse hammering, your body betraying the irritation you try to hold onto. Even now, you can’t believe he had the audacity to rip your nightgown.

Anthony smirks, leaning in ever so slightly, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear.

"Oh, darling." His voice is velvet-wrapped sin, deep and knowing. "You haven’t seen anything yet."

"You love it," he growls, his mouth moving to your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin. "You love it when I’m like this – out of control, consumed with desire."

With deliberate slowness, he parts your legs, positioning himself between them, his movements filled with intent. You feel his hardness through the thin fabric between you, and despite yourself, a breathless sound escapes your lips.

He presses his body even more against yours, leaving no space between them. The feel of her skin against his is a delicious torture, only fueling the fire between them. His hand moves up your arm, his touch both possessive and tender.

Your fingers instinctively find their way to the back of his neck, gripping onto him like he's the only thing keeping you tethered to reality.

"Fu– fuck..." you whisper, eyes fluttering closed.

A low chuckle rumbles from deep in his chest. "No need to hold back, sweetheart," he breathes against your ear. "I want to hear every little sound you make for me."

"You think you can fight this? Fight me?" His voice is dark, laced with amusement. His lips graze your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. "But we both know the truth, don’t we?"

His lips return to your neck, teasing, biting – just enough to leave a mark. One hand holds yours above your head, effortlessly pinning you in place, while the other explores your body, tracing slow, burning lines down your sides.

You inhale sharply, refusing to give in, refusing to let him see just how much he's unraveling you. But Anthony is nothing if not relentless. He knows every tell, every weakness, every unspoken desire.

"Say it," he murmurs, his tone softer now but no less commanding. "Say what we both already know."

You still shake your head, refusing to answer. His hand then goes to your panties, wrapping his hand around them and giving a strong pull, ripping the fabric in one go.

Anthony’s eyes lock onto yours, his gaze dark and smoldering with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. He can see the desire burning within you, evident in the way your breath hitches and your chest rises and falls with each shallow inhale. But he doesn’t just want to see it – he wants to hear it. He needs you to admit it, to confess that you are his, completely and irrevocably.

He leans in closer, his warm breath brushing against the shell of your ear, sending a wave of heat through your body. His lips hover mere millimeters away, teasing, as his voice drops to a low, commanding growl. "Say it," he demands, his tone leaving no room for defiance. "Say you're mine."

Without warning, he guides himself inside you in one swift, confident motion, filling you completely. Your head falls back instinctively, a sharp cry of pleasure escaping your lips as he grips your hips, pulling you against him with a possessive urgency. Holy shit, you think, your mind spinning as the sensation overwhelms you.

Your eyes roll back, your body trembling under his touch. It had been too long since you’d last been together like this, too long since you’d felt this kind of raw, unbridled connection. The ache of his absence had been unbearable, and now, with him so close, so deep inside you, it’s as if every nerve in your body is alight with electricity.

Anthony is lost in you, his movements deliberate and rhythmic, a dance that is both familiar and exhilaratingly new. It’s been far too long since he’s felt this way, since he’s been able to lose himself in the warmth of your body, in the way you respond to him so perfectly. In this moment, there is no doubt – you are his, and he is yours, bound together in a way that transcends time.

His lips find your neck, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down the sensitive skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. His hands roam your body with a possessive hunger, mapping every curve, every inch of you, as if committing you to memory all over again.

"You're mine," he murmurs against your skin, his voice a deep, gravelly rumble that reverberates through you. "Only mine. Always."

"Fuck, fuck, fuck..." You repeat the words under your breath, your mind spinning, completely lost in the overwhelming sensations coursing through your body. You can’t think straight, can’t focus on anything but the way Anthony makes you feel – consumed, possessed, utterly his.

"I'm- I'm yours, Anthony," you manage to say, your voice trembling, your breath coming in ragged gasps. Beads of sweat trickle down your forehead, your body trembling from the intensity of it all. Even in this state of blissful delirium, you muster the strength to shoot him a defiant, accusatory look, as if daring him to deny it.

"And you are mine..." you whisper, your eyes locking with his, the intensity of your gaze mirroring the fire in his.

"Absolutely, love," he growls, his voice low and rough, his dark eyes burning with a desire that threatens to consume you both. His hands tighten on your hips, his touch possessive, his body responding to every movement, every breath you take.

"You're mine," he repeats, his voice deeper, more commanding than before. "And I'm yours. Completely and utterly."

He rolls you over effortlessly, pulling you on top of him. His hands grip your hips firmly, guiding your movements as if you weigh nothing more than a feather. Your legs feel weak, shaky from the pleasure coursing through you, but Anthony holds you steady, his strong hands keeping you in place. You know you’ll feel the marks of his touch tomorrow, and the thought sends a shiver down your spine.

Your body moves with his, your breasts rising and falling with each breath, each motion. Sweat glides down your neck, tracing a path along your collarbone and down your chest, leaving your skin glistening like a rare jewel under the dim light.

The two of you are close, so close to the edge, and Anthony’s hand slides down to your ass, gripping it tightly, pulling you even closer to him. He sets a relentless pace, his body moving in perfect sync with yours, guiding you in a rhythm you couldn’t possibly follow on your own.

Your body responds to his every touch, your skin flushed and hot, your moans escaping your lips unbidden. You’re at his mercy, completely under his control, and yet it feels like the most natural thing in the world.

He lifts you higher, bringing you closer to him, his eyes never leaving yours. The intensity of his gaze is almost too much to bear, but you can’t look away. He bites your lip, a sharp, possessive gesture that sends a jolt of pleasure through you.

"Say it again," he growls, his voice strained, his body taut like a coiled spring ready to snap. "Say I'm yours."

"You're mine, Anthony. Mine. And I'm yours..." you whisper, your voice weak, your eyes fluttering shut as the pleasure threatens to overwhelm you.

The moment the words leave your lips, he lets out a deep, guttural groan, and you cry out in ecstasy, your voices mingling as you both reach your peak together. Your head falls back, your body trembling as waves of pleasure crash over you, leaving you breathless and spent.

You collapse against his chest, your ear pressed to his skin, listening to the rapid thud of his heartbeat. His arms wrap around you, holding you close as you both try to catch your breath. He’s still inside you, his body slowly relaxing, but the connection between you remains, unbroken and undeniable.

You can’t form words, can’t think of anything but the way his heart beats against your ear, steady and strong. In this moment, there’s nothing else – just you and Anthony, bound together in every way that matters.

He feels your body go limp on top of him, your head resting gently on his chest as both of your bodies slowly relax, the tension melting away. His arms encircle you, pulling you tightly against him, his heart still racing from the intensity of the moment. The warmth of your skin against his is intoxicating, and he can’t help but savor the way you fit perfectly in his embrace.

He looks down at you, his gaze sweeping over your disheveled hair, the soft flush that colors your cheeks, and the delicate sheen of sweat that glistens on your skin. You are a vision to him – utterly breathtaking, a beautiful mess that he can’t tear his eyes away from. His fingers brush a stray lock of hair from your face, his touch tender and reverent.

Gently, he lifts your chin, urging you to meet his eyes. His voice is soft but firm, filled with a possessiveness that sends a shiver down your spine. "You're mine," he repeats, his gaze never wavering from yours, as if he’s trying to imprint the words into your very soul.

You don’t respond immediately, letting the silence stretch between you for a few more moments. Then, unexpectedly, you begin to laugh – a soft, almost incredulous sound that grows louder, more unrestrained. It’s as if you can’t contain it, the laughter bubbling up from deep within you.

"I lied..." you confess, your laughter softening into a sly smile. Your voice is low, almost teasing, as you continue, "I don’t have a lover. I just wanted to make you mad." You bite your lip, a mix of shame and pride flickering across your face, as if you’re both embarrassed by your admission and delighted by the effect it had on him.

But then your expression shifts, the playfulness fading into something more serious. You raise your head higher, your eyes locking with his, and there’s a challenge in your gaze. "But if you keep looking for other women," you say, your voice steady and firm, "I won’t hesitate to do the same."

The room seems to grow quieter, the weight of your words hanging in the air between you. Anthony’s grip on you tightens almost imperceptibly, his jaw clenching as he processes what you’ve just said. There’s a flicker of something in his eyes – surprise, perhaps, or maybe even a hint of admiration for your boldness. But above all, there’s a fierce determination, as if your words have only solidified his resolve.

"You won’t have to," he murmurs, his voice low and intense. His hand cups your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin in a gesture that’s both possessive and tender. "Because now there’s no one else for me but you."

[luveline]

Hi honey, how are you? I really want one with Hotch, I don't have a very solid idea , but something like the team joking about the age difference between the two and the reader is like "he may be old, but he's my old man"

((don't mind the teasing Honey, you're so sweet💛)

“Alright,” Aaron says, almost to himself as he holds your face. He has two thumb tips pressed to your jaw, his fingers slipped behind your neck. “I think you’re okay.” 

“Yeah?” 

He has black smudges all over his fingertips and a little on the lapel of his coat from your wayward mascara. “You look beautiful,” he says without affect, “and like you’re trying something new today.” 

You snort, his hands falling down but not away as he begins unbuttoning your coat. “You don’t have to baby me,” you say quietly, for his ears alone. 

“What, by helping you out of your coat? This isn’t babying, honey, it’s just help.” He’s gentle under your chin, freeing you from your coat and hanging it over the back of your chair. “The mascara was my fault. You’re owed an apology.” 

“How have you worked that one out?” 

“You told me what one to get and I still got the wrong one. I’m sorry, but they all look the same, I can’t understand why they put all of those makeups together like that. Couldn’t the waterproof ones have been a different colour?” he asks, smiling in his way, so you know he’s kidding about being annoyed. 

“Sometimes they are,” you say. “Just my brand isn’t with the times.” 

“Well, neither am I,” he says. 

“What’s the rub?” Emily asks, tipping back in her chair curiously. Aaron doesn’t usually linger with you for this long. 

“Got mascara everywhere ‘cos it was warm in the car.” 

“I meant about Hotch being with the times,” she says, sending you one of her dazzled (and dazzling) smiles, all amusement. “Are you often?” she asks him. 

“Insubordination is a serious offense,” he says. 

“It’s not insubordination, sir,” Emily says. You’re just old goes unsaid and yet heavily implied. 

“So he’s a little old-fashioned,” you defend. 

Morgan laughs from his desk chair. After a moment he must feel your eyes on him, turning swiftly, a hand covering his mouth but not the shape of his grin, “What?” he asks. 

“Alright, I get it, I’m old,” Aaron says, rolling his eyes. “This is hardly new information.” 

“You might be old, honey, but you’re my old man,” you say, leaning your weight against his arms to look up at him with tenderness. His being older than you hasn’t once made him a lesser man, hasn’t ever affected the way you are with one another. “Did you ever hear that song by Joni Mitchell?” you ask softly, momentarily forgetting your audience as he holds your gaze. You relax against him despite yourself. “‘He’s my sunshine in the morning?’” you quote. 

“I’ve heard every song by Joni Mitchell,” he says, leaning down to kiss your cheek nicely, “that’s one of the perks of being old. ‘Play and stay, baby.’” 

Warmest chord I ever heard, play that warm chord, play and stay, baby. 

“This is borderline offensive,” Morgan teases. 

You can hardly pull yourself away, but you do, righting yourself and trusting Aaron to neaten the ruffled curl of your dress’ short sleeve. He does it without comment. He holds you by the small of your back as he goes. 

“Think I’ll ever be his old lady?” you ask Emily with a grin. 

“Nope. You’re just not that old, babe.” 

[eddiesxangel]

That’s that me, Espresso | rockstar!eddie

@mmunson86 requested: I can’t stop thinking about rockstar!Eddie x pop!Princess! reader! & its all thanks to miss SC & Espresso! Imagine they are at one of her concerts right right & she has Eddie sit in the middle of the stage! she is about to debut this song its the last song for the night and she dances on him , for him , around him & Eddie is loosing his mind so right after the concert he wastes no time and takes her into the dressing room & the rest well you know the rest 🙂‍↔️💗

Cw: modern au, Rockstar!Eddie x Pop!princes wife reader. Age gap, Eddie is a filthy simp for his girl, soft!Dom Eddie (sir), oral (f receiving), p in v (unprotected), small bit of anal fingering. Talks of pregnancy.

2.3kwords

We are back baby!!! From the Wildflower universe, if you want more of the lore on these two.

“You ready, Angel?” Your husband smiles at you.

Husband, it still has a nice ring to it. You’ve been married just under a year. Giving birth to your little one put the wedding on the back burner, but you started the wedding planning once Lila Rose was 7 months old.

“Yeah, I think so,” you smile. You’re already in your hair and makeup, just waiting for your turn to get on stage.

The rowdy crowd of music festival goers grow impatient as the crew tirelessly works to remove the previous acts' set design.

“You think they’re going to like the new song?” You fiddle with the bedazzled mic in your hands.

“You kidding me? They’re going to love it!”

Eddie always encouraged your work, even if it wasn’t his thing. He loved every song because it was yours.

“All performers take their mark,” you hear the stage director in your ear.

You give Eddie one quick kiss and make your way to the stage.

The set went perfectly, but the riding anticipation of the new single was still in the back of your mind.

“Okay, Coachella! I’m going to need you to help me out with something.” You smile. “This is my last song of the night, and it’s brand new, so I’m a bit nervous.” You pace the stage.

“Now I have a special someone backstage with me, and I know he won’t come out unless we pressure him, so I’m going to need your help, okay?” you walk over to side stage and look him in the eye

You knew he would kill you, but you needed him for the extra moral support, and you kinda had a plan up your sleeve.

“Come on out, Eddie, baby,” you smile, and the crow starts to chant Eddie’s name.

Feeling embarrassed and a bit proud of you for getting what you wanted. Eddie stocks onto the stage, giving a small wave, not wanting this to be about him.

“Sit,” you speak into the mic and point to the fold-out chair in centre stage.

Eddie sits, and before he can protest anymore, he hears the first few beats of the music.

“Nice,” you sing in your breathy tone your husband can’t get enough of.

Now he's thinkin' 'bout me every night, oh Is it that sweet? I guess so Say you can't sleep, baby, I know That's that me, espresso Move it up, down, left, right, oh Switch it up like Nintendo

Eddie really loved that last lyric. He thought it was very clever of you because he knew it was about him and how he eats you out.

Say you can't sleep, baby, I know That's that me, espresso.

You and your dancers moved to the beat without missing a step.

I can't relate to desperation My 'give a fucks' are on vacation And I got this one boy

You turn to your husband and wink.

And he won't stop calling

You take a few short steps around to the back of the chair.

When they act this way

You lean in from behind and run your free hand down his shoulder to his chest and back up.

I know I got 'em

You swear you hear him moan.

I'm working late 'cause I'm a singer

You twirl your hair around your finger, then summon Eddie to come closer.

Oh, he looks so cute wrapped around my finger

He gets up and follows you like a puppy as you strut across the stage. My twisted humor, make him laugh so often My honey bee, come and get this pollen.

You flick up the edge of your mini skirt, and Eddie can see the lacy underwear beneath your stockings.

He needs this song to be over so he can finally have you. You've been rehearsing for this moment for months now. Stressing over it and with the baby, you and him have had hardly any time to have sex like you used to.

He's thinkin' 'bout me every night, oh Is it that sweet? I guess so Say you can't sleep, baby, I know That's that me, espresso Move it up, down, left, right, oh Switch it up like Nintendo Say you can't sleep, baby, I know That's that me, espresso

Eddie is back in his seat by the second bridge, and your dancing is driving him absolutely crazy. You know what you are doing. He can see it in your eyes; your mischievous gaze tells him you had this all planned out. You probably faked being nervous just to get him out here so you could seduce him.

Eddie was losing the battle of not getting hard in front of the thousands of fans watching. He couldn't help it; his bombshell of a wife was so irresistible.

Is it that sweet? I guess so That's that me, espresso

Eddie listened as you thanked the crowd. He took your hand and yanked you off stage once he thought it had been enough time for your final bow, letting you soak in this moment before he whisked you away.

“Eddie!” You squeal while trying to keep up with him in your platform go-go boots.

“Gotta have, you know,” he growls in your ear so only you can hear.

“Really baby? I worked you up that much?” You swoon.

After all this time, Eddie still makes your heart flutter. You never thought soulmates existed, but when you met Eddie, all that changed- especially after having his baby. The way he was with your newborn had you wanting to jump his bones before the doctor okayed you for sex again.

The trailer was close but not close enough in Eddie’s eyes. A thin sheen of sweat was starting to form on Eddie’s brow, and he couldn’t tell if it was from the hot Californian sun or the fact that his cock was about to bust through his jeans, and he was trying not to have anyone notice.

“Get out,” Eddie commands as the trailer door swings back. Eddie opens it so hard.

Your team looks startled as you and Eddie enter the small space.

You give them an apologetic look and they place down their stuff and leave you both alone.

“You were perfect up there.” he pulls you in for a kiss. “So fucking proud of you.” He kisses down your neck.

“Mmmm, thank you, baby”

“You’re a goddamn succubus, you know that, Angel?” Eddie shuts the door behind them and locks it before drawing the blinds.

“Is that right? Mr. Munson.”

“Oh, it is, Mrs. Munson.” Eddie pulls you in by the waist for a heated kiss. Still, after all this time, you both were so greedy for one another. Nothing can ever break the bond between the both of you… not again.

“God, Angel, you were a goddamn tease on that stage; you got me looking like a simp.”

You pull back, curious as to where he had heard that term.

“Simp?”

“VR tells me things.” Violet Rose, Eddie's oldest, whom you’ve adopted, is now twenty two.

“Okay, old man,” you giggle, and he walks you back to the sofa in the trailer’s back corner.

“Enough talking, more kissing.”

Your tailored dress, made just for you, was not easy to strip. Eddie was having a hell of a time trying to get out of it, only to groan when he saw your pantyhose as another barrier.

“Why do they make these things so tight.” He grumbles as you giggle at him.

“You weren’t complaining about it ten minutes ago,” you snide.

“Don’t make me put you over my knee.” He smirks.

“No, Sir,” you put your lip.

Finally, once you are out of your garments, Eddie kneels right between your legs.

“Baby, you’re going to hurt your knees,” You push his long hair back. “Why don’t we go -OH - to the couch” Not listening, his lips are already on your throbbing cunt.

The plus from your clit was relieved as Eddie’s tongue grazes it before quickly lapping and flicking at it.

“Oh fuck!” Your legs buckle, and your grip on Eddie’s hair tightens. He growls at the pain in his scalp, but he loves it all the same.

You feel his tongue go down, then to the left, then the right and finally circles your clit.

“Mmmmm, tastes so good, Angel”

“Please don’t stop!”

You feel Eddie's skilled tongue glide through your slick folds before you feel his hands nudge your legs, signalling to open them wider.

Eddie’s thick long fingers pump up into your warm wet cunt until you’re losing the battle to say upright. Your body is hunched over as Eddie sends waves of pleasure through you.

“Mmmm, that’s it, that’s my good girl. Cum for me.” The pads of his fingers graze you g spot each time. He doesn’t stop until he knows you are satisfied.

“That was a big one, baby; singing for me, go, you all worked up, didn’t it?” He stands and leads you to the couch until you’re lying down, legs spread nice and wide for him.

“Mmmhmmm,” you hum as you watch Eddie finally strip.

His body never looked better; he wants to be the healthiest to watch your baby grow up and maybe put another one in you soon.

“You ready for me, sweetheart?”

“Yes, sir, more than ready.” And it was true; it’s been a few weeks since you’ve had time to have sex, and it was long overdue.

All the pent-up sexual tension between the both of you is finally being released when Eddie's hard cock slides into yours effortlessly.

“Fuck I missed my pussy, baby girl.” His head tilts back, and you take the opportunity to suck on his neck, just as you know he likes it.

“So fucking beautiful” his cock pumped in and quickly backed out.

The tip of his dick ring never failed to make you see stars. Already you’re a moaning mess for him, cock drunk, and it’s not even been a minute yet.

“There she is, there’s my good girl” Eddie palms your tit as he continues to thrust deep inside of you. He watches your eyes roll to the back of your head, blissed out by how he makes you feel.

“More” you moan.

“More what?”

“Sir, please, I need you. Baby, I love you. I love you, please, I need it.” You babble.

Eddie's heart swells. He loves you so much he would give you the moon and stars if he could. Hearing you love him, especially when the two of you are like this, really makes him kick into high gear.

He will never take for granted those three words when you say them to him; your past is too painful not to.

“Tell me what you need, baby girl.”

“Fill me.” You pull him down into a kiss. Your tongue explores his mouth.

His hand that was planted on your waist is now travelling lower to your ass.

