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alexispunkkk · 2 months ago

Text

the giver

- pairing: joel x reader x tommy

- summary: the ‘sweetheart’ of jackson has both the miller brothers wrapped around her finger—and they’re ready to take what she’s willing to give

- warnings: sex, threesome (m/m/f), rough sex, oral (m receiving), hair pulling, light spanking, cum eating/swallowing, sort of cucking, alcohol consumption, manhandling, creampie, light fingering, joel lovessss ass, kissing, neck kissing, thigh riding, orgasms

- word count: 10.3k 😮‍💨😮‍💨

very roughly inspired by the song ‘the giver’ by chappell roan…. writing that as i forgot about it being the inspo a third of the way through

on ao3

masterlist

Being the sweetheart of Jackson comes with its perks.

You’re not one to join patrol shifts. Not one to dig perimeter trenches or be on the lookout for infected or raiders in the distance. Hell, you barely raise your voice in town, and folks just seem to gravitate to you.

Not once have you had any real work to do like everyone else–you sit and look pretty while the world is practically in flames around you. The comfortable town of Jackson keeps you safe from the apocalyptic world outside, and it’s virtually all you know now. Just sunsets dusted over the sky like gold, wooden porches, horses, movies every Friday night.

It’s never too serious with you, and that’s how you like to keep it. You have the freedom to head out to bars and drink your heart away, sing alone and spend your time however you like it.

Nobody expects much out of you. You’re always in your pretty cowboy boots and tiny tanks, glossed lips, baking for your neighbors and planting flowers.

Maybe it’s your baking. Sugar-dusted pies and muffins that everyone swears are to die for. Or maybe the wildflowers you insist on planting on wooden walkways to bring pops of color to the town saddened by the reality of the outbreak. Or, it could be your smile–looking stitched by sunlight, a certain sweetness that can only come with a warning.

The rumors say you came from a QZ in Colorado, wearing boots too clean for the end of the world. Some women are skeptical, but many of the men in town are stunned. Two, in particular. They’re wrapped around your pretty finger.

And you, on the other hand, don’t care. You wear that sneaky smile proudly and walk around Jackson calling everyone ‘darling.’ Handing out cookies to children, making friends with the community’s animals alongside Ellie, and sending an occasional wink to the many older and married men of the little ‘commie’ town. Cowboys are a favorite of yours.

You don’t normally need a map to find trouble–or to find men. They find you, and you hear it in the boots clacking on porches and smell it in the sweat and whiskey of Saturday night bonfires.

You’ve learned how to read a glance. To read pauses, sense held breaths. Quite familiarized with stares.

It’s in your nature.

So, you sit and look pretty on a daily basis, humming along to old country songs with the warmest voice and making your rounds. While you don’t have your own job, you seem to always help everyone else. You’re a giver.

When a job needs to be done, they know they can call you.

And that’s why everyone seems so devout to you–Jackson’s angel and heartbreaker all at once.

Tommy Miller, though, is a flirt. The man could sweet talk a bloater if he thought it’d wink back. The kind that talks to anything that breathes–but in an effective manner.

He’s attractive. A smile that belongs on a billboard and the warmest laugh ever that makes women peek over their shoulders. Lucky for Jackson, there weren’t many billboards left–so Tommy’s handsome face is kept safe in the borders of the town.

And unlucky for you, the man knows how to work that charm a little too well. Often in your direction.

A walking distraction dressed in boots and a perfect Southern twang, he carries himself well despite going through hell–still comes out the other side with a wink and the occasional joke. Where his brother, Joel, is more silence and tension, Tommy is easy laughter and a lazy arm slung around your waist. Before you can even realize he’s too close.

He always seems to be smiling, even if his mouth physically isn’t.

And it’s unfair. It makes you forget what you’re doing. What day it is. Your own name.

Tommy’s hair is always a little tousled by the wind, messy like he’d just taken off a hat or came in from a horse ride. His tan and freckled face seems to season him, and he wears it proudly. Comfortably. He’s gorgeous.

Strong, sure, after years of patrol and learning to fend and survive after the outbreak. But he doesn’t wear it. He’s laid back, like he’s not trying to intimidate, like he’s so casual and comfortable in his own skin that he doesn’t feel the need to flaunt. He’s the embodiment of warmth wrapped into a gorgeous body of a man–steady hands and touches.

An occasional shoulder bump, knee grazing yours under the table. Even his arm slung around your shoulders while he plants a wet kiss on your rosy cheek during a bonfire. Each touch lingers just enough to make you wonder whether or not he meant it, or if he’s just that friendly.

Joel, on the other hand, is a harder read.

Tommy is all sunshine stirred into sawdust, and Joel is dusk. Slower movements, eyes that see more than he lets on–he doesn’t say as much as his brother. He’s older, and you can tell. You sometimes see him holding the small of his back when he stands up or hear the crack of his knees when he leans down.

And when he does talk, it’s usually gruffer and quieter. About something pragmatic, not flirtatious in the slightest.

He fixes fences, carries crates by, drops things off you don’t ask for with a small “figured you could use it.”

Not much for compliments.

But he watches, and you enjoy that. The quiet is nice sometimes in contrast to Tommy’s outward flirtation and neverending sweet talk. From across the town square, behind his guitar, over the rim of his coffee mug at his favorite diner in Jackson–he’s always just there. Watching.

Noticing you. The feeling of his dark eyes burning into you makes the rest of the world go quiet, even managing to mute a drunk Tommy on saturday nights.

Joel has the raw and rough kind of beauty that also doesn’t flaunt itself, but creeps up on you. Broad hands, calloused and rough and capable from years of both contracting and fighting infected. His forearms are tanned from work, sleeves always pushed up to keep out of the way. A salt-and-pepper scruff covering his jaw that doesn’t behave very well, and his hair always sloppily pushed back with his hand.

Compared to Tommy, it’s like he doesn’t own a mirror. Rugged and hardened and messy but so, so gorgeous. Carries himself like a man. The most masculine you’ve ever seen. Big frame, thick and warm like a large space heater. Makes you wonder if all of him is that big.

He’s older, but not in a way that makes him seem out of place. More like he’s earned the scars and little creaks and marks dug into the crevices of his handsome face. He looks like a fighter and still doesn’t deserve to rest, like he’s carrying something you can’t figure out.

And his voice–god–his voice. Gravelly, but smooth and bourbon-like, hiding something a little dangerous beneath it’s drawl. Everything about him gets to you. The way he keeps greater distance, doesn’t flirt. He doesn’t let himself get close like his brother does, but it ruins you even more.

So you flirt a little more with Tommy when Joel’s around. Maybe you like watching him try not to look.

Yes, ma’am. No, darlin.’

Their matching Texan accents ring in your head, drawing you to them while you head out in Jackson with an unsurprising batch of cookies–baked to perfection and nestled in tupperware–in your arms.

The sun today is high, but not cruel, casting a warmth over the town that makes it look as golden and sugary as the pies you normally whip up. Kids are running barefoot down the road while their fathers work on splitting wood. Someone is playing their radio out of an open window.

You can hear the faint and tinny country music over the hum of townspeople going about their normal afternoon routines. Taking your time for a nice stroll, you have an apron tied around your waist and maybe a hint of flour streaked across your denim-clad thigh. Like your badge of honor.

And, like always, you’re not in a rush. What’s the rush when there's a dozen voices calling out to you when you pass by the men working?

“Smells like cinnamon again.” One calls out, giving you a charming smirk while obnoxiously chewing on his gum. Hot.

You laughed, but waved them off. Okay, maybe you gave him a wink.

But it’s just a batch of cookies, nothing too fancy. Chocolate chip with a sprinkle of coarse sea salt on top for the added flavor: your signature. You’re not trying to cause a stir, it just comes to you. People happen to notice when you walk by, smelling of baked goods and looking like the sweetest girl Wyoming has ever seen.

And then, like an answer to a distant prayer, there he is. Your favorite of Jackson’s men.

Tommy Miller, shirt half unbuttoned and clinging to his broad chest and shoulder blades with streaks of sweat. He’s standing in the gravel yard beside a pile of fresh cut logs. An axe in one hand and a rag in the other.

He’s mid-wiping the sweat off his forehead when he catches sight of you, dragging it along the back of his neck right after while he presents his usual ever-charming smile. Cheeky, but slow. And so, so handsome.

Normally, you just shoot him a smile and offer a small glance up and down–occasionally narrowing in on his crotch. So you do the same–smile, wave, move on with your day.

“Hey, hold on.” This time, his voice pulls you back. Easy, like he doesn’t want the moment to end quite yet. Needs a good look at you, a taste of the cookies you’re holding. Maybe of something else.

He seems to take interest in the outfit under your apron when you stop: a pretty little white tank made of cotton and decorated with innocent lace. Big jeans held up by a dark cherry-colored red belt, matching maroon cowgirl boots thrown on your feet. And maybe he wants to know if what you’re wearing underneath would match the so-perfectly planned boots and belt technique.

He doesn’t move, not really. One hand is still resting on the axe handle, the other now supporting his weight against the chopping block. Leaned over and propped up on his hand, shamelessly checking you out. Sweaty. Gorgeous.

“You in a rush? He smiles, tilting his head just slightly to the left.

“Uh-uh. Not unless there’s a line somewhere waiting on these cookies.”

You giggle and lift the tupperware, showing off the newest batch of everyone’s favorite sweets. Better than the bakery’s, that’s for sure. Your smile distracts him for a second, the pretty gloss pasted over your lips luring him in like a siren.

Tommy chuckles, tongue pressing to the inside of his cheek. Kind of makes him look like an asshole. But you like it.

“As far as I know, I’m the only one who should be getting a fresh one.” He raises his eyebrows, letting go of the chopping block of wood and setting his trusty axe down. He steps closer, resting his thick fingers on the lid of the container.

“Please?”

He looks down at you, a manipulative smirk crossing his face. His gaze is switching between your face–your lips, eyes, freckled skin–to the batch of cookies you’re supporting. Almost begging.

When he moves closer, you catch a whiff of his scent. Most people wouldn’t exactly enjoy the smell of a man’s sweat after chopping wood for an hour in the summer, wearing a long sleeve shirt, but something about it is alluring to you. Anything that relates to masculinity is alluring to you, really. Musk and the faint scent of cedar from his cologne that was barely holding on but also accentuated by the aroma of the wood surrounding you.

“Fine. One.” You give in to that smile, any woman would. Stepping back, you set the container down on a nearby block of wood, crouching down next to it. You flick your hair back and Tommy is soon gazing at your profile now, the way you bite your lip in focus to get a cookie out for him. Also, the way your ass looks when you crouch down in the dust like that.

You grab one with a napkin, shutting the lid and standing back up to return to him.

“Here. Guess you’re special today. These are actually meant for the preschool.”

Tommy looks at you for a moment, and this time, his flirting is a little quieter. Muted. Softer. “Special? Not sure I’ve heard that one before.”

You roll your eyes, handing him the warm treat carefully before crossing your arms over your chest.

“Then nobody’s been looking close enough.” You snort, motioning for him to try the cookie. Your words shut him up for a second, eyes flicking up and down as if deciding something. Looking for the right kind of words.

But he ignores the feeling, taking a big bite of the cookie. You watch his lips as his teeth sink down into the dessert, the way his tongue darts out to clean the crumbs off his bottom lip while he chews.

And, as usual, his face displays his reaction to the taste shamelessly. He leans his head back, the cookie eliciting a small groan of pleasure from the back of his throat. His head bobs up and down with a nod of approval, of complete satisfaction at the taste of a single bite.

Upon swallowing, he looks down at the treat in his hand and grumbles in delight. “Mmhm. Sweetheart, that’s it. You’ve mastered it this time.”

His reaction is a little dramatic, but it makes you laugh. Makes you proud. Draws out that sweet giggle of yours that he loves so much, which makes him proud in return.

“It’s the same recipe as always. I did not master it, sweetheart.” You answer, playfully mocking the nickname he likes to use on you. Something about the way that Tommy is an expert flirt changes the way you flirt back. You don’t go easy on him, you’re a little ruder with it–sassy.

“Yeah, sweetheart. You did.” He rolls his eyes dramatically and mocks back, expression quickly changing back to an amused grin. He finishes the cookie in two short bites, stuffing his face and rubbing the crumbs off on his thighs.

You go back to the block of wood to pick up your cookies so you can carry on with your day, but Tommy follows. He steps right behind you, wrapping a warm and rough hand around your wrist before you can pick up the container.

“Hey–hey.” He stops you with a laugh, making your head turn to look up at him.

You try your best to seem annoyed, but it’s all performative. Really, you’d stay here as long as he wanted. Stay and watch him chop wood, feed him cookies to his heart’s desire.

“One more. C’mon.” Tommy grins, holding a hand out so you bless him with another.

“No, Tommy.” You groan, keeping your hands on the container to ensure it stays shut and he doesn’t cheat you for more treats. “They’re for the kids. I’m not gonna keep giving away my cookies to a grown ass man. You had one.”

He grumbles like a petulant child, pouting down at you. It’s annoying, but a little funny. Makes you want to give in and give him all the desserts in the world.

“It’s not for me,” he starts explaining, shaking his head in protest. “For Joel. He’s on patrol, I’m sure he’d appreciate a little snack when he returns.”

The fact that it’s for Joel makes you a little more receptive to the idea. You’re a sucker for that man, for whatever reason. And, unluckily for you, Tommy knows that. Joel Miller is your weakness.

You sigh, shaking your head and slowly opening the container back up. Tommy grins at the sight of the lid coming up and your hand reaching in for a second.

“Atta’girl.” His hand lands on the small of your back while you’re leaned over to get Joel’s treat, a warm presence that brings a flush up your neck and ears. Tommy’s always been a touchy one, especially in comparison to his brother. He loves to swing an arm around your shoulder and ruffle your hair whenever he can. Loves to say things like ‘atta’girl’ and ‘good job’ to watch how you get as red as a tomato.

Once the cookie is wrapped up in a napkin and kept safe in his pocket for Joel, he straightens his back and lets you stand back up, removing his hand from your spine. He rubs the back of his neck, something that would seem sheepish if it was anyone else. But on Tommy, it seems practiced. Like he knows just how to make you wanna lean in even more.

“Speaking of him,” he starts, pointedly. “There’s a bonfire tonight. Out past the paddock fence.”

You nod, knowing of it–you’re planning on going already, actually, but you listen anyway.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm. Couple folks are bringin’ instruments. Drinks and whatnot. I might even get Joel to bring out his old guitar.”

You lift an eyebrow in intrigue, especially by the sound of Joel bringing out his guitar. You’d love to hear him play–love to see his big fingers work the chords and strings under the light of a fire.

“You’re working real hard to make it sound casual, Tommy.” You giggle and tilt your head, finally picking up the container of cookies once and for all.

He snorts and shakes his head, wiping the sweat dripping down the back of his neck again. It catches your attention, distracting you, drawing you to the sight of little beads against his hot, tanned skin.

He gives you a crooked, stupid grin. “Yeah, well. I ain’t askin’ the whole town if they’re going. Just you.”

Your heart does the little thing–not jumping, not exactly skipping. But warming up. By the idea of Tommy only asking you about the bonfire. Like he wants you there. It felt like settling into a chair that feels just right.

You let your gaze drift down to the sweat-streaked white shirt clinging to his shoulders and the way the sun is catching on his temples. The crumb of the cookie still left on the corner of his mouth. Hell, he could be selling sins door-to-door and you’d still buy it. Of course you wanna go.

“I was already planning on going. But since you’re asking so sweetly…” You start, drawing out the words teasingly.

“That a yes?” He perks up, the grin on his handsome face growing exponentially.

“I guess so. Depends. Will you save me a seat with you and your brother?” You grin and lean back, fingers drumming against the tupperware in your arms.

Tommy nods obediently, crossing his arms over his chest. They look big that way, especially when the sweat seeps through the white shirt he’s wearing and makes it a little see-through.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Fuck, that always gets you weak. Being called ma’am–by none other than Tommy Miller, in particular, has you aching. The things you would do to hear that in a not-so-innocent context invade your mind.

“M’kay. As long as you two behave–and don’t talk through all the music–I’ll be there. See you tonight, Miller.”

You lift the tupperware in a little sort of a wave, sauntered off before he can even say anything else. Left with the little cookie in his pocket saved for Joel. Oh, it’s gonna be a long night. He’s in trouble.

Later that night, the sun starts to dip low and spill gold light into your kitchen window. That sweet, syrupy light that makes your skin glow. Makes you wanna dance in the kitchen and mess around.

You spent the day baking and then handing out cookies to the kids at Jackson’s preschool–it was adorable. But now, you’re getting ready for a night of drinking by a fire. A self-proclaimed “date” with both of the Miller brothers at once. With the town’s two hottest and beaten up men.

You’re standing barefoot in front of the mirror, one boot on while you weigh the options. Black, brown, or red? The outfit you settled for was a tiny old denim skirt held low on your hips and supported with the same belt as earlier. Paired with a little red gingham top you’d stitched yourself from scraps.

It was only the right option because it hugs your waist perfectly and clings to your chest, enough to surely make Tommy lose his train of thought mid conversation.

As hard as you tried to tell yourself this should just be another normal night, another bonfire, another excuse to laugh and drink with friends–it isn’t. You know why you’re going. You’re going to get drunk and mess with two brothers to the best of your ability. Fuck it.

Tugging a brush through your hair and letting it fall around your shoulder in lazy curls, not too fussy, you stared in the mirror. A dull red lipstick painted over your lips, highlighted by a smooth cherry-flavored gloss. Vanilla perfume on your wrists, lotioned legs–you smell as sweet as the cookies from earlier. Maybe Joel and Tommy would want a bite of you instead.

Sure, the world is over outside of Jackson. But tucked safely in the town, your biggest worry is how good you look tonight. And which brother you’d choose. Or if you’re even going to settle for one.

Your mind drifted as you put on all your jewelry.

Tommy. Sweet-talking and warmed from years in the sun. The biggest flirt you know. He makes you feel like the only woman in the room, looking at you like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. There’s something so easy about him, which makes you feel comfortable.

He’s never boring, just familiar. Worn-in and all feel-good.

The only issue with Tommy is his flirtatious nature. Sure, it works on you, and makes you feel seen. But if he’s that good with his words, touch, and eyes, he must have too much experience. You’re sure he sweet talks every single woman in this town the same way he does with you, which makes you uneasy.

He flirts and doesn’t try to hide it. Makes it clear as day that he wants you. But might also want other women, so you’re not sure if he’s the perfect choice.

Then there's Joel.

Quieter, broader, and stiller. Doesn’t flirt or talk you up the way his brother does, but hovers. Makes you feel pretty with his eyes rather than his words.

He looks for too long, staring at you, whether you’re paying attention or not. His rougher voice settles low in your stomach when he speaks, smoke curling around your ribs and heating up your insides–all the way into your cervix, actually.

He’s much harder to pin down and slower to trust, but Lord, he’s worth the chase. You just know it.

Something about the fact that he makes it so much harder to tell if he wants you than Tommy arouses you. The slow burn of it all, confusion at each of his lingering glances. It gets you wondering, which eventually leaves you more hot and bothered than Tommy can get you. If Joel’d ever let himself get closer, he’d hold on tighter than his brother can.

Tommy is more a sunrise and Joel is a storm on the horizon. But they’re both fucking beautiful and dangerous, all at the same time.

You tap on your bottom lip in the mirror’s reflection, weighing the options. Most days, you don’t let the thought linger for two long. Jackson is small and gossip gets around quick, and you don’t want to ruin the existing flirtatious friendship with one brother and the stolen glances you exchange with the other.

Truth be told, most men wouldn’t be able to handle it very well if they were to find out that one woman was sharing attention with both him and his brother.

But, fuck, the idea of it?

Two men, both strong and stubborn and so big. So much bigger than you. Older, beaten by years of working. They’re burdened, and it makes them hotter to you in some sick way.

One with charm and one with intense heat, both circling you as if wanting to worship you and warn you off at the same time. What would it feel like to be in the middle of that want–to have Tommy’s hot breath and mouth on your neck and Joel’s big hands holding your hips down?

You exhale, slow and deliberate. Your thighs squeeze together and you allow yourself a single quiet smirk in the mirror.

No harm in thinking of it, right? After all, tonight’s just a bonfire. A little whiskey and music and possibly a seat between the Miller brothers on a bench. Not so bad.

So, you settle on the red boots. They match your belt and lipstick, after all. Lacing them up and giving yourself a last look, you head out.

The supposed ‘sweetheart’ of Jackson, ready to stir up trouble and, hopefully, have her way with at least one brother.

Later that night, you arrive just past nine. The bonfire is crackling tall and bright, its flames licking up at the starry sky. The scent of smoke curls through the air, sweetened by sap and pine of the surrounding forest. The low hum of voices–and a guitar being tuned–fills the space.

Tommy catches your eye first, sitting on a hay bale near the fire with one boot planted in the dirt and the other propped up on a small stump. He smiles, not flashy this time, but warm. Warmer than the fire, warmer than the heat beginning to return to your belly.

He knows exactly who you’re here to see.

Joel’s nearby, hiding more out in the corner, further from the fire. He’s tuning his guitar held across his lap, catching sight of you.

The signature look. He doesn’t smile or wave yet, just lips tightening in a greeting as he holds your gaze. Enough to make your breath catch in your chest. He looks back down like it’s nothing, deciding the strings of his old guitar need more attention than you do.

Fair enough, you’re already getting enough in that little outfit. From the men around the fire–Tommy, obviously.

You make your way over with a friendly smile, the firelight catching on your smooth bare legs. The glint of your lip gloss and shine of your hair not going unnoticed by the first brother.

“C’mere. Finally made it!” Tommy pats the spot next to him, thigh brushing yours while you sit. His gaze is quickly drawn to your lap, how short the skirt is–low on your waist but still only mere inches away from exposing your panties.

The warmth of the fire pressing on the two of you and making his skin glow more than it already does feels good, settling the moment into something comfortable. The familiar hum of the forest at night around you, all of your friends and neighbors gathered around the fire.

“I did make it. Can’t deny an invite from you.” You flash a smile back at Tommy, already entirely turned toward his body. With a little bit of whiskey on his breath and a more relaxed outfit now, he seems even more genial to see you tonight.

“Yeah? He chuckles, lifting the hand that isn’t occupied with a bottle to settle it on your thigh. Your smooth, shaven, and moisturized patch of skin that’s all free for him to touch. The bonfire is heating your skin up, and so is Tommy’s touch, making you feel like you’re truly on fire.

“You look good, though. I’m likin’ the gingham on you.” He nods casually, moving the hand up to toy with the bow on the straps of the top. “Lookin’ like a little cowgirl. Would never guess you’re not from the South.”

His voice is so sweet and lazy, more laid back than normally, most likely due to the bottle of whiskey in his other hand.

“Made this top myself,” you answer, stealing the bottle from his hand and taking a long swig. The feeling of it burns your throat, makes you almost sputter. You’re still so young compared to Tommy, and the intolerance to the strong alcohol reminds him of the fact.

He raises his eyebrows, shifting to face you more, forgetting entirely about the fire and his brother thirty feet away, tuning away at a guitar.

“Looks real good. I like it.” He takes the bottle back and drinks, slowly, before setting it down on the ground in front of the hay bale. “Almost didn’t recognize you without the apron and all the flour on your jeans.”

That makes you giggle. Of course you’re known to everyone in Jackson as the sweet girl who bakes, constantly lost in a cloud of flour and never seen without an apron. Valid comment.

“Is that a compliment or an insult, Miller?

“Both,” he chuckles and leans his head back to gaze down your body again, eyes narrowing down on your chest–the way the homemade shirt squeezes your breasts together perfectly. With the way you’re sitting, he’s got a great view down your chest. And you certainly notice–but, obviously, don’t mind. You’re not one to dislike attention.

The whiskey is rough but sweet, lighting your stomach up, and it slowly brings everything around you into a softer blur. The music presses pause on the rest of the world when Joel starts playing his guitar. Low and easy, something old and slow that sinks into your skin.

Everyone quiets down a tiny bit and limits their conversation as Joel gets up and moves closer. Inevitably, he comes right over, plopping down and sandwiching you between you and his brother.

The weight of the two men on your sides is two very different kinds of attention. Tommy’s is neverending, letting you know how he feels. His hand gravitated back to your thigh possessively when Joel sat down, silently pulling your leg against his.

And Joel’s was muted. Barely looking, focused on his guitar. But every chance he got to look away, it drifted toward your lap with his brother’s hand resting on it. If the guitar wasn’t strewn across his body and covering him, it’d be hard to miss the tent forming over his crotch.

The conversations around you died down to a low whisper, leaving you able to soak up Tommy’s touch and Joel’s music. His fingers stretched out on your thigh while he let out a satisfied sigh, lazy and confident and familiar on the skin.

He’d occasionally lean in, whispering all up close in your ear–on purpose, obviously. His breath is warm and smells of the whiskey and faintly of a cigarette he must’ve smoked before you showed up. His touch is unmoving, keeping you grounded by his side like you’re his.

His whispers are a random assortment, making you laugh and quiver all at once. He’d mention something stupid, like making fun of someone across the fire, or he’d lean in and remind you how good your tits look in that little top.

Joel’s playing slowed after a while, then stopped altogether. When he sets his guitar aside without ceremony the conversations pick up around you again.

You can finally take a breath as Tommy backs up and it isn’t as quiet anymore. But within seconds, it all gets more intense. Joel finally lets himself lean in and speak, smelling dangerously of cedar and something darker.

His thigh brushes yours, jaw clenching when he gives you a polite nod.

“Cookie was good earlier. Tommy gave it to me when I got back.”

You don’t even register what he’s talking about for a moment, awfully distracted by the feel of both their thighs pressing into the sides of yours, especially when accompanied by Tommy’s hand that seems to keep moving higher and higher.

“Oh, right. Thanks.” For a girl who’s normally confident, you choke up a little. Tommy laughs to himself, covering his mouth and letting his thumb rub the inside skin of your thigh.

Fuck, they’re actually getting you nervous. This isn’t what you planned for. You turn to look at Joel upon sensing he’s gonna speak again, the slow pull of attraction tightening in your belly.

But he whispers, glancing at Tommy leaning back with his hand splayed so intimately on your leg.

“You’re lettin’ my brother get real close tonight, huh?”

He questions, finally letting on a small smirk. He’s fucking into this. They planned this. And you’re only just now realizing.

It overwhelms you, but it makes the wetness build in your panties more than it may ever have before. The idea that the two brothers actually discussed this beforehand–sharing you–gets you weak.

“Pretty dangerous sittin’ between us like this.” Tommy interrupts before you can respond to Joel, making your head snap back around to him. You almost let out a nervous whimper, you can’t even register what’s happening. But somehow, you’re into it. You let it happen.

“Okay? I like it here.” You manage out with a gulp, eyes trained on Tommy before his brother’s hand lands on your other thigh. Still sassy. Both of them tighten their grips, squeezing at the supple flesh shamelessly as if you’re not all in public right now.

Too gone to care.

Joel snorts, shaking his head, and you look over at him now. He’s smiling, which isn’t too common of a sight. Must really be satisfied with their work right now.

“Careful what you ask for, baby.” He whispers and strokes your skin, hand moving up and down tantalizingly. You don’t know who to look at. Hell, you don’t actually know what you just asked for.

The moment goes entirely silent, the three of you exchanging glances. You–confused, but into it. The two men–seemingly have practiced this scenario millions of times before actually illustrating it.

Tommy’s watching you with a little half-smile, like he’s been waiting for this moment for longer than either of them would like to admit. His gaze zeroes in on your chest yet again, almost predatorily. Then, to Joel–his gaze is unreadable but filled with more desire than you’d like to imagine.

It hits you. Not fear or nerves, but want. This isn’t something to be scared of. Fuck, you were hoping for it in your bedroom while you were getting ready. You wore this outfit just for the hopes of this happening. Said ‘fuck it,’ so why would you be afraid?

In return, you let your hands rest on both of theirs, fingers trailing lightly over their knuckles. Your thumbs brush their skin, and nobody moves. The fire crackles and everyone nearby is laughing, drinking, and–most importantly–distracted.

As if reading your mind, Tommy leans in.

“We could get outta here,” he whispers, almost too casual. “Back to mine. Joel’s. Yours. Wherever you want.”

Your eyes flicker up to his, licking your lips and letting the overwhelming desire shine through once he essentially confirms what’s about to happen.

“Only if you want to.” Joel adds, ever the gentleman compared to his brother.

Their hands slide a little higher on your thigh, wanting and ready, and nothing else is exchanged but a quiet nod of approval from you.

Yet again, you’re the one left breathless.

The next thing you know, you’re at Joel’s, laid out on his bed like prey.

His place wasn’t far from the bonfire, a quiet little house on the edge of Jackson, tucked behind fencing and lots of trees. Quiet in the same way he is. You’ve been here before, dropping off food or supplies, but never like this. Never with your heart thumping this hard, two sets of heavy footsteps made by boots following behind you, two sets of warm hands ready to explore you and converge the different flavors of need in one space.

Joel opened the door without second-guessing anything, no more ‘are you sure?’ The two men gave you a look for confirmation when you reached the bedroom, and that’s all they needed. You, on the other hand, didn’t even have to answer.

Inside his house is warm, very lived-in. Very Joel. An old lamp in the corner and a woodworking table in the living room where he carves little animals and whatnot. He walks ahead, dropping his guitar in its case by the couch while Tommy peels off his jacket and throws it mindlessly on the floor.

You stood quietly for a second to process, and they both just looked at you. The air shifts, thick. So, so heated.

And this time, the older brother moves first–stepping close once you’re in his bedroom. You don’t stop him. His hand comes to your waist, rough and solid, checking one last time that you’re still good with a raise of his eyebrows.

You nod wordlessly, and Joel lifts you up by the waist.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, lips brushing your ear before tossing you gently onto the bed. Neither of them took the time to get their boots off–or yours. Nothing stopping the three of you.

