#and a stolen flannel

[apnourry]

just wholesome girls night vibes🖤

[pjocharacterdesign]

was musing over babby Will Solace thoughts

[selamat-linting]

yesterday i wasnt even trying to pass when i go out for a walk and i got called sir 😎 lets fucking goooooo

[fuckedprophet-arch]

…

[macfrog]

homesick

a cowboy like me one shot

oh, i missed these two. here's a little check-in on my favorite morally irresponsible outlaws.

pairing: dbf!joel miller x fem!reader

summary: you spend the weekend back home in austin with joel.

warnings: age gap (early 20s/late 40s), twinge of angst, piv sex in the shower (beware of slippage). you know the drill with these two. part of the cowboy like me universe, but can probably be enjoyed as a standalone.

word count: 6.3k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 🧡

“This is Joel Miller. I can’t come to the phone right now, so leave a message and I’ll get back to ya.”

You wait for the beep, pacing along a wall of steel cylinders. The laundromat is stifling, the machines’ drumming deafening. It’s eighty-something degrees out, and it’s only six o’clock.

“Pick up, Miller. Hello? Hello? I know you’re there. Can’t come to the –” you clear your throat, strum the twang in your vocal cords, “– Can’t come to the ph-owww-ne right n–”

The line clicks as he picks the handset up.

“Did you call just to make fun of me, kid?”

You halt, spinning on your heel. “So you were screening me?”

He scoffs. “Didn’t notice the time. I’ve been out back with Tommy.”

“Oh,” you mellow, tongue curling around your ice cream, “We don’t have to call right now, you know. I’m just doing laundry.”

“It is six there, right?”

“Yeah, but don’t let me keep you. Go hang with your brother.”

Joel sighs as he sinks back into his couch. “Keep me. He knows you were calling tonight. He’s probably outside fraternizing with the neighbor, anyway. Won’t even notice I’m gone. Laundry, huh?”

“Mhm.” You suckle on the lip of the waffle cone. “It’s a beautiful night, and I’m stuck being force-fed Mötley Crüe and watching a steel drum shred my panties.”

“Sounds like a good time to me.”

“Enough, cowboy.”

“I like Mötley Crüe,” he chuckles. “They got some hits under their belt.”

“Name five.”

“Five,” he says. “You’re asking a lot there, darlin’.”

“Of Mötley Crüe or of your memory, old man?”

Joel hums. “Should’ve seen that one coming, baby.”

You boost yourself up onto one of the dryers, swinging your legs. If there were anyone else in the laundromat, you’d care to hide your fluster – but you’re here on your own, and the man just melts you. All girlish and giggly, you feel his words swirl around your stomach like sweet honey.

“Tell me about your day,” you say, covering the flutter in your voice with another mouthful of ice cream.

“Well,” Joel says, “weather’s fine, work’s fine. Almost done with that renovation for your favorite clients.”

You gasp. “The old couple with the cats?”

He grumbles. “That’s them. They still hate me, by the way.”

“The couple, or the cats?”

“…Jury’s out.”

You snicker.

“Then, uh, I called Sarah, had some dinner, and now here I am talkin’ to you.”

“Hm. I’m your favorite part, right? I’m your favorite part of today?”

Joel pauses, breathing for a moment. Slow, quiet, but sure, he says: “You’re my favorite part of every day.”

The smile on your face cracks, crumbles into something more pained. Your heart sinks.

It’s been three months since you were last home. Technically, it’s been seven weeks since you were in Austin – but Joel was out of town for the weekend, and you spent four days cleaning your dad’s gutter and watching westerns.

It’s been three months since you were last in Joel’s arms. In his house, in his clothes, in his bed. Three months since you heard his voice not through the crackle of a thousand miles apart; since you smelled him on your skin, not on the flannels you’ve stolen from him.

Three long, tough months.

And it means nothing, anyway. All this missing each other. So you tell yourselves, and so you tell everyone else. You’re not together, you’re not committed. You’ve been seeing other people, so has Joel – even if he’s only been on two dates in the nine months since you moved away.

Spending a casual weekend together here and there is enough to get you by. It’s easier this way, right? It’s cleaner. There are no crossed wires, no strings at risk of becoming tangled.

Only – your entire relationship is woven in tangled strings. Messy, knotted, twisted around your fingers and threaded through your ribs. A summer’s worth of weaving yourselves closer and closer together, only to be pulled apart come fall.

It didn’t take long to prove that when a knot is pulled, it only binds tighter.

It only binds sorer.

“Anyway,” Joel says, “your turn. How was your day?”

You gulp, slipping down from the dryer to check on your wash. If you speak, you’ll break, and if you break, you’ll sob.

“Baby? You still there?”

“Yep,” you croak. You wipe your eyes with your sleeve and shake your head. “I – uh…Yeah, my day was fine.”

The line quietens.

“You sure? Everything okay at work?”

Your reflection blinks back at you in the window of the machine, warped and molten. She opens her mouth and replies, “All good.”

He can read you even three states apart. “Let me call you back. Hold on.”

The call disconnects before you can protest. Over your shoulder, another regular shuffles into the laundromat.

She smiles, skin supple and sun-spotted, looking but not looking you in the eye. She slides her full basket over one of the machines on the other side of the room, and tosses her clothes into the drum.

When your phone vibrates again, you pass by her and out onto the street.

Joel’s pixelated living room stretches across your screen.

“Joel,” you sniff, “Joel, it’s –”

“Can you see me?”

“No, you gotta flip your –”

“…never know why the damn thing don’t –”

“The button with the arrows. The camera button, Joel, it’s –”

His coffee table flips, and in place – straight, dark brows drawn tight in a frown. Crows feet, scar across the bridge of his nose. Peppered hair a little longer than the last time you called, beard a little thicker.

The only person in the world who can weaken your knees and splinter your chest, in one fleeting glance.

“Hi, baby girl,” he whispers, expression softening. “Look at you.”

You slump against the warm wall, sliding down. One sight of him, and your knees give. “Oh, my God, I miss you today.”

Joel laughs. His head cocks, smirk tugging at his lips. “I miss you every day.”

“Yeah, that’s – that’s what I…” you sigh, “…That’s what I meant. It’s just – some days, you feel a little further away.”

“Today one of those days?”

You nod. A car soars by, whipping hot air from the road which pours over your bare legs. “It’s just…been a day. That’s all.”

“We can talk about it, if you want. You’re hell of a lot smarter than me, darlin’, but I’ve had my share of bad days before. Never does any harm to get it off your chest.”

He smiles. It breaks your heart.

He works ten hours straight, some days. Out at the crack of dawn, home with only enough time and energy to nuke something in the microwave. Somewhere amongst that, he fits in beers with Tommy and ridiculous DIY jobs your dad elicits his help for.

And still – he sets aside an hour or two every few nights, specially for you. He collapses into his couch, decaf in his mug, and puts the world to rights with you on the other end of the phone.

The meaningless work dramas, the paper building up on your desk. The commute, for the love of God – the traffic jams you swear will one day be the death of you. The last thing Joel needs is to listen to your problems on end, and you tell him so.

“Bullshit,” he replies. He shakes his head, takes a sip of his beer. “I asked, didn’t I? Talk to me. Tell me what’s goin’ on.”

You groan. “I just…I wish I could turn my brain off. Just for a little while. No meetings, no call times. No helping my dad trim the trees in the yard when I’m home for the weekend.”

He laughs. “He rope you into that one too, huh?”

“Sure did.” You tense your fist, wince at the memory of splinters you were still plucking from your palm even weeks later.

“I got nothing to complain about,” you tell Joel, “I know that. This job is…it’s right where I want to be. Just – sometimes, I miss being back in Austin, following you around Costco and hiding from my dad. It’s like life was simpler then.”

Joel chokes. “I guarantee you,” he coughs, thumping his chest clear of beer, “life was not simpler. Not by a long shot. Goddamn.”

He swings to his feet and wanders across the room to his kitchen. Past his armchair, past the guitar mounted on the wall. Past the dining chair he always hangs his coat from. You know the anatomy of his home better than your own, it feels like.

You sure as hell miss it more than your own.

“Lemme see…” Joel squints over his phone. He leans over his kitchen counter. “What’s next weekend look like for you?”

You shrug. “My weekend off.”

“Nothing planned?”

“Nothing yet.”

He nods. “I’m meeting a supplier on Saturday afternoon, but if you can stand to be without me for a few hours, then…”

His eyebrows lift.

So do yours. “Then…?”

“I can look at flights,” Joel says, “get you booked tonight. Pick you up Friday, drop you off Sunday. Spend the whole weekend with your brain shut off, if that’s what you’re lookin’ for.”

A wave of warmth floods through your chest. Relief, maybe – or simple adoration for the man on the other end of the phone. Most likely, the way it always seems with Joel, it’s both at once.

He loves you. Enough to break every rule in the book. To go behind his best friend’s back for an entire summer. He loves you enough to let you go, watch you follow your wildest dreams, and then be the safety net at the end of each long day, each hard night.

He loves you enough to scratch everything off his calendar for a few days, just to make sure you’re okay. Just to hold you in his arms, heart beating a rhythm he knows better than his own. Just to sing you to sleep, and wake you up with burnt toast and runny eggs.

You pull the collar of your shirt over your nose and weep into the material. “I ever tell you how much I love you?”

He smiles. “Not half as much as I love you.”

“Gross.”

“I know.”

The laundromat door flings open.

Face now flushed and hair scraped back, the woman clocks you immediately and throws a pointed finger in your direction. “Are you coming to get your panties or what, little girl?”

She clicks her teeth and disappears again. The blind hanging over the door rattles with the force it slams closed.

“Guess that’s my cue,” you whisper, heaving to your feet. “Better go get my panties.”

“Why?” Joel’s making his way back outside. “Ain’t like you’re gonna need ‘em.”

You scoff. “Talk later, cowboy.”

Austin welcomes you back with a delayed flight, a screaming seatmate, and a raging headache.

The airport is busy. Loud busy. All chittering couples, hordes of kids with nauseatingly bright backpacks. You drag your suitcase through to arrivals, careful not to trip over the wheels of the stroller ahead.

When you spot his tall, dark figure weaving between bodies, the gate hushes. You move towards him by instinct, parting the crowd as you go. The magnet in your chest senses its partner drawing nearer, and nearer, and nearer.

And nearer, until he’s reaching out. He’s close enough that his hands land on your waist, and it’s the first time in three months that you’ve felt this weight – his weight, the way only he feels – all around you.

Joel pulls you in to his chest. He locks you in, resting his chin on your head.

“Hi, honey.”

You inhale his scent, breathe in the comfort of him. “Hi,” you exhale.

Tears prickle at your eyes. It feels stupid. He looks down at you, thumb swiping across your cheek, and a salty droplet spills.

“How was the flight?” he asks.

“Good.”

“You okay?”

“Perfect, now.”

“You look perfect,” Joel grins, “Look like the sun.”

And you could swat him away, could shrug him and his flirting off. The sun sure as hell doesn’t look stewed in three-hour plane, too tired to move and too clingy to unhook from her dad’s best friend’s arm.

But that’s not what he’s saying, is it?

You do look different. You feel different. You feel brand new. Golden – just like the sun.

These days, it feels like there are two versions of you. One, you’ve spent the better part of a year polishing off – electric and vibrant, eyes wide and head spinning, moving through her day like gliding on air and then collapsing in a heap come nightfall. Chaos with a clipboard and call sheet.

And the other – slower. Steadier. Surer on her feet, simpler in her ways. Dust under her heels and a Texan shine in her smile. Honeylike; moving where her body tells her to go, drinking up the world as she pleases.

There’s a moment, stood under the fluorescent lights of the terminal, where you feel the first give way to the second. Safe now, in Joel’s arms, to slip back into her old, worn boots and shutter her mind – even just for this weekend.

“Come on,” he whispers, wrapping his hand around yours. “Let’s get you home.”

And there never seemed like a better idea than that.

He keeps your things in his shower caddy.

Bottom basket, strictly yours. Shampoo and conditioner and bodywash and a loofah, all exactly where you left them last time you were here. He says it as he cranks the handle, holds his palm under the flow until it’s just right.

“The strawberry stuff…?” Joel nods to the bottle, face screwed.

You gasp. “You don’t like it?”

He shakes his head. “Like it on you. I smelled like a fruit farm for a week, baby.”

“Makes a change from wood trimmings,” you mutter, peeling the shirt from your chest.

Joel glares over his shoulder. “You wanna say that a little louder?”

“No, sir,” you whisper, and step into the cubicle.

The water pours over your head and down your spine, breathing life back into your body. You close your eyes and let it wash down your face. LA feels so distant, so lost to the steam and serenity in Joel’s ensuite.

He lingers in the doorway, watching as you turn under the shower. He smiles when you hold your hand out and flick your fingers.

“Soap, please.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, dropping it in your palm.

You slip the velvety bar over your skin. The soap lathers in thick, milky bubbles, cascading over your chest down to your hips. Your hands lift from your navel to cup your breasts, pinching your nipples between soft fingers.

Joel’s jaw ticks. He crosses his arms, shoulders tensing. “Easy, darlin’. Dancing with the devil here.”

It burns low in your stomach.

You pass him the bar back. “Maybe I want to dance,” you murmur. “Maybe he does, too.”

His eyebrows lift. “Maybe he does,” he agrees. He trades the soap for shampoo, tapping the bottle against your hip.

The heat grows under your skin. Having him watch, his close eye on you as you wash the suds from your hair and slick bodywash over your skin.

His eyes drift from your chest to your waist, looping up to your soaked eyelashes and dripping bottom lip, diving again between your legs.

Hungry. Starved, even.

Three months of secret photos and sexy phone calls to get you both by. Three months of imagining you, fist around his cock in the dead of night, coating his stomach just with the thought of you.

And right here, right now, in his shower: the real thing. The forbidden fruit. Body hot and skin soaked, just as desperate as he is. Just as needy.

You step forward, reaching for his shoulders. Arms around his neck, dampening the collar of his shirt, you pull him closer.

“Dance with me,” you whisper against his lips, stealing a kiss.

Joel’s gaze darkens. He takes your jaw and tilts your head back. Voice like thunder rolling over you, he warns, “I told someone we’d be somewhere.”

You smile, tugging on the hem of his shirt. “We’re running late. Something’s come up.”

His arms lift and you pull the cotton over his head, tossing it to the floor. He’s the same solid sculpture as always. Strong and wide, torso scattered with hair which thickens across the span of his chest.

He rids himself of his boots and jeans, kicks his underwear off, and joins you under the water. So big that he corners you, so tall that he has to adjust the showerhead.

Pressed up against your body; warm, manly scent raining over you. He’s hard, tucked right by your hip, rutting gently as he steals kiss after kiss.

He’s addicted to it. To you. Has been ever since that first night, the first taste of poison. Has been, probably, since that first glimpse of you last summer. For all the wrong reasons and in all the wrong ways, for better or worse –

You break him open. You make him weak.

Joel groans when you wrap your hand around him. That familiar weight in your grasp. He glances down to watch your slow strokes, fighting back a filthy smile.