“This what you wanted, baby? All of your holes filled?” His finger teases your puckered hole.

“Yes!” You gasp.

“I think that can be arranged. Suck” he points his finger at your face, and you take as much of it in your mouth. You suck on it until it’s dripping with your saliva.

“Such a dirty girl, letting me fuck you and play with your ass hole.” His finger slowly glides in, and he pumps it to match the rhythm of his thrusts. “Isn’t that right?”

“Yes, sir!”

“God, I love you.” Eddie can’t help but to fuck you frivolously. The sound of wet skin slapping together filled the thin walls of the trailer.

“Please, please, please.” You were so close you could feel the pit building.

The pressure of his piercing brushing your g spot with every heavy thrust, each shape snap of his hips making him slide deep inside-mixed with the pressure of his finger pressed deep inside of you was bringing you to the edge of bliss.

“You going to come when I tell you to, Angel?”

“I can’t-can’t hold it!”

“Yes, you can,” he growls.

“F-fuck,” you curse him. You can’t hold it for much longer.

“Mmm, that’s right, babygirl. You’re going to listen to what I tell you.”

Your pussy naturally grips Eddie's cock so tight he almost loses it.

“Please, Sir. I want to cum. Please!”

The look in your eyes has Eddie reeling. The way you beg and submit to him, his perfect girl. His perfect wife, the perfect mother to his children.

“Cum” he growls, and you let out a cry of relief.

With your arms wrapped around the back of Eddie's neck, you pull him down into you on instinct. His body weight pressed into you, and your cunt grips his cock so deliciously Eddie is coming with you.

“Shit, baby girl, I think you nearly killed me that time,” Eddie chuckles as his legs give out and his total weight collapses on top of you.

You giggle dumbly as Eddie plants kisses all over your face.

You look up; his face is red and sweaty, but he’s never looked more beautiful.

“That was long overdue.” You sigh with relief.

“You’re telling me,” he chuckles with you.” “Let’s get you cleaned up, mama.”

“You trying to knock me up, Munson?” Deep down, you’d love to have another baby.

“What if I was?” He looks back over his shoulder, catching you checking out his juicy ass.

“Then I’d say we should keep practicing.”

“Wait for real?”

“You’re no,t getting any younger, “ you giggle.

“Oh, you little minx, you’re in for it.” He runs back towards you, lifts you off the couch, and plops you in his lap.

“I’m sorry!” You laugh as Eddie tickles your sides.

“You really want to start trying?” He asks genuinely.

“Yeah,” you nod.

“Guess it’s time for round two, gotta make sure it really sticks.”

Tags: @xxbimbobunnyxx @eddiesghxst @niallerlover8022 @eddiesguitarskills @all-dogs-die

@mimsie95 @mystargirl-interlude @rip-quizilla @munsonology @ali-r3n

@callsignraver @allthingsjoeq @ceriseheaven @amira0303 @mmunson86

@lofaewrites @taintedcigs @take-everything-you-can @lokis-army-77 @hellfiremunsonn

@hellfirenacht @oneforthemunny @lma1986 @mimsie95 @straykeeks

@crazycat-ladys-blog @starksbabie @hellfire--cult @goth-cowgirl-03 @dashingdeb16

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@corrodedcoffincumslut @http-dilflvr @paybacksawitch

[slytherinshua]

YOU, ME, AND BULBASAUR

genre. fluff. warnings. neck kisses. gunwook is extremely cute and i'm extremely delusional and in love with him. mention that reader wears makeup and dresses. pairing. gunwook x fem!reader. wc. 700. request. no. a/n. i saw gunwook like indirectly kiss taerae's neck and it made me think of just how much of a neck kisser he would be 😭 and if you know me you know i'm a neck girl and that just made me so delusional like i'm feral rn it's not okay??? also can we talk abt how fucking cute gunwook's rosy cheeks are LIKE HES THE CUTEST EVER IM GONNA CRY.

“why are you getting all pretty? you going somewhere?” the tired husky voice of your boyfriend makes a smile start to form on your lips. gunwook had been sleeping peacefully until 2 minutes ago, hugging your pillow to his chest, still tangled under the sheets. you wished you could’ve stayed in bed with him, but you had a meeting early in the morning.

“just a work meeting. wish i could’ve slept in with you, wook.” you glanced up at him apologetically through the mirror, frowning at his sleepy pout and messy hair.

“not fair…”

“i know, baby. but i’ll be back in 2 hours and then we can cuddle.” you assured him, finishing the last touches on your makeup and hair. you turned around to face gunwook properly, ruffling his bed head as you stood up.

“can’t you just stay?” gunwook asked, following you to your closet like a lost puppy.

“it’s an important meeting…” you tried your best to stay firm and not let your boyfriend have so much affect over you. but it was hard, especially when he started planting small kisses on your neck as you sifted through your hangers to find a dress. you felt a small nip land to the dip in your shoulder and neck and you gasped.

“gunwook!” you hadn’t realized he was this clingy this morning. he didn’t stop despite your reaction, pressing a softer kiss over the spot he had nibbled. you willed yourself to not get too focused on his lips on your skin, to instead figure out what you were going to wear to your meeting. but he made it so hard to even remember why you were trying to get up in the first place.

“wouldn’t you rather just stay here? with me? and bulbasaur?” he pleaded, pressing a kiss to your neck between each word. you smiled at the mention of his bulbasaur plush that you had gotten for his birthday— he slept with it every night, opting to cuddle it when you couldn’t sleep with him.

you gripped the side of a navy blue dress, hanging on your last thread, gunwook seconds away from snapping it. was the meeting more important than your clingy boyfriend? did you actually want to spend the morning in a room with a bunch of grumpy middle-aged men when you could be cuddling with your boyfriend?

“you’re lucky you’re cute in the morning…” you sighed, dropping your hand from the dress, and your boyfriend knew he had won. you could feel his victorious smile against your neck as he pressed one last kiss behind your ear. and then he started steering you towards the bed until you both fell onto the soft mattress, him laying on top of you. he nuzzled his face in your chest and closed his eyes, completely content now that he was sure he had you for the entire morning.

you looked at his sleepy face, dark hair falling over his eyes, cheeks dotted with rosy stains, cherry lips formed into the most beautiful smile. you brushed his bangs away from his face, feeling his warm skin underneath the palm of your hand. god, he took your breath away even when he wasn’t doing anything.

“since you made me miss my morning meeting, at least give me a kiss.” you nudged his chin with your hand, and he opened one eye to look up at you. he didn’t waste time after hearing your request, quickly picking himself up to hover over you and press his soft lips to yours. he sighed, finally being able to taste your lip gloss that he had watched you apply minutes ago. he had been tempted to steal a kiss from you then as well, but he was considerate enough to not ruin your makeup until he was sure you were his for the morning.

gunwook’s lips always felt like pure bliss against yours. the weight of his body on top of you was like a weighted blanket, and you were determined to not move from the position for at least another hour. gunwook was right, you would always much rather spend the morning with him… and bulbasaur. 

↳ zerobaseone taglist (bolded could not be tagged): @eternalgyu,, @okshu,, @chewryy,, @haecien,, @sobun1est,,

@emmylksblog,, @talkingsaxy,, @thesunsfullmoon,, @chenleszone,, @sxmmerberries,,

@talking-saxy

[thebigbadbatswife]

Morning Glory

Pairing - Bruce Wayne x F!Reader

Summary - It’s the morning after you and Bruce confessed your love for one another and there’s only one thing on his mind.

Warnings - 18+ ONLY. Established Relationship, Age Gap, Older Man/Younger Woman, Explicit Sexual Content, Unprotected Sex, Creampie, Multiple Orgasms, Morning Sex, Fluff, Bruce's POV

A/N - Part of the same 'verse as Sippin' on Sunshine but both fics are complete standalones from each other so you don't have to read that one first.

Word Count - 2.7k

When Bruce wakes up, he finds you already wide awake. You’re sitting up in bed, scrolling through your phone like he might read the newspaper at the kitchen table. He lays there for a moment, simply admiring your sleepy, dishevelled state. You’ll resist him if he ever says it outloud, insisting that you don’t because how can you when your hair is a mess and you have no makeup on, but he thinks you look absolutely radiant. 

“We made the front page again,” you tell him. Not even bothering to look up from the screen in front of you.

He sighs as he rolls onto his back and stretches, which is followed by a series of loud cracks and pops from his back and joints. It’s just another reminder of his age and all of the damage he’s done to his body over the years. As he shifts in the bed to sit up, he becomes aware of how tight his pyjama pants feel.

“What did we do this time?” he asks, settling his back against the headboard. You hand him your phone so that he can see the article. It’s a picture of the two of you from late last night. You’re straddling his lap in the car and kissing him. It’s right after you told him that you loved him for the first time. His brow furrows. Even in the middle of the night, where the streets are devoid of life, neither of you can get any privacy outside of him locking you away in a bedroom.

The headline reads: “Way more than a PR stunt.” As soon as he sees the writer, he relaxes a little. Lois Lane. Though he knows he can trust her, he still skims through the article to see what she’s written. The entire article is written in defence of your relationship and even goes as far to debunk some of the things other articles have said. He’s going to have to send her a gift basket. A big one at that.

“At least it’s the Daily Planet and not the Gazette,” he says. 

“Oh no, they posted an article as well,” you reply. 

Bruce huffs. “Let me guess, Vicki?” 

“No, it was Ryder this time.”

He huffs again. “Of course it was,” he mutters. He’s really starting to get sick and tired of all of them. 

He sets your phone down onto the nightstand, switching it to silent and placing it screen down. Before you can ask him what he’s doing, in one fluid movement, he’s dragging you down the bed and pinning you to it, fingers entwinning with yours as he holds your hands above your head. 

“I’ll call my lawyers later. For now though, I have something else on my mind.”

Bruce rolls his hips, letting you feel his morning wood press up against you. You gasp as your hips buck, creating friction that has his breath stuttering. Apparently he’s not the only one who’s woken up with a problem that needs addressing.

“Last night you were fretting about your age, yet here you are. Ready to ravage me and you’ve barely been awake five minutes,” you laugh softly.

Bruce hums as he nuzzles his face against you, just under your jaw before starting to press soft kisses to your neck. “How can I resist when I’m waking up to such a beautiful woman?” 

He pulls away and you look at him like you don’t quite believe him. Before you can try and argue against him, he’s pressing his lips against yours. Any protest of his compliment dies on your tongue as you moan into the kiss. As you two kiss, you hook one of your legs over his hip and pull him more flush against you, grinding your groin against his.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he groans, his cock twitching in his pyjama pants.

“I’m hoping we will,” you reply, breathlessly.

“Oh, we’re not leaving this room today.”

He untwines his fingers from yours so that he can pull your shirt off. In reality it’s actually one of his shirts, but you love to steal them from him and he’s not complaining. You look damn good in his clothes, though you look even better with nothing, but some expensive jewellery on. He chucks it to the side, not caring where it falls, and his head ducks down and his mouth is already closing around one of your nipples. He swirls his tongue around the hardened bud before gently tugging on it with his teeth. The action has you gasping as your fingers run through his hair, gently scratching his scalp. He groans again, enjoying the feeling of your nails.

He litters your chest with lovebites before repeating his actions with your other breast. You won’t be wearing anything super revealing for a while. Or maybe you still will. Show off to the world who you belong to. If he ever lets you out of this bed ever again.

Bruce loves the way that you respond to him. Back arching into his touch, fingers buried in his hair, tugging ever so slightly as the softest gasps and moans leave you. Those sweet noises of yours will only grow with his head buried between your legs. That thought has him releasing your nipple and trailing kisses down your body. 

When he reaches you underwear, he smiles. The growing, dark, wet patch on the crotch evidence of how aroused you are. He inhales your scent deeply before licking a bold stripe against your clothed cunt. The taste of you soaked into the fabric has his cock throbbing with the need to be buried deep inside of you. 

Ignoring your protests, he rips your underwear off of you and discards the ruined material somewhere off to the side. You get over the ruined garment pretty quickly, spreading your legs wider and showing off your glistening pussy. Bruce swallows thickly, his adam’s apple bobbing. He settles between your legs, hands coming up to hold your hips, getting ready to dive in and devour you. He’ll have you screaming his name in no time.

A knock at the door stops him right before his mouth comes into contact with you. Irritation flares through him and glares over his shoulder, at the door. At least, whoever it is, has the decency to knock and wait.

“What is it?” he calls, his voice sharp as he refuses to hide his irritation at being interrupted.

“Mr Kent is here. He says it’s important,” Alfred’s voice calls through the door. “And I’m afraid he isn’t going to take no for an answer.”

Bruce sighs. He’s been ignoring every text and call from him all weekend so he could be with– he had promised no interruptions– so he probably should have expected this. Still, if it’s not his public persona ruining things, it’s his mask. Sitting up, you cup his face and bring him close to you, your lips just barely brushing against his own.

“Ten minutes?” you ask.

It’s not the morning, or day, he imagined the two of you having, but it’s better than leaving you both wound up all day. He’s still going to be making it up to you later though and he already has plenty of ideas on how.

“I’ll be down in fifteen,” he calls back.

“Of course, sir. I’ll let him know.”

As Alfred’s steps retreat and eventually fade into nothing, Bruce pins you to the bed again. As he kisses you, you’re shifting beneath him. Your legs coming up to either side of his hips and your toes hooking into the waistband of his pyjamas so that you can shove them down. Finally freeing his cock from its clothed prison. He helps you get rid of them the rest of the way and then he’s spreading your legs further. He grips the base of his cock and rubs the head through your folds, coating himself in your slick. Even going as far as to tease your clit which has you sharply inhaling. Then he’s burying himself inside of you, right down to the hilt in a single thrust. The moan that leaves you is loud. Loud enough that Bruce is sure that it could be heard from well beyond the confines of the bedroom, even without super hearing.

It takes everything within him not to immediately start moving. His mind focused on giving you the time you need to adjust to his size. No matter how many times you take him, he’s still a lot for you and the last thing he wants to do is hurt you. You have other ideas though. You’re too impatient to wait for him this morning so you roll your hips, doing your best to fuck yourself on his cock. It makes holding himself back almost impossible.

“Brucie, please move,” you whine softly. Slowly getting frustrated with his lack of movement.

You always ask him so sweetly. Even without a time limit, how could he ever refuse you? The pace he sets to start with is a slow one. Dragging his cock along the inside of your sensitive walls, relishing in the way they flutter around him as a now quiet moan leaves your parted lips. That moan grows a little louder when he pushes back in. 

His pace grows a little bit each time that he pushes back in. Low groans leaving him, matching your moans. Your hot, wet cunt feels amazing wrapped around him, turning his brain to mush. Not enough though that he’s completely lost himself in the feeling of you. Well, not yet anyway. Give it some time and he’s sure he will.

Soon enough the sounds of skin against skin fill the room, alongside the squelching of your pussy every time he roughly thrusts back inside, growing louder and louder. You mewl beneath him, your cunt squeezing him tighter than before, drawing deep, throaty groans from him, desperately trying to stop him from leaving your warmth. With the way that you’re gripping him like a vice, he knows that he’s not going to last much longer.

“Fuck,” Bruce growls. He pulls away so he can hike your legs up onto his shoulders. The new angle has your eyes rolling into the back of your head as his cock reaches impossible deeper inside of you; turning you into a babbling mess.

He knows that you’re getting close to coming undone. After all, he knows your body like the back of his hand and he can see, and feel, all the telltale signs. The stuttering of your breathing, the tensing of your muscles, the way that your pussy squeezes him more and more, making it harder for him to pull out each time. All you need now is a little push over the edge that you’re teetering on. His thumb presses against your puffy clit, doing his best to rub it in time with his thrusts.

His name leaves you in a sob as your body clamps down on him, your cunt gushing around his cock as your orgasm soaks the sheets beneath you. The sight awakens something inside of him. Something almost primal. His pace slows only for a moment as his eyes become glued to your pussy, taking in the sight of your how your lower lips now glisten with your squirt. 

That moment ends as quickly as it started. As soon as his eyes break away from your pussy and come up to see the half lidded, fucked out expression on your face, he snaps out of his trance. His pace comes back tenfold, starting to fuck you harder and deeper than you would have thought possible. Not even giving you a chance to recover from your first orgasm as he has you headed straight toward the next one.

You’re a ball of oversensitivity, your back arching off of the bed and tears spilling from your eyes as you mewl his name. Whilst Bruce knows that he is completely and utterly pussydrunk. He’s known it for a while, how deep he is under your spell. His pace has completely lost whatever rhythm it once had. Uncoordinated and sloppy as he ruts into you, his cock growing harder and his balls getting tighter, ready to fill you to the brim.

He has half a mind to stay right here. Ignore Clark and spend the day doing what he had intended to begin with. Which involves him staying buried inside of you, keeping you stuffed with his cock and cum. If the previous weekend is anything to go by, it’s certainly something that you would not only enjoy, but deep down crave. Honestly, he craves it as well. 

His thumb stays pressed against your clit as he moves forward, almost folding you in half, so that he can kiss you. The kiss is supposed to be passionate, but ends up being sloppy and messy. It’s all tongue and teeth, but both of you are too far gone to actually care.

Your orgasm takes you both by surprise. Your moans are swallowed by Bruce as the feeling of your cunt clenching around his cock, doing it’s best to milk him of every drop he has to offer, sends him over the edge with you. His own moan is deep and guttural as he keeps thrusting, pushing his cum deeper inside of you, like he’s trying to make sure it takes. 

Just as it starts to become painful for him, Bruce slumps against you, letting your legs fall off of his shoulders and back down by his side; his head coming to rest against your chest. The only sound now in the bedroom is yours and Bruce’s heavy breathing as you both come down from your highs.

You run your fingers through his hair as he presses soft kisses down the valley of your breasts and underneath them. He sighs softly, enjoying the feeling of your nails gently scratching his scalp.

Slowly, and gently, he pulls out of you and rolls off of your body, to lay down by your side. Bruce’s fingers entwin with your own once more and he brings your hand up to his mouth so that he can press a kiss to the back of it. 

His reluctance to leave has you giggling. The sound brings a smile to his face. He is being rather childish in the way that he’s dragging this out. Acting like he might never see you again once he leaves this room. Which, honestly, could be true depending on what Clark has come here to discuss. He shoves the thought away, deciding he doesn’t want to think about that right now.

“I’ll still be here when you get back,” you tell him. You free your hand from his grasp so that you can roll onto your front. Draping a leg over his body, you lean up to kiss him. It’s gentle and sweet, just like you are. When you pull away, he chases after your lips, which has you giggling again.

“Go and save the world and when you come back–” you move forward more and press your lips to his ear– “I’ll do whatever you want.” 

Bruce chuckles as his hand comes down to playfully swat you ass. You gasp and playfully hit his chest. It only encourages him as he gives your ass a squeeze as he rubs his nose against your own.

“You should be careful making such promises, princess,” he says, his voice low. “It might come back to bite you.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” you reply cheekily. 

Bruce hums as he makes a move to kiss you again. In that exact moment there is a series of knocks at the bedroom door. These ones are louder and rougher. If they were a little bit harder they might forcibly remove the door from its hinges. He grumbles as you pull away and move off of him.

“You should probably go before your friend breaks the door down.”

“If he does that he can pay for it,” Bruce mutters, glaring at the door. He turns his attention back to you. “I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”

He’s already running through the different ways that he can do that in his head. At the top of the list is another getaway, but perhaps for a week instead of just a weekend. He just needs to find someone to look after the city while he’s gone.

[ranunculussy]

enigma | part 01.

tuesday

ꕥ part 02. | part 03. | part 04. | part 05. | part 06. ꕥ pair: Spencer Reid × BAU!fem!reader ꕥ warnings/tags: canon-typical violence, mentions of human trafficking, swearing, somewhat oblivious Reid and reader, age gap, moderately jealous Spencer, slow-burn, mutual pining, rivals to lovers, english isn't my first language so bear with me pls, idk about other warnings ꕥ word count: ~4k ꕥ summary: Spencer can't quite figure you, his rival out and this annoys him more than it should [this fanfic is also available on AO3 with the same title and username]

The violin's iconic, somewhat sharp sound sent shivers down your spine as the small, elegant live band started to perform one of their original songs. The tunes had a vintage, old-money vibe, which matched the deep, honey-like voice of the singer. In some way, their performance reminded you of Lana del Rey, even though the lyrics had no resemblance to the woman’s work.