He climbs over you while Tommy stands back for a bit to watch. In seconds, you feel the first pair of lips on yours–firm and grounding. One big hand on the back of your neck, the other slipping underneath you to the small of your back, pulling you up against him as if he needs it.

Joel tastes amazing. Darker than you imagine Tommy will. More tobacco, stronger liquor.

Tommy steps forward finally, climbing onto the bed next to the two of you and smoothing a hand over your hip. While his brother is on top of you, kissing you, he waits his turn and instead lets his lips brush your shoulder.

Their energy is different, obviously, but they move together in harmony. Joel is slower, more intense, seemingly controlling the moment. Tommy is more free and tactical, his touch lighter but never giving up.

And you let yourself be used.

Growing up as brothers, they had to learn to share. And, naturally, they carried that ability into adulthood. So Joel gets off, freeing your body to his brother.

Tommy laughs, diving right in and attaching his lips to yours. It’s softer but more playful, like you don’t have to take him seriously in the way you just had to with Joel. He encourages you with his hands on your waist, squeezing and tickling at your sides teasingly.

“Tommy,” you gasp and giggle, leaning your head back and breaking the kiss.

“What?” He chuckles in return, peppering the kisses down your chin and to your neck, focusing on the soft area just beneath your ear. That way, when he whispers, it feels even better.

You don’t respond, laughing and laying back while he works at your neck so perfectly. Everything is revolving around you right now. They just want to give you everything.

In minutes, you’re forgetting where you are, overwhelmed by the feeling of not one, but two sets of hands exploring you and worshipping you in every way possible.

“Pretty little thing,” Tommy would laugh, sitting up and tangling his hand in your hair to give it a tug.

Joel was more quiet, but still whispered little instructions. He was more of a guidance while his brother was the fun part: both necessary in the moment.

“C’mere,” Joel whispered, moving back on the bed after you all actually took the moment to remove your shoes. He sits back against the headboard and pillows, spreading his meaty thighs and patting the right one. He pulls you into his lap, wrapping a hand around your waist to get you nice and close.

You comply, climbing right up and settling yourself on his thigh–legs spread and straddling his denim-clad leg. You’re surely leaking and making a mess on it, your skirt pushed up to your waist.

Joel’s head dips down, nose brushing your jaw while he murmurs and begins to guide your hips.

“Good girl. C’mon, you can move, sweet girl.” He manages out, hoarsely, with a bite at your sensitive earlobe. It makes you shudder, following his orders and shifting your hips.

The feeling of his jeans pressed against your clothed pussy elicit quiet gasps from your lips, leaning in and resting your head on his shoulder. He keeps an arm wrapped around you, grounding you against him and ensuring you feel safe while getting off on his thigh like this.

By the foot of the bed, Tommy is forgotten now while Joel’s scent and touch invades your brain. He’s fine with waiting his turn, though. He undoes the buckle of his belt, the clank of metal not disturbing you and his brother.

Discarding his jeans, Tommy pulls himself out of his boxers shamelessly, unable to help himself. He’s been hard since you sat down with him at the bonfire in that pretty outfit. Hell, since he saw you earlier today and you gave him a cookie.

He begins to stroke himself–one hand moving up and down the shaft, stretching himself, while the other rests under his balls and gently tugs at them to heighten the pleasure. His eyes are trained on the way your hips move back and forth on Joel’s leg, the small wet patch he can see forming on the denim fabric, even through your panties.

“She looks so good on you like that, doesn’t she?” Tommy groans, thumb brushing over the tip of his own cock while his brother nods.

“Mm–real pretty.” Joel grumbles, leaning back and letting his head hit the wall when you let out a particularly pretty little moan. His big hands come back to your waist, squeezing it and holding you tight to guide you in a slower rhythm.

You whine, opening your eyes back up to look into his. Eyebrows furrowing, you pout and try to speed up again.

“Baby,” Joel chuckles, squeezing you harder to keep you in place, to keep you going the speed he wants you to. “Gotta slow down for me, yeah? Be good. Take it slow, relax.”

His words are meant to be soothing and encouraging, but the low tone of his voice that gets you so wet only makes it all worse.

“Want–wanna go faster. Please, Joel.” You whimper, trying to rut your hips and speed up the agonizingly slow pace he’s got you going at. “Feels good.”

“I know, I know it feels good.” He sighs, giving up for now and letting you do it how you want to. Tommy laughs from across the bed, amusement and arousal all wrapped into one while he jerks himself off to the sight of you and his brother.

Joel only lets you get off on his thigh for maybe a generous twenty seconds before lifting you up, patting your ass in the process. The pressure was building in your belly, tiring you out, making you feel so good. You were approaching an orgasm in a short time, motivated by the arousal the scene itself produced in your brain, but soon were stopped by his big hands.

“Joel.” You frown, writhing on the bed and reaching down to touch yourself instead when he sets you down.

Tommy sits up, abandoning his achingly hard cock, crawling up to you and grabbing at your wrist.

“Uh-uh. Don’t gotta do that, angel.” He laughs, collecting both of your wrists in one hand and pushing them back. You’re pinned down and whining under him, but eventually give up protesting when you remember it's you versus two–very, very large–men.

He passes your wrists to Joel, who holds them with even more ease due to the size of his hands.

“Let’s make sure Tommy gets some lovin’ too, sweet girl.” Joel kisses you once, a soft peck, holding you down for a moment to let his brother get settled. Both of you watch as Tommy fully discards his boxers, stripping off his shirt and socks in the process until he’s entirely bare.

The man is a work of art. Tanned skin, some sun damage from always working outside–little spots all over his body, and freckles. He’s covered in hair, which you’d always expected due to the thick head of it he carries.

His lower stomach, especially. It’s got the most gorgeous spread of tiny hairs leading to something even more beautiful–thick and wiry. Not graying just yet. His cock is long but thin, already red and twitching from jerking himself off to the sight of you just a couple minutes ago. The fat tip of it is leaking desperately, just begging to be treated.

Tommy lays back, seated against the headboard like Joel was, his legs spread out wide. His head tips back lazily, sinking into the bed and patting his thighs.

Joel lets your wrists go, and you’re lunging forward like an animal in seconds. His thick, hairy thighs open to accommodate you while you kneel between them on the bed.

“Nice n’ big.” You whisper and giggle, hands on his thighs while you sort of nestle your head down for now. Nuzzling into his crotch, you worship Tommy’s cock–nose exploring every crevice, tongue darting out under his heavy balls.

He moans out quietly, hand finding your hair before you even begin and wrapping it up into a tight makeshift ponytail.

“Look at you, baby.” Tommy praises, lifting his hips up to encourage you to take him. You were resting your head on his thigh and taking a moment, but the sight of him literally aching for you has you moving quickly.

You grab the base of his cock, giving it a slight squeeze to draw more noises out of the man. Satisfied by a little grunt, you snicker and open your mouth, taking his tip into it eagerly.

“Fuck.” He jolts, head tipping back and eyes shutting happily. You focus on only the tip for a moment, swirling your tongue around the head and collecting the embarrassing amount of precum before sinking your head down and taking as much of his length as you can.

You sputter for a moment, just as you did earlier on the whiskey, but regain your bearings and start to move. His tip is hitting the back of your throat as if urging you to take more, but you physically can’t. He’s so big,

Tommy’s hand tightens in your hair, a little rude with the way he’s tugging and forcing your head down.

“Jesus, Tommy.” Joel interrupts after watching carefully for a few moments. “Careful with ‘er. She’s gonna gag.”

The older brother’s hand comes to your back, gently stroking it to keep you grounded while his brother forces your head down on his cock. Tommy doesn’t mind too much, easing up on the pushing but not entirely stopping. He’s always been much less of a gentleman.

“You’re okay, angel. Go slow if you have to.” Joel whispers to you, patting your back before standing up and discarding his own clothes. You hear the sound of fabric and a belt hitting the floor, and want nothing more than to look.

But you can’t, because his brother is holding your head down on his dick. It’s not all bad, though. You’re still eagerly taking it, hollowing your cheeks and sucking him with near-perfect technique. He’s very vocal, noisily encouraging you to somehow work him even better.

The mattress sinks as Joel returns from undressing, and while you can’t see, you feel where he’s going. While your head is buried between Tommy’s thighs, Joel gently unfolds your body and pulls your skirt off for you, leaving you in pretty panties and that damn gingham top.

He smiles, stretching the elastic of your underwear and letting it snap back against your skin. You gasp.

“Tommy, look at this.” He rubs your ass, giving it a gentle smack, showing off the fabric. It’s little cherries over the same red gingham that your top is made of. Matching, making you look like the prettiest cowgirl they’ve ever seen.

Tommy snorts, opening his eyes and giving your head another push down on his lap at the sight.

“How cute. Bet you wore 'em just for us, ain’t that right?” He smiles and uses his free hand to cup the side of your face, stroking it with a thumb while you suck on him so perfectly. “Fuckin’ slut.”

Joel shoots him a glance to be nice, because he’s already pushing your head down. He shouldn’t be calling you a slut like that.

“Ignore him.” He advises you, rubbing the skin of your ass that’s now pink from the little slap. He pulls at the fabric, tugging it down gently and working it over your feet before throwing them on the floor. On his way back to your ass, he kisses the back of your feet, ankles, calves, and thighs, leaving a trail of fire all the way to where he really wants to be.

His fingers go straight to the source, not even bothering to spread your legs. He digs two digits into your folds, groaning lewdly at the filthy feeling of how wet you are. Soaking his fingers, soaking the bed underneath you. Genuinely dripping for the two brothers.

“If only you could feel how wet this girl is,” Joel huffs in amusement, slipping his fingers back out and gripping the supple flesh of your ass again. The loss of touch elicits a quiet whine from the lips you have wrapped around Tommy’s cock.

“I bet.” Tommy answers, groaning and leaning his head back yet again in pleasure when he hits particularly deep in that warm, wet mouth of yours.

Joel grabs at your body with a mix of gentleness and fervor, lifting your hips until your knees are able to support your weight. Your head is down between his brother’s legs, your back arched, and your ass in the air for him to do whatever he desires with.

He leans over you, pressing a trail of kisses down your back–the center of it. Between your shoulder blades and down your spine, while his fingers trail all over your soft skin. Exploring. Taking his time.

He ends the trail at your back dimples, the spot where your butt and the small of your back meet. One last little kiss before he sits back up, spreading your legs just a bit so he can fit.

Once Joel ensures you’re not overwhelmed with what you’re doing with Tommy, he grabs his own cock and strokes it before gently pressing it against your ass. You moan around the other man’s length, and Joel taps him to let you have a break.

Tommy releases his grip on your hair, gasping when your mouth comes off of him–a string of spit connects his crotch and your mouth due to the excessive slobbering you’d been doing. Dirty and beautiful.

“Fuck.” The two men say, almost in perfect unison.

You take a moment to catch your breath, glancing back at Joel behind you when you remember he’d gotten undressed.

And, lord, he’s somehow more perfect than Tommy.

He’s built. Broad, hairy chest and a little tummy coming over his hips. Looks like he works out but certainly doesn’t deny a beer when offered. He’s hairier, even, a thicker and grayer trail leading to his pubic bone that’s pressed against your ass currently.

Older. Seemingly more experienced. He’s scarred and hardened, and it’s the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen. The mere sight of him makes you moan.

Both of them laugh at the little strained moan you let out, Joel’s hand rubbing your hip while Tommy’s strokes your hair.

“You like him that much?” Tommy chuckles, kissing your forehead.

You nod mindlessly, still searching for the air you’d lost when your head was getting pushed down.

“Mm–mmhm. Like Joel. A lot. Fuck.” You manage out, dropping your head back on Tommy’s thighs and resting it there.

Joel smirks and lets the hand on your hip travel back to your ass, rubbing it before gripping his cock and giving it a few small strokes. “Yeah, baby?”

You nod again and groan against the fatty flesh of the thigh under you, kissing his warm skin. Your hips naturally move backward when you feel movement behind you, subconsciously begging for Joel. Your back arches as well, giving him quite the sight.

“You want it? Gonna take me good with my brother’s cock in your mouth?”

He smiles, teasing your dripping hole with his own leaking tip. Of course you want it. You’ve been dreaming of this all day–maybe even weeks before. But back then, it was a fantasy. Never a possibility in your mind. Now, you’re bent over, face down and ass up between the two of them. You couldn’t want it more.

“Yes, please.” You gasp out, arching more and forcing your ass back against Joel’s cock. You feel him twitch.

He hums in approval, not saying anything else before lining himself up. At the feeling of him against you, you know what you’re supposed to do in return. Tommy is back in your mouth in mere seconds, and you’re sucking and slurping to the best of your ability in hopes that it’ll get you more. More of Joel. More praise. More cock.

Joel slides in once Tommy looks satisfied, slowly stretching your tight pussy out. The noises are filthy, squelching and wet.

“Fuck–” He groans, panting and bracing himself by gripping your lower back. He isn’t even fully in yet and he’s ready to come all over you. He’s dreamed of painting you in ropes of release, of fucking you senseless and filling you up with his seed. Now it’s happening, and, God, he doesn’t know if he can even handle a minute.

You whine around Tommy, but he doesn’t push your head down again. He knows it probably hurts a bit, given the Millers are genetically big men. They let you adjust to Joel before resuming, going nice and slow.

“Pretty. So fuckin’ pretty, taking me this good. Just like that.” Joel becomes more vocal as he moves inside you, picking up the pace slowly, ensuring you’ve adjusted enough to take his size before doing anything you can’t handle.

The praise makes your head spin. Apparently, Tommy’s is too. You feel him twitch more in your mouth, see the way his hips are stuttering with each little bob of your head.

So you pick up pace. And so does Joel. Everything gets more intense.

Sucking in your cheeks, you take Tommy’s cock so deep that it hits your uvula, resulting in a soft gag. His first instinct is to let you take a break, but you continue despite the tears spilling from your eyes and the urge to vomit increasing.

Your hands fiddle with his balls, giving them a gentle squeeze that draws out the loudest moan of the night from the man. Success.

If you could smile, you’d be doing it. But he’s so deep in your mouth that you can’t move a muscle–not until you feel hot strings of release fill your throat.

You didn’t realize Tommy was that close, but he fills your mouth up more than it’s ever been stuffed. You’ve never felt a man come so hard. So much. He’s shaking as he finishes, piping it into your mouth and seeing it dribble down your chin as he pulls out.

“Ah-” he whimpers, actually whimpers, when your lips reattach to his tip to give it a final kiss.

Joel sees his brother’s orgasm, getting a little jealous. He would give anything to be filling your pretty mouth with his come right now, cleaning it off your lips where it spills out. But he remembers he’s the one inside you, and he has a better dumpster than Tommy does right now.

Once Tommy’s cock is removed from your mouth, he knows he can go a little harder. He wants to go a little harder. He can actually hear your pretty little moans and whimpers now that you’re not occupied.

When Joel starts hitting your cervix, the lewd noises slipping from your throat are unstoppable. You still haven’t swallowed the come, gurgling while moaning and trying to keep it in your mouth–almost to savor it.

His hand comes forward to grip your hair, remaking that damn makeshift ponytail his brother was just using. He tugs, forcing your back to arch as your head flies back with a whimper. He’s fucking you harder now, one hand gripping your hair and the other on your hip to press your cunt as close to him as he can possibly get it, pounding into you at a near-painful speed.

“Joel,” you cry out, more tears slipping from your pretty eyes that are quickly cleaned off by Tommy. You gasp and finally swallow his come, groaning in satisfaction and letting your head fall forward until it’s rudely tugged back by the other brother.

“You got it, darlin.’ You can take it. C’mon now, don’t go dumb on me.”

He groans, the hand on your hip giving your ass a solid smack. You cry out again, squealing with the mix of pain and pleasure. Pain, mostly now, as he’s fucking you deep and painfully harsh.

“Hold her still. She’s shakin,’ Tommy.” Joel leans forward with a growl, draping his body over yours and letting his head fall to your shoulder while he fucks you from behind. His teeth bare, nibbling on any exposed skin he can get, licking and sucking and kissing like an animal.

Tommy’s hands come to your shoulders, holding you still and shushing you while you cry under Joel’s hard body. “Almost there, angel. We’ve got you.”

And within the next minute, you and Joel’s orgasms approach at once. You can tell with him because his pace gets sloppy, hips slamming into your ass uncontrollably and inconsistently. He can tell with you because you’re impossibly more vocal, whimpering out and trembling.

When your thighs start to shake, he snakes a hand down your body and attaches his index and middle finger to your clit. That’s your weakness.

It’s not even eight seconds after he touches your clit that you’re coming, gasping and writhing and falling forward against Tommy. Joel follows suit, finishing deep inside you and smacking your ass as he comes.

The next thirty seconds go silent. You fell forward against Tommy, he pulled you into his arms. Joel’s now-soft cock slipped out, leaving you pumped full of his seed.

Tommy strokes your hair, kissing your forehead in an attempt to get your shaking body down from the intense high his brother had just given you. The other man lays next to the two of you, senseless now and in his own little world. His eyes are pressed shut, sexy pants coming from his mouth and into his pillow.

The room is quiet and hazy, heavy with sweat and the familiar scent of sex. It’s absolutely filthy. Wrecked.

Your limbs are all tangled up, breath catching. The silence isn’t awkward. It’s earned.

The sheets are tangled and damp, clinging to your thighs when Joel manages to sit up. He grumbles, moving closer and cuddling into your side that isn’t occupied by his brother.

On the floor are your clothes, laying scattered and forgotten. Tommy is on your other side, hand curled over your hip and quiet breath in your neck where his head is buried. Joel is curling onto your left, kissing your sweaty shoulder and arm, anywhere he can get.

And you–God. You’re spent, utterly and completely fucked-out. Used. Wrecked.

You’re past satisfied, actually sure that your bones probably aren’t solid anymore. Your limbs are too heavy to move, cheek pressed to Tommy’s chest and an arm slung over his brother’s body. They hold you like they’re afraid you’ll float off somewhere.

“Nothin’ left in me now.” Joel mumbles, lips brushing your skin. His voice is hoarse and dried out, more of an exhale than actual speech. “Not movin’ at all.”

The only part of him that can move is his fingers, trailing so slowly up and down your spine.

Tommy nods and huffs in agreement, kissing your cheek and pulling you closer. You just smile–lazy and slow and perfectly wrecked. Everything aches in the best kind of way. You feel as if you’ve been pulled apart and put back together with hands that know exactly what they’re doing.

Your throat is burning, hips stinging from Joel’s grip, your pussy leaking out his seed. And no one said much. They didn’t have to.

The air is thick and sticky, but also soft. Comfortable. Hearts beating in sync and bodies pressed so closely that you can’t tell where one ended and the next began.

Tommy is the last to speak–“Might have to stay here ‘til winter. Jus’hibernating.”—and you laugh. Blissed out and tangled between the men. Just laughed, warm and slow, like the fire hadn’t gone out yet.

WOO that was a journey to write. I’m going to hell. Love yall though 💋💋

TUMBLR ONLY LETS ME TAG 50 👎👎 I’m so sorry to everyone else ik i got like over 100 asking to be tagged so i tried my best

@possiblyafangirl @monicasblues @stories-we-read @pattwtf @kimm4710 @darkheartgatita @melmel-fandom @elliesr1fle @aretha170 @luvrgirls @whitewolfstar01 @taytay0403 @valyrianflower @alidiggory92 @love-you-inside-n-out @darknight3904 @cinnamon-slut @caramelic3dlatte @atthediscowithoutpanic @maystyles @justsarahbella @mynameisbaby9 @american-exodus @visenya-targarye @dilflover-3 @mani-pedro @ilovetoomanymen @xplicitz @foggypenguinrunaway @pigeonpinata0xo @majesticalcocoa @wildxxwolf @yoursweetgirl18 @millersbby @alwayswndr @zroberts13 @marzplanetz @lonelygirl56 @godlypresley @emilynersinger @ivyleagueeeee @lowrisemiller @staley83 @junajun4 @bluegardenn @grayandthyme @heavens-whore @nihilophobias @romancherry @catch1ngmoths

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casuallyanidiot · 4 months ago

Text

Yandere FarmBoy

[Yandere M. x F. AFAB Reader]

it's a bit longer than i initially wanted this to be, but i had fun writing it! it's a bit more rushed towards the end so sorry if it shows. this was supposed to be for october, but i ended up not finishing it in time, so i'm very happy to have it finally done

TW. DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT Noncon, fingering, baby trapping, yandere, slut shaming, victim blaming, bullying, non consensual touching, misogyny, gaslighting, manipulation, implied future forced relationship, abuse of power

The local golden boy your father has hired has taken a keen interest in you, an impoverished farmer's daughter, and you can't seem to shake him off. As he doubles down on pursuing you, and you continue to refuse him, the lengths he goes to ensure you'll be his increase drastically with one autumn night and a chase through a wheat field.

7.2k words

You didn’t know why Daniel insisted on working on your father’s farm. It wasn’t like his family wasn’t well off. In fact, out of all the families within the valley, his was the most successful by far. Hell, they were the only ones who could actually afford to employ other people. He drove a shiny new truck just like the rest of his kin, and lived in a big, multi story house at the top of the hill.

Your daddy could only really pay him scraps. The land you lived on was rough to say the least, all overgrazed and tough, untenable soil that had a Ph level that could’ve come straight out of hell in your honest opinion. Basically, there wasn’t shit to be earned, and the only reason why your folks even tried to desperately keep growing crop after failed crop was because if they didn’t, then you’d be flat out homeless and starving. The stock your family produced wasn’t worth a dime, either. Milk too sour, corn too small, eggs so dull and tiny people thought that they weren’t even from chickens; you were surprised people even bought from your daddy at all.

The poor state of your homestead was reflected in nearly everything else around you. You always looked some kind of mussed up: Wild, unkempt hair, dirt under your nails, clothes that looked either too small, too big or way too out of fashion. You got bullied quite a bit by the other young ladies in town. That is if you could even be called a young lady. There wasn’t a lick of lady in you it seemed.

You and your family were always on the edge of going broke, going hungry or some other kind of misfortune, so you found it increasingly odd why the Petusky boy was so keen to get his hands dirty when there was nothing he could get in return.

Daniel Petusky, or Danny as he would so kindly remind you to call him, was by most accounts the sweetest, most eligible young man in town. He was a tall, stocky sort of guy with large, rough hands and a handsome smile. You’d be stupid to say he wasn’t quite the looker, and not to mention he was all muscular and strong lookin from all his time working. When you were in highschool, he’d been the star of the school’s football team, and there were even rumors that he was getting offers from big, fancy schools in big fancy cities. You remembered how blooming with jealousy you were back then because of that. But, as you were so constantly reminded of through seeing his working boots that had to be worth at least a couple hundred bucks, he was wealthy too.

He helped out around town, was sweet to older folks, and made all the ladies swoon with a flip of his sandy blond hair. He charmed your father just as easily, asking him if he could work his land for him, or at least help him with it. Of course your daddy would say yes. He needed all the help he could get, and lord know you weren’t nearly enough to actually keep this place afloat. Plus, who else would accept such low pay? It wasn’t like there was a line out the door for a chance to work at the [Last Name] farm, now was there?

You sighed as you hauled a bag of feed over to the chicken coop. It was mighty heavy, and you grunted as you nearly slipped in the mud. Hands shot out and grabbed your waist, and you gasped in surprise as the bag landed on the ground with a large thud.

“Careful there, wouldn’t want you to take a tumble now,” Daniel chuckled softly. His voice rumbled in your head like thunder on the horizon. He steadied you and pressed you close against his chest. Your heart thumped wildly in your ribcage, though only part of it was because of your little fall. No, it was the way his fingers inched over your curves, toying with the waistband of your jeans. You swallowed thickly.

“Thanks…” You mumbled out before you stooped down to pick up the feed once again. You didn’t miss the way his gaze stuck to you when you did.

“You really shouldn’t be doing heavy liftin’, you know,” He said and pushed you to the side to grab it from your strained arms. He made it look so effortless, and it annoyed you to no end. You followed after him into the coop, an encasement of wire around it. “That’s what I’m here for.”

You frowned and didn’t respond to him. You just kept on going as you ripped open the sack to spill out all the seed. The birds rushed around your feet to get their meal, and normally you would’ve laughed and indulged in petting a couple of them, but normally you didn’t have company. Daniel had been getting better at finding you it seemed. Day by day it felt like you saw him more and more.

You tried not to be one of those people that held onto their younger years, but whenever he was around, all you felt were the lingering memories from highschool. You were mocked on the daily. Most of the adults thought you were lost cause, always late to classes and struggling through the course material. You were called all sorts of names: ugly, stupid, slow. While he never bullied you directly, you always felt him staring. At games, in class, when he would drive slowly by you while you walked home everyday. You shuddered to think about it.

You always remembered a very specific moment that happened back in highschool. Especially now that you saw Daniel everyday again.

“What do you think about the farmer’s daughter?”

“Which one?”

He sounded so innocent, so sweet. Like he didn’t know.

“Don’t go fuckin’ with me, Petusky,” One of the guys chuckled, a cruel hint in his eyes. “You know which one I mean. The trash.” Oh… they were talking about you.

You were sitting in the diner eating a small plate of fries. You couldn’t really afford to eat anything more than that with your limited allowance and pay. You clenched your fist in your lap as you listened to the group of guys speak harshly about you. You were just out of view around the corner, all alone in the tiny booth usually reserved for couples and the like. The waitress shot you a pitiful look, and she slipped you a milkshake for free. It should’ve made you feel better, but it did more harm than good. She knew. Everyone knew you as trash.

“Come on, don't talk about her like that. She just ain’t got the means,” Daniel laughed. The sound rang in your ears, and you felt sick to your stomach.

“Or the looks.” A chorus of snickers erupted.

“She ain’t that bad,” He started, but he stopped short and just let out a playful sigh. “Hey, if y’all hate her, then y’all hate her. Can’t stop you from not wanting to fuck her if you don’t want to haha,” He joked. You could hear the strain in his voice and just imagine his blinding white smile. You busied yourself with the milkshake and tried to ignore how gross it felt to swallow down.

“Yeah, no way I’d ever touch that bitch without a three foot pole. Probably got fleas or somethin’.”

“Haha yeah…”

They sat there chatting shit for a while longer, and you sat there miserable, shaking, and on the verge of tears. You wanted to sink into the checker patterned floor and disappear forever. You knew people didn’t like you, but was it really that bad? Were you that awful? Your eyes stung, and you just stared at the empty seat in front of you.

Eventually, the group of guys, all clad in their Ariat branded clothing and snap back hats got up and got ready to leave. None of them spared you a glance, too busy filing out to their trucks to look around them. But Daniel did.

His hazel eyes swiveled over towards you, most likely just out of habit, and caught on you. He froze. The two of you stared at each other, and his face morphed from quiet shock to anger. The planes of his features, so normally joyous and polite, shifted into something so ugly and unfamiliar that you flinched.

No one else had seen, and no one, not even him, had ever brought it up again.

Daniel liked to follow you around when there wasn’t really much work to be done. The property wasn’t the biggest, so he could find you quite easily if you weren’t by the house. Like now, while you were lounging in the barn and reading a book while hidden behind some shelving. You clutched onto the pages of the novel (some old faded copy of a Jane Austen book that you had plucked from a free bin at the local thrift store), and looked up nervously as you heard his heavy footsteps thudding against the concrete floors. He loomed over you and hummed softly.

“What you got there?” He asked and crouched down to your level. You flinched back and glanced between the small, hard to read print and him.

“A book…” You mumbled out. It was always hard to speak when you felt so embarrassed. Everyone and their mother knew that you struggled severely all through school. The teachers pretty much gave up on you, and you stumbled your way through graduation. You’d never been very smart, but sometimes you wish you were. When that happened, you tried to push yourself and learn.

“Seems like a might hard for you,” Daniel chuckled and plucked it from your hands. You let out a noise of protest as he thumbed through the pages with a low whistle and patted the top of your head. You bristled a bit. “I’m sorry? Whaddya' mean by that?”

“Just that there are all sorts of fancy words in here,” He shrugged as he cozied up beside you. You could feel the warmth of his skin, burning from all the sun he soaked up, through the fine cotton of his shirt. It was long sleeved so that he wouldn’t get burnt during the heat of the day, but it didn’t make you feel any less flustered.

He was so confusing. Did he act like this with all the other girls in town? It was stupid to picture him as some robot who had his settings permanently flipped to flirt mode, but you genuinely couldn’t figure out why else he would be slipping his arm around your waist and pulling you into his lap.

“Daniel-”

“Danny.” He interrupted quickly, and you flinched from just how barely concealed his annoyance was. You tried to get up, you really did, but he was just so much stronger than you. You squeaked as he yanked you over his thighs. His strong bridged nose was pushing itself in the crook of your neck. “You call me Danny, you hear?” He murmured. His breath was so warm. All of him was just muscle and heat. You’d never been with anyone like this, never felt a guy’s chest pressed against your back.

Your daddy would skin you alive for this, surely. There wasn’t a single chance in hell that you wouldn’t be punished if not run out for fooling around with a respectable young man who you weren't even dating.

“The only thing we got is our dignity. It don’t pay no bills, but it do keep us in good graces. You do anythin’ stupid- and hear this well, girl. You do anythin’ stupid, and you’ll be out of this house before you can even pull your pants up.”

The threat was always so clear to you that it was impossible to not whimper and tremble as he groped you over your clothing. He chuckled, a soft sound that made you feel all sort of sick, and held you tight.

“Now honey, you don’t have to go all spooked on me.” He was kissing your shoulder, all tense and rigid. You felt like a piece of wood being bent far past what it should. Your bones were about to splinter, your heart about to fly out like shrapnel and just crack all over his insistent, firm hands.

“Don’t… It ain’t- ain’t right,” You stammered out. The spell was broken, and you started to grab at his wrists to get him to slow down. “ I’ll get in trouble,” You tried to reason, to hope that those golden boy manners would win out. Hope that he’d get off of you and leave you alone.

