#homestead reader

[harryspet]

homestead [masterlist]

[warnings]dark!rafe cameron x pregnant!reader, farmer!rafe, obsessive rafe, pogue!reader, jj x reader, kidnapping, NONCON/DUBCON

READ AT YOUR OWN RISK 18+

Summary: In which you reach rock bottom after your baby's father, JJ, gets arrested and your first love, Rafe Cameron, returns to save the day.

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[schlobba]

⋆.ೃ࿔* :･ lasso.ᐟ ft. erwin smith

( 🗒️: love erwin smsmsm )

⋆.ೃ࿔*𐔌 synopsis゛ remorsefully, your fiancé makes up for trying your patience. reassuring you he has no intention of dodging the responsibility of marriage, in fact, he wants to practice consummation as many times as you allow.

⋆.ೃ࿔*𐔌 ♯: fem!readr; most lowercase intended; breedingg ofc; mating press; oral (f); country life; domestic/homestead; engaged; pet names: diamond, sugar ‎ ‎ ‎ ⓘ wrd count: 3.2k

ꉂ`⟡···· “y’know my dress might needa be a little bigger by then, right?” “’course, diamond… how else are we gonna fit that behind?”

➜ darby, montana

( 1898 ) 12:02 pm

fall sent whipping breezes throughout the acres of land erwin had so lovingly tended, the head of his horse emerging first from the thick tree ridge. your nape greeted him in place of that sweet as syrup smile he’d grown accustomed to. a ways down the hill divided by a dirt path, carving knife warm with your sweat cutting into an apple, nectar running down your wrists while taking pieces for yourself.

the herd stayed closely knitted, expecting ewes grazing peacefully under the territorial eye of your unruly ram byström who also spared glances at the hound dog. with such dense clouds above, the shifting trees surrounding your little washboard and seating provide an unneeded shade, branches supporting a sprawling line of linen above your head.

a wooden table shaved of any splinters supported your elbows, brown eyes taken with how autumn sweeped this ranch not even days after your engagement. tutting your lips in intellection, there wouldn’t possibly be any time to plan a ceremony with erwin making preparations for winter. it was as if snow already coated the ground, seeing as you’d all but noticed hooves heartily beating against gravel.

the rusted whine of the gated entrance finally caught your attention. schulz obediently follows the statuesque blonde, yankee blue eyes digesting you. from that shirred cotton embroidered in floral design to your bare feet — he would turn his trouser pockets inside out all over again.

“one of these days you’re gonna step on something,” he shouts all proper in passing while guiding the chestnut stallion to an open pasture. always speaking chaste yet possessing the unique ability to understand your nonsense.

“not with all these leaves,” one leg over the bench already – you sat the knife aside, “we needs a rake ‘fore snowfall.” you insisted. adjusting the hem of one’s gown, pulling it above your buxom and rushing over.

carefully shutting the enclosure he turned to your nosey expression, “I’ll pick it up with my sheers.” he assured. the man’s lips couldn’t help but curl as you were now inches away from him. though his affections were promptly rejected, “what?” erwin asked.

“ya’ talks about your sheers more than anything,” eyes rolling you ignored that knit forming in his thick brows.

“come on now…” the blonde’s voice faltered in the skin of your neck, pulling away just to see if anything changed.

“spring or summer then?” you scrutinized all but those things that tempted you to drop it like his cupid’s bow.

“elaborate.” his brows fell with an air of unamusement.

even upspoken he knew you were serious. your persiflage continued, “well d’you think white would look good on me in july heat?”

“I think it’s timeless on you.” he gushed against your cheek and settled for the corners of your mouth since you kept moving.

“well then - I just wants to know why you’re so nervous.” your forearms interrupted his rough, calloused hands sliding down your waist. in that moment you glared through him, truly trusting he’d answer accordingly.

“it’s been two months.” erwin stated. “I don’t wanna rush it, diamond.”

the fleeting gaze you unknowingly gave sent aches to his chest, his adam’s apple bobbing before you parted your lips, “why not? are you not excited?”

“please.” eyes cutting to the tip of your nose and pillowy lips, he scoffed. “I want to make sure everything is right before we start a family.”

you giddily flashed your crooked teeth. “who said anything about that?”

“we’re getting married,” he knocked his forehead against yours like a bull. “you’re having my babies.” grin across his face toward the end, finally planting a kiss more becoming than the last few.

analogous to a whirling current of wind gathering you up, erwin’s hands now firmly hoisted your weight in a candid fashion. a brief glimpse of concern lit in his pendulous eyes when your breath hitched in response to such suddenness, subsequently washing over as soon as your hand began blithely unbuttoning his blouse.

your lover’s snug embrace radiated a warmth, twirling with your nerves. for the first time during this lazy october afternoon you’re finally looking like you’ve lifted a finger throughout, erwin hungrily watching these beads of anticipation fall below your collarbone.

“do you wanna start practicing?” he fondly asked, words steady despite his haste. effortlessly carrying you toward the porch of his ancestral farmhouse, authentic leather boots sounding off creaks in the steps he feverly trekked.

“what’d you call it before?” you played with the strands of hair laid thick across his chest, ahead of sitting up in his arms to kiss along his jaw as he jangled the doorknob.

“extracurriculars—” a sharp air left his nose, earning your laughter. the blonde’s support altered to where his palms now held your behind, your legs wrapped around his waist tightly as to stick along for where he’d take you.

the house smelled of sweet spices and vegetables, thoroughly flavoring the meat you had been slow cooking for hours in hopes of a tender finish. its scent wafted through the foyer and pleasantly met erwin’s nostrils, surprisingly arousing him even more.

“christ, how’d I get so lucky...” he deeply spoke into your mouth amidst the hissing breaths and smothered noises you both let out without discipline. the tent in his pants growing larger under the white gold buckle of his cowboy belt, poking at your heat needily.

the blonde didn’t care for sheets or hide blankets, he marched straight into the dining room like one of them soldiers.

“what?” you broke the sloppy kisses to watch the hallway staircase grow distant, eventually out of sight once he passed the kitchen countertops. “y’wanna eat first?”

“mhm.” erwin answered. prompting his placement of you directly on the table yet to be set, hiking your frills up above your thighs. cotton panties gated with a bow, that of which haloed over a stain of longing just for him. a finger of his pressed against your wetness absent of novelty, exploring your folds and watching as they ate up the fabric, cloth roughing up against your more sensitive flesh.

the man had since kneeled, practically breathing into such supple skin whilst pressuring more against your clothed cunt with his thumb. he often caught himself wolfing down the spit collecting in his mouth, salivating at the thought of you on his tongue. it wouldn’t be the first time he considered himself at your mercy.

“yous gone let me take ‘em off all by myself?” you queried, looking down at him with an expectant stare. your fiancé’s gaze was more occupied by your other set of lips then, but he eventually adhered and reached his hands up your spread thighs.

he slid your pretty underwear down the skin of your legs, a hand helping you wriggle the rest of the way. your body tensed when he kissed one of your feet which were damn near filthy from chasing chickens, but erwin was just as ribalding. he simply won’t admit the times his languish left him cumming to only the scent of your worn panties. as if he really needed to, his expression outwardly famished at the sight of you dripping onto the polished oak, smooching up your inner thigh whilst holding a vehement glare.

a gratuitous groan rattles from your depths, enduring the waves of pleasure ensuing as his tongue greedily laps at your juices. those rigid palms of his subconsciously found themselves hooking your thighs over his broad shoulders, allowing himself to suckle at your intimacy more aggressively. your precious hums and squeezing legs encourage the blonde, his pronounced nose bumping up against your shorthairs, jaw slacked so his tongue could properly punch in and out of your twitching cunt.

erwin’s cock had been weeping between his legs, jumping at the sound of his spit bubbling against the bud of your cunnie. you didn’t think his tongue could reach any further but he soon required deeper conversation with such a talkative pussy, forcing you backward onto the sanded tabletop. his hairy forearms wrapped around your legs to urge them apart, fingers creating little indents in your thighs while his face buried itself snug between those soaking folds. the blonde loudly smacked and sucked like a bitch to a bone, licking stripes up and down your cunt interchangeably with tongue fucking you, bottom lip firmly pressed under your slit.

“that feel good?” he slobbered. your yelps and drawn out vowels were complimented by his attentive croons. he empathized with how starved your hole was for his girth, feeling it tighten around his saliva coated muscle in prayer for something shaped just like him to guzzle down.

amidst reply your chin bunched up under the downward look you gave him, reaching lower to spread yourself wider. “go up—“ you insisted breathlessly, heaving in and out while a ball of yarn unraveled inside your tummy.

spoiling you similarly to a debutante made it so erwin rarely put his needs first during sex. only when you began bucking into his face after around twenty minutes of nonstop devouring did he become the slightest impatient. still he chose to satisfy himself with your climax on his taste buds, ensuring his girl’s cunt drooled ahead of pounding it senseless. but even in this pussy-whipped daze the blonde’s cock kept him mindful. the man would never be devoid of any purpose, not when your plump pussy’s sitting all gorgeous, practically begging for his attention.

this time you didn’t have to yank his head of angel hair to shoo him in light of your overstimulation. he’d already stood on the soles of his boots, breathing through his mouth like an exasperated idiot, deftly undoing his belt to release some of the tension.

“diamond,” erwin murmured under his breath only to realize he’s called on you, “mnh, don’t eye me like that.” knitting his wild brows did he whisper. your lover boy could barely stroke his cock he was so close, and your repeatedly renewed expression of excitement at his length was incredibly rousing. “can I…?” words laced with perversion did he query, gently pushing his fat cockhead against your gushy cunt, a groan leaving him as his eyes ate away at your beautiful body.

your meek smile melted him with embarrassment, “hmph, I gots to say it?” you asked, lips forming to wince while you elevated up onto your elbows in search of a better listen.

“no, s’just—“ erwin’s voice rasped out, only when he discarded anything from his waist down and began climbing up onto the table did your face morph with curiosity. “let me lift your legs a bit.” he kindly requested, breath now clashing with yours.

your movement lasted little without his assistance, softly guiding you back to fold your legs. he was now looming over you with an ounce of uncertainty, analyzing the scrunch of your nose and wrinkle ridden strain. words of concern were promptly exchanged, initiating an adjustment beneath his large stature. now that the burning in your hamstring subsided, you had more room to experience this relatively new position, his pelvis hovering a ways above yours — sheer length of his manhood all but making up for the distance.

he grinded his stiffness in a specific motion, teasing himself with your slick while securely grasping the skin under your knees. your moans goaded him to pass the surface, heightening once a few inches actually did. in this state erwin felt he could thrust deeper than ever, sweat running down his hefty ballsack in temptation. all your devoted fiancé could think about was jerking his dick against the hugging walls beyond your entrance, desperate to fill up his barn cat of a woman.

after a few moments of torturously paced action, erwin finally honed how hard he’d let his shaft slap against the plush skin of your ass. grinding his forehead into yours while rhythmically thrusting into you, drinking up your adorable faces if he wasn’t occupied with blinking in that very second. his voice had periodically joined that of your own each time you gripped particularly tight, sucking him in a spoiled fashion each time he reared back. the plap plap plap of his dick made your brain rattle ’round, eyes half lidded and mouth wide with moans like a brothel girl. when words were coherent they implored he continued, begging like the submissive wife everyone expects of you.

the table rammed back and forth on its four legs, parallel to erwin’s ploughs that became harsher each time his cock plunged inside your saturated mess. you couldn’t recall exactly how your dress turned into a flimsy skirt around your waist, folded a dozen for erwin’s gawking. but it was his regards that centered you — his constant presence no matter how primitively he may have fucked into you. the blonde didn’t relent in his shower of love across your exposed skin, passionately kissing over your shut eyes and such when you’re much too engrossed to return said kisses. even minding his off white teeth against your breasts, pampering you delicately akin to a hand sculpted china doll. such precise movements yet the furniture beneath you still moved with exuberance, and you still frothed around him in melded bouts of ecstasy.

“feels nice, don’t it?” erwin exhaled, experiencing himself flex inside you sensitively. the heat of the kitchen spilling into the room, droplets on one’s skin illuminated by a warm rustic lighting. he wondered what you thought of him, pinning you down like that of a roman trying to win a brawl.

“god almighty…” your voice eased out between hiccups of enjoyment, “don’t stop!” you need not ask but he’d developed some liking for the nagging - the reassurance.