The upper part of your elegant black dress hugged your body perfectly, while the skirt flowed gracefully around your legs. You dressed moderately so that you could be wired, but you still managed to fit into the fundraising gala you attended, mostly because Penelope did wonders with your makeup and hair. You seemed rich and smart. Like a calculated businesswoman, someone who knew exactly how to play their cards right. The only drawback was that if things came down to a chase, running in a long dress could cause trouble. And no, the high heels weren’t a problem, like at all. You couldn’t even count how many times you had to catch assholes in bars while wearing impossible shoes and sometimes also being tipsy, but you were always quick and efficient.

“See anything suspicious, babygirl?” came Derek’s voice from your earpiece which was disguised as an earring.

“All I see is suspicious” you murmured while raising the glass of champagne to your mouth as if you were drinking, to subtly cover your moving lips. “I cannot even count how many illegal deals were made under the table in this last hour.”

“Focus. Someone here has the exact time and coordinates of the next auction. If we lose that, we lose countless victims who are being trafficked” joined into the conversation your boss, the always collected and stoic Aaron Hotchner. You caught a glimpse of his figure from across the fancy, dimly lit ballroom. He was dressed elegantly, which wasn’t so different from his usual attire.

You carefully walked around, making your moves as elegant as possible. As if you were flowing amongst the crowd. You listened into conversations, trying to catch anything that’d indicate that the speaker had the information you needed. You and Aaron went undercover as attendees, mingling with the various guests who all had unimaginable net worth and power. It was intimidating but you tried not to think about it, afraid you’d blow your cover. The rest of the team was stationed near the entrances and exits. If the person who knew where the next auction was going to be held sensed that you were onto them and they’d try to slip away, the others could catch them outside.

“Try not to get distracted by the smooth-talking” you heard Reid’s almost condescending voice from your earpiece which made you tempted to take it off.

“On the very safe assumption that this was meant for me and not Hotch, fuck you.”

“Just saying” Reid laughed at the other end of the line but didn’t say more. If the case wasn’t as intense as it sadly was, he would’ve continued bickering. It would’ve been pointless trying to deny how much he enjoyed arguing with you, picking small fights, and being on your nerves, just as much as you were constantly dancing on his.

Ever since you joined the BAU almost a year ago now, you were the source of Dr Spencer Reid’s dilemmas. Solving problems, puzzles, solving everything was Reid’s thing. But even after nearly a year working together, he still couldn’t figure you out, which bothered him more than anything.

You walked into the BAU’s bullpen with a soft smile on your face, wearing black straight jeans and a lavender-coloured button-up shirt. The team knew about a newbie joining them, but they didn’t look up anything about you. The unintentional crossing of personal boundaries was a constant problem amongst them, they didn’t want to voluntarily ruin things by basically stalking you. So, you walked in with a shy smile on your face. Everyone was waiting but they didn’t want to make things awkward. Emily was the first one who walked up to you, whom you greeted with a genuine, warm smile. JJ should’ve walked you through the building while letting you know the basics and then introduce you to the team, but she was caught up at the bank, being late for the first time. That’s why you were more anxious than usual.

So, the first meeting was even more awkward than you’d previously anticipated. But the small group of unordinary individuals were welcoming. Derek cracked some jokes almost immediately, making you laugh and even fire back something quick-witted, starting the process of getting to know each other a bit more light-heartedly.

You quickly became a soft spot for everyone. You were kind, attentive and funny. You tried to memorize every small, personal detail about the others and later do things as they preferred. For example, once you caught Emily saying that for some reason, she always had a stomach-ache from cinnamon and since then, you always made sure that whenever you brought some snacks or cookies for the team, Emily never had any of that spice in it. You also noticed how Penelope obsessed over anything colourful and over the top – it would’ve been harder not to notice, to be honest, so every now and then you surprised her with small things like silly stickers or tiny figures to decorate her tech wizard cave.

It was so easy to have a conversation with you. You could talk for hours about literally anything, whether it was serious or something fun. You matched everyone’s vibe, fitting into the BAU family perfectly.

And now onto Spencer Reid. He first saw you as a rival. To begin with, you replaced him as the youngest, by far. And of course, the unofficial title of being the youngest of the BAU meant nothing, came with no benefits and didn’t matter. He wouldn’t be salty due to such a silly thing. He was way above that. Except that he wasn’t. He didn’t handle change that well, and the youngest title being ripped away from him, even if it was such a trivial matter, annoyed him.

It also turned out very quickly that you were intelligent as hell. Of course, dumb people can’t make it to the FBI. But above being intelligent and very well-read, you pointed out his flaws more than he liked. Obviously, you weren’t smarter than him. He had an IQ of 187, an eidetic memory, countless PhDs and BAs, years of experience and an overall thirst for knowledge, so it would’ve been impossible for almost anyone to outsmart the doctor. But he was also human. Sometimes, he made mistakes. Sometimes, his calculations were wronged by the unpredictable nature of humans. Of course, as a profiler, his field of expertise was human behaviour, but this field meant one of the highest chances of error, especially at the beginning of new cases, where a huge part of the profile was educated guesswork.

Many times, you were the one who found the possible mistakes in his calculations and theories, and you were the one who came up with the solution that helped the most in the end. However, even though you were intelligent and sharp, your mind, and due to that your way of thinking was rather chaotic. It seemed as if you were jumping to conclusions without a proper explanation which oftentimes sounded illogical at first, causing some arguments between the two of you. But you were smart. You were able to challenge him in a way very few people could. Your subtle rivalry gave him a feeling of rush, some adrenalin and a healthy kind of excitement. So, even if Spencer would’ve never admitted it, he enjoyed the louder arguments too.

On top of that, Spencer also didn’t fail to notice how you were considerate towards him too, even after some fights. You couldn’t be called friends either. You were co-workers with a continuous but tamed rivalry - while also joking around sometimes -, at best. Still, if you were making coffee in the breakroom, you usually brew a cup for Reid too, despite he rarely asked for it. You simply memorized the times of the day when he usually had his caffeine intake and if you were drinking at that same time too, you also gave a cup to him just the way he liked. Also, you were very mindful of physical contact. If you handed him anything, you made sure that your fingers weren’t touching.

Spencer liked this. He was so used to being the one who was willing to read the others around him and adjust, that the feeling of him being read and actively kept in mind felt very weird in a good way. Of course, he knew if he asked literally anyone in the team to do something differently or avoid doing something, if possible, everyone would comply without any problems. But he would’ve had to ask them. Not with you though. And that’s what he really appreciated.

And if all of this wasn’t enough for a confusing relationship between workmates, there was the problem of him, not being able to "decode" you entirely. You were chatty, very kind and open to literally anyone. You were helpful, patient and so on. You talked a lot. But what bothered Spencer is that even though you were always talking, you never said anything about yourself. The team didn’t even realize that they knew nothing about you. About the real you. You were so good at being the hyperactive, talkative sunshine of the group that it slipped past them how you carefully kept any kind of personal detail a secret. Or if they noticed it, they let it slide. Dancing around the topic of privacy amongst them was hard enough already. No one wanted to overstep.

But Reid was intrigued. He wanted to know more about the person who was able to so confidently push his buttons almost every day. He tried to ask some more specific questions, but you effortlessly managed to answer them without saying anything personal and still sounding natural. Sometimes he didn’t even notice that he was getting nowhere, only after the conversation was over.

To sum it up, you were an enigma. As his rival, you gave him excitement with each argument. As the team’s newest sweet girl, you tried your best to make everyone happy around you while completely shutting everybody out, without them noticing. The ball of sunshine who many times didn’t even flinch at the violence that surrounded them every day. For some reason, he couldn’t easily dissect your personality into a thousand different pieces and find a reason behind everything you do, as he usually does with others, and this annoyed him a lot.

“Y/N, I think I have something” murmured your boss into your ears through the earpiece, making you look for him in the crowd. You quickly caught a glimpse of his determined figure as he approached some men near the bougie marble fireplace.

“Should I join in?” you asked.

“Not yet. We have no exact profile of anyone who’s an attendant at the auctions. I’ll see how they react to me first.”

“All right, I’ll be close,” you said as you blended into the crowd nearby. You could only hear parts of the conversation the suspects were having since you had to engage in small talk and courtesy with others, so you wouldn’t stand out from the elite guests.

“…my wife will be here soon. She just went to get some champagne for me...” it was safe to say that this was your sign. Yes, calling you his wife was a bit unexpected, but not an entirely impossible scenario. When you were going through some phrases to use or not to use, how to be polite while remaining elegant, because politeness can easily be misjudged as being humble and weaker, Hotchner and you being married was also a highly optional outcome. This gala was so low-risk, filled with powerful and important people, that even those who were cheating with one or multiple other people, didn’t dare to bring their sidepieces. Those who had come with partners all came with their spouses. So, you grabbed another glass of champagne for your boss and walked over to him with a smile on your face.

He looked effortlessly elegant as he slightly leaned towards the marble fireplace while engaged in a conversation with two other men.

“Hey honey,” you said while tiptoeing and hinting a small peck at your boss’s face. You already knew that the team won’t ever shut up about this. You could almost hear their teasing. “I’ve brought your champagne.”

“Thank you, darling,” he said as he pulled you a bit closer by carefully placing his hands on your waist. “This is my wife, Charlotte, who I’ve mentioned before.”

“Cameron Wallace, nice to meet you, miss.”

“Brian Pierce, a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“The pleasure is mine, gentlemen,” you said with a small smile on your face as you reached forward with your right hand, allowing them to hint one small kiss above your knuckles.

“So, darling, you know how we have problems with finding someone who’d make our marriage more interesting while still keeping it confidential” Hotch started talking almost nonchalantly.

“Guys, Cameron Wallace was a hot topic a few months ago. He comes from old money and had everything planned for his life by his filthy rich parents up until a few months ago. He was newlywed when shit hit the fan. He cheated on his wife with some high-end swinger who then ratted out everything to the media. And by everything, I mean literally everything. Not just the hook up but every single business secret the family had. Cameron got divorced, disowned and kicked out from the Wallace Corps, which is still at its lowest, by the way,” chimed in Garcia, giving you a little heads up, helping in which direction you should take the conversation.

“Ah yes. Nowadays you can never be sure about who you’re letting into your home. One minute you could lay in bed with them, the other minute they’re selling all your secrets and ruining your reputation, your whole life you’ve been working so hard for. It’s such a shame, really.” you said while you placed your palm on your chest as if you were soothing your aching heart. And bingo. Cameron caught the bait. By empathizing with him, even if it seemed unintentional on his part, he automatically felt more at ease around you.

“Totally agree. You could even buy a house for these whores and most of them would still sell you out” Cameron rolled his eyes. He was tall and conventionally attractive. Wavy dark brown hair, deep green eyes, muscular build, blindingly white teeth. Everyone who looked at him was able to tell that he was a total bitch.

“It’s awful what money does to people nowadays” I agreed, feeding into his ego. Brian was silent, more collected. He seemed older too, more around the age of Hotchner than you.

“Mr. Pierce seems weirdly clean and unproblematic, so it’s safe to assume that he paid a shit ton to get his past erased. For him, I’ll need more time.” rambled Penelope into your ears, and you took this as a warning to proceed with caution if it comes to the older man.

“I’m sorry, it must be a mistake on my side, but I didn’t quite catch your last name, Charlotte,” said suddenly the man. For a quick moment, panic rushed through you. He didn’t ask for Aaron’s full name, Garcia let you know via your earpiece. He was testing you directly. But you had no idea whether he was looking for a submissive wife or a confident, almost dominant one. You knew he was already playing out a fantasy, including you and if you picked the wrong role, the whole mission was fucked.

Okay, let’s calm down, Y/N. You are an excellent profiler; you can easily figure out a man. If I look at them as a team, Pierce is obviously the dominant one. Even if both are alpha males, Wallace is younger and short-tempered, probably narcissistic too. Brian Pierce seems smarter and much more manipulative, even able to control Cameron without him noticing it. I think he gets off on feeling powerful as an authority figure. He didn’t even talk that much with Hotchner, recognising that they’re somewhat similar which didn’t interest him, and only joined in the conversation when I was talking too much.

“I have my husband’s last name, of course,” you said with a shy smile while you started to fidget with your fingers and avoided Pierce’s gaze. “I think it would be disrespectful towards him to have it any other way, sir.” you heard a small, approving hum from Brian, so short you almost missed it. But this gave you the green light you desperately hoped for.

“And let me ask you a somewhat indiscrete question, miss. Is it you who wants to spice up your marriage with an additional person or your husband?”

“Both of us, Mr. Pierce. I love my husband more than anything. Everything I have is thanks to him and his hard work. I am truly fortunate that I caught his interest a few years ago in a similar event and I want to do everything to keep him interested. So, if he is curious about how it would be to have a third person in our bed, I’m more than happy to… experiment. I am just afraid that this person would try to harm my dear Aaron in any way.”

You heard the others snorting or even laughing at your monologue in other parts of the line and you almost broke character yourself. At this point, you couldn’t even blame the others for making fun of you in the future. You totally deserved it.

Your boss was silently looking at you, playing the part of a manipulative husband who was satisfied with his wife’s answers, revolving around him and only him.

“In that case, may I recommend a small event? Not even an event, I’d much rather call it a confidential get-together between people with similar interests. My wife and I had a similar problem, and we found a solution there not so long ago. She is a perfect addition to our lives without causing any difficulties.”

“I’d be more than open to anything, Brian,” said Hotchner with a small smirk on his face as he pulled you closer to him.

“One of my dear friends will host a private party in one of his villas in the countryside this weekend, I’m hoping to see you there,” said Pierce, shook Aaron’s hand and left, not even bothering to say goodbye to you. Cameron nodded and also left, leaving you two to be.

You slowly lowered your gaze to Hotch’s palm, in which there was a small, seemingly normal name card. But both of you knew it was so much more than that. It was your clue and a ticket to the auction, being held four days from now. The mission was successful; however, it came with the awkward part of having to play husband and wife for the rest of the night with your boss, to avoid suspicion.

“I am so sorry, L/N. They were giving subtle hints of the event, but I couldn’t get through them alone. They are alpha males, and I figured they needed to test you since both see women as a possible liability, even the wives.” apologized Aaron quietly, as if he was whispering something entirely different to you.

“It’s okay boss, we both knew this outcome could be a possibility,” you said and took a small sip of champagne. “I bet the team won’t let this slide anytime soon, though.”

“I wouldn’t even dare dream of it. Still, nice work, Agent,” he said in his usual, stoic demeanour, only his slight smile gave away that he was proud and satisfied with your performance. Without you, as the dumb, obedient wife, the team couldn’t get the information about where the traffickers would hold the next auction.

×××

“I am just afraid that this person would try to harm my dear Aaron in any way,” said Derek in a high-pitched voice with closed eyes and palms pressed on his chest. You were in your everyday attire, finally being able to move comfortably without the heavy dress.

“I love my husband more than anything. Oh my God, what would I even do without my precious husband?” joined in Emily, with a huge grin on her face that she couldn’t hide. The team finished for that day. It was way past the end of their work hours, but since the gala was held late at night, all of them were aware that this would stretch into whatever plans they originally had. They were in the small, stingy locker room, getting their coats and bags so they could leave the building.

“I’m so glad you’re enjoying yourselves at my expense, guys,” you said as if you were annoyed, but couldn’t hide the playful smile that was plastered on your face.

“Careful, her darling Aaron will beat your asses if you push the matter too far,” even Rossi had some commentary, in his usual, seemingly monotone style.

You couldn’t control the situation. Not that you wanted that much. You always enjoyed the light-hearted bickering and how everyone joined in when there was a chance to get on someone’s nerves.

“Can we expect another little Hotchner soon?” asked Reid not so far from you, who was organizing the contents of his brown satchel bag. His wavy brown hair hid most of his face as he looked down into the bag, but the tone of his voice gave you a hint that he was also just joining the others in teasing you. With his long, delicate fingers he carefully sorted out the books, newspapers, pen case and spectacle case that got mixed up in today’s work.

“If my dear husband deems that we need another small prodigy, I am more than happy to do my wifely duties and give him a child,” you said and tried to act as if you wholeheartedly believed every single word you said, causing the team to laugh at your silliness.

“Come on, Mrs Dutiful Wife, you’ll have plenty of time for that, now let’s finally call it a day,” said Derek jokingly as he hugged your shoulders with one arm and started to walk out from the locker room next to you.

Dr Spencer Reid was standing next to his open locker, gazing forward but not looking at anything. His brows were furrowed, and he looked quite annoyed. Like, when a crossword puzzle was made incorrectly, ruining his whole morning. What’s funny is that he had no idea why he felt that way, which made him even more pissed.

“Coming, Reid?” came the question from Emily who was about to leave the small room. He noticed that the doctor was standing in one place, so she called out.

“Of course, sorry. I just zoned out for a moment. Long day.”

He hated not understanding exactly everything about himself.

thank you so much for reading my work, hope you're having an awesome day! divider from @cafekitsune gif from @reidgif

[dollfacefantasy]

hi! i just finished reading your most recent fic, (amazing btw 💕) and keep reflecting on the part where leon calls reader a little disappointing.. so i was wondering if you could write some angst with DI leon where he’s quite mean and degrading and saying how he’s disappointed and stuff with reader, yk! then leon lovingly fucks reader after as a way to say sorry? (daddy kink included) thank you <3

pairing: leon kennedy x fem!reader

summary: leon goes a little too hard on you one night during sex. upon realizing how much it hurt you, he knows he has to make it up somehow.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, daddy kink, praise/degradation, age gap (20s, early forties), mentions of spanking & not using safeword

word count: 5.2k

a/n: part 1 <3 took me a while to figure out how i wanted to do this but i hope you guys enjoy.

Something isn't right.

That's all you could think while watching Leon idly stir pasta sauce at the stove. You were perched nearby at the counter, observing him as if he was under experimentation. While to anyone else his actions would appear completely mundane, you knew that this gesture was only the first step in something larger. 

He never cooked you dinner. In the year and six weeks you'd been with him, he'd only ever made you a real meal twice before. Once being six weeks ago on your anniversary, and the other about four months before that, a couple days after you had a fight that nearly blew the wheels off your relationship.

In each case, there was a reason behind it. Whether to celebrate or make amends, neither was an innocuous decision made at random. You weren't even sure that Leon possessed the ability to be spontaneous, but that was a separate issue for another time. The obvious meaning behind his actions was the cause of the splashing of the noodles being poured into the boiling water making your stomach turn. 

Because today wasn't anything special. There wasn't a birthday or an achievement to make an occasion of. That meant it was the other option, the makeup option, and you were extra sure of this because the two of you hadn't exactly been the perfect picture of being in love lately.

"Honey, could you put these on the table for me?" he asks, pulling you out of your thoughts.

He looks at you over his shoulder to make sure you see the plates and silverware he's referring to.

"Yeah, sure," you respond.

You hop off the stool you were sitting on and grab the things he wanted you to. This was even worse. He wasn't going to let you eat in peace at the counter like you did when he wasn't here. No, he was going to stare you down across the dining table.

But you still do what he asks. Sighing, you haphazardly put a plate down on both ends of the table with silverware bordering each side to match. You grab glasses next and put them there too. Once everything is in its perfect place, you plop down at your seat, deciding to wait here until he joins you. This chair was out of view from the kitchen which meant you could get a few moments alone to brace yourself.

It's not that anything terrible was going to happen. It was just going to be a conversation. But it would be a relationship conversation, an emotional conversation, something neither of you were good at.

You weren't good at it because you'd never been good at it. Ever since you were a kid, the slightest spotlight put on your feelings had barbs forming in your throat and stinging, salty tears brimming your lash line. Everything had to be coaxed out of you, or you were sure to break down. 

Leon wasn't good at it because his version of a conversation came across more as an interrogation. When talking about feelings, he never wanted to talk about his own. He'd never share what was going on in his own head, he only wanted to know what was going on in yours. You were the one struggling; therefore, you were the one he needed to help. You were the mission to be resolved.

You supposed that was consistent with everything else about the man you loved. He always wanted to be the one in control, the one managing the details of your life. It came from the desire to protect. He showed his love by keeping you safe, keeping you from being like him. He went away for weeks on end following orders. When he came home, he liked to be the one doling them out.

And that was how you liked it too. You weren't some unwilling victim. When he offered to try this stuff out with you, you couldn't have been happier. You liked being told to do this and do it now. You liked the security of his lap, the promise that no matter how bad things got he would be there to wipe away your tears and make it all better.

You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose. You were pretty sure you knew what the specific topic of conversation would be tonight. You'd been distant lately. You could already hear his voice ringing through your head telling you that. For the past couple weeks, you hadn't been you. You hadn't been as sweet on him, kissing his cheeks and stroking his hair while you cuddled. Hadn't been hanging off his body or climbing all over him every chance you got. Hadn't been as eager to squeal daddy when he made you cum.