“Trouble? Hon, who you gettin’ in trouble with?” He laughed and reached up to cup your chin and face. Your head was pulled up in a craning stretch, and his fingers squished your cheeks in a playful, humiliating gesture. “With your folks? Don’t be silly [Name].”

“You’re grown, I’m grown… this is just normal between two grown people,” He hummed and started to tug up your shirt.

“H-hey! Quit it! I’m serious! I don’t want to,” You repeated, gaining your voice as he wriggled his way under the band of your soft, worn bra and began to knead your breast. He picked up the book while he pinned your legs underneath his own heavy ones and forced you to look at the random page he opened it to, completely ignoring your plea.

“Tell me, honey. What does this mean?” He asked

“What?”

“Read for me.” He drawled in a demanding tone. Your eyes flitted around nervously. “I want to know what you think you’re doing when you’re not with me. Hon, you really shouldn’t be wandering alone like this.”

“This is my farm-”

“Your Daddy’s farm,” he corrected and tugged on your nipple. You whimpered as a bolt of arousal coursed through you. Your cheeks flushed with heat. You’d never had such need dripping from between your legs before, and it got worse and worse as he pinched and rolled the sensitive nub between the rough pads of his fingers. You could feel the way his smirk felt against your skin.

“This ain’t your land, but that’s okay. I could buy it for your folks, make it so y’all don’t have to work so hard. And you’d get to sit pretty in the house all day, reading these books and whatnot. Now wouldn’t that be nice? Not having to work to the bone? Not having to get your pretty little face all mussed up?” He whispered and nipped at your cheek. You were on the verge of tears, watching helplessly as he threw your beat up novel to the side. You watched in detached horror as the words and ink were smudged and bled out by the small, dirty puddle it had landed in. Your hands curled into fists.

“Just say yes, honey. I’d treat you real nice. Promise.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and your entire body thrummed with shame, fear and arousal. You didn’t want to admit it. You’d rather have your heart torn out than ever in a million years say that it felt good, or that the attention he was sneaking you made you feel fuzzy inside sometimes. Because it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that he made you feel like this weirdo for ignoring him when he was, in fact, an actual, honest to god threat.

“No.”

“Hm? Repeat that for me now, would you honey?” He purred.

You gritted your teeth and with a burst of strength, you shoved off of him. His molten caress was gone in an instant, and your thighs shook as you scrambled to crawl away. Your chest heaved in little short bursts, and he looked at you with genuine surprise. He looked at you as if it was the first time he’d considered you could even do that.

“I said no!” You didn’t think it was proper for a lady to be hollering at a ‘nice young man’ like that, but you did. You didn’t care who heard you, not that it mattered. The barn you were in was a decent ways away from everything else on the property. You smoothed your hands over where he had touched and kissed you, like it would get rid of the pure lust he was heaping onto you.

Daniel’s pretty face scrunched up into a glaring, furious version of itself. You could see the way his veins bulged in his neck and the way he flexed like a predator getting ready to pounce. You swallowed thickly, but you managed to wobble up onto your feet, to for once be able to look down on him.

“I don’t know what you think your talkin’ about, but I am not some- some easy girl that- that you can just sweet talk into giving you some,” You spat out. He moved to stand, and you took a step back. His hands came up in a placating gesture.

“Now, don’t go rattlin’ off about nothin’ you don’t understand,” He said, voice sharp. There was an undeniable frustration to the way he carried himself, to the way he huffed slightly and never took his narrowed eyes off of you. “I’m not talkin’ about foolin’ around, honey. I wanna have the real thing. Kids, a nice wedding, to come home to you every day… I wouldn’t just leave you,” he nearly spat. His lips curled in anger, but it wasn’t directed at you. No, it was more the suggestion that he was fucking around.

“You and me, [Name], are going to be a proper couple one of these days. And you’re gonna be my wife, I’ll tell you that.”

You shuddered. There was a slimy feeling working its way up your body, through your guts and through the tips of your stood up hairs on the back of your neck. He was crazy. A downright maniac. There was that similar look in his eyes, the one he had given you years back in that diner, and you wondered how deep this went.

How long did he spend stalking you through the fields, hoping to have you pressed under him? How long had he been trying to worm his way into your life? More importantly, when exactly did he decide that just faking nice wasn’t going to cut it anymore?

“Like I’d ever let that fuckin’ happen,” You spat and ran straight out of that barn all the way home.

There was a fall festival happening in town. Your daddy was preparing to sell things at the market, though there wasn’t much interest in buying fresh produce this close to winter.

“Now there ain’t enough to go around for you to go. Just stay here and we’ll bring you back something real nice,” Your mother had said with a small, pained smile before they packed up the truck full of goods and lumbred off into the orange painted sky.

You were left standing in front of your empty house with the porch light fighting off the oncoming darkness of night. It was quiet when your family wasn’t here to fill out the house with sounds of cooking, arguing and just life in general. There was a weird sense of unease that settled in your gut now that you were on your lonesome. It felt like shit to just be abandoned like that, to know that your kin was out there having fun and interacting with the rest of the town while you were stuck closing up the farm for the night. You sighed, fists curling at your side as you kicked idly at the gravel pebbles on the path.

Well, there wasn’t much use in throwing a pity party. The coop needed to be locked up, the heaters in the barn needed to be turned on, the gates all had to be checked. It wasn’t all that much work all things considered, but it was enough to have you pushing through the shadowed fields at a hurried pace.

You carried out your tasks, floating through the empty farm with a goal of relaxing down in your cozy bed to read more of that novel you had been so desperately trying to finish. The cool autumn breeze brushed past your skin and made you shiver. Goosebumps. How strange… it wasn’t cold enough for that.

It was nearly silent save for the rustle of leaves and the crunch of your feet against the ground. You hummed softly and rubbed your arms as night finally fell over your quaint home.

“It ain’t supposed to be this chilly yet,” You grumbled to yourself as you walked down the path to get back to your house from the back of the property. You eyed the wheat field and stopped in your tracks. Hey now… there wasn’t any harm in taking a shortcut, now was there? It wasn’t like your father was there to holler at you for walking through the crops. You knew your way through it pretty easily, didn’t get turned around or nothing even if it was completely dark. The moon was full and practically beaming down onto the golden stalks, now painted pretty and silver.

You weaved through the field with ease, sighing softly as you could see the roof of the house through the leaves. You caught sight of the peeling paint and nearly slumped in relief. Well, you were being excluded from the fall festivities, but at least you could get all cozy for once. You stepped out past the edge of the field and now in the open, eyes fixed low on the ground as you tried to not trip over your own damn feet, but when you looked up you couldn’t help but freeze.

There, standing in front of your porch, was a tall imposing figure silhouetted in the hazy yellow light buzzing above the garage.

You came to a halt instantly, your breath hitching right as your heart stuttered. “What in the…?” You whispered to yourself as you took in the sight of the stranger. He was looking at the spaces where the truck would normally be, and you had half a mind to not just run up and start hollering at this stranger. What if he needed help or something? You didn’t see any car around or nothing, so maybe he was in trouble. You squinted, and you couldn’t help the little gasp that left your lips as you realized that he had on a burlap sack fitted loosely over his head. He had gloves on too, the nice leather kind that you knew cost more than what you spent on groceries in a week. But no good man wore gloves when he wasn’t working, and this guy wasn’t doing anything but staring at the front door.

Your fingers twitched as you just stood there wide eyed and slack jawed. What the fuck should you do? The kind, ladylike thing to do would be to ask if he needed anything or if he was lost, but there was something stirring in your gut that was telling you to go and hide as quickly as you could. You slowly began to back away, one footstep at a time. It was like everything was frozen around you, your breath stilling in your lungs.

You couldn’t look away from him, even as you retreated further and further. His head swiveled slightly as he examined the porch of your house, and you were sent further and further into a frozen spiral as he finally turned to finally look at the fields. The fields where you were inching towards, to be specific. Of course you couldn’t see his features, but there was no mistaking the fact that he was searching for something. And when he finally turned so that you could fully take in the way his muscles tensed and his posture hunched into something more haggard and eager than you’d ever have expected, you realized that something was in fact you.

A scream tore out of your throat as he barrelled towards you, his hands outstretched and ready to catch you. You could hear him calling your name, but you just started running. How did he know you? It didn’t matter though, not when you could practically taste the danger in the air with every ragged breath you inhaled.

Leaves whipped against your face and arms, leaving faint red lines from how harshly they scraped you, but you kept going. The man’s heavy footfalls thundered after each of yours, and you shrieked in pure horror as he reached up and grabbed the back of your shirt and roughly yanked you back. Your feet skidded in the loose dirt as you thrashed and tried to fight him off.

“Stop fussin’ and behave!” He commanded, his voice gruff with annoyance. It sounded like he was purposefully speaking deeper than his normal voice would allow. He followed his words up by clamping his gloved hand around the back of your throat and shoved you down to your knees.

“Ngh! Let me go! My folks will be back any second, a-and then you’re gonna get it you fuckin’ spineless little-!”

Your snarling was cut off with another cry of fear as he squeezed down on your windpipe for a fraction of a second. He grappled with your shaking body as he pushed you up against his chest and pressed you down into the earth. Your eyes were wide and your nostrils flared with panic at the feeling of soil against your cheek.

“Your family ain’t here. They ain’t gonna be here for a while. Quit cryin’ before I give you something to really cry over… shit and I’m tryin’ to be all romantic. I know you’re stubborn but shit…” He grumbled and nuzzled his face against the crown of your head. The burlap of the sack was rough and unpleasant, just another layer upon the mountain of shit you were in. He inhaled deeply, sniffing your neck and shoulder through the barrier of fabric. You shuddered and balled your fists up.

That voice, that touch: it was all so horribly familiar.

“Daniel?” Your voice carried a hint of betrayal you wish wasn’t there. You disliked him, thought of him a creep, but this was beyond anything that you would’ve ever thought him capable of. But then again, when had he ever given you the chance to actually trust him. If anything, you should’ve expected this. Should’ve known. Should’ve done something.

He stilled behind you, his feverish panting ceasing all at once and replaced with eerie silence. Sweat beaded on your forehead as the moment seemed to stretch on forever. Slowly his hands slid over your belly, pressed between the ground and your soft skin and ruching up the fabric of your shirt.

“Daniel,” You repeated his name, more panicked. It was like you were back in the barn again, but this time you felt no warmth from his skin. His sun kissed boyishness that had you squirming with unknown feelings was now replaced with simple cold dread, bathed in silver moonlight and casted with iron resolve. “Daniel, stop it.. Please,” you croaked out as tears gathered in your lashes.

“... You can still say yes [Name]” He whispered, nearly as desperate as you were for a brief moment. You flinched at his voice, but you found no sympathy in his rigid form. You opened your mouth again to beg, but you squeaked as he covered your mouth with his thick, gloved hand. You squeezed your eyes shut. “I’m tryin’ to give you the world here, and all you have to do is be a good girl for me and take it, alright?”

The sound of your clothes ripping filled your ears, and he yanked the tatters of your sweater away. He grunted at the effort, shoving you further down to secure you while he reached underneath your squirming form to unbutton your jeans. The denim burned your thighs as it scraped past, leaving your skin sore to his kneading of the soft skin. His breath hitched once his fingers wormed their way past your clenched legs to cup your pussy through the worn cotton of your panties.

“ Oh…” He sighed, sounding so dreamy and fascinated. It was like he weren't about to do the worst thing that had ever happened to you. “Would you look at that,” Danny murmured and fucking squeezed. You kicked against him as hard as you could, and he only laughed softly. “You’re already wet.”

You screamed in protest at that, but he whispered shushes into your ear.

“No use denying it, honey,” He almost sounded amused as he dragged your underwear down to finally reveal what he’d been after. He finally let go of your face, and you gasped for air, letting out a string of curses so foul your father would've surely beat you for even uttering them. He ignored your profanities and wrangled your pelvis into his lap, your thrashing legs on either side of his thick waist. Your nails dug into the dirt as you tried to crawl away, but he shook you harshly. “Quit squirmin’! I deserve a good look at my future wife…” he grumbled, annoyance muffled by the burlap sack. It was even worse that you couldn’t see his face.

Suddenly, your cunt was burning. You hissed, and your fingers curled around the earth. “Ow ow ow!” You cried. Daniel made a curious noise.

“Hm, was hopin’ you’d be a bit looser… relax honey, I ain’t gonna hurt you. You just gotta relax a bit,” He cooed and stroked your lower back, squeezing the globe of your ass and holding you in place with one hand while the other was currently trying to stuff its digits into your tight, clenched walls. You squeaked as his thumb pressed harshly down on your clit, and you jerked at the sensation. “Shh, shhh, it’s okay …” he murmured. It was the same way you would speak to frightened livestock before it was sent for slaughter, all placating and sweet despite the animal knowing something was obviously wrong. Your dry walls clenched around the leather, pulsing as he worked at the little bundle of nerves until pleasure sparked like embers. Slowly, but surely, he worked your hole into a leaking, slicked up mess, his glove covered in your juices.

After a while of prodding and trying to roughly finger you, he finally stopped. You were crying, your tears mixing into mud now smeared across your cheeks. Instead of relief, dread took over your gut.

“I think you’re ready, honey…” He whispered, eyes gleaming in the moonlight. Your thighs trembled as he stroked them and moved you once again. His arms wrapped around your waist, his muscular chest pressed against your back. His breath was hot against your neck and ear, the burlap sack rubbing against your skull. The sound of a zipper flying and denim rustling flowed into your frazzled brain. You couldn’t even find it in yourself to say no anymore, your head rolling forward limply to try and avoid his heady gaze that you could feel burning into your skin.

Something hard and hot pressed against your ass cheek, and you jerked away. He fumbled around for a bit, trying to line himself up with your clenched entrance. There were no more hushed promises or niceties, just rough grunts and the strain of his muscles against you.

The first thing you noticed was how much it burned. It wasn’t like that of being burned, though you wished it was. No, it was more like the stretching you would do in gym class way back when. It was past the point of comfort, feeling muscle thin out and weaken while you breathed deeply to stop feeling it so much.

He groaned in your ear, loudly too.

“ Do you know how long I’ve waited for this?” He rasped. “To have a moment like this?” You gasped as he bottomed out. Your guts were all squished up in places that you didn’t even know existed before. You moaned softly, partly out of pain and out of surprising warmth. Something stirred within you as he drew back, shuddering and stilted.

It took him a few moments to get it right, and he laughed in boyish glee when he finally managed to keep up a steady pace. He burrowed his head in the crook of your neck, joining you in the mud. Warmth spread through your gut as he pumped into you. At first it was just harsh prodding that hit the wrong angles in your stupidly wet cunt. Every blubber of fear, every hiss and whimpered ‘no’ only pushed him to find different places, find different ways to make you see stars and gasp when you should’ve been screaming.

“You’re always- fuck, you’re always fuckin’ teasin’ me,” He bit your earlobe through the thick fabric covering those charming, poisoned lips. “If it ain’t your goddamn folks around to stop me, then it’s you,” he practically spat, breathless and heady. “You ain’t got not right to say no to me when you know damn well that I’m the only one who can treat you well,” he snarled as his hips met yours roughly.

You felt so full, and when his hand dipped down once again to find your clit, you could do nothing but squeal as he pinpointed those spots that had you seeing blurry from both inside and out. Your back arched despite your muscles feeling like they were pulled thin to the point of no return, flexing and twitching with every slap of his balls against your thighs.

“You’ll see- hngh- you’ll see how good you have it,” He promised ominously.

He picked up the pace all of a sudden, emboldened by whatever was going on in that thick skull of his. You let out a strangled cry, your scuffed shoes kicking up dirt everywhere as the pressure in your belly finally started to rise into a frightening, all consuming pulse that rippled up your entire body. It was like nothing you had ever felt before, and it was fucking terrifying. Your eyes were blown wide, and you began to shriek and buck your hips not to meet his pace, but rather to seek and escape from the impending climax that was gripping your limbs and locking them in aching pleasure.

Danny shoved you further down, wrapping over you like he was some kinda snake. It felt like an apt comparison considering that this was the closest to being eaten alive that you could imagine anyone going through.

“ [Name] [Name] [Name] “

He chanted your name as he pumped his cock further and further into your pulsing heat. He was lost in the fervor of it all, too caught up to make his words coherent anymore. Not that anything would register through the haze of your tears and impending doom, but at least you didn’t have to pretend to listen.

“Ngh! Fuck!”

He had to be close by now. Your thighs were a mess of your own juices and smeared with his precum and sweat, and the two of you writhed together in some mockery of tenderness. Daniel gasped and tensed, his muscles locking together as he finally spilled his release inside of your waiting walls. His voice became high pitched and whiny, and then, in a moment of pure heat and desperation, he finally spilled within you.

You didn’t know when Daniel left your side, but it had to have been a few hours at the very least. You hadn’t moved, too shocked and sore to do anything but bleakly stare into the thick maze of wheat stalks just beyond your fingertips. But he did leave at some point, and when your folks came back, you were alone.

As you had suspected, your father was livid.

“ HOW COULD YOU BE SO FUCKIN’ STUPID?”

It was awful. Almost as awful as what had been done to you, but it was somehow even more shameful. It had been terrible, sitting there on a rickety dining room chair that screamed and groaned everytime you flinched and shuddered. Your mom at least had the decency to wrap a towel around you while you were torn into.

You had tried to tell them, “It was the Petusky boy” and “It wasn’t my fault”. None of your words seemed to hit.

“Danny wouldn’t do something like that.” Your Pa’s response was immediate, and you shut your mouth quickly, gaze boring into your hands curled in your trembling lap.

“Did you see who it was?” Your mom tried to coax out of you, though you got the impression she didn’t believe you either.

“No he had a mask but-”

“That settles it then,” Your dad cut in as he paced the room, his jaw was set tight, and your stomach churned uneasily. “He’s a good boy. A smart one too. He wouldn’t do something like that, and certainly not with you. Be honest [Name], you had to be askin’ for some shit. I’m not stupid. I swear-! We leave you alone for a goddamn second and you’re spreadin’ your legs for the first fool that comes by. And you have the nerve to blame it on an honest man,” he hissed out, and you felt tears brimming to your eyes.

Your mama glared at him, but she did nothing to say anything against her husband. She merely shushed you and rubbed soothing circles on your back.

“From now on, you ain’t settin’ a foot off of this farm, you hear?” He snapped. You sank further into yourself, wishing you could just disappear. “Now, we’re going to keep this quiet. You’re going to keep your trap shut about this, and you’re not going to say a word about this to Petusky boy. And if I find out you did or if you managed to knock yourself up? You’ll be out on your ass before the sun comes up.” The ultimatum was laid bare, and you could do nothing but bite your lip and nod.

In the next few weeks, it felt like you were living in hell. Daniel still worked on your family’s farm, and you tried everything in your power to avoid him. It was strange, though. Even though you could feel his eyes following you everywhere, he hardly spoke to you since that night. You almost could’ve mistaken yourself for having imagined it if it weren’t for the warning looks your Pa shot you nearly every hour. Honestly, it probably would’ve been better if you had just made it all up.

Of course, you couldn’t just forget, but you wish you could.

“Shit…” You murmured as you looked down at the faded calendar you had stashed in the barn along with your collection of paperback romances. It had been your escape recently, but now you once again were forced to face reality. You were late for your period. Pretty late at that, by at least a week in and a half. It was hard to ignore the reality that you could be pregnant, especially since he’d finished inside.

“What’re you lookin’ at?”

You screamed and tried to spin around, but Daniel quickly reached out to grab your arms and pin them in place, holding you still as his lips brushed against your earlobe. Revulsion and fear coursed through you, and your heart beat rapidly as he plucked the calendar from your trembling fingers.

“Hmmm,” His voice hummed low in his throat, a sweet noise that should’ve put you at ease, not on the verge of a breakdown. “You’re gonna have my baby,” He announced, smiling against your neck. Panic coursed through you, and you tried to squirm away as he snuggled up against you and dragged you over to some old crates to sit down. He played with the hem of your shirt, positively beaming with excitement.

“N-no I ain’t!” You protested with a face full of terror. He just laughed and hugged you.

“ I know… I know…” he murmured soothingly and pulled out a box, something rattling around inside. “But there’s a chance, ain’t there?” Pregnancy tests. A fucking two pack. You bit your lip, you couldn’t deny that you needed to know if you were or not. You silently took it from him and walked over to the run down bathroom. He waited, giving you space for the first time. Probably because he knew that even if he did, you had nowhere to run.

Two lines on both tests. You sighed and pinched the bridge of your nose as Daniel smiled softly.

“See? I told you I was going to make you my wife,” He reminded you, and you felt sick.

“My folks don’t believe that you did it.”

“Really? Well ain’t that something… don’t fuss too much, honey. I’ll just work my charm, and you’ll be up in my house with a rock on your finger by the end of the month,” His promise was firm, and he squeezed your side, careful not to press too hard on your lower belly.

“And what if… what if I don’t want to?”

The question was quiet, desperate even. His eyes burned a hole into your skull, digging around in your brain and trying to pull on your thoughts and feelings. Slowly, he reached his hand up and grabbed your face. It was just rough enough to make you stumble forward, and you gasped.

“ You think that anyone out there is gonna believe you over me?” He asked softly, deceptively so. “That anyone gives a damn about what you think and feel, [Name]? I am the best option you’ve got. I’m the only option you got,” He continued, entwining one of his hands in yours as he walked you to the door.

“Your folks don’t care, no one in this town thinks of you as anythin’ but a tramp, and, shit- when you start showing? You think anyone is goin’ to give you a chance to prove you’re anythin’ else? Now I know you ain’t stupid, honey. Come on, you know as well as I do that this is the best that you’re ever gonna get,” Danny’s words were mocking, and his handsome face was obscured in shadow by the light pouring in from the barn door. You swallowed thickly as he wrapped his fingers gently around your throat.

“And…” His voice lowered as he leaned in to look you in the eyes. “ If you decide you want to be dumb, then I don’t mind tryin’ again to set you straight. Matter of fact, I’ll keep doin’ so until you get it in yer pretty little head that you’re gonna be mine.”He dragged you out of the barn, down the dirt path, and up onto the rotting porch of your house. Daniel flashed you a dazzling smile, his fingers digging into your own. As he reached for the doorknob, you thought of a million ways of how you could get out of this, could leave and run for the hills, but in the end you could only stand there. He seemed to notice you lost in thought and pause, raised your hand to his lips, and planted a swift kiss to your knuckles. “Don’t you worry, honey. I’ve always got you.”

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mercurial-chuckles · 1 month ago

Text

Yield to me

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader (ft. adventurous Alpine) WC: ~950 ish Warnings: Fluff | Reader rescues a kitten | Whipped Bucky | Roommates-to-lovers trope | Mutual pining | Yet-to-be-named kitten (Alpine) being adventurous | Reader being reckless | Metal-armed supersoldier to the rescue | Concerned Bucky | Angry Bucky | Unbeta'd | Lemme know if I missed anything! A/N: This is my submission for Hot Bucky Summer 2025 | Week 01 Prompt: Mind your own damn business" | @buckybarnesevents Thank you for hosting. 😊✨🥹💞 Note: Do not Steal, Copy, or Plagiarize any part of my work! I do not consent to AI scraping my work. Banner & Divider made by me. Picture credits to Pinterest. Check out my other works: Masterlist Hot Bucky Summer Masterlist

Indulge Away!

You got this.

Taking a deep breath and mustering some courage, you took another careful step. The ledge creaked, making you wobble.

Fuck. Fuck.

Maybe not.

In theory, it had looked so fucking doable from your bedroom window, but in reality, it was a monumentally bad idea.

Shit. What now?

Meow.

"Hold on, baby," You muttered, clinging to the window frame because it was the only thing stopping you from plummeting five floors down. The kitten let out another meow as it clung to the edge, two tiny paws already slipping from the sill.

"THE FUCK DO YA THINK YOU'RE DOIN?"

You nearly slipped from the shock of Mrs. Batton's screeching up at you from the fourth floor. She was out of her window, puffing on a cigarette.

"Nothing," you called back with a wince, trying to calm yourself while adjusting your grip on the narrow ledge.

Adrenaline surged as you took another shaky step, inching closer to the terrified furball. Your neighbors were out of town. Otherwise, you could have saved her from the inside of their apartment. But that wasn't an option. It'd also be too late to call 911. And your supersoldier roommates weren't home. So your only shot had been sliding over the tiny ledge from your apartment, and now here you were.

"How in the world did you get there?" You wondered out loud, looking at the kitten.

You'd seen her once in the lobby earlier this week on your way to the mailroom. She'd come right up to you, and you'd cuddled with her for a moment until a couple of people walked in. Then she jumped out of your arms and ran off. You tried to follow her but eventually lost sight of her. You'd assumed she belonged to someone in the building. However, with the strict no-pets policy, you'd wondered who was sneaking one in.

The kitten scrambled, mewling helplessly. You lunged, snatching her into your arms just as her back paws lost hold. She yowled and clung to your shirt with tiny, sharp claws, burrowing into your neck.

"It's okay, sweet girl. You're safe," you whispered, heart pounding otherwise, still clinging to the frame with one arm as you assessed your next move.

Shit. You did not think this through.

That's when Mrs. Batton shouted again, "ARE YOU GONNA JUMP?! SHOULD I CALL 911?"

Meow.

"Gosh! Mind your own damn business!" you snapped, a little harsh, maybe. You'd apologize later with some cookies. If you lived.

You glanced at the fire escape just a few feet away. Four steps. Four steps, and you could land safely on the platform, slide back into your room, and question your and the little kitten's insane life choices.

Bravely, you took one more step. Nope, you couldn't make it. Maybe you should ask Mrs. Batton to call the cops.

"Have you lost your goddamn mind?"

Oh no.

You whipped your head around, nearly losing your balance in the process.

"Bucky?"

He stood there, phone to his ear, half out of your window, tactical suit still on, staring at you horrified.

"What the hell are you doing?" he hissed, pocketing his mobile and climbing onto the fire escape. You, meanwhile, were clinging to the frame with a sweaty hand. Bucky rarely spoke to you in that tone. You'd seen him use that tone on Steve on various occasions, a privilege of sharing a flat with two super soldiers.

"I…"

Meow.

Your arms tightened around her.

"She was about to fall, Bucky," you shouted unnecessarily. With enhanced senses, he could hear just fine, but your ears were ringing loudly, scared out of your wits.

Bucky looked livid. It made your stomach drop to the ground, promising to take you along.

"Hold on tight," he ordered. Your pulse tripped unhealthily.

He jumped onto the tiny sill and held out his metal hand. You nodded at him and then tried to hand the kitten to Bucky, but she clung to you, claws ripping into the fabric of your shirt and skin tightly.

"Don't worry, baby. He's got you. You're safe," You cooed.

He gently took the kitten from your arms. The little thing curled against his metal arm, and he brought her to his chest instantly.

You both exhaled in relief. One crisis managed.

You shifted your footing, trying to prepare for your own escape, but Bucky's sharp voice stopped you cold.

"Don't fucking move."

Your breath caught, and your heart galloped.

You didn't dare argue. Not like you were in a great state to do so anyway.

He secured the kitten inside your room, sliding the window mostly shut so she wouldn't wander out again. And now he was headed back for you.

"Take my hand," he said urgently, stretching out his gloved palm, his eyes locked on yours. You hesitated.

"I'll never let you fall," he added softly, and somehow your stomach did a cocktail of dance forms.

"Do you trust me, doll?"

"I do, Bucky. It's just my hands are clammy, and that section is a little wonky…"

He glanced at the spot you indicated and back at you. The twitch in his jaw was clear from where you were standing.

Bucky groaned, evaluating the situation. Then, he placed his feet back on the fire escape railing, turned around gracefully, and leaped onto the ledge beside you.

Were you not hanging on the edge, you'd be swooning at that seductive move right there. But mooning over your crush could prove fucking lethal right now.

Bracing himself with his right hand on the fixture of your window, Bucky stretched out his metal arm again. Sweet baby Jesus! He was tall, alright.

"Gimme your hand," he said, voice strained.

You whimpered shakily and reached out, terrified that your sweat-slicked fingers might doom you both.

Bucky didn't reach for your palm but took your elbow and pulled you close, and you were airborne for a few seconds before being pressed against him. His metal arm wound around you tightly, and you could feel his muscles rippling as he straightened out.

"Fuck!" He muttered, sighing into the crook of your neck. "I've got you. Close your eyes for me, okay?" he said.

"Wrap your legs around me," he ordered, and you did. You buried your face into his chest. God! He was strong and smelled so damn fine. You were giddy that you felt so fucking safe in his arms.

Bucky swung you both to safety on the fire escape landing.

"Holy shit." You let out a breathless, nervous laugh.

But before you could wiggle out of his arms, Bucky held you, guiding you toward your window. He sat you down on the sill, his palm flexed roughly on your thigh, keeping your legs wrapped around his waist. Then, he hugged you.

You felt his whole body shaking, breath coming out ragged, his sharp nose tickling the expanse of your shoulder and neck, making your heart plummet.

You tried to say something, but honestly, you were breathless. All you could do was wrap your hands around him, hoping to calm him. This was the first time you had this much body contact with Bucky. It had always been a small touch of fingers when passing a glass or a plate. You'd always been mindful to respect his personal space.

You let out a gasp, your face heating up when he squeezed your sides.

His rough, fingerless-gloved fingers tilted your chin up, daring you to meet his gaze, and you did, reluctantly. His blue eyes were so intense, they made you shudder.

"You're okay," he whispered, brushing his knuckles along your cheek. Then, he pressed a kiss to your forehead gently, making you freefall into the perfection that was Bucky.

You blinked up at him, utterly and irrevocably taken aback. Because Bucky minded his business, mostly, while you'd been rotting in your one-sided affections for him. This display of his worry left you gaping.

And right then, he grumbled softly, "God! You're a worse punk than Steve." A nervous, surprised chuckle escaped you without your volition.

"I'm gonna seal that damn window shut. Never do that to me again. You understand?" he growled against your lips, his nose grazing yours.

With all that intense, barely restrained anger absolutely entrancing you, you nodded dumbly.

Well?