“gone have to wed in spring then,” the blonde happily reaffirmed his position with blue collar arms, “seeing as you’ll be a mama by tonight.” he lovingly said before weighing into you more, damn near flattening your thighs onto the table just to allow more room for his shaft to grind against your swollen bundle of nerves.

your reply was written roughly, forcing your tongue past his supple lips and somehow pulling him in closer, imagining your hands cradling his head like this under sunlight stained by fancy colored glass. neither of you let up for air — breathing between this salivating exchange in an animalistic intensity, daydreaming of one another, comfortably naive.

“you’re squeezing me so tight.” he spoke into your loose lips, watching you break away with pitiful squeals once his dick began repeatedly bullying a certain spot near your cervix. erwin relished in your expression, all gobsmacked like an innocent southern belle, only to be broken in by some rugged stud. those beady brown eyes grew wide, and he could only buck at the thought of you cumming around his girth. “what’s that sugar? can’t take no more?” he nibbled at your chin.

“mphhm—“ you hum and swore all at once, subtly nodding while a pressure built up just below the surface of your abdomen, brows knitting almost painfully.

your fiancé struck hard opposed to fast now, letting his pelvis slam against yours with every coo and comment. “y’ain’t bailing on me now, are you? not when y’got me all worked up…” he muttered, his lovely blue eyes sitting drunk on a determined expression. “…not when I got so much to give you, hm?”

it was erwin’s actions that were more demanding compared to his words, usually. but the tone he’s giving you more than beckons you let him hammer you til’ the next harvest moon. his breath hit against your face in wild pants like some dog in heat, and you more than obliged with your digits digging into his shoulders. nose brushing against yours, he continued rutting inside your squelching cunt until your voice was giving out, grasping behind your knees tighter than ever before just to keep his soon-to-be wife still for his thick ropes of cum.

“m’not, mmm’not,” you slurred incoherently. “y’just gonna get me knocked uuuup!” how cute it was to watch your lip quiver with restraint. erwin wondered if you measured your affect on him. certainly not — not when you walk around here asking to be barefoot and pregnant.

sounding like a babbling fool, your trembling legs fought the urge to lock around his defined back, toes curling so hard a knuckle or two may have popped. the blonde’s baritone voice encouraged you almost frantically, pacing his breaths in hopes you would follow said motions, thoroughly guiding your unruly reactions beneath him. all while pumping back and forth, ruts getting sloppy and short as to keep any semblance of your alluring warmth and maintain the perfect environment for his seed.

his ears perked to your groans of relief, listening as you came undone around him with an expression only he got to see. ‘twas a matter of time before your cunt made way for his gluttonously dense amounts of cum, weakly throbbing with each tense of his balls against your gaping hole, pussy lips impressively parted by his sheer mass alone. erwin intrinsically held you under the grip of his large farm-hands, placidly shuttering in response to the tranquil lull your body provided. he was no longer overladen with energy as you more than sucked every bit of it out of him, all your love could do was slowly flutter his lashes back open, witnessing your edible expression stare back into his own unexplainable countenance.

“did y’mean it?” you ask, voice labored with exhaustion and knees still surrounding your pretty lil’ head.

his grapple became lazy and slick with mixing sweat, “huh?” erwin grew perplexed at such a persistent thing like you. though accompanied by how persuasive you are, he learned to love it years ago. pet name on his tongue, he inwardly hushed himself and filled the silence with a considerate gaze.

“‘bout me being a mama ‘n stuff.” you tried to avert your eyes but not only was he still brooding over you, he followed the turn of your head so he never left your field of view, all to kiss you once more.

“a million times over—” erwin muffled into the plump skin of your cheek, marking you from your forehead to your chin with good loving. “you know that.”

“and the wedding?” another familiar question soaked with insecurity left your nectar flavored lips, those of which erwin often had to ignore just to hear you clear.

“hmph…” he freed your legs at last, sitting up but not slipping out just yet. “may. when the sun lasts longer and you won’t need sleeves.” erwin said thoughtfully. the blonde’s sentence narrated the image he envisioned, his wife amidst fields of green dawning victorian lace and warm silver.

“y’know my dress might needa be a little bigger by then, right?” you said cautiously. a hand of yours grazed your belly, heavy with implication and overall fatigue.

“’course, diamond…” you could hear his toothy smile before cutting your eyes to him, both his palms now encapsulating the waist they fit so perfectly around. “how else are we gonna fit that behind?”

ᯓᡣ𐭩

[mnasthaii]

WOODS & BELL

lovely war - julie berry / mitz_fitz's comment under "what’s one non-sexual act your so does to make you feel immensely loved?" / h.g. wells in a letter to rebecca west, 1913 / about you - the 1975 / during the impossible age of everyone - ada limón / love, death, and the changing of the seasons - marilyn hacker

[rosanarainhart]

˖⁺‧₊˚♡ LINKTREE ♡˚₊‧⁺˖

» LATEST BIG UPDATE-POST ABOUT MY BOOKS/WRITING

✦•♡ ↓ ABOUT ME ↓ ♡•✦

I'm a Swedish author in love with the English language – especially in its written form. I write dark and spicy romances with emotions at the forefront, weaving together twisted tales and the souls of broken people as they find love between bullets and sheets. I have a degree in Library & Information Science, with English and Religion as electives, and previously worked as a librarian (still do from time to time) before I created Deering Publications – throwing myself headfirst into writing and publishing independently after many years of writing for the pure fun of it (if you're here, dear fandom Tumblr, I love you!).

✦•♡ ↓ MY BOOKS ↓ ♡•✦

I write DARK/DARK THEMED and SPICY/SMUTTY romances with emotions at the forefront as well as layered plot, character development, and often a theme of trauma-healing (sometimes the healing is done through that sweet cathartic violence). My books are for ADULTS! There are adult themes and graphic depictions of sexual content, gore, bodily harm, trauma (physical/emotional), death, torture, alcohol consumption, etc. I am mostly in the "DARK ROMANCE" subgenre where morally grey rules - my novellas are closer to romance with dark elements (think escaping an abusive ex or overcoming a dark trauma).

» Clearview Cove | Novella

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» The Glass Goddess MARA LANDS Book 1

- READ THE FIRST CHAPTERS FOR FREE - GET YOUR COPY HERE

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✦•♡ COMING Q3 2025 ♡•✦ The final part of Rawler & Fiora's whirlwind-romance - amid flying bullets, deadly encounters, and toe-curling spice we take of masks and reach the end of the line...

» Rural Novella Duett WIPs

Homestead romances set in beautiful British Columbia - where the sun warms you during summer and snow buries the world during winter. Survival of the heart and body is at the forefront of these stories where we overcome traumas, obstacles, hardships, and find the strength to open up to new possibilities... ✦ "S&CP" - PLANNED FOR Q2 or Q3 2025 ✦ "B&GS" - PLANNED FOR Q4 2025 or Q1 2026

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[rayofhope01]

#contemporary readers

It's a sunny day and I'm super happy to be a nerd reading at home. Today is a rare sunny day, my friend went hiking (actually I want to go…but READING is still not finished, and it's not finished if I don't catch up today…I've read more than a hundred pages of a 400-page novel 🤦‍♀️) (actually, even if I had stayed at home, I wouldn't have been able to finish it) (but I still have to try at least), so I didn't go along with it. I still have to at least make an effort to try), so I didn't go along with it

After the change to winter time, I tried to grab the chance of the day still being bright and stayed in the dormitory building to sunbathe, and was super happy!

Some recent changes in mindset, last year when I came to the UK, I felt that everything was so new and interesting, but this year when I came back, I gradually began to feel that life is very bland, not boring, just bland, this kind of feeling is also at home, but at that time, I always think that it is because I don't fit in, I don't like it, and so I want to run away, and I want to change to a new environment quickly to give me a new sense of freshness to life, and to stimulate me to become an energetic, impulsive and brave young man. But the truth is, even after I arrived in the new city, after the brief novelty wore off, my life returned to the same blandness as it had been at home. I didn't spend my weekends running around without reading or grabbing every nice day to go out, as I thought I would, but I still maintained my nerdy character. So it doesn't seem like it's the circumstances of my life that are the problem, it's me. But lately it's become more and more apparent that it's hard enough to live without ups and downs, without emotional ups and downs, and that while bland can mean boring and repetitive, it also means stability, and that stability gives me a sense of security in a foreign country.

[lil-miss]

This is where we’re at on chapter three babes I’m sorry.

[the-writer-in-the-winter-forest]

I've been fiddling around with a character creator, struggling to get down the look of two of my core alien characters.

I've kept details kinda vague so far on their appearance.

It's kinda like Mary Shelly's Frankenstein and how she kept the description of the monster very vague.

The only reason the monster looks the way he looks today is thanks to famous monster makeup artist, Jake Pierce.

Sadly, I lack a Jack Pierce, so I'm working on what I have. 😁

I'm not sure yet about this one. There are aspects that I like, though.

[bargainsleuthbooks]

📚Preserving the Seasons: A Guide to Canned, Jammed, Frozen, Dehydrated, Freeze-Dried, Quick-Pickled, and Infused Produce, Herbs, and Flowers #BookReview #SimonandSchuster #ARCReview #Homesteading #CanningandPreserving #Cookbook

A comprehensive and beautifully photographed guide with recipes that covers the easiest ways to preserve the seasons’ bounty—boiling water canning; drying, dehydrating, and freeze-drying; freezing, infusing, and quick pickling. Most books mentioned in my reviews can be found at the affiliate links below. (Bookshop.org) (Biblio.com) (Better World Books-US) (Better World Books-UK) (Amazon US)…

[famousnerdtragedy]

The Homestead of Willow Creek

Chapter 1: The Decision

Under a twilight sky, Evelyn Harper stood at the edge of her new property, gazing at the vast, untamed land that would soon become her sanctuary. The rolling hills, dense forests, and babbling creeks of Willow Creek had called to her like a siren's song, promising solitude, peace, and a life of self-reliance. At thirty-five, Evelyn was ready for a change. The fast-paced life of the city, with its constant noise and ceaseless demands, had drained her spirit. She yearned for something simpler, something that would connect her to the earth and its rhythms.

Evelyn had always been an independent woman. Raised by a single mother who had taught her the value of hard work and perseverance, she had learned early on that life was what you made of it. Her mother had passed away when she was just twenty, leaving her with a small inheritance and a wealth of wisdom. Evelyn used the money to put herself through college, where she studied environmental science. After graduation, she had taken a job with a prominent environmental consulting firm, but the corporate world left her feeling empty.

Her decision to leave the city had been a long time coming. She had spent years dreaming of a life where she could wake up with the sun, tend to her own garden, and breathe in the fresh air without the stench of pollution. When she found the listing for the 50-acre property in Willow Creek, she knew it was the sign she had been waiting for. She sold her apartment, packed up her belongings, and drove halfway across the country to start a new chapter.

Chapter 2: The Land and Its Challenges

Willow Creek was both beautiful and challenging. The land was fertile, but it hadn't been worked in years. Overgrown fields and wild woods stretched out as far as the eye could see. Evelyn knew she had her work cut out for her, but she was undeterred. She had always been handy, having learned carpentry from her grandfather and gardening from her mother. She had also taken up beekeeping, herbalism, and basic mechanics as hobbies over the years, skills that would prove invaluable in her new life.

The first task was to clear a section of the land for her garden. Armed with a chainsaw, a machete, and sheer determination, Evelyn spent weeks cutting back the underbrush, felling trees, and preparing the soil. Her muscles ached at the end of each day, but the sight of the cleared land filled her with a sense of accomplishment she had never felt in the city.

Evelyn built raised beds and filled them with rich, dark compost she had ordered from a nearby farm. She planted rows of vegetables—tomatoes, carrots, potatoes, beans—and a variety of herbs. She had also set aside a portion of the garden for medicinal plants, a nod to her interest in herbalism. As the days grew longer and warmer, she watched with pride as the first green shoots pushed through the soil.

Her next project was to renovate the old farmhouse that sat on the property. The house had good bones, but it needed a lot of work. Evelyn rolled up her sleeves and got to it. She replaced the leaky roof, repaired the creaky floors, and installed new windows to let in the light. She even built her own furniture, crafting sturdy tables and chairs from the wood she had harvested.

Chapter 3: The Animals Arrive

With the garden thriving and the farmhouse becoming a home, Evelyn turned her attention to the animals. She had always loved animals and dreamed of having a small farm of her own. She started with chickens, building a sturdy coop and a large, secure run to protect them from predators. She ordered a dozen heritage breed chicks and cared for them like they were her own children. She knew that in a few months, they would reward her with fresh eggs, and perhaps later, more chicks to expand her flock.

Next came the goats. Evelyn had always been fascinated by these hardy creatures, known for their milk, which could be turned into cheese, yogurt, and soap. She built a shelter for them and fenced in a portion of the land where they could graze. She adopted two Nubian goats, Hazel and Willow, who quickly became her companions. Their playful antics and gentle nature brought a sense of joy to the homestead.

