#the place they built with their hands. to have it just... stop. not in a way of repeating and staying in the moment

[chrissturnsfav]

Following the anon i sent so I was thinking that singer!reader has always struggled with loving her like thighs and stomach or smt but hear me out if you’re comfortable with it maybe some mentions of self harm like

A scenario

So reader and Chris are laying in bed cuddling or some shit and he’s like tracing his fingers up and don on her thighs and he notices her scars orrr

They’re laying and he compliments her and she goes on a rampage of how she’s not and how ugly her stomach is or smt

⋆.˚✮ rapper!chris knows how to make singer!reader feel pretty

tw: mentions of body image issues

you're sat on the edge of the couch in chris' big living room, scrolling through photos on your phone. your gaze lingers a little too long on a paparazzi picture of yourself from last weekend, your legs prominently featured. a familiar wave of self-doubt washes over you, and before you can stop yourself, you mutter under your breath, "fuck, my thighs look huge."

chris, who’s been freestyling under his breath while jotting down lyrics in his notebook across the couch, freezes mid-bar. his head snaps up, and his eyes narrow, like he can’t believe what he just heard.

"hold up, what'd you say ma?"

you glance at him, trying to play it off. "nothing, forget it," you mumble wearily as you shake your head.

"nah, nah, we ain't doin' that." he gets up, his notebook abandoned on the coffee table, and strides over to you. "what’s this bullshit 'bout your thighs?”

you sigh, trying to avoid his gaze, but chris crouches down in front of you, his icy blue eyes locking onto yours.

"they’re just... big," you mumble. "like, bigger than they should be."

chris scoffs like you just insulted his entire existence. "bigger than they should be? mama, stop fuckin' wit me right now."

you try to laugh, but it’s weak. "i’m serious, chris. i see all these girls online with these slim legs, and then there’s me. i just feel...i dunno...out of place, i guess."

he sits beside you, shaking his head, still looking like he’s offended on your thighs’ behalf. "you’re trippin'. hard. have y'seen yourself? like, really looked at y'self? 'cause if y'did," he says, reaching out to lightly squeeze one of your thighs, "you’d know your thighs are perfect. thick, pretty, sexy as hell—are you serious?"

your cheeks heat up, and you roll your eyes, but he’s just getting started.

"y'know what your thighs say to me?” he continues and smirks a bit, leaning in. "they tell me you're perfect, tell me y'got the full package. tell me you’re built like a model, and that i’d be a dumbass not to appreciate you."

you can’t help but laugh at his over-the-top delivery, and he grins, knowing he’s getting through to you as he brushes his fingers lightly over the smooth skin on your thigh.

"listen baby," he starts, using his free hand to gently cup your jaw and turn your face to his, "i know the world tries to tell girls all this bullshit 'bout what they’re supposed to look like, but lemme tell you sum'n real: you are it for me. all o'you. those thighs you’re trippin' over? they’re one of my favorite things 'bout you."

he moves his hand down to your knee, his thumb drawing little circles. "so stop comparin' yourself to edited pictures on the internet, aight? you’re real, 'n you’re beautiful, 'n if anyone’s got a problem wit' that, they can see me 'bout it."

your chest feels lighter, the weight of insecurity lifting under his unwavering gaze and heartfelt words. you smile, finally meeting his eyes.

"okay," you whisper.

"okay?" he teases. "that’s it? after i jus' dropped the most fire compliments of all time?"

you laugh again, swatting his arm. "thank you, chris. really."

"'course," he says, pressing a sweet kiss to your forehead. "now stop geekin', i gotta go write a verse 'bout how my girl’s got the finest thighs in the game."

you roll your eyes, but your smile lingers long after he’s returned to his notebook on the other side of the couch.

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: i'm not comfortable writing about self harm, so i hope this was good!

thank you for reading!! <3

tags: @sturnobsessedwh0re , @idrk2292 , @mattsbrat , @ribbonlovergirl , @swagalicious260 , @sturnhyyhblog , @matthewsroses , @mattsdemi , @emely9274 , @frankoceanfanpage , @ifwdominicfike , @marrykisskilled , @strnilolover , @cayleeuhithinknott

@chrissturnsfav ™

[nlvrr]

Reader who was bullied when young and then jude and her go to her hometown and everyone freaks out cause that's freaking jude bellingham and they get like, impressed by reader success as an f1 engineer and that she bagged jude? Sorry its way too specific 😅

THE RETURN | jude bellingham

summary: anon ask !! ^^

warnings: bullying

pairing: jude bellingham x fem!reader

a/n: this was so fun to make it — i hope you like it! i loved seeing jude’s gentle, yet assertive, protectiveness over reader come out.

it had been over a decade since she left her small hometown, a place that had always felt too confining. school had been a maze of awkward silences, cruel jokes, and a lingering sense of being invisible. back then, she was the quiet girl in the back of the class—trying her hardest to avoid attention and desperately wanting to fit in but never quite succeeding. those memories had faded slowly as she built a new life in the city: a promising career in f1 engineering, accomplishments that filled her with pride, and—most unexpectedly—her relationship with jude bellingham, a relationship that had made her feel seen for the first time.

she hadn’t planned on attending her high school reunion, but somehow, as time passed, she felt ready to confront her past. and she wasn’t facing it alone—jude, her supportive, gentle boyfriend, had insisted on coming with her. he knew how much the reunion meant to her.

as they neared the venue, her chest tightened. “you sure you’re okay?” jude asked quietly, his brown eyes locked on hers with such deep concern, a flicker of empathy in his gaze.

she smiled faintly, though her heart fluttered in her chest. “yeah, just… nervous, i guess. it’s a bit overwhelming, coming back here.” the memories were almost too much—yet she knew jude would be there to catch her if she fell. his warmth and confidence always soothed the anxieties she hadn’t quite let go of.

jude’s hand found hers, gently giving it a squeeze. “you’ve got this. and hey, you’re not that same girl anymore. you’ve got a life you’ve built. you’ve got me. so, whatever happens in there—we got this.” his smile was warm, steady.

she nodded, her heart calming a little under the strength of his reassuring presence. “thank you,” she whispered, feeling the gentleness of his support course through her.

when they entered the venue, the familiar buzz of voices was louder than she expected. the gymnasium—the place where she had always lingered by the edges of the crowd—had been transformed for the reunion, but it still carried the same sense of nostalgia and unease. the noise didn’t stop when they entered. no, it quickly escalated into murmurs, quickly followed by gasps and hushed conversation as her old classmates processed the sight of them.

“wait… is that jude bellingham?” she heard someone say under their breath, the tone an odd mix of surprise and disbelief. it wasn’t like jude wasn’t famous, but she couldn’t quite suppress the sudden feeling of being under a spotlight, her past self suddenly being evaluated against this new version she had built.

“wait a minute, is that—” another voice piped up, a bit louder. “she’s with him? no way. this is crazy.”

suddenly, everything about the reunion felt too much, like she was back in high school for all the wrong reasons—under scrutiny, exposed to the gossipy whispers. but when she turned to jude, she found him completely unfazed, his face calm and reassuring. his hand gently curled around hers again, his fingers entwining with hers as he led her through the crowd.

“let’s take it easy. we’re here to have fun,” he murmured softly, as if to remind her there was no reason to worry, that the stares and whispers didn’t matter. still, the tightness in her chest didn’t fully ease as they made their way deeper into the hall. and then, of course, it happened.

nate. of course it was him.

she had seen him from a distance—a face that would forever be linked to the teasing and mockery from her younger years. the smugness in his smile, the way he walked with that brash, confident air, brought it all flooding back. she couldn’t help but bristle as he weaved his way through the crowd, his eyes landing on her with that unmistakable sneer she knew so well.

“well, well, if it isn’t the quiet girl who thought no one would notice her,” nate said, leaning forward with his arms crossed. his voice was louder than before, punctuated with that mocking laugh that still grated on her after all these years.

she squared her shoulders, meeting his gaze evenly, but her heart was pounding. she wanted to respond—really respond—but the memories of her high school self threatened to stifle her words.

“you’ve done well for yourself, huh?” nate continued, his eyes trailing over jude briefly before resting on her again, the smirk not leaving his lips. “didn’t expect you to end up with a guy like him. seems… out of place, don’t you think?” he laughed again, as if she’d just become the punchline of an old joke.

for a split second, her gut twisted in frustration and vulnerability. she had worked so hard to move past everything nate represented, but sometimes it was easy to feel like that quiet, unsure girl again—especially with him standing there, grinning like she wasn’t good enough.

but just before she could respond, jude moved, the energy shifting as he closed the distance between them. with effortless ease, he stepped forward, positioning himself just behind her. she felt the comforting heat of his body pressing against her back, and in that moment, a sudden wave of relief washed over her. his calm presence enveloped her like a blanket, his very proximity pushing away the anxiety.

jude’s hands found her waist gently, but firmly, resting there as he spoke in a soft, steady voice that carried a quiet but undeniable power.

“i think you need to remember something,” jude said evenly, not raising his voice, but letting his words hang in the air. his tone was firm, protective. “you have no right to talk to her like that. she’s amazing. and you don’t get to undermine her. not on my watch.”

the crowd around them seemed to grow still. he didn’t shout, didn’t make a scene—he didn’t need to. there was something almost effortless in the way jude claimed his position beside her. he wasn’t just her boyfriend, trying to defend her for the sake of it—he was a man who genuinely believed in her and made sure everyone around them knew it.

nate stood there, caught off guard, the confrontation falling to the ground between them. the smugness on his face faltered, and for a brief moment, the arrogance of his words evaporated. he shifted his weight, his shoulders tightening, before letting out a forced laugh.

“yeah, okay, man. whatever,” nate mumbled, avoiding jude’s unflinching gaze. with one final glance in her direction—less sure now—he turned on his heel, weaving through the crowd without another word.

as soon as he disappeared into the room, jude gently pulled her closer, his hands still resting on her hips as if grounding her in the moment. she turned, her eyes searching his for a trace of something—anything—but all she found was tenderness.

“are you alright?” jude asked, his voice low, full of concern, as he looked down at her. his brown eyes were warm, sincere.

she didn’t answer right away, her throat too tight with emotion. but after a deep, shaky breath, she nodded, pressing her face against his chest. “yeah. i just… i forgot what that felt like, you know? having someone try to drag me back to that place.”

jude brushed a hand gently over her hair, kissing the top of her head, his voice a soothing whisper. “you don’t ever have to go back there, not while i’m here. you’re so much more than they’ll ever realize. and i’m not going anywhere.”

her breath hitched at his words, and as the sounds of the reunion picked up again in the background, she didn’t feel the weight of the past anymore. jude had held her through the sting, had quietly and protectively shown her the strength she had long hidden. together, nothing seemed impossible.

his touch on her back was warm, steady. “let’s have a good time tonight, okay?” he murmured, pressing another soft kiss to her forehead.

she pulled back slightly, smiling softly as she looked up at him. “yeah,” she whispered, finding her voice again. “yeah, let’s.”

and with that, they walked forward together, facing whatever came next. this time, together.