You knew why, and you knew he didn't. That was by design though. You didn't want him to know. This whole situation had spiraled so far out of control, and you just wanted to sweep your mess under the rug and forget about it. You didn't need daddy's help cleaning it up.

It shouldn't even be that big of a deal. Nothing that bad had happened.

The night that had your panties in a bunch happened a few weeks ago. You'd had a shitty day and so had Leon. You were looking to act out, and he was looking to punish.

You gave him some attitude. A few eye rolls and sharp responses when he asked you things. Looking back, you think maybe you should've sensed he was in a bad mood and just dropped it. That's when the other part of you chimes in and wonders why he couldn't do the same for you. Why couldn't he feel out your emotions and realize you needed him? But then you start to feel emotionally stunted, expecting your boyfriend to be a mind reader. 

This internal conversation never gets very far.

That night he hadn't read your mind. He'd taken you over his lap and given you a spanking. It was pretty standard. You'd had over a dozen of those by his hand at this point. The slaps weren't the problem. His palm hit you all the same, bringing the sting you craved. The part that stuck with you and created this wedge was just him. It was how he spoke, the way he looked at you. 

You could still see the eyes you fell in love with looking at you with nothing but disappointment.

You could still hear him growling in your ear when he had you bent in half and fucked you afterwards. He had you face down on the couch, holding your head against the cushion while he jackhammered into you.

"If you want my attention, all you have to do is ask. You know that. But you never fucking do it. You play these games with me. You think I wanna put up with that? You think I come home and wanna hear you bitching at me too?"

You weren't even sure what about it had got you. It was harsh, sure, but it was supposed to be.

"I want you to be a good girl. To behave. I don't want to deal with a bratty little slut."

He'd said stuff like that before. But in that moment it didn't feel like daddy was mad at you, it felt like your boyfriend was. It didn't feel like you were naughty or misbehaving. It felt like you were pathetic.

"You want daddy's attention so bad, next time you say please like you're supposed to. Don't make me go through the chore of disciplining your ass again. I'm over it."

By some miracle you still got to cum. He came inside you like normal. When he pulled out he'd fallen back onto the cushions of the couch to catch his breath. He lied there, fingers wiping the sweat from his brow as if he'd put in a hard day's work. You sat there unsure of what to do with yourself. After he'd come down a little more, he'd pulled you close, kissed all over your face like normal and taken to you to bed. But you'd laid there with your eyes open, trying not to cry as he snored against the back of your neck.

You're snapped out of your memories by the thud of the pot on the dining room table. Leon stood a few feet away from you, oven mitts on both hands as he placed the dish between your seats. He cracks a smile at you when you look up and meet his eyes.

"I made way too much. I hope you're hungry," he teases.

You respond with a weak grin of your own. Sitting up straight in your chair, you blink a few times and rub your face as if that'd be enough to clear away the past and magically fix everything.

Two of his fingers duck below your chin and guide you to look at him again.

"You ok?" he asks. His voice is tender like it is most of the time when he speaks to you.

"Yeah. I'm just tired," you tell him with a more convincing smile. You're not sure if it works, but he seems to accept it for now.

"Alright," he says, leaning down and kissing the corner of your mouth.

He takes his seat across the table, opposite yours. You get the privilege of serving your portion first. You shovel a helping of pasta onto your plate. The red sauce spreads on your plate, and you grab a piece of toast to soak some of it up. Leon repeats your actions and gets some of the food for himself. He had made too much. You'd definitely have leftovers, but that was nothing to complain about. He made dinner before these conversations for a reason. Like anything else, he was a good cook when he wanted to be.

The meal starts off silent as you had expected it to. You both eat instead of trying to talk. Forks hitting plates and bread crunching into two fills the room in the place of words. A sense of calm comes over you, but you know it won't last forever. Eventually, Leon does break the silence with some basic questions. How was your day, wasn't this summer heat killer, did you see he fixed that thing in the garage you'd asked him to. It's fine. Just fine like everything had been for the past couple weeks.

The conversation reaches another lull though, and this is when he goes for the killing strike.

"Baby, I think we need to talk," he sighs.

You raise your eyebrows as if you hadn't been expecting this.

"About what?" you ask after swallowing your mouthful of pasta.

Now he raises his eyebrows. He's not disappointed, but he knows you're playing dumb and doesn't appreciate it. It's affectionate though. It doesn't look like it did a few weeks ago.

"I know something's bothering you," he tries softly.

"I told you I was tired," you shrug and look away.

"It's not just today though. It's been more than a few days," he says.

You sigh and put your fork down. You're conscious of every part of your reaction in an effort to avoid looking pouty or melting into tears.

"I don't know. The past few weeks I just haven't felt great. It's not like a crisis situation or something," you say.

"Then tell me about it, sweetheart," he says, trying to will you to look up at him with his gentle tone, "I want to help, but I don't know what's wrong. Every time I try, you pull away."

"Not on purpose," you add. It's an important defense to you.

"I'm not saying it's on purpose," he says. You can tell he's trying to be as non-confrontational as possible. Maybe he does pick up on your emotions a little bit. "All I'm saying is that I'm worried about you."

And with one little sentence, you feel the spikes starting to poke through. You look down and place your palm on your eyes. You felt ten times more pathetic than you had a few weeks ago. He can see you're getting closer to breaking, so he continues.

"You can talk to me. If you need something or I did something, I just want to make it better," he continues, "I don't like not knowing what's going on in that pretty head. I like it even less seeing you look so sad."

Your lip wobbles. A last resort to hold in the barrage of emotions. "It's nothing," you choke out.

"It's not nothing if it has you this upset," he counters, speaking quietly, "Just talk to me, little love."

That's all it takes, and you can't hold it anymore. Tears leak from your water line and draw limpid streaks down your face. You bite your lip to nip any audible cries in the bud. It doesn't matter though, he still sees the small droplets of water.

"My baby," he coos, "C'mere."

You rise to your feet in an instant and round the table. He pushes his chair back and takes you into his lap. You're cradled by his warmth, safe against his chest as he rubs your back. As much as you loved mentally complaining about his interrogations, maybe this is what you needed. Maybe this worked for you.

"You're ok. I'm right here," he murmurs. 

He kisses your hairline and cups the back of your neck to keep you close. He lets you cry it out before attempting any more questions. Once it seems you've settled though, the spotlight is back on you.

"What's wrong, sunshine?" he whispers.

Try as he might, you still couldn't bring yourself to say the words. It was like two wires in your brain that just did not physically connect. Expressing pain was hard enough, but expressing pain that he caused? This inability killed you, it really did. Thinking about it brings another sob from your lips. You wanted to beat your own ass till she had enough of a spine to just say a few simple words so this could all be over.

You can't do that though, so Leon continues on with his tender questions.

"Can you tell me when you started feeling this way?" he asks with a hint of hesitation.

There that was one you could answer. "Few weeks ago."

He nods, taking any information he could get as crucial.

"Alright... is there something stressing you out?" he asks.

You shake your head. Technically there was something stressing you out, but while you were breaking down, 'stressing out' was code for responsibilities, so the answer is no.

"Problems with your friends?"

Another head shake.

"Family?"

No.

"...Me?"

You almost shake your head again. You could swing just making something up on the spot. But that wouldn't be right to him. He'd done the work of the guessing game and come to the conclusion fair and square. You nod yes.

A whirlpool of emotion forms in his pupils, but it's almost like he knew he was to blame. He nods and sighs. His hand doesn't stop rubbing your back.

"Ok," he breathes, "You gotta give me a hint, honey."

You found words coming a bit easier now that he had led you this far.

"Remember a few weeks ago when you got mad at me?" you rasp and look at him with your watery eyes.

He blinks at you. "We got into a fight a few weeks ago?" he asks. 

There's genuine confusion in his tone. He didn't remember. Or at least this day didn't stick out in his mind. He hadn't been dwelling on it since it happened, hadn't been wondering if it meant something greater in the context of your relationship. You weren't sure if that brought you relief or frustration.

"No. It was like... it was when I had a bad day and I came home and you were watching that stupid cop show. And I kept talking. And you told me to shut up. And I said you were only watching it cause you didn't know how to change the channel," you list off some of the events that led to the infamous incident.

He smiles upon remembering that little joke. He found it funny. Then why did he get so mean?

"Don't tell me you've been mad cause I wouldn't let you watch your show instead," he teases.

"No, it's not that. Remember after when you spanked me? And then we fucked on the couch..." you sniffle.

He pauses to think about your words. The gears turn in his head, the pieces fall into place. The lightbulb goes off in his eyes.

"Oh yeah. I remember that," he says. He remembers, but he doesn't understand. "What about it?"

His thumb swipes a few tears away while waiting for the answer you were still trying to formulate.

"Well... like... I don't know," you start. You felt ridiculous verbalizing it. "You just kinda hurt my feelings."

His brows furrow. He still doesn't get it.

"Hurt your feelings?" he repeats, "I didn't hit you too hard, did I? You know if that ever happens you have the word. You say it, and I stop for you in a heartbeat. You know that."

"It didn't hurt like that... it's just some of the stuff you said," you say. The urge to pull away is starting to come back.

"Sweetheart," he says. His voice is dripping with concern. He didn't remember saying anything bad enough that you'd still be twisted into knots over it multiple weeks later. "You know you can use the word for that kind of thing too. Please tell me you know that."

"I know that," you start, feeling a little ashamed. This was exactly why you didn't want to talk about this.

"If I say something that hurts you this bad, you need to tell me. Right when I say it. You tell me to stop. You let me remind you it's not real," he says, quiet but firm. He holds you tighter, unintentionally squeezing more tears out of you. "I only say things I think will get you off. I don't say them to hurt you."

You hide your face in his neck. You felt so fucking pathetic.

"Hey, hey, hey. Shhh. It's ok. I just... I want you to understand, baby," he murmurs. He rocks you back and forth on his lap a bit before speaking again. "Can you tell me why you didn't use the word?"

Leon prayed with everything he had that it wasn't because you were scared of him. If that was it, you might as well pick up the fork off the table and jam it right into his heart. You don't answer, and it worries him. All he gets from you is the feeling of tears dribbling down his throat.

"Did it not hurt till afterwards? Did you think I wouldn't stop?" he coaxes.

You shake your head. "Cause... because I don't want you to think I can't take it," you weep.

While he's relieved it's not what he feared, he didn't expect this.

"What do you mean? You can't take it?" he repeats.

"I don't want you to think I'm a bratty little girl. I told you that stuff was ok, and I don't wanna tap out and make you feel all guilty and stuff," you cry, the words rushing from your mouth.

He sighs and his eyes close for a second. He did feel like a piece of shit now, but with what you just said, he didn't want you knowing that.

"My sweet girl," he says against your head while rubbing your back, "I would never think that about you. The word is there for you to use it whenever you want. It doesn't matter if it makes me worry I hurt you. That's not a bad thing."

You cry more into his neck, clinging to him as if you're trying to merge into one.

"I just don't wanna disappoint you," you sob.

"Baby, baby, baby," he whispers, holding you tight against his chest and rocking you again, "You never disappoint me. You don't. Not when you act bratty, not when you break a rule. That shit is all a game. It's a game, and if you don't like it, we don't have to play it.

"I know you're sensitive. I know you get emotional. I'm with you knowing that stuff. It doesn't make me think of you as an obligation. I like being daddy, but it doesn't make me think of you like that. If it makes you feel like that, we can stop. You're more important than any of it."

"I do like it," you weep, "I just... I don't want you to think I'm pathetic."

"I don't think that. I never have," he says and kisses your temple, "You're my baby. My pretty girl. My favorite person on this planet."

You sniffle and snake your arms around him tighter.

"Pathetic or disappointment never cross my mind when I look at you. Half the time I don't even have thoughts when I see you. You're so fucking gorgeous you take 'em all away," he whispers.

He nudges your head out of the crook of his neck so he can see you. His lips land on your forehead first. Then your nose. Then each cheek. And finally your lips.

"Look at me," he whispers.

You do what he asks and look up at him. You look into his eyes. These were the eyes you fell in love with.

"You are not a disappointment," he says before a kiss, "You are not pathetic. I love you. I love you when you're being good or when you're being a little shit. I love when you wanna call me daddy, but you'd still be mine if you decided you never wanted to say that word again."

"I still wanna call you daddy," you sniffle and give him a small smile.

He chuckles and returns the expression. "That was a quick decision," he teases, "Doesn't sound like you thought it through."

"I did. I still want my daddy," you say and put your head down on his shoulder.

"Good. Cause I'm right here," he says softly, "Daddy's got you."

The problem wasn't totally resolved in Leon's mind. Never again did he want to cause you weeks worth of stress over something like this. But for now, he was happy to see you smile. He could accept this temporary fix. He nuzzles your neck and places a few soft kisses on your throat.

"I think daddy needs to make it up to his baby for being so mean to her. For making her cry like that," he whispers.

A warm tingle branches out through your spine and curves around your ribs. You scoot closer to him in his lap and shrug, wrapping your arms around his neck.

"Don't give me that shrug. You know you like being spoiled. Being the center of attention," he whispers.

"Yeah..." you whisper in his ear.

He grunts as he rises to his feet with you in his arms. Your legs lock around his waist before his feet even start moving. He'd clean up the table later. Right now was about you.

He carries you through the house, tosses you onto the bed. You squeak at your glide through the air. He pulls his shirt off and drops his pants before climbing on top of you. Always efficient your Leon.

The warm lengths of his muscular limbs encompass you against the mattress. He starts by kissing you on the mouth, but his lips soon trail down to your neck. Tongue and teeth brush over the balmy skin of your neck. He nips a few hickeys along the curve of your throat, listening for every little hitch in your breath or stifled moan.

"Always with those pretty little noises..." he mumbles against your skin.

He inhales you before moving away, gets his fix of your scent before his hands push your shirt over your head and toss to the floor with his. His hands rub up and down your side, gently squeezing and massaging while his mouth migrates towards your chest. He lays kisses at the tops of your breasts. He can feel your heart pattering against his lips. It drives him crazy, feeling what he does to you down to that level.

Your legs wrap around his waist and pull his body closer. You couldn't get close enough after the weeks of distance. He groans as his crotch comes flush against yours. It's as if he can feel the heat of your center through the layers of cloth that separate you.

He kisses between your breasts, forcing himself to remove your bra before he thinks about your pants. He nuzzles the two spheres of flesh with all the care he holds in his body. He'd never been good with words, and the last few weeks proved as much. Showing you physically how he feels is easier.

"Haven't been able to kiss my girls properly in too long," he murmurs and glances up at you, cocky smile in his eyes.

"You're stupid," you laugh quietly.

"Hey. That's not a nice word, princess. Not one you should be calling your daddy," he chides before giving one of your nipples a few sucks.

You sigh contently and arch into the wet embrace of his mouth. "Sorry daddy," you smile.

"I'm sure you are."

He gives your tits some more attention, but he'd be lying if he said he wasn't antsy to get his fingers wet. They fumble with the button on your shorts before he lifts your legs and practically tears the garment loose. He kisses your ankle and down your calf to your knee where his hands take over and press them up against your torso. He can feel your slick creating a wet patch on the front of his boxers and ruts into it. His cock grows stiffer beneath the fabric as if trying to get to you.

"You ready for me, babydoll? Dripping like a good girl? Gonna be nice and easy for daddy to slide right in," he says while leaning down to be close to you.

You nod eagerly, your nose bumping against his.

"Nothing makes it better than having daddy inside, hm?" he coos.

"Don't need anything else," you say and sling your arms around his neck.

That's all he needs to hear. He pushes his underwear down his legs enough so that his cock is free. You feel it slot between your puffy outer folds and prod at your entrance.

He slips it inside, and you both groan. Your head tilts back, allowing him to kiss at your neck some more. You'd had sex since that fight, but this was the first time you were feeling full. The first time you were feeling like his again.

"Daddy," you whine and grab at him. Just what he'd been missing.

His hips start to rock. The bones in his pelvis press right up against your ass. He fucks you deep and slow at first. Each thrust glides over a myriad of sweet spots. Every time he pulls back, you just want him to push right back in.

"That's it, honey. Tell daddy how much you missed him," he grunts.

You don't say it with words. You tighten up around him, squeezing his dick like if it gets out you'll die. The sensation wrangles a moan out of him, and his face drops into your neck. He digs his forearms into the mattress and uses the leverage to pump himself into you harder.

"My perfect, perfect girl. Don't know what I'd do without you," he whispers.

Your eyes flutter shut. You just listen to the sound of his panting, feel his heart beating for you. Your thighs tremble while pressing into his waist. Your toes curl as his hips strike the right angle to batter right where you need him.

"You could never disappoint me," he mutters. You feel his lips moving against your throat. "I love you, sweet girl. Nothing you do could ever change that."

The words are almost enough to make you get all weepy again, but you'd cried enough for one day. Instead your body latches onto him tighter.

"Harder," you whimper.

"You sure, baby?" he hums.

Your nod comes quickly. "Need to feel it more. Need it harder."

So he gives it to you harder. His eyes clamp shut and shroud his vision in darkness. He focuses on thrusting hard, clapping his skin against yours over and over. He pounds into you while pressing his face harder against you too.

You show your gratitude with a whine. His shaft hits just right, fills you up just the way you'd been aching for.

"Almost there, daddy- Can I-" you stumble over words.

"Yeah, sweetheart. You don't gotta ask tonight. You cum when you're ready," he says.

That's how you know he's really sorry. He keeps fucking into you until he feels your limbs fizzling from the proximity to release. Everything about you gets shaky. Your breaths are ragged and labored, your hands vibrate while trying to clutch at him.

"Fuck fuck fuck," you whimper.

The spark goes off inside you, and you cum hard. Your body goes taut and rolls through the waves of euphoria. He can't resist your walls pulsating around him. It's only a handful of seconds before his tummy is fluttering and his seed is spilling from him into your cunt.

"Inside, daddy," you whine as if he needed the direction.

"That's what I'm doing, baby," he grunts through clenched teeth.

He drools against your neck while his hips twitch and the last few drops leak from him. The saliva gets smeared in the messy kisses he leaves on you while pulling out. He rolls over but scoops you up with him, cradling you against his chest in a position that isn't necessarily comfortable but you love anyway.

A series of over the top kisses land on your face. You scrunch your nose and shake your head.

"Quit it. I already forgave you," you giggle, "You don't gotta slobber on me."

"Tsk tsk. Ungrateful," he tuts affectionately, "You know if I didn't give you these, you'd be begging for 'em."

"Mmm... maybe," you acquiesce with a little smile.

"Sure, sure. Maybe. Silly girl," he mumbles and nuzzles your cheek.

The playful touches continues for a moment before he calms down and softens up. You look towards his eyes, and his fingers sweep down your cheek.

"You're ok now?" he asks.

You nod. "We're ok now."

To give him the final shred of reassurance that you could, you stick out your pinky. He rolls his eyes, but sticks his out to and hooks it with yours. He knew you were back to yourself since your inability to be serious had made a reappearance. He smacks a kiss on your lips to seal the deal. He can feel you smiling into it.

[twistedpink]

Mc inserts x TWST characters pt.2 (OG post) (Pt.3)

(non-yuu pairings that fit into the plot of twst, if you like this then you might want to look at the first part!)

Savanclaw!Mc x Cater Diamond

Enemies to lovers with your favourite diva!! The two of you compete constantly through magicam and spelldrive, getting progressively pettier until the only solution is to kiss it out.. You’re trying to keep an ear out for your junior, and it just so happens Cater’s sniffing out your plan to go for gold in this year’s tournament. You might as well take the chance to mess with him! It’s so easy to love the face he makes when you give him the slip, and you’re totally making it your wallpaper when this is all over.

“Yo, Babe! If you’re in the same dorm, then you know Ruggie, yeah? We need to have a chat”

“Ohmigod you totally think all beastmen know each other, don’t you?? cancled :)”

Shroud!Mc x Vil Schoenheit

Ids attached himself to engineering and gaming pretty early, but your passion is fully unattainable. You’d clung onto pop idols and the art of stage makeup from an early age. Your longest running interest by far is Vil Schoenheit,, He rescued you from destructive habits and encouraged you to value self improvement. You’ve probably invested millions into his career (every thaumark sent anonymously, you’d die if he started to recognize your attached messages). Supporting Ortho in his SDC audition is your official reason to talk with him, and all the teasing from Idia will be so worth it when your Schoenheit debut palette gets signed! You’ve kept it in mint condition behind glass for years admiring it- and waiting for THE day.

“Mr. Schoenheit? My younger brother performed for you today, and uh, your signature please?”

“Normally I’d send both of you home for this. I’m sure you’re well aware of my paparazzi policy, However, I haven’t seen this particular relic in years! Just what have you done to preserve the quality?”