Evelyn also acquired a pair of honeybee hives, placing them at the edge of the garden where the bees could pollinate her crops. She had learned the art of beekeeping years ago and was eager to put her knowledge to use. The bees thrived in the rich environment of Willow Creek, and by the end of the summer, she had harvested her first batch of golden honey.

Chapter 4: The Community

Though she had moved to Willow Creek for solitude, Evelyn soon discovered that she was not alone. The small town nearby was home to a tight-knit community of farmers, artisans, and homesteaders who welcomed her with open arms. They were impressed by her skills and determination and were always willing to lend a hand or offer advice.

Evelyn made friends with a local blacksmith who helped her repair old tools and taught her how to forge simple items. She learned to spin wool from a neighbor who raised sheep, and in return, she shared her knowledge of herbal medicine and beekeeping. The community thrived on mutual support and the sharing of skills, and Evelyn was grateful to be a part of it.

As the seasons passed, Evelyn's homestead grew and flourished. The garden provided more than enough food for her, and she began selling her surplus at the local farmer's market. Her goats produced rich, creamy milk, and her chickens laid eggs that were in high demand. The honey from her bees became a sought-after commodity, and she even started making and selling herbal salves and tinctures.

Chapter 5: The Peace Within

Evelyn had found what she had been searching for all those years. The homestead gave her a sense of purpose and fulfillment that she had never experienced in the city. Each day brought new challenges, but also new rewards. She had learned to live in harmony with the land, to respect its cycles and rhythms, and to appreciate the simple joys of life.

As she sat on the porch of her farmhouse, watching the sun set over the hills of Willow Creek, Evelyn felt a deep sense of peace. The life she had built with her own hands was more than she had ever dreamed of. She was no longer just a single woman searching for something; she was a homesteader, a gardener, a beekeeper, and a friend to the land. She had found her place in the world, and it was right here, in the heart of Willow Creek.

[casuallyanidiot]

Yandere FarmBoy

[Yandere M. x F. AFAB Reader]

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

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

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

7.2k words

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Which one?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Haha yeah…” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Daniel-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

“This is my farm-”

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

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

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

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

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He groaned in your ear, loudly too. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“ [Name] [Name] [Name] “ 

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

“Ngh! Fuck!”

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

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

As you had suspected, your father was livid.

“ HOW COULD YOU BE SO FUCKIN’ STUPID?”

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

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

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

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

“No he had a mask but-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’re you lookin’ at?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[rafeslittlepup]

sexist!rafe in an alpha male podcast

the host introduces him like he’s bringing on a navy seal, “today’s guest is… well, he’s hard to describe, man. real estate mogul, former golden boy, some say menace, rafe cameron. he’s got opinions, he’s jacked, and apparently he doesn’t let his wife use microwaves.”

rafe leans into the mic, he doesn’t say hello. he nods. first ten minutes and he’s already saying stuff like: “masculinity isn’t toxic. soy is.”

“if your wife’s tired, you’re doing something wrong, or not doing her enough.”

“i don’t discipline my sons. i raise warriors.”

so the host tries to steer things gently, “so what’s your day to day like?”

“up at 5:00am. cold plunge. eggs. raw liver. i kiss my lovely wife. all four kids are already dressed, you know, matching outfits, my wife handles that. i don’t touch laundry. that’s her kingdom.”

he then casually name-drops marcus aurelius and some twitter “author” in the same sentence while adjusting his patek phillip and talking about “the collapse of the nuclear family.”

thirty minutes in, he’s downed his cold water, chewed a zinc tablet raw, and told a story about “earning his wife’s purity.”

“she had a promise ring of course… i replaced it with a rock the size of a baby tooth when she was 19.”

they spiral into a full hour on seed oils, school indoctrination, and why he thinks testosterone is sacred. rafe says the words “God’s values,” “homestead,” and “virginity restoration” in under 30 seconds.

then, the final stretch, “you ever worry people think you’re, uh… intense?”

but rafe stays calm “some people call me intense, but my wife packs my lunch in a hello kitty apron and she wears my last name like a badge of honor. so no, i don’t worry.”

the host claps, twitter explodes, reader gets like 20k new followers overnight on tiktok, some say the episode is banned in five countries. others say rafe started a cult without realizing.

[zae-heeyyy]

Causerie

Summary: You send Arthur a letter. Pairing: Arthur Morgan x female!reader Word Count: 2,185 Tags: Male Masturbation, solo handjob, mentions of oral and unprotected p in v, dirty talk, long distance relationship, high honor Warnings: 18+ MDNI

an: So this came out of nowhere LMAO It's a bit different from what I'm used to, but I ran with it. The mentioned photo was heavily inspired by @sir-walton-goggins's under-the-cut sketch of their OC, Kris Blake. 😍😍😍 I hope you enjoy! Thanks for reading!

Causerie: an informal conversation

Channeling the self-control of a brigade of soldiers, Arthur willed his unruly cock flaccid as he left the post office. An envelope addressed to Tacitus Kilgore in familiar dainty cursive teased him from inside his satchel. The nagging twinge in his gut could only be satiated by his fist wrapped tight around himself in the solitude of his tent. 

He didn’t know how he’d make it through the rest of the day without losing his sanity. Once you’d unknowingly planted the seeds, his thoughts of you grew wild and untamed like the weeds at your feet. He’d never seen something so ridiculous—a woman in her day dress, the lacy hem stained with dirt, trying to repair a loose fence post on her own.

“No man ’round here?” he had asked, holding his hand out for the hammer.

“There is now.”

You beamed, your smile stunning him like a camera flash. Unbeknownst to him, that grin was a brand, marking him as yours for a long time to come. 

Every time he passed by the quiet homestead, he found himself lightly pulling on Boadicea’s reins and scoping out something to fix. Your ways of showing gratitude, like a hug or kiss on the cheek, turned his neck to shades of crimson, yet he’d still come knocking again some time later. On his last visit, you were dragging him to your room by cotton suspenders, mouth attached to his before he could get a word in.

An innocent lamb you were not—he was sure of it now in a half-daze, hypnotized by your breasts as you bounced on top of him. Matter of fact, you must’ve been a witch or a succubus; he’d never felt so used, drained, and perfectly satisfied.

And guilty, too. He couldn’t even look at you as he confessed to his life of criminality, finally admitting what he’d come to tell you in the first place. After this job, he was leaving for good.

To his surprise, you didn’t put up a fight—just wished him well—and dammit, that made him want you even more. You didn’t follow him outside—only watched from under the blanket as he said his last goodbye and promise.

“I’ll write t’you.”

Receiving your letters kept his heart ticking and dick aching. What started as a pile of polite notes quickly transformed into a library of erotica. His hands trembled in anticipation as he opened the latest letter. 

Dear Arthur, 

Are you still alive? I hope you haven’t gone and gotten yourself killed. I’m sorry if I kept you waiting. A new photographer opened up in town, and I stopped by the studio one evening just before he closed. I may have batted my lashes and stood a little too close when I asked for his help. A special photo of me would be the perfect gift for my dear husband, who was about to be shipped away to war in the Philippines. You should’ve seen how red he got when I dropped my blouse. I tried to sit pretty. Did it work?

A photo? Arthur checked the discarded envelope, searching for the supposed gift. A small photo was still tucked away in the envelope. He took it out and held it up to the lantern to get a good look.

Christ.

You were directly in the center of the camera with a lazy smile on your face. Pearls adorned your neck, and velvet cloth draped over your shoulders, just barely covering those twin humps on your chest. Fuck, he wanted to rip that photographer’s head clean off his shoulders for capturing you like that, but goddamn, he wanted to shake the man’s hand too. This slip of paper was a slice of heaven on Earth.

And for what he was about to do with it, he was going straight to hell. Setting the letter aside, the gunslinger undressed down to his union suit with the ardor of his twenty-year-old self. As he settled back onto the cot, he locked on to your sultry eyes and sighed contently.

I had a dream about you. Do you ever dream about me?  

The bulge in his pants begged for attention, and he appeased it, palming himself idly while his eyes stayed trained on the photograph. He’s too old and weathered for this—pining over some girl and touching himself like he’d gotten a second wind of puberty. 

But he couldn’t help it. Even after deafening gun fights and vicious animal attacks, he’d find a letter to re-read, and now he had this picture to accompany his fantasies. His gaze shifted from the photo back to your words on the page. 

We were in this beautiful room in a palace or someplace like that, swimming under blankets. It was far from my humble bed, but it felt like paradise. 

If only you knew, that little bed was his paradise.

Dream you tasted like whiskey and ash and smelled like leather and gunpowder. I don’t think it was too far off from the real thing. We weren’t wearing any clothes, of course, and your head was tucked between my thighs. 

Breath shaking, his hips shifted upward, the memory of your thighs on either side of him overwhelming his senses. Arthur sucked in his bottom lip and didn’t waste any more time undoing the bottom two buttons of his union suit. His cock sprung free, twitching and yearning. Flicking his eyes to your photo once more, his right hand moved on its own, kneading his leaking tip. He peeked over the edge of the paper, watching precum drizzle down his shaft, imagining it was you leaking around him. 

Oh, Arthur, I could feel your lips on every part of me at once, kissing up my stomach, bosom, arms, thighs, legs, all over. But when you found my lips again, I don’t know how my pounding heart didn’t suck me out of the dream. Has anyone ever told you how gorgeous your eyes are or how heavenly your hands feel? And your back, Mister Morgan, is like a brick wall. How I wish I could’ve dug my nails into it.

Arthur’s fisted pace quickened as he stifled a groan, trying his very best to keep the sounds of his sin quiet. He urged himself downward into the cot, hoping the friction could mimic the sting of your nails dragging down his spine, but it was no use. Tightening his grip in frustration, he turned his attention back to the photograph of you. He wanted to study your hands, to imprint them in his mind’s eye so he could imagine them scratching his back and pleasuring his cock.

But the photo was too close up, only your face and a peak of your breasts captured at that moment in time. Would he be too brazen to ask for another? To request a pose? Hell—he’d stuff the money in an envelope with a list of the depraved positions he’d like to see you in. Your hands on your bust, legs spread open, on all fours, one with your pretty fingers in your mouth, and a full body shot with just the pearls. Dammit—he’d kill for it. 

But then, at the very end of the list, he’d ask for a respectable one. One of you with your hair pinned up under a fancy hat, dressed in your finest, wearing a necklace, earrings, and a bracelet with your hands folded politely over your lap. One that was sweet and proper. One that he could tuck in his journal, frame, or pin up on the wagon. One that he could take out in broad daylight and pretend, just for a moment, that he really was that war vet admiring a photo of his loving spouse.

His hips moved involuntarily again, jutting up into his fist—the placeholder for the pussy of the woman he’d one day make his wife.

I didn’t plan to get you in bed that night, as unbelievable as that may sound. You were just so damn handsome and so so kind. I couldn’t help it. I needed to know how you’d feel inside me. I hope you don’t see me as just some Jezebel.

“No,” he gasped out. Wet sounds of his strokes accompanied his declaration.

I really did and still do have feelings for you, Arthur. It’s quite scary, actually. Maybe that’s why my dreams about you are so vivid? I realized just how much I cared that night, looking down into your eyes. I don’t take you as the type of man to just give yourself away on a normal day like that, so I hope you feel the same way as me. Did I ever say thank you? Thank you for being such a giver. I have a tendency to take, take, take when I’m on top, but you got payback in my dream. You had me pinned under all of your weight, damn near suffocating me. It was the good type, though. When you pushed into me, I forgot all about it. I never took you for an eager man either, but you were drilling me into those blankets with the fervor of a threshing machine. Are you an eager man, Mister Morgan?

He answered in shallow pants, twisting his fist around his length and rocking his hips. 

I have a curse of waking up right when I’m on the edge, so as you can imagine, I had a wet problem to take care of. My fingers just don’t quite do it like you. I wish we could’ve had more time together. I get the feeling that you do a lot of taking care of other folks and don’t get that in return. Am I right? I’d take care of you, Arthur. I’d keep your belly full and drain your balls all in a night.

They tightened at the thought, and his hips were a piston now, going up and down on their own accord.

I know you’d never ask because you’re too nice, but I’d get on my knees for you and take care of you in that way. I’m sad we never got to try it, that I never got to taste you. The thought gave me the silliest idea. Are you looking at my picture? Imagine that pearl necklace is your spend on my chest.

Jesus—the perverted imagery hit him like a train. He looked at the pretty pearls atop your chest. Goddamn, minx. 