“Missed you,” he breathes, voice lost to the patter of the shower. He slips a hand between your legs. “Ain’t gonna last long, are you?”

“Fuck,” you hiss, grinding into his palm. You toy with his bottom lip, nipping at the edges of his smirk. “We got all weekend. Just – just fuck me.”

He hikes your leg over his hip and lines up. A blooming ache when he notches at your hole, tip teasing your entrance.

Your back curls. You wrap your arms around Joel’s neck, whimpering into his chest.

“’s alright,” he kisses your neck, “Just take it nice ‘n slow. Get her used to me again, baby.”

He pushes inside, two heavy hands on your waist. Always in control, always easing you in. He holds you delicately, moving inch by inch, watching the twist of your brow and bite of your lip before sinking in further.

He reaches up and tilts the downpour to the wall. Lifts your fragile body, split in two on his cock, and pushes you against the tile.

Your cunt aches as he slides out. She clamps around his tip. It hurts – but you don’t want to let him go.

“Stay,” you cry, nails digging into his shoulders. “Stay inside me.”

He hums and presses his lips to the hinge of your jaw. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere, baby. I’m right here.”

His hips move forward. Your cunt opens for him the deeper he moves. Like welcoming him home, remembering the way it feels to be this full. The stretch of taking him, the air stolen from your lungs. The love you can never find the beginning nor the end of.

And then he’s moving quicker, sharper, one arm wrapped around your neck to cradle your head. Hips snapping against yours, slowing to a roll when you yelp.

Whispering sweet nothings in your ear – how good you’re taking him, how tight she is. How much he’s missed this, missed her, missed you. Never wants to let you go, never wants to be anywhere except right here, feeding you his cock and watching you come undone.

“Made for me, huh?” Joel grunts. He presses his forehead to yours and slips the words across your tongue. “All mine.”

“All yours,” you echo, weeping under him. The flame catches and curls around your stomach.

The missing piece to the last nine months. The dead-end dates, the hazy hookups. Awkward good mornings, and goodbyes that never seem to come quick enough. Sneaking off home to shower the scent of it away, to replace it with something sweeter.

Him.

Because none of them are him.

They don’t make you laugh and they don’t make you come. They don’t see you, don’t hang on your every word. They don’t – they can’t break your world apart and paint it something new. They don’t know your every move, don’t understand the most fleeting glances.

You could spend forever circling every bar and every diner; what do you do for work and where did you grow up. You could chase the tail of every flannel shirt, search all over for that twinkle in his eye.

They’re not him. They’ll never be him.

Joel coaxes you where he needs you. He fucks you until you’re quivering in his arms, head rolling across his shoulder. His thrusts begin to stall, breathing turns to panting, teeth sink into any part of your skin he can find.

He moans into your neck. The sound nudges you towards the edge.

“I’m close, baby,” he grits, “’m so close.”

You look up at him through tear-soaked eyes.

Three months. Since the last time he touched you, kissed you, fucked you like this. Since the last time he lost control, came deeper inside than anyone before, or anyone since.

Three months since the last time you held him in your hands, lined your lips with his, and begged him to stay in you.

Joel laughs. “Dangerous little game, darlin’.”

But he’s fading. He’s falling under, same as you are.

You want it. You need it. Need to be full of him – that ache when you walk, the warmth leaking down the inseam of your thighs. The feeling of being his, all his; ruined and wrecked in the sweetest way.

“Stay – inside,” you plead. “I want you to – want it so bad.”

“Keep begging, honey. Sound so cute when you’re desperate.”

“Please, Joel,” it’s getting harder to hold, “Just wanna feel you in me –”

“I know, I know,” he shushes.

You tense in his arms, gasping. “I’m gonna – come –”

“So,” Joel smirks, “come.”

And it snaps.

You scream into his chest. Your climax pulls you under, drowns you in a heavy wave of pleasure. Your hips lock, legs clamp around his waist as you cry out.

He plants a hand flat against the tile to steady himself. He holds you still as his own orgasm rolls through, pumping your swollen cunt with each rush of warm release.

You collapse against his body, bubbling and mumbling something incoherent.

He hears you, though.

He shuts the water off and rocks you back and forth. His cock slips from between your legs. “Shh, shh,” lips to your temple, “’s my girl. Such a good girl, baby. So good for me.”

You hum in response and pull yourself upright. You trace the shape of his beard, soaking wet and soft under your touch, following the droplets of water to his chin.

He kisses the tips of your fingers. “I love you,” he says. Chants it like a prayer, leaning closer and closer until his lips are against yours. “Love you more ‘n anything.”

You giggle. “You’re tickling me.”

Joel nuzzles his nose into your neck. He wriggles his fingers under your ribcage. “Can’t get enough of you,” his tongue swipes across your hot skin, “Swear to God, baby, you’re killing me.”

“Joel,” your head falls back with a clap of laughter, “Joel, stop – oh, my God, you have to stop, please – Joel!”

He hoists you onto his hips and turns. Hands still exploring, still pinching and squeezing everywhere they shouldn’t be, he carries you out to his bedroom and drops you onto the mattress.

“Here,” he chuckles, wrapping a towel around your body. He knots it over your chest and rubs your waist, before flopping down onto the bed with a sigh.

You roll over on top of him and fix the dripping hair from his forehead. “Missed you,” you whisper, trailing kisses along his collarbone.

He smiles. His heart flutters beneath yours. “Missed you more,” he says.

His semen drips between your legs. He’s softening against the inside of your thigh. The bed is soaked, sheets that’ll need changed before you sleep tonight. You’re tired, spent, pussy throbbing from the loss of him – and it’s all so perfect.

Being here, with him. Seeing him, feeling him on your body. In your body, for crying out loud. Holding him, kissing him, loving him up close.

It’s fucking perfect.

“What are we running late for?” you ask.

Joel’s eyes flutter open. He cocks his head, frowning.

“You said we had somewhere to be,” you clarify.

“Oh,” he winces, “Uh, your dad’s. He’s havin’ us for dinner.”

“Oh,” you echo. “When is he expecting –?”

He glances at the clock. “Half hour ago.”

“Nice.” You push yourself up, slipping from his grasp. “Well, this is about to be awkward.”

Joel folds his arms behind his head. He tracks your flurried movements: lugging your bag across the floor, tearing through it for an outfit that doesn’t scream, Your best friend just fucked me senseless in his shower.

When you straighten and lift your arms, eyes wide, his lips turn.

“You said you wanted to dance, baby. I was just following orders.”

The sun filters through the leaves, breathing back and forth with the sway of the trees.

You’re horizontal in a deckchair, feet in Joel’s lap, blanket around your shoulders. Full on burgers and baseball talk; if it weren’t for your dad’s riveting conversation about his new lawnmower, you’d probably be asleep.

“Ride-on,” he tells Joel, nodding. It makes gardening a real thrill, apparently. He flicks a hand over the span of the yard. “Whole thing done in less than twenty minutes. Hank says he’s half a mind to make an investment himself.”

Joel purses his lips. He strokes your ankles soothingly. “Sounds like a good buy,” he placates.

Your dad drums on his armrests, admiring his yard some more. He mumbles something about raking the leaves, painting the fence, then – with a vigor that makes you jump, he taps your arm.

“How’s work, kiddo? Still rockin’ ‘n rollin’?”

Your eyes flash across Joel’s. The hell does that even mean?

The corner of his lip twitches. Your guess is as good as mine.

“Yep,” you lie. “Living the dream, Dad.”

Joel says nothing. He hasn’t told your dad why you came home – hasn’t even mentioned the tears outside the laundromat. Your secret is safe with him, you know that. Some puzzles are easier to figure out, the less eyes that are on them.

He hasn’t even brought it up with you yet. Granted, you’ve been home all of four hours, and a solid quarter of that time has been spent naked with him back at his place – but he’s waiting for you to make the first move.

This weekend doesn’t have to be about work. Hell, it doesn’t even have to be about you feeling homesick. It can be as simple as you hadn’t seen your dad for a few weeks, or you heard the news about the damn lawnmower and just had to pay a visit.

It’s what you’ve always loved so much about Joel. It’s what reeled you into him in the first place.

He just lets you be. No questions, no pressure, no worries. He knows you’ll figure it out – you always do. And if he knows that, then it makes you believe in it, too.

Dad sinks back into his chair with a sigh. “What’s on the cards this weekend, then?”

“Joel’s down San Antonio way tomorrow,” you yawn, “Some supplier meeting.”

“You don’t feel like a road trip?”

Your eyes roll to Joel. He’s already staring back. You cock an eyebrow, smirking into your glass.

His shoulder rolls in a shrug. “Your call, chief,” he says, tipping his drink to you.

The minute he mentioned the meeting last week, you knew you’d be tagging along. Two hours each way and an hour in between is too big a chunk of your weekend together to miss out on.

That – and you’ve missed Joel’s front-seat singing.

It doesn’t matter what you planned on doing – rolling around his bed for three days straight, driving to San Antonio and back. Hell, trimming your dad’s trees and cleaning his guttering.

As long as you’re doing it with Joel, it’s enough.

It’s what you came home for in the first place.

The drive passes quickly enough. Joel’s truck doesn’t have Bluetooth, and he only keeps three discs in his glove compartment: Don McLean’s American Pie, a Guitar Classics compilation album, and a blank disc with SARAH MILLER, SECOND GRADE scrawled in Sharpie.

He whips it from your hands when you fish it out of the compartment.

“Listen, listen to this,” Joel says, slotting it in the tray. “Found it a couple weeks ago. I listen to it when I’m drivin’ to work.”

Her squeaky, seven-year-old voice punches through the cabin. “Welcome to my presentation –” she roars into the mic, pausing when a voice picks up in the background. “Huh?” Sarah asks.

“You’re holdin’ the mic too close,” Joel murmurs, almost fourteen years younger. “Farther. Farther,” he says, and then – “Alright. Go.”

“Welcome to my presentation on Amelia E-Earhart,” she resumes, clearing her throat. “She…Oh, Daddy, we gotta restart. I forgot to tell ‘em my name.”

Joel covers his laughter with his fist, reciting it line for line. “Tommy said he’s gonna make her a copy for her birthday,” he says.

“Oh, my God. She’s gonna hate you guys, you know that, right?”

He nods. “I’m countin’ on it.”

Sarah rounds off a few facts about twentieth century air travel before Joel swaps her for the radio. He hands you the disc and you place it safely back in the glove compartment.

You curl up in the passenger seat, swinging your legs over to his lap.

He rubs your calves and glances over, smiling. “You okay over there?”

“I’m more tired than I was when I landed,” you reply, and he laughs.

You haven’t had much of a chance to catch up on sleep. The second you made it home last night, your dress was on the floor at the foot of Joel’s bed. He woke you this morning with his lips on your thighs, your underwear around your ankles.

He was midway through cooking breakfast when you floated into the kitchen to return the favor. The toast burned, the eggs shriveled to a crisp, and your knees bruised.

Fuck it, right? You’ll miss him when you’re gone. When all that’s left are the memories, and the sound of his climax through speakerphone.

An afternoon spent on the road is good recovery time, then, for all that’s waiting for you when you make it back to Joel’s tonight.

A few off-key covers of fifty number ones from the last fifty years later, you’re pulling into a barren lot headered by a beige trailer. The supplier springs out – a beefy guy with a full head of thick, white hair. He crosses the lot as Joel parks up.

Joel rounds the truck, pausing when he spots you lingering at the tailgate. He curves a hand around your neck, thumb circling over your pulse point. “You comin’?”

You twist the hem of your tee around your finger. “Maybe I’ll stay out here and wait. It’s a nice night, and you ain’t gonna be too long, right?”

He shakes his head. “Be as fast as I can. If it gets dark out, you come inside, alright?”

You shuffle into his embrace. “Promise.”

He kisses your head and steps back. “Here,” he slips the flannel from his shoulders, “If you’re sittin’ out. Got my phone if you need me.”

He disappears inside and the door falls closed. A cluster of moths twirls around the light on the trailer’s side. You hop up on the bed of the truck, crossing Joel’s shirt around your frame, and nestle against the back window.

The sun pulls down towards the horizon, sending dregs of daytime in ripples to the stars. She’s still alight just beyond the trees, still burning a hole in the sky. She winks at you from a distance.

The world looks different from Austin. Bigger, like the view from your bedroom window. There’s always more, just beyond the horizon. There has to be more, right? More than four pink walls and a chest of drawers. More than Sal’s store, more than Rita’s cross stitch.

You chased that more halfway across the country – only to realize it was in your hands the whole time.

Him and his lazy smile, sarcasm as thick as the accent he speaks it in. Rolled up sleeves and messy collar; a half-empty cup of coffee and a cracked watch face.

He’s all the more you could ever need.

You’re still perched on the tailgate, staring skyward, when Joel finishes up.

He swaggers across the lot, tan arms speckled with dry dirt, boots kicking up dust. He tosses a fistful of papers in the front seat, then drifts around to settle between your knees.

“Hi,” he whispers, tucking his nose under your jaw.

“Hi.”

He plants his hands either side of your hips and kisses your neck. “Home time, sweet girl.”

You glance over your shoulder.

This time tomorrow, you’ll be on your flight back. Row twelve, seat C. Joel’s flannel over your shoulders, slowly forgetting the scent of him, mile by mile. You’ll sleep with it tucked under your chin until it no longer smells like oak or pine, or the mint bodywash he uses.

You’ll miss it the way you’ll miss him. Holding onto every last moment. Deep morning voice, warm, safe embrace. The rumble of a laugh in his chest, the glimmer or mischief in his eye. The touches he saves just for you; the words he whispers when the lights turn out.

You wrap your arms around his neck.

“Can we go watch the sunset somewhere?”

Joel glances off behind you. His eyes flit back to yours, sunlight catching their ochre and setting him ablaze.

“Get in,” he pulls you down, “I know just the spot.”

It’s almost dusk by the time you reach the outlook.

A twisty dirt road which opens up between some trees, halfway out of the city. Joel reverses the truck and parks in the clearing. The two of you slide onto the tailgate, sharing a bag of fruit gums he had stored alongside Sarah’s CD.

The stars turn one by one, dotted across deep indigo. The last of the day’s blush still lingers where the city meets the sky. Tucked between trees and twilight, it feels as though you’re the only two in the world.

Joel holds the bag out, and you pinch a couple pieces of candy. “How you feelin’?” he asks, looking out to the skyline.

“Okay, I guess,” you mutter. “This has been a nice reset. I wish I could take you back with me.”

Joel laughs. “I don’t.”

“No?” you suckle on the sweet fruit, “I think you’d fit right in.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” He shakes his head, pinching your chin. “Naw, LA is yours. It’s something you did, all by yourself. I am so proud of you, honey, do you know that? I mean, I miss you like hell, I really do…”

He glances back down, rustling the bag in his hands. He’s hiding, you know him well enough. Staring at his lap instead of in your eye. When he looks back up, there’s a glimmer along his waterline.