[almostempty]

right kind of dream (joel miller x f!reader) pt 1

WC: 12.5k |  Other fics | Rating: 18+ | read on ao3 | PART TWO

summary: rebuilding your life, chasing cans, and hitchin’ a ride to the rodeo with team roper joel

to my pedrostories secret santa recipient @katiexpunk: this was a challenge for ya gurl to be srs (and it’s not a tentacle gangbang, i lied in ur asks babe i’m srry) i hope i hit the mark on a handful of the prompts though, i had high hopes that i could really challenge myself and deliver some breeding kink cowboy but i fear it’s more of a creampie kink—i hope that still hits, i have horse knowledge, but only rodeo adjacent experience so if any rodeo queens find glaring mistakes pls forgive me — but happy holidays bb, i really hope you enjoy-- EDIT: I MADE IT TOO GIRTHY (or something?? sorry!!) and had to split it into two parts, the second part will be up and linked as asap as possible, and i'll add the full text to ao3 so it'll be in one spot

tags: modern cowboy joel au/ team roper joel and tommy, no sarah, enemies to lovers, dbf lite, choose your own age gap, small town romance, city girl returns to the country, miscommunication, guilty yearnful joel, horsegirl!joel, smut, ridin’ that cowboy bareback as the good lord intended, no beta–mistakes are my fault for writing at 4am 

thanks: to @syd-djarin, @auteurdelabre, @lovely-vamp-princess for support, eyes, ideas, etc.

The sun beats down on the gravel driveway as you pull your truck toward the old house. It looks almost the same as it did the summers you spent here as a kid when it was your grandparents–the peeling white paint on the porch railing, and the barn standing sturdy, but weathered further down the driveway. The fields stretched on as you rolled down the driveway, dotted with occasional wildflowers and critters dashing into the denser brush. 

The air blows warm through the window, same as you remember, but the weight of the memories feels different now. The summers used to feel endless here, the fields seemed endless, as did the sky. It all used to feel so liberating. It’s not an endless summer now. Everything looks smaller and more weathered. 

Except for the shiny white PVC fences on the other side of the driveway and the modern-looking house and barn built on the same soil you used to spend hours patrolling with your pony, Clover. She’d search for the best bits of grass as you laid across her back coming up with stories—some days you were an old-timey cowgirl traveling west or Clover was a wild horse you were training or you were on a quest to a magical kingdom together. 

But now it’s a new home for whoever bought up the parceled land your dad sold to cover the updates on the house when he inherited it. Someone with enough money for a fancy barn and shiny truck. You pull to a stop and hop out of the cab, still scanning the neighbor's property, making your first impression. 

Your dad emerges from the barn, wiping his hands on a faded rag. He gives you a smile and a nod. “About time you showed up,” he calls, his voice warm and teasing. “Thought maybe you had changed your mind.” 

You shake your head softly, rolling your eyes. “Nope. Nothing worth staying in that city for.” 

The gravel crunches under your boots as you round the bed to grab one of your boxes. All your belongings fit into a few boxes. At least, everything that mattered to you, everything that was still you. “Where do you want this?” You wonder how you’re going to manage living in the same house with your dad now that you’re an adult. 

“Just set it inside,” he said, gesturing to the house. “We’ll get you sorted after we have something to eat.” 

As you followed him toward the house, the outline of the neighbor's property loomed large. The barn caught your eye. It was close. A pair of horses stood in the near pasture, swishing their tails in the afternoon heat. The contrast was stark. Where your dad’s place still carried the scrapes and scuffs of decades–theirs looked new and polished. Smug even. Can a house be smug? 

“The neighbors are closer than I thought.” You cross the porch, the nostalgic screen door squeaking as your dad ushers you inside. 

“Don’t mind it. We look out for each other.” He points to the room you stayed in as a kid. “He damn near built the place by himself, and helped me with the new roof on this place.” 

You shoot him a sharp look. “You said you were gonna hire roofers instead of climbing around up there at your age.” He shrugs you off. Always stubborn. Convinced he can do it better and cheaper. Despite the toll on his body. 

“Paid him to help,” he argues, “wasn’t up there by myself. You don’t gotta worry about me like that.” 

You set your box down at the end of the twin-size bed, the room falling quiet for a moment. Your dad stays planted in the doorway, but his brows pinch and lips purse briefly before he lets out a breath. You scan the room, gaze landing on the floorboards, waiting. 

Instead of addressing the elephant in the room, he says, “You hungry?” 

You grin at that, letting out a shaky breath. Your father’s daughter, neither of you likes to dig into your feelings. He taught you to show love through actions, like keeping you fed, taking on hard labor jobs without a complaint, or changing your windshield wipers before the rainy season starts and you’re cursing yours out. 

“Yeah,” you say, brushing past the knot in your chest. “Starving.” 

The rumble of a diesel engine jolts you awake the next morning, the deep growly sound reverberating through the walls like thunder on an otherwise quiet morning. You groaned, stretching and blinking blearily at the pale light filtering in through the old curtains. It was barely dawn yet, which explains the dull headache you’ve got. 

Sleep had been restless. Tangled thoughts, ruminating on what you’d left behind. A failed engagement, the job you hated, the mix of excuses you had rehearsed for why you’d come back. You’d hoped coming here would ease the ache, but just when you were finally falling back asleep—the truck from hell pulled up to the house. 

The engine is already cut off, but now you can hear voices on the porch. Your dad’s, low and steady, just a hum, and another unfamiliar drawl. Whoever it is, they’re carrying on like the rest of the world wasn’t still trying to wake up. 

You drag yourself out of bed, wearing your soft sleep shorts and a thin shirt. The worn fabric clings to your body in places it shouldn’t, but you’re not thinking about being presentable, you aren’t really thinking at all yet. You drag your feet crossing to the kitchen to pour yourself coffee, for a brief moment you miss the coffee shop you used to stop at on the way to your old job, but the familiar roast your dad’s been loyal to has its charm. Like the free coffee at an AA meeting. It’s there and you need something to keep you going. 

You push past the squeaky screen door, stepping out onto the porch. Your dad sits on the worn bench, coffee in hand. Next to him, leaning casually against the railing is a man you don’t recognize. His black Stetson gives him a classic cowboy silhouette, the morning sun catches on the sharp cut of his jaw and the scruff on his cheeks. His plaid shirt stretches across his broad shoulders, his jeans are worn and dusty in a way that speaks to more than just appearances. 

He straightens when he sees you, pulling his hat off with one hand in a fluid, effortless motion. “Mornin’,” he says, voice low and rich. “You must be the daughter. Joel Miller.” 

You take a sip of your coffee. “Morning,” you mutter, voice still thick from sleep. “You always roll up this early, or is today special?” 

Your dad shoots a look at you, but Joel just chuckles softly. 

“Guessin’ you’re not a morning person?”

Your eyes are narrow, defensive. “I’m just fine in the mornings,” you say in a clipped tone that doesn’t support your statement. “Just not when I’m woken up by a jet engine at the asscrack of dawn.” The chill in the brisk morning air causes you to shiver for a moment somehow making you look more irritated. 

Joel glances at your dad with a faint smirk before tipping his hat to you. “Noted.” 

Your dad laughs. “Should’ve heard her when she was ten,” he says leaning back. “Wouldn’t let anyone tell her what to do. Still doesn’t take shit from anyone I guess.” 

“I’m right here,” you mutter, glaring at him.

“Just sayin’,” your dad replies, raising his mug in mock surrender. He turns back to Joel and they resume their conversation about fence posts or something equally riveting. You let your eyes roam as you wake up, drinking the rest of your coffee, tuning in and out of their conversation about their plans for the day. 

The easy camaraderie between the two of them was clear. Like a friendship forged through shared labor and quiet mornings. They flow between their plans for work and that subtle gossiping that men do–convinced it isn’t really gossip–as they share updates about other folks in town and a few of the local businesses. 

“What about you?” Joel asks, turning to you and pulling you out of the fog. “You’re back for a while then?”  

It’s an innocent question, but it grates at you anyway. You stiffen. “Yeah, just taking some time,” you say vaguely. 

Joel raises an eyebrow but doesn’t push for a real answer. You can feel the weight of his curiosity in the air between you. He looks to your dad, who doesn’t elaborate, letting something unspoken pass between them. 

“Well,” Joel drawls, “good timing. Lot of work to do this time of year. If you’re up for it.” 

The comment makes you pull a face. “I’m familiar with hard work,” you reply, your voice sharper than intended. 

Joel’s lips quirk again, into something like a smirk this time. “I’m sure you are,” he says with the faintest edge of a challenge. 

He takes a long swig from his stainless steel travel mug, trying to fix his eyes on the horizon. But damn, if it isn’t a challenge to see you standing there, looking every bit like you’d just rolled out of bed. In a shirt too damn thin for a morning like this, leaving too little to the imagination. 

He knew he shouldn’t be noticing something like that, shouldn’t look at you like that–especially not while you’re standing next to your dad. Hell, he shouldn’t want to look at all, but his eyes betray him. Darting for just a moment to your soft curves and the evidence of the chill in the air–the impression of your stiff nipples protruding in the soft fabric. 

Christ. He swallows hard, landing his eyes back on the scowl you wear on your face. You’re his friend's daughter. It just ain’t right. Sweet young thing like you. He battles the devil on his shoulder that reminds him you aren’t a kid. You’re a woman. A grown woman with your own life and clearly your share of grit, if the sharpness in your voice was anything to go by. 

He shifts on his feet, forcing his attention back to your dad who was still chuckling softly at something. Joel didn’t catch the joke, head too full of thoughts about you–or how to not think about you. He could feel the warmth creeping up his neck, unsettling him in front of your dad. 

You and him made loose plans for the day while Joel’s mind continued to wander. He shouldn’t have asked about why you were back. Your answer was vague, brushing him off like it was a privilege he hadn’t earned. For some reason that lodged it in his head further. He wanted to know more, even if he shouldn’t. 

Your dad stood up, stretching and declaring that all of you have work to do. You take that as your cue to head back inside, leaving the screen door swinging behind you. Joel lets out a low breath, shaking his head as he turns back to your dad. 

“She’s a spitfire,” Joel comments, keeping his tone neutral.  

“She is,” your dad agrees, adjusting his hat. “Good to have her back.”  

Joel huffs a small laugh, “S’pose we could use a strong woman around here. Keep us in line.” 

“No doubt she will,” your dad says, clapping him on the shoulder. The whole exchange stuck with Joel though. Something under that edge of yours, something unpolished that has him curious in a way he isn’t used to. He shakes his head knowing it isn’t his place to go digging. 

Your dad starts down the front steps. “Let’s get moving, then.” Joel moves mechanically, boots falling in line with your dad’s, but his mind is half on you—in that t-shirt, with that scowl on your face, and that faraway look that he’d like to unravel. 

You were used to hard work but your muscles weren’t exactly dialed in for the functional conditioning. It was humbling as you found yourself aching and exhausted by the end of the night. However, the fatigue did make it easier to fall asleep once your head hit the pillow instead of spiraling on about your failures until the birds started chirping. 

The next few days gave you a jump start into the rural routine. In bed early, up before the sun. Hot showers before dinner to wash away the layer of sweat and sweet-smelling dust from the pine shavings and hay. You found yourself looking forward to the strong coffee and the cool morning air before you started with your day. 

Your dad, and Joel, learned quickly to let you wake up rather than ask questions as they caught up on their plans before heading out together or splitting up. You didn’t mind listening, but you could feel Joel’s eyes lingering on you now and then. It made your spine straighten, determined to hide the sore muscles in your shoulders from him. If he was waiting to hear a complaint from you it was never gonna come. 

Despite getting more rest and having an endless list of labor to keep you moving–you often found yourself working solo and in silence during the day. A silence that your mind was more than happy to fill. You rehashed memories and dissected those little moments from your relationship with your ex-fiance that you wish you had seen more clearly at the time. 