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literary-dolly · 4 months ago

Text

communication is key

jason todd x fem!reader

word count: 3.6k warnings: sexual humour, implied sexual content (non-explicit), mention of insecurities

Jason accidentally leaves a comm behind in your apartment - it would be rude not to have a listen, right?

Part II

It’s safe to say your evening is currently painfully boring.

Make no mistake, scrolling through Netflix is a treasured pastime most days. Somehow, it just wasn’t scratching the itch alone on a Friday night, disappointed and aching for the presence your boyfriend.

Jason had left for patrol roughly an hour ago. It was supposed to be your night together – both of you had made sure to make time in the calendar to go on a long overdue date. Between your work and Jason’s late-night patrols (which often left him fast asleep until at least midday), it was difficult to orchestrate time specifically for the two of you. Yes, you ate dinner together most evenings, often casually basked in each other’s company as you tinkered around your shared apartment, but it wasn’t the same as date night.

Jason had been more than a little pissed when he’d gotten a phone call from Dick asking him to help with the patrol this evening, face falling as soon as the caller ID lit up his phone. Bruce had to rush out of town, he’d claimed, and they needed the extra manpower after a recent Arkham outbreak. You’d known the moment Jason’s shoulders sagged that he would go. It was in his nature as a vigilante. Presenting him with the opportunity to save some poor, unfortunate Gothamites was like dangling a bone in front of a dog and not expecting it to bite.

You tried not to let it sting. When Jason had confessed to you about his alter-ego, you’d known that there would be certain sacrifices in your relationship most would not have to contend with. You doubted there were many people who were jealous of the amount of time their boyfriend spent with the Penguin. It was an unconventional set-up by most standards, but the two of you made it work. It was only on the odd occasion that you truly felt the impact of Jason’s ‘career path’.

The silence in the kitchen had been deafening when he’d hung up the phone. It’s not that you were angry with Jason, or Dick, or anyone for that matter. You were just disappointed. You’d kept your mouth clamped shut as best you could out of fear that if it opened, words would trickle out in the heat of the moment you’d come to regret later on. Clearly, your silence was statement enough, because Jason had only pressed a kiss into your hair with a quiet promise to make it up to you before retreating into the bedroom to get ready for the long night ahead of him. He knew better than to press the issue.

As a result, you were perched on the couch exactly where Jason had left you. The absence of any plans you’d had for the evening left you restless, unable to settle into any particular task. And fucking hell you were bored.

It's just as you go to retreat into the bedroom to try and sleep off your lingering frustrations that you hear the crackling from the bookshelf tucked away in the corner, a short static sound that cuts through the silence of the apartment. It takes a few seconds for you to spot it, the tiny earpiece shoved behind an old, tattered paperback. Jason had been working on his suit earlier in the week, and you’d overheard his curt conversation with Bruce on the phone about needing a new set after breaking his old ones.

Not so broken, clearly.

Your curiosity is piqued enough to venture over to the shelf, plucking the tiny object up carefully to avoid breaking it any further. You’d seen Jason tinker with them before, most likely to scramble the tracking features that came with most of the tech Bruce had given him in recent years. You can hear the muted mumble of conversation, not clear enough to make out any distinct words but enough to know that there was a lengthy talk being had on the line.

It’s not your proudest moment as you slot it into your ear, and definitely, most likely, a severe invasion of privacy. Guilt twangs in the pit of your stomach, but hey – if Jason’s allowed to follow you home from the bodega to make sure you don’t get mugged in the precious fifteen seconds it takes, you can listen to a few minutes of radio chatter, right? You’re just looking out for him. Want to be close to him.

Yeah, right.

It’s uncomfortable, designed to be completely moulded to Jason, and there’s a persistent hum that won’t seem to fade (definitely a little broken) but the voices come to life almost instantly.

“I’m just saying, Empire Strikes Back is by far the superior film, and I won’t hear otherwise.”

“Must you fill our ears with such incessant chatter, Drake.”

“Codenames. And I don’t know, Robin, he’s kind of cooking.”

You recognise the final voice as Dick – the only member of Jason’s family you’d had the pleasure of meeting despite your nearing year-long relationship. It hadn’t been on purpose, naturally, Dick had spotted the pair of you in the window of a coffee shop and rushed over to corner Jason before he could formulate an escape plan that didn’t involve blowing up your favourite date spot. Jason had honest-to-god hissed when he saw his brother approach, and for a split second you were certain he was going to throw his tea over him.

In spite of Jason’s grumbling, you’d taken an instant liking to the elder. He was charismatic, exuberant and kind, and quite frankly it was hard not to bask in the warmth of his presence. As soon as he’d left, however, Jason had sworn that you were never going to meet the rest of his family if he could help it – and thus far he’d kept his promise.

Still, you were aware of the players on the board from the pieces you’d gathered in time spent with your boyfriend. The second voice, you had correctly identified, was Damian – or the Demon Brat as Jason often took to calling him when he came up. You have to stifle a laugh at his bravado. Much like the picture your mind had painted, the kid definitely had an aura about him.

That just left Tim, the first voice. Jason mentioned him the least of all of his siblings, and you found that when his name came up Jason seemed to shrink into himself somewhat, sometimes fading away, seemingly lost in memories he couldn’t quite escape. You knew that Jason had a troubled relationship with most of his family members at one point or another, having been spared the specifics, but your gut told you that there was something about his relationship with Tim that cut a tad deeper than the rest.

It was strange, to finally put voices to names. You can’t help the small smile that curves on your lips.

“Right, fess up, who taught Nightwing about ‘let him cook’,” A female voice rings out.

You filter through your previous conversations with Jason as you try to figure out who it could belong to, rapidly considering the vague descriptions he’d given you of Steph, Cass and Babs. It doesn’t take you long to decide it’s most likely Stephanie.

“Hey – could I not have just, I don’t know, learned about it myself?”

“Not likely, they probably didn’t have the internet until you were, what? Forty?”

“Tough talk coming from a girl who gave The Last Jedi five stars on Letterboxd.”

“You did what?”

“I must admit, Spoiler, that is disappointing.”

“Do any of you ever shut the fuck up?”

Your body thrums at the last one, and a breath tears its way out of your throat. Jason. It throws you off balance to hear him so brusk, a fire in his words that he rarely brought to the conversations you had - in your experience, it was typically reserved for when he stubbed a toe or let the pasta boil over on the stove. His voice sounds somewhat thick, and your stomach churns at the idea that your demeanour from earlier had rattled him so deeply.

You were well acquainted with Jason’s compulsion to work; he was completely and utterly addicted to it. So much so, that you’d failed to consider just how disappointed he might feel about missing your date too.

As if on cue, Tim’s voice rings out, “Aww, Hood’s upset because he was going to wine and dine his girlfriend tonight.”

“Red Robin…”

“I was being polite the first time, now I’m telling you. Shut the fuck up.”

The statement throws you a little, hearing Jason’s family discuss your relationship as though it were a common topic. The scraps of information Jason had given you about them were so few and far in between that you could only assume he had been the same on the other side of it. Quickly, you realise, that he probably had been – you could hazard a guess coming from a family of famed detectives didn’t exactly make it easy to keep secrets.

“I refuse to believe that Red Hood has a partner,” Damian’s words are impossibly snide, “Who could possibly want to spend any more time with him than is absolutely necessary?”

You make out a few giggles after that, namely Tim and Steph, who seem to be basking in the concept of making Jason as miserable as possible. It’s Dick that steps in to shh them, chiding Damian with a measured tone that you’re sure could only have developed from years of dealing with this exact situation. The babble continues back and forth for a few minutes, and you can almost feel yourself beginning to sink into sleep as you listen to them bicker, someone occasionally slipping in some useful intel about a warehouse or rogue sighting.

The line goes quiet when Jason lets out a harsh, “Oh, fuck!”

A pulse of lightning seems to shoot its way down your spine, and it takes more than you thought yourself capable of to not scream down the comm line.

“Hood?”

“Red Hood?”

“Hood, you okay?”

“Hood, status report, now.”

“I’m fine,” Jason bites out, a little bemused if nothing else, “My hip and knee are just stiff. Getting colder outside, ya’ know.”

The silence is deafening for a few seconds, and you can’t claim to know where everyone’s thoughts sink to, but you could guess it was to do with Jason’s sordid history.

That is, until Tim pipes up dryly, “So, what is that, like, rigor mortis?”

“Oh my god.”

“That’s so not okay, dude.”

“Holy shit.”

You wait eagerly in anticipation to hear Jason’s response. You couldn’t claim to know every detail of Jason’s past – it was something the two of you were slowly working on together. He was understandably cagey at the idea of talking about his experiences, so you never pressed, instead allowing him to offer up bits and pieces of information in his more vulnerable moments. In spite of that, you knew that Jason had died. There wasn’t another plausible explanation for the giant Y-scar that stretched its way across his chest. You’d worked for a long time on getting him to feel comfortable enough to be around you without a shirt on, comfortable enough to know you weren’t going to turn tail and run just at the sight. He hadn’t told you how or why – but the look in his eyes when he stared in the mirror for a second too long was enough to let you know it was certainly no fairytale.

Which is why it’s such a surprise when a deep, rumbling laugh filters through the earpiece, and you’re struck with the image of Jason perched on a rooftop somewhere chuckling to himself as he watches over the city. Within seconds there’s an orchestra of maniacal cackles pouring through the comms, and you’re fairly certain that the only one who isn’t laughing is Damian.

“Hood, does your partner know of your death and resurrection?”

Jeez, Damian, way to soften the blow.

Dick quickly jumps in to chastise his brother, sounding increasingly more exasperated with every word, “Robin, you can’t –”

“Yeah, she does,” Jason’s voice is surprisingly earnest, “Don’t think it bothers her, not really.”

Tim and Steph jump in almost immediately to make outrageous kissing noises, crooning Oh, Hood and I love you, Hood and other slightly more inappropriate comments. You’re certain if you looked in the mirror the colour of your cheeks wouldn’t be far off Jason’s helmet.

“Honestly, you two need to stop behaving like I don’t have your exact coordinates,” Jason huffs out, but you can hear the twinge of humour in his words. He’s not angry, not at all, if anything you’d say he was finding it funny.

“Seriously though, Hood,” Steph’s voice is somewhat strained from laughing, “When are you going to introduce us?”

“Never.”

“Come on, man.”

“Dick got to meet her!”

“I would be interested in assessing the capabilities of this civilian.”

“Yeah, well, she’s more than capable.”

Now that has a little more bite to it, and your chest swells with pride at Jason’s defensiveness. You’d always felt a tad insecure about how you compared to the rest of the people in Jason’s life – surrounded by superheroes, metahumans, and some of the most proficient individuals in the world. You were just a civilian, and in your opinion, nothing all that special. But Jason had always made sure that you felt equal, that the differences in what you did outside the walls of your apartment had no bearing on the fact his world started and ended with you.

“So… does the mask stay on when you get freaky or –”

“Steph, don’t make me come over there, you know I will.”

“Codenames.” Honestly, you can’t help but respect Dick for his seemingly unwavering patience, although you could guess it might be due to the noticeable absence of Batman himself to rein in his children in his place. “Spoiler, we have a child with us.”

“I don’t understand Spoiler. What is getting freaky–”

“Please,” Dick’s begging now.

“Oh, B is gonna have fun with that when he gets home.”

“Pfft, you think B is going to know what getting freaky means?”

“You know that means he’s going to ask us, right?”

“Shit.”

Your brain starts to feel fried just listening to them. And the most obscene part of it all is that you can hear them fighting, subduing local criminals while simultaneously having one of the weirdest conversations you’ve ever been a party to (well, secretly a party to). You have to place the earpiece on the other side of the room and retreat into the bathroom to let out what could be a laugh or a scream – you can’t be sure.

Unsurprisingly, when you slot the earpiece back in again, the conversation has shifted.

You only catch the end of Tim’s words, but it’s enough to send your entire body into a state of shock, “– when the wedding happens.”

“When the wedding happens,” Jason bites out breathlessly, clearly in the middle of some kind of confrontation, “Your sorry ass isn’t going to be fuckin’ invited.”

And the comm line erupts.

“When the wedding happens?”

“WHAT?”

“Guys, fuckin’ hell, I didn’t mean it like –”

“I’m presuming this means you have a ring, yes, Todd?”

If you weren’t already sat, you’re certain your legs would have given way underneath you. The room is spinning, you’re overwhelmed by the feeling of the world shifting on its axis and you can feel your heart vibrating in your throat.

You and Jason had never made any point of talking about marriage. It had come up casually, as it did in the conversations of most couples – but you had never had any particularly serious discussions about the subject. You, for one, had avoided it out of fear of spooking Jason, whom you’d already spent enough time coaxing out of his shell without potentially scaring him back in again. You had no idea that it was something that he was thinking about.

Of course, you wanted to marry him. From the moment he’d asked you to be his girlfriend, you’d known that he was the only option.

“One last time,” Dick’s voice tears you from your thoughts, grating like nails on a chalkboard. It sends a chill through your entire body and for a brief second you can envision what it would be like to be confronted by Nightwing on a bad day. “Codenames. I don’t care if you don’t think anyone is listening –”

“Funny you say that. Someone is listening.”

It’s a woman’s voice. That must be Babs.

Fuck.

Abort. Abort. Abort. Immediately.

If you thought the comm line had exploded before, this was an atomic bomb. It’s a cacophony, instantly. Not the casual chattering over each other of minutes prior, instead it’s angered shouts, concerned whispers and vehement speculations about who it could possibly be.

The last thing you hear when you drop the earpiece into the garbage disposal with a sickening clang is Jason’s concerningly enlightened ‘Oh shit’.

You’ve been lying in bed practicing pretending to be asleep for an hour when Jason finally peels through the bedroom window. It takes everything you can muster to regulate your breathing, steady your heartbeat and lay still enough to feign unconsciousness.

The telltale rustling of Jason pulling off his costume as quietly as possible is enough to make you let out a barely-there sigh of relief. There’s a fleeting sadistic pride that burns in your chest at the thought that you’ve fooled the mighty Red Hood.

“So, where is it?”

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.

Maybe if you don’t answer, he’ll just lay off –

“I know you’re awake.” You nearly jump up to the ceiling because he says it directly into your ear and you didn’t even hear him move from beside the window. Fucking vigilantes.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you borderline whimper, and abruptly realise if you were going to double-down you probably should have done it with a bit more authority.

“Really, sweetheart? That’s what we’re going with.”

You roll over ever so slightly, just enough to pull your face from the pillow. Jason’s eyes are practically glowing in the dark of your bedroom and his face is not even an inch from yours. He’s close enough that you can make out the ever so slight sweaty dampness of his hair, that you could trace the freckles and scars alike that are dotted across his face – you can also make out the unmistakable curve of his lips, upwards ever so slightly at the corner.

“Garbage disposal.” The words come out quicker than you thought was physically possible and could potentially be mistaken for the creaking of a door in a different context given the pitch of them. You’re not sure if you feel like a weight has been lifted off your chest or tied to your foot and subsequently flung into a river.

The silence is painful. Agonising. It’s too dark to completely make out Jason’s expression, his body completely still. You’re not even sure if he’s breathing.

And then he starts to shake, shoulders first, before the rest of his body follows. He collapses onto his side of the bed, jolting the mattress, and the vibrations are enough to confirm your suspicions. He’s laughing his fucking head off.

“You put it in the garbage disposal?” There’s disbelief lacing his words, and his own question only sets him off again. You throw a weak punch at his arm out of fear of him waking the neighbours.

“You’re not mad?” Your disbelief matches his own as you finally flip over to face him, now draped in the moonlight pouring through your bedroom window.

His laughter subdues, and he pauses contemplatively before sighing, “I probably should be. But, no, I’m not. I’d be a liar if I said I wouldn’t do the same fuckin’ thing.”

That’s the only signal you need to traverse the bed at break-neck speed, throwing yourself into Jason’s arms and burying your face into the crook of his neck. Without missing a beat, his arms come around to draw soft patterns up and down your back, and he lets out a relaxed hum of approval.

“I’m sorry about tonight, baby,” he won’t quite look you in the eye as he says it, and you can practically feel the guilt emanating off of him, “I know how much you were looking forward to it. We were looking forward to it.”

“Jay,” you sigh, raking a hand through his hair, “I love you. What you do makes you who you are, if I couldn’t accept that your aggressive vigilantism was going to have to come first sometimes, we wouldn’t be together.”

He presses a chaste kiss to your neck with a soft mumble, “I love you too. Too good f’me.”

“Shut up and go shower,” you giggle, shoving him away, “You stink, pretty boy.”

Jason feigns offense comically, drawing back with a scandalised grin and a shake of his head. You instantly feel the loss as he clambers out of bed, keeping your hands against him for as far as you can reach. There’s a quaint smile on his face as he begins to saunter over to the bathroom. God, you love this man.

“Jay?” You call, just before the bathroom door clicks shut.

“Yeah, princess?”

“I like your family. They seem nice.” You get little more than a grumble in response, and you’re not sure there were any discernible words in there to begin with as he pulls the door to again.

“Oh, and Jason?”

“Yeah?”

“You know that thing Steph said – uh, you know – about the mask?”

You can hear the echo of Jason’s forehead smacking against the doorframe through the wall.

microsoft word giving me italics is like Prometheus stealing fire and giving it to humanity - best believe its a power i'm going to abuse

If you liked it, well, like it - a reblog is always appreciated. If you don't like it, leave me alone.

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd imagine #red hood #red hood x reader #red hood imagine #jason todd x you #red hood x you #fluff #batfamily #batfam #dc robin #robin #jason todd fic #red hood fic #dc comics #dcu #dc fanfic

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hauntedfawnn · 5 months ago

Note

rafe cameron omegaverse would eattttt i can never find any fics of that

(Ask and you shall receive!! This is sort of a trial run I guess? I’ve never seen omegaverse in the OBX fandom so I’m just not sure if people aren’t into it or if they don’t really know much about it. If you’re confused on any terms/have any questions about this troupe my inbox/DMs are open!!)

✰ When Rafe catches your scent at one of his parties… he just has to have you. (Alpha!Rafe Cameron x Omega!Reader) ✰

𐙚 Possessiveness/jealousy, general omegaverse behaviors (scenting, knotting, marking), biting, a tiny bit of blood, unprotected sex, spit kink, pussy eating 18+MDNI! 𐙚

Rafe smells you the minute you walk into his bustling Tannyhill party. Even if he doesn’t see you quite yet. Your scent is better than any drug he’s ever snorted into his nose or smoked into his lungs. It’s sugary, sweet, strawberry jam. It smells like someone is cooking the most saccharine, mouth watering strawberry shortcake cake ever made. And he absolutely needs to find the source. He feels like a fucking hound sniffing around this party, lingering on each omega’s scent that hits his nose. But none of them are the one he’s searching for. That is until he walks past you standing by the drink table.

The minute your scent wafts into his nose from a few feet away his entire being is locked in on you. He’s never seen you before but you’re here with one of the country club girls so he assumes you’re from out of town. You’re wearing this cute little pink top and this black mini skirt and you have the prettiest face he’s ever seen. Rafe isn’t one to notice small things about people but your make up is done up all pretty and he wants to shove his face in your perfectly styled hair and inhale your scent like it’s the air he needs to breathe.

Rafe watches you for a moment, observing the way you laugh and how your smile reaches your eyes. He’s in a lovestruck trance, that is until some meat head, alpha dude he went to college with walks up to you. His eyes rake over your form and Rafe can practically see the way he’s inhaling your scent.

It immediately fills Rafe with pure, instinctual, jealousy and rage. And Rafe doesn’t do possessive. He doesn’t get attached. He fucks girls, betas and omegas alike before ghosting them without remorse or a second thought. But he felt the need to own you the second he smelled you, before he even caught sight of you. He wants to bend you over and fuck you like a wild animal, fuck his cum into you, and sink his teeth into your neck, claiming you as his own for the rest of your days.

He can’t believe you’re walking around smelling like a goddamn bakery unmated and without scent blockers. You’re practically bombing the entire house with your scent and he can see other alphas looking your way and stalking around you like a pack of horny vultures. He can’t have that, not in his house, not his girl. He doesn’t even know your name yet but he knows for a fact that you belong to him. Rafe walks over to you. He shoulder checks the guy you’re currently giving your attention before standing in front of him, completely blocking him from your view.

“Hi, I’m Rafe.” He smirks down at you with a sparkle in his blue eyes as he offers you his hand. “This is my place. Don’t think I’ve seen you around here before, you new?”

“Hey man, I was fucking talking -“ the sparkle in Rafe’s eyes turns to blue flames as he flips around to face the guy with his lip curled back in a snarl.

“You were just leaving, actually.” Rafe flares his nostrils at the guy, daring him to challenge him. He’s bigger than him by a lot and he’s a hell of a lot more important to this island that some fucking idiot who buses tables for him at the club. Rafe has size and authority on his side. The guy shrinks right before his eyes before muttering an apology and scurrying off.

Rafe runs his hands through his dirty blonde hair before turning back to you. The sight of your pretty face bringing a smile back to his lips. “Sorry about that. As I was saying, are you new around here?”

“Yeah, just visiting my cousin.” You giggle as you give him your name. You’re nervous but flattered he’d chase someone off like that just to talk to you.

You smelled Rafe’s scent the minute you arrived at his house and you’d be lying if you said your eyes haven’t been following him all night. You’ve never smelled anyone like him in your entire life. He smells like a warm night at the beach. With a fire burning and the wind whipping the salty ocean breeze into your nose. There’s a muskiness to it that just adds a little extra something and you want to wrap your arms around him like a koala and shove your face into his neck.

“I figured, pretty girl like you would be hard to miss.” Rafe offers you a flirty smile as he leans down so his face is inches from yours. “Plus I don’t think I’d be able to miss your scent from a mile away. You smell so fuckin’ sweet.”

Your skin heats at his words, your nipples pebble in your shirt and you feel your panties start to get slick. His forwardness is making your head spin. “Yeah? You smell really good too.. I caught your scent as soon as I got here.”

“Can I be brutally honest, baby?” Rafe’s tongue flicks out to wet his bottom lip as he lets his eyes slide down your body. Not only did you smell divine, you were wearing that tiny little skirt he wanted to rip off of you. And the minute you started getting wet, he could smell your desire.

“Yeah.” You giggle, feeling shy under his intense gaze. The pet name didn’t hurt either.

Rafe tips his head so he can run his nose along your jaw, inhaling your delectable fragrance. His breath tickles your skin as he brings his lips to your ear. “I fuckin’ want you. Your scent is driving me insane and I want to rip that sexy little skirt right from your body.”

“Do it then.” You sigh dreamily, subconsciously rubbing your cheek against Rafe’s head as he shoves his nose into your neck.

“Fuckin’ look at you.” Rafe licks his lips as he stands over you spread out for him in his bed. He ripped your shirt off and manhandled you into your back the minute his bedroom door was shut. You’re still wearing that sexy little ruffle skirt and you have your legs spread just enough for him to see a flash of your pink panties that are covered in stars. His eyes hone in on the wet spot in the middle and it’s like he becomes a man possessed. He darts between your legs, throwing them over his shoulders so he can shove his face into your pussy. He inhales deeply, his eyes rolling back and a damn near growl escaping his lips.

“God you smell so fuckin’ good. I’ve gotta taste you, baby.” Rafe makes good on his promise from earlier, grabbing not only the hem of your skirt but your panties too and ripping them clear down the middle with his alpha strength. His pupils dilate at the sight of your glistening, wet, pussy. He runs his nose along your dripping slit, inhaling your sweet aroma. He shoves his tongue between your lips, gathering the sweet nectar that’s dripping from inside you. He swirls his tongue around and brings it to your clit, sucking it into his mouth.

“Oh god, Rafe. That’s so fucking good.” You whine as your writhe beneath him. His tongue circles your hole before he shoves it as deep as it can go inside of you, fucking you with it. He brings his thumb to your clit and it has you seeing stars. Your orgasm wracks through you like a tidal wave and Rafe has to pin your hips to the bed so you can’t get away from his sinful tongue.

“S’goddamn sweet.” Rafe moans as he looks up at you with hooded eyes, the bottom half of his face covered in your juices. He holds eye contact with you as he swipes his large ringed finger across his chin so he can gather your slick and then he sucks his finger into his mouth. “Can’t let any go to waste, can we?”

Your pussy clenches around nothing as you watch him, a rush of slick dripping from you, practically begging Rafe to shove his cock inside.

“Please fuck me, alpha?” You whine as you spread your legs, presenting yourself to him. Something fully snaps in Rafe then. He hurriedly rips off his clothes before kneeling between your legs, giving his rock hard cock a few languid strokes.

“Don’t worry, pretty, I’m gonna take care of you. Gonna fuck this pussy so good you’ll never want another dick again. Gonna make you fuckin’ mine.” He runs his tip through your folds and taps it against your throbbing clit a few times before lining up with your entrance and pressing just the tip in. He pushes in a few inches before pulling almost all the way back out and then he thrusts his hips forward, pushing his cock balls deep inside of you.

“Oh, fuck yes.” Your eyes roll into the back of your head and your pussy pulses around his thick length as he starts to fuck into you like a wild animal. Rafe grabs onto your jaw and it makes your eyes fly open.

“Fuckin’ look at me while I take what’s mine, I wanna see your eyes when you fall apart on my dick.” The look in Rafe’s eyes is feral as he lets go off your jaw to shove two fingers in your mouth. He hooks them along your bottom teeth, pulling your mouth open. He gathers some spit in his mouth before letting it fall onto your tongue and his taste lights up your senses.

“Mmm, you taste so good, alpha.” You moan as you swallow what he gave you.

“God you’re so fuckin’ sexy. Good little omega. Gonna scent every inch of your perfect body so every alpha within two miles will know you’re mine.” Rafe shoves his face in your neck and rubs his cheek against your scent gland to prove his point. He runs his teeth along the column of your throat, teasing you.

“Please mark me, alpha.” You crane your neck to the side, giving him more space. “Make me yours forever.”

Rafe has never considered marking anyone, claiming anyone as his own. But right now? He’s never felt more possessive in his life. He needs to claim you. Make you his. Breed you. He growls into your neck, his cock still thrusting deep and hard into your cunt. He flicks his tongue out across your skin, tasting your sweat and something that is just you before baring his teeth and sinking them into your flesh. Your back arches off the bed and you cum so hard you almost want to cry. You feel the bond between you and Rafe settle. That bite on your neck connecting him to you for eternity.

“Mine.” Rafe snarls as he licks the blood that’s dripping from his bite. He leans up, grabbing onto one of your thighs and pushes it up to your chest. The thumb of his free hand finds your clit as he fucks you brutally, without remorse. “Gonna breed this fuckin’ pussy, baby girl.”

“Yes, yes! Please fill me up, alpha! I want your knot!” That does Rafe in. He pounds into you hard and deep as his balls tighten and his cock twitches inside you. Rafe paints your walls with ropes of his cum and the feeling hurdles you into another orgasm right along with him.

“Good fuckin’ omega, such a good girl for me.” Rafe grunts as he feels the head of his cock start to expand and his knot pop inside you. You squeak in surprise at the pinching feeling but it soon turns into pleasure, another mind blowing orgasm that makes you nearly see white, overtaking your entire being.

“Wow.” You giggle and sigh as your body falls limp beneath him. Rafe wraps his arms around your waist so he can roll onto his back and pull you to his chest, his knot still nestled deep inside you.

“Mine.” Rafe growls as one of his hands grabs a handful of your ass and the other cups your cheek, tilting your head up to look at him. He realizes in his frenzy to be inside you he never kissed you so he connects your lips in a filthy, passionate kiss. “Never letting you outta my sight.”

“Good because you’re mine.” Your hand covers his large one that’s cupping your face. You tilt your cheek so you can rub your cheek against the scent gland on his wrist, marking him. It makes Rafe’s cock twitch and harden again inside you and then he’s fucking you again. And again. Until your eyes flutter shut with bliss, surrounded in both your scents, wrapped up in your alpha’s arms.

Tagging mooties: @eerielamb @dementedkittenribbon @cameronsprincess @nemesyaaa @that-sarcastic-writer @eddiesxangel

Dividers by @anitalenia

#idk how this is gonna be received but this is my fav troupe and I’ve been thirsting to write it with rafe for a whole yearrr #so here it is #bambii writes #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe x reader #rafe #rafe cameron smut #outer banks #rafe smut #rafe x you #rafe x reader smut #alpha!rafe #alpha!Rafe Cameron #omegaverse

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wickedghxst · 2 years ago

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i miss my backyard. i miss my patio. i miss going outside to take the trash out.

#having to keep the trash can in the garage is such a downer bc it means i literally don’t get to go outside.#i refuse to go out on the balcony. that’s not happening. it’s really gross & i don’t wanna bring my flip flops upstairs for it :/#and even if it Was fine it’s tiny as hell & in direct street view. i miss my privacy. i miss being able to open my window from time to time.#my cat doesn’t get to sit in the window bc theres no room for her to sit. & i can’t open the. kinda ever bc it’s right in front of da street #i don’t need people staring at me in my bedroom. Especially when my bed is right infront of the window.#idk man. in so many ways this place is better than the old house ever was but it’s also so. small. & constricting.#in contrast the other house was slightly more freeing. but the town was more constricting.#here i have stuff within walking distance. sort of. but i can never feel completely comfortable anywhere but my room. with the blinds closed

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buckyalpine · 9 months ago

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18+ Minors dni Enemies to lovers with some massage therapist Bucky. Breeding kinnk, aftercare, Bucky is a secret softie, all that.

Imagine Rival Biker Bucky x f reader. A smutty, slutty little concept while I add the finishing touches to another fic, just getting this out of my system first. I just love the idea of a sexy, bad boy Bucky getting his hands on the one girl who won't give him a second glance because she's too good for him and they're from opposite worlds. Since childhood. Now he's a biker. Covered in black ink. He works in an auto shop. Owns the bar that brings in chaos. He's smoke, whiskey and leather.