“…But the way I feel any time you call, and I know…I know you’re out there doin’ something you actually give a shit about. You ain’t stuck here, too big for your own bedroom, too comfortable for anywhere else.”

He slips a hand over your knee and squeezes.

It’s infuriating, how right he always is. You’re working your fucking ass off, and for good reason. Austin was always too small for the world inside your head. Missing each other is a price you’re both willing to pay, for the luxury of not missing out on every dream you’ve ever had.

But –

“What if it keeps getting harder?” you sniff, “What if I need you more?”

Joel clicks his teeth. “’s always gonna get harder. That’s life, darlin’. But the hard times won’t last forever. And when it feels real tough, and you feel like you can’t do it no more, you call me. You jump on the next flight. You switch your brain off, and you let me take care of you for a little while.”

You shake your head. Tears break loose, rolling down your cheeks. “I can’t ask that of you, Joel, you got your own shit to worry about –”

“Baby.” He sighs. “I’m old. I’ve done everything I think I oughta do. You know, the days I know you’re gonna be callin’ at eight o’clock – it’s all I can think about. I’m at work checking my watch every five minutes.”

You giggle, turning into the crook of his arm.

“It’s true,” Joel snickers, “I’m like a goddamn teenager. That’s what you do to me.”

He catches you and pulls you against his chest.

“What I’m saying is – there ain’t nothing that matters more to me in the world than you. My own shit to worry about? You mean – you?”

“Shut up,” you scoff, spitting tears into his shirt.

“You call,” he says, resolute, “and I’ll be there.”

“I’m calling,” you whisper. “I’m always calling.”

“Then I’m always here.”

You sit back, bracing yourself on Joel’s thighs. He wipes the wet from your cheeks and fixes his shirt over your shoulders.

“You know, one day,” you tell him, “you’re gonna get a call, and it’s not just gonna be for the weekend.”

He smiles. “I know.”

“One day, I’m gonna come home forever, Joel.”

“I know,” he repeats. “And I’ll be on the front porch waitin’.”

[bunnyinvanilla]

Sugar daddy!price x fem!reader (bar owner series)

🎂 warnings: suggestive at the end, minors dni please, laaaarge age gap (price is in his 40s and reader is 21) <3

if price found out you haven’t been eating since breakfast this morning and are currently starving, he’d be mad. Not at you, but for you. so, like a sweet, good little girl that wished not to burden him with concern, you rush behind the counter, to the back storage room next to his office — a quick snack, that’s what you’re going to indulge into.

your hands carefully dig into your backpack, and as you take out the piece of strawberry shortcake you bought on the way back from college, you make a little hop on the spot — barely able to contain excitement.

your fingers work hastily to remove the paper and plastic from the box, and the scent of sweet, sugary whipped cream and strawberries fill your nose. You smile to yourself as you gather some whipped cream with your finger and bring it your lips.

you scarcely contain a silent moan when the sugar melts in your mouth like a cloud of sweetness, as if heaven itself decided to reveal its secrets.

“gosh it’s so good” you murmur, bringing another whitened finger to your lips, mouth already half filled with the previous bite.

“oh you are indeed”

you startle in your own tracks when you hear the low, deep voice from behind you, like a little bunny getting caught feasting on a farmer’s carrot land.

turning towards the door, you find john, his imposing, muscular figure looking down at you with his signature lazy, amused smirk. Your eyes fall on his flannel shirt, the first buttons are languidly left untied, allowing you a stolen glance of his hairy chest, his pectorals that make your mouth water as much as the long forgotten piece of cake in your hands.

dumbfounded, you blink up at him twice, swallowing down the remaining mushy cake you stopped chewing on upon seeing him. Your cheeks grow red, sunrise reflecting on them with how bright and warm they look.

“Sir, uhm��i was, i was-“ you struggle to compose yourself, lowering your hands as he slowly begins to strade over you, the familiar scent of cologne and tobacco mingling with your vanilla perfume.

“hungry? can see that, angel,” he whispers, clearly entertained by your shyness. A lazy, seductive smile appears on his visage like a natural decor, one you’ve never seen him not wearing since meeting you.

once he’s close enough to tower over you, his graying, dark beard catches your attention, his mustache and salt and pepper hair, the way the muscles of his hairy forearms bulge with every move, everything about him screams strong masculinity, control and dominance.

he lifts up a hand towards your face, and you hold your breath as he uses his calloused thumb to wipe some whipped cream off the corner of your glossed lips. He brings the digit to his own mouth, licking the cream off his finger — the sight makes the pit of your stomach twist, a warm knot tightens in your belly and roots all the way down between your thighs.

you have to slowly place the cake down on a nearby surface otherwise you’d make it drop.

he licks his mustache, his sharp, intense eyes fleck to you, studying silently and carefully every single reaction he could get and read off you, “it does taste good though doll, you’re right,”

his voice deepens, a baritone that sounds gruff and heavy, and you involuntarily hide your hands behind your back, gently holding onto the edge od the table. With a slow, deliberate movement, he brings his licked finger down, underneath your skirt, and presses it against your clothed clit.

as if a spark shot through you, you almost squeak, a muffled whimper leaves your lips, an unfamiliar sound that your own ears don’t recognize. He keeps his eyes on you, lid and thin, as he slowly brushes it over your panties,

“but I’m sure when I finally get a taste of you, you’ll taste even sweeter” his words sound like a growl, an impatient promise.

he knows you’re a sweet, young, inexperienced, untouched girl, and as much as he was a gentleman, as much as he wanted to handle you cautiously, like a porcelain doll that could break in a heartbeat and needed the best care and attention, he almost took you right there when you gave him those doe, shy eyes.

“I know you’re impatient, sweet girl, but daddy will make it worth the wait”, he thinks you deserve more that a stolen moment in the midst of the chaos, of a working day, and he knows you want him to be rough, to be hard on you. “let daddy take you out to dinner tonight, and then you can give this old man some sugar, mmh?”

you can only nod, words stuck in your throat unable to come out, but your eyes gleam in the softest and most innocent way, you don’t know if you want to drop to your knees, and beg him to do whatever he wanted, or to grab your piece of cake back and hide behind the counter.

bunnies were shy creatures, eager for affection, love and attention but timid when under their owners’ loving gaze. If you weren’t careful, they might just hop away and hide shyly.

..but a little bunny like you needs to be trained into being the perfect, sweetest good girl first. And he is a man of discipline, he knows how to wait.

[alchemistc]

Buck's halfway through his third cup of startlingly bad coffee when Josh pushes the door to the breakroom open, looking mildly concerned in the half second before someone else looms over his shoulder.

He's too numb to do much more than take another sip of coffee as he watches Josh usher Tommy in.

The door clicks shut behind him. Buck wonders for a moment if Tommy's ever actually been to the new dispatch headquarters before. If he ever went to the old one, charming grin on his face while he waited for Abby to finish up so he could take her out, drive her home while her car was in the shop - but no, Tommy would have worked on it himself, maybe.

Had Josh recognized him, that first time, with half of his soot on Buck's face, and just never said anything?

The silence is tense. They're in a fishbowl, no room to lash out even if either of them wanted to because more than half the people working in this place can see them if they just tip their head to the side.

"How can I help?"

It's - his voice is strained, scared, worried. Buck doesn't have a single guess as to how he knows. Maybe Bobby. It's the only person he can think of who would have -.

Buck snorts. "I rebounded with a serial killer who just kidnapped my sister and my baby niece or nephew. I don't - I'm not sure what you want."

He glances up just in time to see the end of Tommy's grimace. Good. He's not sure how much more disastrous of a choice he could have made to try to get Tommy out of his system, but at least it hurts him to know. At least...

"Do you want me to go?"

Buck can't remember anyone asking, before. Usually they just... leave. Get up, walk out, disappear. Tommy bubbled Buck five times in three months. Buck went through seven bags of flour before he drove Eddie to the airport.

His voice shakes on his "No," and Tommy is there, all of the sudden, his hand hovering just over Buck's shoulder, like he realized halfway there it might not be welcome. "Do you still think I need to keep looking for someone better than you?"

It'd been seeing Tommy out with a guy that'd prompted him to stop fucking baking and make an effort to just...get over it But with Eddie away, and the rest of the 118 so wrapped up in their lives, there weren't a whole lot of outlets for that. And it's been easy to willfully misinterpret Tommy's breakup speech. Or - interpret it in the most hurtful way possible.

"Is this what you want to do right now?" Tommy asks, even and measured. "Will this help?"

"I want my sister back!"

Tommy takes a step back. His hands shift to his pockets, and Buck just wants -

"Why are you here?"

He tips his head up. Holds Tommy's gaze. Tommy flounders in a way Buck's never seen before.

He looks - tired. Good. White Henley under a flannel Buck had always told him brought out his eyes. The jeans Buck had stolen once or twice because they made his ass look good. His hair's grown in at the sides, and the sprinkling of greys are more obvious than the last time he'd seen it this length.

"I just... didn't want you to be alone."

Tears threaten at the corners of his eyes. He wants to laugh, but he's terrified if he starts he won't be able to hold in the fear. "When did that change?"

Tommy gnaws on his cheek. "You have so many people, Buck. You have -."

"I don't want emotional repression Tommy here, so if you're just here to keep me distracted until someone else can be here you should just... go."

Something flashes in his gaze. Anger, maybe. Terror.

"Please let me stay."

It hurts, to hear it. It hurts to hear the trepidation in his voice as he says it. Buck just wants to pull him in, tuck his face into the curve of his neck, soak in the warmth of his arms.

Buck spends too long staring at his knees. Long enough for Tommy to shift, to sigh, to nod his head decisively out of the corner of Buck's eye.

The word is stuck in his throat. Has been for months, since Tommy looked at him with teary eyes and walked away.

"I won't be able to let you go again."

He's already half turned away. Buck can only see half his expression as his eyes dip closed. He swallows. Nods, again.

Buck can't watch him push back through that door, so he stares at the toes of his boots until his vision starts to blur.

A second pair of toes swim into his eyeline. A hand shifts through his curls, snagging on knots, digging towards his scalp, and he can't quite bite back the sob. The arms that reach for him are warm, big and familiar, and Buck gives himself over to the panic and the fear that have been clawing at his chest for hours now. Tommy says something - whispers it into the air above Buck's head over and over, but Buck can't - he just -

He presses his face into Tommy's stomach, digs his fingers into the back of his shirt, sucks in horrible, gasping breaths. It's not enough. Nothing will be until he's got Maddie in his arms.

But it's more than he had an hour ago.

"Stay," he manages, and Tommy's fingers curl around Buck's neck and hold.

[mizutsugi]

cowgirl ☆ (dean winchester x reader

↳ synopsis: you ride the mechanical bull at some texas dive bar, and dean really can't keep his mind out of the gutter...

↳word count: 2,052

↳cw: nsfw (MINORS DNI!!), smut, fem/afab reader, oral sex (f recieving), p in v (wrap it up!!!), cowgirl (duh..), a bit of sub dean if you squint, not proof read!

You were about five shots in at a little dive bar in Texas, slamming the shot glass down onto the sticky dark oak counter as Dean followed behind you. The place was crowded- it was a Friday night, after all. The room smelled like booze and old leather, and the walls were a deep red, littered with little photos and mementos… an old acoustic guitar, a framed picture of a longhorn, an old Budweiser sign- the works. Whatever shyness you had was left at the door, and with all the booze starting to hit your system, you felt like you could do anything. That’s when your eyes landed on a faux bull in the middle of the dimly lit room, surrounded by blue padded foam and a ring. You smiled and pointed at it, trying to get Dean to follow.

“I wanna ride it.” You said.

“Are you sure about that, sweetheart? You’ve had a few.” Dean chuckled, currently sipping on a whiskey.

“Mhm.” You nodded before hopping off the barstool, dotting your way around the crowded bar before you made it to the bullpen. Dean was frankly shocked you went for it so quickly, and tried to follow you, pushing through a few people in the process. 

You threw a leg clumsily over the elastic cord separating the bullpen and the hardwood floor, stumbling over the soft foam before grasping onto the robotic bull. Suddenly a man appeared behind you- hell, maybe he was there the whole time- and tapped your shoulder. 

“You sober enough to be doing this, missus?” He asked with a southern drawl. He had a jean jacket on and a cowboy hat, and you gave him the kindest smile you could summon.

“Yes sir, promise!” You grinned, swinging your leg over the bull and mounting it. You playfully grabbed his cowboy hat and put it on your head. The man just laughed and shook his head, too spent to fight it. You looked around for Dean, who was now leaning on the cord with his arms folded over the strong material, smirking at you. In his head, he was making a bet with himself that you’d last 10 seconds tops. 

“Alrighty, just hang tight…” The man ducked out of the ring and grabbed what you assumed to be the controller. He pressed a button and the bull, big and black, started moving. 

You laughed and gripped onto the saddle mount, trying to remember everything from those old western flicks Dean loved to watch back home. You lifted your hips, back arching as you tried to remain as steady as possible while the bull lurched forward. Your thighs squeezed tightly around the machinery, your hold on the peg in front of you steady. You kept giggling to yourself, looking back at Dean with a wild grin on your face. He smiled back, nodding his head in approval. If he was being honest, all he could focus on was the way your hips rolled and your hair bounced on your collarbone, done up into two cute braided pigtails. You were wearing his flannel and a lacy white tank top underneath, that showed just enough. 

A crowd slowly emerged around the pen, with people holding drinks and cheering you on as you passed the thirty second mark. The bull started moving more rapidly, and your thighs gripped the beast tighter, while the upper half of your torso moved freely as to dodge the sharp movements. You whooped and hollered, freeing one arm from the mount to grab on to your (stolen) cowboy hat and tip it to the crowd before waving it frantically in the air. You could hear Dean clapping for you, cheering your name as you made it past a minute. You looked over to him as he watched you, both enamored and proud, and you smiled back. You put the hat back on your head and watched as a few of the patrons of the bar joined in on the cheering. The bull was getting quicker and more frantic, bucking you around all over the place. You tried your best, but your grip loosened and your thighs started spazzing out, losing their hold around the animal. You let out one last cheer before getting thrown off the bull, landing with a gentle thud on the plush padding beneath you. You laughed as the people around you clapped, including the operator. He retrieved his hat, which had fallen off your head when you fell, and gave you a firm handshake and a “well done” after you pulled yourself back up. You felt a bit dizzy, and looked around for Dean, who was now ducking below the cord and offering you a sturdy hand to pull yourself up by. 

You smiled warmly at him before taking it, allowing him to pull you out of the ring. He dropped your hand but quickly went in for a kiss, pecking you on the lips before giving your shoulder an approving pat. 

“You’re a damn professional, babe.” He said.

“Aw, shucks…” You smiled sheepishly, dusting your knees off before taking his hand as the two of you walked out of the bar and out the door, feeling the humid night air hit your faces as you stepped out into the warm darkness. You both headed for the Impala before driving back to the motel you were holed up in during the hunt. 

-

The second you made it through the door, Dean was all over you. He was holding you tight, pulling in before kissing you. You laughed, pulling away after his third kiss.

“Someone’s ancy, huh?” You cocked a brow, noting how his green eyes scanned all over your body while he held you close.