You’re deep in one of those memories, mindlessly stacking bales of hay onto the trailer for a delivery your dad is making tomorrow when Joel enters the other end of the barn. He leans against the door, arms crossed loosely over his chest, just watching you work. The warm scent of hay fills the air, grounding and everpresent in his life. 

It wasn’t anything remarkable, just a common chore he’d do without thinking twice. But watching you was a whole different story. Your shirt was damp with sweat as you leaned into the work like you’d done it your whole life. You climb up a stack of bales and toss down some from the top of the next row, unaware of his presence. 

He is mesmerized by you. The sharp look on your face like you were mulling over an argument, the fluid movements as you worked, and the determination radiating off of you as you worked at an urgent pace. 

His gaze drifts lower as you climb down and bend to heave another bale onto the flatbed trailer. The muscles in his jaw tense as he lingers on the curve of your back as you bend to grab another. The way your legs shift as you work. The outline of your body in that shirt, the soft grunt you let out as you hoist another bale had him thinking indecent thoughts before he could stop himself. 

Joel drags his hand over his face, fingers brushing his scruffy jaw. Heat burning within him that has nothing to do with the Texas sun transforms into irritation. He was considering copping out and disappearing before you even noticed him when he was outed by the damn barn cats. 

The orange cat comes sprinting towards him, but it’s the black and white one meow-yelling at him down the aisle that catches your attention. A dull thud echoes through the barn as you drop another bale and watch as Joel squats down to give the cats the attention they demand. You watch, catching your breath. He’s gentle with them, murmuring something you can’t hear before he stands and strolls toward you. 

“Afternoon,” he greets you in his deep baritone voice. Joel grabs the two-string bale of hay in front of you and drops it on the trailer with ease, grabbing another before you can interject. 

“I can handle it.” You huff as you resume your task. 

“Never said you couldn’t,” he replies smoothly, setting another down. “Thought it’d go faster with two sets of hands.” 

“I wasn’t in a hurry.” You eye him warily for a moment before slipping into a coordinated dance like it was natural. Tossing the rest that needed to be loaded up into the aisle for him to grab. You work in silence, just the sounds of hay shifting and boots scuffing against the barn floor. 

You break the silence first. “Dad says you and your brother hit the rodeo circuit in the summer. That true?” 

Joel huffs a soft laugh. “True.”

“You compete?”

“Team roping,” he says, his voice warming slightly. “Me and Tommy hit most of the circuits within a day's drive from here. Keeps us outta trouble.”

You roll your eyes. “Hard to picture you in trouble, cowboy.”

Joel’s smirk returned, faint but there. “You’d be surprised, sweetheart.” He matches your playful tone. 

His words linger as you work, stirring something you don’t quite know what to do with. Your mind drifts to the idea of rodeoing, the adrenaline of it, the discipline it demands. You forgot how much you missed it, how much you gave up chasing a life that didn’t pan out the way you hoped. 

Joel shifts beside you, the faint scrape of his boots pulling you back to the present. You glance at him, catching the way his shirt clung slightly to his back, the easy strength in the way he moves.

For a moment, the quiet feels comfortable. Easy. The steady rhythm fills the space. But eventually, Joel speaks again. 

“Your dad said you used to spend summers out here,” he says, in a low and easy tone. 

“Yeah,” you say, a little out of breath from the exertion. “When I was a kid.”

Joel brushes some loose hay off of his shirt. “Guessin’ it’s different now.” 

“Everything’s different now,” you mutter, more to yourself than to him. 

His brow furrows slightly. “What brought you back?” 

You hesitate, not looking him in the eye. You’re searching for an answer in the dust particles caught in a beam of sunlight. “Just needed time to…rebuild.” It’s still vague. 

“You runnin’ from something?” 

You tense at that, before covering it in sarcasm. “I’m not an outlaw,” you jest, earning you a small smile. He doesn’t press further, but you feel his eyes on you, steady, and patient like he’s waiting in case you offer more. 

“It’s not as simple as people make it sound,” you say finally, the words slipping out before can stop them. “Starting over, that is.” You sit on a bale and pull your work gloves off, running the back of your hand over your forehead smearing sweat and dust in a most unsatisfying way. 

“No, it ain’t,” he adds quietly. 

Something in his tone makes your chest tighten, but you ignore the sensation. “What about you? How’d you end up here?” 

“Had to start over myself, I reckon,” he muses, dusting off his hands before sitting down next to you. The words hang in the air, heavier than you expected. He doesn’t look at you, instead, he watches the cats play with a piece of baling twine. “This place made it easier—focusing on getting the house built and getting the business running. Your dad helped too.” 

That catches you off guard. “My dad?” 

Joel nods, finally meeting your eyes. “Just seemed to understand, I guess.” 

You stare at him. You’re disarmed by the softness in his tone. Like there’s more beneath the surface if you ask for it. 

Joel feels the air thicken. He takes in the way your sweat-damp shirt clings to you, and the heavy rise and fall of your chest. For a split second, an image flashes in his mind—your chest heaving for a very different reason, your skin flushed and shining. His throat tightens, and he looks away quickly, cursing himself for letting his thoughts slip. 

The cats weave between your legs, easing the silence. But the air between you still feels charged. Your thighs are nearly touching. The proximity feels overwhelming for some reason and you're suddenly caught up in the details of his profile as he stares down at the floor. The lines at the corner of his eye, his nose, his lips.

He clears his throat and slaps a palm on his thigh. “Well,” he starts, standing up rather abruptly. “Just came by to check-in. See how you’re settling in.” 

“What?” You frown. You miss the grimace that flashes on his face, your eyes drawn to the cats darting away from the two of you. “How I’m settling in?” 

“Yeah, you know…” he gestures vaguely around the barn and your brows furrow and your eyes sharpen at him. Irritation flickers behind your eyes. 

“I told you I’m not afraid of hard work,” you snap, jumping to your feet in front of him. 

“That’s not what I meant,” he grumbles, like you’re misunderstanding him. 

“Did my dad send you to ‘check in’ on me? Or did you want to see if I could keep up?” 

“It ain’t like that.” He says lowly. 

“Right.” You cut, crossing your arms. You’re over this rollercoaster of a conversation. Your eyes catch on the deep crease between his brows and the glint in his dark eyes. Something flares in your chest. You can’t tell if it’s indignation or something else entirely. “Then what is it?”

His jaw tightens, gaze locked with yours. Something unspoken flickers in his expression. But instead of answering, he straightens, stepping back. “Doesn’t matter,” he says curtly. 

Your stomach twists at the coolness of his tone, the connection you just felt snapping like a wire. 

“This was a mistake,” Joel mutters to himself. 

“What was?” you asked, your voice deadly quiet. 

Joel only shakes his head before striding toward the far door. His boots echo on the floor and the cats follow after him like shadows, their tails swishing as they dart out into the sun. Joel pauses in the doorway, glancing back with a look you don’t understand. 

“Don’t work too hard now.” His voice carries easily before he stalks off.

Your thoughts have you spinning. “The fuck is his problem?” you wonder out loud, sharp in the warm air. In the space he left. 

But deep down, you can feel the edge of something else. Something more than frustration, curling low and unwelcome in your chest. The weight of his gaze was still lingering, and try as you might, you can’t ignore the way his presence had pressed into every corner of the barn, or the faint scent of leather and bourbon that still hangs in the air. 

Your routine locks into place, and the days begin to pass in a blur. Joel stops by for coffee and acts like the conversation you had in the barn never happened. The stoic, gruff cowboy thing works just fine with you. Except for the moments you catch him staring at you like he’s trying to find an answer to something he never asked.

If you’re honest, though, despite your hostility, you seem to catch yourself studying him with the same frequency and intensity. You’re loath to admit you catch yourself hung up on his obnoxiously broad shoulders, his arms sculpted from the physically demanding work, and that gravelly morning voice he has before he finishes his coffee.

Aside from whatever Joel’s problem with you is, everything else seems to be falling into place. You catch up on your dad’s list of projects. You pick up a part-time job at the feed store in town, keeping yourself too busy to have idle time and too tired to dwell on the past or the future. You get to know folks in the town while you work at the register.

The town seems smaller than it was when you were a kid, but there’s also a charm in the simplicity that you find comfort in. The regulars keep you up to date on the town gossip, and you’re laughing loudly with your boss, Linda, one day over a joke she’d never admit to teaching you when your neighbor struts up to you with a list in hand for a bulk feed order.

You’re cordial to him and the man at his side who gives you a flirty wink that has you raising your eyebrows in disbelief for a moment before you put it together. “You must be Tommy?”

He grins brightly and offers his hand. “And you must be the neighbor?” You give him your name and a polite smile. Your eyes flick to Joel, taking in his neutral expression. His hands rest in his pockets, but his posture is loose, his broad shoulders back in a way that draws your eye before you can stop yourself.

As you enter the details of their order into the prehistoric computer, Linda chats both of the men up, asking them about their horses and when their next rodeo is.

You give Joel his total and take his payment, trying not to roll your eyes when he doesn’t make eye contact with you. You’re ready for the interaction with him to be over when Linda puts you on the spot.

“This one’s been talking about looking for a project horse of her own.” She nods her head toward you. “You boys have any leads for her?”

You can feel your face heating up as they both look at you. It’s not like it was a secret, but you weren’t planning on making Joel privy to your plans. You still haven’t forgotten the way he said this was a mistake after having one conversation with you. Or the way he is always looking at you. Like you don’t belong here or something.

“I’ll do you one better,” Tommy says. “We’ve got a couple of colts just getting started under saddle. They could use the miles, and they’re real sweet-tempered if you wanna come by during the week.”

“Thanks, Tommy.” You give him a genuine smile. “I’m actually going to take a look at one that’s got potential this weekend. Marilyn from the post office said her cousin’s got a six-year-old quarter horse she’d sell for a steal.”

Joel lets out a dismissive laugh under his breath. “You mean that Hancock gelding? The blue roan?”

“Yeah.” You confirm, slowly growing more confused by the reactions on all of their faces. “Why?”

Linda’s mouth is hanging open like you said the devil was gonna sell you his horse. Tommy gives you a modest smile like you’ve told him two plus two equals eight, but he’s too polite to correct you. Joel’s expression remains unreadable, but the crease between his brows deepens.

“Am I missing something?” you ask, hoping for an explanation. You do not like feeling like you’re being played for a fool. 

“She’d sell that horse for a dime and a handshake,” Linda says. “Her cousin broke her jaw getting bucked off that horse. That’s why he’s been out to pasture ever since.”

You’re quiet for a beat before the familiar challenge and determination wrap around your heart. “Can’t hurt to look,” you say with a shrug.

“Hancocks are notoriously stubborn and broncy,” Joel adds, his tone low and edged with warning.

“They’re also incredibly smart, loyal, and full of try if you earn their trust and ask ‘em the right way,” you shoot back, meeting his eyes for just a moment too long. Why does it always feel like he thinks you’re out of your element? Does he think you’re incompetent? It only strengthens your desire to prove him wrong.

Joel’s mouth presses into a thin line, but his gaze doesn’t waver, and it stirs something uncomfortable low in your chest.

“So I’ve heard,” Tommy cuts the tension simmering between you and Joel. “Offer still stands if he doesn’t work out.”

“Thanks.” You pointedly direct your appreciation to Tommy, not looking back at Joel. “We’ll give you a call when the order’s in.”