She, however, is soft, pretty, smart and does not have the time to entertain someone like him. She has her degree. Working on a second. She has a career. She does not associate with the likes of him, not as the police chiefs daughter. She'll be damned if she has to even breathe the same air, especially when his gang is the cause for half the problems in the town that her father has been trying to get rid of.

Now, imagine that hours of working on her notes and papers leave her with unbearable knots and kninks in her back. She doesn't want to take a break but the pain only gets worse as the week goes by. It doesn't take long for her to shoot her regular massage therapist a message to book the very first available appointment.

You unclasped your bra, folding and setting it off to the side while waiting for Wanda in the warmly lit room. You could have sworn she was a witch with the way she made pain disappear; she’d also become a good friend after your many visits.

The knock at the door interrupted you as you slid your shorts off, leaving you in your panties, not rushing to jump onto the table considering it was just Wanda anyway.

“Come in!” You smiled, making your way to the massage bed as the door clicked open- “Oh my God!!” You nearly shrieked seeing Bucky walk in, a shit eating from spreading across his face as you scrambled to grab the tiny towel to cover yourself though it was a futile attempt. “What the hell are you doing here?!”

"You have an appointment, don't you?" He quirked an eyebrow as if it was clear as day why he was there.

"Yeah, with Wanda, why are you here, did you get lost on the way to jail?" Your face scrunched in a mix of confusion and disgust ignoring the roll of his eyes while you snatched your shirt to better cover up.

"Well Wanda couldn't make it in but she sent me" He said with a shrug, sighing when he saw your less than impressed face, "Don't flatter yourself, I'm just training under her as part of my physiotherapy internship"

"I'm sorry, you're trying to tell me you of all people are learning how to give massages? Please"

"Physiotherapy" Bucky corrected, "You're not the only one who has a degree, princess" Bucky watched as you groaned realizing you hadn't put your bra on, opting to stuff it in your bag instead of putting it back on in front of him.

"You are NOT laying a finger on me-ow!" You hissed, feeling the knot in your back tug at the rest of your muscles.

"You're not gonna be able to do a whole lot with that much pain" Bucky smirked, only half joking. He wasn't wrong. The pain was worse than before and you needed this an you really didn't have the time to reschedule.

"Fine" You mumbled, turning away from him so you could take your shirt off again, glaring at him when you noticed he hadn't turned away. "Could you at least give me some privacy instead of lurking in the corner like a pervert"

"Whatever you want, princess" He bit his lip as he faced the wall, hearing your feet pad across the tile to lay down on the massage table.

"Alright" You huffed after covering your lower body with the towel, now laying face down, immediately second guessing yourself as he walked over.

"Let me know if anything's uncomfortable or if you want me to stop" His voice was no longer snarky; in fact he sounded professional. "Where do you feel the most tension?"

"Um-shoulders and-lower back" You mumbled out the last bit, he was going to massage you there anyway so there so no pointed hiding it. You tensed at the feeling of his oiled fingers starting to work at your muscles, he had no right to be that good. At all.

“Shit” you hissed trying to keep your voice down, ignoring the clench of your stomach feeling his rough fingers press down on the areas that were tight. Little did you know Bucky was struggling far more than you were.

It went against every bit of professionalism he had. Every moan you tried to silence went right to his cock, his hands making their way lower before trailing up again. Fuck, you sounded so pretty...

"Better stop making those sounds"

"Or what" You challenged back before you could even stop yourself.

"Princess..."

"Your attitude is what needs fixing" Bucky growled, professionalism be damned, "fuck this"

You have no idea how you ended up here. It didn't matter though, not when there wasn't a single cohesive thought in your brain as you wailed letting Bucky absolutely rail you. Your back didn't feel an ounce of pain as he took you on all fours, pulling your hips to slam back against him, gripping your ass with enough strength to leave you sore.

"Feel better now huh baby, not trying to stay quiet anymore, are ya" He let out a low chuckle which melted into a groan feeling you tighten on his dick, "Such a good little princess like you letting me put my dick in you, dirty girl"

You hate to admit it but the clench of your cunt betrays how much you love this. It was so wrong. You had no business fucking someone like him and yet where you were letting his precum paint all over the inside of your walls.

"What would your daddy say princess, if he knew where you were right now, what you were doin'? Thinking you're studying when you're actually all pretty and naked, letting me rub that gorgeous body up and down, bet you'd let me put my cum in you too, huh? Bet your dad would love that, his perfect little girl all knocked up with some bikers baby"

You could have said no, stayed silence, just about anything but nope. You screamed feeling his fingers reach around the massage your clit, your orgasm wasting no time hurling towards you.

"Ja-Ja-JAMESSS"

"MMMPHH I love the sound of that baby, could get used to hearing you sayin' my name, say it again princess, say my name with my cock in you, c'mon, that's it"

"Fuck-James-I-James" You were a mess and loving every bit of it, tears starting to flow down your cheeks, all the pent up stress you were feeling finally releasing. You felt your throat tighten, a sob escaping your lips as you let go, your arousal making a creamy mess on the dark curly hair on the base of his cock.

"God, you're milkin me, you want my cum that bad huh baby, want a little biker baby in that tummy of yours, I'll give it to you, give you so much I might even put twins in there-FUCKK"

"Shhhh" Bucky cooed, wrapping you up in a fluffy towel while cuddling up your limp body, wiping away any remnants of tears while you stayed floating in a subby, post sex haze. "I got you, you did so good princess" You only manage to let out a weak whimper, giving into his warm, thick arms that rock you.

"You alright angel?"

"Mph" you mumble against his chest and he reaches over for a glass of water that's nearby, bringing it up for you to take a sip. You're surprised at how sweet he's being, drinking up before snuggling into him again. Damn him for being so warm and comfy.

"Y'know, there might be a little Bucky in there" He whispers with a playful smirk in his voice, fingers tickling your lower belly, chuckling when you narrow your eyes at him.

"You wish" You sass back, ignoring the butterflies you feel.

"I do" He admits, biting his lip, his previous cocky demeanor replaced with a shy one, though he tries to mask it. Poorly. His cheeks are pinker than the time you threw paint on him for pulling your pigtails. When you were both 4. "I'd want Bucky jr. to have your brains though"

Imagine that incident sets off a very interesting chain of events. A confession of feelings. You both couldn't be happier, meanwhile your father is grumbling about how he knew this fuckin' day would come, God damn it.

"I never liked that boy" He struggles to keep a scowl on his face watching you giggle like you were 4 again, running to the door as soon as you hear the rumble of his bike.

"Shut up, you love him" Your mom chides, watching Bucky swoop you up for a loving kiss, heading you a bouquet of yellow flowers as he always does.

"I still don't like 'em" Your dad says while you roll your eyes, your arm linked with his as he walks you down the aisle.

"Is that why all the files you had to build a case against him all suddenly went missing?" You tease and your dad shugs.

"Wasn't me"

just an idea.

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secretlysamcro · 5 months ago

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Female reader x Jax Teller SMUT, possible spoilers & explicit language If you’re under the age of 18, haven’t finished the show or dislike any of said topics, please read no further.

Request: “The reader is new to Charming and meets Gemma with Abel at the supermarket. Maybe she'll help Gemma calm Abel down and they'll start talking. Gemma likes her straight away and plans to set her up with Jax to stop him from getting back together with Tara. The two fall in love, but Tara tries to intervene. But Jax shows that he only wants Reader and Tara disappears. I trust you can make something out of it…maybe Smut & Fluff. Please and thank you!”

Back story: y/n has finally settled into life in Charming, getting used to that small town feel. One evening, whilst grabbing something to eat for dinner, she helps reunite a runaway child with his grandma. Being a natural with children she’s drawn to help, and in doing so? She’s introduced to a life she knew nothing about.

Abel's wails echoed through the grocery store, his tiny fists clenched, face red and twisting with frustration.

"I WANT IT!" he shrieked, pointing at the brightly colored box of cereal.

Gemma exhaled sharply, pushing the cart forward whilst gripping onto his hand. "I said no, Abel. We have that at home".

With a quick twist, he yanked free from her grasp and took off. His sneakers squeaking against the polished floor as he disappeared into another aisle.

"ABEL!" Gemma barked, the sharp click of her own heels following his escape. "GET BACK HERE NOW!" she huffs under her breath "You little shit...just like your father".

Abel though, keeps on running.

And running.

And running. Until, he runs directly into you. You stumble slightly at the sudden impact, looking down at the little body clinging to your hoodie.

"Whoa, you okay?" you say, steadying him by his shoulders.

He blinks, seemingly unfazed "Grandma wont let me have cereal" he says, tugging at your sleeve now.

You hold back a laugh. "Yeah? and that's why you're making a run for it?"

You take his hand, following the shouts from a few aisles down. "ABEL!" Gemma continues to scream.

You turn just in time to see a woman striding towards you, her expression torn between frustration and relief.

"I think I found your escapee" you say, lifting Abels hand slightly.

Gemma reaches you in seconds, placing her hands on his face, scanning him for any signs of distress. "Oh Abel, sweetheart" she whispers, pulling him into a hug "You scared the hell outta Grandma"

Abel stands there, not returning the hug, his hands strict to his sides. "I want cereal".

She straightens up, ignoring his request, finally giving you her full attention. Her sharp gaze flickers over you, as if she was sizing you up.

"Thanks" she says, the words sounding a little forced, like it wasn't something she said often. "I said no to the cereal" she adds with a shrug, trying to lighten the mood.

"Boys will be boys" you laugh it off, looking the woman up and down. She seems, fierce. Like someone you wouldn't fuck with.

You see a shift in her stance, as she registers what you've said. "You got boys?"

"Nah...well yeah, but they're not mine...I have nephews" you respond, stumbling over your words slightly.

You miss them, you miss home and you miss your family but moving here? It was the right choice.

"Coulda fooled me" she says, noticing the confused look in your response "You got that whole Mom vibe" she says, using her hand to point you up and down.

You nod your head, a small laugh leaving your lips "Well, I did work with kids for a while"

"Teacher?"

"No... Nanny"

Something in her stance shifted slightly, just enough to be noticeable. "Huh" she looks down towards Abel who is now busy digging through your cart like he was the paying for it. "That explains it"

You smile at her words, "Yeah... I guess so"

There was a small pause, but she didn't walk away. Instead, she titled her head. "You new to Charming?"

You nodded, surprised she could tell "Yeah, a few weeks now"

"You workin'?" She crosses her arms, giving you another once over. "Sorry, I don't mean to be... in your business, I just...my son..." she ruffles Abel's hair "...his Dad, he's got a Nanny at the moment but, she's useless, hardly free..." she steps slightly closer to you now "...Just wonderin' if you still do the whole nanny thing?"

It wasn't something you had expected, and for a moment you consider saying no. You weren't exactly on the hunt for a job, but then again it would give you something to do.

"I can give you my number?" you offer, a genuine smile on your face.

Gemma pulled out her phone without hesitation, handing it over. You typed in your name and number before handing it back.

She takes a look at the screen. "y/n" she reads, "nice name"

“Gemma, by the way” she smiles, lifting her purse higher up her shoulder. “And this little guy is…” she doesn’t finish. You answer for her.

“Abel” you say, a smirk on your face, Gemma can’t help but laugh.

“You got that? Huh” she laughs “well, I’ll speak to my son and maybe give you a call sometime soon.” She says, instructing Abel to say goodbye.

“Bye bye” Abel whispers

“See ya around Buddy” you say, waving to him “Bye Gemma” you nod in her direction, before turning around and leaving the aisle.

Jax pulls up to Gemma's house in the van, Happy in the back alongside a sleeping Abel. Jax scoops him up, shooting a look over to Happy "wait here" he instructs, before sliding the doors shut.

"Mom?" Jax calls out, shutting the door with his foot after stepping inside.

"In here!" she calls out from the kitchen, sounding stressed.

Jax walks in to find her pacing, her phone in one hand and the other on her hip. she looks pissed.

"The hells up with you?" Jax asks, shifting the weight of Abel on his hip as he begins to stir.

Gemma sighs, rubbing a hand down her face. "Fucking Nate. The home called, he's losing his god damn mind again. Thinks the staff are government spies or some shit. I gotta go deal with it"

Jax sighs, already knowing the problem before its said out loud "So you can't take Abel?"

She shoots him a look. "No shit"

Jax is now the one looking stressed, rubbing the back of his neck "Shit Mom, I got club business, important business" he lets her know, without having to get into detail.

Gemma scoffs, throwing up a hand "Yeah? well I've got crazy old man business, so what do you want me to do?"

Jax ran his tongue over his teeth, his jaw tight as ever, Gemma snapping him out of it with the click of her fingers, like something just came to mind. "Wait a minute... there's that girl" she begins.

Jax frowns, not liking the idea of leaving his kid with someone he didn't fully trust, or even know.

Gemma, already going through her phone contacts. "y/n. Met her at the store with Abel the other day"

Jax's eyebrows furrowed "And you wanna leave my son with some random chick from the grocery store?"

"She used to be a nanny" she shoots back, giving him a knowing look. "She helped with Abel, without makin' me feel like a shitty grandma"

"She seem solid?" he asks, sounding sceptical

Gemma nods. “Wouldn’t have mentioned anything if I didn't”

Jax lets out a frustrated breath, looking down at Abel who was rubbing his tired eyes. "Fine, call her"

Gemma smirked, already pressing the call button. As the phone rang, Jax set Abel down on the coach, kneeling to make sure his son was good.

"You're gonna hang out with someone new today, okay little man" he mumbles softly, pushing his sons hair back.

Abel yawned, still sleepy "Okay Daddy"

Jax phone buzzed, It was Happy, they were on a tight schedule. He looked over his shoulder at Gemma, still waiting for y/n to pick up.

"I gotta go" Jax said, standing now. "You make sure she's good before you leave".

Gemma waved him off "Yeah, yeah go play outlaw. I got this"

He hesitates a little, before kissing Abel on the head, and the same his mother. He looks back before leaving "Text me her number...and give her mine, just in case" he says roughly, and then he leaves, closing the door behind him and jumping back into the van.

You pull up to the address provided by Gemma, shifting on your feet as you wait for the door to answer. It was one thing to help a frantic grandmother in a grocery store, but it was another to be trusted to watch her grandson in her home without knowing much about her, or him at all.

Within seconds, the door swung open, and there she was, her sharp eyes scanning you up and down, as if she was sizing you up all over again.

“Come in” she says, stepping aside to let you through. The walls were lined with history, frozen in time. Black and white photos of men standing besides their motorcycles, arms draped over each other in a way that screamed brotherhood. More recent photos showing different faces, but the same leather vests, ‘SONS OF ANARCHY' stitched boldly across their backs.

Then came the family photos, snapshots of Gemma alongside a man wearing the same leather vest, two young boys at their sides. As you follow the timeline through the frames, you watch as one of the little boys disappear, then so does the father figure, soon replaced by another. The most recent family photo, only including Gemma, Jax and Abel. One thing that stood out the most to you though, throughout every photo including Abel, there was always Gemma and his dad, but never a mother. A small voice snaps you out before you could make any more observations.

“Hey! I member you” You hear him before you see him. You turn to see his head popping just over the armrest of the couch, his face lighting up in recognition. “Hey buddy” you crouch slightly “You remember me, huh?” He nods eagerly “Uh huh, you found me when I was lost” Gemma scoffs, “You was not lost, you were being a pain in the ass” although abrupt, you still note the softness behind her words. You stifle a laugh as Abel turns back to his toys, Gemma eyeing you up once again. “Alright, so...” Gemma begins, already moving around the room with purpose, collecting her things. You can tell this is gonna be a quick one. “...I've gotta head up North, my dads losing it again at the nursing home, and if I don't get up there soon, they're gonna kick him out on his ass” She grabs her bag from the kitchen counter. You blink, taking in all the information at once, how someone can be so trusting with someone they barely knew? you’d never know.

Gemma paused, she could tell by your face you were a little taken back by the responsibility you were being given. “Look, y/n I know its short notice, and we don't really know each other, but I trust my gut, and my gut says you can handle this” She smiles towards Abel “And Abel? he likes you, it takes a lot for him to warm up to somebody, and with you...its been instant” Something about how she spoke made you realise Gemma didn’t seem like the type to hand out trust lightly. You nod your head, agreeing to to help. Gemma walks you through the essentials, her tone sharp but not unkind. She points out where everything is. The kitchen, the bathroom, extra clothes for Abel if he needs them, and then come the instructions.

"He'll try to sweet talk you into giving him candy, don't fall for it" she warns, opening up one of the cabinets. "Snacks are fine, but lets limit the junk" She then places a small stack of bills on the counter. "Just in case, order food if you need to, or if you gotta run out for something...the car seats in the garage to the left" Then, as if remembering, she reaches into her bag and pulls out a scrap of paper. She scribbles something down before handing it to you.

"Thats Jax's number, his dad. He might get back before I do, but if anything comes up, call him" she says, her tone casual.

You take the paper, looking down at the name and the number written. "Okay" you say, knowing its probably best if you don't question her.

Gemma exhales softly, looking at you "And make yourself at home, alright?" her voice sounding softer now, a little less sharp.

It had been a few hours since Gemma had left you to care for Abel, and honestly, out of all the kids you’d ever looked after, he was by far one of the easiest, and the cutest. He wasn’t any trouble at all. Listened to everything you said, tidied up after himself without being asked and was able to share what he wanted with little to no fuss. You’d spent that last half hour sitting with him, helping him color in his pictures. Each drawing more creative than the last. His dad, his grandmas birds, dinosaurs, and all sorts of wild and mysterious things. The way he focused on each picture, his little brow creased in concentration, was the most adorable thing ever.

There was a sweetness in the air, a peacefulness that made time fly by.

Jax pulls into his mom’s driveway, cutting the engine with a small sigh. He knew you were probably still here watching after Abel, but he still wasn’t sure how he felt about it. His trust didn’t come easy, especially when it came to his son. But serious shit had to be dealt with today, if it was any other day he would have never let it happen.

Swinging his leg off the bike, he spots your car parked in the corner. His trainers heavy against the gravel as he made his way inside, shutting the door behind him. The house was quiet, too quiet. His shoulders tensed slightly until he heard it. Abel’s laugh. Light and full, followed by a softer chuckle, which was yours.

Jax follows the sound, stopping just outside the living room. He leans against the door frame, watching.

Abel’s sprawled out on his stomach, surrounded by crayons and half colored pages, completely in his element. Next to him, you sat crossed legged, leaning forward slightly as you watched him draw, a small smile on your lips, you looked comfortable, as if you belonged there.

Jax wasn’t sure why that threw him off, but it did.

Clearing his throat gently, he makes his presence known. Abel’s head snaps up instantly.

“Daddy!” He launches himself towards Jax, who barely has any time to react. His tiny arms wrapping around his dad’s legs before he gets scooped up.

“Hey little man” he mumbles, ruffling his son’s hair. “You been good?”

“Uh huh!” Abel nods enthusiastically “y/n let me use the big paper! I drawed so much”

Jax smirks, his gaze finally shifting to you.

You had stood up now, brushing your hands against your jeans, an easy but slightly cautious smile on your face.

“I’m guessing you’re Dad” you say, tilting your head a little.

“Yeah...” he confirms “...Jax” he says, setting Abel back down, to carry on with his drawings.

“y/n…” your name rolls off of your tongue “…he’s a good kid” you say, looking down at him. "Appreciate this, by the way" he says, arms crossed leaning up against the frame again. "When my mom said she was leaving Abel with someone she met at the store... I wasn't exactly sold on the idea"

You laugh a little, shaking your head "Yeah, to be fair neither was I"

Jax chuckled at your confession, his eyes scanning you with amusement "You do this a lot?"

"What? look after random kids I barely know?" you smirk, placing a few crayons down in front of Abel. "Not really"

He laughs, "I meant the nanny stuff"

"Not for a while, not since I moved here, anyway" you let him know, moving closer to him now.

Jax nods, like he was about to say something else, but his words stall when he catches the way your expression changes. Your eyes locked onto something on him, your brows slightly furrowed as you stare at his neck.

It wasn't a questioning look, you were more confused.

Your eyes flick over to Abel, then back to Jax. You didn't say anything out loud, but your hand lifted slightly, your fingers grazing the side of your own neck, in a small and subtle gesture.

Jax, with a look matching your own, rubs the spot you motioned to. His fingertips coming back sticky and streaked red.

"Shit" he muttered under his breath. His tone was casual, but his posture shifted, his back was now stiff, as if he was waiting for you to say something. Maybe press him on what the hell he'd done.

But you didn't. "Uh...” you murmur, breaking the silence. "...You might wanna clean that up" you suggest, nodding toward the mess. He hesitated for a second, watching you, before tipping his chin upwards. "Yeah… sorry…uh…are you good if I handle this quickly? Wont be long, then you can head out"

"Yeah, sure" you said, your voice sounding even.

Jax lingered a little longer, waiting again for you to pry.

But still, you didn't.

You turn to Abel, scooping up another crayon like nothing had happened.

Jax exhales, running a hand through his hair before heading to the bathroom.

You look over your shoulder as he leaves, catching the bold letters stitched across his back.

'SONS OF ANARCHY'

Yeah, you think you're starting to see that.

You’d taken care of Abel countless times by now, whether it was at Gemma’s, Jax’s or even your own place. And now, as part of their inner circle, the clubhouse too. You were now aware of Jax’s role as president. You didn’t know all the details, but you understood enough, the good and the bad. You’ve spent enough time with Jax and the others, for them to now trust you completely. They’d protect you like one of their own.

And as for the missing mother figure, you’d pieced it together over time. Wendy, Jax’s ex wife, had let her crank addiction take over, and that was the reason she was no longer in Abel’s life.

You and Jax? Well, it had always been platonic, at least on the surface. But there was always this undeniable tension between you two, something neither of you could fully ignore.

Gemma would sometimes drop sly hints to Jax about the two of you, and the guys weren’t any better. They’d tease him, noticing the way you both looked at each other, how you’d get flustered in his presence and vice versa. It was obvious to everyone, expect maybe to you and Jax.

The platonic shit though? The lines started to blur the moment you experienced your first club lockdown.

𝘑𝘢𝘹’𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘴 𝘸𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦, 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘮, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘵𝘩 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘦𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘤𝘩, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘈𝘣𝘦𝘭’𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘳𝘮 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘺 𝘢𝘴𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘥.

𝘏𝘦 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘳, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘮 “𝘪𝘵’𝘴 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘢 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘢𝘭𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵… 𝘯𝘰 𝘪𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳, 𝘸𝘦’𝘷𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘵 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘭𝘦𝘥, 𝘸𝘦’𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥”

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺 “𝘐’𝘷𝘦 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵… 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴” 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘧𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘵.

“𝘐 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸” 𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘶𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥, 𝘣𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 “𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘐’𝘮 𝘨𝘭𝘢𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦, 𝘈𝘣𝘦𝘭 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶..” 𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘴 “…𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘵, 𝘐 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦. 𝘏𝘦’𝘴 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶” 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳, 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬, 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘶𝘴𝘩 𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘧𝘢𝘳.

𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘢 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘧𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳. 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘭𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦, 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘥𝘢𝘮𝘯 𝘩𝘶𝘨.

𝘏𝘦 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬, 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴. 𝘏𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘨𝘢𝘻𝘦, 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 ��𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴, 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺. 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘯, 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘴𝘢𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘢 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥.

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘦, 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘨𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘢 𝘸𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘵. 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘧𝘵.

𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘣 𝘣𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘬, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴. “𝘛𝘳𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵, 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘩?” 𝘏𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘪𝘥, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘸.“𝘛𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘈𝘣𝘦𝘭… 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘦 𝘐’𝘮 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘰𝘬𝘢𝘺?” 𝘏𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘪𝘥 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘨𝘰 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘥.

“𝘖𝘬𝘢𝘺” 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘥, 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘰𝘴.

The lines between you and Jax had slowly started to fade. The time you spent together had changed, deepened even. You no longer rushed out the door when Jax got home, instead you stayed. It wasn't always intentional, but somehow, you both found ways to stretch the time a little longer. You'd talk about everything. Life, relationships, a bit about the club here and there, but never too much, of course. Sometimes you'd share a joint together after Abel had fallen asleep. Other times you'd cook for all three of you, filling the space in the kitchen with jokes, the clatter of pots and pans, and Abel’s little laughs. One time, before you even realised, you were sitting closer to him, your legs brushing and his hand resting lightly on the back of your neck, pulling you into him. His kiss was slow, almost shy at first, like he was asking permission. When you didn't pull away, he made it stronger. His grip tightening around you, pulling you into him until there was no space left. One moment you were sitting side by side, and the next, you were straddling him, his hands firmly placed on the small of your back. His hips moved ever so slightly, a movement that had your breath catching in your throat. "Daddy!" Abels nightmare had broken the tension, pulling you both out of the haze you'd been caught in.

Since that night, nothing else had happened. Sure, there were moments, the flirtatious looks and the touches that lasted just a little bit too long. You both danced around it though, the tension always there, neither of you making the first move. Both in a stand still, waiting for the other to break.

Jax was laid back, his body heaving with pleasure. His fingers twitching at his side, almost begging his hands to grab you and guide you just how he needed you. He couldn’t see much, just the dim glow of light casting shadows from behind, but fuck he could feel you.

The warmth of your hands as they grip his thighs. The slow, slow, torturous movements that had his toes scrunched.

“Fuck y/n” he exhales, his head tipping back but his eyes locked on you. And you were looking right back at him, almost teasing, amused by how fucking wrecked he was.

His breath, now shaking. Your movements were so fucking slow, drawing out every second, focusing on his tip, making sure he felt every fucking thing.

And he did.

His stomach tensed, his thighs clenched, and that familiar pressure built deep and tight inside of him, felt like it was about to come to the surface.

He tries to keep his composure, but when you do that thing with your tongue it causes a deep groan to rip from his chest as he grabs the back of your head. His hard jaw clenched, his stomach locked up, and then…

His eyes snap open.

He drags a hand over his sleepy face. “Jesus fucking Christ” he grunts adjusting himself to an upright position. The room too quiet, the bed too empty.

Reality floods back with a jolt. He groans in frustration, as his boxers cling uncomfortably to him, warm and sticky like a fucking virgin.

Today was a big day, he had to ask y/n a favor, a huge fucking favor. How she’d respond? He had no damn idea.

So now wasn’t the time to be thinking about her like that, especially not after that fucking dream.

The phone call was short and to the point.

“Can you get here now?” His voice was firm, urgent but not panicked. Still, it was enough to make your heart race.

“Yeah, of course” you barely took a second to think before grabbing your keys and heading over. You assumed it was about Abel, maybe he was sick or Jax had to leave on short notice.

But when you arrived, Abel wasn’t there. Instead, Jax and Gemma were waiting for you in the kitchen.

Your steps come to a stop in the doorway, something felt off.

“Where’s Abel?” You ask, nervously looking at them both.

“He’s with Unser, sweetheart” Gemma’s says simply.

You swallow your nerves, slowly making your way deeper into the kitchen. “Have I done something wrong?” You question, confused as to what the fuck is going on.

“Shit, no” Jax laughs, shaking his head “Ain’t nothin’ like that, sit down darlin” he says, making his way over to the kitchen table.

Gemma exhales, tapping against the sink, watching as you get comfortable in your chair. “We need to ask you something. And before you say no, just…just hear us out okay” she joins you both now.

“Okay…” you say flatly, trying to gage from their faces what the hell is going on.

Jax ran a hand down his face, glancing at his mom before looking back to you. “There’s a strong chance me and some of the guys…will be doin’ some time”

Your breath stopped for a second, but before you could even react, he kept going.

“And if that happens, when it happens, I need someone here. Someone who Abel trusts, someone who won’t let shit fall apart” his Jaw flexes, “I want you to move in, whilst I’m in Stockton”

You blinked. “Move in?”

Gemma nodded, seeing your shock and also seeing how Jax didn’t know what else to say to you. “Take care of Abel, keep this place runnin’ till Jax is back”

Your mouth opens, and then closes. “That’s…” you shook your head a little “That’s a big fucking ask”

Jax sighs, running a hand though his hair “I know”

He knew it was insane, the moment Gemma suggested it, he knew it would be too much to ask of you. He had no right to ask you to put your life on hold for his, and for Abel.

But part of him knew just how better he would feel knowing it was you here with his son.

You sat back, exhaling “Jax… I have my own place, what am I suppose to d-“

“I’ll cover it” he said quickly “Rent, bills, whatever you need I just…” his jaw hardens again “I just need to know Abel’s safe”

You swallow hard, the sound causing Jax’s stomach to flip.

Gemma leans forward. “I’d do it, but I’ve got TM, gotta keep shit in line there. Unser’s listenin’ out for us. APB don’t go wide until the 23rd so we have some time to sort shit out if not…but you’re the only one who makes sense” her voice softens, “and you know Abel loves you, sweetheart”

You did, and you loved him too.

Jax was watching you carefully, but his gaze kept wavering. Your face, your mouth, the way your hands twisted in your lap. The dream was still fucking with his head, and now you were right in front of him, it was worse.

He pulled against his beard, waiting for you to speak, his leg bouncing slightly under the table. He wasn’t used to asking for help, wasn’t used to feeling like this.

“I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t desperate y/n” he rubs the back of his neck, voice quieter now.

Gemma sighs, standing up and smoothing out her jacket. "I'll let you two talk"

You watch on as she grabs her purse, giving Jax a look before heading for the door.

Gemma turns to you before she leaves "We know it's a lot..." she admits "...but you're family sweetheart" she exits before you can even respond, the second it clicks shut, silence settles between you.

"How long?" you ask, your voice steady but there’s no need to elaborate, he knows exactly what you're asking.

He lights a cigarette "Could be five years"

Your stomach drops and your chest tightens. "Five years?" You cant help the way your voice cracks, the gravity of his words sinking in.

He nods, seeing how shocked you are "Two, with good behaviour"

"Fucking hell Jax" you shake your head, your head now in your hands.

"I know…I know, y/n" he says quietly, as much as he wants you to say yes, if you don't he fully understands why. "You've already done so much for Abel... for me"

You look back up at him, feeling the weight of his words. Its not just a job, its not just responsibility, its trust.