Don’t think me too crass, but do you touch yourself to my letters like I touch myself to yours? Yours are more well-mannered than mine. But still, I wonder, is your fist wrapped around your cock?

“Yes, darlin.” 

Goddamnit, he was talking to himself now, arm cramping as he pumped feverishly at his engorged dick, his orgasm waiting to explode behind his eyes.

Do you imagine it’s me instead? I wish it was me. I wish I was on top of you again, milking you for everything you’ve got. Would you give it to me this time, Arthur? Would you spill inside of me?

And spill he did, teeth gritted and grunting, as hot ropes of lust spurted out over his hand. Once again, he’d made a mess of himself on account of you.

Shame crept in as he floated back to reality and stared up at the canvas of his tent. He brought the letter back to his face to read the last paragraph. The least he should do was finish it—dirty old bastard. But when he landed on your words and processed them, he was left with a numb, longing ache in his chest.

If we were together, I’d help clean you up, then maybe we could spend the rest of the night all tangled up in each other. I’m sorry I’m not there to touch you for real, but I hope these letters bring a little light to that hard, lonely life of yours. If I can make you feel good, even from far away, that’s enough for me. I miss you. Any chance you could come see me soon? 

Yours.

Arthur sighed and folded your letter back up neatly, tucking it away in his now hollowed-out copy of Rambles Through Woods and Plains. Though your photo and letter were out of sight, his mind refused to wander from the subject of you.

An assortment of motion pictures flickered in his memory: the way your head tipped in laughter at his dry sarcasm, how you so graciously welcomed him to that sitdown meal, the way you worried about him just as much as he worried about you, and how your words, even from afar, brought him unmeasurable comfort. Making it back across the Upper Montana could be a brutal fight, but he’d outrun the law and take a few bullets if he had to. He’d bare it all to bring you back with him. 

As he relaxed into the cot, another thought drifted by, small and almost weightless like a dandelion seed in the wind: maybe he wouldn’t have to bring you back at all. Perhaps he could stay right there with you.

[drgnflyteabox]

can't get much better

pairing: ghost / simon riley x fem reader summary: simon is forced to take some time off - he makes the most of it. tags/warnings: very soft, pregnant sex, size difference, softdom!simon- he's a masculine man who doesn't let his lady lift a finger :'), oral (f), one (1) butthole kiss, dacryphilia, daddy kink (sigh), minor minor foot stuff, allusions to injuries and chronic pain, title from an adrianne lenker song w.c: 2.5k

You try very hard not to think about it, but it's hard not to notice how massive he is.

Even shirtless, he somehow looks bigger, muscles flush with heat and exertion under the sun. He toils and breathes hard like an ox, working while you sit on the porch wrapped in his big flannel. Wearing his clothes is like being swaddled in a blanket straight out of the dryer, warm and nostalgic and syrupy with love. It leaves you feeling some type of tender. You're afraid of that feeling sometimes, of how soft it is and how soft it makes you. He could ask anything of you, and you'd yield like he was pressing his thumb into a bruised peach.

You have.

"How are you two?" Simon is so quiet when he wants to be. One would think he'd clomp like a horse with how big he is, but he can float like dust. It used to startle you, but you've been sinking deeper into the memory foam mattress of this life with him and it doesn't anymore.

"Tired, even though I'm not doing anything," you squint at him through the late afternoon sun. It haloes him like an angel.

"You're growing my baby in there, love. That's not nothing," his voice is rough, it always will be. But it's rough now like earth and soil rather than rough with pain and smoke the way he'd sounded when you met him.

You're feeling especially nostalgic, it seems, not like it's hard here. His hand is warm on your belly.

"I guess so," you let him pet you for a moment. Your stomach is swollen but not as big as it'll get, just enough to veto pants. A few months to go still. "How's your back?"

"Argh," Simon says, taking a heavy seat next to you. Dismissive and yet he groans a little when his muscles unclench. Classic.

You slowly reach up and nudge him until he's facing the field opposite to you, face toward the golden afternoon sun and his back to you. He's never asked you to do this, to take care of him, but it's your favourite thing in the world.

His back is always rock-hard no matter how many times you take your knuckles and fingers to it. Just a condition of a hard life lived for him, countless falls and impacts and pushing through injuries. There's a slight slant to his spine now that isn't there in the pictures he's shown you of his youth, but the stiffness is the same. You might've said he was born to be a soldier, had you not known him as a father. He could do both, but - you'd never say this out loud - you were privately grateful for this injury. It wouldn't take him out forever, but the recovery would be long. Long enough to get the homestead started, to get you pregnant.

Simon would never be completely still. This was compromise. Sweet compromise, a life started and time with him you could think back on the next time he shipped out. Making the most of things, he would always say. Making the time count.

"That feels good, love" he groans. Bending forward slowly, relaxing, he's like an aloof stallion finally accepting an apple from your hand. Acquiescing. Showing you his back. It's trust, and you savour it.

"I bet it does," you tease back, just a little. Your fingers are nimble and attuned to his specific aches and pains. "Are you hungry for dinner?"

"I'm hungry for something," he turns, slowly, hands reaching for your thickened waist. Huge, work-roughened hands. War-roughened hands, holding you like a delicate egg. Sometimes it feels like he's the only thing that holds you together; all your pieces, everywhere, until he's holding you.

Kissing him is a contact sport. It's his hands moving, cupping your breast and then your pussy through your panties, your own hands wrapping around his broad shoulders like he's the only thing keeping you from drowning. It's open-mouthed, breathing into each other. Impossibly, you get softer, melting like ice on a hot day. 

Before you can lean back on the bench, he stands and lifts you with him. He's still hot from the day, damp with sweat, pushing you into the house while kissing you still.

"Simon-" you start, with no goal in mind. "Please."

"I've got you, love," he murmurs. He always does. Before you know it, you're laid back onto the plush armchair in your living room. Simon knows this is the most comfortable place for your newly-aching body. Affection swells in your chest uncontrollably and comes out through your eyes leaking down your face. Sure, pregnancy makes people emotional - but you're still embarrassed, touched by how considerate he is.

"It's alright, shh," he thumbs the tears at the corner of your eyes. His cock tents his work pants, aroused by them. "Let me take care of you."

The next words he murmurs are into your cunt, right over your panties, tongue laving over the already-wet fabric. "Just need your daddy, don't you?" You clench in tandem with his words, hot all over, skin prickling. He pushes your dress up, bunching it right under your tits.

It's reminiscent of how you spent the first night with him, on the very first day you'd met. Hurried, his big head between your thighs and clothes hanging off you still while he made you fall apart.

He's fucking good at it, too. Pulls your panties to the side and builds up the pressure with which he sucks on your clit, softly and then harsher until you shake. You've been extra horny lately, always wet around him and always so swollen. The scrape of his five-o-clock shadow against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh is what tips you over, clamping his head tightly and shouting your orgasm into the heady summer air.

"That all it takes?" Simon grins, chin wet, fingers moving from your hips to your pussy to gently rub along your slit.

"Give me a second, please," it's humbling how quickly you come nowadays. Quick and intense. Fireworks.

You set your foot on his shoulder and he turns towards it, kissing your ankle. Patience is rare with him, something come about only since you confirmed your pregnancy. You miss being overwhelmed by him, miss the nights where he'd guide you over the edge one, two, three times in succession.

He pushes now, just a little, not waiting for your go-ahead but watching you intently. His fingers spread your cunt in a V and he puffs a breath on your sensitive clit. You jump. He grins again, leaning down to lick you, using one hand to hold both your legs under your knees and push them until they meet the soft bump of your belly.

"Hold them there," he says. It's spoken not to you, but to your hole, which he spears his tongue into. You obey as you're helpless to do, holding your legs up and giving him an unimpeded view. It's more than vulnerable, it's not only baring yourself to him completely but giving him the authority to do what he wants. What you need.

Simon eats you out like it's a kiss, slurping you down and letting you leak until the evidence of your weakness to him is all over you. Your legs are wet, and it drips down onto your other hole. He pushes a thumb into your cunt, dipping it in and out.

"Needed me, did'ya? Watched me all day," he's so smug, sometimes. His lips find your bare foot, kissing your sole. "Been wet like this all day?" His other hand finds the meat of your asscheek, spreading you open further, letting the split of you open to him. He leans down, kissing your inner thigh, then your other hole. You whine and clench your pussy around his thumb. 

"So needy," he murmurs, finally finally moving back to your clit. Flicks his tongue over it, something that might've been teasing before but is intense now. Your hands tighten against your legs, head thrown back.

"Oh please- Simon!" You shout again, abs drawing up, stars in your eyes. "Ahh- I'm-"

"I know, honey," his lips suction again around the hard little pebble of your clit, eating like a man starved. 

This is how he likes you. Losing control, coming apart, helplessly vocal against the onslaught of his tongue. No matter how many times you've done this, it never gets old. The release almost always makes you cry, especially intense like this. You're wet all over, face and cunt and legs. He is, too.

"You still with me, love?" He pets your flank like you're a horse.

"Yes," but that's not what he wants.

"Yes what?"

"Yes, daddy."

"Good girl," and fuck if that doesn't always fill you with warm fuzzy energy. Wipes your brain, keeps you soft and floaty.

He guides you up and out of the armchair, lifts you into his arms when your legs shake too much. That electric feeling is still coursing through you, tingles in your extremities as they come back to life.

The hand he strokes over you is half affectionate, half proprietary. You've been his since the first time he laid eyes on you.

He reminds you of it as he sets you down gently on the bed, your hair a halo around your head and hands reaching to his face where you pull him down for a kiss. Hands find his shirt, pulling it off you, and then the dress. Fingertips touch the headboard, your arms stretching up, making room for him. Slips your panties down your legs.

It's a lingering, indulgent kiss. Breathing each others air, gasping into his mouth, he puts his elbows by your head and lays as much weight down as he can without cramping your full belly. He's as vocal as you, groaning and rutting like a dog.

"Ready for me, sweet girl?" He leans out of the kiss, sitting back on his heels. You nod, desperate and pulsing between the legs again like you didn't just come twice.

"Daddy's gonna take care of you, don't you worry," he rearranges you like a doll, turning you to your side and getting between your legs. A pillow is tucked under your belly, and he tests your flexibility by holding your leg tight to the length of his body. Your hamstring burns a little with it.

A hand holds your knee, another to your waist. His jeans scrape against your sensitive skin.

You focus on little details. His scar, touching his eyebrow and splitting through his nose, ending down by his jaw. The knuckles on his fingers holding your knee, and how rough the pads of his fingers feel on your waist. This man has never had soft hands in his life. Those same hands capable of so much force, so much violence, the very same that hold you and guide you. A shepherd, you his lamb.

The weeping head of his cock kisses your hole, catching there and traveling up. He taps it against your clit until you're tensing, whining, needy again. Tears down your cheeks.

He steadies you, pets your waist, guides his cock inside and it feels like you can breathe again. His mouth laves hot kisses over your ankle, the sole of your foot again, reverent and controlling all at once. The stretch burns - it always does, and maybe always will. Simon is just so big, thick all around and the mushroom head of him could always bump your cervix if he's not careful.

He's careful now, but only just. You can sense his control fraying, his hips driving forward steadily but his thighs tensing and his grip getting meaner. This is your favourite part. Watching him sweat, breathe hard, taking his pleasure in you.

"Yeah-" he cuts himself off with a long, drawn out groan. Deep, from the bottom of his belly and out. "Already so full of me, aren't ya? Can't get full enough."

You plead with your sounds, words out of your grasp. Your hands clutch at the sheets but it isn't enough. He's solid, he's your anchor, but he's losing himself in your cunt and you're free falling.

"Play with your tits for me," he commands, pumping faster. You're reflexively tightening around him, clit jumping for attention, squeaking each time he lets himself in as deep as possible and touches the mouth of your cervix.

Sunlight slowly fades on the bed, the last golden rays escaping out the window as you're bathed in dusk. 

There's nothing to do but obey, hands finding your swollen breasts and squeezing. They've been sore and huge, like that week before you get your period only it's been a couple months. None of your bras fit anymore.

Simon appreciates it, he loves it. Has you cooking for him with your tits out, nipples peaked and pussy leaking. They bounce, now, stopped only by your hands pinching and twisting. It's insane - no one in the world could replicate the feeling. No artist, no musician. Electricity zips from your breasts down to your clit and shit - you might come just like this, untouched, just full of your man and fondling yourself.

"Fuck, I can feel you squeezing me. Fucking," he pants, leaning over you, bending your leg. "Pinching my dick, sweetheart. Your pussy's so fucking good."