Pomefiore!Mc x Ruggie Bucchi

You’re #1 in the business of pissing off your parents- shopping copious amounts and then going to school across the country satiated you for awhile, but they’ve done something particularly revenge worthy now. The best scandal you can think of is getting a trashy boytoy to bring home for the break, but you’re not really into idiots.. Ruggie can be a very good actor given the right motivations, and he might even fool you into a real relationship before next semester.

“C’mon it’s not like I’ll need a script, sugar. I’m a natural, scout’s honor!”

“Either way, it won’t hurt to rehearse for convenience :/ Kiss me now so we don’t look stupid later.”

Scarabia!Mc x Floyd leech

God you hate that fish faced idiot >:( It’s bad enough that the housewarden’s moodswings guaranteed your holiday plans were all shot, but now Jamil’s getting hounded by the mafia! It’s your responsibility to get them off his back, but it’s not like you’re enjoying it. Somehow it’s even worse to watch Floyd when he’s playing dumb, and his emotional roller coaster keeps you walking on eggshells. The show must go on though, and if you’ve gotta play “wrestle until the biting stops” then you’ll do it :/

“Floyd, it’s dinner time, and I will tear you a new one if it means you’ll get moving.”

“PLEASEEEE tiger sharky just one more round :( I’ll even give your pen back!!”

Octavinelle!Mc x Kalim Al-Asim

You’re probably one of the most talkative of octavinelle students, and definitely a solid salesman. Kalim’s a prime target for resales and marketing practice, so naturally you join the pop music club. A year of “playing nice for the jackpot” leads you to lie awake at night, terrified that he’ll see through your facade and ditch you- it would cut off your best friendship, you’d be forced to leave the club! At some point you realize you’d stopped selling him things months ago, and your worst nightmare happened right under your nose. You fell in love.

“Hey, that solo was so inspiring! You’re really making progress!”

“It still isn’t on par with yours, though. Are you available to keep practicing after school? I’m sure Jamil would appreciate the break, and I would enjoy the company..”

Staff!Mc x Lilia Vanrouge

Of course your first job would come with some pet bat, it was too good to be true :( Full time at a bits and bobs shop near one of the best schools in the country WITH flexible hours? You must’ve been desperate to accept without reading about your babysitting in the footnote. He comes in everyday during your shift (regardless of the hours you take, it’s like he has a sixth sense), and has the audacity to exist in your space! It’s not like he even does anything to get banned!! He just stands there. Menacingly. You’re waiting for the day where he leaves convincing evidence that he’s there to traffic you or something- because if you didn’t know better you’d think he has a big, fat crush on you.

“Darling, how is the shop? I’ve taken care of those juvenile delinquents for you!”

“Taken care of? Whatever. Get back to class, kid.”

[tsireyasluvr]

Beautiful girl

lo’ak x fem!human reader

Authors note: this fic was inspired by this post. can u tell this boy has been on my mind 24/7? anyway, i hope u guys enjoy this, especially for my insecure girls🫶

Summary: reader has insecurities about her looks and body, struggling to put them at ease. lo’ak finds a way to make her think otherwise

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, aged up!lo’ak, smut, mild angst, body dysmorphia, mentions of anxiety, comfort, soft dom lo’ak, praises, slow sex, oral (fem receiving), marking, dry humping, whining, moaning, p in v, i think that’s all? lmk if i missed anything!

“what are you doing?” lo’aks voice unexpectedly came through, startling you.

shit.

you were looking in the mirror, half naked in your dorm at the lab since you were in the middle of changing after just getting out of bed. you were wearing a slightly baggy sleep shirt, your panties and socks, having a harder time facing the reflection today. you felt your breath hitch in your throat a little when you realized he was seeing you fresh out of bed with no makeup on, trying to not make a big deal out of it but your insecurities were eating you alive.

“oh- um, nothing, i was just about to get ready for the day” you say softly, though lo’ak knew you well enough to know when somethings off. still, he chose to not say anything, instead coming up behind you while you still stared in the mirror. his four fingered hands came to grab at your waist, digging his nails in slightly into the flesh.

“mm i feel like you can just stop here” he murmured, leaning down his head to press kisses against the side of your face, trailing down from your ear to your neck.

“you look so fucking pretty”

he trails a hand up under your shirt, easily pulling the fabric up on his wrist as he goes, groping at your breasts. “so soft and sweet, mama” he continued pressing hot open mouthed kisses against your shoulder, grazing his fangs along your skin making you whimper slightly

“lo’ak” you breath out, turning your head away from the reflection, blushing in slight embarrassment. the sight made him frown, looking down at you as he reached a finger to tilt your chin up towards him. “what is it, baby? what’s going on, hm?”

but you didn’t feel like answering. instead, you looked up at him with your big doe eyes, standing on your tip toes to press a gentle kiss to his lips. your palms rested on his chest to steady yourself, feeling him softly kiss you back before pulling away again, brows furrowed in mild concern. after a beat, you opened your mouth to say something, before he gripped your jaw and pulled you into him again, kissing you hotly.

he licked at your lips, hardly asking for permission before shoving his tongue in your mouth, his teeth clashing with your own as he began walking you backwards. you struggled to keep balance, still on your tip toes as he tilted your head back more, licking into your mouth like he’s never tasted you before.

you almost tripped when the back of your knees met the foot of your bed, his hands instantly coming to grab at your waist and throw you on the bed. you let out a yelp, not expecting that as he quickly crawls over you. he looks at your beautiful body, unable to pull his gaze from every inch, groaning at the sight of your curvy form beneath him.

he reached for your shirt, tugging it up a little “you won’t mind if i get rid of this, right pretty girl? just want a better look at you” he breathed out, his tone sounding desperate as he waited for you to nod before roughly tugging it off. you blushed instantly. sex wasn’t new, no, but it has been taking you a while to feel fully comfortable naked beneath him.

“fucking beautiful” he growled, his mouth taking your nipple into his warm mouth, his hand groping at your other breast, making sure both were getting attention. he couldn’t help but dry hump you, grinding his clothed cock against your panties, making you moan close to his ear.

he began sucking marks onto your breasts, covering your chest in his saliva and gently grazing your nipples with his teeth. his free hand reaching for your thigh, grabbing at it and pulling it up to his waist, wedging himself closer to your core. he couldn’t stop groping at you, obsessed with the way your pillowy flesh felt so soft beneath his fingertips.

“lolo” you breathed out, watching him pull back from your chest with a look of pride in his eyes as he admires the bruises he sucked into your skin. he smirked at you, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek “m gonna fuck you so hard, mama. gonna ruin this tiny body of yours” he distracted you, his hands trailing down to pull off your panties.

once they were off, he quickly lowered his head to your pussy, pressing a wet kiss right above your mound. he barely gives you another look before licking a stripe up your cunt, moaning loudly at the taste as he holds down your thighs and sucks at your clit. “oh fuck! lo’ak, lo‘ak..!” you cry out his name, tiny hands instantly reaching down to tangle in his braided hair.

he smirked against your cunt, fucking his huge warm, wet tongue into your pretty pussy, all the while digging his nails into your thighs, obsessed with leaving marks along your skin. taking something so soft and treating it roughly, he just couldn’t help himself.

“you taste so good, baby, fuck. you’re so perfect, you know that? so sweet, can’t fuckin’ get enough of you” your legs quivered beneath his hands, making him ease up just slightly, not wanting to overwhelm you just yet.

instantly you wrapped your legs around his shoulders, your thighs engulfing his head, making him groan into your pussy. his eyes met yours, his pupils completely dilated at he licked relentlessly at your cunt, not missing a single drop of your slick like he was a starved man. his nose pressed against your clit as he shakes his head between your legs, wanting you to feel him everywhere.

you whimpered and whined, your chest heaving as you looked into his eyes, your teary hazy ones meeting his predatory look. “lo’ak, ‘m gonna.. mm..!”

“that’s it, pretty girl. c’mon” he cooed, grinning as he gave your clit one last harsh suck, making you completely unravel beneath him. he turned his head to the side, licking and biting at your thighs, continuing to keep his gaze on you as he leaves more marks in his wake.

he then crawls back up to you, making quick work of untying his loincloth before running the tip of his dick through your wet folds, hissing at the contact. “fuck, you did so good. always so good for me, just for me” he murmured in your ear, hiking your leg up again, your knee hooked over his forearm. you looked up at him with a fucked out expression, your hair already a mess and your cheeks covered in a blush.

he melted a little at the sight, coming down to press a gentle kiss to your lips while simultaneously pressing his cock into you, nice and slow so you felt every ridge against your walls. he swallowed your moans, reaching an arm to rest by your head, caging you in.

you pulled back, turning your face to the side so you could breathe. he peppered kisses along your face, pressing his nose against your cheek, scenting you as he dragged it down your neck. his hips sped up, thrusting into you harder now as you gasped “ngh! lo, please-“

“who’s my beautiful girl, hm?” he spoke against your neck, fisting at the sheets beside your head as he thrust his hips against you, slow and hard, hitting that sweet spot inside you with every push. you whimper, too focused on how good it feels to respond, making him still inside you.

“lo’ak!” you whined, turning your head back to meet his gaze, watching as he pulls back to look at you with a serious expression. “say it, mama. come on”

you swallowed thickly, looking at him with a pout that he thumbs away. you huff out a breath, reaching your hands up to play with his braids, feeling a little embarrassed. “..i am- oh!”

he rewarded you with a hard thrust, instantly making your hands drop as he began the same speed and movement from before. “you’re what?” he says, reaching up to grip your chin again as he forces you to look at him, fucking into you a quicker rate.

“your beautiful girl!” you cry out, your walls tightening around him, legs coming up to lock behind his waist as you cling to him, your cheeks squished by his hand.

he lets out a satisfied hum, enjoying your mewls and pretty noises, looking at you almost sweetly. a perfect contrast to his actions.

“good girl. say it again for me, yeah?” he murmured, letting go of your face to instead grope at your breasts again, still leaning over you as he stares at your teary eyes. “what are you, baby?”

you feel yourself getting close, his length reaching every perfect spot inside of you, feeling impossibly full with your belly bulging from the sheer size of him. “i-i’m- ah! a beautiful girl, ‘m a beautiful girl”

he grinned down at you, leaning in to whisper in your ear. “that’s right, mama. my beautiful girl. now be even prettier and cum for me” he was taking his time with you, but now he was ready to watch you come undone beneath him, reaching a hand to play with your clit harshly.

your jaw dropped in a silent moan, gasping as your eyes squeezed shut and you came all over his dick, making him groan in your ear before filling you up with his own release. he fucked you through your orgasm, hips slowly moving against yours as he leaned in to kiss you again.

once he slowed down, he reached a hand to cup your cheek, reluctant to pull out as he laid his head on the pillow beside yours. you reached to interlace your fingers with his, his hand practically engulfing yours as always. “i really do think you’re the most beautiful girl on the planet, y/n. both on mine and yours.” he specified.

you looked at him with a dazed expression, a loopy smile on your face as you nod along.

“what?” he asked with a slight laugh, grinning at your expression.

“nothing.”

“what are you smiling about!” he demanded, tugging on your hand.

“nothing! just-“ you giggled a little, biting your bottom lip before speaking “you’ve never like, been so slow with it before, usually you’re all up in there with like no patience- “

“okay!” he rolled his eyes, clamping his hand over your mouth as you laughed against his palm.

[springtyme]

If you’re still looking for Steve requests, would you be willing to write Steve who’s sick asf but later has a date planned with R but when she sees him she obvs takes him home and takes care of him

𝐔𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 ♡

Steve Harrington x reader || Main masterlist || Steve playlist

summary: Your first date with Steve doesn’t end up going exactly as he had planned.

word count: 2k

𝐎𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞: 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟐) 𝐒𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐃𝐚𝐲

“You look like shit,” Robin says deadpanned, her arms crossed as she leans against the counter, her expression half-teasing, half-concerned. 

“Gee, thanks, Rob,”Steve replies, trying to sound normal, but failing miserably as fatigue and hoarseness clings to his voice like a thick fog. He rubs the back of his neck, feeling the heat radiating off his skin. The fluorescent lights in Family Video seem excessively bright today, and every time a customer opens the door, the sound of the bell makes his head throb and the rush of fresh air makes him shiver.

He had woken up feeling like a truck had run him over, his throat scratchy, head pounding, and every bone in his body aching. Had he woken up feeling like this on any other day, he would have called in sick; but if he did that, it would mean actually admitting that he was sick, and then he would have to call you and cancel your date later, which was absolutely out of the question. 

He had worked out the nerve to ask you out for so long that the idea of backing out now makes his stomach twist with anxiety. He doesn’t understand how he did it so easily in high school. Back then, talking to girls felt like second nature to him, but then he grew up, became less of an asshole and the glitz and glamour of ‘King Steve’ and teenage confidence faded into something far more complicated.

It also dosen’t help the one person he’s been crushing on for ages. Your laughter dances in his memory, a melody that both soothes and torments him. You’re smart, kind, and effortlessly cool; the kind of person who lights up a room without even trying.

Robin raises an eyebrow, the look on her face tells Steve that she isn’t convinced. “Seriously, Harrington, you should just call it a day and go home.”

“I’m fine,” he insists, despite the fact that his body is screaming at him to go home and curl up under a mountain of blankets. 

· · · · ·   

You stand in front of the mirror in the staff bathroom of the café, smoothing down the fabric of your outfit as you check your makeup one last time. Your shift ended a little while ago, but Steve is supposed to come by and pick you up soon after his own shift at Family Video. The anticipation of seeing him makes your heart flutter.

You’ve been replaying the moment Steve asked you out in your head—his slight stammer, the way he ran his fingers through his hair, clearly anxious yet hopeful. It was cute. You could still picture the way his eyes lit up when you said yes, how the corner of his mouth twitched into that adorable smile of his, bright and boyish. 

As you stand there putting on a layer of lip gloss, a soft knock on the door breaks you from your reverie. “Hey, I think your date is here!” Lin, your co-worker, call out, her voice laced with light-hearted mischief. You can hear the smile in her tone.

“Thanks, I’ll be right out!” you reply, capping the tube of gloss and throwing it into your purse, taking a final glance in the mirror before you step out of the bathroom.

As you walk into the main café area, your eyes immediately land on Steve. He’s leaning against the counter, one hand fiddling with his keys, his other holding a bouquet of pink lilies that stands out against the muted tones of the café. The sight makes you smile to yourself.

You navigate through the café, a calm kind of excitement bubbling in your stomach. He catches your eye just as you reach him, but as you get closer, your smile falters slightly. You can’t help but notice the slight paleness of his complexion and how the usual brightness of his honey brown eyes is dulled.

“Hey,” you say, trying to mask your concern with a playful tone as you glimpse the flowers. “Are those for me?”

“Uh, yeah,” he stammers, almost sheepish as he offers you the bouquet, “yeah, they are for you.”

You take the flowers, inhaling their sweet fragrance, and your heart swells. “Thank you, they’re beautiful.”

His smile is earnest, but you catch the hint of a wince as he shifts on his feet.

“Of course,” he replies, a little too quickly, and you immediately pick up on the way his voice cracks slightly.

You take a closer look at him, worry settling in your chest like a weight. “Steve, are you okay?”

He chuckles softly, attempting to brush it off. “Yeah… yeah, I’m great.”

You raise an eyebrow, not feeling fully convinced, but you smile as he leads you out of the café and into the mild autumn air. The moment you step outside, the sunset casts a warm golden light, painting the world in hues of orange and pink. But despite the beauty around you, your attention stays focused on him.

As you walk side by side towards his car, a comfortable silence falls between you, but it’s punctured by Steve’s occasional cough, each one making your heart sink a little more. 

“Steve,” you say gently, your voice dropping to a soft, yet serious tone. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

He force a chuckle, his voice raspy and strained. “Yeah… I’m just a little under the weather. It’s nothing, really.” 

You don’t buy it for a second. You know him well enough to see the way his usually bright eyes are glazed over with fatigue. The way he keeps shivering, despite the mild autumn air. You can see the pale cast to his skin and the way his hand shakes as he reaches for the passenger door to let you into his car.  

“Steve, you’re sick,” you state, your tone firm, your hand reaching out to touch his forehead which is warm to the touch. 

He glances away, and you notice how he rubs a hand over his tired eyes as if trying to wipe away the exhaustion. “I didn’t want to cancel on you. I’ve been looking forward to this all week.”

Your heart flutters, but it’s quickly replaced by a surge of protectiveness. You take a step closer, tilting your head slightly to meet his gaze. “Steve, I appreciate that, but I really think you need rest.”

He opens his mouth to protest, but before he can say anything, you interject, “How about this: I take you home, and we can have a cozy night in instead? I can whip up some soup or something.”

The suggestion hangs in the air. You can see the internal struggle on his face—whether he should stick to the plan he’d anticipated or succumb to the reality of how he truly feels. Finally, he nods. “That does sound nice. But can I still take you out on a real date when I’m feeling better?” His voice is barely above a whisper, but the sincerity in his eyes reminds you how much he values your time together.

“Definitely,” you reply, your own smile returning. “Now come on, let’s get you home.” You put out your hand, gesturing for him to hand over his car keys. He hesitates for a moment, looking between you and the keys in his palm, but the warmth in your eyes encourages him. With a resigned sigh, he hands them over.

You slide into the driver’s seat, glancing over at him once you’re both settled in, and your heart squeezes at the sight. He’s leaning back against the headrest, eyelids drooping slightly as he battles against another wave of exhaustion.

“Want me to turn on some music?” you ask, trying to lighten the mood as you pull out of the parking lot.

“Sure, but maybe something a bit soft,” he replies, his voice still strained, though he offers you a small smile. You nod and switch on the radio, letting the soothing melodies fill the car as you drive through the quiet town.

Occasionally, you look over and check on him from the corner of your eye. He’s still pale, and you can see how he shivers slightly in his  seat. Guilt twists in your stomach at the thought that he’d pushed himself just to spend time with you.

The short drive feels like it takes ages, but you finally pull up in front of his house. Steve glances over at you, a hint of reluctance in his gaze. “You don’t...you really don’t have to do this, you know. I can just—”

“Steve, it’s happening. You’re not winning this argument today,” you cut him off playfully, adding a grin to soften your words. He chuckles weakly, appreciating the stubbornness in your tone.

After a second, he nods and climbs out of the car, the effort seeming to cost him. You rush around to help him, looping his arm around your shoulder for support as you lead him inside. Once inside, you help him settle onto the couch, fluffing a few pillows behind his back so he can lean comfortably. “You just sit tight,” you order gently. “I’ll get started on that soup.”

You head to the kitchen, happy to find enough ingredients for a simple chicken noodle. As you chop vegetables and toss everything into the pot, you can’t help but glance back toward the living room now and then.

After a while, the delicious aroma of simmering soup fills the air, a comforting weight that envelops the space. You serve it up in two bowls, bringing them back to the living room.

“Dinner is served,” you announce, adopting a playful tone as you hand him a bowl, the steam swirling up from the broth.

He takes it gratefully, voicing his gratitude before he takes a spoonful of the soup, the tension in his shoulders seems to ease just a bit. You take a seat next to him, and the two of you settle into a comfortable quiet, the sound of spoons clinking against the ceramic filling the space between you.

“See? Not such a bad idea, right?” you say, giving him a gentle smile as his eyes lock with yours. 

“Not at all,” he replies, his mouth curling into a genuine smile that somehow seems to illuminate the weariness in his eyes. “You might just be my new favorite person.”

You roll your eyes playfully, but your heart flutters nonetheless. “Just wait until I force you to watch a rom-com later.”

“Who doesn’t love a rom-com?” he laughs, but it’s cut short by a rough cough that rattles through him. You frown, reaching over to gently place your hand on his forehead again, your palm feeling the rise and fall of his fever.

“You still need to rest,” you remind him softly, and he nods, a hint of vulnerability crossing his features. He takes another sip of soup, his movements slower, as if savoring not just the meal, but the warmth radiating from your presence.

“Thanks for taking care of me,” he murmurs, looking at you with a depth of gratitude that sends your heart racing. “I really didn’t want to let you down.”

“Steve, you could never let me down,” you say earnestly. 

The sincerity in your voice hangs in the air between you, a thread of understanding weaving deeper into the fabric of your relationship. He finishes his soup, and as the bowls lay empty on the coffee table, he leans back a little more against the couch, closing his eyes.

You grab a blanket that is hanging over the armrest of the couch and drape it over the two of you, feeling the warmth radiating from his body touch yours. “I’ll stay here with you,” you whisper, brushing back a strand of hair from his forehead.