They take that as their signal to move along. You think that would be the end of the drama for the day, but Linda’s got one more tidbit in store after the door closes behind the two men.

“God, those two are so hot it’s unbearable,” she sighs. It catches you off guard, and you blink at her. “Too bad they’re cowboy Casanovas.”

“What?” You give her a scrupulous look, shifting on your feet as she leans against the counter.

“Oh, yeah,” Linda says with a knowing smirk. “Every buckle bunny in a three-county radius knows those two. I hear they have a sign-up sheet at the trailer.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head, but the image comes unbidden—Joel, shirtless and panting, sweat glistening on his chest, his jeans slung low on his hips, every muscle taut as he leans over some woman. His gravelly drawl slides through your mind like warm honey as he murmurs something low and dirty, but you can’t make out the words. Your thought derails violently, and you scowl at yourself, heat rushing up your neck, but Linda’s still talking. 

“I’d stand in line for either of ‘em if I were single,” she adds with a shrug.

The image morphs into smug Joel tipping his hat, a self-satisfied grin on his face as some random woman climbs out of his bed. Your throat tightens unexpectedly, and you shove the thought away, scowling at the knot of irritation it leaves behind.

The trailer rocks faintly as you haul it slowly down the driveway toward the barn. Blue shifts inside, and the loud thud of him pawing at the floor, anxious to get out of the small space, echoes loudly in the driveway as you ease to a stop. You cut the engine and hop out of the cab, you can hear your dad’s boots on the porch steps before he’s striding toward you. “You actually brought him home, huh?” 

“You knew I would.” You grin. Your dad unlatches the trailer door and you slip past the divider to untie your new gelding and back him out of the trailer. Blue’s ears flick rapidly and he snorts like a dragon, wary of his unfamiliar surroundings, but you steady him with a calm voice and wait for him to drop his head before coaxing him backward. 

His hooves hit the solid ground and he blows out a sharp breath, shaking his neck to de-stress. “He’s gonna be perfect,” you say, running a hand along his neck. “Just needs someone who knows what they’re doing.” 

Your dad gives you a look that says he knows he couldn’t change your mind if he tried. His gaze flicks over Blue’s body, taking in his confirmation and conditioning, the scar on his back leg, the brand on his flank, and the stocky ranch horse build. “Linda said he’s got a bad reputation.” 

“Linda says a lot of things,” you shoot back, leading Blue toward the barn. “He was misunderstood. Had a rough start, that’s all. That girl who got bucked off never shoulda had him to begin with—not after he’d been out to pasture for so long. She was scared, and he felt it.” 

Your dad hums, the kind of sound that tells you he’s skeptical but not enough to argue. “Well, he’s in good hands now.” 

“And we both know I like a challenge,” you say with a steady voice, edged with something sharper. 

The sound of boots on gravel draws your attention and you glance back to see Joel strolling over from the direction of his property. His hat tipped low as his dark eyes flick between you and Blue. 

“Afternoon,” he calls, steady and smooth. 

Your dad turns and gives him a nod. “Joel.” 

“That the Hancock gelding?” 

“Yeah,” you reply shortly, adjusting Blue’s halter. 

Joel steps closer, his expression unreadable as he studies the gelding. Blue swishes his tail before shifting his weight, resting one back leg like he’s already starting to relax. Joel walks a circle around Blue, before pausing next to your dad. “Well-built,” he comments. “Is he sound?” 

You can barely hold back your eye-roll. “I had Barb meet me at the farm for a pre-purchase exam. Passed with flying colors.” You swallow down your irritation. Once again Joel thinks you’re a fool? That you’d go off and pick up a horse without a vet inspection? Before you give Joel a piece of your mind you take a steadying breath, grounding yourself and whispering into Blue’s ear. “He might doubt both of us but he’ll be eating his fuckin’ words real quick once you and I get started.” With that, you turn away and lead Blue to the barn. 

Joel watches the two of you walk off, resting his hand on his hip. “She got a death wish or somethin’?” he grumbles.

Your dad crosses his arms, both men still watching the barn door where the two of you disappeared. “She’s tougher than she looks. And she’s got more patience than the two of us combined—for animals that is. Lord knows she’ll let us have it just for looking at her sideways.” 

Joel grunts, ignoring the heat crawling up his neck at the thought of you telling him off. “Hope you’re right.” 

“It’ll be good for her to have her own project. Haven’t seen that light in her eyes since she got here. S’about time she started moving on.” Your dad’s words eat at Joel. He still wants to know what you’re trying to rebuild from, but he doesn’t ask. Letting the silence stretch before your dad continues. 

“Plus, she’s got the right touch for it,” your dad drawls, tone laced with pride. “Always drawn to the ones that seem a little rough around the edges.” 

Joel doesn’t respond right away. His eyes narrow on the horizon, but his gaze flicks back to where you walked off, the sway of your hips lingering longer than it should. The deeply twisted interpretation of your dad’s words messing with his mind. 

In the barn, Blue seems less concerned about getting the lay of the land now that there’s food in front of him. He munches greedily, tearing hay out of the net tied in the stall. You’re buzzing with a mix of emotions, already imagining the next steps for the two of you. 

Your thoughts fall back on Joel and your dad, their low voices carrying faintly in the warm air. You can picture Joel still standing there, one hand on his hip, eyes fixed on you, that infuriatingly unreadable look expression he always has. 

Your chest tightens, heat rising in your cheeks as you lean against the stall door. You hate how Joel looks at you like that. Like he’s waiting for you to fuck up. To prove him right. Like he’s already decided you’re in over your head. 

“He doesn’t know me,” you mutter under your breath, “doesn’t know you,” you tell Blue, “doesn’t know shit.” 

Blue snorts softly, and you take that as his agreement, a smile tugging at your lips. 

Days blur into a steady rhythm—early mornings with Blue, afternoons at the feed store, and long evenings under the arena lights. Each ride sharpens your connection with him, his turns growing tighter, his strides more confident. Progress comes in small, steady victories, each one lighting a spark of hope in your chest.

One afternoon, when the sun hangs low in the sky, painting the fields with warm hues of orange and gold. From his spot near the fence of his own property, Joel leans one arm against the top rail, his black felt Stetson shading his eyes. Across the way, you’re working with Blue in the makeshift round pen. 

Joel can tell from the way you hold yourself that you’re tired. Your shoulders seem stiff and your jaw tense. But you don’t stop. Your voice carries in the breeze, warm and steady as you encourage Blue to make another pass. 

The horse resists, throwing his head and stomping at the ground, but you don’t flinch. You give him the space to settle before asking again. Joel’s lips twitch, with a hint of a smile. You’ve got grit. 

He can’t shake the feeling that you’re working off more than just the horse’s rough edges. You move with purpose and focus, but with a weight that doesn’t seem entirely about Blue. 

From where Joel stands, he can’t make out every detail, but it doesn’t stop his eyes from lingering. You draw his attention with a pull that he can’t resist. Against his better judgment. He traces the line of your spine as you step forward, the way your hips shift when you pivot. He knows better than to look, knows it’s wrong, but he can’t stop himself. 

Blue gives in, his steps evening out as he settles into a steady rhythm circling you. Joel watches as you slow him to a halt. The tension in your posture releases and you reach out with ease and satisfaction to stroke Blue’s neck. 

That invisible pull between you draws your eyes to where Joel is standing. Your face hardens when you catch him observing your training session. He gives you a nod before pushing off the rail and heading into the barn. 

He catches glimpses of you working together in the mornings and evenings. He tries to stop himself from watching, but it’s useless. He catches himself inadvertently timing out his schedule to be able to keep an eye on you. Tells himself he wants to be sure someone’s keeping an eye on you in case something goes wrong. Or that he’s curious about your progress. 

He can admit he admires your perseverance and the skill you have. He would never admit the way he finds himself waking up hard and aching thinking about you and what it’d feel like to have your hips rocking on his lap instead of a saddle, your tits bouncing in his face, and your sweet blissed out smile. And when trudges up the steps of your porch in the mornings to see if your dad needs anything from town—he prays neither of you can see the remnants of his sins in his eyes. 

He can’t stop himself from trying to talk to you, though. One morning he asks straight up, “How’s the project horse coming along?” He tries to sound casual, averting his eyes as he sips his coffee. 

Your smile flickers, equal parts excitement and hesitation flashing across your face. “Good,” you say after a beat, sitting on the wooden bench. “He learns quick, got good stamina and drive.” 

Joel hums, tilting his head slightly. “He give you any trouble?” 

Your jaw tenses, though you try to hide it. “Nothing I can’t handle,” you reply, tightly. 

Joel nods. “Good,” he says simply, but he still looks at you, like there’s something else weighing on his mind. 

Your dad clears his throat, breaking the tension. “She’s got him started on the pattern already.” 

“You gonna run barrels?” Joel asks, curiosity sneaking into his eyes. 

“That’s the plan.” 

Joel hums, taking a long pause. “You wanna run him in a real arena? Bring him over to get some practice in with the right kind of footing and see what he’s really got for a motor?” 

Your eyes narrow and your shoulders tighten, straining with disbelief. A real arena? It’s like nothing you do is ever good enough for him. “We’re getting along just fine as is, thanks.” The words are dripping with venom as you slip back into the house letting the screendoor slam shut behind you. 

Joel’s brows furrow. “Didn’t mean no harm, by it,” he says to your dad. “My mistake,” he adds gruffly. 

Your dad looks a bit miffed at the sharpness of your rejection but gives Joel a shrug back. “She’s always gotta do it her own way.” 

The conversation with Joel sticks in your mind. You’re still chewing it over that evening as you run Blue through some drills, working on his lead changes and corners. When you finally bring him down to walk to cool down you hear the sound of hooves hitting the dirt across the field. Sharp and rhythmic. You walk Blue along the fence line. Pausing when you catch sight of Joel and Tommy in their outdoor arena. 

Their horses move like extensions of their bodies. You loosen the reins, letting Blue’s head sway with every step as you stay transfixed on the two men. Tommy’s bay gelding moves with a quick, snappy stride. His hindquarters tucked under him as he spins on a dime at Tommy’s commend. You can feel the thrill and see Tommy’s grin from where you sit. It’s infectious. You roll your eyes as he tosses his rope catching the dummy steer in a single fluid motion. 

You make another lap before you let yourself study Joel. 

He’s riding his big red mare, her muscles rippling in the sun as she powers forward at a lope. Joel’s hand is steady on the reins, his posture relaxed but exact. Every movement he makes is calculated, and deliberate, yet to an untrained eye seems completely natural and fluid. Like he and his horse were born to do it. He barely shifts to ask the mare to pivot. Her body arcs beautifully, bending around his leg as they make a sharp turn toward the roping dummy. 

You’ve seen good riders before, but there’s something different about the way works. He doesn’t just ride—he leads. Every muscle he moves is a quiet conversation between him and his horse. It’s seamless and controlled. And damn if it isn’t mesmerizing. 

He leans forward slightly, and your mouth goes dry watching his arm flexing as he tosses the rope with precision. His red mare halts instantly, kicking up dirt around her hooves. Joel adjusts his hat with a smooth motion, you can see the focus on his face. Serious and competitive.