"I mean it y/n" he continues, his hand now holding yours, his touch firm but warm, grounding you in the same way it always does. "I really fuckin' appreciate you".

You try to wrap your head around it all, but the doubt lingers. "What the hell did you do, Jax?" The question slips out before you can stop it, though you already know the answer.

He shakes his head, his voice firm "You know I can't tell you that"

His refusal hits you harder than you had expected, the anger in your chest now growing. "So, you want me to move in here, put my life on hold for at least two years, maybe five, and you cant give me anything?"

He stays silent, just staring at you. His eyes heavy but offering you no answers. This only makes it worse. You shove the chair back, getting up and then beginning to pace the kitchen. You come to a stop, leaning against the counter, your head facing the floor.

As you stand there, Jax can't help but notice the way your top rides up, exposing your lower back. His mind flashing to the dream he's been trying to push away. You turn around suddenly, as if you could read his mind. The weight of everything crashing down on you. The love for Abel is natural, easy. But Jax? Its more complicated than you've let yourself admit. You run a hand over your face, trying to steady yourself.

"I'll do it" you say, the words feeling heavier than you intended them too.

Jax doesn't say anything at first, but then he's stepping towards you, pulling you into a tight embrace. His arms wrap around you, secure and once again grounding.

His forehead presses against yours, his breath glazing your skin.

"Thank you y/n" he whispers, the words just for you but they hit so much deeper.

The house is quiet, the only sounds coming from the faint hum of the fridge and the occasional creak of the floorboards as you move around.

Most of your essentials are here now, scattered in half unpacked boxes, making the place feel something in between temporary and permanent.

Before Jax and the guys left for club business, he hovered, like he was reluctant to leave, the same way he gets when he doesn’t want to say something outright. He’d stood in the doorway for a second longer than needed, looking at you, and then his house, like he was trying to memorise how it looked with your belongings and you, inside.

“You good?” His voice was low.

“Yeah…” you look around, behind you “…I’m good”

His lips pressed together for a moment, then he nodded “Call if you need me”.

You huffed mockingly “Jax, I’ll be fine”

That smirk, the one that always got to you, tugged at his lips. “Yeah, but still”

He still didn’t hurry to leave, the others waiting for him by the side of the road. Instead, he took a step forward, without thinking twice about it, he leaned in and pressed a slow, warm kiss to your cheek. Not rushed, not just a goodbye. His way of showing you just how much he appreciates everything you’re giving up for him, and for Abel.

“I’ll see you later Darlin’” and then, he leaves.

The knock at the door comes about half an hour later.

You expect it to be Gemma with Abel, or maybe Jax doubling back because he forgot something. But when you pull the door open, it’s neither of them.

She’s tall, striking, and has her hair pulled back just enough to show off her sharp cheekbones.

Her lips part slightly, clearly not expecting you to answer the door, her voice carefully controlled. “Is Jax here?” You don’t move, “No he’s not” you offer nothing else.

Her eyes flick over you, and you can see the moment she registers that you’re not just some random guest. You’re here, in his house, wearing one of his tees, looking comfortable, like you belong.

She hesitates, her gaze looking past you as if she’s still waiting for him to appear from behind. When he doesn’t, her lips press into a thin line.

“Sorry… who are you?” She questions, trying to make sense of it all.

You lift your chin slightly “I could ask you the same thing”.

“I’m Tara” the way she says it, like it should mean something to you, but you don’t budge "Jax's e-“

Tara.

Jax had told you about her, not in great detail, but in passing. Late night conversations when it was just the two of you, when the club was quiet and he was a little looser with his words. He never spoke about her in bitterness. Just…restraint. Like he wasn’t sure what to do with the memories. You never pushed for details, you didn’t need them.

Whatever had happened between them though, you could tell she’d once meant a lot to him.

And now, here she is standing at his door…your door.

“Well he’s not here” you don’t let her finish her words.

She exhales deeply, clearly frustrated. “I just need to talk to him”

You squint your eyes, wondering if she’s struggling to understand you. “Like I said, he’s not here” you tell her, your voice dropping to a more serious tone.

No, technically Jax wasn’t yours, but you sure as hell ain’t having her thinking he’s available.

You stare straight through her, standing your ground, still unmoved.

She scoffs, before turning around without another word.

She’s trying to worm her way back at the wrong fucking time.

You’re already inside before Tara gets in her car, she moves quickly though, yanking open her car door and sliding in. Gemma pulls up just as the familiar car disappears down the street. The second she steps out, Abel on her hip, her sunglasses slide down the bridge of her nose, following Tara’s car with a look of pure disgust.

“Well ain’t that just fuckin’ perfect” she mutters, shifting Abel higher as she walks towards the front door.

Gemma lets herself in without hesitation, the second she puts Abel down, he’s off, running straight to you with that big dimpled grin of his.

“Hey honey” you speak, scooping him up effortlessly. His little arms wrap tight around your neck, and as you hold him close, you feel it. The weight of this decision, moving in here, making this place home. It was the right choice. Any doubts you had, long gone.

Gemma drops her keys onto the table, her eyes sharp as she turns to you “that who I think it was?"

You nod, grinding your jaw slightly. “Said she needed to talk to Jax”

Gemma scoffs, shaking her head. You can tell it’s more than just anger, it’s pain, deep seated and old. “She say what about?”

“Didn’t give her the chance” you say simply. “Just told her Jax weren’t in”

Gemma smirks at that, like she’s a little proud “good girl” the softness is fleeting though, her expression hardens again as she sighs deeply.

She bends down leaving a kiss to Abel’s head before leaning in to give you one too. A small gesture that means more than she’ll ever say out loud.

“You need anything? Gotta run to TM for a bit...I’ll let Jax know she’s back”

You shake your head with a small smile “we’re all good”

Gemma nods, satisfied, then ruffles Abel’s hair.

“Bye grandma!” He calls out, already too focused on emptying his toy box to look up.

Gemma laughs, shaking her head as she heads for the door, but before she steps out, she turns to look back at you.

“Don’t let that bitch rattle you”

It has been just over a week since you officially moved in and everything has fallen into place effortlessly. Jax offered to take the couch while he was still here, but of course, that didn't last. Every night, you ended up in his bed, cuddling under the sheets, both of you aching for more but neither of you willing to break first.

The kitchen feels like it’s holding its breath. Tara’s presence fills the space, but it doesn’t quite fit anymore. She came looking for him again ‘needed to talk’. Jax instructed you to stay down here, didn’t want you to think he had any intentions of swaying backwards.

You sit perched on the edge of the kitchen counter, legs crossed, Jax’s oversized tee just covering above your thighs, stirring your coffee with slow and deliberate movements.

Watching.

Tara leans in too close to Jax, her voice softer than necessary and her hand resting lightly on the table near his.

Too close.

Jax doesn’t entertain it though, he doesn’t give her shit. Just sits back in his chair, his expression unreadable.

“I heard about your upcoming trip” Tara says, clearly fishing for information.

“And who told you about that?” His expression dark, leaning back further into his chair.

“The town talks Jax, you of all people should know that” she says comfortably like she has a right to talk to him like that.

“Mhm” is all he hums in response.

“Just thought I should come and see you before…” she trails off, sighing.

Jax exhales sharply, his nose flaring “What are you really doing here Tara?” He questions, not amused in the slightest.

“I’m just saying Jax, I still care…” the scrape of his chair moving backwards drowns out her voice. He knows where she’s going with this and to be honest he doesn’t give a fuck.

Just as jax goes to speak, the front door swings open.

Gemma.

She steps inside, Abel clinging onto her hand. She takes one look at the three of you, eyes moving between Tara and Jax, then to you sitting calmly on the counter.

“Hi daddy!” Abel says, strolling over to him, hugging his leg.

“Hey little man, have fun at grandmas?” Jax says leaving a kiss to his sons head.

“Well” Gemma says, setting her purse down with a thud “Ain’t this a sight?” She laughs.

Tara straightens slightly, clearing her throat “I was just checking in on Jax”

Gemma raises her eyebrow “Right”

“y/n can we play now, I missed you” Abel says, moving quickly into your direction.

“Of course we can baby” you say, pushing yourself off the counter.

You look to Jax who’s standing to your left “I’ll leave you guys to it” you smirk softly.

Tara watching you both closely.

“Yeah” he whispers, brushing his hand against your thigh, leaving it there just a little too long. A simple touch, brief but purposeful.

And then, he kisses you, quickly, but it happens.

Gemma sees it.

Tara sees it.

His way of showing Tara, she has no fucking chance.

The clubhouse is quiet except for the murmur of low voices as the club members gather around the table, the weight of what’s coming hanging over the room. Jax needs to make some things clear before the shit hits the fan.

“We all know the deal” Jax starts, his voice firm, looking around the table, taking in each member’s face. “Some of us will be headin’ to Stockton soon, and it’s gonna get real fucking tight for a while. We need to be clear about what happens next and who’s doing what. No room for mistakes”. He lights his cigarette.

Chibs shifts in his seat, the tension evident in his posture “Aye, we’re ready for what’s comin’”

Jax nods. “Thank you brother”.

They continue to go over plans, outlining how things will run with half the club missing. The pressure of the situation hanging over them, and tying up loose ends.

The conversation shifts to their connections inside and what they can do to ensure their comfort whilst locked up. Jax stresses the importance of staying out of trouble, his voice stern as he makes it clear that he needs to get out the earliest he can.

Jax leans forward, his hands clasped together on the table as he looks around, making sure everyone can see how serious he is. “Gemma’s still runnin’ TM. Any problems, any bullshit you take it to her. She says jump, you ask how high” he doesn’t wait for confirmation, he knows they understand.

He exhales sharply, rubbing the back of his neck before he continues “y/n’s moved in at my place now. Taking care of Abel, looking after the house whilst I’m inside. Anything she needs, money, help, whatever the fuck it is. You make sure she gets it”

Theres a tick of silence before Tig smirks, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah, about that… what’s goin’ on with you two? Huh? Cause she sure as shit ain’t just the nanny”

Jax rolls his jaw, trying to hide his laughter. “She’s takin’ care of my kid and my house. That’s what’s goin on”

Opie chuckles “Come on man. We’ve all seen the way you look at her, and how she looks right back”

Jax laughs, brushing off the questions completely, he didn’t know how to answer, because he doesn’t fucking know himself.

“Look I’m serious, I want someone checkin’ in on her every morning and every night. Gemma too. I don’t want either of em feelin’ like they gotta handle shit on their own. They ask for something? They get it, that clear?”.

A chorus of nods and muttered agreements follow, but the smirks don’t fade. The guys hear what Jax is saying, but they sure as shit don’t believe that’s all there is to it.

You unlock the door ahead of Jax, Abel asleep in his arms. Its the 22nd. His last night before the APB goes wide, before the cops come knocking, before the next few years of his life are ripped away.

The clubhouse had been a storm of booze, laughter and sorrow. Brothers saying their goodbyes, pretending this wasn't the last time they'd all be together for a long fucking time. Jax was thrown off completely when Tara walked in the door. Her voice dripping with fake sweetness, still trying to remind him of what they used to be. Her hand caressed his arm, her eyes searching for any trace of the love they once shared. But Jax had barely made eye contact with her. "Aint got time for this, Tara" He told her, before she left.

He had bigger things on his mind, things that actually fucking mattered. Like his son. Like you. Like what little time he had left before everything changed.

He pulled his Mother to one side before leaving. She cupped his face, her hands pressing into his stubble as she studied him "You come back to us whole Jackson, don’t you dare let that place break you".

Jax nodded, swallowing hard, his throat bobbing as he did so "I got this ma" he said, before pulling her into a hug.

Gemma looked over to you, a sympathetic smile on her face. "I'll be round in the morning sweetheart" Although it’s never been said out loud, Gemma could read Jax. She could read you too. She knew there was something more going on between you both. She was just waiting for someone to admit it.

It was a good night, emotional but for good reason. Jax had cut out early though, taking you and Abel home. He didn't want his last night of freedom to be a blackout blur, he wanted to remember it.

He carries Abel to his room, tucking him in one last time, for a long time. You stand in the doorway, watching the bittersweet moment unfold. Abel doesn't understand what's happening, doesn't know where Jax is going, only that Daddy wont be home for a long time.

You catch the glisten of a tear fall from his eyes as he presses a kiss to Abel's forehead "Daddy loves you" he whispers, before quietly climbing in behind him, holding him close to his chest, letting him fall back to sleep in blissful ignorance.

You wait for him in the bedroom, as he walks in, you rub his shoulders, feeling the weight of everything beneath your fingertips.

He shrugs off his kutte, melting onto the edge of the bed with his head in his hands, like the weight of everything has just fucking hit him.

You kneel between his parted legs, gently pulling his hands away from his face and holding them in your own, pressing them to your lips, your breath warming his hands.

“He’s gonna be fine Jax” you kiss his hand softly. “I promise” you look up at him waiting for a response.

He exhales, his eyes heavy. He knows. He’s always know. Abel loves you and you love him back just as much, he knows his son is in the safest hands.

“It’s not that, y/n. I know he’s safe with you, I just…” He exhales sharply, staring down at his hands in yours. His voice drops to a whisper. “Eight years old”.

You look up to him, your brows pushed together “what?”

He swallows, his throat stuttering. “If we do the full five years… he’ll be eight when I get out. He won’t even remember-”

“Stop” your voice is firm as you cut him off. “You’re not doing five years cause your ass is gonna be as good as gold in there…right?” You arch a brow at him, a small smile on your lips.

A quiet laugh leaves his chest. “Yeah” he nods, the tension in his face easing just slightly.

You push off his legs as you stand, slipping off your shoes before walking over to the mirror. As you unclip your earrings and wipe away your makeup, Jax doesn’t move, just leans back against his elbows, hands over his chest, watching you. Watches the way you move in his space like you’ve always belonged here.

His mind drifts back to the first time he met you, at his mom’s house. The day you watched Abel for the first time. He remembers how reluctant he was, how he didn’t want to leave his son with some ‘random chick’.

Now, he couldn’t Imagine anyone else.

“Jax, Abel’s asleep. Go back to the clubhouse if you want” you say, your voice softer than you intended.

You turn back, wiping your face with a cotton pad, trying to keep yourself together.

He doesn’t move. Just continues watching you. “Nah” he murmurs.“I wanna be here”.

There’s something final in the way he says it. You walk back over, sitting next to him, he sits up, joining you.

He’s looking at you, really looking at you, like he’s memorising every detail. Because this is it. The last time he’ll be this close to you for a long fucking time. The two of you have spent so long pretending, dodging around something that’s always been there.

“y/n…” he shakes his head slightly “I know I’ve already said it, but… thank you” his voice is raw “for doing this for me, for Abel” his eyes still locked on yours, glassy though, fighting back emotions he never lets anyone see. He tilts his head back, bringing hard trying to force the tears away.

Before you can even stop it, a tear slides down your own cheek, you wipe it away slowly. “I’m really gonna miss you Jax” you admit, your leg bouncing with nerves.

“Thank you for trusting me with him…” you let out a breath of laughter. “I love that little boy so fucking much”

Jax gives a small knowing smile. “I know” he mutters, his voice barely above a whisper. “And he loves you too”

Then, like he can’t hold it in any longer, like the thought of carrying this with him for the next few years is too much. He finally says it.

“So do I”

It’s quiet, almost hesitant, but his hand reaches for yours, his grip warm as always.

More tears well in your eyes, blurring the sight of him in front of you. He uses his thumb to move them out the way. You’ve waited for this, for so fucking long and of course it happens now, hours before he’s ripped away from you.

“I love you too” the second the words leave your lips, something heavy lifts inside you.

Like you can finally breathe.

He exhales, shaking his head, the slightest laugh leaving his lips as his thumb brushes over your knuckles, “I shoulda told you sooner” he confesses, his voice full of emotion. A tear slipping free before he wipes it away quickly.

“But fuck, I love you y/n” he’s staring at you deeply again. The airs thick with the confessions that have been left unsaid for too long. His blue eyes fixated on you, his chest rising and falling like he’s trying to steady himself.

He lets out a shaky breath, resting his forehead against yours. His hands slide down your back. “I don’t know how to say goodbye to you”

You swallow, “it’s not goodbye” you say, tapping his chin.

That’s all it takes.

He kisses you slowly, like he’s trying to memorise the shape of your lips, the way that you taste and the way you sigh into his mouth.

His hands begin roaming your body with slow touches, mapping you out, branding you in his memory.

He lays you back, hovering over you, his fingers tracing over your skin like he’s afraid he’ll never touch you again.

Maybe he is afraid, maybe that fear is sitting in his chest the same way it’s sitting in yours.

When he finally pushes into you, it’s slow, deep and smooth. Your wetness guiding him in like he belonged. His breath coming out in sharp, uneven exhales as he stretches you open, inch by inch.

A desperate moan escapes your lips, as your body adjusts to his size. Your nails digging into the reaper inked on his back. “Oh…fuck Jax”

His jaw stiffens at the way you say his name, like it’s the only thing holding you together. He rolls his hips, pushing deeper, pulling gasps from you. “Fuuck” he groans, his voice rough, almost pained but more in pleasure “you feel…so fucking good y/n” His arms tighten around you, like if he holds on tight enough, this moment won’t have to end.

Jax moves inside you with slow, forceful strokes. His hands gripping your thighs, fingers melting into your flesh. He’s pulling you closer and deeper. His eyes never leaving yours.

Each thrust sends waves of pleasure rolling through you. But it’s more than that, it’s the way his body fits against yours, the way he groans harshly every time you tighten around him. You don’t just feel him inside you, you feel him everywhere. The way his hands glide over your body, the way he breathes your name, the way he’s making love to you like he’d never get the chance to do it again.

And like the way he whispers ‘I love you’ over and over, each time more desperate than the last.

Everything is devastatingly perfect.

“Look at me” he groans, his voice deep and commanding. You throw your head back in pleasure, breaking the eye contact.

“Don’t look away” his lips brush against yours as he pushes in harder. His stare holds you captive, and the way he’s filling you, bringing you closer and closer, drawing moans out from within.

“Yeah? that feel good darlin’” his hips crashing into you. Your back arches when he adjusts his position slightly, pushing in from a different angle.

“Gonna…fuckin’ miss you… miss this” he mutters, picking up his pace now, his rhythm causing you to gasp for air, your walls tightening further around him. His eyes wincing in pure pleasure.

You can feel it building, that tight, desperate ache, and so can Jax. His fingers slide between you both, rubbing slow against your clit. You’re so fucking close now.

“Don’t…don’t stop Jax…fuc-” he covers your mouth, kissing at your neck.

“That’s it baby” his eyes boring into you, praising you as you fall apart beneath him.

“…Jax…I’m gonna” you were close, so fucking close.

“Not yet, darlin’” he grunts, pushing your legs up higher, hitting that spot that has your vision going white. “I wanna feel you cum with me. Wanna take that with me when I go”

It’s too much, the way he’s moving, the way his chain swings in rhythm to his thrusts, the way he’s looking at you, like you’re his, like you’ve always been his.

“Jax.. I….cant… I’m-” you’re struggling to maintain composure. and then it hits, your body spasming in complete fucking orgasm.

You cry out, gripping at the sheets, gripping at Jax, gripping at whatever the fuck you can. He’s just seconds behind you.

“Fuck, fuck, that’s it…” he groans, following you into fucking bliss. His hips trembling as he spills inside you. He collapses onto his forearms, his breath ragged, he’s a fucking mess, and so are you.

You both stay exactly where you are sweat and sex clinging to the air, your bodies moulded as one.

Tomorrow though, this bed will only contain one of you.

And the other will be behind bars.

The morning Jax left was fucking brutal. Abel didn't understand, and the confusion in his little eyes just about broke everyone's heart. Jax didn't say much, a kiss on Abel's head, a tight hug for his mom and then he pulled you in close.

The kiss he gave you was heavy, like he was trying to say everything he physically couldn't say out loud. "Take care of him" he whispered before adding "I love you".

You choked out the words, barely able to keep it together. "I love you too"

You stood there, holding Abel tightly, his little arms wrapped around your neck like he knew something was wrong.

You watched in silence as Jax swung his leg over his bike, the rumble of the engine cutting through the early morning fog. He didn’t look back, not at you, not at his mother or not at Abel. Just rode off towards the clubhouse, waiting for the inevitable. Gemma, stood next to you with her arms crossed, still silent, but watching.

She had always been watching.

She had saw the way you and Jax looked at each other, the way your hands brushed when no one was supposed to notice. Maybe she never understood exactly what it was between you two, but after hearing Jax tell you he loves you, and you saying it back, there's no question anymore. Whatever this was, it runs deep, and that meant she had something to protect.

Three months.

That’s how long it had been since you last saw him.

Three fucking months since he had you gripping at his back, struggling to breathe.

No phone calls, no letters, nothing. Just an empty bed. A quiet house, and Abel asking where his dad was every damn day.

Jax hasn't been allowed any contact for the first three months of his incarceration and rules were rules. Gemma, had her first visit last week, and finally it was your turn.

The second Jax walked in, he knew he was fucked.

Three months.

Three fucking months with nothing but cold walls, bad food and the memory of him making you moan playing in his head on repeat. He missed Abel, he missed you, he missed home.

And now you were right in front of him, sitting at that metal table looking so fucking good.

His golden locks, shaved down to a messy buzz. His jaw was sharper, covered in rough stubble. His blue eyes, darker. Heavy like he’d seen some shit you knew he wasn’t gonna talk about.

The second he reached you, his arms were around you. Holding you so fucking tight you could barely breathe, but it was perfect. His face buried in your neck, his fingers clenching your waist as if he was trying to convince himself that you were real.

“Missed you so fucking much” he whispered against your skin, his voice rougher than usual.

“Missed you too” you smile against his warmth.

A sharp voice cut through the moment.

“That's enough, Teller”

Jax exhales hard, his jaw tightening as he pulls back to sit down, following the orders from one of the guards. His eyes locked on yours, as you take your seat across from him, smirking and your eyes eating him up.

“You like it Darlin’” he asks, almost smug, running his hand over his head

Your lips curl into a smile. “I think I like it a little too much” you say, shifting in your seat.

He breaths deeply out of his nose as he adjusts in his seat, the heat spreading through his body “yeah?”

“Yeah” you repeat. Biting your lower lip, your eyes locked on him. Silent, but saying everything.

He knows exactly what you’re thinking, exactly what would happen if there weren’t so many eyes on you both. He lets out a low, rough laugh. Dragging his tongue over his teeth, his jaw tight. He shakes his head, rolling his shoulders as the frustration sets in.

Three months without you, without a real fucking touch. And now you’re right in front of him, looking at him like that, and he can’t do a damn thing about it.

It’s fucking torture.

You could tell Jax was trying to steady himself, the frustration simmering just beneath his surface. You decided it was time to shift the focus.

Give him something to hold onto.

“Abel’s doing well” you say softly, watching his face for a sign of relief. “Started preschool on Tuesday. He’s a little shy but he’s getting there” you laugh “the teachers love him, said he’s picking things up really fast”

Jax’s lips twitch nto a smile “that’s my boy” he mutters, but you could see the small flash of regret etched across his face.

“He talks about you a lot” you continue, leaning forward a little.

“Asks when you’re coming home all the time…we’ve told him you’re at the cabin...looking after all the animals” you laugh as the memory of Abel’s innocent excitement runs through your mind when you explained that to him.

His jaw goes stiff, his lips pressing into a hard line as he nods, taking in everything you’re saying. “Hate not being there” he sighs, rubbing a hand over his face.

Jax leans forward, joining you now. His hand instinctively reaching for yours, the desperate need to touch you evident in his eyes. But before he can even reach you, the same voice cuts through the air.

“Hands on the table teller! No contact!” The guard barks, his tone stern.

Jax gives him a death stare, before turning back to you, his palms laying flat against the cool table.

“You sure about this babe?” He leans forward, his eyes darkening.

“Sure about what?”

He sucks in a breath, now holding onto the sides of the cold scratched table. “about us y/n. You sure this is what you want?”

You stare at him, the gravity of the question hitting you hard. “I’m not going anywhere Jax…I fucking love you”

You want him. You want all of him. If that meant waiting, then it’s exactly what you’re gonna do.

His expression softens.

“I love you too babe” he whispers the words, low and certain. Like they were never in doubt. His fingers twitch restlessly, wanting to reach for yours, but he stops himself. You can see it in his eyes, the same look he gave you that night before he had to leave, he wants you.

“You know… when Gemma came to see me last week, she wouldn’t shut up about you. Said you’ve been handling things, taking care of Abel like he was your own… she’s proud of you y/n…I…fuck, I’m proud of you too”

You hesitate for a moment before your curiosity gets the better of you “Did Gemma tell you what Abel’s been asking?” You ask, your voice quieter now, like you’re unsure how to even bring it up.

Jax looks at you, a slight furrow in his brow, waiting for you to elaborate. You take a breath, not sure how Jax will react. “He keeps asking if he can call me mommy” you pause, then continue, almost sounding apologetic. “I said we’d talk about it, I didn’t know what to say to him Jax, I don’t wanna mess him up” you look up, waiting to see his reaction.

Jax leans back in his seat, his expression softening a little as he watches you. His hands rests on the table; his fingertips brushing against the cold metal. His eyes flicker over your face, like he’s trying to read you.

“I told you, y/n” he starts, his voice raspy “Abel cares about you. I’ve always seen it in him. He loves and trust you, big time”

You nod slowly, your fingers fiddling nervously. “I know” you say quietly “but I don’t want people thinking I’m overstepping or… trying to replace his…his real m-" Jax cuts you off before you can even finish the word.

His eyes narrow, but there’s still a hint of a smile. He’s leaning into you again, his elbows on the table. “Y/n you’re not ‘replacing’ anyone. If he wants to call you that, that’s on him, not you…” he runs a hand through his unkept beard before he continues “…and if he wants to say it, you don’t need to overthink it. You just… you just answer him”

You nod hesitantly at first, but then Jax’s words sink in. He shuffles forward again, his hands now gently resting on yours. When has he ever followed the rules?

“Hands, Teller! Don’t let me have to tell you again!”

Jax’s attention moves over to the guard. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t back down. His hands stay right on top of yours for just a second longer, then with a dramatic motion, he places them back on the table.

“Yeah, I heard you” Jax mumbles, his tone sarcastic. He looks away from the guard, attention back on you now.

“good as gold… remember?” You raise your eyebrow.

“I know babe, I know” Jax chuckles.

You lean in slightly, lowering your voice so only he can hear “You need to keep your cool, Jax” you pause looking around discreetly making sure no one else is listening in “the sooner you’re out, the sooner we can pick up where we left off” a filthy smile tugging at your lips, your eyes enforcing a challenge and you can see how it’s affecting him.

His eyes glaze over as he watches you, a low growl leaving him. “Fuck, y/n don’t start”

“What?” You tease, “what’s wrong?” Your eyes glinting.

He breathes sharp, his hands, now fists tap against the metal “y/n” he almost warns.

But then he breaks, “Can’t wait to get my fucking hands on you”.

You lean in a fraction closer, letting your words sink in deep "I need you so fucking bad, Jax" your tone laced with desire. Your leg slides subtly under the table, moving against his.

The forbidden touch heightened to the fucking max.

"Don't fucking tease me, y/n" he growls, looking over his shoulder, before snapping his attention back to you "You don't know how fuckin' bad I want you, I've been thinkin' bout that night for the past three months. The way you moaned my name, your pussy holdin' on to me so fuckin' tight" He tilts his head to the left, analysing your reaction.

You bite your lip, the words sinking into you, right fucking into you. His roughness, the way he talks about you, its making you fucking wet.

"You thinking about what you could be doing to me right now?" your wide eyes tracking his every movement. "Me bent over this table, your dick buried deep inside me?" You let your leg move again, knowing it’s driving him fucking wild.

His breath hitches as he struggles to maintain control, his cock pushing up into the fabric of his orange uniform.

He grunts hanging his head in complete desperation. "Fucking tease" he shakes his head, trying to think of anything but that. And just as the air between the two of you is about to combust, Jax's favourite guard pipes up.

"Visitations over!"

Jax looks up, noticing the other inmates and family members saying goodbye. He shoots you a look, shaking his head "This is fucking ridiculous" he mutters, he stays where he is, doesn't move. His body still stiff with unreleased desire. You hold back a laugh, standing up from the table yourself.

"You're gonna need to step away from the table, Teller" one of the guards orders, walking towards you.

Still, he doesn't move, his face flush as he takes a deep breath, his eyes burning into yours, full of frustration and unsatisfied need.

Reluctantly, Jax leans back. He's trying to hide it, but its too obvious.

The guard, close enough now looks down at him, then back at Jax's face, not even trying to hide his amusement. "Maybe hover for a sec, Teller, unless you want everyone to see how much you enjoyed yourself" he then turns to you, "Say your goodbyes, make it quick" You press in close, feeling every inch of him, it takes everything in him not to groan out loud.

His arms lock around you in a grip that says he’s not ready to let go, not now, not ever. His breath is hot against your ear as he whispers, raw and low. "I love you, y/n"

Your fingers dig into his back as you tell him the same.

Meaning every fucking word.

But then his lips brush your jaw “You do that shit again...” his voice drops even lower, pure fucking menace “...I don’t give a fuck where we are, I’ll make you feel me”

Before you can react, he crashes his mouth to yours, the kiss possessive and affectionate. "Enough!" The guards voice booms, He eyes you both up and down "You've had your fucking time to cool down, now get moving!"

And just as quickly, he pulls away, smirking as he strolls back to the doors, another night with you on his mind.

Life's been a constant blur of routine since Jax's been locked up. You've settled into the rhythm of taking care of Abel, making sure he's doing okay at preschool, watching him grow more independent by the day. There's been a lot of quiet nights, just the two of you. Abel watching cartoons while you sneak just the one glass of wine to take the edge off.

Gemma, she's been your rock, though at times it felt more like you were hers. The two of you had become inseparable, laughing over drinks and talking about everything and nothing. You'd never expected to get so close to her, but it felt good to have someone who truly understood the weight of what you were going through.