The orgasm begins in your toes, tingling. Your muscles tighten, drawing up, up, towards your cunt, which is making obscene sounds around him.

Simon sees the signs, sees your eyes rolling and your body going taut. He abandons your leg in favour of rubbing your clit with two big fingers quickly, up and down.

"That's it, sweetheart, come all over my cock. Go on," his voice is a snarl, barely distinguishable as human, beastly. "Be good for daddy.”

It's like the crescendo of an orchestra, like a summer afternoon in august, like waking up without a clogged nose after being sick, it's - really fucking good. You're near sobbing, crying out his name, abandoning your tits to reach for him desperately. He meets you halfway, shuddering his own orgasm into you. The press of his hips against yours is better than buttered toast, the delicate press of his chest against yours as he lets your leg go is bliss.

"Si-imon," you slur, hands on his cheeks. He laughs and kisses your forehead.

"What's that, sweet girl?"

"I love you," you cry a little more then, feeling him pull out and lay next to you. You're boneless.

"I love you too," his arm reaches across you, pulling you into him. "Both of you." Hand on your belly again.

"That was insane," you pant. He barks a laugh against your hair. "I'm serious."

"I know you are, love," he kisses your forehead, petting your stomach. You can tell it's meaning, can feel the gratefulness behind the kiss. He's saying thank you, for staying with him, for making him a father. Your hand finds his, squeezing back a wordless reply. Of course, it says.

<3

[planetallure]

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ dark!fic recs

CW: once again, these works contain dark and explicit themes that may be upsetting or triggering to some. please use your discretion and discernment.

@cherienymphe : when i first seriously got back on tumblr and got into dark!fanfic, cherie's was one of the first blogs i found. her writing was essentially my indoctrination. it was terrifying how much i loved it/her writing. truly phenomenal. i've read quite of few of her stories (mainly for rafe cameron, jj maybank, steve rogers, and peter parker) but i'll list my faves.

"when the party's over" - its something about this series...i think about it often. if you're into forced pregnancy or corruption tropes, tap in.

"wicked games" - i actually first read this one on ao3 before i discovered her tumblr and was absolutely gagged. another one i think of often.

"amnesiac" - the first series of hers that i ever read. absolutely traumatized me and i sobbed reading it. amazing storytelling.

"the hills" - another bangerrr. a one night stand ends in complete and total blackmail and entrapment. he just wanted to give her a better life *clown face emoji*.

"his father's son" - after ward death, rafe takes over the reins in more ways than one.

"teenage dirtbag" - this series single handedly made me a jj girl. the tension??? yup yup mhm.

"the less i know the better" - ironically my favorite part of this story is readers relationship with rafe but seeing jj slowly and then rapidly descend into madness? yeah.

"claimed" - a/b/o dynamics. brought me back to my wattpad days. still eat it up.

"daddy dearest" - steve meets a single mom and decides to be not the stepdad, but the dad who stepped up.

i'll be honest, i was a non believer in dark!peter but: "she's with me", "one last time." "suburbia" and "basic training" made a believer outta me. hands. down.

@lambtotheslaughterr : it absolutely amazes me the things that come from her mind. the level of creativity and originality needs to be studied. oona, you are criminally underrated.

“rise” - the first series of hers that i read. arguably the best series i’ve read on here thus far. this is the first part to her “the day the world ended” universe and it completely blew me away. i couldn’t believe that something like it had come from some silly little boat show. just brilliant.

“when the bough breaks” - the first work of hers i read. this one for me was a heartbreaking slow burn story, but the smut…makes up for it. yes yes.

“i burn” - sex!addict reader x rafe cameron. need i say more? actually, i will. the smut and tension in this one towards the end? it was shameful how turned on i was.

“one way or another” - buckle up, grab a snack, and prepare for the ride of a lifetime. that’s it.

“something wicked this way comes” - a single mom trying to escape her past, except her past is rafe cameron. this was one very spooky scary la la.

"summit" - the second part to the tdtwe universe. its still brand new but its already feeling like another banger, i mean it's oona. tap in.

@harryspet : rae was also apart of my indoctrination and boy did she do what needed to be done. her perfectly curated moodboards alone did it for me. very mindful, very demure.

"homestead" - what can i say...i'm a sucker for pregnancy stories :( and this series was no exception. absolutely delectable. enjoy.

"well kept" - classic millionaire ceo x reader, my younger wp reading self cheered gleefully. my love language is acts of service and boyy was this one speaking my language. had me at "scheduled braiding appointment."

"bambi eyes" - this one was one of those that made me want to take a good long look in the mirror and ask myself, "is this who we are...is this what we represent?"

@sherrybaby14 : this one is for the mcu girlies. more fics than you could ever ask for. everyone say "thank you, mother!"

"the distraction" - i'm starting to notice a kidnapping/stockholm syndrome pattern here...ANYWAY! work is realllyy stressful for steve and you just happen to be the perfect distraction.

@straywords : she's no longer active but her incredible writings remain so please, peruse. its like a beautiful museum over there.

"a break" - *gasp* another pregnancy story! stucky edition.

@darkficsyouneveraskedfor : an icon, a legend, she is the moment! another infinite library for my mcu girls. roo has all you could ever want or ask for.

@perlelune

"all too well" - yes, yes, another one, its who i am. rafe cameron proving once again that you can't escape him.

"lucky" - best friend!rafe x reader. he didn't know what he had until it was almost gone

"tag, you're it" - never read a scream fanfic before this one but boy did i have fun! chad is so pookie in this too :(

@honestsycrets : back when i was in my miguel era, sy single handedly kept me fed.

"starved | mio" - "mio", in which you babysit mayday and it gives miguel baby fever and "starved", in which he made you a mom...but its left less time for other activities.

"stung" - sex pollen/abo. reader gets bitten by an anomaly causing a reaction that only miguel can cure

"amor y respeto" - he just can't love you the way you need to be. so you and miguel break up...at the worst possible time.

"exclusive" - you and miguel are fuckbuddies. you want more, but miguel can't bring himself to give it to you. so you find company in hobie, who's there for you in all the ways that you need. miguel's not happy about that.

"canary" - you're a singer in the 1920s who's fallen in with the dangerous o'hara brothers.

"grande" - sex!worker miguel x assistant!reader. think...a pepper x tony kinda dynamic. except, miguel doesn't take kindly to certain slights. :)

@starfxkrinc : last but certainly not least! moony is a ridiculously talented writer and a mutal of mine. i found her early on during my resurgence on here. this is her new side blog (rip lovesickbrat and starfxkr!!) luckily she was able to salvage a lot of her past works and is back like she never left. i recommend her "western nights" series (really just the trailer park!jj tag in general) and her "ode to eaters" au. a queen of all things taboo. she does it for the girls who are drawn to the dark and scary. the gross and weird. <3

[vunblr]

A Star Without a Sky (#3)

Pairing: Sheriff! Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Slight angst. Comfort. Fluff. Slow Burn. Smut.

Summary: A wounded Sheriff Barnes seeks shelter in a young widow’s home, and finds himself wrapped in a warmth he no longer believes he deserves, and longing for something he thought long buried.

Word Count: About 6.9k.

Previous Chapter - Masterlist

She slowly tied the mare to the post outside the general store, hands cold despite the wool gloves. She patted the crate of preserves at the back of the cart, then hoisted it down and walked toward the porch, as her skirts brushed dust and straw.

The bell above the door let out a lazy chime as she stepped inside. The familiar scent of old wood, pipe smoke, and dried grain greeted her like always. Mr. Bell stood behind the counter, polishing his spectacles with the hem of his vest, while Brock Rumlow leaned on the far side, thumbing through a pouch of tobacco like he had all the time in the world.

His head turned the moment she entered, and his gaze dragged over her like molasses, slow and deliberate. Stopping at her bosom, lingering there just a hair too long.

Same as always.

She chose to ignore it.

“Well now,” Rumlow drawled, curling his lips. “Was wonderin’ if the little homestead swallowed you whole. Been a stretch since you graced the town with your smile.”

She kept her tone light, and polite, but clipped. “Hi, Mr. Rumlow. Been busy.”

“Busy,” he echoed, the word was slow on his tongue like he meant to chew it. “Takin’ care of your land all on your lonesome? That must get… exhausting.”

Mr. Bell cleared his throat pointedly. “Brock,” he warned him without looking up from the ledger.

She set the crate on the counter with a soft thump. “Three of the plums, four of the pears.”

“Appreciate it, Miss L/n,” Bell said, moving to check the jars. “Been running low. Folks keep askin’ for your pear preserves.”

“Might bring more next week if the weather holds,” she answered, feeling Rumlow’s eyes on her like heat off a pan.

Bell gave her a kind smile. “Glad to hear it. Figured you were due for a trip, truth be told. Just didn’t expect you to roll in with the sheriff.”

Her mouth went dry for a heartbeat. She adjusted the strap of her satchel. “Found him on the road, near the ridge. He said he was walkin’ back from some job. He looked like hell warmed over, if I’m honest. Thought I’d give him a ride.”

“Kind of you,” Bell nodded.

Rumlow snorted under his breath, stuffing the tobacco into his coat pocket.

She didn’t look at him, but still, he talked anyway. “Didn’t know he was the ridin’ sort. Looks more the skulkin’ kind to me.”

Bell frowned. “Don’t start, Brock.”

Rumlow raised both hands in mock surrender. “Hey now, I ain’t sayin’ nothin’. Just thinkin’ it’s curious, is all. You keep to yourself, Miss L/n… and suddenly you’re givin’ rides to the sheriff, bringin’ him into town lookin’ like he’s fresh off the gallows.”

Her jaw worked. “I didn’t bring him in. He was already headin’ here.”

Rumlow’s grin didn’t falter, but his eyes lost all pretense of warmth. “Maybe you ought to think twice ‘bout bein’ seen with the likes of him. Even if he is wearin’ a star now.”

She stilled in the motion of adjusting her shawl. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He leaned an elbow on the counter, grazing his belt with his thumb. “Rode with some fellas, types that don’t get invited to Sunday supper. Vigilante crew, some say. Kept killin’ long enough someone finally handed him a badge and said go ahead, make it legal.”

She turned, slowly and deliberately, resting her hands on the crate of preserves she was arranging. “Didn’t know the law required saints now. And no offense, Mr. Rumlow, but you’re not exactly a cherub yourself, and here we are, talkin’ like always.”

His expression twisted, not quite a scowl, not quite a smile. “Least I know who my folks were.”

Her breath hitched.

He leaned in, and his voice dropped a note, all honey and venom. “Ain’t no secret Barnes is a bastard. Left behind, orphanage-raised. And you know what kind of temper grows in a man made from nothin’.”

For a beat, the store was silent but for the creak of the settling wood. Bell busied himself in the back, pretending not to listen.

She straightened her back.

“I’ve known men with fathers who were monsters,” she said. “And I’ve known bastards who’d give their coat off their back to a stranger. So unless you’re holding something real in your hand, I’d think twice about spreadin’ dirt just to feel taller.”

Rumlow studied her, and his lip twitched a bit like he hadn’t expected her to bite back.

“Just tryin’ to help a lady keep her name clean,” he said, mock-gentle.

She stared him down. “My name’s clean, Mr. Rumlow. And I’m not the one slingin’ mud.”

He stepped away with a low chuckle, tapping his tobacco pouch with his thumb. “Suit yourself.”

When the door closed behind him, Mr. Bell cleared his throat from behind the shelf. “He thinks Banker Pierce’s coin makes him untouchable.” He muttered.

She didn’t answer. Just picked up the last jar and set it on the shelf behind the counter.

But Rumlow’s words swirled in the air like woodsmoke. For how easily men like him wielded rumor like a blade.

He’d called Bucky a bastard like it was a curse. Like it meant he was made wrong.

She pulled her shawl tighter as she stepped back into the morning light.

He didn’t know a thing.

----

The sheriff’s office smelled like old coffee, dust, and iron oil. The usual. Bucky stepped through the doorway with a stiff roll of his shoulders, his coat still damp at the hem from the morning frost.

Sam looked up from behind the desk, as usual, with a sandwich halfway to his mouth. He blinked once.

“Well,” he drawled, chewing slowly, “look what the cat dragged back in.”

Bucky didn’t smile. Just set the rifle gently against the wall and pulled off his gloves, one finger at a time, like he had all the time in the world and no interest in small talk. “Mornin’.”

“You smell like pears and pine,” Sam added, leaning back in his chair with a lazy sprawl. “What’d she do, bathe you in preserves?”

“Don’t,” Bucky said quietly.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were gonna.”

“I wasn’t.”

“You were.”