You swallow hard as you change directions, still walking on a loose rein very aware that Blue’s sweat is long dried by now. You feel warmth burning in your core that has nothing to do with your tired muscles. He looks good out there. Too good. The kind of good that makes you think about things you shouldn’t be thinking about. Your eyes drift, taking in the way his jeans hug his thighs, the line of his back as he shifts in the saddle. You imagine his hands, thick, precise fingers. Something coils hot and tight within you. You shake your head at yourself. You are not having those thoughts about Joel Miller who thinks you don’t know your ass from your elbow. You swing your leg over the back of the saddle dropping to your feet. Loosening your cinch and still trying to shake your thoughts out of your mind when you hear Tommy hollering at you. 

“Watch and learn, neighbor!” Tommy calls, snapping you out of your thoughts. 

You glance up, cheeks burning as Tommy tips his hat your way with his charismatic grin. Joel follows his gaze, dark eyes locking on you for a moment. Tommy gives you a demonstration of his prowess with the rope–as if you hadn’t been watching–but, Joel says nothing before turning his mare and heading in the opposite direction. 

His cool look sends a shiver down your spine. 

You walk back to the barn, and the sound of their horses fades behind you, but that image of Joel sears into your mind. His commanding and maddeningly attractive exhibition just stoked a fire you’re desperate to ignore. 

You have the same stubborn streak as your father and you’d be damned if you’re gonna cave and ask Joel to use his facility. You find a summer barrel series in a nearby town with low entry fees that runs weekly. You start hauling Blue out to get some experience. At first, his runs are clumsy, but as you get your miles in, his turns get tighter, his confidence grows, and your times get quicker. And you quickly feel like the two of you are ready to enter your first rodeo. The air smells like dirt and livestock, as you unload your horse and tie him to the side of your trailer. There’s a hum from the generators, buzzing conversations, and the occasional whinny of a horse or thud as one paws at the dirt. You had made a point not to ask if Joel and Tommy would be attending, but you catch his familiar shoulders tapering to his slim waist, with one boot on the lowest rung of the fence a few yards ahead when you head toward the warmup pen before your division gets called. He isn’t even facing your direction but you instinctively square your shoulders and raise your chin. You wonder if he’s just here to see if you’re going to fail. Or maybe he’s just watching to earn some other woman’s favor. 

Something ugly simmers in your blood and your chest feels tight. You attribute it to irritation, refusing to acknowledge any alternate reasons. You’re going to prove him wrong. 

You’re still staring at him when he turns to say something to the man standing next to him. You grit your teeth. Superstitious–as every cowboy is–his usual salt and pepper scruff is neatly trimmed, he’s got on a pair of deep blue Wranglers–nicer than you figure he owned, and a crisp long-sleeve pearl snap. Dressed to earn Lady Luck’s favor. 

The devil on your shoulder whispers a thought in Linda’s teasing voice. He doesn’t need to do all that to get lucky. You take a deep breath and peel yourself away from the sight. You’re here to focus on Blue, not your asshole neighbor and his conquests. Despite trying to let go of your issues with Joel, a scowl stays plastered on your face throughout your warmup. Blue picks up on your distraction and he’s a little hot, as you head him toward the alleyway when it’s time for your run. Against your will, your eyes search for Joel. A wash of heat floods your veins when you find him already watching you. He mouths good luck at you and you can only manage a curt smile before you’re pushing Blue to a lope, making one tight circle before you cross the start. The sound of his hooves pounding into the dirt matches the blood pounding in your ears. The burst of adrenaline is instant. The run isn’t perfect. He breaks his stride around the second barrel and you lose time nudging him back into rhythm, but you finish the pattern without knocking anything over. The announcer calls your time as you slow to a trot, and you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. It’s such a blur you don’t think to look for Joel. You don’t think about him at all until you’re untacking Blue at your trailer, brushing sweat marks from his coat when movement near another horse trailer catches your eye. Joel stands close to a woman with long, shiny dark hair. She flashes a wide smile, leaning toward him and resting a hand lightly on his arm. The sight makes you grimace. You shove down the feeling. “None of our business,” you mutter to Blue as you keep brushing. But, your eyes flick back despite yourself. She tilts her head, laughing at something he says, or doesn’t say, you can’t tell. He stands stiffly, hands in his pockets. You can’t see his face from your angle.

The woman reaches to touch him again, and you feel a headache brewing in the back of your skull. Joel glances away from her, landing in your direction for the shortest moment, before his weight shifts and he takes a small step back. You scowl again, tossing your brush back into the tack room shelf with more force than necessary making Blue toss his head. Your heart thuds louder than it should and you run a hand over Blue’s cheek, murmuring softly to calm both him and yourself. When you glance back, the woman is still talking, but Joel’s looking at you again. His dark eyes are sharp under the brim of his hat. He nods, barely noticeable, before turning away from the woman entirely. You clench your jaw, forcing yourself to take another deep breath before loading Blue back into the trailer to head out. You weren’t sticking around to watch any of the other events. Especially not the team roping. 

You smile when you pull onto the highway though. You count the day as a success and feel ready to enter a bigger rodeo. The idea makes you glow. Finally feeling like you’re getting back to your true self. You feel like a new woman compared to the version of you that showed packed up her truck desperate to put miles between your ex-fiance and your corporate nightmare.

“It’s not that bad,” you argue, crossing your arms as your dad leans against the truck with a skeptical look. “The hell it’s not,” he replies, gesturing toward the trailer. “That’s floor is one step away from dropping your horse onto the damn highway.” You sigh, dragging a hand over your face. “I know,” you grumble lowly, disappointment sinking in your stomach. “I was just hoping you’d see something I didn’t.” “Sorry kid,” your dad says. “S’fine. I’ll figure something out. Or just eat the entry fees I paid.” “Or,” he says pointedly, “you could ask Joel.” You glare at him, fire burning in your chest. “I don’t need his charity.” “Ain’t charity,” he interrupts your sour attitude with a gruff tone. “He’s practically family. Don’t let your pride get in the way of your goals.” The words stick, heavy and uncomfortable. You’ve got half a mind to keep arguing. Joel might be your dad’s best friend, but he’s nothing like family to you. But before you can talk yourself out of it, you’re dragging yourself up the steps of Joel’s front porch. 

You realize as your boot hits the last step that you’ve never been to his place. He always offers to have you and your dad over for a whiskey or for a fire out back, but you always brush him off. You see why your dad takes him up on it though. It’s beautifully made with stunning wooden chairs and a bench for seating. You’d consider complimenting him on his craftsmanship if you weren’t already dreading what you’re about to say. Joel opens the door, his hat already in hand like he’d been expecting you. “Somethin’ wrong?” “Yeah,” you admit, trying not to hesitate. “Uh, trailer’s shot,” you point your thumb in the direction of your dad’s place. “Was wondering if you’d have room in your trailer to haul Blue with your horses.” 

The corner of Joel’s mouth twitches. The gleam in his eye makes you want to say never mind. You brace for a smart-ass remark. “‘Course,” he replies. You blink, caught off guard by the simplicity of it. “Of course?” 

He leans back into the house to grab something, then he’s handing you his keys. “Load your tack up tonight, and get your bags in the living quarters.” “No need,” you shake your head, leaving him holding the keys between you. “I’ve got the truck. And a tent.” 

Joel leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms. You pointedly avoid how his sleeves strain around his biceps. “You’re ridin’ with us. Not riskin’ that truck dyin’ on the highway.” You glare, lips pressed into a thin line. Of course, you’ve got a trailer with a busted floor and a truck with more miles than you’d like to admit on it—while, Joel, has a shiny truck from this decade and a horse trailer with a tack room and living quarters. Probably has AC and everything. You catch the glint in his eye, realizing you’re the one asking for a favor and you steel yourself, reminding yourself to bite your tongue.

“Fine,” you grit out, holding your hand out for the keys.

The truck hums beneath you, the steady vibration doing nothing to ease the thick tension in the cab. Tommy’s passed out in the back seat, his hat tipped low over his face, leaving you alone with Joel and the steady drone of the country ballad playing through the speakers.

“You always listen to this?” you ask, breaking the silence as you reach toward the radio.

Joel glances at you, one hand resting casually on the wheel. “Somethin’ wrong with it?”

“Didn’t know you were a ‘sad songs for sad cowboys’ kind of guy,” you mutter, flicking through stations before he can answer.

Joel doesn’t stop you, but when you pause on something irritatingly upbeat, his hand moves toward the knob just as yours does.

Your fingers brush his, and the contact jolts through you like a live wire.

You pull back instinctively, your breath catching as your heart slams against your ribs. Joel pauses for half a second before retreating, his knuckles tightening faintly on the wheel.

The silence that follows is suffocating.

Joel stares ahead, his jaw clenching as his thoughts spiral. He knew telling you to ride with him was playing with fire. But he can’t stay away from the heat. You glance out the window, pretending the spark you felt wasn’t real. It’s just Joel, always better than you, always an ass. The charged silence stretches on though, every shift of his hand on the wheel drawing your attention. Every shallow breath reminds you of his proximity. 

“This’ll do,” you say tightly. Joel huffs softly, but says nothing, keeping his eyes pointed straight ahead. Neither of you speaks again for the rest of the drive, but the weight of the accidental touch remains, thick and suffocating. The rodeo grounds are already alive with motion by the time you’re parked and unloading the horses. The evening sun casts an amber glow over the circus of trucks, tents, and trailers. You help get the portable fence set up and the horses settled before the three of you head off to check in at the visitor's tent and get your meal tickets. 

The smell of barbecue wafts through the air and you get in line to fill your plate. Folks chat eagerly. Tommy strikes up an easy conversation with a group of riders near the picnic tables. You watch as some folks head back to their campsites, hesitating on whether you want to do the same or find a table. Joel passes you and sits at a nearby table and before you can debate any longer a voice interrupts your thoughts. “Long travel day?” the wiry cowboy drawls, tipping his hat and gesturing to the bench next to him. “Take a seat.” 

You give him a quizzical look, but you’re hungry enough to take the opportunity to sit and eat. 

“Name’s Cody.” He introduces himself while you eat. He tells you he’s a bull rider. Asks if you’re runnin’ barrels tomorrow. He’s chatty with a smooth and easy voice and a playful look on his youthful face. You answer his questions, politely, suddenly keenly aware of Joel’s gaze boring into the back of your head. It makes your spine prickle with something you can’t name. The heat of his stare burns into you, fierce and unwavering, making every laugh at Cody’s jokes feel like defiance. Cody continues on and you find it easy to listen to his stories, but you can’t help feeling compelled to glance over your shoulder betraying the distraction you’re trying to ignore. Cody points out some of the other riders he knows and invites you to come hang out at their campsite and have a drink. You’re still searching for the right words when you catch sight of Joel walking swiftly past your table. He mutters something to Tommy–who seems to be proving Linda’s rumors true with a woman wrapped around his arm and batting her lashes at him–and stalks off. Your stomach twists as you watch him go, irritation flaring hot and fast. “The fuck is his problem?” you mutter under your breath, turning back to your plate. Cody shrugs, clearly oblivious. “Who knows? Anyway—” But you’ve already tuned him out, your eyes following the path Joel struts down before he disappears.

You joined Cody and his friend for one drink, hoping it would ease your nerves. He had a kind group, a little rough around the edges, but tough as nails like you’d expect bull riders to be. They kept your mind distracted with their wild stories, but you decided to head back to the trailer before anyone got drunk and stupid. The walk back to the trailer feels longer than it should, every step weighed down by something stirring within you, something that has you on edge. You check on the horses before pulling the door open and climbing into the living quarters. The cool night air hasn’t soothed the heat that’s been simmering within you since dinner—or since that moment in the truck if you’re honest. You toe off your boots before looking up to see Joel, leaning against the wall, his jaw set tight, and his eyes sharp as they snap to yours.