She sets her drink down, her voice low but direct, how it always is "So, what exactly is going on between you and Jax?"

You freeze for a second, caught off guard. Gemma's been quiet on the subject, never pushing but tonight, she just wants to know.

"I love him Gem..." you admit "…I'm here and I'm waiting for him".

Gemma's quiet for a moment, watching you carefully, but you see the understanding in her eyes "and he loves you too" she smiles.

Tara's still in town, still working at the hospital like nothings changed. You never say a word to each other, just quick glances, the tension thick as fucking smoke. Maybe she knows, maybe she doesn't either way, it doesn't fucking matter.

She's out of Jax's life now, and you aren't going anywhere.

Jax sat hunched on his bunk, the faint hum of the other inmates floating through the cells, the pen heavy in his hands as he tried to find the right words. It’s been just under a year since he’s been locked up.

Just beneath his ‘Abel’ tattoo,fresh, healing scars. Permanent reminders of the shit he’s been going through whilst in here. He finished up writing his letter, marking little pictures in the corners of the paper, this was new to him, he’d never written a letter to you before.

It wasn’t much, it didn’t need to be. He knew you’d understand. Jax pushed the pen down, finishing the letter with his name, before folding it and shoving it in an envelope.

It wasn’t sentimental, but it was real. It was all he had to give from this fucking cage.

He grabbed another sheet, this one dedicated to Abel.

Opie knocked twice before stepping inside, hands shoved in his pockets. Participating in the daily routine, one of the remaining Sons coming to check on you, like fucking clockwork. You were curled up on the coach, one of Jax's hoodies drowning you.

"Nice to see you too, Ope"

He ignored the sarcasm, taking a seat in the armchair across from you. "Gemma said you've been quite these past few days"

You shrugged "So?"

"Not like you" He gave you a concerned look.

"Just tired Ope" you exhale, rubbing your temples.

Opie leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I remember a time when you were just Abel's Nanny, Now you're livin' in Jax's house, wearin' his clothes, visitin' him in Stockton...like an old lady"

You gaze over to him, no words, just a hum in response, gripping the fabric of Jax's hoodie. Old lady The words repeat in your head, fuck, I guess technically, you are. Opie studied you for a long moment, and then finally nodded. "Alright" He stood, "Just dont lose yourself in all this shit" Before he leaves, Opie tosses an envelope onto the coffee table, the edges slightly crinkled. "This came to the clubhouse, but its meant for you" he says, his voice low, not as harsh as before. "From Jax"

You stare at the envelope for a second, Opie doesn't say another word, He gives you a quick look, then he turns to leave, giving you space to open it.

Jax had been in for almost a year now, and in all that time, there hadn't been a single letter. Just the occasional phone calls and visits. It was always you going to him, you waiting by the phone. But this, this was something new.

Photos & gifs used do not belong to me. Apart from being edited, and creating the letter (Well proud of that lol)

For the lovely @bonnyclydecat hope you love it! Ngl, as usual, I got carried away with the smut and feel like the fluff wasn’t enough, so apologies for that lol.

Also, this could deffo have a part 2? Like when Jax gets out of prison??? Alexa play Coal War by Joshua James 🤤🫶🏽

Jax Teller Masterlist

Please continue to send in requests, I’m getting through them one at a time 🖤

xoxo secretly samcro

#jax teller #sons of anarchy #jax teller one shot #samcro #charlie hunnam #secretly samcro #soa #jax teller imagine #jax teller x reader #jax x reader #sons of anarchy imagine #jax teller smut #jax teller x y/n #jax teller fanfiction

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wisecura · 7 months ago

Text

You Did What?

Kouhai Satoru Gojo x f!Senpai-Reader (age gap) 5k

an: this is apart of a request I got not too long ago for an arranged marriage with an age gap for my star bby Gojo. The second one is coming out very soon for the reversal (he's a bit older than you).

summary: Satoru Gojo was your over-the-top, unbearable, yet strangely endearing kouhai back in school. Maybe you were just a little too sweet to him, though, because now he's showing up at your door with a marriage proposal in hand.

MINORS DNI AFTER THIS POINT.

warnings: obsessive behaviors, noncon/dubcon, arranged marriage, power play, domineering subby, possessive behavior, small jealousy, implied stalking, fingering, popped cherries, he's a good boy, age gap, usage of the word 'little' (might be a lil belittling), minors DNI, not entirely heavily proofread

Life in Tokyo had been nothing short of abysmal.

Between the tiny, overpriced shoebox apartments and the always-packed streets, it wasn’t exactly the dream you'd had in mind. But hey, at least everything you needed was within walking distance.

And yeah, you were always zipping out of town for work, trying to carve out your spot in the pecking order. Just 22, rocking your first real job and your own place, but your social life?

Nonexistent.

You could whine about it, but what's the point?

Whenever you caught up with old classmates, you’d play it cool, telling them you were out living it up, just so they wouldn’t worry. Pretty sure they were spinning the same tales to you. In your line of work, there’s not much room to be anything but selfless.

You kept in touch with a few underclassmen, especially the clingiest of them all—Satoru Gojo. Normally, you wouldn’t bother, you were several classes ahead of him, after all. He only graduated last summer, turned 19 in the winter, and then took over as the head of the Gojo clan that next summer.

But ever since you graduated, he’s been all over your lock screen, bombarding you with texts. A quiet day meant only getting 12 messages. In high school, he was just as clingy, but at least back then, he could just hang around you in person instead of blowing up your phone.

You’d think he’d have outgrown this by now, but nope—by noon today, you’ve already racked up 7 messages from him. It’s kind of cute, sometimes. But let’s be real, trying to get a boyfriend with Satoru always on your tail? Yeah, good luck with that.

The rain had been pounding relentlessly all evening, its steady drumming against the windows filling your tiny Tokyo apartment with a soothing rhythm. Wrapped in a blanket on the couch, you were finally relaxing when your phone buzzed for what felt like the hundredth time tonight.

You glanced at the screen. Another text from him. And another, and another-

Gojo: What are you up to?

Gojo: You never answered my last message. Did you fall asleep?

Gojo: Or maybe you’re ignoring me...again.

Gojo: That hurts, you know. I thought we were close.

With a sigh, you set the phone face down. Satoru Gojo, your overly attached kouhai from high school, had been this way since the day you met—clingy, needy, and always too much. He had always claimed you were the only one who could "handle" him.

And sure, you had a soft spot for him, maybe more than you should. But on days like today, his relentless need for attention was just too much. The knock at your door was abrupt, loud, and insistent, snapping you out of your thoughts. You stared at the door, hesitating, then your phone buzzed once more.

Gojo: I’m outside. Open up.

With a sigh, you dragged yourself off the couch. When you swung the door open, there stood Satoru, soaked to the bone. His normally fluffy white hair was slicked to his forehead, and water dripped from his clothes onto your floor.

“Satoru,” you exclaimed, startled. “What the hell are you doing? Why are you soaked?”

He waved a hand dismissively, stepping inside without waiting for an invite. You blinked at him. You should’ve expect this, but honestly he'd never been this forward.

“You’re soaked! You're gonna catch a cold, you idiot.”

“Would you take care of me if I did?” he asked with a grin, but his voice somewhat off, was missing its usual upbeat playfulness. He took the towel you handed him but made no move to dry himself off, seemingly content to let you fret over him.

As you scanned him for any signs of injury, he watched you with an intensity that said he might just enjoy this concern a bit too much. Maybe he was hurt? But knowing him, that seemed unlikely—

“Seriously, Satoru, what are you doing here?” crossing your arms.

He flopped onto your couch as if he owned the place, his damp clothes leaving a wet spot. "Just wanted to see you," he said, his gaze flitting to yours before darting away.

“You’ve been texting me all day. You could’ve just waited for me to reply.”

He pouted, leaning back with a dramatic sigh. “You’re so mean to me. Do you really think I'm that annoying?”

You rolled your eyes. “You can be.”

"Rude," giving you a mock-offended look. Then, after a pause, "You've been busy, though...haven't you? Out a lot lately."

You froze, your mind racing to last week. Have you been out a lot? But then you remembered a few days back, when you’d gone on a casual date with someone. It hadn’t been anything serious, but you definitely hadn’t mentioned it to Satoru. Given his flair for the dramatic, he’d likely make a big deal out of it. How did he know you'd been out?

"Work," you said cautiously, watching his expression carefully. “Work,” he echoed, tilting his head as if considering your answer. “That’s it? No fun? No...extracurricular activities?”

“Extracurricular activities?”

“You know,” his tone light but his eyes pinning you, somewhat pouty. “Going out. Meeting people. Spending time with a special someone.”

Your stomach churned. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He hummed, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, his damp hair falling into his eyes. “You’re a terrible liar, senpai. You always have been.”

“I’m not lying,” you said firmly, feeling your palms clam up.

“Really?” He grinned, but there was no humor in it. “Then why is it that I heard you’ve been seeing someone?” Your heart skipped a beat. “Who told you that?”

“It doesn’t matter, is it true?” You hesitated for a moment too long. “It is, isn’t it?” his voice dropping.

“It’s not a big deal,” you said quickly, not sure why you felt the need to explain yourself. “It was just one date. Nothing happened.”

“Nothing happened? So you went out with someone and didn’t think to tell me?”

“Why would I tell you?”

“Because I care about you,” he said, rising abruptly. “Because I thought we were close.”

“We are, but that doesn’t mean I owe you every detail of my personal life,” you shot back. He took a step closer, his damp shoes squeaking against the floor. “It’s not about owing me. It’s about the fact that you’re mine.”

Your eyes widened, stunned those words even fell out of his mouth. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” his voice was trembling now—nervousness? borderline hysteria? Those possessive words had never spilled from his plush lips before, so you were left grappling with their sudden weight. “I’ve always been yours, senpai. And you’ve always been mine. We're best friends. We're the closest. I don’t care what you think. I don’t care what anyone else says. You’re mine.”

“Satoru, you’re being ridiculous,” you said, trying to step back, but he matched your movement, closing the distance.

“Am I?” he asked, his blue eyes wide and desperate. “You have no idea what it’s like. Having your best friend ignore you. Watching you go out with someone else. It’s killing me.”

Watching? “Satoru, you’re not thinking clearly—”

“I’ve never been more clear,”

“Satoru.” Your mind raced, and you felt the need to put some distance between the two of you. Despite his obvious advantages in strength and size, he'd never given you reason to feel wary—until now. It felt like a mistake letting him into your home. “I...I think you should leave. We need some space, Satoru.” You couldn’t help but fold into yourself, the weight of the conversation draining you.

He paused, the room swallowed in a heavy silence. No words. No breaths. No footsteps. When you dared to look up, his face was crumpled, on the verge of tears. Surprising you even more.

"You’re...telling me to leave?" His voice came out softer than before, soothing yet tinged with desperation. "Why?"

Before you could muster an answer, he dropped to his knees in front of you, crawling closer as you backed up until you were pressed against the wall. He starred up at you, an urgency you've never seen from him before, pressing in on you. His hands gripped your waist tightly, his eyes—wide and pleading like a lost kicked puppy—locked onto yours.

"Please," he whispered, his gaze swimming with tears. tears. "Don’t make me leave. Don’t let someone else take you away from me. I’ll do anything. Just let me stay. Don't push me away."

"Satoru, get up," you said, your voice quivering, fingers trembling as you tried to push him away by pressing on his head. Yet, no matter how much you pushed, his hold remained firm, his strength undeniable. He was soaking the front of your clothes, and it felt very much like an overgrown puppy, coming in from outside.

"No," he murmured, burying his face against your stomach. "Not until you promise. Not until you say I can stay. Until you promise not to go out with anyone else."

“This is insane,” you managed, your hands unintentionally tangling in his soft, albeit wet hair. It was softer than you imagined. Focus—

He suddenly pulled you down with him, his grip unrelenting as you found yourself sinking to your knees in front of him. Now, he was so close, his face just inches from yours, towering over you, his expression a tangled web of desperation and a darker, unspoken plea. Your back was flush against the wall and you weren't sure what he was planning next.

"If you leave me," he said softly, his voice trembling, eyes wild and somewhat dazed. You weren't sure how space equated to you leaving him. You could see him frantically trying to piece the situation back together, the stakes seeming far more catastrophic than the words tumbling from his lips. "I'll make sure you regret it..." His confidence seemed to swell as he caught your wide-eyed stare, "You know I can-You know what I'm capable of."

Your blood ran cold. “Satoru...” a warning

"I don’t want to hurt you," he continued, tears now streaming down his face. He looked pathetic, begging there on his knees, letting out small hiccups with each terrifying sentence after the other. "But I can’t lose you. I can’t share you. Please, senpai. Just say yes. Tell me you won’t shut me out."

"Satoru, this is too much. You're overreacting. I just need some space—"

"Marry me." His eyes lost their frantic sheen, sharpening as they fixed on yours. His tone was firm, non-negotiable. "I’ll make you happy. I’ll give you everything.”

The rain outside roared, its sound blending with the rapid pounding of your heart. His request blindsided you, his words enveloping you, a suffocating, inescapable grip. He couldn't be serious. You two weren't even dating.

"Satoru, we aren't even dati—"

"That doesn't matter. I've always loved you. Even way back then. You've always been the only one on my mind." You gaped at him, stunned by the raw intensity of emotion from someone usually so untouchable. "I-I cant imagine being with anyone else, I need you." He whimpered, pushing into you like the overgrown puppy he was, overly excited to see their master. His head rested against your chest, looking up at you with a pout.

"I've been so good. I've waited so long. I-if anything, I deserve some praise." His words stumbled out, and there it was—the mighty Satoru Gojo, stuttering. He waited for a response, your mouth hanging open at the sheer audacity of this man. The whiplash hitting you quicker than the words. He looked so pitiful.

"P-please, please praise me," he said, a little more desperately, anxious under your flabbergasted stare.

You were definitely outmatched here. You've always had a soft spot for the blue-eyed sorcerer. It was one of the many reasons you gave him as much leeway as you did. As your hand gently came up to his hair, petting him, he practically purred under the touch, his eyes melting with affection. "I knew it."

"Satoru..." you began softly, and as if he could read your mind, knowing you were about to protest, he interrupted. "I'll do whatever you want. Be whoever you want."—"Sato—" "I'll buy you anything, we can go anywhere, live anywhere. I can support you, you won’t need to stay in this shitty apartment anymore—" "Wait a—" "I love you. I love you so much, I couldn’t stand that man touching you, please don’t ever do that again," his face twisted in pain at the mere thought. Your hands reached for his cheeks, gently coaxing his gaze back to you.

"Satoru, calm down." you tried to reason, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside. "I'm not sure if jumping into a marriage is the best idea right now. We need to talk about this more," you insisted, trying to temper the urgency in his eyes. "A marriage isn't just a contract—it's a lifetime commitment. I'm not sure if we're ready for that yet. You haven't even asked me out yet-"

But Satoru was relentless, his desperation clear. "I've already drafted the papers," he confessed, his tone suggesting he’d been planning this for some time. "I can send a formal request to the higher-ups—whenever I want."

The threat remained unspoken yet unmistakable—a solid recommendation from him, the new head of the Gojo clan—in need of an heir, would be near impossible to refuse without severe consequences. The reality of your situation weighed heavily on you. It was as if it was already decided. But why you?

"Satoru, listen to me," you pleaded, searching for some sign of understanding in his intense gaze. "What do you think this marriage would be? What do you even want from this?"

"You," he answered quickly, eagerness palpable. "Ill give you a life where you don't have to worry about money or security. I can give you a house, anywhere you want. Paris, New York, Tokyo—you name it." he's hugging you tighter at each insistence. "Satoru—"

"Luxuries, travel, whatever you want—designer clothes, fancy cars... I'm going to spoil you rotten," he whispered, his voice dripping with certainty, as if it were all already fated to be, the only concern being what next. "And it's not just about the material things—I mean, I'll be there too. Always. Anytime you call, I'll be there."

"You can't do that, Satoru," you countered, feeling the walls closing in as he all but confirmed he would shirk his very important responsibilities if you so asked.

"I will, if its for you. Please, baby. please." You can't deny the way your heart picked up at the unfamiliar pet name. It sent your heart racing, and your cheeks flushed—a reaction he caught and savored, his eyes lighting up, his head tilted, giving him a perfect view of your pretty red cheeks. His grip on you seemed to trail, his hands rubbing your sides.

"You're really serious about this, aren't you?" you questioned, your voice tinged with both disbelief and a creeping unease as Satoru nudged closer.

"Absolutely...my little wife," he murmured, his voice quivering with a concocted vulnerability as he slipped between your legs, still soaking wet. His presence was close, too close, his body heat mingling uncomfortably with yours. Your heart stutter again at the term.

"Satoru, that’s...that’s too much," you breathed out, feeling his hands settle on your hips, his grip firm yet gentle, as if claiming his place. He's pulling you impossibly closer, his hips between your own. You'd be lying if you said it wasn't turning you on, much to your own surprise. He was shocking you at every turn.

"Isn’t it better when it’s just the two of us?" he continued, his voice a needy whisper that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand. He leaned in, his breath warm against your neck, lips brushing your skin with feather-like kisses that trailed up towards your ear, sending shivers down your spine. "No distractions, no one else around. Just me and...my sweet little wife."

His words were laden with possessive desire as he continued his trail of soft kisses, now accompanied by long wet licks that striped across your neck. Your arms found their way around his muscular neck, and your legs instinctively clenched at his sides. His words making you dizzy.

"Y-you think you can make decisions for both of us like that?" you attempted to steady your voice, but it wavered under his touch and the tender assault of his lips.

"’m just trying to secure our happiness together," he insisted, his voice a whisper against your skin, full of confidence—yet pleading. "I know you care about me, deep down. You wouldn’t want to see me hurt, would you, wife?"

Those big eyes begging for your approval, especially when he sensed you might push back. A lovesick puppy.

"Satoru, listen—we really need to talk about boundaries," you insisted, trying to anchor the conversation despite the intoxicating closeness and the persuasive touch of his lips, which fluttered dangerously along the sensitive skin of your neck.

"Boundaries," he repeated, his voice a soft whimper, contemplative, as if he was trying to wrap his mind around the concept. His breath was warm against your skin, his lips pausing as if savoring the very idea. "Okay, we can talk boundaries...as long as they include me being this close." His tone deepened, desperately straining as he pressed closer, grinding into your achy cunt. The soft groan that slipped from him vibrated against your neck, coaxing a surprised whimper from your lips—a sound sweeter than he had ever imagined.

His eyes locked onto yours, reveling in every reaction he elicited from you. Though you weren't married yet, your body seemed to resonate perfectly with his touch, as if it knew him well. The marriage contract had been prepared long in advance, drafted the moment he graduated high school. He had always known you were the one for him. You were, in his eyes, made for him.

He didn't ease up, grinding his length into your clothed pussy, clawing out any reactions he could get, and feeding you his own. And lord was this man vocal.

You wouldn't have believed it if anyone told you—Satoru Gojo, revered as the strongest sorcerer of his generation, the prestigious heir to the Gojo clan, and the youngest prodigy to grace the hallways of Jujutsu Tech, reduced to a puddle of neediness. The type of man that screams top energy, is now rutting against you faster now—helplessly, a begging mess, calling you his "little wife" in a breathy, lovesick plea, so so desperate and clingy.

But you couldn't say anything about it, your leaky pussy was proof enough that you were no better. And the fact that you were so adamant that you weren't interested only moments ago only served to feed his ego.

"What boundaries did my little wife want to set?" His voice confident-damn near arrogantly possessive, as he all but solidified his hold over you, only for you to squirm under his words. He didn't seem to like that as he bit down on your collarbone, earning a sharp gasp from your panting lips.

Before you could wrap your head around the question, he pushed your legs up to your chest, thick fingers digging into the squish of your thighs, instantly knocking the air from your lungs. A mean mating press, and all he needed now was to fuck into you like he meant it. "Satoru—ha—hang on."

But oh-no he wasn't about to hang on, his hips delivered another punishing thrust in between your spread legs, leaving you stuttering out. Your hands that had been wrapped around his neck were now biting into the unfairly smooth expanse of his broad shoulders, leaving behind marks that would surely leave people staring.

Leaning close, his breath hot against your ear, he whispered, a shiver tracing down your spine, crunched up beneath him, "What was my little wife so worried about?" Your eyes proved to him that you were already gone, smothered by his thrusts, and if he were to remove your shorts, you were sure you'd be leaking a pool onto the floor. He cooed softly, his voice a mix of teasing and assurance, "I'll be a good boy. Now tell me, haah—what boundaries did you want to set?"

Beneath him, you trembled, each of your senses heightened by his proximity and the sheer intensity of his gaze, which now swept over you, taking in every reaction before meeting your eyes with a piercing look. "C'mon, pretty girl, tell me, tellme. tellme—" he urged, punctuating each plea with another deep thrust against your clothed cunt.

“Satoru—please—” you managed between labored breaths, each word as shaky as your body.

“Ooh! Hang on—I've got one—" You could feel his breath on your neck, voice dipping a more taunting note. "how about remaining faithful," His grip on you was aggressive and domineering, yet his tone carried a playful lilt. "See, now that's an easy one," You couldn't stop the whimper that rolled from your lips, each thrust forward sent a sharp press into your clit.

You couldn't make a solid thought if your life depended on it. The room spun a little, your mind foggy with need. You felt dangerously close to agreeing to just about anything he proposed, just to keep him moving.

"S-Satoru, please, don't stop," shameless. absolutely shameless.

“Haah, oh—my sweet little wife—‘m just trying to have a conversation—” He groaned as your nails dug deeper into his shoulders, a raw, primal groan rips out, sending shivers down your spine. “Aah, a conversation you wanted. So tell me what I can do for you.”

You can't move an inch as he slows his momentum down, leaving you reeling. You're panicking at the loss, eyes shooting wide as he firmly presses into you. "Or maybe," You felt the heat of his cock pressed against you, "how about a boundary that ensures every day starts with you under me like this?" Satoru's voice was husky, almost choked with his own arousal as he maintained that exasperatingly slow grind, each movement calculated to keep you right on the edge.

You couldn't muster a response, your mind was too clouded with the intoxicating blend of pleasure and frustration, gripping at him to keep going. His smirk was audible in his voice as he continued. "Hmm, not enough? What about...we never sleep apart, huh? Always tangled up like this—sounds perfect, right, wifey? Or do you prefer senpai?"

You felt yourself clench around nothing as you let out a string of needy huffs, eyes drunken, intoxicated on his heat. "And I think," he paused, his breath against your ear, "we should always say goodnight like this...no...we should always say goodnight with me deep inside this pretty pussy, claiming you as mine over and over. No more goodnights through phone screens, just this—"

One hand trails down between your legs, drifting across your sorely sensitive skin, before reaching the warmth beneath your shorts. You feel yourself buck up, but his grip on your other thigh has you restrained. He glides his large fingers along the edges, before dipping into under the fabric, finding his salvation, immediately. "Ahh-shit, you're soaked, baby," His voice was dense with pleasure, a hint of awe, a mix of wonder and satisfaction.

"Do these boundaries work for you?" he teased, fully aware that you were beyond the point of coherent speech, your responses physical, instinctive—your body arching towards him, desperately seeking to close the gap he controlled so teasingly.

His laughter, low and satisfied, resonated through the charged air between you, feeling as tangible as another stroke of his fingers. "I’ll take that as a yes," he murmured before finally relenting to the desperate pace your body craved, driving his fingers into you with a fervor that wiped all thoughts but his name from your mind.

Stretching, and so so thick, yet you so desperately craved for his fingers to curl into your sweet spot, your mewls and moans saturating the air, the debauched sounds from your leaky cunt dragging his eyes to watch as your juices coated his hand.

His eyes were locked on your squirming, messy form. Noticing every movement, learning and adapting his thrust to the motions that drew the most from you. Once he hit that sweet spot, you were out.

To him—this was a dream. A fantasy he'd always had, way back when he first met you.

Now you were soaking your shorts, so he did what any good husband would do and took them off of you. He marveled at the sight of your pretty cunt, glistening, slick pooling from you at a rapid pace. Calling to him. You looked so fucking tasty.

But he wanted more. So much more.

He wanted to fill his pretty little wife, full. Withdrawing his fingers (earning him a small growl from you), he pressed his hips forward, the fabric of his clothes barely containing him as he rubbed against you, his need clear and urgent. His fingers, dipping into his mouth, your taste dissolving onto his tongue, he moaned—"Baby, can I fill you up?" begging, voice guttural, raw, groveling, as he pulled himself free from the confines of his pants, stroking himself with a single hand. You strained to look at him, your legs blocking your view, but when you caught sight of it you nearly drooled. His plea was nothing short of a godsend at this moment, everything you were wanting and more, and that cock looked more than fucking delicious. Big and thick enough to rock your shit.

"Please, please I want more,—ngh—'

He lined himself up at your entrance, poking his fat tip an inch past your slit. The stretch was already a bit much, you really hadn't gotten much action, recently. Toys never cut it.

And just that tip had Satoru's mouth dropping open as he slid himself further, watching the magic act that was his disappearing cock into your tight heat. You deliriously blubbered incomprehensible sounds, begging to be filled, but he seemed so happy with taking his sweet time, savoring every second—every inch.

Once you were completely filled, he stilled for a moment, wearing you like a little cockwarmer, the stretch made you feral as you continue clawing his forearms, pathetically, words dripping from your lips frantically asking bawling at him to go faster.

"Ah, you take me so well." He hissed out, starring down at you with an almost obsessive gaze. "Gimme a second, baby, I needa minute, shit-s'feels sooooo good." He slouches into you, body shaky.

Your breathing is unsteady as he presses into the back of your cervix, poking through your belly. "Ah y'know, you're my first baby, saved myself all for you. All for this moment—" His words slewed together in a stupor, bucking slightly into you. Your eyes widen as you're about to comment, but he stops you with one quick ram of his hips, your head lolling back, mouth dangling open. The dude's fucking huge, hot as all hell, and you're the one who popped his cherry?

You feed into each other as he picks up his pace, clinging to you like a second skin, hips ramming into you with a speed that seemed unreal. Each thrust splitting you open like the very first, you just couldn't get used to him. He moans loudly into your ear, breathing becoming more and more labored as he reaches down to play with your clit.

"A-Ah shit—fuck, I'm gonna cum," his voice frustrated, wanting to last all night with you, but your tight cunt deemed otherwise. His fingers dug deeper into your skin, large welts already forming, "shit-shit, aah fuuuuckk-" spilling his load deep inside your womb, head pulled back, blissed out, twitching into you.

You can't help the way your mind stills, he pumped you full—theres so much, that his gooey cum spills out around the edges, trailing down between your crack, "aah shit baby." He seemed embarrassed, a flushed look on his face as he looked away and back shyly.

He thrust back in, his eyes locked on the way his cum oozed out around him, letting out his own whine. Your breathing stutters when he pushed back inside, your abused cervix aching. You hadn't cum, but damn were you close, and damn if you weren't sore. He rubs your nub again, feeling you clench around him, letting out a hiss, clearly overstimulated.

"You're losin' so much, wifey, how're you ever gonna be full when you're so wasteful," his eyes never leave your cunt, as he swirls his thumb over your clit, as you're left clawing to get away from him, the obsessed focus on your clit just too much. But you're still pinned. And he's still not done yet.

"S'ok baby, 'll give you more, yea?" He's mumbling the words, lost in the meal spread out in front of him. "Want you to cum all over my cock this time. Think you can do that for me?" He doesn't wait for a response as he's hardening up once again, and you think his stamina is fucking impeccable. His own words, nasty for a beginner, but only serving to egg him on.

Once again he's picking back the brutal pace, his cum mixing with the thin pool of your syrupy slick, the loud squelches back in full force. He's lost again, his head buried in your neck now, leaving large dark purple hickies, a hand clenching that back of your neck, devouring you like a fucking rotisserie chicken. You do him one better, your claws sinking deep into his back, each thrust blanking your mind as his fingers continue at your clit.

He angles his dick upwards—just slightly, grazing that upper spot that has you seeing stars, you're pants come out frantic now, pussy clamping, so so close to release. "Cum for me baby? Gonna coat this cock? Mark me up, baby—mark up your husband—" His words have you finishing, an electric current zapping through you, leaving you lit like a live wire. His fingers are punishing, a reminder of his words, his words a reminder of your place in his life, and you find yourself over-satiated.

Squirming to get him to stop, then begging when it he ignored it. Your pleas fell on deaf ears, his thrusts seeking his second release into your tight little pussy, your little begs only speeding him up as he let out another guttural moan, teeth sinking into the crook of your neck, no doubt breaking skin. His cum, hot, burning—as you gushed around him, your pussy pulsating at every movement. His heaving never let up as he kept himself buried deep inside of you.

"Fuck, I love you so much."

come home

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inbabylontheywept · 6 months ago

Text

a silly ode to the first mitochondria, with waaaay too many religious allusions

(the mormons put me in seminary for four years and now it's everyone's problem)

the garden was not made of trees the snake did not exist when Eve was formed inside the seas and then was set adrift

she drifted in the tidal pools prokaryote divine producing simple molecules acids and alkalines

but paradise can never last and every god must fall some swallowed by a cytoplast (entrapped by a cell wall)

what do you call the dead that rise? what name is there for this? an Eve that finds that eden lies inside of the abyss

the wall no longer trapped her in but locked the monsters out the freedom only she could win to swim, and grow, and sprout.

she tinkered with her molecules And in a twist of fate Created one of life's crown jewels Adenosine Triphosphate (1)

what was before a simple wall could bloom with organelles a garden grown from former falls a paradise in hell

a fortress swam inside the brine, a thriving little town where tiny citizens could shine and ride the ups and downs

a golgi apparatus strove to package safe proteins a lysome found a nice alcove and kept the whole cell clean

the centrioles rebuilt the walls whenever they grew weak and eve was known and loved by all as something quite unique:

the powerhouse of the first cell the mitochondria (2) the Jonah that became the whale the jesus of bacteria once eaten by a macrophage then made through death anew the founder of our current age the sprout from which we grew

(yeah, yeah - you try and use this line in a poem)

(gah. this paragraph killed the syllable counts. i was challented to fit the phrase "powerhouse of the cell" into it, and mitochondria had to fit somewhere. both of which were gonna be doozies. decided to put them back to back and break the scheme at the end.