“Can’t help it. It was hot.” He mumbled lowly, placing a hand on the small of your back.

“What, how good I was on the bull?” You asked. 

“M-hm…” He hummed, the hand on your lower back inching lower and lower until it fell over the curve of your ass. 

“You’re such a horndog…” You smirked and rolled your eyes, but leaned into his touch. He slowly walked you backward until the back of your knees hit the edge of the bed. You fell backward, allowing him to climb over you until he was hovering above your face, his eyes obsessively roaming over you. He lowered his face down to yours and kissed you again, this time hungrier and more desperate. He slowly moved across your jaw, then down to your exposed neck and collarbone. You moaned softly as he sucked on your neck, his hands wandering down to the flannel around you and pulling at the fabric until it came off, taking his lips off you momentarily so he could pull your arms out of the sleeves. While you were still lifted a bit off the bed, he pulled the white tank off carefully over your head, leaving you in a white silky bra and low rise blue jeans. He also took that time to throw off his own shirt, and you had about two seconds to admire his built chest before he was back on your neck. He kissed and sucked and bit, making you whimper and reach up to clutch his short hair. He snaked his hands underneath your back and fiddled with the clasps of your bra until he successfully undid them, pulling the straps down and revealing your breasts. 

“Fuck, you’re beautiful…” He murmured from your neck, slowly tracing his lips down the valley of your chest between your tits. His hands reached up to feel the soft, supple skin, calloused fingers occasionally pinching your nipples and rolling over the sensitive buds. You let out small whimpers that made him harden beneath you, bucking his hips into the mattress as he worked his way down your stomach. His occupied hands left your chest and wandered down to the waistline of your jeans, gently pushing them down your thighs and, with one swift tug, off your legs. He threw them to the side, focusing on the lace panties you had on. He practically groaned at the site of a wet spot in the middle, where you were worked up. He looked up to your yearning eyes for permission before you feverishly nodded your head in approval. You watched him pull at the thin fabric until you were left completely bare.

He wasted no time connecting himself to your core, tongue lapping at your clip. You moaned, hands practically flying to his short locks to stabilize yourself. He had to admit, you pulling on his hair and moaning so sweetly shortened his patience a bit. He was skillfully working your body, sucking and licking in all the right spots between your folds, hands moving to grasp your hips, keeping you pinned in one spot. You couldn’t help but roll them, though, pleasure coming in waves as he hit your sensitive bud over and over again. 

“D-Dean…” You moaned, eyes squeezing shut as you felt yourself nearing the edge. Without you finishing your sentence, he knew, and his unrelenting tongue carried you to your (quick) release. You shuttered, feeling your body tremble and thighs quiver as you came down, his face pulling away from you to reveal his stubble covered in slick. He smiled in a way that was downright devious, so smug that he knew how quickly he could make you come undone. Giving you time to recover, he pulled his pants off, allowing the denim to pool at his ankles before kicking them off, then releasing himself from his boxers. Your mouth all but watered at the sight of his cock, already pink and slightly glazed with precum. He pumped himself a few times before positing himself at your entrance, emerald eyes locking with yours with eager, but gentle, anticipation. 

“Breathe in for me, pretty girl.” He said, giving you time to collect your breath before pushing in. You whined, feeling him slowly fill you as to let you get used to the feeling. As his hips slowly pulled in and out, each movement turning pain into pleasure, you reached to grip his strong arms. He groaned lowly, feeling you tighten around him, his thrusts beginning to pick up the pace. 

“D…Dean..” You moaned, shakily tapping your finger against his arm.

His thrusts slowed slightly as he cautiously responded, “Yeah, baby?”

“Switch w’me.” You requested, an idea forming. He gave you a bit of a skeptical look, before pulling out and lying down beside you, a bit frustrated from the sudden separation. 

You climbed over him, and his eyes suddenly lit up as realization hit him all at once. You straddled his bare lap, hovering over his cock. Your hands felt up his toned chest, nails dragging across it slightly as you admired how handsome he looked under you. He fucking whimpered, which drove you crazy and reminded you why exactly you decided to take the lead. Your hands wandered back down to his dick, lining it up with your entrance before you slowly lowered yourself down on him. You and him both moaned at the feeling of being inside each other again, your hips rolling. Your eyelids fluttered shut, allowing yourself to focus on movement rather than giving in to the urge to collapse his broad chest. You slowly lifted your hips up, then down, then up, until you were in a steady rhythm of bouncing on his cock. He moaned, hands gripping your waist softly and helping guide you up and down. You whimpered and whined at the feeling of his length pumping in and out of you, your core strength starting to falter as you felt yourself getting closer. 

“I’m… fuck…” You could barely get a word out, breaths getting shallower and shallower as you focused on chasing your release. 

“Cum for me, babe…” He mumbled slowly, feeling himself also getting close as your walls tightened around him. You did, almost immediately collapsing on top of him, head falling to his collar as you faltered around him. Feeling you squeeze around his length, he came, hands grasping around your back as you laid on top of him. You smiled, feeling his rough palms slowly start to rub soothing circles on your back as you both recovered. 

“My pretty cowgirl…”

↳a/n: my writers block is SO BAD :( i promise i will try to get to all my requests asap! this was in fact not a request but like... something possessed me and i needed to finish this draft. thinking so much about dean rn... ughhhh

[urdreamydoodles]

X-Men x Reader (Part.1)

You tell them that they are perfect just the way they are (Part.1)

Your partner opens up about their insecurities, whether it's feeling distant due to their powers or perceived coldness. Through loving reassurance, you help them realize that their unique qualities make them perfect as they are, deepening your bond with each of them.

Characters: Logan Howlett, Remy LeBeau, Kurt Wagner, Scott Summers, Erik Lehnsherr, Warren Worthington III, Bobby Drake, Alex Summers, Jean Grey & Wade Wilson

Logan Howlett (Wolverine)

The night was still and quiet, the only sound in the cabin being the crackling of the fire. You leaned against Logan, your head resting on his chest, his arm wrapped securely around your waist. He was warm, comforting, the scent of whiskey and cedar lingering on his flannel shirt. For someone so rugged and battle-worn, he always had a way of making you feel safe.

His fingers absentmindedly traced patterns on your skin as you watched the fire, its glow casting shadows across the room. Logan had always been a man of few words, especially when it came to how he felt about himself. You knew how much he struggled with his past—the wars, the loss, the things he couldn’t forgive himself for.

"Logan," you said softly, lifting your head to look up at him.

He grunted in response, eyes still fixed on the fire, but you could see the tension in his jaw. His past haunted him every day, no matter how many times you tried to remind him that he was more than the sum of his mistakes.

You reached up, cupping his rugged face with both hands, forcing him to meet your gaze. "You're perfect the way you are."

He stiffened slightly, his brow furrowing in disbelief. "You don’t know half of it, darlin’," he muttered, trying to look away, but you held his gaze.

"I know enough. I know the man who’s held me when I couldn’t stand on my own. The man who’s risked everything to protect me, even when he thought he didn’t deserve to live. You’re more than your past, Logan. You’re more than the things you’ve done."

Logan’s eyes softened, the hard edge in them dimming as he stared at you. There was a vulnerability there, one he rarely let anyone see. Slowly, he leaned down and pressed his forehead against yours, closing his eyes.

“I ain’t perfect,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “Not even close.”

"You’re perfect to me," you replied firmly, your thumb brushing along the edge of his jawline. "And that’s all that matters."

His grip on you tightened slightly, as if he was afraid to let go. Logan’s lips met yours in a slow, deep kiss, one that spoke of gratitude, of acceptance. When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours again, his breath steady but heavy.

"You keep me grounded," he said quietly. "Don't know what I'd do without ya."

You smiled softly, resting back against his chest. "You won’t have to find out."

Remy LeBeau (Gambit)

The gentle hum of the city surrounded you as you stood on the balcony, the night breeze warm against your skin. Remy was leaning against the railing beside you, the twinkle of the streetlights below reflecting in his red-on-black eyes. He had one arm casually draped around your shoulders, his fingers playing with the strands of your hair as the two of you enjoyed the quiet moment together.

You could feel him tense slightly beside you, his usual playful demeanor replaced by something more serious. Remy had always been a charmer, full of jokes and flirtations, but there were times when his insecurities crept through. It didn’t matter how much he masked them with his smooth talk; you could always tell when something was bothering him.

He exhaled a deep breath, his voice quieter than usual. "Sometimes I wonder what you see in me, chère."

You glanced at him, confused. "What do you mean?"

Remy gave a small, self-deprecating smile, looking down at the city below. "A man like me… I’ve done things. Lied, stolen, hurt people. Ain’t exactly a saint, you know? You deserve someone better."

You turned toward him, reaching out to take his hand. His fingers instinctively laced with yours, but he didn’t meet your eyes. He had never really opened up about the guilt he carried, but you knew it was there, weighing him down more than he liked to admit.

"Remy," you said softly, squeezing his hand. "You’re perfect the way you are."

His eyes finally flicked up to meet yours, confusion and disbelief written all over his face. "Perfect? Me?"

"Yes, you," you said firmly. "You’re kind, you’re protective, you make me laugh every day. You make me feel like the luckiest person in the world. You’ve made mistakes, sure, but that doesn’t change who you are now."

He blinked, the usual cocky smirk nowhere to be found. For once, Remy LeBeau didn’t have a quick-witted reply. Instead, he stared at you as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

"You really mean dat, don’t you?"

"I do," you said, stepping closer to him, your hand resting on his chest. "I love you, Remy. All of you. The good, the bad, the in-between. You don’t need to change a thing."

He let out a soft chuckle, though it was filled with something more raw, more real. His free hand came up to cup your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek as he looked at you with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat.

"Mon amour, you always know jus’ what to say," he murmured, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss to your lips.

When he pulled back, that familiar playful glint had returned to his eyes, though there was something softer behind it. "Maybe I am pretty lucky after all."

Kurt Wagner (Nightcrawler)

The soft glow of the moon filtered through the window as you lay beside Kurt, your fingers tracing the delicate blue fur along his arm. His tail curled lazily around your leg, a comfortable silence settling between the two of you as you enjoyed the quiet together. Being with Kurt always felt like this—peaceful, warm, and full of love.

But tonight, something felt different. He hadn’t said much, his golden eyes distant as he stared out into the night sky. You knew that look. It was the look he got when he started to doubt himself, to wonder if he truly belonged in this world.

You scooted closer to him, resting your head on his shoulder as you let your fingers run along his arm. "You’re thinking again," you said gently.

He let out a soft, almost sad chuckle. "I cannot help it, mein Schatz. Sometimes I look at myself and… I wonder if I could ever be truly worthy of you."

You frowned, lifting your head to meet his gaze. His golden eyes were filled with uncertainty, a look that tugged at your heart. Kurt had always struggled with his appearance, with feeling like he didn’t belong because of his mutation, no matter how kind or loving he was.

"Kurt, don’t say that," you whispered, reaching up to cup his face. "You’re perfect the way you are."

He blinked, clearly taken aback by your words. "Perfect? But I am not… I mean, look at me."

"I am looking at you," you replied softly. "And I see the most beautiful person I’ve ever known. Not because of how you look, but because of who you are. You have the kindest heart, Kurt. You’re brave, compassionate, and you’ve made me feel more loved than I ever thought possible."

Kurt’s breath hitched, his eyes searching yours as if trying to find some sign that you were just saying these things to make him feel better. But you meant every word.

"You’re not just worthy of me," you continued. "I’m the lucky one, because I get to be with someone who sees the world with such kindness. Who’s strong enough to love despite everything they’ve been through."

A slow smile spread across his face, his tail tightening around your leg in a comforting embrace. "Ach, mein Liebe," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "You have no idea how much that means to me."

You smiled, leaning up to kiss him softly. His lips were gentle against yours, tender and full of love, just like he was.

When you pulled away, Kurt rested his forehead against yours, his golden eyes filled with gratitude. "I do not deserve you."

You shook your head, smiling softly. "You’re perfect just as you are, Kurt. Don’t ever doubt that."

And with those words, you knew that you had reassured him, just as he had always reassured you.

Scott Summers (Cyclops)

The sun had barely set, casting a warm golden glow over the grounds of Xavier’s mansion. You stood by the large window in your shared room, gazing out at the gardens as the last light of the day disappeared. Scott was behind you, sitting on the edge of the bed, his head resting in his hands. His visor sat on the nightstand, and without it, his closed eyes shielded the world from his powerful optic blasts.

He had been unusually quiet all evening. You knew why. Leadership weighed on him in ways that most people would never understand. No matter how often you reassured him, Scott always carried the burden of responsibility, constantly second-guessing his decisions, questioning if he was doing enough, if he was strong enough.

"I’m failing them," he muttered, barely audible, but you caught every word.

You turned from the window, watching the way his broad shoulders tensed under the weight of self-imposed guilt. The soft evening light cast shadows over his face, highlighting the sharp lines of his jaw, the tension in his brow.

"Scott," you said softly, stepping closer to him. He didn’t look up, but you could tell he was listening. "You’re not failing anyone."

He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "Every day, it feels like I’m making the wrong choices. What kind of leader am I if I can’t protect the people I love? What if I’m just… not enough?"

You knelt in front of him, resting your hands on his knees. His eyes were still closed, his expression one of conflict and frustration, but you could see the vulnerability beneath it all.

"You’re perfect the way you are, Scott."

His brows furrowed, and he opened his mouth to protest, but you quickly continued. "I mean it. You’re always putting everyone else before yourself. You’re always thinking of the team, of what’s best for them. That’s what makes you such a good leader."

He shook his head again, his hands clenching into fists. "I don’t know if it’s enough. I’m not enough."

You moved your hands to his face, cupping his jaw gently, forcing him to feel your presence. "You are more than enough. You always are. I know you think you have to carry the weight of the world alone, but you don’t. We’re a team. I’m with you. Always."

His eyes squeezed shut even tighter, as if holding back the intensity of everything he felt. But after a moment, his hands came up to cover yours, holding them in place against his face. His skin was warm beneath your touch, and for the first time that evening, his body seemed to relax, if only slightly.

"You believe that?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I do," you replied firmly. "I believe in you. I always have, and I always will."

Slowly, he opened his eyes—though you couldn’t see them, you could feel the shift in his mood. His grip on your hands tightened, and he let out a shaky breath, as if finally allowing himself to accept your words.

"I don’t deserve you," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

You smiled, leaning up to kiss his lips softly. "You’re wrong. You’re perfect to me, Scott. Just the way you are."

Erik Lehnsherr (Magneto)

The sound of waves crashing against the shore was a soothing melody in the distance as you walked barefoot through the sand. Erik was beside you, his hand intertwined with yours, his expression as unreadable as ever. The two of you often escaped to this secluded beach, far from the chaos of the world, far from the conflicts that seemed to follow him wherever he went.

But even here, under the vast sky and in the presence of peace, you could feel the storm inside him. Erik was never truly free of his past. No matter how much he tried to distance himself from the pain, from the horrors of what he’d lived through, the weight of it never left him. And sometimes, you could see the way it chipped away at his sense of worth.