“Where’s Tommy?” you ask, realizing it’s just the two of you in the small space. “Reckon he’ll be out til the sun's up,” Joel says in a quiet, low tone. “Alright,” you nod. Another point goes to Linda for that one, you figure. Joel’s jaw remains set in that infuriatingly unreadable way that seems to be his signature look. The dim light in the trailer casts sharp shadows across his face that darken his gaze. “You enjoy yourself? With your new friend?” he asks, his voice raw, edged with something you can’t place. You stop short, narrowing your eyes. “Excuse me?” He steps closer, reaching past you to hang his hat on the hook by the door. “Took your time gettin’ back.” He says, his eyes flick over you, dark and assessing. You’re acutely aware of the scent of the campfire on your shirt and beer on your lips. It swirls with his leather and bourbon musk like they were designed to enhance each other. His words sink in, cutting and daring. “What’s your point?” “Did you fuck him?” The bluntness of it knocks the breath out of you. Your mouth falls open. Shock and fury battling for control as you glare at him. “What did you just say to me?” “You heard me, sweetheart,” Joel says, his voice calm but razor-sharp. “Just wondering if that cowboy got what he was after.” It takes everything in you not to slap him across the face. “What the fuck,” you hiss, stepping closer, your fists clenched at your sides, “makes you think you’ve got the right to ask me that, Joel?” 

He shrugs his shoulders, but his expression remains cold. “Lookin’ out for you. Your dad’d kill me if I didn’t.” You laugh bitterly. “Bullshit.” His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t respond. Silence fanning the flames within you. “You aren’t my dad,” you snap, voice trembling with rage. “And you sure as hell don’t get to tell me who I can or can’t fuck.” Joel’s eyes narrow, his shoulders stiffening as he steps even closer. “That’s not what I—” “Save it,” you cut him off, word sharp as a whip. “I don’t know why you think I’m so weak or clueless all the time. Like I can’t handle myself. Like I’m some kid you’ve gotta babysit.” 

Joel’s expression hardens, his dark eyes flash with something that looks like hurt beneath his anger. “That’s what you think I see?” his words come out like a dangerous growl. “That’s how you’ve acted toward me since day one,” you fire back, stepping toe-to-toe with him. “If you don’t respect me, Joel, just stay out of my business.” His chest rises and falls sharply, his breath warm against your skin as the air between you thickens. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about,” he barks, voice tight with frustration. “Explain it to me then,” you challenge. Shaking with the force of everything you’ve been holding back. “Or stay away from me if I’m such a thorn in your side.” He works his jaw, and for a moment you’re glued to the corded muscle in his neck and the exposed golden brown skin of his chest. He glares at you, making no move to back off. His voice drops sinfully low and quiet. “You really wanna know?” “Yeah,” you breathe, heart pounding like it’s trying to break through your ribcage. “I do.” His hand moves fast, gripping your wrist—not rough, but firm enough to make your breath catch. “You drive me fuckin’ crazy,” he accuses in a rough and uneven voice. You blink. “What?” “You heard me,” he rumbles, dark eyes locked on yours. “From the first day, you showed up here, lookin’ at me like you had somethin’ to prove.” Anger burns in your veins. “How does that make me your problem?” His grip tightens, his body presses closer. “You ain’t my problem,” he mutters. Guilt twists into his words, “Shouldn’t even be lookin’ at you like this. S’wrong.” He swallows thickly, only sharpening the edge in his voice. “But I can’t stop thinkin’ about you, and it’s pissin’ me off.” His confession hits you like a brick over the head. The trailer is silent, but the sound of the blood rushing in your ears, and your ragged exhale seems deafening. 

“Then stop,” you challenge, voice trembling with defiance. “If it’s so wrong, just leave me alone.” Joel’s eyes darken, his other hand settles on your hip, fingers digging into you. “Can’t,” he says,  voice so thick with frustration, it sounds like it hurts. “Don’t think I want to.” 

Silence stretches and time feels thick and warped. Your ragged breaths fill the space. His eyes search for a reason to stop, but he finds none. 

You don’t get a chance to reply before he drops your wrist to wrap a large hand around your jaw, pulling you into a feverish kiss. Nothing gentle about it. It’s raw and desperate, equal parts frustration and hunger. Your fingers curl into his shirt as if you could pull him any closer, even as your teeth scrape over his bottom lip, in a sharp, biting challenge that makes him groan low in his throat. He angles your face so he can kiss you deeper, harder, until your knees feel like they might give out. Your mind goes blank, flashing white with anger and need. All you can process is the hot slip of his tongue against yours and the sharp bristle of his facial hair against your tender lips. Your back hits the cool metal wall of the trailer before you realize your feet had even moved. Joel’s hips press into yours, pinning you against his body–solid and unrelenting. His lips trail down your jaw to your neck, the edge of his teeth scraping at your skin. The rasp of his stubble sends sparks to your core, and you dig your fingers into the hair on the back of his head. Pulling him toward you, needing him in a way that verges on painful. He lifts his mouth, breathing hotly against your damp neck. “This what you want?” he says, his tone matching the burning desperation coursing through you. “You want me to fuck it outta you? Til you can’t keep runnin’ your mouth at me?” “Shut up,” you snap, but the way your body arches into him betrays the hostility in your voice and the subtle stretch makes you keenly aware of how wet and needy you are already. He makes a low, guttural noise in his throat that makes your cunt throb. His hand slides down to grip your thigh, hitching it around his waist as he grinds into you. The hard ridge of his cock pressing into you makes you gasp. The sound you make sends heat ripping through him like wildfire. We can’t, he thinks, but the words die on his tongue. The thought of how wrong this is flashes in his mind, but it’s drowned out by the way you’re looking at him. The way your nails dig into his shoulders as you pull him closer, your breath hot and shaky against his cheek. He can’t think. He can’t stop. He doesn’t want to. Not when you’re so soft and warm and furious beneath him. He’s helpless. His hand slips under your shirt, rough fingers brushing over soft skin, leaving a searing trail that grounds you as your mind spins. He pushes your shirt up, baring you to the dim light of the trailer. Time slips back into the warped, syrupy dimension as you absorb the unbidden lust and awe in his eyes. You’re the one exposed, but you feel like you’re seeing something just as naked in his face. Time catches up and you pull your shirt the rest of the way over your head, committing to sin wordlessly. You shiver at the sudden contrast between the heat radiating off of his body and the cool air hitting your flesh. “Joel,” you gasp, your head tipping back as his mouth closes over your nipple like a wet furnace. His teeth graze the sensitive skin causing you to spew breathy curses over the top of his head. They only spur him on. He sucks hard enough that you tug him off you by his hair, but he only switches to your breast, delivering the same delicious punishment as his fingers roll and pinch at the wet, puffy, flesh he abandons. 

It’s like he can predict your needs before your mind can, biting down harshly enough to pull you away from the angry, hissing thoughts and keep you desperate to stay lost in the physical sensations. He palms the full weight of your tits, gliding his thumbs over both, slick and shining with his saliva. He presses them together before releasing them. “Goddamn,” he murmurs, taken by the way they bounce more perfectly than he could’ve imagined. It’s wrong to have you topless and panting beneath him, but his name falls so sweetly from your lips that it doesn’t matter. The heavy-lidded look you have makes him feel confirmed. When you moan lowly as the pain melts into pleasure when he kneads your soft, slippery skin, his cock aches and weeps for you. He needs more. He needs everything. Needs to wreck you, to see you so fucked out the only thing you can say is his name. 

It’s an exquisite brand of torture. 

You hate how good this feels, how badly you want him to keep going. To show you every move he knows. To break you down with his hands and mouth. You should push him away, tell him to fuck off. But your body doesn’t want that. You don’t want that. You roll your hips against his, begging wordlessly for more, as you tug at his hair hard enough to pull a throaty groan from deep within him. The sound he makes nearly has you short-circuiting, but he doesn’t give you the respite to fall apart. His hands are everywhere, frenzied like he’s losing control. Hasn’t he already lost it? You wonder distantly. Slowly, you realize he’s littering dirty little threats and filthy promises into your warm flesh. You hate the way his words make you shiver, how much you crave every pledge he makes. “You’re gonna feel me for days, sweetheart,” he husks hotly, just behind your ear. It’s a commitment you unwittingly pray he keeps. Some part buried deep within you blooms at the idea of feeling every memory of his touch as you go about your day tomorrow. “Get to it then,” you snap, hands reaching for his belt with urgency. Joel doesn’t need any more encouragement. His hand slips between your legs, teasing you through the soaked fabric of your underwear, and the sound you make at the pressure—the breathless, needy, whimper—makes him forget how to breathe. All he knows is that he needs to hear it again while he fucks into your soft, warm cunt. 

He wrenches your jeans open and works them down your thighs as you tear at his shirt buttons. He’s barely able to let you go long enough to pull his shirt off; watching you kick your pants off the rest of the way makes him nearly trip over himself. 

The air between your naked chests is sticky and warm. He dips his hand beneath the hem of your underwear, fingertips gliding over the soft hair on your mound making his eyes roll back. 

The edges of your vision blurs when he prods two big fingers between your slick lips, but you’re glued to the way his dark eyes are nearly black now. He looks every bit possessed by a beast, and fuck if you aren’t driven by the sick desire to make him snap. 

“You like having me touch you like this, don’t you?” His voice drips with need underscored by the slick sounds coming from between your legs. 

“No.” You rasp, as you grind your clit against his palm. He pumps two fingers inside of you, curling them just right to make you moan. 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he drawls, thick like honey. You grip the muscle flexing in his arm to steady yourself. His concentration and competence makes your walls flutter around his fingers. 

“You’re gonna come for me, right here.” He declares. 

You shake your head. “I’m not—fuck—I won’t.” 

“You will,” he interrupts. Dark and calm. His pace quickens, fingers focused on the spot inside you that makes you a mindless wreck. His thumb draws circles around your clit. 

“Can feel how close you are.” Your hips rock and your muscles all pull taut. “If you’d quit fuckin’ fighting me.” He somehow crowds even closer to you. You feel like you’re about to snap when he pulls his hand away, leaving you feeling empty and ragged. “But you’re too fuckin’ stubborn, ain’t you?” 

“Joel,” you whine, angry and devastated. “I hate you.” 

You grip the back of his neck with one hand, and both of you watch as he finally takes himself out of his jeans. 

The view makes you salivate. 

Everything about Joel is rugged and masculine. The muscles carved into his arms and chest. The trail of dark hair leading down his stomach that thickens around his base. The deep flushed color of his thick cock. The ragged inhale he makes when he presses the blunt tip against the drenched fabric that clings to your swollen folds. 

“Say it,” he growls, rubbing along your barely clothed seam. 

“I hate you,” you whisper unconvincingly, digging your nails into the back of his neck and arching off of the wall. 

“Tell me you want it.” You can’t tell if it’s a remain or a plea. This strain in his voice and the muscles tensing across his broad frame make you tremble.

“I don’t.” You lie. You snake one hand down your body, peeling your ruined panties to the side so he can slot his tip at your dripping entrance. You tilt forward, impatiently, stretching around him just enough to override your filter. 

“Oh, fuck,” you start. Unable to stop the stream of whispered curses from rolling off your tongue. 