“Thank you,” he says with a contented sigh, he nestles in further, his hand finding yours on the couch. And as you sit together, the simplicity of sharing warmth, soup, and presence erases the worry as evening turns into night, the world outside fading away.

[nena-la-fresa]

All Hallows Eve

18+ Account | Minors DNI | Do NOT Follow, Like, or Comment | Pls have your age in your bio, if you do not I will automatically block you because I’ll assume you are a minor.

Pairing: Josh Washington x f! Reader

Warning: Flirting | Smut | Semi Public | Fingering | P in V | Halloween Frat Party | Frat Boy Josh (ish) |

Word Count: 1754

A/n: A lot more flirting than smut tbh

You were a little hesitant about wearing this outfit. You knew from the picture that the nurse costume was going to be short but you didn’t think that some of your ass was going to be sticking out. You heard a knock on your door and Sam walked in. She started to laugh at the look of worry on your face. 

“What? Is it bad?” You turned slightly to try and look at your ass in the mirror. 

She laughed again, “No you look good. You just look freaked out.” She set down her costume and started to get dressed. 

“I am freaked out. Do you see how short this is? My whole ass is about to fall out.” You pull it down a little.

“Good. Maybe Josh will finally build up the courage to ask you out.” She smirked at you. 

“Yeah sure. I genuinely don’t understand him. He flirts so much, like with almost everyone and you could never tell when it's real.” You sat down on your bed to put on your heels. 

“You know what you should totally do?” 

You looked over at her, “What?” 

“You should use those red panties you bought like a week ago. You know the lacy ones, I think that'll catch his attention. But also because those boy shorts are not it.” 

You looked down and could see in the mirror that you were still wearing your normal underwear. “I completely forgot to change them. Oh my god, it would have looked so stupid.” 

Sam had finished her makeup in the meantime while you looked through your drawer for your panties. Once you changed you made sure to put on your little nurse hat and fixed your hair before you two left. 

You could hear the music from down the street, but that was typically how it always was. And to think this was the last time you'd be going to a Halloween Frat Party. You both squeezed your way in through the door, once you did you had found Mike and the rest of the group. Josh was nowhere to be found. Not surprising since he’s usually the one hosting.

Once you guys were settled in you let Sam know you were going to leave for a second. 

“Hey I’m gonna get a drink, did you want anything?” 

She shook her head, “No I'm good for now thank you. But come right back, I don't want you getting lost.”

You nodded your way and pushed your way through the crowded hallways. Thankfully the kitchen was less crowded, you got yourself a cup and started to mix yourself a drink. You could feel someone stand next to you. You looked to your left and saw a guy smirking at you. 

“How come I haven’t seen you before? This your first year here?” He bites his lip and looks at you up and down. 

“You must've not been looking hard.” You finished your drink before putting it to your lips.

“Nah I think with that ass I think I would have noticed.” He tried moving closer but stepped back a bit. 

You felt hands on your waist and a body pressing against you. “Hey babe. What'd ya make me?”

You lightly rolled your eyes judging by his voice, he took the cup from your hand and drank it. You watched as the guy stayed put but continued to glare at Josh. He set the drink down, “Hey babe was this guy bothering you?”

He turned you around so that he could look at you. “Josh, it's fine.” You put a hand on his chest.

“See man she said it’s fine. So how about you get going.” 

Josh looked back at the guy, “Look man, you’re being kind of a buzzkill. I’m tryin to bone my girl so how about you leave?” 

The guy scoffs, grabbing his drink to leave. 

“So I'm your girl now?” you roll your eyes looking back at him. 

You watch his eyes leave your lips to look further down. How could he not when your breasts were pressing up against his chest. 

“Hey big boy.” You put a finger under his chin, “My eyes are up here.” 

“No, I know.” He smirked at you, his hands were now on either side of you. 

You scoffed at him, “Okay, so are you going to remake my drink or should I call that guy back over?” 

“I’ll make it. Don’t get your panties in a twist. Speaking of which, lace looks good on you.” He winked at you before letting you go. 

“Oh you were looking?” You propped yourself up on the counter waiting for him. 

“I don’t have to look hard, princess.” He motioned down to your half open legs that exposed the lace more. 

Even if you tried teasing him it always backfires. He’d always find a way to make you nervous. 

“Oh maybe I’ll just open them more if that's the case.” You started to open your legs more but were stopped by his hands on your thighs and him now in between your legs. 

“What’s wrong babe?” You tried to get back at him for using that word, “You trying to stop potential candidates?” 

He scoffed, “No I just don’t want you to look like an easy target.”

“Oh so you think I look easy. Okay.” You crossed your arms and nodded your head. 

“I just don’t like how they were looking at you.” You felt his tone become serious. 

It felt off, so you tried changing the conversation. “So what are you supposed to be? A handyman?” You trailed your hand across his chest. 

“You can’t tell?” He spins around to show himself off. 

You shook your head and laughed a little, “Not a clue. But now that I’m looking at you. You look good. Very fuckable.” 

Josh froze for a moment, he positioned himself back in between your legs. His hands resting on your thighs. His hands left a burning sensation, your breath hitched when you felt them glide against your skin. 

“Oh yeah?” 

You tried speaking but nothing came out, all you could do was nod. 

Your breaths were deep, his hand made its way to your cunt. He let his thumb rub against your cunt feeling how wet you were. He pulled your panties to the side before he started to ran his fingers across your lips. He watched as you leaned your head back, your soft neck exposed. 

He pushed his fingers inside, he could feel you clenching around him. He leans forward, kissing your neck slowly. The heat of his breath against your neck sent chills against your spine. 

He sucked against your neck just as his pace began to pick up. The feeling of his fingers thrusting in and out felt good but it wasn't enough. It felt like something was missing. You wanted to be full. You needed to be full. 

“Josh.” you moaned in his ear, “I need you in me. Please.” 

Josh wasted no time unzipping his costume, he pulled you to the edge of the counter. You watched as he spit on his dick, his precum and spit mixing together as he pumped himself. He positioned himself at your entrance. He pushed himself in, groaning at your warmth. 

You could feel him bottom out, you wrapped your legs around his waist. You watched his dick moving in and out of you. Even over all the music and the chatting behind the kitchen door you could hear the sound of your wet cunt. You knew he heard it too judging by the way his pace had picked up. 

His thrust became more erratic. His eyes shifted between your mouth and your stuffed cunt. 

“Fuck.” You heard him whisper. You heard his breathing getting deeper. 

He lifted you up from the counter, he turned you around and bent you over. With his hands on your waist he pushed himself back in, this time he hit all the best spots. You could feel him pounding into you harder. 

For him his view was everything, your hair bouncing, your dress fitting you just right, the way your dress was creeping up all the way, your panties to the side, and the way your ass bounced with every thrust he made. 

“Fuck you’re so hot.” 

“Fuck Josh.” 

His thrust became more erratic, more desperate. He could feel you getting closer, your cunt sucking him in and tightening. It was enough to get cum in you. And god did he want to cum in you. He’s been dreaming about this for years. Fucking you, watching you beg for his cock, before for him to fuck you, to cum in you. He wished he could watch his cum drip out of you. 

But what he didn’t wish for were his friends walking in. 

“God Y/n what’s taking you so long?”

“Are you sure she's even in here?” 

The door was flung open. Chris and Sam came bursting in, and now regretting checking up on your two. 

“Oh my god!” Sam quickly turned around, she started giggling at the sight though. She knew she was going to comment later about how the panties idea worked. 

Hearing the door swing open Josh looked in the direction, “Oh shit.” He quickly pulled out and put his dick away, covering you in the process. 

Sam had noticed that Chris hadn’t turned around yet, so she scolded him, “Chris.” 

“What?” He looked at her as she motioned to turn around. He finally did. 

Just as Josh put himself away he helped you pull your dress back down to his original place. 

Sam cleared her through, “Are you two both decent now?” You could hear her smirk. 

“Yeah.” You could feel the heat creep up on your cheeks. 

You watched as Sam and Chris were smirking at the both of you. 

“And here I was worried about you. I’m sure you’re not thirsty anymore huh.” 

“Sam!” You could feel Josh looking at you, you just knew he was smiling. You turned around, feeling slightly embarrassed you slightly looked at him. 

You watched him smirk at you. You could see that there was no regret on his face. “I’ll um. I’ll see you later.”

 He took your appearance in again, he thought you looked even better after sex. 

“Alright. I’ll find you.”

You smiled at him, “Okay, don’t look too hard.”

You watched as he looked you up and down, “Oh I will.”

[hopelessmidwesterner]

Old Married Couple

90s (ish) Eddie Munson x Reader

light swearing, fluff, use of y/n.

730 words

“You two fight like an old, married couple”. That had been the age old saying that never failed to get under your skin back in the day. Back when you and Eddie were “just friends” who bickered day in and day out even though you were basically two peas in a pod. As kids, you both would just roll your eyes or go quiet whenever people said that, assuming that it would stop and fizzle out eventually. 

Nothing fizzled out, though. Not in the slightest. By the time you graduated together, you were head over heels for one another and everyone: your friends, your siblings, and even Wayne still gave you shit for your so-called "old married couple" tendencies. 

Sometimes, it was warranted. Like whenever you made the mistake of helping Eddie take his stage makeup off. 

“Hold still!” You scolded lightly, pulling back from his face for the billionth time. He was seated haphazardly on the sink of a dingy bathroom at the back of The Hideout while you scrubbed at the white and black face paint.

“I am! You’re taking forever, babe.” 

“You’re the one who insisted on doing your makeup like The Crow.” 

“Because it’s metal, sweetheart.” 

“Is that why Gareth went out bare faced?” 

“You–”

Dustin cut the two of you off, wandering his way into the confined bathroom with a smug look on his face and a VIP badge hung around his throat. 

“You two are seriously like an old, married couple. It’s funny.” 

“Shut up, Henderson!” You both barked back. 

Other times, it wasn’t as warranted. Not in your opinions, anyway. 

“This is so fucking sick.” Eddie giggled from your side, lying on his stomach while you did the same on your back. The array of sheets, blankets, and pillows around you served as a barricade from reality, only allowing the light from the old box TV in the trailer through. It was by far the coolest fort Eddie had ever seen so of course it was the cherry on top that you’d built it together.

“I think we should seriously consider architecture as a career…like a backup plan.” You agreed. 

“Ooh, yes!” He jeered, clicking on an episode of The Simpsons that he knew neither of you would pay much attention to. It was mostly for the noise to fill space. “If Corroded Coffin doesn’t blow up and if my tattoo apprenticeship falls through, we should totally start our own fort-making business.” 

“Eddie and Y/N’s Forts. Got a nice ring to it.” 

“See?! I’ll even let ya put your name first. That’s how much I love y–” 

A roaring bustle of laughter, Wayne’s laughter, cut Eddie off and the curly head groaned, poking his head out along with yours to see the man in question. He was clutching his stomach at the sight of the complex fort (and at his nephew's cheesiness), beyond amused by your conjoined artistry that had taken most of the afternoon. 

“I can’t with you two.” He said once he stopped laughing so hard, wiping tears from his eyes. “Buildin’ forts in your twenties…God, like an old, married couple!” 

“What old, married couple do you know that makes forts, Wayne?” Eddie asked sassily. Wayne shrugged because obviously he didn’t have an answer but the sentiment remained. 

“If we’re a married couple then he’s the wife. Let’s make that clear.” You joked. Eddie shot you a diva-like glare whereas Wayne agreed wholeheartedly with an enthusiastic clapping of hands as he padded into the kitchen, making sure to weave around the fort so as to not ruin its integrity. 

“Well, yes. Of course. We should probably go dress shopping soon huh, Ed? Has she put a ring on it?” 

“You two are annoying.” Eddie grumbled without much bite to it. 

“That’s kind of our job, Eds.” You elbowed him endearingly and his grimace fell, replaced with a soft smile that was only ever reserved for your eyes and your eyes only. 

“Whatever you say…husband.” 

“That’s more like it.” You beamed. “...Wife.”

As the years went on, you both came to appreciate that description that used to piss you off to no end. It was a compliment if you really thought about it, at least once you made things official, and both of you eventually took pride in such a thing because maybe, just maybe, the idea of growing old together didn’t seem too shabby. 

Plus, calling Eddie your wife was pretty fucking hilarious.

[almostempty]

right kind of dream (joel miller x f!reader) part two

wc: 9k | other fics | rating: 18+ | read on ao3 | PART ONE HERE summary: part two of 'right kind of dream': rebuilding your life, chasing, cans, and hitchin' a ride to the rodeo with team roper joel

a/n: i battled five million error messages to deliver this bad boy so if something is weird or it seems like paragraphs are missing... they might be. i think some formatting got lost. i'll put the whole thing on ao3 asap. i am unsure what i've done to anger the tumblr hq but i apologize

@katiexpunk : here is part two, thank you for being patient, i hope the wait was worth it <3 tags: modern cowboy joel au/ team roper joel and tommy, no sarah, enemies to lovers, dbf lite, choose your own age gap, small town romance, city girl returns to the country, miscommunication, horsegirl!joel, smut, ridin' that cowboy bareback as the good lord intended, no beta-mistakes are my fault for writing at 4am and for spending the afternoon fighting god to get this website to accept me thanks to: @syd-djarin, @auteurdelabre, and @lovely-vamp-princess for support, eyes, and ideas, etc.

Joel wakes you up while it’s still dark, pulling your shirt over your head and pressing a kiss to your temple. “Sleep,” he mutters in a gravelly whisper.

The ache in your body is a stark reminder of everything Joel did to you. Every movement as you roll over sends a sharp jolt through your muscles, and the hollow soreness deep inside you leaves you raw.

For a moment, you lie still, staring at the ceiling, replaying every moment—the way he touched you, the way he looked at you. You can still feel him, the shape he carved out inside of you.

He said nothing. He didn’t gloat, didn’t tease, didn’t even try to explain. The silence felt heavier than any of his words ever could.

You can hear him outside, feeding the horses. You give in, curling up under the blanket for another hour until you figure you might miss your chance for fresh coffee from the visitor tent.

You pull on clothes, feeling hungover with anxiety twisting in your gut. Your head spins and your chest feels tight, but you march toward the picnic tables and get yourself coffee and breakfast.

You aren’t sure what the fuck you’re supposed to do now. You sit at a table, a cup of coffee cradled in your hands, your head pounding as though you’d downed a bottle of whiskey the night before. The anxiety sits heavy in your chest, each sip of coffee doing little to loosen its grip.

You thought you understood what last night was—anger, frustration, both of you taking it out on each other. But the way Joel touched you, the way he kissed you, the way he stayed silent afterward… none of it fits the narrative you’ve been telling yourself.

You glance across the grounds, your eyes catching on Joel’s familiar silhouette near the fence. He’s leaning against the rail, his dark eyes scanning the crowd, but the moment his gaze lands on you, something shifts.

Your breath catches, the air between you thick and suffocating even from across the distance. Joel tips his head slightly, a subtle acknowledgment, but it only tightens the knot in your chest.

You tear your eyes away, focusing on the coffee in your hands, but the weight of his gaze lingers, pressing into you like a brand.

You keep your distance, avoiding Joel as you move through the motions of the morning ignoring the questions and confusion gnawing at you.

The sun climbs higher, the dry heat pressing down like a heavy blanket, but the rodeo grounds are alive with movement. Dust clings to the back of your throat, blending with the faint, bitter taste of coffee as you linger near the edge of the action, pretending to watch.

You’re halfway to convincing yourself Joel’s not even here when you hear Tommy’s voice. He’s leaning on the fence, one boot propped on the bottom rail, his arm resting loosely on the top. A beautiful woman stands beside him, gorgeous with bold makeup and tight jeans, her dark hair catching the light. She laughs at something Tommy says, swatting at his chest, and he grins down at her like she’s the only person in the world.

You almost keep walking, but Tommy glances up and catches your eye, his grin widening as he waves you over. He calls your name in an easy, smooth tone.

“Morning,” you say stiffly, stopping a few paces away.

The woman glances between you and Tommy, murmuring something to him before she wanders off toward the trailers. Tommy doesn’t miss a beat, tipping his hat to you with that same infuriating grin.

“You sleep alright?”

“What?” you gape at him before rushing to fix your face.

“Joel’s snoring didn’t keep you up all night?”

“Oh.” You shake your head. “No, slept fine. Thanks.”

He gives you another smile, and you move to lean on the fence watching the arena with him. He cocks his head, his eyes still on you.

“You worried about runnin’ Blue?” His voice is warm and light. His dark eyes sparkle with his natural charm, but it’s a genuine question.

You peel the edge of the paper coffee cup, looking past Tommy toward the warmup pen. “Yeah, I guess.” You give him a half smile. “We aren’t gunning for the NFR or anything, though.”

“Somethin’ else weighing on you, darlin’?”

You shake your head. Not willing to reveal anything else. “Heard you were up late partying with the roughstock boys and their fan club,” you accuse in a joking tone, attempting to redirect the conversation. “You aren’t worried about your own round?”

He laughs deeply at that. “Nah, that’s what a heeler’s for,” he says. “I just gotta be in the box on time. Joel’s the one that keeps us winnin’.”

“He’s not a partier?” You didn’t mean to dig, but the question slipped out anyway.

Tommy turns his head towards you, but you keep staring out at the arena, watching the crew setting up the barrels for the first division.

He studies you for a long moment, his grin softening into something closer to curiosity. “Joel’s not like me. Not really.” Your brow furrows. The words twist in your chest, setting your thoughts spinning. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Tommy chuckles again, but there’s something unreadable in his eyes. “Let’s just say, Joel’s always had his head screwed on tighter than mine. Even when he didn’t.” You stare at him, trying to unravel the meaning behind his words, but Tommy just grins. “Joel’s a loyal kinda guy, y’know? Don’t mean he’s blind, though.” He gives you a wink and you feel heat flooding your face. “Just means he wrestles with it longer than the rest of us would.” You scowl at him for that. “And what the hell is that supposed to mean?” Did Joel tell him? Does he know what happened? He shrugs. “Just means you’re a hell of a distraction,” Tommy says, tipping his hat. You laugh it off, but his words linger, your mind racing with questions you’re not ready to ask. You whip your head away again as if staring at the tractor raking the arena can save you from the conversation. But Tommy notices.

He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t tease or prod, but you can feel the weight of his gaze as you swallow hard, your thoughts spiraling. Before you can respond, someone calls his name from across the grounds. Tommy tips his hat one last time. “Good luck out there, neighbor,” he says, his voice light but laced with something heavier. “Don’t let that head of yours get in the way.”

And then he’s gone, leaving you standing alone, your thoughts spinning, your chest burning. You push off the fence and find yourself a spot on the bleachers. They’re dusty and worn. The boards creak as you settle into a spot near the edge. You watch the first few runs.

The riders move with precision, their horses cut through the dirt with sharp, clean turns. The announcer’s voice booms over the speakers, calling names and times, but it fades into the background as you watch.

Everywhere you look, there’s something that reminds you of Joel.

The set of someone’s shoulders as they lean against the fence, the low timbre of a voice nearby, a black felt hat in the corner of your eye. You try to banish the worry and the panic creeping in.

You remember the way he watched you train with Blue. The way he offered advice that sounded more like a challenge. The way his voice cut through the air like he knew more than you. The way he looked at you last night. The raw unguarded expression you’ve never seen before.

You hate the way he makes you feel small and uncertain. You hate the way you can’t stop thinking about him.

You can’t stop remembering the way his hands felt on your skin or his tongue. The heat in his voice and the way he saw through every lie you told.

The sound of someone hitting the dirt makes you snap your head up just as the crowd around you gasps.

In the arena, a horse stands, saddle hanging nearly sideways off of it. A rider scrambles to their feet, brushing dirt from their jeans with a wave. They lead their horse out of the arena and you can hear folks around you murmuring that their latigo broke and their saddle slipped as they turned for home. The horse and the rider are both fine, but your nerves flare.

You know the risks of the sport. But it makes you head back to the trailer early to inspect all of your tack closely for anything faulty. From across the grounds, Joel watches you. He stands near the holding pen, arms crossed over his chest. You haven’t seen him yet. Not really. Not in the way he sees you.

He can feel the tension in your shoulders as you walk, the way you crush the paper coffee cup in your hand.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t call out to you.

He doesn’t trust himself to. He shouldn’t have touched you last night. Shouldn’t have let his jealousy boil over. Shouldn’t have taken it that far. But now, standing here, all he could think about was the way you felt underneath him. The way you said his name like he was the only thing holding you together. And the way he needs to hear it again.

By the time your division gets called to warm up, you’ve eased your worries about your tack but you’re still swimming in Joel thoughts until you swing your leg over the saddle and settle on Blue’s back.