He stopped walking, his eyes on the horizon. The wind played with his silver hair, and for a moment, he looked every bit the powerful, unyielding force the world knew him as. But you knew better. You knew the man behind the power, the man who had suffered more than anyone should ever have to.

"I’ve caused so much destruction," he said quietly, his voice almost lost to the wind. "I’ve hurt so many. How can you look at me and see anything but the monster I’ve become?"

You turned to face him, stepping closer so that your hands were pressed against his chest. His heartbeat was steady beneath your fingers, but the tension in his body told you how deeply this was affecting him.

"You’re not a monster, Erik."

His jaw clenched, and he looked away, as if refusing to let himself believe your words. "I’ve done terrible things. Things that can never be undone. You can’t change what I am."

You reached up, cupping his face in your hands, forcing him to meet your gaze. His blue eyes were filled with conflict, with pain, and you felt your heart ache for him. "You are perfect the way you are."

He scoffed, shaking his head slightly. "Perfect? You think I’m perfect after everything I’ve done?"

"I do," you replied without hesitation. "Because I know why you’ve done what you’ve done. I know the pain that drives you. I know the love you carry for those you care about, even if you don’t always show it. You’ve fought for what you believe in, Erik, and that’s something most people can’t say. You’ve fought for people like us. For our future."

His gaze softened, though the doubt was still there, lingering beneath the surface. "And yet, I’ve hurt the ones I love in the process."

You shook your head, your thumb brushing gently over his cheek. "You’ve made mistakes, yes. But that doesn’t make you any less of a man. You’ve fought for what you believe in, and I love you for that. You are more than your past, more than your pain. You are exactly who you need to be."

Erik’s expression faltered, and for the first time in a long time, you saw the vulnerability he rarely allowed himself to show. Slowly, he leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours, his eyes closing as he took a deep breath.

"You’re too good to me," he murmured, his voice soft.

You smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. "No. I just see you for who you really are. And that man is perfect to me."

Warren Worthington III (Angel)

Warren’s wings unfurled with a gentle rustle as he landed on the balcony, the moonlight casting a silver glow over the soft feathers. You watched him approach from where you sat on the edge of the bed, admiring the way he moved with effortless grace. He always seemed to carry himself like an angel in both name and appearance—majestic, otherworldly, yet burdened by something heavier than he let on.

He smiled when he saw you, though the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Hey, you," he greeted softly, sitting beside you. His wings folded neatly behind him, but you knew he was carrying the weight of something more tonight.

"Long day?" you asked, sensing the tension that radiated from him despite his best efforts to hide it.

He ran a hand through his tousled blonde hair, his expression faltering as he glanced away. "It’s nothing."

You tilted your head, giving him a knowing look. "Warren, it’s me. Talk to me."

He sighed, leaning back on his hands and looking up at the sky. "Sometimes I wonder… if these wings are more of a curse than a gift."

His words caught you off guard. Warren rarely spoke about his mutation in such a vulnerable way. You could see the way he looked at himself, as if the wings that made him so beautiful and unique were something he resented, something that made him feel less human.

"They’re not," you said softly, sliding closer to him. "You’re not cursed, Warren."

He glanced at you, his blue eyes clouded with doubt. "It’s hard to believe that sometimes. When people look at me, all they see is… this. The wings, the mutation. They don’t see me. Not really."

You reached out, gently placing a hand on his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips. "I see you."

He looked down at your hand, then back up at you. "You’ve always seen me differently, but… sometimes I don’t even know who I am anymore."

You shook your head, moving closer until your foreheads nearly touched. "You’re Warren Worthington III. You’re kind, strong, compassionate, and beautiful inside and out. These wings—they don’t define you. They’re part of you, but they don’t change who you are."

He closed his eyes, letting out a soft breath. "I don’t feel perfect. Not even close."

You smiled, brushing your thumb gently over his cheek. "You’re perfect to me. Exactly the way you are."

Warren let out a shaky laugh, his wings twitching slightly as he opened his eyes and gazed at you with a mix of gratitude and awe. "You’re too good to me, you know that?"

You leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. "I just love you for who you are. And that’s never going to change."

Bobby Drake (Iceman)

The snowstorm outside the cabin raged on, thick flakes of ice pelting the windows as you curled up by the fire. Despite the cold outside, the warmth of the flames and Bobby’s presence beside you made everything feel cozy and safe.

Bobby sat beside you on the couch, his arm draped lazily around your shoulders, his ice-blue eyes reflecting the dancing firelight. He had been unusually quiet tonight, and you could tell something was on his mind. Normally, Bobby was the life of the party—always cracking jokes and making everyone laugh—but when he was quiet, it meant something deeper was going on.

"You okay?" you asked, leaning into his side, your head resting on his shoulder.

He sighed, his fingers absently playing with the edge of your sweater. "Yeah, I guess. Just thinking."

"About what?" you pressed gently, tilting your head to look up at him.

He hesitated for a moment before speaking. "About how… people see me. How they always expect me to be the funny guy, the one who never takes anything seriously. It’s like… I’m just the comic relief."

You frowned, sitting up so you could face him more fully. "You know that’s not true, right? People don’t just see you as a joke."

Bobby shrugged, a sad smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "It’s just… I’ve been trying to figure out who I am, you know? I’m an Omega-level mutant, but sometimes I feel like I’m just… not enough. Like I don’t measure up to the others."

Your heart ached at his words. Bobby was so much more than he gave himself credit for. Sure, he loved to make people laugh, but that wasn’t all there was to him. He had depth, kindness, and strength that often went unnoticed.

"You’re more than enough," you said firmly, taking his hand in yours. "Bobby, you’re one of the most powerful mutants out there, but that’s not even what makes you incredible. You’re kind, you’re thoughtful, and you’re always there for the people you care about. You’re not just the funny guy. You’re so much more than that."

He looked at you, his eyes softening. "You really think so?"

You smiled, squeezing his hand. "I know so. You’re perfect the way you are, Bobby. You don’t have to be anyone else."

Bobby stared at you for a moment before his lips curved into a more genuine smile. "You’re amazing, you know that?"

You grinned, leaning in to kiss him softly. "Only because I’ve got you by my side."

He chuckled, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close. "Guess we make a pretty good team, huh?"

"The best," you replied, snuggling into his embrace as the warmth of the fire and Bobby’s presence surrounded you.

Alex Summers (Havok)

The garage was quiet, save for the faint hum of the fluorescent lights overhead and the occasional clink of metal as Alex tinkered with his motorcycle. You leaned against the doorframe, watching him work. His back was turned to you, his strong shoulders flexing as he tightened a bolt, his expression one of deep concentration.

Alex had always been the quieter of the Summers brothers, less about grand speeches and more about action. But even though he didn’t always say much, you could always tell when something was bothering him.

"You’ve been quiet today," you said softly, stepping into the garage and approaching him.

Alex glanced over his shoulder at you, giving you a small, tired smile. "Just thinking."

You sat down on the workbench beside him, watching as he wiped his hands on a rag, his brow still furrowed. "Want to talk about it?"

He sighed, tossing the rag onto the bench and leaning against the bike. "It’s nothing. Just… sometimes I feel like I’m always living in Scott’s shadow, you know? Like no matter what I do, I’m never going to be as good as him."

You frowned, reaching out to touch his arm. "Alex, you’re amazing in your own right. You don’t have to compare yourself to Scott."

He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "It’s hard not to. He’s the perfect leader, the golden boy, and I’m… I’m just the screw-up who can’t control his powers half the time."

You stood up, moving closer to him until you were right in front of him, your hand resting on his chest. "That’s not true, and you know it. You’ve saved more lives than you give yourself credit for. You’re strong, you’re brave, and you’ve faced things that would break most people. You’re perfect the way you are, Alex."

He looked down at you, his blue eyes softening as he listened to your words. "Perfect? I don’t know about that."

"I do," you insisted, stepping even closer until your body was pressed against his. "You’re perfect to me. And you don’t need to be like Scott. You’re you, and that’s more than enough."

Alex’s hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing gently over your skin. "How do you always know what to say?"

You smiled, leaning into his touch. "It’s because I know you. I know who you really are, Alex, and that’s why I love you. Not because of who you think you need to be, but because of who you are."

His lips curved into a small smile, and he pulled you into his arms, holding you close. "I love you too."

You wrapped your arms around him, resting your head against his chest as the steady rhythm of his heartbeat calmed your own. "You’re everything to me, Alex. Don’t ever doubt that."

For the first time that night, you felt the tension leave his body as he held you tighter. "I won’t," he promised, his voice soft and full of emotion. "As long as I’ve got you, I won’t."

Jean Grey (Phoenix)

Jean sat by the lake, her eyes fixed on the still water as the last rays of the sun dipped below the horizon. You approached her quietly, knowing she had been seeking solitude for a while now. She had been different lately—quieter, more distant—and you knew it had everything to do with the growing power inside her.

You sat down beside her, not saying anything at first, just letting her feel your presence. The silence stretched between you for a moment before Jean finally spoke, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever just be… me again," she said, her green eyes reflecting the fading light. "I feel like I’m losing myself to this power, like the Phoenix is consuming me more every day."

You glanced at her, seeing the fear and uncertainty in her eyes. Jean Grey had always been one of the strongest people you knew, but this power—the Phoenix—was something even she struggled to control.

"You’re still you, Jean," you said softly, reaching out to take her hand. "No matter what the Phoenix brings, you’re still Jean Grey. You’re still the person I love."

She shook her head, her expression pained. "But what if I’m not? What if the Phoenix takes over completely? What if I can’t come back from it?"

You squeezed her hand, your voice firm and steady. "You will come back. Because you’re stronger than the Phoenix. I know it feels like you’re losing control, but you’re not alone in this. You have me, and I’m not going anywhere."

Jean’s eyes filled with tears as she looked at you, her vulnerability laid bare in a way that few ever got to see. "I don’t feel perfect. I feel like I’m falling apart."

You moved closer to her, gently cupping her face in your hands. "You’re perfect to me, Jean. Not because of your powers or what you can do, but because of who you are. You’re kind, you’re strong, and you care so deeply for everyone around you. You’re more than the Phoenix, and you’re more than this power."

Jean closed her eyes, leaning into your touch as a tear slipped down her cheek. "I don’t know what I’d do without you."

"You’ll never have to find out," you whispered, brushing the tear away with your thumb. "I’m always going to be here, no matter what happens. We’ll get through this together."

Jean let out a shaky breath, her hands coming up to rest over yours as she opened her eyes, filled with gratitude and love. "I don’t deserve you."

"You deserve everything," you whispered, leaning in to press a soft kiss to her forehead. "And I’m going to be right here, reminding you every day how perfect you are."

Jean smiled softly, leaning into your embrace as you held her close, the two of you sitting by the lake as the night settled in, knowing that no matter what challenges lay ahead, your love would always be the constant that anchored her.

Wade Wilson (Deadpool)

You knew what to expect with Wade Wilson. His jokes, his antics, his erratic behavior—it was all a part of who he was. But tonight, as he lay next to you, staring at the ceiling in an uncharacteristic silence, you knew something was bothering him.

The two of you were tangled in the sheets of your shared bed, his body warm against yours. He was quiet, which was a rarity for the merc with a mouth. Normally, Wade couldn’t go more than a few seconds without making some kind of quip, but now, his silence spoke louder than his jokes ever could.

"Hey," you whispered, turning onto your side to face him. "What’s going on in that chaotic head of yours?"

Wade didn’t look at you, his eyes still fixed on the ceiling. He let out a deep breath, one that felt like it had been trapped inside him for far too long. "Do you ever… I don’t know, wonder why you’re with me?"

The question caught you off guard, and you frowned, reaching out to rest a hand on his scarred chest. "What do you mean?"

He shifted uncomfortably, as if the words were too heavy for even him to carry. "I mean, look at me. I’m not exactly Mr. Perfect. I’m loud, obnoxious, and, well…" He gestured to his body with a grimace. "I’m a walking burn victim with a face only a mother could love."

You sat up slightly, your gaze soft as you took in his scarred skin, his face hidden beneath his ever-present mask of humor. Wade’s insecurities had always been there, buried beneath the jokes and the laughter, but tonight they were closer to the surface.

"That’s not true," you said firmly, your voice filled with conviction. "You’re more than your appearance, Wade. You’re more than your scars."

He scoffed, finally turning his head to look at you. "Yeah, right. I mean, come on. I look like a melted candle."

You sighed softly, leaning over to press a kiss to his chest. "Wade, I don’t care about that. I love you for who you are, not what you look like. You make me laugh, you care about the people you love, and you’d do anything for them. You’re not just some messed-up guy with a messed-up body. You’re Wade Wilson, and that’s more than enough for me."

Wade’s usual bravado seemed to falter as he listened to you, his eyes softening beneath the weight of your words. "You really mean that?"

"Of course, I mean it," you said, sitting up fully now, your hand cupping his face gently. "You’re perfect just the way you are. Every scar, every joke, every bit of you. You’re the only one I want."

Wade stared at you for a long moment, his usual snarky comebacks nowhere to be found. Instead, he reached up to touch your hand, his thumb brushing over your skin. "You know, I don’t deserve you."

You smiled softly, leaning down to kiss him. "Maybe not, but you’ve got me anyway."

For the first time that night, Wade smiled—really smiled—and pulled you into his arms. "Okay, okay. But if you ever change your mind, just know I’m keeping the dog."

You laughed, resting your head against his chest as the two of you settled back into the bed, the weight of his insecurities lifting, even if only for tonight.