Sam sighed exaggeratedly and stood to unlock the armory with a key. “A week holed up with a lonely widow out in the hills, gettin’ fed and patched up? Some folks got all the luck.”

Bucky shot him a look. Slow, flat, and unimpressed. The kind that emptied rooms and quieted fools.

“I said drop it.”

Sam’s grin just widened. “Oh, I’m just gettin’ started.”

“You really missed me, huh?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. Jail’s been real quiet without you brooding in every corner like a cursed statue.”

Bucky finally cracked the ghost of a smile, rubbing a hand through his wind-tangled hair. “Good to be back.”

Sam leaned on the doorframe of the armory with his arms folded. “So, about your ladyfriend-”

Bucky turned.

Slow. Sharp.

“Sam.”

That was the third time.

The deputy lifted both hands in surrender, with the grin still perched on his face but softer now. “Alright, alright.” He let the words hang just long enough to keep Bucky’s pulse on edge. Then- “Just figured you should know. Your buddy Rumlow’s been sniffin’ around her skirts since the minute she put on the black.”

Bucky froze. Took one breath. Then another.

Sam didn’t push, just sat into the desk chair again, elbows on his knees, “Walker told me. Word’s been floatin’ around since before either of us showed up. Banker’s lapdog’s got a habit, and her porch light’s been on too long for him to ignore.”

Bucky’s jaw ticked. His gaze dropped to the floor, then to the rifle by the door. One hand flexed.

Sam leaned back further, crossing his arms loosely. “Funny thing is… every man who tried callin’ on her after the mourning period ended, far as I’ve heard? Well. They either backed off real quiet or had themselves a little misfortune.”

Bucky’s eyes flicked up, sharp and dark.

Sam nodded once, slowly. “Tripped horse. Busted hand. One fella’s barn mysteriously burned halfway to ash. Nothin’ anyone could pin. Just… bad luck. It ain’t a secret Rumlow don’t like to share what he thinks is his,” Sam finished. “Seems like the only person who hasn’t noticed is her.”

Bucky’s hand curled tighter. He didn’t ask for details. Didn’t need them.

His jaw ticked, and his gaze dropped to the floor for a beat. When he looked up, there was something colder behind his eyes. “You tellin’ me this for a reason?”

“I’m tellin’ you,” Sam said, no grin this time, “because things in this town’ve been cookin’ a long while. You just stepped into the kitchen.”

Bucky didn’t answer.

Didn’t have to.

The silence between them was heavy with meaning. The way his shoulders tensed, the slow clench of his jaw, and how his fingers hovered, just a second too long, over the rifle’s stock.

Sam watched him, then let out a low breath and pushed off his knees. “Yeah,” he muttered, brushing crumbs off his vest. “Figured you’d take it that way.”

Then he stood, brushing crumbs from his vest, and walked back toward the little back room without another word.

----

The bakery door creaked softly as she stepped inside, and the warmth of the oven was certainly appreciated by her chilled cheeks. The air was thick with cinnamon, butter, and rising dough, comforting.

Mrs. Marshall looked up from behind the counter, with her hands dusted in flour. “Mornin’, dear! I saw your cart earlier. You brought the preserves?”

“Sure did. Plums and pears this time.” She managed a smile, tucking a windblown curl behind her ear.

She barely had time to step forward when someone turned from the display near the window.

“Why, if it ain’t the lady of the orchard herself, what a coincidence,” came Rumlow’s voice, syrupy sweet and dressed in charm.

He held a small paper box of tarts in one hand, the other resting loose at his hip. No spurs now. No hat. Just that too-smooth smile and a casual lean against the counter.

“Mr. Rumlow,” she said with polite reserve, gripping the crate tighter in her arms.

He glanced at her, slowly and deliberately, then looked back to the tarts like they required deep thought. “Hope I didn’t come off too sharp earlier. Just tryin’ to look out for folks, is all. Rough place, this town. Rougher men in it.”

She blinked, caught off guard. He sounded sincere, contrite, even. No trace of the earlier sneer. Not a hint of lechery. Just concern, well-practiced and polished, clean.

“Didn’t mean to give offense,” he added, glancing up through thick lashes. “I’d hate to think I made you feel uncomfortable. Wasn’t my intent.”

The baker moved behind them, sliding loaves into the oven.

“I appreciate that,” she said after a beat, softening a little. “It’s easy to speak without thinkin’. We’ve all done it.”

He nodded slowly, tucking the pastry box under one arm. “You’re gracious. That’s a rare thing these days.”

His voice carried the right amount of warmth, and deference. It felt measured, not too eager, not too slick. The kind of tone a man used when he wanted to be trusted.

Still… something didn’t sit right. It wasn’t just about the way his eyes had lingered on her body in the general store. It was a wrongness she couldn’t name. But she smiled politely, thanked Mrs. Marshall, and turned toward the door.

Rumlow was already there, stepping ahead to hold it open.

“Let me,” he said, almost gallantly, the gentleman act slipping on like an old coat. “Least I can do.”

She hesitated, but walked through, nodding once as she passed.

“Actually,” he said once they were outside, “I was wonderin’... Would you let me make up for my tone earlier?” His gaze flicked sidelong, all soft lines. “There’s roast at the hotel restaurant today. Real nice. You let me buy you a plate, and share a civil conversation. Just neighbors, makin’ peace.”

She stopped on the sidewalk, lifting her chin just a notch, the crate against her hip.

He didn’t push. Just waited, still smiling. Still polite.

She stood there a beat too long.

The cold nipped at her shawl, and her hands pressed harder on the handle of the crate. Rumlow’s eyes didn’t press, but they didn’t look away either. Waiting. Open.

Maybe she was too quick to paint everyone with suspicion.

After all, he’d apologized. Earnestly. And while the way he’d spoken about Bucky earlier had crawled beneath her skin, wasn’t it, sadly, the sort of thing most decent folk thought? Especially with a man whose past came tangled in blood and bounty?

He had been trying to look out for her. In his own rough, clumsy way.

And maybe it wouldn’t hurt, just once, to indulge that peace offering. Squash whatever awkwardness might fester between them. Ensure she wouldn’t find herself whispered about in the corners of the general store or glared at by the banker's men.

You and the gunman got bad blood now? That’s not wise.

She adjusted her shawl and shifted the crate to her other hip. “Alright,” she said lightly, like she hadn’t just talked herself down from a dozen misgivings. “Lunch, then. Neighbors making peace. Let me leave the crate in the cart.”

He smiled widely, wider than she would have liked, though she told herself that was just his normal expression.

“Glad to hear it,” he said, offering his arm.

She didn’t take it.

Just walked beside him, with her back straight. Letting herself believe that maybe, she’d imagined that little flicker in his eyes.

----

Just across the road, down the mouth of an alley, the edge of a dark coat shifted with the wind.

Sheriff Barnes watched from a shadowed corner, with crossed arms, an unreadable face under the brim of his hat. A flicker of movement, a flash of her shawl as she walked beside Rumlow.

His jaw clenched once. Hard.

But he didn’t move. Didn’t follow.

Just watched them disappear into the warm light of the hotel’s front door.

Then turned, slow and silent, and walked the other way.

----

The hotel’s restaurant was quiet at midday, just a few men nursing coffee or waiting for stew. Rumlow waved off the waiter like he owned the place and guided her to a corner table with a hand lightly at her back, too lightly to protest, too familiar to ignore.

She sat across from him, smoothing the napkin across her lap, fussing her fingers with the edge of her spoon.

Rumlow ordered for them both without asking. “Beef’s decent today,” he said, flashing a smile full of teeth. “And I remember you don’t eat pepper bells.”

She blinked. “That’s… thoughtful.”

“Just observant,” he said, leaning back on the chair. “Always tryin’ to be of service. Like I always tell you on Sundays, if you ever need anything out there on your land, being alone and all… just send word.”

He smiled again, broader this time. His eyes didn’t leave her face.

She gave a soft, noncommittal hum, reaching for the glass of water. “I appreciate the sentiment, truly. And if I find myself in a bind… I’ll ask.” A pause. “I do have neighbors. And folks in town have been decent enough.”

“Sure,” he said, tapping the table with one finger. “But not everyone’ll come runnin’ without askin’ questions.”

She managed a polite smile, but the way he said it turned in her stomach. She kept sipping the water, cool against her tongue.

It wasn’t that he said anything wrong, exactly. But the idea of sending for Rumlow, having him alone at her property, with no one else around...

It didn’t feel right. Not like it had with Bucky.

Bucky had been half-dead, bleeding out, but somehow, even when he was better, she hadn’t felt unsafe. Never once worried what he might do, even when she’d undressed him, fed him, tended his wounds.

She forced her thoughts back to Rumlow, nodded once more. “That’s generous of you. I’ll keep it in mind.”

After all, Alexander Pierce was a respected man. A generous pillar of the community. He wouldn’t keep untrustworthy men around.

Right?

Still… her hands remained folded neatly in her lap. And she didn’t finish the stew.

----

An uneventful week came and went until one morning, when the sun had barely cleared the eastern ridge, she reached the edge of the orchard and stopped cold.

Ten trees. Maybe more. Splintered stumps jutting from the ground like broken teeth. Pears crushed into the dirt, sticky and swarming with flies already.

She dropped her basket without realizing it.

She hadn’t heard a thing. Not a damn thing. No dogs barking, not the trees falling in the dark. But someone had been here. Someone had taken an axe to her land like it meant nothing. And done it close enough to her house.

Her trees. Years of work reduced to kindling. She clenched her fists.

She should’ve gone to the neighbors. Asked if one of their men saw something. But her mind snapped instead to a voice quieter than most, one that still echoed in her ears some nights.

If you ever find yourself in trouble... even if it seems foolish... come to me.

So she hitched the mare to the cart, fast and sloppily, threw her coat over her dress, and did a quick braid on her hair. She rode hard toward town, the wind biting her cheeks, dust and snow kicking up under the wheels. The orchard flashed behind her eyes with every jolt of the road.

By the time she reached the main street, the town had already stirred to life, doors propped open, smoke curling from chimneys, folks tipping hats in greeting. She didn’t slow down.

She pulled up hard in front of the sheriff’s office, and her boots hit the ground before the cart had even settled. The door creaked as she stepped inside.

Sam was behind the desk, polishing the handle of a shotgun with a rag over his knee. He looked up, blinking once.

“Morning, Ma’am,” he said. “You alright?”

Her chest rose and fell with uneven breaths. “Where’s the sheriff?”

Sam set the shotgun down slowly. “Ain’t here. Went to check somethin’. Why?”

She stepped forward. “Someone’s been on my land. Cut down half my pear trees. Fruit ruined.”

Sam stood now. The chair scraped back against the floor. “When?”

“Last night,” she said. “I didn’t hear a thing.”

He grabbed his hat from the peg behind him and motioned toward the bench along the wall. “Sit a spell. Let me ask you a few things. Bucky’s out workin’ a lead, but he’ll be back soon. Might help to have the details ready for him.”

She nodded and sat, folding her hands tightly in her lap. The office smelled like tobacco and oil, and the clock on the wall ticked too loudly in the quiet space.

Sam settled back behind the desk, already reaching for paper and pencil. “Now… you said trees were cut. You see tracks? Anything else disturbed? Tools left behind?”

She shook her head. “Nothing I could see. Just trunks, clean cut. Fruit all over the ground like someone went outta their way to ruin it.”

He hummed, jotting notes. “Any trouble with neighbors? Workers? Someone pass by lately that didn’t sit right?”

She hesitated. “No. Nothing like that. It’s been quiet.”

Sam gave a thoughtful nod. “Ain’t the kind of damage you do unless you’re lookin’ to send a message.” He tapped the pencil once on the desk. “Don’t worry, ma’am. We’ll get to the bottom of it.”

She offered a tight smile, but her insides were churning.

The longer she sat, the more the walls pressed in. The louder the clock ticked than it had any right to, and the lamplight made the air feel thick. Her mouth had gone dry, but her palms were damp in her skirt.

Sam noticed. “You alright?”

“I’m fine,” she said quickly, then stood. “I think… I should go. Need to get back. If the sheriff -or you- come by later, just knock.”

“You sure you don’t wanna wait a little longer?” Sam asked, standing too, “He might be back any minute.”

She shook her head. “I’m just tired. I’d rather be home. Thank you, deputy.”

He gave a polite tip of his head, watching her go with a thoughtful frown as she stepped out into the sunlight.

The town was louder now with creaking wagons and raising voices. She moved down the steps, trying to clear her head, focusing on each step.

Then, a smooth and too familiar voice startled her.

“Well, now. Didn’t expect to see you in town this early.”

She looked up.

Rumlow.