Then the rest of the world disappears. Your ride starts off smooth, but Blue’s sensitivity is a curse and a blessing. You figure he must be picking up on some anxiety as he gets a little hot, tossing his head and pulling on the reins when you try to bring him down to a jog.

You work out most of the kinks, circling and working on transitions until he feels supple and responsive to your seat and legs. Your nerves and the energy of the other horses still have his ears swiveling and his head perked up as you wait for the rider ahead of you to be called.

You can see most of their run, it’s smooth and they put up a good time. You squeeze your calves asking Blue to head toward the alleyway, but he’s springloaded.

You hold him back as he crow hops sideways for a beat before you’re backing him up. You try making a slow circle before heading in but he’s still jigging with short, bouncy steps like he’s ready to explode.

You’re tense, holding him back and trying to stay calm, making one more circle when he starts hopping again. You can feel eyes on you from the people standing near the gate. Before you can make another circle Joel is striding towards you with swift long steps.

He grabs Blue by the bridle, speaking directly to him in a calming, low voice. You glare at him reactively, but the words die before you can formulate them.

Blue’s jittering slows and Joel leads you up the alley toward the arena. His steps are sure and confident as he guides you. You bit your lip, fighting the urge to snap at him and tell him you don’t need his help. The truth is you do.

“Go get ‘em,” he says quietly, turning to you.

You gather your reins, giving him a tight nod to signal you’re ready. He lets go and steps back. Your heart pounds as you encourage Blue to push off into a lope.

The moment you cross the starting line, everything else fades.

The noise. The nerves. Even Joel. It all melts away. Just you and Blue and the rhythm of his hooves pounding against the soft dirt.

The first barrel comes fast. You guide him into a tight turn, pushing him to pick it up toward the next. His lead change is smooth as you shift your weight, leaning into the next tight turn. You’ve got your body facing the final barrel before Blue pushes off with his powerful hind legs.

You thunder toward the last barrel. His strides are strong and controlled. You’ve just gotta make this last turn without taking it too wide or knocking the barrel over.

Blue doesn’t forget his training, bending around your leg, picking up his shoulder, and you’ve got one stride left in the turn before you’re free to haul ass home.

You’ve got this.

You’ve got this.

You don’t got this.

The footing is deeper than the arena you run at on Thursday nights. Blue’s hooves slide in the loose dirt. His balance faltering. Time slows and you feel his weight tipping. There’s nothing to do but brace for the impact. His body hits the dirt in a controlled, almost graceful fall.

You hit the ground with a dull thud, the breath knocked out of you as you scramble back giving Blue room to pop back up. He shakes off the dirt, your stirrups slapping at his side and the reins nearly coming over his ears. His eyes are wide, but he stands waiting for your direction.

You catch your breath, chest still heaving from the shock. You dust the dirt off your jeans and wave off the grounds person jogging toward you. “I’m fine,” you call. “We’re fine.” Your voice is steady, but your chest feels like it’s caving in.

You pull his reins over his head and walk toward the end of the arena, keeping your head up and patting Blue on the neck. The crowd claps expressing support and relief that you’re both walking.

Hot, angry tears blur your vision by the time you get to the alley.

You don’t see Joel, staring at the ground as you walk, but you hear him hustling toward you calling your name. His boots crunch against the dirt as he matches your pace.

“You okay?” he asks, low and concerned.”

“Fine,” you snap, not looking at him as you speed up, pulling Blue along faster.

“It was a good-looking run you had going,” Joel says, his tone soft. “You two looked great, making good time. You can’t help the shitty footing—”

“I don’t need your pity,” you cut him off, sharp but trembling. “Not now.”

You don’t see the way his face tightens. The anger is spilling out, uncontrollable, and you don’t care if it cuts.

“I’d rather the ‘I told you so,’” you spit, hot and bitter. “Just say it. Whatever it is. You think I’m too young to know what I’m doing? Too soft? You think I’m a failure? Couldn’t handle the city, the job, the—”

“Hey, easy.” He tries to interrupt you gently, like a spooked horse. “Nothing like that.”

“You think I’m dumb, too?” You keep jabbing him with questions as you get closer to the trailer, not caring if anyone else hears. “Just another woman that fell into your bed at another rodeo.”

“Enough,” Joel says steady and low, but you don’t hear him.

“Yeah, I’ve heard the rumors,” you snap, your voice cracking. “Didn’t think they were true, to be honest. Didn’t seem like you. Guess I don’t really know you though, do I?”

Joel’s jaw tightens, his dark eyes flashing with hurt, but you’re too far gone to notice.

“You know, maybe I was stupid.” Your voice shakes as tie Blue at the trailer to untack. “But for a while, I thought I was finally starting to feel like myself out here. Like I was where I was supposed to be. And now—” Your words catch in your throat. Tears streaming down your face. You shake your head, stopping yourself from revealing anything else. You turn away from Joel and start running your hands along Blue’s legs to check for any swelling from the fall.

Joel doesn’t move for a long beat. He stands rigid, watching you wrestle with your emotions as you work. Finally, Joel exhales sharply, running a hand over his face. His voice is tight when he speaks. “I’ll leave you be.”

He walks away before you can respond, his footsteps heavy against the dirt. Your shoulders sag as the adrenaline starts to wear off, leaving behind the hollow ache of exhaustion. Your hands tremble as you finish untacking and brushing Blue, but you keep moving, your touch soft against his sweat-damp coat. “You did nothing wrong,” you murmur.

Fresh tears pool in your eyes. “You’re a good boy, Blue. You did exactly what we practiced.” Blue snorts softly, his ears flicking back toward you, and you lean into him, pressing your forehead against the warm curve of his neck. “I was the one who fucked up,” you admit, your words muffled against his dark coat. The truth spills out in quiet, broken pieces.

“I should’ve been watching the other riders closer this morning. Should’ve caught how deep the footing was at the far barrel.”

Your voice drops to a whisper. “Instead of thinking about how I could still feel his hands on me. Or wondering if he’s thinking about me.”

The confession hangs in the air, heavy and unspoken. Blue shifts beneath you, his weight leaning into your side like he knows you need the grounding.

You pull back, wiping at your face quickly before running your hands over Blue one more time, checking for any swelling or signs of injury. You move methodically, your touch steady despite the way your chest feels like it’s caving in.

When you’re satisfied he’s unhurt, you lead him into the pen and give him a scratch behind the ears. “You’re a good boy,” you whisper again, softly. “We’ll get it next time.”

The afternoon stretched on at the rodeo, the sun climbing high and unrelenting.

You do your best to avoid the temptation to look for Joel, though he somehow has a way of being everywhere and nowhere all at once. Mostly it was false alarms and your eyes playing tricks on you. But once or twice you saw him watching other events. He never seemed to notice you, or if he did he gave no indication.

You hadn’t decided if you were avoiding him out of anger, shame, or if it was because the thought of being near him again after last night still made your chest ache in a way you didn’t want to examine. You’re still burying that last thought somewhere deep when you catch the flash of Joel’s red mare striding through the arena.

You can see Joel and Tommy putting their horses through some practice just past the main arena.

Your lips press together into a thin line as you watch them. Joel has a different aura about him when he’s in the saddle. He seems lighter somehow. Relaxed, but with a quiet command. He guides his horse in a way that looks effortless. His body moving in perfect harmony with hers. Tommy’s horse was a little snappier, making quick sharp turns. The pair of riders worked together naturally, movements fluid and precise as they get their practice in.

It was mesmerizing. Infuriatingly so.

You leaned back, trying to tear your gaze away, but your eyes betrayed you, drawn back to continue admiring him. The longer you watch the more it stirs up something unwelcome in your chest. You can’t keep letting him occupy so much space in your mind or your memories.

He’s proven time and again that he doesn’t respect you. He didn’t even argue when you laid it all out in your outburst after your run. He just walked away from you.

But there’s something in the way he carries himself. Something in the way he rides, the way he works with his horse, that hints at something different than what you know. Something that makes you curious.

You blink, realizing Joel’s head was turned toward the bleachers. For a second you think his eyes are on you and you quickly look away. When you glance back he’s already turned his attention back to something else.

Embarrassment wraps around your throat. This is why you had to avoid him. His presence alone seems to demand every ounce of your attention without even trying.

Before you can drown in your own emotional turmoil, an unfamiliar voice calls your name.

You see Cody waving a few rows down and give him a polite smile before agreeing to join him and his friends. Spending the rest of the evening with them feels like a safety buffer.

You don’t see Joel or Tommy when you get dinner. You watch some of the evening events before splitting from the group to check on Blue.

It’s nearly dark as you walk through the grounds. Your chest feels tighter with every step you take as you approach.

You’re hoping you don’t run into Joel—or Tommy and his knowing eyes. You let yourself into the pen, the noise from the announcer and the crowd are muffled by the distance.

There was a stillness in the dusk and the horses were calm.

Blue’s head swivels toward you as you approach. You pause to untie the braid in his tail before stepping between him and Joel’s horse. It’s not until that moment that you realize you aren’t alone. You freeze when your eyes land on Joel. He’s standing between his horse and yours, posture relaxed. The external light on the horse trailer casts shadows over his face making it hard to read his eyes.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt,” you say softly. “I didn’t know you were here.”

He responds with a small shrug and shake of his head. “Nothing to interrupt.”

You still feel frozen, like concrete had been poured around your feet. You’ve been carrying the weight of your earlier outburst in your shoulders, and the rest of your muscles are still stiff from hitting the dirt earlier. Maybe that’s why your defenses feel lower, or maybe something else has shifted, but the next words come out before you have a real plan.

“Look, about earlier,” you start with more confidence than you feel. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. It wasn’t fair.”

He doesn’t respond immediately, gaze fixed on Blue who huffs a warm breath out after nudging Joel’s pocket in search of a treat. When he finally speaks, it’s quiet but firm.

“You had every right to be upset.”

You frown at that, a line pulling between your brows in confusion, and you shake your head. “No, I didn’t. I was angry, frustrated with myself, and I took it out on you. You didn’t deserve that.”

He works his jaw like he’s mulling something over, before letting out a sigh. You move closer to give Blue a scratch under his jaw. The spot that always makes him wiggle his lip. You see Joel’s expression softening.

“I’ve been where you are,” he says finally. “Trying to rebuild somethin’ when it feels like the world’s stacked against you. Trying to remember who you are. What matters most.”

You tilt your head, curiosity pulling at you. His words sound familiar for a moment. That conversation you’d had after stacking hay. “When you bought the property from my dad?”

He nods. “Bought the place after my ex split. Had to sell the business. Start over. Build somethin’ from scratch while trying to figure out what the hell my life was supposed to look like.”

“It’s not as simple as it sounds,” you echo your past statement. He laughs a short, humorless sound.

“Sure ain’t. I know I made mistakes along the way.”

You stay quiet, letting the words hang in the air.

“It’s easy to get yourself a reputation in a small town,” he continues, tinged with regret. “I spent a while chasing somethin’ I couldn’t even name. Thought I could skip the pain with sex, drinking, and spending every weekend hauling to any rodeo I could afford the entrance fees for.”

His confession sinks over you, and you feel a pang of understanding.

“Took a while to figure it that it wasn’t working. Wasn’t who I was… or who I wanted to be.”

“I get that,” you say softly. You drop your gaze, not quite sure how to say it. “Not the same circumstances, but,” you take a slow breath, “I had a reputation back at my old job. It wasn’t true but it didn’t matter. Once people decide who you are, it’s like there’s nothing you can do to change it.

You feel his eyes on you. “That why you came out here?”

“Sort of.” You run your hand under Blue’s mane, feeling the warmth of his body grounding you.

“Hated the job. Spent a lot of time and money in school to get there, and I dreaded going to the office every day.” You swallow thickly, still not sure you can look Joel in the eye.

“Then my engagement fell apart. The more we tried to split up our lives the more I realized none of it was my life. None of it was me. I didn’t know myself anymore. I didn’t know what mattered.”

“Takes guts to start over,” Joel says with a current of finality about it. Like it’s a fact. “Most people wouldn’t have the nerve.”

His words warm something deep inside of you, but they also make your eyes well up. You blink away the tears before you look to Joel’s face. His eyes are steady on yours. You offer a small smile.

“Feels less like guts and more like desperation most of the time.”

Joel looks sincere, firm. “Desperation’s just another word for fightin’ for what you need.”

A heavy lump in your throat makes it difficult to respond, but you push yourself to be vulnerable. “I came out here to figure myself out and to do it on my own. I wanted to prove it to myself. But, then today, I got so caught up in my own head that I almost got us both hurt.”

“That wasn’t your fault,” he says quietly.

“I should’ve been paying better attention. Should’ve asked the other riders about the footing. Or—” your voice cracks and you pause to slow down your spiraling thoughts.

Joel moves closer, his presence solid. Anchoring. “You’re hard on yourself,” he says it soft, but firm. “You’ve got grit. You work your ass off. That’s what matters.”

You look up at him. Feeling exposed, like you’re holding the ugliest parts of you in your palms for him to see. “You think so?”

“I know so. I see you. The way you handle Blue, the balance you strike with your dad, the way you work twice as hard as most folks at a part-time job and still have time to learn the names of every old farmer in 50 miles that comes in once a month.”

You laugh at that, feeling something warm blooming in your chest. His eyes soften, and you’re drawn to the lines on his face.

“I’ve seen the way you push yourself even when you’re tired, the way you’re determined to bring out the best in yourself and others. Even those of us with a history.” He runs his hand along the scar tissue on Blue’s shoulder. The horse that broke a girl’s jaw.

“You’re tougher than most people I know. And contrary to what you think, I respect the hell outta you for it.”

His words hit harder than you expect, and you feel like your ribs have been pulled open, exposing your heart and soul in the moonlight.

You’ve spent so long chasing your own impossible standards.

Fighting for your dad’s stoic approval. Suffocating under the weight of other people’s judgment.

Hearing Joel’s praise feels like a warm blanket wrapping around your shoulders.

“Joel,” you start, but your voice falters. The way he’s looking at you feels intense. Almost too much. You can feel your heart beating against your chest.

He shifts, his hand brushing yours lightly, and the air between you feels thick. “Took me a long time to learn how to ask for help or accept it. Still ain’t perfect at it neither,” it comes out like a confession. “But there’s nothing weak about it. And there’s nothin’ more attractive than a woman who’s not afraid to try, fail, and try again.”

The slip in his voice–the raw, unguarded admiration–sends a flush of heat through you. Shit. The praise was already overwhelming, but the way he’s looking at you now—it’s too much. Or not enough.

His centering presence somehow has you rocked off balance.

Suddenly you’re closer, the space between you charged. Humming like one of the generators at the other campsites.

His hand brushes your cheek, gentle but deliberate. Your breath catches in your throat. Everything that has been simmering between you feels like it’s about to boil over.

The rest of the rodeo disappears. Standing there in the moonlight, the world around you dissolves into quiet, only his gravity pulling you closer.

Joel’s hand lingers just long enough on your cheek to make heat crawl up your neck and coil in your belly. Before you can close the distance he pulls back, clearing his throat and stepping away. He moves slowly and deliberately, giving you space to retreat if you want to.

But you don’t.

Instead, you follow him out of the pen, your feet carrying you toward the trailer without thought.

The silence between you is loud, not uncomfortable but full of unspoken words and feelings, each step drawing you toward something you haven’t named yet. When he opens the door and gestures for you to step inside, the creak of the hinges feels impossibly loud.

Inside, the trailer is layered in soft shadows from the glow of a warm lamp. Joel closes the door behind you, and the quiet feels delicate. He stands a few paces away, his hat in hand, his eyes scanning your face as though searching for any sign of doubt.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice low and careful.

When you find your voice, it’s softer than you expected. “Yeah.”

The corners of his mouth lift just slightly, and the warmth in his eyes eases some of the nervous energy bouncing around in your chest. He hangs his hat on the hook near the door. The image of him reaching past you to hang it on the same hook last night flares in your mind and buzzes through your skin.

His movements are unhurried. He steps closer to you. He’s so large in the small space. Not intimidating, but stabilizing.

“Earlier,” he begins, “when I said I respect the hell outta you… I meant it.”

He takes your hand in his, his fingers warm and solid. Your senses are heightened from the emotionally raw conversation, from his touch, and the warm, spiced scent of him wrapping around you. “I see how hard you’ve worked, how much you’ve sacrificed to be here. You don’t give yourself enough credit.”

He cups your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin with a tenderness that makes your heart ache.

“You’re incredible,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with awe.

“And you’ve got no idea how much I—”

He cuts himself off, searching your face. His breath is warm, so close to your face. His lips look soft, so close to yours.

You close the distance, your lips meeting his in a kiss that’s nothing like the night before. It’s tender. Slow. Sprawling. Unspoken affection passes between you with the slip of your tongues and the soft sounds in your throat.

Joel’s mind blanks for a moment, every thought and worry dissolving into the sensation of your lips on his. Softer than he ever let himself imagine, a sweetness he didn’t think he deserved. The warmth of you seeps into him, steadying him even as it sends electricity down his spine.

His hand settles on your waist, pulling you close as the kiss deepens. There’s no resistance. You’re pliable and willing. He moves with you naturally, like your mouths were always meant to find each other. He holds you like you’re a treasure, a prize, a wonder. Precious.

So soft, he thinks, his thumb grazing the curve of your waist. Every inch of you pressed against him feels like fire and solace all at once. His other hand roams over your back, the delicate shift of muscle beneath his palm grounding him in the reality that you’re here, with him.

Your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, tugging him closer, but there’s no space left between you. His palm glides down your spine, lighting you from within. When you break apart, softly breathing in each other’s air, his forehead rests against yours, eyes dark and soft as they hold your gaze.

“You have no idea how much I crave this. Crave you. In every way.” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. The reverence in his tone makes your cheeks flush with warmth, and you can’t help but smile.

“I might have some idea,” you reply, your voice just as quiet, but your smile grows wider.

Then he kisses you again, this time with more urgency, his hands moving to your hips and guiding you toward the bed. His touch is everywhere, his lips tracing a path from your mouth to your jaw, down the curve of your neck, each kiss making you feel lighter and warmer.

He continues to pour his confessions into your skin between each article of clothing he pulls off of you. "I thought I’d never have this. Never have you. But here you are, and you’re perfect." The words spill out of him unbidden, each one carrying a weight he’s carried for far too long. His hands tremble slightly as he leaves a wet trail of kisses down your clavicle, between the swell of your breasts, over the smooth fabric of your bra.

"I used to hate that I wanted you, that I thought about having you like this. But I don’t want to stop, sweetheart.” He unclasps your bra and slips the straps over your shoulders, replacing the cups with his palms, kneading your plush flesh. The warmth of your skin beneath his hands sends sparks through him, and he leans in, brushing his lips over the sensitive peaks.

“Don’t want you to stop,” you murmur back. He hums in response to you, rolling your nipples between his fingers before taking his time mouthing, sucking, licking at each of them until you moan and arch toward him.

“I spent too many nights trying not to think about you,” he confesses, his voice dipping lower. “And cursing myself for it.” He shifts down, between your legs to pull your jeans off. It feels like he’s just handed you a piece of himself you didn’t expect to see. The idea of him, alone and thinking about you, shifts something in your mind. It’s not just desire he carries for you. Is it something deeper?

He runs his hands along your bare legs, warm against your smooth skin. He already looks wrecked and he’s still fully clothed. You reach for him, but he shakes his head, dipping to line another path of kisses down your belly, to the sensitive skin inside the top of your thighs. His lips press against your skin, reverent, as if trying to memorize the feel of you beneath him.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice rough with need. His admiration and desire are intense, making you feel stripped bare in an emotional way. He’s not just saying it; he means it in a way that feels different from casual compliments.

Everything you use to protect yourself falls away as you let his words soak in. You couldn’t hide from him if you wanted to. He’s not just taking—he’s giving, pouring every ounce of admiration and desire he feels for you into each moment. And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself take it in, let yourself believe it.

The heat of his touch and the need in his eyes have your core aching for attention. His breath ghosting over your swollen cunt makes you shudder with need.

When his lips press against the thin fabric still covering you, you arch into him. You feel him smile against you, breathing deeply before he slides his hands beneath your thighs, cupping your ass to tilt your hips before he descends again.

He kisses and sucks at your clit through your soaked panties without a care for the lewd sounds filling the small room. He doesn’t stop. It’s warm and wet, and the pressure makes you feel needy. You roll your hips seeking more contact, and he moans against you, the sound vibrating through you causing you to gasp and call out his name.

He looks up at you before pulling your underwear off and pausing to stare at your glistening cunt, before taking all of you in. His eyes dart to your face, all of your exposed skin, and back to your eyes.