“Yeah,” Joel rasps, inching deeper inside of your tight, warm walls. He feeds himself into you slowly, the overwhelming fullness as you adjust makes your thighs shake. He pulls out and you whine, unable to say a word before he’s moving, dipping you onto the thin trailer mattress and slipping your underwear down your legs. 

“Gonna fuck you full,” he mutters. You spread your legs, making room for him to settle above you. He draws his cock back through your lips, coating himself in your arousal before driving into you with a powerful stroke. 

Your lips part, sucking in air as he sets a pace. He fills you deeper than you’ve ever felt, relentlessly making room for himself as he saws in and out of you. It’s powerful and primal, but refined by his athleticism. Fluid rolling hips and his strong core make you see stars as he fucks into you.

“That’s right,” he rasps above you, and you realize he’s responding to you. 

“So good,” you’re murmuring, “so full.” 

“Taking it like you were made for it,” he says to himself. The intensity of your tight, warm pussy coaxing him deeper makes him spill his thoughts. Unfiltered. 

He sets a pace, slow and deliberate at first, each stroke filling you completely before pulling back, leaving you desperate for more. The friction is maddening, plunging his length into your sensitive walls as he pins you beneath his hard body.   

“You feel that?” His breath is hot against your neck. “Feel how deep I am? How I’m splittin’ you open?”  

You nod frantically, your nails digging into his shoulders as you whimper his name.  

Joel’s control falters at the sound of it, his hips snapping harder, faster, as his desperation takes over. “Thought about this,” he rasps, his voice hoarse. “Fuckin’ hell, I’ve thought about this too damn much. But you’re better than I ever imagined.”  

His confession sends a jolt through you, but you’re too far gone to process it, your body tightening around him as pleasure builds again, sharper and hotter than before.  

“Joel, please.”  

“Fuck,” he chokes the word out, his pace faltering for a split second before he slams into you harder, deeper. “Say that again.”  

“Please,” you whisper, your voice breaking as your release breaks through you, leaving you gasping and cursing.  

Joel’s hips snap erratically, pinning you into the mattress with a tight grip, as he buries his cock as deep as he can inside of you. 

“Gonna fill you up,” he mutters, his voice ragged. “Every drop, sweetheart.” Make you mine, he barely keeps the last thought in his head. 

“Yes, yes, yes.” You chant as your body jolts with each collision with his. 

“Fuck,” Joel mutters, cock driving deeper and swelling at your words. “That’s it. Take it all, sweetheart.”  

Your release hits again, your body trembling violently. Or maybe it never stopped—he only drew it out of you in waves. 

Joel curses low, his hips slamming into yours one last time before you feel him pulsing inside of you, hot and thick. 

When he pulls back, his eyes linger on the mess between your thighs. “Look at that,” he mutters, his voice low and reverent. His wide hands slide up the back of your thighs, bending your knees to your chest so he can watch the mix of your releases glistening and dripping from you. 

He takes one hand and drags it through the mess, pushing it back up inside of you. You squirm, sensitive to the touch, but fixated on whatever is burning behind his eyes. 

You wait for him to say something characteristically Joel. To dismiss you as naive, to rub it in that he broke you down. That he had you crying his name. That you shouldn’t have done that. 

But it never comes. You’re convinced he was trying to put you in your place. To give you another reminder that he thinks you’re useless and clueless. You’re too wrapped up in the thoughts to speak or move. He doesn’t say anything at all which nearly makes it worse. Instead, he pins you under a heavy arm, holding you against him until you both doze off. Succumbing to exhaustion.

-> PART 2

dividers by @/saradika-graphics 🤠🤎

tagging the usual babes in case you want some cowboy!joel for christmas too:

@lovely-vamp-princess @gothcsz @auteurdelabre @adoreyouusugar

@swankyorange @itwasntimethatdidit40 @ivoryandflame @magneticecstasy

@indiegirlunited @syd-djarin @harriedandharassed @bbyanarchist

@94namkooksworld

[4vanaa]

WHILE YOU WERE SLEEPING, rafe cameron, 10

summary: y/n left the outer banks years ago, determined to build a life far from the memories of her childhood love, rafe cameron. now a botanist, she's moved on-though a quiet part of her still clings to the past. when an event brings her back to OBX, she's forced to confront the one person she never truly forgot.

cw: slight angst, mature language | masterlist | 09 | 11 |

❀ ❀ ❀ - indication that the chapter takes place in the past!!

❀ ❀ ❀

The wooden planks beneath your feet are slick with mist, the chill seeping through your sneakers and biting at your skin. The water below laps gently against the beams, a sound that used to soothe you. Now, it just feels hollow — like everything else.

You hug your arms around yourself, trying to ward off the cold that has nothing to do with the night air. You aren’t even sure why you’re here. Maybe for closure. Maybe because you still need to see him one last time. To understand how everything you built together fell apart so violently.

Footsteps behind you, hesitant and uneven, interrupt the quiet. He’s here.

You turn slowly, and there he is.

Rafe.

His hair is tousled and damp, like he’s been running his hands through it for hours. His eyes are red-rimmed, exhaustion and something more — something deeper — clouding them. His shoulders slump under the weight of everything unsaid, and when his eyes lock onto yours, you feel it. That electric ache, raw and unresolved.

For a moment, neither of you speak. The silence stretches between you, sharp as broken glass.

“You came,” he finally says, his voice low and rough, like it physically pains him to get the words out.

“You asked,” you reply, your words coming out quieter than you intended. Your heart aches at the sight of him — how can you still feel this way about him after everything? But you swallow the feeling, pushing it down deep.

He takes a step forward, hands shoved deep into his pockets. His eyes trace your face, lingering on the tear-streaks on your cheeks, the way your jaw is set firm. Like you’re holding yourself together with sheer willpower.

Even now, when everything is shattered, his voice drops into that familiar rough drawl. “How do you still look this good?” The compliment, if it even is one, is soaked in bitterness and disbelief. “I’m falling apart, and you… you look like you just walked out of one of those memories I can’t fucking escape.”

Your breath catches in your throat, but you fight to keep your composure. “Don’t do that, Rafe. Don’t turn this into something it’s not.”

He laughs bitterly, running a hand through his hair. “What’s it supposed to be, then? Just another night where I realize I can’t ever have you back?” His voice cracks, his eyes burning into yours. “I can’t stop fucking thinking about you. Every night. Every goddamn second.”

A tear slips down your cheek, and you wipe it away quickly. “Thinking about me doesn’t change what you did. It doesn’t fix how you treated me.”

“I know.” His voice trembles, and his hands shake as they fall from his hair. “I know, and I hate myself for it.”

You want to say something cutting. Something to make him feel the weight of what he’s done. But all that comes out is a strangled whisper. “You made your choice.”

He flinches, his face twisting. “I didn’t mean to. God, I didn’t mean to, Sunshine. I—I didn’t mean to push you away.” He takes another step, his hands trembling. “I didn’t want to lose you.”

The nickname hits you like a punch to the gut. Sunshine. The name he used to call you when everything felt right between you two. Now it only feels like a lie.

“Don’t,” you say, voice sharp. You take a step back, arms crossing over your chest like a shield. “Don’t call me that.”

He hesitates, but then his gaze softens. His voice breaks as he whispers, “I can’t help it. You’re still my sunshine.” He reaches out, like he’s about to touch your arm, but pulls back, his hand falling to his side. “Even if you hate me for it. I can’t stop myself.”

You press your lips together, your chest tight with grief and frustration. “You wanted to trap me, Rafe. You couldn’t stand the idea that I had a life outside of you.”

“I wanted to be enough for you.” His voice is desperate, eyes pleading. “I wanted to be the only thing you needed.”

“But that was never the problem.” You shake your head, your voice trembling. “I loved you, Rafe. I chose you, over and over. But you were so busy trying to keep me somewhere I already was, that you didn’t realize you were pushing me away.” You let out a shaky breath, the ache in your chest almost unbearable. “By the time you noticed, I was already gone.”

He steps closer, eyes shining with tears he refuses to let fall. “I can’t let you go.”

“You don’t have a choice.”

His hands reach for you, but stop short, like he’s afraid to touch you, afraid he’ll break you again. “I don’t want you to leave.”

“You don’t get to decide that,” you say, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. “You didn’t want me when you had me. And now you want me to stay?”

His shoulders sag under the weight of those words. He looks at you like he’s dying inside, like the thought of losing you is something he’ll never recover from. And maybe that’s true. But it doesn’t matter now.

“I never wanted this,” he chokes out, tears running down his face. “I just wanted you.”

“But you chose something else.” Your voice breaks, and you step back, each movement like walking through shards of glass. “Goodbye, Rafe.”

You turn, tears blinding you as you walk away. The sound of your footsteps fades into the night, and he doesn’t follow. Behind you, the boy you loved shatters in the dark, his sobs swallowed by the empty silence he created.

a/n: 🥳🥳 10 chapters of while you were sleeping eek !! the final past chapter!!

tags: @xoxo-ada @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @sleepiibunniiii @urbrunettebombshell @sideboobrry11 @acidfeens @marleymarleymarleymarley

[lalavenderangel]

okay! here it is!

warnings: 18+!!! mentions of sex, murder, blood, stabbing, obsessive behavior, Nicholas himself is just honestly a warning if i’m honest, kind of angsty towards the end? and i think that’s all, if i missed anything please let me know!

word count: 4.3k

this is modern day but in this fic the Scream movie franchise doesn’t exist so the mask does not have a name is only described a little what it looks like. slightly off the movie as i wanted to give it my own twist.

this was not proofread at all so sorry for any mistakes but i do hope you enjoy it!

Ghostface!Nicholas x Reader!

(implied female but don’t believe i fully specified)

The thing about Ojai California was that it was known to be peaceful and serene, it was one of the reasons why you had moved there. Once you finished college you had decided to move there, a small town, artsy-ish and it was away from the craziness of Los Angeles. Sure, LA was nice and UCLA was an amazing college but you weren’t into that scene much at all. One of your closest friends you made in Los Angeles was, though he was truly built for that life.

You had met him at a small party out in West Hollywood, you don’t even know how you got invited but you went with your roommate at the time. You had met him while getting a drink, no not like in the movies when you pour your drink on someone and all of that, no he literally just poured your drink for you and started up a conversation. No numbers or social media was exchanged that night but anytime you and your roommate had gone out he seemed to always be there and each time you guys would talk until he finally had just asked for your number.

Now you two were attached at the hips. Your other friends would sometimes make jokes about your friendship with him, calling him obsessive and weird but you never saw it like that. Nicholas was just shy and wasn’t like the rest of your friends. All they wanted to do was party and get wasted which there was nothing wrong with that but being friends with Nicholas was like a breath of fresh air. He liked staying in and reading books and watching movies and listening to music. He also wanted to be an actor and you knew he would be a great actor one day.

“I just don’t get why you like him so much. I swear he’s got to be like a secret serial killer or something.” Your friend Alexis says.

“He’s not, stop that, none of you have even tried to get to know him. He’s a sweet guy.” You say. It was another night of being out with your friends and you had asked Nick to tag along, which of course they weren’t happy about but you didn’t care. He had excused himself to go to the bathroom and of course your friends took that as their chance to talk shit and it was pissing you off.

“You only think that because you're in love with him or some shit.” Matthew says and you roll your eyes. You weren’t in love with him but you couldn’t deny the attraction you had for him.