[scealaiscoite]

⋆˚࿔ one hundred paired prompts 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

¹⁾ a pot of fresh coffee and split knuckles

²⁾ orange peels and a car battery

³⁾ sand dunes and leather boots

⁴⁾ a printer and a knife

⁵⁾ incense and handcuffs

⁶⁾ a crushed velvet sofa and a video camera

⁷⁾ stale cigarettes and cotton candy

⁸⁾ loose change and headlights

⁹⁾ grey hairs and a gold belt buckle

¹⁰⁾ burnt coffee and grass stains

¹¹⁾ cherry cola and blue jeans

¹²⁾ chipped green nail polish and an empty dinner table

¹³⁾ a stack of paperwork and metal music

¹⁴⁾ a patchwork quilt and sweet tea

¹⁵⁾ a hockey sweater and a two-seater sofa

¹⁶⁾ perfume oil and rolled up shirtsleeves

¹⁷⁾ fallen leaves and guilt

¹⁸⁾ radio channels and a birthday card

¹⁹⁾ ravens and meadowsweet

²⁰⁾ apologies and bitter red wine

²¹⁾ library books and pouring rain

²²⁾ a breathalyser and popcorn

²³⁾ princess plasters and iodine

²⁴⁾ a tote bag with one broken strap and a winding staircase

²⁵⁾ a parasol and a tumbler of straight whiskey

²⁶⁾ fresh honey and a cult

²⁷⁾ wisdom teeth and blue eyes

²⁸⁾ sour cherries and a stolen hoodie

²⁹⁾ the flu and a heatwave

³⁰⁾ a boonie hat and a sunset

³¹⁾ vanilla perfume and a kitchen counter

³²⁾ a buffalo skull and a leather armchair

³³⁾ a throw pillow and a doorway

³⁴⁾ pink fluffy handcuffs and an unexpected guest

³⁶⁾ a package and a divorce

³⁷⁾ a stripper pole and a hangover

³⁸⁾ familiar cologne and a black eye

³⁹⁾ a lit candle and a snowstorm

⁴⁰⁾ an unsealed letter and a fallen pine tree

⁴¹⁾ headlights and footprints

⁴²⁾ a blocked number and traffic lights

⁴³⁾ a racesuit and a countdown

⁴⁴⁾ a butcher’s apron and a phonecall

⁴⁵⁾ battered comic books and a broken window

⁴⁶⁾ cold floorboards and a roommate

⁴⁷⁾ smooth vermouth and gold rings

⁴⁸⁾ a lip piercing and a rough hand

⁴⁹⁾ someone’s spare room and an eclipse

⁵⁰⁾ a game of mahjong and bad jazz music

⁵¹⁾ a jigsaw puzzle and a mortuary

⁵²⁾ a broke-up sidewalk and a knitted scarf

⁵³⁾ a poundshop wig and broken glass

⁵⁴⁾ a bunk bed and a crush

⁵⁵⁾ a red ink tattoo and a dinner gone cold

⁵⁶⁾ a warm palm and a flannel shirt

⁵⁷⁾ fresh basil and a half-empty bottle of arrack

⁵⁸⁾ a nightclub bathroom and smeared eyeliner

⁵⁹⁾ a busted lip and strawberry icecream

⁶⁰⁾ a floral-patterned dress and a looming balcony

⁶¹⁾ peach pits and a pressed shirt collar

⁶²⁾ a white mercedes and cheap perfume

⁶³⁾ a fwb and a housekey

⁶⁴⁾ a blue sarong and a fingertip tracing over a scar

⁶⁵⁾ a sauna room and a terse exchange

⁶⁶⁾ fried plantains and a briefcase

⁶⁷⁾ dried lavender and a tiled bathtub

⁶⁸⁾ a hotel room and a bouquet of lilies

⁶⁹⁾ sweet mango lassi and a suitcase

⁷⁰⁾ orange streetlights and a nightmare

⁷¹⁾ a crucifix and a thigh tattoo

⁷²⁾ a palm tattoo and the thrum of a heartbeat

⁷³⁾ a champagne room and a police siren

⁷⁴⁾ blue nitrile gloves and a hickey

⁷⁵⁾ a double-wide trailer and shotgun shells

⁷⁶⁾ stitches and pyjama shorts

⁷⁷⁾ karaoke and a snowdrift

⁷⁸⁾ an older man and a twin bed

⁷⁹⁾ chinese takeout and a graveyard

⁸⁰⁾ wet clothes and ambulance sirens

⁸¹⁾ carbolic soap and a creaking staircase

⁸²⁾ an undercover assignment and wrung hands

⁸³⁾ the back seat of a limousine and bustling night streets

⁸⁴⁾ a steamed-up bathroom and cold floorboards

⁸⁵⁾ a grand prix and a breakup

⁸⁶⁾ a third place trophy and a picture frame

⁸⁷⁾ the last slice of birthday cake and crossed legs

⁸⁸⁾ squashed raspberries and heated cheeks

⁸⁹⁾ pink lipgloss and brass knuckles

⁹⁰⁾ a ghost mask and a late visit

⁹¹⁾ loose bullets and slashed tires

⁹²⁾ a tactical belt and patterned bedsheets

⁹³⁾ a goaltender’s stick and a lonely walk home

⁹⁴⁾ a dog bed and a migraine

⁹⁵⁾ lit billboards and a floor-length gown

⁹⁶⁾ a divebar negroni and a game of pool

⁹⁷⁾ olive trees at harvest time and divorce papers

⁹⁸⁾ a caviar bump and vanilla coke

⁹⁹⁾ a whale tail and pantsuit

¹⁰⁰⁾ legs thrown into a lap and calloused hands

[chaoticrockmusic]

Wrapped in Him

Synopsis: After a long day of work, Logan returns to the cabin expecting the usual quiet, but instead, he finds you fast asleep in his leather jacket. The sight—and the way you’ve wrapped yourself in his scent—stirs something warm and tender in him. As he watches you nestled in the firelight, Logan is reminded of the quiet, unexpected comfort of having someone who feels like home.

Warnings: None, just pure fluff! Hope you enjoy kits <3 Also this is Lumberjack! Logan

The cabin was steeped in a cozy hush when Logan walked through the door, boots scuffing against the wooden threshold. Outside, the wind howled faintly through the pines, but inside, the crackle of the fire and the faint aroma of woodsmoke wrapped the space in warmth.

He kicked off his boots, rolling his shoulders to ease the day’s work from his muscles. The scent of the forest clung to his flannel shirt—pine sap, freshly split logs, and the ever-present, faint tang of cigars lingering in his jacket. Except, his jacket wasn’t hanging by the door where he’d left it.

Logan frowned, scanning the room, and then he spotted it. There it was, draped over your small frame as you curled up in the oversized armchair near the fire.

His frown melted into something softer.

You were fast asleep, your legs tucked beneath you and his heavy leather jacket cocooned around your shoulders. The rich brown leather swallowed you whole, the sleeves falling limp past your hands. One sleeve hung over the arm of the chair like an afterthought, while the other was pulled snug around your body.

He stepped closer, careful to keep his heavy footsteps quiet on the wooden floor. As he approached, the mix of scents became undeniable: the worn leather of his jacket mingled with the smoky remnants of his favorite cigars, all blending into something entirely him. The way you clutched the collar close to your face, your fingers resting there as though it brought you comfort, made something warm settle deep in his chest.

Logan crouched beside you, his knees groaning slightly from the long day’s work. Gently, he brushed a strand of hair from your face, his calloused fingers light against your skin. The firelight painted your features in golden hues, soft and serene, your lips parted slightly in sleep.

You stirred under his touch, murmuring something he couldn’t quite make out, and shifted deeper into the chair, burying your nose into the jacket’s collar. A faint smile pulled at your lips as you sighed, clearly content.

“Damn thief,” Logan muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, though there was no trace of irritation—just warmth and a trace of amusement.

Leaning in, he pressed a kiss to your forehead, lingering just long enough to breathe in the faint scent of your shampoo beneath the leather and smoke. It was grounding, soothing in a way he’d never admit out loud.

When he pulled back, he took a moment to simply watch you, his sharp eyes softening as the firelight flickered across your peaceful expression. The way you’d stolen his jacket—without so much as a word—was such a small thing, but it hit him harder than he’d ever expect. You didn’t just wear his jacket. You wore him, and you looked so at home in it that the thought made his heart ache in the best way.

Shaking his head, Logan grabbed the throw blanket from the back of the couch and draped it carefully over you, tucking it in where the jacket didn’t quite cover.

“You’re lucky it looks better on you,” he whispered, his lips twitching into a quiet smile.

Straightening, he ran a hand through his thick hair, his fingers lingering on the back of his neck as he turned toward the kitchen. He still smelled faintly of pine and cigars, but now, there was something sweeter in the air.

Tomorrow, he’d tease you about it, maybe pull the jacket off your shoulders just to watch you fuss and steal it right back. But tonight, he’d let you keep it. After all, it suited you.

And so did being his.

[toomanystoriessolittletime]

Midnight Rain

Summary: Waking up in the middle of the night to a storm raging outside, you find Javi outside on the porch, deciding to have him right then and there.

Pairing: Javier Peña x fem. reader

Rating: E

Wordcount: 1.9k

Warnings: oblivious idiots, mentions of divorced reader, reader in her mid thirties, smoking (both Javi and reader), alcohol, thunder storms, smut (unprotected sex, semi public sex), kissing, one ass slap, dirty talk, the word slut is used, some fluff at the end

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Full Masterlist // Javier Peña Masterlist

You couldn’t sleep.

Well, you couldn’t fall back asleep. 

When you got back to the ranch earlier that evening you had eaten a sandwich, taken a shower and fallen asleep as soon as your head had fallen against your pillow. 

It had been a long day of taking care of all the horses and making sure the barn was secured for the night. 

The heavy rain outside must have woken you up, the storm that had been forecasted for earlier that day now raging outside. You sat yourself up on your tiny single bed, parting the curtains so you could look into the darkness outside. 

Sometimes, when you were sitting in the small room Chucho Peña had provided you after you had shown up on his ranch out of the blue, asking if he needed any help with the animals you asked yourself how your life had ended up like this.

In your mid thirties, divorced, without any money, working as a ranch hand (though you were more of a all around hand, mostly tasked with taking care of the house, food and garden).

Chucho had seen something in you and he had quickly become the father you never had. 

And then his son Javier had come home. 

It was instant, at least for you, the attraction you felt towards him. 

He was tall, dark and handsome and there was something in his eyes familiar to you. It was the same hurt you saw in yours every time you looked into the mirror. 

And it took a while for him to warm up to you, the past years he had spent in Colombia haunting his every thought.

Getting used to that strange woman that was now living in his childhood home, laughing with his father in the kitchen. 

The woman that was sleeping in the tiny guest bedroom next to his childhood bedroom that he lived in yet again, because he had not idea what to do with his life. 

The woman he fucked for the first time after a fourth of July celebration almost two years ago, fireworks going off while he was balls deep inside of you on the backseat of his truck in the parking lot of the already closed gas station he had stopped at on your way home. 

You hadn’t really stopped since then. 

For more than two years you had been sleeping with Javier whenever you both felt like it. 

But that was all it was. 

Sex. 

Because you both weren’t ready for more. Or to name these… feelings you had whenever you were in each other’s arms. 

Thunder outside made you jump on the bed and you grabbed one of Javier’s flannel shirts you had stolen the week before, pulling it over your naked body. 

You would tell him you were scared of thunder when he would wake up to you in his bed the next morning. 

Because you could not tell him that the only way you found yourself sleeping lately, was in his arms. 

Not yet.

He did not hear you as you opened the door, the heavy rain continuing to fall. 

You had looked for him in his room, finding the bed still made. But there was a light on in the kitchen so you followed you intuition, finding him outside. 

Javier was sitting in the far left corner of the porch, legs spread wide, a cigarette between his fingers, a tumbler of what would probably be whiskey in his other hand. 

He was only wearing some sweatpants, the very same sweatpants that would make you forget what you wanted to say mid sentence when he had them on, or more like what was hiding beneath them. 

You let the door fall shut behind you and he looked up, those dark brown eyes wandering up from your feet all over your body towards your eyes before he looked away again, bringing his cigarette back to his lips, inhaling the smoke deeply. 

You both just stared out, the rain seemingly getting heavier before you heard him set his glass down on the ground. He spread his legs wider and you bit your lip before you slowly walked over to him, stopping as you stood between his legs for only a moment, before you climbed into his lap, the hand that had been holding his glass moments ago, coming down to rest on your ass immediately, making you shiver. 

You reached for the cigarette between his lips, and he raised his eyebrows in confusion until you slipped it between yours so you could take a puff, his eyes softening in amusement. You felt his other hand slip under your shirt, his fingers brushing the underside of your tits. 

„Was wondering where this shirt went,“ he hummed and your lips twitched into a small smile as you took another puff of his cigarette before you threw it outside into the rain. He was about to complain when you crossed your arms behind his neck and brought you lips against his, his mouth opening against your as you exhaled the smoke from your lungs. 

Closing your eyes as he kissed you, you brought one hand up to slip through his hair while his hands both now rested on your ass, his fingers digging into your skin as he pulled you closer against him, his hips thrusting up against yours, his cock hardening beneath you. 

He spread your cheeks before one of his hands slipped further down and you felt him chuckle against you.

„No panties and a half buttoned shirt. What a little slut you are,“ he said, his voice hoarse and you gasped when you felt two of his fingers enter you, your slick coating your his fingers as he played with you. 

„Says Mr. No shirt and no boxers, sitting outside with his legs spread like a who…. Fuck Javi right there,“ you moaned, biting your lip as he moved his fingers inside of you.

„Right there?“ He asked with a smirk and you nodded, looking down at him as you arched your back. 

„Touched myself but couldn’t… fuck… couldn’t finish. Needed, needed…“ you whimpered.

„Your pussy needed me, huh?“ He teased and you whined. 

He made quick work of the few buttons that kept his shirt on you, his lips closing around one of your nipples, as soon as he had slipped his shirt down your shoulders, revealing your naked chest to him. 

„Javi… Please…“ you moaned, one of your hands on his shoulders, holding on while your other hand was still in his hair, now pulling him against your tits as he sucked on one of them. 

„What do you need, princess?“ He mumbled. 

„Need your cock. Wanna cum on your cock. Please,“ you begged and you felt his teeth pull at you nipple, making you hiss before he let go. His dark eyes looked up at you, before his fingers pulled out of you and he pushed his sweatpants down just so he could release his cock. 

Before he could do anything you had him lined up with you and slowly sank down on him, both of you releasing a long moan. 

Lightening made you jump before you sank down on his cock completely and Javier hissed, his arms coming around you to pull you closer, both of you breathing heavily before you both laughed. 

„Maybe we should take this inside,“ he said as he looked up at you, one of his hands brushing up and down your spine. You shook your head before you brushed your lips against his. 

„No. I want you just like this,“ you whispered against his lips before you began to move your hips. He hummed, his hand now on the back of your head, pulling you against his lips so he could deepen the kiss, his tongue slipping between your lips to part them. 

You rode him slowly. 

One arm wrapped around his shoulders while your other hand rested on his chest. 

Javi’s hand was on your ass, guiding the way you moved on top of him while his lips kissed whatever part of your skin he could reach. 

The rain and the fact that you were out in the open were forgotten as he began to meet your hips, thrusting up into you. You wrapped both of your arms around him, moving on top of him so you could ride him deeper, your chest now in perfect height so he could suck on your tits. 

„Oh fuck Javi,“ you moaned and he slapped your ass, fucking up into you, meeting your hips in audible smacks every time you skin collided. 

You could feel the familiar tingles of your orgasm approaching. 

„I’m close,“ he warned and you whimpered. 

„Me too,“ you gasped, crying out when he bit into the soft flesh over your right nipple, marking you yet again. 

„Cum for me,“ he grunted and you looked down at him. 

„Cum for me so I can take you inside and have you sit on my face until you pass out,“ he continued and you let him take over, letting him fuck into you in quick hard thrusts as you orgasm took over, making you shake against him your fingers digging into his skin on his broad back as you held on to him. 

„Such a good slut for me,“ he praised you, now chasing his own high, fucking into you a couple more times until you felt him spill himself inside of you, your name a deep rumble against you neck as he hugged you against his body. 

You stayed just like this for a moment. In each others arms, out of breath, the rain still coming down heavy just outside the porch. 

It was when he felt you shiver that you both came out of your post orgasm bliss. He pulled his shirt that you somehow still were half wearing back up over your shoulders, kissing you softly, a tired smile on his lips. 