“I never thought I’d actually get to touch you. To kiss you. Taste you like this.” His voice is hoarse, barely audible over the sound of your breath.

“Please, Joel.” He’s like a dream between your legs. His mouth, his tongue, his hands, his fingers. He uses everything with expert precision, bringing you closer and closer and erasing every worry, every stress.

You wonder if you should feel more vulnerable being naked beneath him while he’s still fully clothed. But instead, it feels empowering—like this moment belongs to you just as much as it does to him; like every touch and kiss is a promise steeped in devotion.

His hips press into the mattress involuntarily, seeking relief for his throbbing cock as he continues to worship you with his mouth. You thread your fingers through his hair as he dips his tongue inside of you. “Oh, fuck.” Your voice is hoarse and ragged already.

He knows exactly what you need next. Filling you with his fingers while he wraps his lips over your clit. The wet noises of his fingers pumping into you are obscene-–but they're nothing compared to the moan you make when you see the way his hips are desperately rutting into the mattress between your legs.

The sight of him losing control, his own need so evident and unrestrained, sends a fresh wave of heat through you. He’s giving so much of himself to you with every movement. It’s not just his mouth or his hands—it’s the way he wants you, completely and utterly, like he’s been holding it back for ages.

It tips you over the edge, chanting his name like a prayer as your release crashes through you. Your walls contract around his fingers and your muscles tense as he groans into your wet flesh before pulling back.

“That’s it,” he murmurs from between your legs, “you did good for me, baby. You’re so good for me.”

You’re boneless as the words melt into you. But you know you wanted to say something before he made your vision blur.

Your breath comes in slow, uneven waves as you blink at the ceiling, reality slowly settling back into your body. He’s watching you, his eyes dark and heavy with affection and need, and you realize the thought that had slipped away moments ago was this: you need to feel him, to see him.

“Joel,” you manage, your voice low and hoarse, your fingers brushing weakly at his forearm. He raises an eyebrow, a ghost of a smirk touching his lips as he leans closer.

“What is it, baby?”

You swallow hard, the words tangled in your throat as you try to gather your strength. “Off,” you rasp, fingers tugging weakly at the fabric of his shirt.

He chuckles softly, the sound vibrating against your skin as he leans down to kiss your temple. “Gimme a minute, sweetheart. Let me make sure you’re all right first.”

Your head shakes slightly, determination building even in your post-release haze. “Joel. Now.”

Something in your voice snaps the tension in him. His jaw tightens, his hands moving to the hem of his shirt in one smooth motion, tugging it over his head.

The sight of him leaves you breathless. Broad shoulders tapering to a firm waist, his skin golden and littered with scars and years of hard work. He looks wrecked, his chest rising and falling as though he’s been holding himself back for too long.

“Goddamn,” you whisper, as your mouth hangs open. Your gaze drops lower, taking in the soft lines of his abdomen, and the trail of dark hair leading to the waistband of his jeans.

And then, as he unbuttons them and pushes them down, his cock springs free, thick and flushed and so fucking perfect it sends a scalding wave of desire rolling through you.

Your expression fills Joel with pride. The hunger in your eyes makes his cock twitch, the intensity of your gaze threatening to knock him over right there.

You sit up slightly, your hand reaching for him, but he catches your wrist gently, shaking his head. “Not like that,” he murmurs, his voice rough as gravel. He eases you back onto the mattress, his hands warm and firm against your hips. “Not this time, baby.”

You whine softly, your need pulsing through every word. “Please, fuck, I need you.”

His pupils blow wide, his breathing uneven as he settles between your legs. “You need me?” he repeats, his tone darkening, the words laced with a feral edge that makes you dizzy.

“You’re gonna get me, baby. All of me. Gonna fill you so deep you’ll never forget it.”

The shift in his tone sends a fresh rush of slick between your thighs. His hand trails up your side, his thumb brushing the underside of your breast as he watches you.

“Gonna make you mine. Gonna keep you so full of me you’ll feel it in you every time you move.”

The possessiveness in his voice makes your body burn, your hips rocking up toward him involuntarily. “Joel, please,” you beg, your voice raw and edged with frustration as he drags the blunt head of his cock through your slick folds, teasing you.

“Fuck,” he pauses after barely pushing into you. His eyes slam shut for a moment before he inches deeper into you, slower than you thought possible. “You take me like it’s what you’re meant for.” His eyes stay locked on yours, watching every flicker of pleasure that crosses your face.

You gasp as he reaches the deepest part of you, his hips flush against yours, his cock filling you completely. “Look at you,” he coos. “Such a good girl for me.” The sensation is overwhelming, every nerve ending sparking to life as he stills for a moment, letting you adjust.

“Feel that?” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble. “Feel how deep I am? That’s where I’m gonna stay, sweetheart. Right here, fillin’ you up.”

Your walls flutter around him, your body already begging for more. “Joel,” you whisper, your nails digging into his shoulders. “Move. Please.”

He obliges, his hips pulling back before driving forward again, dragging out the intensity of every sensation. His forehead drops to yours, his breath hot against your lips as he whispers praise between each movement. “You’re so good for me, baby. So damn good.”

Your body writhes beneath him, the pleasure building with each heavy stroke. “More,” you whisper. “Please, Joel. I need more.”

The last of his restraint dissolves as he grips your hips and begins to move harder, faster, his cock hitting so deep you swear you can feel it everywhere. The pace steals the breath from your lungs, threatening to consume you.

“That’s it,” he growls, his voice rough and unrestrained. “Take it. All of me.”

Your cries fill the air, his name falling from your lips over and over. His hands hold you steady, keeping you exactly where he wants you as he claims you.

“Look at you,” he rasps, his gaze locked on the spot where your bodies meet, where his cock disappears every time he sinks into you. “So perfect, takin’ me so well. Made for this. Made for me.”

You watch, as he instructed, until you look back up to his face. He’s so vocal, so confident with every word—but his face is equal parts hungry and wrecked. Fucked out. Drunk on you.

Again it’s the deep satisfaction you get from his unrestrained desire that makes you come with a blinding intensity. You try to tell him how close you are before you’re violently sucked into the sensations.

Your walls clench around him, making him shudder and groan. You try to beg him to come too. To fill you up. You’re unsure if the words make it past your thoughts, but he’s pulled into it with you either way.

Moments later, a deep groan vibrates through his chest as he tenses and his hips jerk against you. It feels like bliss, the sensation of his cock pulsing within you, the heat of his release coating your walls as they flutter around him.

The room falls into a warm quiet, the only sounds are your ragged breaths and the faint sounds of people laughing and shouting at another campsite, reminding you the rest of the world still exists.

Joel’s weight presses into you, grounding you in the present. He doesn’t pull away, softening inside of you as you breathe through the aftershocks of your orgasms.

“Stay with me,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible as he presses a kiss to your temple. “Just stay with me.”

He shifts you both just enough to hold tight against his chest, his lips brushing your temple as his hand smooths down your side. “So good,” he murmurs, “so perfect,” voice rough but soft in a way that makes your chest ache.

The early morning sun stretches over the rodeo grounds, bathing everything in a wash of pink hues. You wake to the soft hum of voices outside the trailer and the thud of a bale of hay being dropped just outside the trailer.

Joel’s weight shifts beside you as he stirs, his arm tightening around your waist for a moment before he lets out a soft, sleepy grunt. The sound pulls a smile to your lips as you turn to face him. His eyes blink open slowly, still heavy with sleep, and he offers you a lazy smile that you mirror involuntarily.

“Mornin’, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice gravelly and low.

“Morning,” you whisper back, your fingers brushing over his stubbled jaw.

There’s a content silence between you before a loud knock rattles the trailer door, making you both jump. Tommy’s voice rings out cheerfully, "Y’all better get movin’ if you don’t wanna miss breakfast."

Joel groans, dropping his head back against the pillow with a dramatic sigh. "That boy’s got the worst damn timing."

You stifle a laugh, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before sliding out of bed to get dressed. Joel watches you for a moment, his gaze warm and unguarded, before he stretches and follows suit.

The three of you sit at a picnic table near the cook tent, balancing plates of eggs, bacon, and biscuits as the camp buzzes with early morning energy. Joel sits across from you, his knee brushing yours under the table. You catch him watching you over the rim of his coffee cup, his lips twitching into a barely concealed smile when your eyes meet.

Tommy, oblivious as ever, chatters on about their schedule and the competition, occasionally tossing in jokes that have you laughing despite yourself. Joel leans back in his seat, his body language is relaxed but his eyes are constantly flicking to you.

When Tommy excuses himself to check on their horses, Joel leans forward, his voice low and teasing. “You’re not real subtle, you know.”

You shoot him a mock glare, your cheeks warming. “Says the man who’s been staring at me all morning.”

“Can’t help it.” Joel shrugs.

Later, you find yourself perched on the edge of a fence near the arena, watching Joel and Tommy warm up their horses. Their movements are fluid and synchronized; you openly admire their skill.

Tommy tips his hat to you with a grin as they pass, and you wave back, your gaze inevitably drifting back to Joel. He glances your way, his dark eyes meeting yours briefly, and the corner of his mouth lifts in a small, private smile that makes your heart skip.

The arena is alive with energy as their division gets underway. You lean against the rail, your fingers gripping the cool metal as you watch Joel and Tommy back their horses into the box.

The chute gate flies open, the steer bolting into the arena with Joel and Tommy in swift pursuit. Joel’s rope swings in a perfect arc, catching the steer cleanly around the horns as Tommy moves in to secure the heels. The crowd cheers as they pull the steer to a stop, their time flashing on the scoreboard.

The announcer calls their time and updates the standings. Joel and Tommy have the best time in their division so far.

You can’t help but cheer, your voice lost in the noise of the crowd as Joel and Tommy ride back toward the holding pen, their smiles wide and triumphant. Joel catches your eye as he passes, tipping his hat to you with a grin that makes your stomach flutter.

When they dismount near the gate, you meet them with a smile. "You two make that look way too easy."

Tommy laughs. "He’s the header," he tilts his head toward Joel. “I can’t do shit if he misses.”

Joel shakes his head, deflecting the comment.

“It’s a team event,” you counter. “Both of you are good at what you do.”

“We should bring her with us more often,” Tommy jokes.

Joel gives you another warm look with unspoken words.

“Your head wouldn’t fit in your damn hat if you had someone talking you up after every run,” Joel mocks. As they both swing their legs over the back of their saddles. You turn to watch as they lead their horses back to the trailer. You want to follow and stay close to Joel for the rest of the day, but you stay put.

Trying not to let Tommy in on whatever’s happening between the two of you until you figure it out for yourself. Instead, you head back to the fence to watch the next pair of team ropers. You’d rather be near him, but staying put feels safer—for now.

The afternoon sun dips lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the rodeo grounds. You sit beside Joel on the bleachers, the two of you a quiet bubble of calm amid the hum of spectators around you. The events continue below—tie-down ropers hopping into the dirt, saddle bronc riders gripping for dear life trying to stick it out for eight seconds, bareback riders up next.

Joel leans back, one arm draped across the bench behind you, his body close enough that the heat of him radiates against your side. He’s quiet, but his presence feels steady and grounding. Every so often, his knee brushes yours, the brief contact enough to send a subtle thrill through you.

“You doin’ all right?” Joel asks, his voice low and soft. His gaze lingers on you, dark eyes warm but searching.

“Yeah,” you say with a small smile. “This is nice. I didn’t think I’d enjoy just sitting and watching this much.”

“It’s better when you’ve got good company,” he says, the corner of his mouth quirking into a half-smile.

Your cheeks warm, but you’re spared from responding by the announcer introducing the next rider. Joel shifts beside you, his attention briefly pulled to the arena. You let yourself steal a glance at him—the sharp line of his jaw and the quiet confidence in his posture. He catches you looking and tips his hat, the subtle smirk that follows sending warmth blooming in your chest.

As the next rider lines up, Joel pulls his hat off, setting it on your lap. You blink, startled, and look at him.

“Put it on,” he says simply, his tone casual, but there’s something in his eyes—a quiet intensity that makes your breath hitch.

You hesitate for only a moment before lifting the Stetson and settling it on your head. It’s big, a little too big, but it smells faintly of leather and him. Joel’s gaze lingers on you, his lips curving into a soft smile that feels like it’s meant just for you.

“Looks good on you,” he murmurs, his voice low enough that only you can hear.

The weight of the gesture settles over you—the tradition, the meaning behind it. The thought that this wasn’t just a playful gesture but a quiet claim sends a flutter through your chest. You’re not sure what to say, so you lean into his side slightly, letting the moment and the warmth of him settle over you like a blanket.

Later, as the afternoon begins to mellow, Joel takes your hand and guides you to the cook tent for dinner. It feels almost natural to walk hand in hand, weaving through the crowd of people. The smell of barbecue wafts through the air, mingling with the sounds of quiet conversations and laughter from the other riders and their families.

Joel insists on getting your plate, waving you off with a playful, “Sit tight. I’ll take care of you.” You settle at a nearby table, watching as he weaves through the crowd with ease, stopping to exchange a word or two with acquaintances before returning with two heaping plates.

The two of you fall into an easy rhythm, sharing quiet conversation. Joel’s small acts of service don’t go unnoticed—handing you a napkin before you realize you need one, making sure your drink stays full, brushing crumbs off your sleeve with a casual intimacy that feels like it’s always been there.

For a moment, it’s easy to forget you’re at a rodeo. The noise and bustle fade into the background, leaving just the two of you in a comfortable bubble of companionship. Joel’s low chuckle as you tell him a story about your first job, the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles, the warmth in his voice when he says your name—it all feels so natural, like this is exactly where you’re supposed to be.

As the sun begins to dip lower, casting a golden glow across the grounds, Joel stands and offers you his hand. “Come on,” he says, his voice soft but firm. “Let’s find a good spot for the bull riders. We can cheer for your new friend.”

You expect to see something flare in his eyes bringing up Cody, reminding you of the way he looked at you the first night you came back to the trailer. But, you take his hand and he’s only projecting pride and confidence. It makes you stand taller, knowing he’s a secure man.

He leads you back toward the bleachers. The two of you settle in as the crowd starts to gather, the energy of the evening event buzzing around you. Joel drapes his arm casually along the back of the bench again, his fingers brushing lightly against your shoulder. It’s a small gesture, but it grounds you, making you feel like you’re exactly where you belong.

Tommy and the woman you’ve seen him spending most of the weekend with join you to watch a few rounds. You tense as they come toward the steps, shifting to create space between you and Joel, trying to seem casual. You feel Joel’s eyes on you, but he doesn’t say anything about your move.

Tommy shoots you a wink before they take the seats next to you. It makes you squirm, but you tell yourself he’s always just playful like that. Too charming for his own good.

They stay and chat long enough to finish their drinks before heading back to watch the rest of the event with her group of friends.

Joel stays seated beside you, his arm still draped casually along the back of the bench, his other hand resting on his thigh. There’s a comfortable silence between you, the kind that feels like its own kind of conversation.

Finally, Joel clears his throat, turning slightly to face you. There’s a flicker of hesitation in his eyes, but it’s quickly replaced with something earnest and determined.

“I know this might be the wrong time to bring this up,” he begins, commanding your attention just with the timbre of his voice pulling at your heart, “but I don’t want there to be any misunderstanding about where I’m at.”

You tip your head, curiosity piqued. “Where you’re at?”

He nods, his gaze holding yours. “Look, I know your dad’s a good man, and I don’t want to cross any lines. But I also don’t want to miss my chance with you.” He pauses, his hand brushing against yours where it rests on your lap. “I don’t want this to be our only day together, and I won’t have you sneakin’ out your bedroom window and hoppin’ the fence to see me. S’just not the kind of man I am.”

Your heart stutters as his words sink in. There’s no wavering in his voice, no attempt to downplay what he’s saying. He’s laying it out plainly, his honesty disarming in a way you didn’t expect.

“So what are you saying?” you ask softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

He takes a deep breath, his hand shifting to fully cover yours. “I’m sayin’ I want something real with you. Not just sneakin’ moments or pretendin’ it don’t matter. I want to see where this goes.”

Your chest swells. You nod slowly, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I’d like that.” Relief washes over his face, and he leans close to you.

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “Well, if you’re such a true-blue cowboy, you’re gonna have to be the one to tell my dad.”

Joel nods. “I’ll handle it.” His voice is quieter, but honest. His gaze seems to look a little far away.

You squeeze his hand. “We’ll handle it.” You give him an encouraging smile. “Don’t have to do everything by ourselves right?”

He gives you a warm look. “Right.” He dips toward you for a chaste kiss. It’s sweet and playful. “Just don’t make me wait too long to take you out proper,” he rumbles as he pulls his head back.

You laugh airily, leaning into his side as he pulls you closer. The warmth of his arm around you, the weight of his hat still on your head, and the quiet promise of what’s to come settle over you, the world around you fading into a comfortable hum of possibilities for you and your cowboy Joel.

thank you for reading! pls let me know what you think <3

dividers by @/saradika-graphics tags for babes in case they want some cowboy joel: @lovely-vamp-princess @gothcsz @auteurdelabre @adoreyouusugar @swankyorange @itwasntimethatdidit40 @ivoryandflame @indiegirlunited @syd-djarin @harriedandharassed

@bbyanarchist @94namkooksworld

[iovesentry]

something in my eye

robert reynolds/bob x reader

summary: you were baking something for the team, hands covered in flour and all until something got stuck in your eye.

warning(s): curse word, smooching in the tower hehe, thats about it!

A/N: this is my first time writing, so apologies for the wonky story! but i do hope you guys like it 🥹

It was surprisingly a quiet afternoon in the tower. No assigned tasks, no annoying phone calls from Valentina, and no mayhem occuring in the city. You decided to occupy yourself by baking. You’ve got to admit, it has been ages since you last baked—but you weren’t so bad at it—and the tower had the supplies you needed.

You opened up your iPad and searched up a recipe for red velvet cupcakes. You hoped the team would enjoy it, but after spending almost a year with them, you know they’d devour it in minutes.

After successfully mixing the dry ingredients in the bowl, you suddenly felt something inside your eye. “Shit,” you muttered under your breath while you looked at your flour-covered hands. Hearing footsteps approaching the kitchen, you sigh in relief when you see Bob.

But here’s the thing. You’ve been kinda crushing on Bob for like the past 5 months, but you never really did anything about it, the shyness always overtaking your senses. Little did you know, Bob also liked you too. Always being so caring and sweet when you’re around. It’s painfully obvious to the team that you both have feelings for each other, but you both are so oblivious—and you both also think you’re way out of each others leagues.

“Hey Bob.” You greeted Bob with your left eye closed and your right eye tearing up. You couldn’t rub your eye since it was covered in flour.

“Hey, you alright there? What happened?” He walked up to you and quickly examined your face, cupping your cheeks and looked for anything that could be bothering you.

“Yeah no, I think I got something in my eye. Can you blow on it?” He took a hold of your face much better and blew on your eye. Turns out it was just a stray lash.

“Oh thank goodness you’re here. Thanks Bob.” You realized he was still holding your face in his hands. Holding you so gently, his eyes looking at you so adoringly.

“How are you so… beautiful?” His question sounded so sincere, it made your stomach flutter.

Your hair was a mess, makeup probably smudged, flour all over your face, and the messy apron. But he still thinks you’re beautiful. A thousand thoughts are rushing through your mind right now, you can't comprehend how close you are to your crush, and he just called you beautiful!

“Bob, I’m probably a mess right now.” You chuckled, suddenly getting shy.

“A mess or not, you’re beautiful.” He tucks away a strand of hair behind your ear, noticing the red tint on your cheeks.

“I sorta have a crush on you, you know.” You confessed, covering your face even though your hands were covered in flour. He could see the smile behind your hands and he quickly removed them so he could see your face.

“Can I… kiss you?” He asked so innocently, how could you say no?

Your lips immediately made contact, a slow, passionate, and sweet kiss shared. You threw your arms around his neck and pushed him closer, his arms automatically snaking around your waist. You eventually parted to catch your breaths, foreheads touching, a sweet smile plastered on his face.

“Ha! I knew it!” Yelenas loud, booming voice immediately made both of you distance each other—even though you were already caught—and stare at each other awkwardly.

“You say a word about this and I won’t share my cupcakes with you.” Bob chuckled at your attempt on making Yelena keep a secret, but knowing her, she’ll slip up eventually.

“O-kay!” She saluted you and quickly left the room, leaving both you and Bob alone again.

“Well… do you wanna help me out here? I mean, i’m nearly done. Just need to mix the wet and dry ingredients–” You were interrupted by another kiss from Bob, melting into his touch.

Who would’ve thought a stray lash that got into your eye would lead you to this? In the grasp of your crush? Well, luck was on your side today.