He was standing near the water trough, with his arms folded, chewing something leisurely. His eyes flicked over her -lingering too long, as always- before returning to her face.

“You alright?” he asked, all concerned, all charm. “You look rattled.”

She froze for half a second before forcing her shoulders back, smoothing her skirt. “Just had a bit of trouble at home,” she said, cautiously but politely.

“That so?” he said, stepping closer, narrowing his gaze just slightly. “You know, if you ever need help out there…”

She offered a tight smile. “That’s kind of you, really. I’ll ask if I ever need anything.”

But she wouldn’t. Not from him.

Still, she told herself not to overthink. He was just being nice. Maybe a little crude sometimes, but it wasn’t rare in those lands. Maybe he just didn’t know how to talk to women like normal folk. So she said thank you, gave a small nod, and stepped around him, her heart ticking a little faster as she went.

Because no matter how calm his voice was, or how polished the apology, something about Brock Rumlow had always made her skin crawl.

And today, that feeling was worse.

----

She hadn’t meant to fall asleep.

The fire had burned low, casting soft golden fingers across the floorboards. The weight of the day, the trees, the ride, the faces in town, it all felt heavy across her shoulders, and when she sat on the old chair near the stove, just to rest her eyes… her body had decided for her.

She woke with a small jolt.

The fire was dimmer now. The room, colder. Outside, beyond the window, snow was falling in slow spirals, coating the ground. It took her a moment to place the faint sound she’d heard beneath the rustle of wind.

Knocking.

Not frantic, but insistent. Three times.

She sat up, with her heart climbing slowly into her throat, with one hand still tangled in the folds of the blanket.

It could be Bucky or Sam, or-

Another knock. Louder now. More forceful.

She rose slowly and turned slightly, squinting toward the window near the door. She couldn’t see much past the snow, but a tall figure stood on the porch, low hat, black coat pressed flat to a solid frame. Her pulse kicked up.

Then she heard his voice, low and unmistakable, behind the door.

“It’s me.”

----

She motioned him inside. He looked windblown and a little agitated, like he’d galloped the whole way and hadn’t let himself breathe since. The snow clung to his coat hem and melted in his hair, dampening the ends that curled against the collar of his long coat. His eyes were unreadable.

“Your horse-” she started.

“Took the liberty,” he cut in, his voice was low, rough from cold and something more. “To put him in the stable with the mare.”

She nodded, stepping back so he could pass fully inside. The door clicked shut behind him, sealing them in the warmth of the house. He stood awkwardly near the threshold, like he didn’t know what to do with himself now that he was here.

“Sam filled me in,” he said after a pause. “Before coming, I spoke with the closest neighbor. Just makin’ the rounds. Gotta ask a few questions myself, in case anything got missed.”

She gestured toward the sitting room. “Well, come on then. No use freezin’ in the entry.”

He slowly followed her in, removing his hat, pressing his fingers at the brim. The fire snapped softly in the hearth. She’d tucked the blanket tighter around her shoulders, motioning for him to sit. He did, stiff-backed, resting his hands on his thighs, eyes on the fire instead of her.

She studied him for a moment. He looked guarded. More than usual. Not just tired or worn down, but distant, like he’d put something between them and couldn’t find the words to move it.

“Something wrong?” she asked quietly.

“No,” he said too quickly. “Just doin’ my job.”

Except he wasn’t. Or he was, but this wasn’t the man who’d laid half-dead in her bed. Not like the one who’d eaten preserves with careful hands and watched her when he thought she wouldn’t notice.

This version of him was tense and cold. Polite, but brittle.

She tried not to let it show. “You said you had questions,” she offered softly.

He nodded, like he had to remind himself why he was here. “Right.”

And then came the usual list: had she seen anything, heard anything, remembered anything new? She gave the same answers she’d given Sam, almost word for word.

Until he shifted in his chair. Cleared his throat. Didn’t meet her eye.

“Has anyone new been here the last few days? Spent time with you in town?”

She blinked. “New? No. You were the last new person here. Before you…” She shrugged. “Just the neighbors. Their wives.”

He swallowed hard, flexing his jaw. “Let me rephrase,” he said, and something in his tone turned pointed. “You spend time with anyone lately? Had a conversation that got… close? Maybe a disagreement? Some kind of confidence?”

Her brow furrowed. “Not that I recall.”

He exhaled sharply, and sat back like he didn’t believe her, or didn’t want to. “This won’t work if you play coy.”

The room went still. The crackle of the fire filled the gap he left.

She stared at him, clutching the blanket in her lap, as something cold crawled beneath her skin that had nothing to do with the snow outside.

“I’m not playin’ anything, Sheriff,” she said firmly. “And if you think I am, maybe you should try askin’ plainer.”

He raked a hand through his damp hair, his face shadowed in firelight. “I didn’t mean it like-”

“No?” she cut in. “Because it’s starting to sound like you did.”

A beat passed by.

“Sorry,” he said, dropping his gaze. “I shouldn’t’ve said it like that.”

She let out a breath through her nose. Nodded once.

He hated this. Hated that his chest felt tight over something he had no business feeling.

He didn’t tell her that seeing her step into the hotel with Rumlow, with his hand hovering too close to her waist, had lit something ugly in his chest. That made him feel stupid, boyish. Like a stray dog sniffing around a place he didn’t belong.

It wasn’t jealousy. He didn’t have that right. Hell, they weren’t anything. She’d helped him. Cared for him. He’d held onto that feeling too long, long enough to let his thoughts wander where they shouldn’t.

But damn it, something in him had imprinted on her. And now here he was. Snapping at her like she’d betrayed something between them, like she’d wounded a bond they’d never named.

It wasn’t fair. Not to her.

It wasn’t even like he had a clean slate to stand on. He was a man with a past soaked in ash and blood. A man most decent folk crossed the street to avoid, badge or not.

He scrubbed a hand down his face. The stubble rasped against his palm.

“I just think you’re leavin’ something out,” he said, the words coming out too rough, too flat.

She looked at him like he’d just insulted her straight to her face. “Well, think again. Because-”

“I saw you,” he said. The breath in his chest caught halfway through, but he forced it out anyway. “The day you dropped me off.”

That made her blink. “I went to the general store. Then the bakery-”

“The hotel,” he cut, and that stopped her cold.

Something shifted behind her eyes, confusion, maybe. But that didn’t matter. Not to the part of him that had ridden out here with this iron weight pressing deep in his chest. The part that saw her walking past those swinging doors with Rumlow on her heels like a man walking where he was welcome. Too welcome.

She stared at him, the corner of her mouth twitched, maybe with realization, maybe with anger. “I had lunch,” she said, incredulous. “At the restaurant.”

He didn’t answer. Didn’t blink.

She scoffed, a breath of disbelief. “Jesus. Is that what this is? You think-?”

“I don’t think anything,” he said stiffly, gaze burning into the dark of the fire instead of her face. “It’s not my business what you do, or who you see.”

Except it was. Except his guts had twisted since Sam mentioned Rumlow’s name. Since he’d watched that hotel door open and seen her coming in with a small smile. Like they were gonna-

His jaw worked, tight.

“Unless it has something to do with your land being torn up,” he added, quieter now. “Unless it puts you in danger.”

But that wasn’t why it haunted him. Not really.

He hated that the thought even crossed his mind.

And most of all, he hated that he’d ridden all this way, with a badge and a reason, and still couldn’t look her in the eye.

She didn’t move for a moment.

Just sit there until she finally looked up. “So that’s what you think of me.”

Bucky’s jaw twitched. “I didn’t say-”

“No, you didn’t. You didn’t say it. You just asked around it, circled it, hoped I’d fill in the blanks for you.” Her voice was calm, but it cut straight through the dim room like a knife.

She crossed her arms, not defensively, more like she was holding herself together. “You think I’d do that. After what we- after the way we sat under the same roof, broke bread, shared the quiet without needing to fill it? You think I’d let a man like that in my bed just because he looked my way?”

He winced; the soft tone she used did more to shake him than if she’d raised her voice.

“I don’t know what I thought,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “I just… saw you with him. Walkin’ into that place. And my head ran with it.”

“I went for roast,” she said plainly. “I sat across a table and let a man I don’t like tell me I should be grateful he looks out for me, like he owns the right. And I smiled through it because sometimes that’s easier than making an enemy in a town too small to disappear in.”

She took a breath. “If you wanted to know, you could’ve asked. You didn’t need to look at me like I’d proved something ugly.”

His throat worked around a word he couldn’t get out. His hand flexed once at his side like he wanted to reach for something but didn’t know what. He looked down.

“I’m sorry.” It came rough.

She didn’t speak.

He forced himself to meet her eyes, even if it made something twist in his gut. “I ain’t good at this.”

Still nothing from her, but she wasn’t walking away. That was something.

“I saw you with him, and I knew what it looked like, but I also knew it didn’t mean what my head started sayin’ it did. But I let it talk anyway. I ain’t used to bein’ in the company of decent folk, ma’am,” he added, reverting without meaning to, the word slipping out like armor. “I should’ve known better.”

Her stance relaxed a little, just enough to notice.

“Damn right you should’ve,” she said.

Well, it wasn’t cold. Not quite.

And it wasn’t a door shutting in his face.

Bucky sat there, with his hat hanging in his hand, rubbing his thumb slowly over the brim. He looked like he’d rather be anywhere else than under her gaze, but he stood his ground all the same.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, voice quieter this time. “I was wrong to think it. Or to speak it. Either.”

Her arms folded tighter across her chest.

“I know what that sounded like,” he said, trying again. “And I’d take it back if I could. You… didn’t deserve that. You deserved better than me makin’ you feel low in your own home, after all you’ve done.”

He paused, looked down again. He shook his head, like the words failed him.

She didn’t speak for a long moment, studying him, how his fingers twitched around the hat brim, how his boots didn’t quite plant firmly on the floor like they usually did. He wasn’t looking at her now, with his gaze fixed on the corner of the room like it might forgive him if she didn’t.

“You always call me by my name,” she said finally. “Except just now.”

His jaw flexed, and his mouth worked once before answering. “Didn’t figure I’d earned it anymore.”

The quiet stretched again.

Then came the smallest exhale. Not quite a sigh, not quite a laugh.

“Sheriff,” she said dryly, “you have the backbone to drag a half-dead body into law and stare down a gun barrel, but the moment a woman looks disappointed in you, you start unravelin’ like a spool.”

That got his eyes to lift, just barely.

“And I’m not sayin’ I’m ready to be all smiles and pie,” she added, softer now. “But I can see when a man’s trying.”

He swallowed. Gave a small nod.

She got up and reached for the kettle without looking at him. “Might as well stay a bit. Snow’s still fallin’.”

And that -more than anything- was her way of saying he was forgiven.

She smoothed the skirt of her dress with one hand, though it didn’t need smoothing. Her voice was calmer now, even, but not cold.

“Answerin’ your question… I didn’t have an altercation with anyone.”

His eyes slowly lifted to her at that.

She met his gaze without flinching. “Mr. Rumlow invited me to have lunch. Said it was a way to make amends for somethin’ he’d said earlier. A misspoke, that’s all.”

Her tone wasn’t defensive, but measured. Like she was offering him the facts and not asking for approval.

“And before you ask-” she added, tilting her head slightly, “it was nothin’ that matters to the issue at hand.”

He was quiet. Too quiet.

Then, low: “Without due respect, I’ll decide if it’s not important.”

His thumb rubbed slowly along the edge of his belt. “What did he say, that needed apologizin’ for?”

There was no heat in the question, but something in his posture had stiffened, and his gaze pressed on her. Heavy. Blue and unreadable.

She sighed, slightly curling her fingers around the fold of her skirt.

“He said… I oughta be careful who I’m seen with.” Her lips pressed into a line. “Then went on about your past. What you used to do before you came here.”

A flicker of reaction passed through his body -barely there- but she saw it. A twitch in the jaw, the faintest crease between his brows. Still, he didn’t speak.

“I told him I didn’t see how that was any of his business,” she added quietly. “He backed off. Seemed sorry. And I figured… I dunno. Maybe he was tryin’ to look out for me in his own way.”

He nodded once, slowly and shallow, and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, rubbing a hand over his mouth.

Something about his silence didn’t feel like judgment.

It felt like shame.

He needed to get a hold of himself. Do his damn job.

But he wasn’t made of stone.

He leaned back slightly, fixing his eyes somewhere near the wood grain on the floorboards, working his jaw like he was grinding down a thought that wouldn’t settle.

Rumlow and he had been oil and water from the start. The second he stepped foot in that town wearing the badge, Rumlow had made it clear he didn’t much care for new dogs sniffin’ around old territory. Tried to undermine him from the first week, worded suggestions like they were orders, challenged decisions with a smile too thin to be friendly.