#biology #poem #the mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell #i was googling so much biology shit for this #and i still know that someone is going to go #HEY #IDIOT #YOU THINK X?#NO #IT Y #STUPID #and i will slink off to the saddest darkest corner of the earth #and mope until i die #its like a whole prophecy now #strike me down apollo you incandescent bastard #if you couldn't get me back in arizona you cant do shit to me in utah

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beritybaker · 28 days ago

Text

(here, have some single parent eddie that got away from me)

Steve and Eddie drift apart after defeating Vecna. They don’t have a falling out or anything, it’s just a situation where Steve goes to Bloomington with Robin when she starts at IU, and Eddie tries his luck with the music scene in Chicago. Dustin’s still in contact with both of them, and he occasionally mentions them to each other, but they don’t really talk.

Eddie loves the city, but he spends a good ten years having little success in music. He doesn’t have much luck in love, either, and it culminates in a deadbeat baby mama who skips town before their kid is even old enough to talk. He gives up on late-night gigs for good to focus on his day job and take care of his daughter.

His little girl is the love of his life. He spoils her rotten every chance he gets, and they sing and read and play pretend together every minute he’s not working. He’s her whole world, too; he fills her life with so much love that she hardly notices she doesn’t have a mom.

When she’s six, he buys her a tiny guitar to teach her how to play, but even though she’s a natural (of course she is—she’s his kid), she kind of loses interest. He knows she’s entitled to her own passions, but he can’t help feeling a little disappointed when she asks if she can take dance lessons instead.

Still, he signs them both up for classes at the community center near their house. It’s not a fancy studio run by some ex-professional, but it’s what they can afford. Dustin was the one who suggested it—said he heard there was a teacher there who’s really good with kids, though when Eddie pressed him on how the hell he could know anything about a volunteer dance instructor in Chicago, he’s cagey about his answer.

When they show up for the first class, though, it makes sense. Because standing at the front of the room, in all his bespectacled, salt-and-pepper glory, is Steve.

Steve, who looks just as surprised to see Eddie there, with an excited little girl whose curls and big, dark eyes are unmistakable. He glances down at the clipboard in his hand, and he must see their names on the sign-up list, because he does a double take and squints at it.

Before either of them can say a word, Eddie’s daughter makes a beeline for Steve and tugs on the sleeve of his jacket.

“Lizzie—!”

“Are you gonna teach me and my dad how to dance? He says he’s real bad at it, but he’s gonna try super hard so he can keep up with me.”

Steve blinks down at her for a second, clearly startled, but he recovers quickly. Smiling, he says, “Sure thing, kiddo. But we’re not gonna slow down for him, are we?”

She giggles and shakes her head, shooting Eddie a mischievous look that he knows Wayne must have seen from him a million times.

Steve looks up, meets Eddie’s eye with an impish grin of his own, and adds, “We’re gonna have tons of fun.”

And just like that, Eddie’s dormant crush on the one who got away is alive and well. By the end of the class, he can’t tell if it’s lucky or terrifying that Lizzie loves her new teacher so much.

#steddie #eddie munson #steddie ficlet #eddie munson headcanon #author stuff #it’s possible I will write even more of this because there’s too much cute bouncing around in my head #dancer steve my beloved

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rafesteddy · 9 days ago

Note

Heyyy! i just had a thought about bardown!rafe and reader, like reader being in rehearsal or smth and rafe watching and getting turned on… (and maybe leading to something +18🤭🤭)

Would love to read something like this! Love your work💕💕💕

-bia

Hi babe!! Thank you for your compliments and your ask 🤭 that means a lot to me. This does not need to be read with the rest of the au

𝓝𝓗𝓛!𝓡𝓪𝓯𝓮 𝔁 𝓟𝓸𝓹𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓻!𝓡𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻

+18 -> smut | 𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎’𝚜 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚋𝚊𝚍—𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚎𝚡𝚝𝚜 𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚊 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚎 𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚒𝚝, 𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚏𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚜 𝚊𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜.

c/w: slut!rafe, language, sexting, masturbation (male), sex tape and casting it on the TV, sex fantasies about the reader, overstimulation (rafe), unprotected p in v, possessive!rafe, begging, creampie, praise, rough-ish (hair pulling, slapping hand away) + voyeurism

2.4K

Rafe should’ve stayed busy.

Should’ve kept the TV on. Should’ve gone for a run. Should’ve thrown his phone under a couch cushion and walked the hell away from it.

But he didn’t. He’s sprawled on the sectional, thumb swiping restlessly, halfway watching Sports Center while waiting on the clock to hit draft party o’clock. His jaw’s tight; shirt wrinkled. And his patience? Nonexistent.

📱Rafe: Baby I miss you so much. You free?

He stares at the message like it’ll bring you home faster. Like maybe if he wants it bad enough, you’ll teleport from that studio across town and climb right onto his lap.

Buzz.

📱You: No baby. Sorry 💔

And then—fucking then—comes the picture.

You’re in glam. Full beat, hair curled, mouth glossy, posing mid-laugh in a silk corset and high-waisted micro shorts.

His head drops back against the couch with a low, guttural groan.

“Jesus Christ…”

He palms himself through his pants on instinct, already half-hard, vision blurring slightly as he squints at the screen like that’ll make your image drill deeper into his brain.

📱Rafe: You sure you’re not getting out soon?

📱Rafe: Like soon-soon?

He’s only half-joking, fingers fidgeting, stomach all twisted up—because it’s been days since he’s touched you, since he’s felt you curled up in his arms.

📱You: No 😞

His free hand flies up to rake through his hair, mouth parted in exasperation.

“Cool, cool, cool,” he mutters.

Then buzz. Another pic.

This one’s worse. You’re sitting pretty in front of the mirror, legs crossed, strap falling off one shoulder, giving the camera that look that always fucks with him—that “I know what I’m doing” smirk like you’re the star of his wildest dreams.

His slacks are definitely tighter.

Rafe adjusts and hisses at the pinch.

And then TikTok has the absolute audacity to send a notification.

🔔 @/yourname just posted: with @/stassiebby — Lights Down Low dance credit: @/kiana

His thumb’s already moving, instantly.

There you are, his girl, twirling, dropping into the beat, laughing with your best friend and looking way too fucking good for someone who just told him ‘no, baby, sorry.’

You’re so damn talented. So bubbly. So hot it actually hurts.

Rafe drags a hand down his face, biting back another groan as you spins in those tiny shorts, ass recoiling with a hard step.

And he knows. He knows if he opens that hidden folder—the one with the private videos you sent him on his road trips, the slow ones, the unedited ones, the ones where you moan his name and gasps “I wish it was you” he’s gonna spiral completely.

His body’s already burning; zipper halfway down.

Hearing your voice echo through the living room might just break him. But honestly? If he can’t have you, that’s exactly how he wants to go.

His phone buzzes again—and yeah, of course it’s you. You always know.

📱You: You got real quiet baby…

📱You: What are you doing?

He chuckles to himself, slow and low, filling the dark room. Rafe bites his lip, hand already resting over the thick bulge, hand rubbing teasingly.

“Yeah, yeah…” He mutters under his breath, fingers gliding toward the hidden folder on his phone, “you know what I’m doin’, sweetheart.”

The folder opens. He taps once. It expands.

And just the thumbnails alone nearly make him come undone.

You in his t-shirt. Bent over the edge of his bed, glancing back at the camera with that breathy little smile.

Or you in the back of his sports car, legs spread, moaning out his name as your pussy swallowing him up—Rafe’s cock glistening with you.

Or you and that first time you ever sent him a video in the pitch black, just your voice, soft and needy, whispering “I miss you so bad, Rafe…” leaving the rest up for his imagination to run wild.

He scrolls, breath caught somewhere high in his throat, heart racing faster with every thumbnail he flicks past. God, you made it so difficult for him —and right now it’s a fucking lifeline. Each preview teases something worse than the last: your face, your thighs, your mouth… his t-shirt slipping off your shoulder.

And then he finds the one.

That first night you filmed something for him alone in his house when he was gone, wearing his white button-down, nothing underneath except that lace she knew drove him insane, like you’d already know he’d be watching it in a moment like this with his hand wrapped tight around his cock.

He taps the screen. AirPlays it to the living room TV.

It fills the space in front of him and his hand drops to his lap. He moans, unzipping the rest of the way, letting his cock free and aching in his palm. The video starts, the soft whisper of fabric falling away.

He’s already close and you haven’t even started yet.

His phone buzzes.

📱You: baby?

A grin curls on his lips as he types back one-handed, thumb slow over the keyboard.

📱Rafe: Hands a little busy princess. Unless you have some time for me

You smirk as your driver rolls through the traffic light. You’re almost there… Just two turns away from the high-rise and your heart’s pounding from the thrill of it. Rafe doesn’t know yet. He thinks you’re still at the studio, teasing him just to wind him up.

You open the texts, see his name, and already you feel yourself start to throb. You move in your seat, thighs squeezing together.

📱You: I wish I was there

You don’t wait for his reply. You flick open your camera roll, grabbing a picture he hasn’t seen yet. One you took to tease him on his upcoming trip. His Kings sweatshirt lifted up around your waist showing off your ass and panties.

📱You: your turn

He nearly chokes when he sees the photo, and the contrast of your sweet little message with the image is too much. He’s already pumping slowly, but now his grip tightens, hips pitching.

📱Rafe: jesus fucking christ

📱Rafe: you’re evil

📱Rafe: you’re perfect

📱Rafe: you do this shit on purpose baby

📱You: send me a video when you cum. Volume on

📱Rafe: anything for you

📱Rafe: watching that video you took when I was in Vegas. You were wearing my shirt. Red panties. So fucking wet holy shit

He watches himself in the reflection of the window; jaw tight, eyes hazed, cock swollen in his fist. He’s not gonna last like this.

He lowers the phone for a second, groaning into the void, eyes locked on the TV where your slipping your panties lower and lower down your thighs.

You bite down a grin and don’t even wait to make it to the elevator—already typing.

📱You: don’t forget the video baby. I want to use it later

📱Rafe: Stop shit I’m trying to last

📱You: no baby. i want you to cum for me.

You’re walking now—keys in hand, purse hanging off your arm as you hit the elevator button and lean against the wall, heart in your throat.

You know what that video does to him. You made it for this reason. You can picture it perfectly: the way he’s watching, breathing hot and heavy, legs spread wide on the couch where you’ll be joining him in about thirty seconds.

You pop the lock open and step inside quietly. The second you look up, your whole body floods with heat.

He’s sunk into the couch—shirt wide open, pants halfway down, hair sticking up in every direction like he’s been raking through it for hours. One hand’s gripping his phone tight, knuckles washed out from how hard he’s holding on. The other moves slow between his thighs, stroking himself slick, twisting at the tip with a low, ruined sound that shoots straight through you.

Your voice’s everywhere—floating out of the TV in soft moans and shaky little sighs. The screen lights up his face in flashes, catching the edge of his jaw, the slow blink of his lashes as his head falls back, mouth open.

He’s too far gone to hear the door. Doesn’t even flinch when you step inside.

Not when you drop your bag.

Not when you toe off your heels.

Not when you reach up to pull off the Kings sweatshirt—his sweatshirt—exposing nothing but the lace underneath.

You watch him close, not even knowing you’re in the room yet. Your fingers curl around the straps of your panties, slowly dragging them down as you cross the floor, and still he doesn’t move. Still lost in the image of you on his screen, your name slipping off his tongue.

You peel off the last piece of clothing.

And then you speak. He sees you—and it’s like his brain stalls out.

Because there you are. His hand slips off his cock, chest heaving, and for a second, he honestly wonders if he’s dreaming—if the video, the moans, the grip of his own fist made him hallucinate you.

But then you’re on him. Straddling his lap. Skin on skin.

And it’s too real. Too warm. Too good.

“Baby…” He breathes, hoarse from panting your name. “You’re here?” He whispers, almost like he doesn’t believe it. “—Didn’t think I could need somethin’ so bad.”

You take over without a word, your hand wrapping around him, slick from his own palm, stroking him slow and tight. And it’s everything. His hips twitch. His eyes slam shut.

“You close?” You murmur, eyes teasing, lips right by his ear.

“Yeah—Fuck yeah, baby—I was right there—”

He’s a mess beneath you—hands gripping your ass like he doesn’t know where else to hold, head nuzzling the crook of your neck, muscles trembling. You’ve never seen him this worked up; so close he’s barely breathing, moaning under his breath like he’s trying to hold it together now that you’re here.

But you don’t let him.

You rise up on your knees, line him up, and sink down in one slow, sinful motion.

And that’s it. Rafe shatters. His entire body locks up—eyes rolling, jaw falling open, one loud, guttural groan echoing off the high-rise windows as you take him deep.

“Fuck—Fuck. Oh my god, baby—” he cries out, spilling the second you bottom out. His fingers dig into your skin, anchoring himself to you.

He wasn’t ready. He didn’t think this was how tonight would end.

But here you are. Wrapped around him. Making him cum so hard he sees stars. He barely gets out a broken, “Thank you,” before you start to move.

You roll your hips dragging a jagged gasp from his chest, like it shocks his whole body. Like it’s the first time he’s ever felt you. The sound between you is filthy, wet, too much. He jerks, hands flying to your waist, but he doesn’t stop you. Couldn’t if he tried.

He’s still twitching, barely coming down—and the second you move again, he’s gone. Eyes glazed, lips parted, completely overstimulated, just how you like him.

You know he’d never beg you to stop. Not when it’s you. Not when he’s finally got you back on him where you belong.

Your hands drag down his chest, nails trailing through the light sheen of sweat painting his abs. The flash of silver catches the city lights outside; the delicate initial around your neck and the shiny pendant stamped with his number. He watches it bounce with every thrust, his jaw going slack again.

“Fuck, baby…” He groans, helpless as you tilt back slightly and plant your hands on his knees, bouncing on his lap now, giving him the full view—your body taking every inch, squeezing around him like you were made to. He grips your thighs, hard, knuckles white, moaning so softly it barely makes it past his throat.

You reach one hand down to circle your clit but his reflexes snap. He slaps your hand away, fast and rough, and replaces it with his own greedy fingers.

“Mine,” he groans, low and possessive.

Then he fists your hair, pulls you forward, and crashes his mouth to yours. It’s messy and deep—his lips dragging across yours like he’s trying to memorize you again. His fingers don’t stop.

“I missed you,” he mumbles, kissing between every word. “Missed your voice, your body—how fuckin’ pretty you look when you take my dick—”

You hum into the kiss, mumbling right back, telling him how much you missed him, how good he feels, how you never wanna leave again.

You tighten around him—and fuck, he feels it. That flutter, that shake in your thighs, the way your breath catches as your head tips back.

“Baby…” He warns, voice cracking like he’s already there again. His grip clamps down on your hips, using you, bouncing you just right on top of him, driving into that spot that makes you cry for him. You're moaning with yourself on the TV as the video continues on, and to him it sounds like heaven. And then— “Rafe!”

You scream his name, eyes squeezing shut as you fall apart in his lap, soaking him, shaking from head to toe as your orgasm rolls through you.

And the second you do he follows.

With a sharp, broken groan, his head falls back, mouth open as he spills into you again. The overstimulation hits hard and his thighs jolt beneath you. Rafe’s hands clamp down on your hips, holding you tight, filling you completely as his heartbeat hammers against your palms. His lashes flutter shut.

You fold into his chest, and his arms come around you right away.

Your mouth finds his—messy, deep, breathless. He kisses you like he’s afraid to let go. One hand cradles the back of your neck, the other spread wide across your spine, holding you close.

“I miss you,” he breathes, forehead pressed to yours, his voice all shaky heat. “Miss you so bad it fuckin’ hurts.” You nod against him, still dazed, still trying to catch your breath.

And he holds you tighter. “Be here when I get home… I need you again before I leave.”

You giggle breathily into your kiss, still trying to catch your breath. “I think I’m just gonna come with you. How does that sound?”

Rafe’s smile pulls along your lips before he kisses you again.

“How the hell am I supposed to focus now? Got your moans stuck in my fuckin’ head… You in my bed all weekend? Yeah, that’s perfect, baby.”

#⋆.°🧸๋ྀི࣭⭑ bar down #rafe cameron #rafe #outer banks #obx #rafe smut #rafe x reader #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron blurb #rafe cameron one shot #hockey!rafe ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ #hockey!rafe #hockey rafe #nhl rafe #nhl!rafe

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ddixonsangel · 14 days ago

Text

── .✦ 𐔌 𝐈𝐒 𝐈𝐓 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄? 𐦯

[ 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐥 𝐝𝐢𝐱𝐨𝐧 ⊹ 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭 ]

✧ pairing: dbf!daryl dixon x fem!reader

✧ contains: age difference. nostalgia. fluff without end. thirst. a flicker of angst. dbf trope. soft past moments with toddler! & little girl! reader. failed attempt of mild-humour. biker!daryl. reader is rick‘s and lori’s daughter.

✧ warnings & triggers: huge age gap—reader’s twenty but daryl’s in his late forties. language. mention of past violence & crime. drug traffic mention. reader had a childhood bond with daryl. sexual tension at the end? kinda.

✧ setting: alternative universe! no outbreak. small town in atlanta, georgia—more specifically king county.

✧ word count: i wrote this in tumblr, so i don't really know the exact number. maybe 2.5k?

summary: after ten years on the road, daryl dixon returns to georgia hoping to catch up with his old friend rick and visit the children he once adored. but when daryl knocks on that front door, he’s met not by the sweet pink-bowed baby girl who used to cling to his vest—but by a confident, grown woman with a dangerous body and the same big eyes that once made him melt. and he instantly knows he's fucked.

The Dixon brothers were infamous for stirring up trouble on the outskirts of Atlanta’s otherwise beautiful cityscape. Wheter they were getting tangled up in shady deals with dangerous people —deals that often ended with the police hot on their trail— or trafficking illicit substances in seedy bars, their reputation for mishief and crime was impossible to ignore.

Especially for King County’s sheriff, Rick Grimes, who knew all too well the headaches they caused to his department.

So when the oportunity to slap the cuffs on Merle Dixon finally came, Rick didn’t hesitate to put him behind bars once for all.

But what the sheriff didn’t expect was the firecraker Merle had for a brother bursting into the station like a goddamn banshee, swinging fists and cursing like hellfire as he demanded his brother's inmediate release.

That encounter ended with both of them —Rick and the youngest Dixon, Daryl—, bruised and glaring at each other in the station’s infirmary. And from that chaos? A brotherhood stronger than blood was born.

That’s how Daryl Dixon became more than an ally—he became Rick’s unwavering right hand, and, in every way that mattered, family.

He remembers the first time he held you. Seven pounds of tiny pink and chubby cheeks, fussing and wailing in that baby way, with your face all scrunched up like you were mad at the whole damn world.

He had you nestled in his arms, your tiny hands balled into fists as you cried out in hunger. Daryl had gently tapped your little nose with his finger, and his heart all but melted when you immediately grabbed it with your tiny hand.

“Look at ’er… just like ya, man” he’d breathed, his wide, soft eyes never leaving your adorable little face.

And from that moment on, you had him wrapped around your little finger, without even knowing it.

He’d cuddle you for hours, let you drool all over his shoulder while you slept peacefully in his arms, give you your bottle when you were hungry, and call you every cheesy nickname he could think of under the sun —princess, sweetheart, babygirl, cupcake, pumpkin, sugarbean.

You were a tiny little bundle of joy in his life, and even if you weren’t his daughter, you sure as hell were his little sweetheart.

And of course, the feeling wasn’t one-sided, Daryl was your favourite person in the whole world. Not daddy. Not mommy. Just Daryl.

He was the one who was always by your side.

When Rick’s voice got too loud and Lori’s scolds felt like sharp stings to your tiny heart, Daryl was the one who scooped you up and rocked you gently until you calmed down. When Lori refused to buy you candy, Daryl was there to sneak you chocolates behind her back. Even when you were being a little handful for your parents, Daryl was always there to settle you down.

He was your safe place. Your home. The one you ran to whenever you were sad, the one who spoiled you with more love than anyone else ever could, and the one who understood you better than anyone in the world.

It was as clear as day that you loved Daryl, and that Daryl loved you. It was the kind of love that didn’t need to be explained. You were just a kid, all scraped knees and sunshine, and he was the gruff redneck who always kept you safe.

So when Merle got himself wrapped up in something real bad —the kind of trouble that had men showing up with guns and cold eyes— Daryl didn’t have a choice. He wasn’t involved in whatever shit Merle was into, not really. But he couldn’t let Merle face it alone. That wasn’t who he was. Blood meant everything to him… even when it broke his heart to leave.

You cried like your world was ending. Sobbed into the fabric of his vest, your little fingers clutching it like it might anchor him to home. Your chest heaved with hiccups, tears spilling faster the harder you begged him not to leave you.

He crouched down in front of you, calloused hands cupping your tear-soaked face as he kissed your forehead—soft, lingering, like he was carving the moment into his bones. He promised he’d be back before you even noticed he was gone, and then he left the porch without even more words.

But ten years is a long damn time.

The motorcycle engine rumbled beneath Daryl, steady and fierce. Sweat drops slided down the back of his neck, soaking into his already heavy jacket after hours under Georgia’s relentless sun. The hot summer wind rushed against his face, offering almost no relief—just a teasing, warm brush that only made his flushed skin feel even hotter.

Rick had sounded very excited on the phone when Daryl told him he was finally coming home. He went on about how Carl was a teenager now—smart, strong, and already turning into a handsome young man, though the hormones and mood swings were hitting him hard, since he was always snappy and grumpy with everyone.

His brother also said that you were already in college, halfway through your degree, adding the fact that you had grown into a beautiful young lady, sassy and bratty, the kind of attitude that sometimes got under Lori’s skin. But beneath it all, you still had that golden heart you’ve always carried with you, now mixed with just the right hint of mischievous sweetness.

This made Daryl chuckle, though he couldn’t shake the guilt that had taken rot in his mind. He had promised you he’d be back soon, and instead, he ended up returning a decade later.

He’d missed the most important moments of your life—your elementary school graduation, your first day of high school, your first love… if you’d ever fallen in love with someone at all.

He just hopes you can forgive him for breaking a pinky promise. But if you don't, he'll spend the rest of his life trying to make it up to you.

He revved up the motorcycle, the engine rumbling beneath him like a restless heartbeat. He couldn’t wait to see his favorite girl waiting on the porch, with that bright smile of hers and those little hands waving at him.

Daryl foolishly pictured you as the little ten-year-old girl he’d left behind all those years ago. In his mind, you were still that same bright-eyed kid who’d always ask for cuddles or piggybacks, not the grown young woman you surely were by now.

A part of him almost wanted to keep that image frozen forever, because it felt safer, simpler—a version of you that still needed him more than anyone else.

Maybe you still needed him more than anyone else.

All he could hope was that you hadn’t forgotten about him, because he hadn’t spent a single moment without carrying you in his thoughts.

Daryl was definitely not prepared for this.

He had parked in front of your house less than five minutes ago. It took him a few seconds to get off the bike because he was sweaty and hot, and the last thing he wanted was to greet Rick smelling like that, especially if he knew he was about to get pulled into a hug.

Even more so if you were going to come running and throw yourself into his arms the way you always did.

So he needed to compose himself a little. Wipe away some drops of sweat on his face, or finally get rid of that fucking thick leather jacket he was wearing because it wasn't helping at all to refresh him.

Meanwhile, he stared around the place. The house looked the same —white, cosy and familiar—except for some new flowers out front that Lori probably planted. Daryl chuckled under his breath, remembering how Rick always said he didn’t have a green thumb for shit.

Damn, it has been a long time.

He kicked the stand down and got off the bike, taking a deep breath to finally head to the front door of your home and ring the bell.

1…

2…

3…

And nothing.

He rang the bell again and waited for a few seconds.

1…

2…

3…

…

Still nothing.

He sighed and turned around, thinking no one was home—that’s what he gets for arriving unannounced. Well, he had indeed said that he’d return in the following days, though he didn’t mention when.

At least he tried. That has to count for something, right?

And just when he was about to leave, the front door creaked open behind him.

At first he thought he was at the wrong house —maybe you had finally moved in while he was gone, which would make sense, since Lori always complained about how much she disliked this county and its residents— because there's no way in hell this tall, stunning, gorgeous woman is-

“Daryl?” Your sweet voice came out in a surprised gasp as your eyes widened in shock, as if you’d just seen a ghost. Well, maybe you had.

Oh, yes. Yes she is.

The moment you said his name, his throat went dry. Oh God, help him. Because the way your lips moved in that soft, hypnotic pattern to pronounce his name out loud was almost sinful.

What the fuck happened?

You’re standing there, all sweet and pretty, wearing a tiny, tight white tank top that hugs perfectly the swell of your chest, and low-rise flared jeans that show off your hips in ways that should be illegal. Your hair’s down, wild and soft, and there's a faint sheen on your skin like you just stepped out of the heat.

He can’t breath.

And when you finally seem to snap out of your shock and beam at him so wide and bright —like a kid on Christmas morning— the realization hits him in the chest like a truck.

You’re still that sweet little baby girl who used to demand cuddles all the time and ask with the sweetest voice to be picked up and spun around by him. Just… all grown the fuck up.

“Oh, Daryl! Is that really you?!” Your syrupy voice echoed in his ears like a siren’s song as you practically threw yourself into his arms, wrapping yours around his neck and pressing up tight to his ribs.

Jesus Christ… Now you’ve grown soft in places you weren’t before, and your chest feels so full and warm against him that he fears he’s going to pass out. Every curve fits perfectly against his hard chest, and it’s driving him insane.

He can smell your sweet perfume mixed with summer heat, and it shoots a flicker of something straight to his gut.

“Uh...” his mouth opens to say something, but nothing comes out. He just stands there frozen, his arms holding your waist loosely and awkwardly.

The fuck is he doing?

“God... I fucking missed you so much!”

Um... since when do you curse?

He quickly takes a step back to create some distance, though his hands remain on your waist to avoid making you think he’s rejecting you.

“Yeah, ya too, sweetheart. Yer… fuck. Look at ya…” he rasps almost breathlessly, swallowing hard as his eyes roam over your face and body. You’re still looking at him with that excited smile, but your face no longer carries the babyish softness he remembers so vividly.

Those chubby cheeks are gone, replaced by high cheekbones and a blush so cute it makes his heart hammer violently against his ribcage. Your lips, which used to be stained with strawberry juice, are now glossed in a soft baby pink.

“At what moment did my sugarbean turn into... that?” the question slipped out before he could stop it.

And you giggle —the same damn giggle that used to make him melt, now doing dangerous things to his lower belly— as you take a step forward.

He instantly takes one back.

His hands are still gripping your waist tightly, and when he realizes he hasn’t let go, he forces himself to, desperate to keep his mind from literally combusting.

“Well… You missed all the way there, Daryl. It’s not my fault you didn’t get to see me bloom into a pretty flower.” you winked.

His pants suddenly felt way too tight for his own comfort.

And he hated himself for it.

He opened his mouth to say something —maybe a smart remark, maybe a warning— but all that came out is a strangled, “Shit…”

His hands twitched at his sides, as if they wanted to grab you again. But he shoved them into his pockets instead, trying to hide the way they were shaking.

“Bloom, huh?” he finally managed to rasp out, voice low and rough. His eyes flicked up and down your figure like he can’t help himself, tracing every curve, every new softness. “Yeah… ya sure did.”

You giggled again, tilting your head playfully. “Don’t act so surprised… You always told me I’d grow into a heartbreaker someday.”

Fuck. He does remember saying that, in some hazy summer long ago, when you ran around in the yard with messy pigtails and sticky hands from ice pops. You’d grinned up at him, baby teeth showing, and he’d ruffled your hair and joked, “One day, princess, you’re gonna break hearts left and right.”

Now, you’re standing here in front of him, all soft hips and pink lips, breaking his in ways he doesn’t even understand yet.

“Yeah… guess I did,” he muttered, eyes dropping to the ground as if it’ll save him.

“Daryl?” Your voice snaps him out of it again. You step a little closer, eyes glinting mischievously as you lightly touch his forearm. He jolts under your fingers like you just shocked him.

You lean in, voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper. “Relax… I don’t bite.” You pause, smirk curling at the corner of your glossed lips. “Unless you ask me to.”

He stops breathing. Literally stops. His heart slams so hard against his ribs it almost hurts.

What the actual fuck.

You straighten up, still grinning like the sweetest little devil. “C’mon… it’s too hot to stand out here, and you probably wanna come inside to… refresh yourself, don’t you?”

He fumbles for words, mind short-circuiting. He wants to spit out some pathetic excuse, something like “Actually, gotta head back to the road, think Merle needs sumthin’” —maybe never come back here again, maybe even move to another damn country— but before he can even open his mouth, you’re already turning around, stepping inside.

And when you turn, his eyes drop helplessly.

They land on the curve of your ass in those low-rise jeans.

Juicy. Plump. Soft. Bouncing slightly with every step.

His throat closes up, and something dark and heavy pools in his gut, sliding lower until his cock twitches painfully in his jeans.

Jesus Christ.

He curses under his breath, so low you don’t hear. His fingers curl into fists inside his pockets, nails biting into his palms as he fights the urge to grab you, to pull you back, to take you in his arms, shove those pants down and get his way with—

Oh, he’s so, so fucked.

So fucking fucked.

a/n: finally came back! 😭 i'm so sorry, college keeps me so busy. but now I've got plenty of free time, so I'll start working with lots of ideas and fics. 🥳

hope u liked this! i really enjoyed writing it, and maybe if you ask me, i can do a second part. 👀

pd: I'm sorry if there are any grammatical or spelling errors. english isn't my mother language, and even though i'm at an advanced level, i still make some mistakes. 🥺

dividers : by me ‹𝟹

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