„We should get inside,“ he hummed against your lips. You nodded, yet none of you moved, being content just like this, close, in each others arms, deep in the night when nobody was awake to see you like this. 

You could feel him drip of of you, his softening cock still inside of you. 

„Javi?“ You asked, your head resting against his shoulder. 

„Hm?“ He kissed your temple. 

„Can I sleep in your bed tonight?“ You whispered. He was quiet for a moment and you were about to get up from him when his arms around you tightened and you looked at him. 

„I… I suck at this,“ he sighed and you tilted your head. 

„Suck at what?“

„Relationships,“ he mumbled and your eyes softened. 

„Is that what this is?“ You asked quietly and his eyes were big and he looked so so scared. 

„It could be, if you want that,“ he finally said and you smiled. You reached one hand up so you could touch his cheek before you leaned in and kissed him softly. 

„I do want that,“ you mumbled and you felt him smile against your lips.

„Yeah?“ Javi asked and you nodded. 

„Good, cause I am not letting you go ever,“ he whispered, before kissed you again. 

[moonlight-prose]

A CASE OF YOU

➻ under the mistletoe

a/n: i fear i am obsessed with this pairing before i've fully put out the series. all i want is to be trapped in a cabin with them during winter. this was posted once before but was getting lost in the tags/for some reason i couldn't see it. so i am retrying. there is another winter fic of them coming hopefully this week! i got this idea and wrote it in one go, but i am thoroughly in love. enjoy something spicy and sweet my loves! divider by the amazing @saradika-graphics.

summary: simple acts of love at the end of the world draw the string tight around the three of you. even if all it takes is some mistletoe and kisses on a cold winter's night.

word count: 2.8k+

pairing: joel miller x f!reader x old man!logan howlett

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY!!, romance, love, fluff, logan is a little shit, filthy makeout sessions, squirting, dirty talk, spit, explicit activities, threesome.

SERIES MASTERLIST

“Don’t drop me okay?”

The scoff echoed louder than he intended, fingers digging sharply into the meat of your thighs. “Not gonna drop ya bub.”

“I’d believe you if I didn’t have proof from the Halloween party-” A smack to your leg shut you up quicker than expected, your mouth open and heart fluttering at the feel of your thigh rippling. “Logan!”

“You were takin’ too long,” he muttered, soothing the spot with a soft brush of his thumb.

Tradition didn’t happen often in your stolen time together. Winter called for the swirl of frost to build on the outside of the cabin, snow packing along wooden walls and a doorway hung with a wreath of greens and reds. The world stilled—time an inconceivable factor—in order to get the three of you to find your way back to one another in a cabin you claimed as your own. Home felt different on the outskirts of a town stuck at the end of the world.

Holidays were sparse. Scattered amidst the tragedy that became an everyday story told over and over again. Each ending wrapped up the same way—a death sentence signed the second the world fell to pieces overnight. Nightmares were tinged in golds and greens, the soft feel of flannel wrapped around your naked body—heat pouring off two bodies littered with scrapes and scars.

They clung to what normalcy remained. The tree pushed into the corner of a small living room, a record player discovered in Logan’s basement two months before. The first time you hummed along to an old fading tune about mistletoe they nearly tripped over themselves to find you—each enraptured by the echo of joy after they were buried in pain.

Two days ago you found a small bunch of mistletoe wrapped neatly in a red ribbon on the kitchen table. A small token of their affection in a time where even that was difficult to give.

“Is it straight?” you asked, adjusting the bow with a huff. “Can you see it?”

The rumbling emanated from his chest when your head ducked down to catch a glimpse of his face. Only to find his eyes latched onto the swell of your breasts beneath the soft green sweater dug up in an old store years ago. You cherished the luxury of its cashmere feel; even if a hole gaped at the very bottom hem now stitched over with black thread.

Where Logan stood mere seconds ago—a smirk plastered across lips you bit this morning—you found a man transfixed at the thought of bare skin and nipples that begged for the searing heat of his mouth. Slick pooled in your cotton panties, his nose flaring at the heady scent—fingers harshly carving their way into your skin. He was voracious for you—hungry enough to take what you so often gave.

“I think you lost him darlin’.”

“Fuck off Miller,” Logan barked, reluctantly dragging his gaze from the shape of you to glare at the man propped against the doorway.

Snow gathered in his unruly curls, gloves discarded at the side table and jacket draped over a hook near the back door. Joel Miller never failed to steal your breath with a single look. With brown eyes that once were darkened with pain, he watched you with a gleam of joy—his lips curled into a crooked smile you felt practically press to the skin of your throat.

He changed as the years went by.

There was no doubt that the grief he harbored would outweigh yours and Logan’s. The sinister curl of anguish still tugged sharply at his heart during the winter holidays. His memories vivid and bright with the image of Sarah, of time spent in the warmth of his old home in Texas.

You could remember your first year here—his failed attempts to participate even as his heart screamed for that familiar numbing sensation he knew well. The nights spent wrapped in his by a dying fire—a separate body pressed to your back. Christmas was drenched in poison until you gathered him with your touch and poured the antidote down his throat.

“It looks perfect,” Joel said with ease, ignoring how you were still propped on the larger man’s shoulders.

Smiling, you curling a hand into Logan’s hair—tapping his temple to let you down. “Thank you for it.”

“Don’t look at me sweetheart.” His gaze shifted to a silent Logan who helped you slip back down to the floor, an arm wrapped tight around your waist. “It was all his idea.”

The rapid pace in which he averted his gaze confirmed Joel’s words before you could ask the question. Logan Howlett wasn’t a soft man when you met him. In fact, he came off as a brute who raised a daughter more feral than him. Falling for him didn’t come without its struggles; the fight he put up to beat Joel at his own game nearly turned you away from him.

But beneath the layer of armor, entwined with bones coated in metal and agony, you could see a man who longed to be held with the reverence of forever. He didn’t prefer being alone. He settled for it.

When you arrived in his life—enticing and as sweet as biting into a fresh summer nectarine—he understood that his past would never be a deal breaker for you. He was the man who clawed his way through an apocalypse, protecting a young girl tied to his hip. Someone weary and withered with age, yet longing for a place to belong.

Cupping his scruffy cheek, you turned his gaze back to your soft smile. “Is that true Logan?”

The tough exterior crumbled to the ground—hazel eyes softening at the utterance of his name. “‘S a tradition,” he mumbled, curling a hand around your wrist. “I don’t want you to lose your traditions.”

So that’s what this feeling burning a hole in your chest was.

Practically unbearable the longer you tried to come up with a name. Only to find its definition staring you straight in the face.

Love.

You loved him. You love them both.

You couldn’t think of a time where you didn’t love them—where your paths hadn’t crossed yet—and found that wasn’t a past you wished to reside in. They were your home, your future wrapped in flannel and tied with a shitty red fading bow.

“Fuck. Come here please,” you breathed, tugging him down with a gasping breath.

Kissing him felt endless. His lips were rough on your soft ones, hands quick to grab your hips and haul you to his chest. Blood rushed to your head, fingers twisting into his hair as he met your intensity with a wave of his own. Mind numbing, blissful, and everything you never thought you’d have.

He licked into you with a harsh groan, teeth scraping your bottom lip as the mistletoe hung above your heads—taunting Joel to come closer. To see how Logan’s tongue looked smearing his own spit along your teeth.

The shuffle of boots fell on deafened ears attuned only to the soft grunt you pulled from the man before you. Becoming lost to his touch felt like its own gift. How he gripped your ass to press you close, yet his lips softened in their relentless need to consume you in whatever way he could. You didn’t become aware of Joel standing behind you until his own hands slid up your ribs, curling to cup your breasts through the cashmere fabric.

A string of saliva connected Logan’s lips to yours as you pulled away to breathe. The gentle touch of Joel’s calloused fingers pinching your nipples drew a soft breathy moan from your throat. His lips latched to your neck—teeth scraping the sensitive skin with a sound of his own.

More often than you intended you found yourself trapped between them and their insatiable cravings. Logan would fuck you for hours, nestled between sore thighs and chafed skin. Joel would one up him with his mouth, sucking your clit hard enough to have your legs clamped around his neck. A cry of his name bouncing off the walls of your shared home.

“Go on bub,” Logan mumbled, nose brushing yours as he stole another chaste kiss. “Give him a kiss.”

You were turned before you could comprehend his words, Joel’s hands finding purchase where Logan’s once sat. A soft game of tug and war between men who would drop to their knees if you asked. Men who killed to keep you safe—their fiery natures subdued by the oxygen you stole from their lungs.

“Gonna gimme a kiss darlin’?” Joel asked, lips sliding along yours.

The answer was obvious but you were too dazed to respond with words brimming in snark. “Uh-huh.”

“That’s a good girl.”

Tenderness poured out of his kiss and filled your chest with a warmth you knew well. He didn’t take as often as Logan. Far more interested in what he could give. Yet both ached to be given purpose, to be put to use. Even if you got tired of them at the end—a conclusion that would never come to pass. How could you ever choose to let them go? You’d never be able to live without them.

He sucked on your tongue with a hoarse moan, Logan’s hands pushing up under your bra to toy with your hard nipples. The shiver that wracked your body made him chuckle into your ear—the hot trail of his tongue dragging down your neck as Joel languished in the feel of your tongue. It drove you mad how easy they managed to rip you apart. How fast you fell into their touch with a burning need of your own.

“How’s he taste?” Logan breathed, sucking at your earlobe.

You pull away, dragging in a lungful of air. “Like coffee.”

“Gotta be better than that,” he mused. “You were eatin’ him alive.”

The mewl slipped off swollen lips. “Logan.”

“Bet you taste better. Ain’t that right Miller?”

Joel’s chuckle echoed in your other ear, a rasp that had your toes curling on the hardwood floor. “Taste’s like fuckin’ heaven.”

Your eyes slid up to the mistletoe that taunted them further, a gasp torn from the base of your chest as Joel’s hand tugged at your shorts. Cold fingers pushing your panties to the side with a soft bitten out fuck. Surviving them was never an option. Not when they drew every nerve in your body tight with endless pleasure—setting a fire beneath your already hot skin.

Two fingers slid through your wet folds, a punched out groan drawing your attention back to Joel’s crimson face. He watched himself touch you. Stuck on the sight of how you parted for him, how your thighs unconsciously opened to let him explore the familiar expanse of your body. He would spend eons worshiping you and never tire of the way you reacted.

“Looks like it too,” he said more to himself.

Logan heard him loud and clear. “Tell me baby. Do you like the mistletoe?”

Nodding slowly, you felt two thick fingers plunge into your sopping pussy before any words could form in your hazed mind. Your head fell back onto Logan’s shoulder, hips canting into Joel’s touch with a breathy whine that made him grin.

“There ya go,” Logan cooed. “Open up for your old men. Let us have some fun.”

It was only a matter of time before you unraveled. They could see it in the way you struggled to breathe properly, your mouth parted in a silent cry of their names permanently lodged in the back of your throat. Nothing prettier had ever graced their lives before you. Their reason to live, to keep finding their way home—discarding boots by the door and jackets on hooks.

You were forever when the prospect of it seemed impossible to have.

“She’s so fuckin’ wet,” Joel grunted, curling his fingers until they struck right where you needed. A sob wrenched from your mouth, thighs trembling around his hand. “Drenchin’ my hand.”

“Yeah?”

“You hear that darlin’?” Joel’s voice dragged you back with its lilting tease. “That’s it huh? Right there?”

“Y-Yes!”

Logan’s hand dropped from your waist, his fingers prodding at your entrance where Joel’s currently ripped you to pieces. Dragging out sounds you didn’t know you could make. Hooking two fingers into you from behind, Logan swallowed your shout with a searing kiss. His broad hand cupping your chin to angle you closer—each noise muffled by the wet heat of his tongue finding yours.

They worked in tandem to drag you towards the edge. Where Joel pulled, Logan pushed. Two men finding their rhythm in the confines of your writhing body. You’d been stretched before, but this felt different. As if each of them were intent on striking that soft spot along your fluttering walls. Slick pouring out and coating their hands as the loud squelching echo bounced off the walls.

If you weren’t pressed between them you would have collapsed. Your knees giving out and body curling in on itself as they pounded into you with biting groans and harsh breaths.

“C’mon bub. I can feel ya achin’ for it.”

And you were. You were screaming in your head to finally be thrown into the depths of ecstasy. But your voice only existed in cries and garbled words that sounded eerily similar to their names.

“Be a good girl and cum,” Joel growled, grinding his palm into your throbbing clit.

The release ripped from your body with a broken sob. Your legs kicked out and your body arched as they broke you even further. Pleasure strangled the air from your lungs, tearing through you like a fire without end. A bliss that threatened to break you beyond any type of repair they could offer. You were a ball of nerves completely and utterly gone for them as you struggled to keep your head above water.

“There it is,” Logan hummed, smiling against your cheek at how you gushed over their fingers. A splash of your release hitting the hardwood floor. “Made such a pretty fuckin’ mess for us baby.”

A soft whimper was all you could muster, your eyes slipping shut as Logan wrapped you in his arms. Joel releasing you with a soft huff.

“Gonna grab a towel.”

You tracked his shuffling as the breath returned to your lungs. Logan’s nose a soft press against your temple—his lips warm enough to pull you back to the present. Time seemed to fall away in their presence. A limited escape within this haven the three of you created—a place you could fall in love all over again.

“How are you?” he murmured, thumbs curling along your waist.

You hummed, brimming with contentment. “Good. Even if I can’t feel my legs.”

The laugh you got in response was all you could have hoped for. His hold grew tight as he shifted to settle you in his lap on the floor. This is what you longed for, what you dreamed of in the early stages of your relationship. When friendly gestures were all you could give and the idea of love felt so far away.

“How’s that? Better?”

“Yeah,” you sighed, curling into his chest. “Perfect.”

“‘Course you chose the fuckin’ floor.” Joel’s voice once again had you wrenching your eyes open with a grin. “Not like my knees are shot to hell.”

“We can move to the couch you old fucker,” Logan snipped, gathering you close as he clambered to his feet.

Finding Joel’s hand you tugged him to fall in step with your trembling legs. “Baby.”

He lit up at the sound of your voice. “He’s gotten enough of your time darlin’.”

Logan scoffed, draping himself on the couch. “And you’re one to talk. What with all those late night conversations in here.”

“Not my fault you sleep like you’re already dead.”

You giggled, falling delightedly into Joel’s chest as he settled with a grunt. “Always fighting.”

“I’m not fighting,” Logan remarked. “I’m explaining.”

“Is that what you tell Laura?” you asked, quirking your lips at the sight of him scooting closer. With a huff he dragged your legs into his lap. “Or does she do that to you?”

“Ellie does it too,” Joel muttered. “Never not fightin’ with me.”

You smiled, the simmering ache of love igniting anew in the base of your chest. “I can see where she gets it from.”

Logan’s laughter filled the space, yours soon joining as Joel bit at your shoulder to keep you in check. Even in the midst of tragedy—stuck at the end of the world—you understood that your path would always curve towards them. A destined fate that carved itself into your ribs long before you were born. They were your permanent space in this horror story.