The man was used to a softer sheriff, someone who knew how to look the other way when Pierce’s interests didn’t align with the law.

And Bucky… didn’t look away.

It had come to a head not long after he took the post, in the middle of Main Street, hands twitching toward pistols. Townsfolk froze in their tracks. No bullets flew that day, but it was a close thing. Banker Pierce had stepped in, of course. Smoothed it over with the mayor, all shaking hands and backroom talks, calling for a “more amicable coexistence between two capable and trustworthy men.” That’s what he’d said.

He never forgot the wording. Nor the way Rumlow smiled afterward, all teeth and threat. They hadn’t traded words since unless it was required, but that cold simmer never left. And now…

Now that son of a bitch had gone and put his name in her mouth. Dug up pieces of his past and handed them to her like stones, waiting to see if she’d throw them back at him.

He swallowed slowly and tightly.

“And you suppose he told you all that just to be helpful,” Bucky said, tone clipped. “Lookin’ out for you.”

Her lips pressed into a line. “That’s what he claimed.”

Bucky’s hand flexed once on his thigh.

“Alright,” he said after a beat. “Did he say anything else to you that might be… meaningful?”

She shrugged, like she hadn’t thought twice about it. “Sincerely, no. It’s the same speech over and over about me being alone.”

That caught his attention. Subtle, but sharp.

He straightened slightly. “And what speech is that?”

She turned to remove the kettle from the heat. “Oh, you know. That I oughta ask for help if I need it. That I can count on him for anything.” She paused, poured water into the mugs. “He always says it like he’s doin’ me a kindness.”

Bucky narrowed his gaze. The warmth from the fire didn’t reach the knot forming low in his gut. “You say ‘same speech.’ Does he bring it up often? That you’re alone. That you- need a man around.”

She furrowed her brow, like she hadn’t thought of it that way before. “I mean... yeah, I guess he does. Just figures it’s odd I’m still by myself out here.”

“Hmm.”

Just a sound. Nothing else.

But behind his eyes, the gears turned. Slow. Steady. Ugly.

The day she brought him to town, Rumlow saw them together. Saw her at his side, blanket on their laps. Not even two hours later, the man had cornered her with a mouth full of sugar and tried to tear Bucky’s name to pieces. Then offered himself up instead. Big-hearted. Concerned. Eager to step in.

If that was something he did often, subtle, polite, persistent… and if Sam’s warning was true… other men had tried before. Men who'd backed off too fast. Or had little accidents. Coincidence, maybe. But now?

Now, it was starting to look like something else.

Because maybe Rumlow wasn’t just tryin’ to win her favor.

Maybe now he was trying to scare her into his arms.

The thought curled like smoke in the corners of Bucky’s mind, foul and slow. He didn’t let it show, just kept his eyes on her face, his voice quiet.

“And… have you ever taken him up on it?” he asked. “Relied on him? Brought him out here?”

She turned halfway, with the kettle still in her hand, furrowing her brow as if the question caught her off guard.

“Oh, no,” she said, shaking her head with a little laugh. “No, I never have. I mean… I can’t name it, and maybe it is silly, but I don’t-” her fingers pressed a little harder around the kettle’s handle, “there’s something about him that rubs me the wrong way.”

Bucky watched her carefully and didn’t interrupt.

“It’s not that he’s done anything wrong,” she added, like she was trying to be fair even to her discomfort. “On the contrary, he’s polite. Apologetic. Always offers help.” She exhaled, looking at the wall like it might explain what she couldn’t. “But he makes me uncomfortable.”

He nodded once, slowly. Said nothing at first, just stared into the fire like he was measuring its heat.

But inside him, a match had been struck.

Because she had no idea how well her instincts were working. How lucky, maybe, that she hadn’t needed help yet. That she hadn’t given that vulture an inch to take.

He cleared his throat and looked at her again, voice rougher than before. “Trust your gut.”

She blinked. “What?”

“If he makes you feel that way. Don’t second-guess it.” His gaze met hers, firmer now. “Ain’t silly.”

She held his stare for a breath, slightly softening her posture. “…Alright,” she murmured. Then, quieter, “Thank you.”

And he gave her the smallest nod in return.

But inside?

He was already thinking about how fast a man could lose a hand for reaching too far.

Next Chapter

Taglist: @civilbucky @pandaxnienke @whitewolfluvr @webbedwonders @ddrewcameron @globetrotter28 @homiesexual-or-homosexual @maryevm @nojudgmentjustsupport @jaderabbitt @hi172826 @littlesuniee @lonelyghosts-stuff @vxllys @mrsalexstan @winter107soldier @muchwita @gentlelimerence @gotminho @alaskaloveposts @oldernotwiser26 @daylighthazzz @dollface-xoxo @danzer8705 @ana27qz @carrotlove @valyriantarg @mgchaser @kittieboo @buckysbbydoll @purplefluffycows @yes-ilovetowrite @greatenthusiasttidalwave @technicallytinyheart @y0urgrl @wintrsoldrluvr @neyr100

[rafecameronssl4t]

Officially your bitch || Rafe Cameron x Thornton!reader

Summary: basically what happened in s1 ep 2 when Sarah is getting a teddy from the boat with Rafe, Kelce, and Topper watching but obvs slightly different. (you being the one faking being hurt)

Warnings: swearing, mention of gun,

Word count: 977

A/n: canon fics are so fun to write 😫

MASTERLIST (rafe x thornton!reader au masterlist)

Divider by @yoonitos

mood board here

"Jeez, man, this is nuts." Topper lets out a low whistle, staring at a boat nestled in someone's garden bed. "Agatha's a bitch," Rafe mutters. "Damn right, she is," Kelce adds as the three boys gape at the sight.

"I can't get it outta my head. It's on repeat. 'Your move, broski.'" Topper repeats JJ's words from a couple nights ago, when a gun was pointed at his head. "Bro, he had a semiautomatic pointed right at you!" Kelce chimes in.

"That's what I'm saying. It's insane!" Topper scoffs, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "Safety off!" he emphasizes, his voice rising. Kelce shakes his head, his expression a mix of disbelief and disdain. "That pogue," he mutters, his tone dripping with contempt.

Rafe, who had been staring intently at the waterline, snaps back to the conversation. His gaze sharpens as he looks at his friends. "They're freakin' pogues, man," he declares, his voice tinged with a mix of anger and exasperation.

"You know, you should get a piece," Rafe suggests, his voice steady as he looks at Topper. The gravity of his words hangs in the air. "What do you mean?" Topper asks, a puzzled expression crossing his face as he turns to Rafe.

"You gotta fight fire with fire and defend the homestead," Rafe replies matter-of-factly, as if it's the most logical solution in the world. "Better than being caught without one," Kelce shrugs, offering his own brand of nonchalant support. Rafe nods in agreement, his gaze unwavering.

"Listen guys, I'm gonna get him back, all right? I'm making it a little project of mine," Topper reassures them. Rafe hums approvingly, patting his friend's back. "Yeah, you should," he affirms with a smirk.

Kelce suddenly taps Rafe's shoulder. "Yo, that's y/n." Rafe and Topper turn their heads in unison, their curiosity piqued. They see you kneeling on one knee, talking gently to Joy, your mum's best friend's little daughter.

"Oh, so you left her in the boat?" you ask softly, your voice filled with understanding. Joy nods, her eyes wide with worry. "Okay, can you tell me what she looks like?" you stand up, smoothing down your shorts. Joy looks up at you, her face serious. "She has a trunk and blue eyes," she replies, her small voice clear.

The three boys watch intently as you smile reassuringly at Joy. "Okay, I'm gonna get her for you," you say, turning towards the boat. "Be careful of the electricity," Joy quietly warns. You smile to yourself, touched by her concern, and tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear as you carefully step onto the boat.

"Don't worry, I'll be okay. It's really dangerous, so stay there, okay?" you reassure Joy with a confident smile. Rafe, standing a few feet away, removes his sunglasses, his eyes narrowing as he watches your every move. "What's she doing?" he mutters to no one in particular, his concern evident.

"Watch her fall and make a big drama out of it," your brother scoffs, his tone dripping with sarcasm. He crosses his arms, clearly unimpressed by your antics. Rafe glances at Topper, eyebrows raised. "Hey! There's 14,000 volts in those wires," Joy's mum calls out urgently from the porch, her voice filled with anxiety.

You take a slow, deliberate step onto the plank, feeling it wobble slightly under your weight. With a mischievous grin, you glance back at the onlookers, enjoying the attention. A quiet shriek escapes your lips as you pretend to lose your balance for a moment.

"Hey, y/n, be careful!" Rafe hollers, his voice louder and more urgent now. He takes a step forward, his body tense with concern. "Oh, you've got to be kidding me," your mum mutters as she walks out onto the yard, her face a mask of frustration and fear. "Y/n, get down now!" she shouts, her tone a mix of anger and desperation.

"Mum, calm down. I'm an athlete. I got this," you reply playfully, flashing her a reassuring smile as you continue your careful approach toward the boat. Your confidence does little to ease the tension among the onlookers. The plank creaks under your weight, but you maintain your balance,

"You're gonna get electrocuted! Get down!" your mum screams, her voice trembling with panic. You ignore her, your focus on the gentle sway of the boat as you step onto it. "She just wants attention," Topper mutters, rolling his eyes in exasperation. "Are you kidding me?" your mum persists, her tone growing more frantic. You turn to face her, a playful grin spreading across your face as you shimmy your shoulders, teasingly.

"Oh my—no. When I tell your dad about this, y/n!" Your mum exclaims, her voice a mix of exasperation and genuine fear. "Y/n, that's not fucking funny," Rafe yells in annoyance, his frustration bubbling to the surface. He watches you with a mixture of concern and irritation, unable to shake off the worry that gnaws at him.

"Little fried y/n," Topper comments, a smirk playing on his lips as he observes the scene unfold. Kelce looks at him, puzzled by the comment, but Topper simply shrugs it off. "Top, your sister's crazy, man," Kelce remarks, shaking his head in disbelief as Topper snorts, "Tell me about it."

With a knowing smile, you reach the boat and spot the disconnected wire exactly where you expected it to be. "I see her!" you call out across the yard as you place a steady hand on the boat.

"Y/n!" your mum's voice echoes for what feels like the hundredth time, a mixture of frustration and genuine concern laced in her tone. "When I tell your dad—" Her words are abruptly cut off by your convincing scream as you pretend to slip into the boat. "Fuck—" Rafe's reaction is immediate, his instincts kicking in as he rushes forward.

After a few seconds, you grab the cord, swinging it in front of you with a smile. Kelce breaks out in laughter at your prank, the sound mingling with the collective sighs of everyone watching. Rafe's face fills with relief and annoyance as his tongue pokes agains this inner cheek. "It's disconnected!" you announce with a laugh.

"Holy shit!" Kelce smacks Rafe's shoulder, his eyes wide with amusement as he looks at you, clearly annoyed and unimpressed. "For the love of God," your mum mutters as she slips her sunglasses back on and strides away, clearly needing a moment to recover from the prank.

"She got you good, man," Kelce snickers, unable to hide his laughter at Rafe's bewildered expression. "Absolute suckers!" you crow from the boat, your laughter ringing out triumphantly. "Babe, you should see your face," you giggle, retrieving Joy's teddy bear. "Yeah, okay, yeah, I'm sorry that I care. All right, guilty," Rafe throws his hands up in mock surrender though his face expression remained annoyed.

As Rafe stands there, still trying to process what just happened, he feels a hand on his shoulder. "Congrats, dude. You're officially her bitch," Topper says with a smirk, offering his congratulations in his own unique way. Rafe rolls his eyes at the jest.

"Alright." Topper gives Rafe a hearty pat on the back. "Officially, did you know that? You're officially her bitch, alright?" Topper's laughter rings out as he teases Rafe, but Rafe isn't having any of it. With a swift motion, he slaps away Topper's hand. "Shut the fuck up, dude," he grumbles, shaking his head in annoyance before striding over to you.

"See! Just further proved my point, bro!" Topper yells amidst his laughter, clearly enjoying the reaction he's getting. Kelce joins in, chuckling at the playful banter unfolding before him.

Rafe reaches you, offering his hand despite his lingering annoyance. You giggle at the exchange, finding his frustration amusing. "Are you fucking crazy?" Rafe spits, his irritation evident, but you can't help but laugh at his reaction.

"Aww, I love you too, babe," you playfully pout, quickly kissing his lips before turning your attention back to Joy, handing her teddy bear over with a smile. Rafe stands there with a defeated look, unable to stay mad for long.