Your forever even as you ran out of time.

[cheynovak]

Top or bottom

Characters: Dean Winchester x Y/N Female character     

Summary: One night after beers and jokes, Y/N teasingly asks if Dean is a “top or bottom,” flustering him and sparking laughter.

Warnings: Alcohol, Mentioning: sex. Implied spice, nothing graphic.

English is not my first language 

*Please do not copy my work, reblog/comments/likes are appreciated*

The bunker was alive with laughter and the clinking of beer bottles, a rare reprieve from the endless hunt. Y/N had seamlessly integrated into the Winchester family, earning the acceptance and admiration of Jack, Sam, and even Castiel, who considered her as steady and reliable as his celestial grace. But Dean? Dean was a different story.

It wasn’t that he disliked her. Quite the opposite, in fact. Y/N was the first woman since Lisa who made him feel something deeper than fleeting attraction. Her laugh softened his rough edges, and her fierce independence made his heart ache with admiration. But Dean Winchester was not a man who easily confronted his feelings, especially the ones that made him vulnerable.

Tonight, the mood was light. Empty pizza boxes littered the war room table, and everyone was a little tipsy. Dean nursed his beer, watching as Y/N, sitting cross-legged on the couch, threw her head back in laughter at one of Jack’s awkward but endearing comments.

"Wait, wait," she said, catching her breath. "Castiel, are you telling me you thought using your angel blade counted as protection?"

Castiel tilted his head in confusion. "Dean told me to use protection. I didn’t understand the context until later."

The table erupted in laughter, and even Cas, ever so stoic, managed a faint smile.

“God, I love this family,” Y/N said between chuckles. “I mean, you all know *so much* about each other. Sam’s stolen Deans porn stash, Castiels awkward first time..."

"Hey!" Dean interjected, pointing at Sam. "That stash was pristine until this guy got his grubby hands on it."

Y/N smirked and swirled the bottle in her hand. “Okay, Deany-boy, since you’re such an open book…” She leaned forward, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Top or bottom?”

Dean nearly choked on his beer. “What?”

“You heard me,” she teased. “Top or bottom?”

The room went dead silent for a beat before Sam burst out laughing, Jack looked utterly confused, and Castiel tilted his head again, clearly filing the question away for later research.

Dean played it cool, leaning back in his chair. “Top. For sure.”

Y/N tilted her head, locking eyes with Sam as if conspiring. “So, he’s a bottom.”

Sam howled with laughter, and even Jack joined in, though he clearly didn’t get the joke. Dean opened his mouth to retort but was too flustered to find the words.

---

**Later that Night**

The others had gone to bed, leaving Y/N, Jack and Dean to clean up the remnants of their impromptu party. Y/N wiped down the kitchen table while Dean gathered the bottles, his thoughts spinning in circles.

Steeling himself, he stepped in the kitchen opening another two bottles of beer, handing her one over while he seated against the table. “Why do you think I’m a bottom?” His voice was low, roughened by both nerves and curiosity.

Y/N didn’t stop cleaning, but a smile tugged at her lips. Finally she turned to face him, getting closer, standing between his legs, so close he could smell the faint floral notes of her perfume.

“Because, Dean,” she began, her voice soft but sure, “you try so hard to be an alpha. But underneath all that bravado, you’re sweet. Thoughtful. You care about people more than you let on.”

Her hand landed on his chest, "You're a pleaser." he felt the warmth of her touch through his flannel. His heart pounded in his ears.

“Isn’t that what most women want?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “Strong men?”

“Maybe,” she admitted, her lips curving into a small smile. “But some of us just want a nice man. Someone who makes us feel safe enough to let go, to show our imperfections. Someone we’d want to…” She paused, her cheeks flushing as she swallowed her nerves, “climb on top of and ride till we see stars.”

Dean’s breath caught as her hand slid up to his shoulder back to his hands, caressing his skin. Her gaze held his, unwavering, her touch warm, like a fire rushing through his veins.

“Someone with strong hands… but who knows how to use them softly.”

He couldn’t stop himself. His hand moved to her face, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. His thumb lingered on her cheek as he stood taller, leaned in closer, their breaths mingling.

“Y/N,” he murmured, his voice a mix of want and uncertainty. Her hand held on to his flannel. Pulling him in.

But the moment shattered as Jack bounded into the kitchen, the last box of pizza in his hands. “This is the last one!” he announced cheerfully, oblivious to the tension.

Y/N stepped back, her hand falling away as she turned to Jack. “That’s great, Jack. Thanks for helping.”

Dean’s hand dropped to his side, his jaw tightening as he watched her retreat. I made a fool of myself, great! He thought.

But to his surprise she shot him a playful look over her shoulder.

"Are you coming Dean?"

--

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[chillinglyadventurous]

The Fever

Thank you so much for the request!!!

Stanford Pines x Reader

Tags: Fluff, sick

It started out with a sneeze. You didn’t think much of it. You’d been trudging through the rain with Dipper and Mabel in search of a scampfire just to prove to your boyfriend you could find one without his help. Ford had told you it wasn’t going to happen. The weather conditions weren’t right. It was about to rain and unseasonably cold for mid August.

How the kids didn’t get sick was beyond you because you felt like death. You were freezing and shaking, but hot and sweaty all at once. You couldn’t decide whether you were more comfortable in your sweatpants and one of Ford’s sweaters that you had stolen from his closet or in barely anything at all. You couldn’t tell whether the heat or the cold was worse.

Had it not been for Stan’s big mouth, Ford wouldn’t have even known you were sick. Besides the occasional sniffle, you looked okay-ish. No. You looked like hell, but makeup helped hide it. “Geez, [Y/N], quit coughin’ or you’ll get the whole house sick!”

Ford’s head had snapped in your direction, finally taking a good look at you. He’d been busy, usually only climbing into your shared bed after you had knocked yourself out cold with a shot of NyQuil syrup. “Why didn’t you tell me you were sick? I would have dropped every-“

“I’m fine,” you insisted only to be betrayed by a slurry of hacking. You resigned under his intense gaze. “Fine, I’m sick. It’s not a big deal. I just have a cold. I’ll be fine.”

Without another word, Ford’s large hand was placed to your forehead to gauge your temperature. First his palm, then the back of his hand. He moved to your flushed cheeks, bright red visible beneath the makeup you had tried to conceal it with.

Ford gave you a disappointed look, “You have a fever of 102! You most certainly are not ‘fine’, darling.”

He pulled you out of your chair only for Stan to call out as you followed Ford to your bedroom. “Yeah, get Patient 0 out of my kitchen!”

Quickly, Ford had you in his bed, stripped of your day clothes and into one his sweaters. His flannel pajama pants were on you soon after. On his bed, he slipped three pairs of socks onto your feet and bundled you up in every blanket he could get his hands on.

“You need to sweat it out,” he ordered as he tucked the blankets around your form. You were successfully burrito-d. “Once your fever breaks, the worst is over.”

You had expected him to be a bit more wary around, very cautious of whatever germs you could give him, but he kissed your forehead before leaving you in his room. After a single minute, you were bored. You tried to stand, but he had tucked you in too tightly. The most you could do was sit up, barely able to reach the book on his bedside table.

You groaned in disgust as you read the title. Statically Accurate Knowledge. With nothing better to do, you opened it only to be further disappointed. The book in your hands, all 472 pages of it, was just a run-on equation. Nerd.

Just as you were resigned yourself to counting the floorboards, Ford reappeared with a hot cup of tea. “Drink this. It should right you in a second.” He laughed as you timidly sniffed at the liquid he had given you. Of course it wasn’t chamomile or some pleasant flavor. “It’s best if you don’t smell it.”

“What is it?” You asked, voice scratchy as you spoke.

He pet over your hair which was already damp. Your shivers had mildly subsided, but he could still see your teeth trying to chatter. “Well, it will make you tired. You’ll sleep whatever is plaguing you off.”

You were already exhausted, but you held your breath and downed the steaming liquid. Your body instantly relaxed. You felt warm, so comfortably warm. Then, drowsiness overcame you.

Ford laid you down again. Before he could leave you? You grabbed the sleeve of his sweater. His eyes were kind as they landed on you. “Stay with me?” You whispered, your eyelids so, so heavy.

“Certainly.”

With the blankets curled around you, acting as a barrier, Ford held you close. He tucked your head beneath his chin as you dozed off. You hoped you’d feel better in the morning, but, maybe, you’d play this up for a little longer once you were feeling better. You loved when he took care of you.

[ididdedurmom]

More evil head cannons

I have silly ideas about the gang after the event of the story, everyone lives, except Bob

PONY:

Has a thousand yard stare when he zones out

Has the loudest, most disgusting, mucus filled cough ever

Actually really good at drawing

Has drawn every member of the gang at least twice

Loves physical touch, he leans on his friends when their sitting next to him.

Actually screams during horror movies, like loud genuine screams

Loves play fighting with Darry, like full on wrestling

Steve taught him how to drive

He either walks like a ghost or stomps, there is no in between

He can play one song on the guitar, and that’s it

His legs are super strong, so his kicks hurt really bad

He would be better at track, but his smoking habits hold him back

He feels jealous of Soda and Darry because they had more time with their parents

He and Darry have matching reading glasses

SODA:

He says “I’m just a girl” anytime he gets in trouble

He has used his pretty privilege to get out of being arrested multiple times

Despite how handsome he knows he is, he still feels super insecure about his looks

He steals from the DX station constantly

He and Steve spend hours gossiping about their customers once both of their shifts are over

A dog bit him when he was a kid, now he’s deathly afraid of them

He loves physical affection, hugging him is the best way to cheer him up

Absolute candy addict

Candy is the #1 item he steals from the DX

He broke his dominant hand once, and now his handwriting is permanently ruined

He reads insanely slow and monotone when he reads out loud

He either sleeps like a rock, or wakes up from the slightest sound, there is no in between

He lives in his flannel, that thing hasn’t been washed in literal years

He suffers from middle child syndrome, he knows his brothers love him, but they don��t pay enough attention to him

DARRY:

He hates his jobs, he knows he has to go but he can’t stand them

All of his coworkers are old and they treat him like a child (which he’s kind of okay with in a way)

He loves watching cartoons but he feels like he’d be wasting his time

He sneezes like a dad

He wakes up at 4 am and works out immediately

Loves compliments and words of affection

Doing favors is his love language

He has the whitest legs ever, he’s all tan on the top and snow white on the bottom

His tan ends where his pants start

Small bits of his hair are grey, he doesn’t know

He has a fear of abandonment

He is insanely flexible for a man of his size, like he can touch the floor standing up with ease

He hit a dog with his car once and cried for 2 hours straight

He loves cuddling on the couch with his brothers, it helps him relax

He despises Curly Shepard, he’s civil with Tim, but he HATES Curly

When he comes home from his ski trips with his old friends, he actually looks his age

A woman once assumed he was Pony’s father, and it made him die inside a little

He can’t stand Mother and Fathers Day

He was mad at Steve when he found out he taught Pony how to drive

TWO-BIT:

He and Dally bond by harassing women

He has a box full of things he’s stolen

His slight alcoholism stems from his father

He let’s his sister paint his nails, and he shows them off proudly

He gets his nails painted before rumbles

He watches soap operas with his mother every night

He can play the trumpet

He has never purchased a pack of cigarettes, only stolen

He listens to metal

When he passes Johnny’s house, he has to actively stop himself from walking in and beating Johnny’s parents half to death, especially his father

Its not that he doesn’t want a job, I mean he doesn’t, it’s that he thinks he’d only mess up whenever they had him do

He constantly forgets to brush his teeth

Pop and beer are the only things he drinks, he doesn’t touch water

He religiously wears Mickey Mouse merch, you will never catch him in a plain shirt

Baby Pony and him got along really well, he was kinda like Pony’s goofy cousin

Two-Bit and Darry have been friends since they were little kids

Two has no plans for his future, and it weighs on him

He broke both of his elbows once

His teachers have kinda given up on him, they just treat him like a bother instead of a student

STEVE:

He messes up Pony’s hair every chance he gets

He uses the most hair grease out of everyone

He has had the same comb for 3 years

He constantly smells like oil

The underside of his nails are always black, no matter how much he washes his hands

He and Soda have matching scars from a shared failed attempt to climb a barb wired fence

He is terrified of the police

He and Soda make your mom jokes at each other, despite neither of them having mothers

His voice is scarily deep when he wakes up

He and Two-Bit have an inside joke no one in the gang understands

He, Soda, and Two-Bit all have matching stick and poke tattoos

He hates his father, and by extension the fathers of Johnny and Two-Bit

He and Dally don’t hang out much, but when they do they are absolute menaces

Dally and him steal cars and hub caps together

He is genuinely upset by the size of his nose

JOHNNY:

He’s dyslexic

His handwriting is atrocious

His best subject is math

He and the gang all picked out stickers to put on his crutches

He loves sleeping around his friends

His hands are rough

He can’t stand the smell of beer, unless it’s one of the gang

He and Curly hate each other for literally no reason

Pony has slowly been teaching him to read better

No matter how much grease he puts in his hair, it won’t stay back

He hates going out in public because people always look at him funny

He hates looking at his burn scars

He, Dally, and Ponyboy watch sunsets together

He either sleeps at the Cutis’s house, Two-Bit’s house, Steve’s (very rarely), or Dallas’s place.

He’s not allowed to sleep in the lot anymore

He has tons of freckles, you just can’t see them against his skin

He loves sleeping outside when he wants to

He never wants children, he’s to scared he’ll become his father

His pain tolerance is so high that sometimes he won’t even notice when he gets injured

He likes how defensive Dallas is of him, makes him feel confident

He smokes marijuana with Dally sometimes, he’s super anxious when they do though because he doesn’t want to get arrested

DALLY:

He will not talk about his feelings

The cops forced him to go to therapy, it didn’t fix anything

He is amazing at lying

The police know him by name

He hasn’t told the gang much about the past other than where he came from and that he doesn’t talk to his folks

Darry nicknamed him “Rat”

He actually feels bad when Darry yells at him

He gets sun burns very quickly

He has his own personal stench

He doesn’t want Johnny to end up like him

He cried for 3 hours straight when he found out Johnny was still alive, it is his most embarrassing moment

He chugs drinks insanely fast

He can’t read very well

He needs glasses but he thinks he’d look like a wimp if he had any

Even though he knows he could have an asthma attack from coughing to hard, he still doesn’t carry his inhaler

He was happy when he thought he was going to die

Then he woke up and had an epiphany about life, it didn’t do to much, but now he knows death isn’t the only option

He proudly shows off the burn marks on his arm

He loves pushing Johnny around in his wheelchair

He listens to outlaw music and Frank Sinatra

He loves horror movies

He toned down his bad behavior once he got out of the hospital, he’s still a dick though

That’s it or whatever. I hope you like them, I’m sorry if some of them don’t make sense. I’m just so silly. I apologize for my horrible grammar lol. Feel free to tell me some of your head cannons!! :D