“Alright I think it’s best if Nick and I leave.” You say getting up and ignoring their protests. As you were heading to the bathroom you ran into Nicholas.

“Hey, is everything okay?” He asked, noticing the look on your face.

“No not really, can we go please?” You ask him.

“Of course we can, come on.” He says, placing his hand on the bottom of your back. He looks back towards the table, seeing the way each of your friends look at him, smirking to himself as he looks away.

Nick wasn’t always like this, truly he wasn’t but when he met you, something in him snapped. He became obsessed with you. He needed you more than he needed air and he was going to have you, even if that meant killing every single one of your friends. All they wanted was for you to stay away from him but he wasn’t going to let that happen, no, you were his. They needed to go.

After Nick dropped you off back at your apartment he stayed for a bit while you guys chatted. You confessed to him about how your friends felt, apologizing profusely and reassuring him that you in no way felt the same way. He knew, he knew from the second you looked at him. You saw who Nicholas actually was, who he always was before this obsession started. You had also confessed to him that you and Matthew sort of had a thing but you were over it. He knew you were over it when he managed to hire someone to hack into your computer where he found a conversation between you and your older sister. You had told her all about him and she had been the one to point out your feelings for him. You agreed and mentioned how you were going to end the “complicated” situation you had with Matthew.

Matthew was first on his list. He was Nicholas’s competition so of course he needed to be the first to go. He also knew some things about him which made his hatred for him even worse. You and Nick had said your goodbyes and he took off back to his apartment. He set all his stuff down on the little table by his door before heading to his room to get the special voice changing device he bought to make his phone calls. He could have gone and killed him right away but where was the fun in that? He wanted to toy with Matthew, making him completely lose his mind before he killed him, it was all a part of Nicholas’s game.

He grabbed his burner phone he bought and dialed Matthew's number, bringing the phone to his ear and having a satisfied smirk on his face when Matthew answered.

“Who’s this?” He asked.

“Hello Matthew.” Nick says, his voice coming out menacing just like he had hoped for.

“What the fuck, that doesn’t tell me who you are. Prank calls died in the mid 2000's, loser. Fuck off.” The phone clicks and Nick smirks to himself, giving it a while before he calls Matthew you again. “Okay seriously who the fuck are you, quit harassing me.”

“No you listen to me you piece of shit, you’re playing my game now on my fucking time when I say stop, we’ll stop.” Nicholas snaps his patience, already weighing thin.

“Ooo am I supposed to be scared of someone on a phone? Please, have a nice night freak.” The phone clicks again making Nick clench his jaw.

“Fine you want to play this the hard way, we’ll play it the fucking hard way.” He mumbles to himself.

A few days had gone by since the initial phone calls, Nicholas was supposed to make more but he let his anger get the better of him. He had pulled up in front of Matthews apartment building around 11 o’clock, parking his car a ways down, the plates changed for safety measures. He gets out of the car and makes his way into the building completely unseen as he maneuvers around after mesmerizing every detail of the layout in this building. He knew where the cameras pointed and when they shifted. He knew what places he could walk through without being seen. The less eyes on the situation the better. He made his way to the third floor of the building, finding the door of Matthews apartment, bending down to his knees and swiftly picking the lock before letting himself in. He roams the apartment for a moment to make sure no one else was there before he makes his way to Matthew's bedroom. There he laid, fast asleep in his bed in a sleep so deep there would be no way he would wake up anytime soon, not even to what Nick was about to do to him. And maybe that was Nicks doing from earlier in the day.

Nicholas stood at the foot of the bed, head to toe in black along with a white mask, the eyes and mouth so black there was no telling who was under the mask. He walks closer before raising his hand up high with the knife shining a little in the moonlight before he lays stab after stab after stab into Matthew’s back unable to stop himself for a moment before he groans and steps back, looking at Matthew’s mangled back, a sick smile on his face as he tilts his head and watches his blood soak his bed and drip to the floor. There was a thrill to this, a thrill Nicholas never felt before, and he wanted more. He brings his hand covered with a glove and wipes the knife off before he walks out of the apartment, once again avoiding a single person. His heart was pumping as he stripped himself of his costume once he managed to make it back to his car, leaning back in his seat as he caught his breath, a sadistic smirk on his face. He grabs the mask and looks at it for a moment, seeing Matthews splattered blood covering the mask, bringing his thumb in a little and wiping some of the blood off, admiring it on his thumb in the moonlight.

“One down, only a few more to go doll, and then you will be all fucking mine and not a single person will get in my way.” He whispers, sticking his tongue out and dragging the blood onto his tongue, a chill going down his spine before sets the mask down and takes off into the night.

You groan out a little as your phone rings for a third time, realizing you can no longer avoid it as much as you tried. You reached for it, almost dropping it as you do before answering it.

“Hello?” You mumble.

“He’s dead!” You hear Alexis scream into the phone causing a chill to shoot down your spine as you sit up quickly.

“Who is?” You asked.

“Matthew! I came to his place this morning to find him dead!” She creams some more. Your ears started ringing and everything felt like it was going in slow motion as the room spun as you got out of bed. Your phone has dropped as you quickly walk over to put your shoes on, grabbing your keys and phone, hanging up as you run out into the living room. You open the door to find Nicholas on the other side, arm raised as he was about to knock.

“Hey, whoa, what's going on, you look like you’ve seen a ghost?” He questions. He was right there and yet his voice sounded a million miles away. “Doll? You’re scaring me.”

“M-Matthews dead.” You breathe out.

“What? How?” His voice sounded panicked as he pulled you into his embrace.

“I don’t know, will you take me to his apartment please?” You whisper into his chest.

“Of course, come on.” He walks with you out of your apartment, arms around you tightly, helping you into his car before he gets in as well. He has to wait for you to tell him how to get there as he’s not supposed to know before he takes off, ‘missing’ a few turns here and there before he finally pulls into the complex. You don’t even wait for him to fully park before you rush out of his car, spotting Alexis right away and heading straight to her. You pull her in for a tight hug as you both cry.

“It was brutal, it wasn’t just some freak thing like breaking and entering, someone deliberately wanted to kill him. He was stabbed over thirty times they’re guessing and his back was so mangled and the wounds were so deep they went through his body as time went on. Who would do such a thing?” Alexis whispered, your stomach dropping as the mental image is painted into your mind. You hear footsteps behind you and you glance over to see a distressed Nick. Alexis saw him too and scoffed.

“Really, you brought him? He didn’t know Matthew like we did.” She says, not caring if he could hear her, in fact she hopes he did.

“I needed someone to drive me, and he was clearly coming over to see me anyway. I don’t see the issue, he knew Matthew enough, stop it.” You whispered, causing her to pull away and walk away from you. You sigh before turning to Nicholas.

“I’m sorry I should have stayed in the car. I was just so worried about you and Alexis, I can’t imagine the pain you two are feeling.” He breathes out but you shake your head and hug him tightly.

“I’m glad you’re here.” You say into his chest. He wraps his strong arms around you and holds you tightly to his chest, his dark eyes locked on Alexis as she talks to police. He knew he was going to have as much fun killing her as he did Matthew, he just needed to wait for the right moment.

The town was shaken up with the murder of Matthew which meant that for a while Nicholas needed to stay low and what easier way then staying with you? It actually wasn’t even his idea, it was yours. You had told him about how for a few days you were getting creepy phone calls much like Matthew you had and your fear was skyrocketing. Did Nick do that to push you to have him stay with you? Maybe. As time had gone on and people in the town settled again thinking it truly was just some freak thing that happened to Matthew, Nick started planning his next kill. But it was hard to focus when as of the last week you were all over him, not that he minded but he wanted that rush of a murder again. He was itching to kill Alexis as she kept trying to take you away from him.

You, completely clueless to everything in Nicholas’s mind obviously, just for some reason craved him. I mean as mentioned before you always wanted him but this was not just love but lust and lots of it. Maybe it was the way he cared about you so much, or the way that he was willing to stay with you day and night to keep you safe. Or maybe it was the damn way he would come back to your apartment after a two hour gym session, tank thrown over his shoulder, his body dripping in sweat, and those soft grunts he made as he made his way to the guest room, but you were going to go for the first option on the list.

Normally you weren’t like this, you had someone to fulfill that desire but obviously that was no longer a thing. So one afternoon, when Nick walked through the door of your apartment you basically jumped him and you both ended up having sweaty, post gym sex on your kitchen floor and it sent your mind reeling. The way his strong arms held you tightly, the sounds he made, the way his hand fit so perfectly around your throat. He had a mix of praising and degrading you, the degrading taking you off guard but leaving you desperate for more. And his cock? Maybe you were being dramatic when you said this but it was truly a moment of will it fit? And man did Nick make it fit, over and over again until you were a fucked out, cock drunk mess on your kitchen floor. When he saw the way he had, it sent a pride in him knowing that he made you feel that way and he was going to be the only one to do so. He had picked you up gently and carried you to your bathroom where he gave you the best aftercare of your life. And that was it for you. Everytime he would walk through the door you guys would fuck all over your apartment until every inch was no longer left untouched.

It was as if you were addicted to him, in actually more than just a sexual manner as well. You needed him, you felt obsessed with him almost. But it would never compare to the deep feeling of his obsession with you, no he made sure to keep that at bay. Finally one night, as much as he didn’t want to, he had to stop your sexcapades.

“I’m sorry baby, I promised Samuel and Antonio I would hang with them for a couple hours tonight, oh please don’t make that face doll, you know it makes me weak. Look I promise it will only be three hours tops and when I get back I’ll eat this pretty little pussy until you’re an overstimulated little mess. Nothing in return I promise, it will be all about you, and you know how much I get pleasure from giving you pleasure. Is it a deal?” He asked with a bit of a pout.

You looked at him for a moment before you sigh and nod your head. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be keeping you in all the time, I just…I’m still scared.” You whisper.

“Oh baby I know, but it will be quick and keep the door locked, I’ll take my key and just stay in your room okay?” You have those special curtains in there so not a single soul will know anyone is here alright. And you know I’ll answer your call right away alright?”

“Alright, have fun, and be safe please, I would be lost without you.” And that wasn’t a lie, you knew you would be lost without him. He smiles as he leans in and gives you a sweet yet super passionate kiss before he gets up to get ready.

He looked at the time on his phone again, he now had about 2 and a half hours left as you ended up getting your way and he fucked you a couple times to keep you happy while he went out. He was watching Alexis from across the way, his car hidden pretty well as he waited for her shift to end. He didn’t have to do the full two hours if he was honest but he wanted to drag out her death a little, he wanted to hear her scream or her life as she looked into his mask, desperate to see a hint of who was behind the mask, knowing it wouldn't matter as she would be long dead after anyway. So if she ended up seeing him, he didn’t care. As soon as her shift was over, she got into her car and drove off back to her place, Nicholas following behind about two cars. When she got to her house, a gift from her parents, he waited until she got inside, and her guard was fully down.

After a moment he got out of his car and made his way around, once again unseen as he made his way to the back where he found out she never kept her door locked. He hid in some bushes and pulled out his burner phone and called her.

“Hello?” She asked as she walked around her kitchen, getting ready to make a snack while she watched a movie.

“Hello.” Nick breathed out.

“Uh, yes?” Alexis questions after a moment of silence.

“Who is this?” Nicholas asked. Alexis looked at her phone for a second before bringing it back to her ear.

“You called me, who were you trying to reach though?” She asked as she continued walking around her kitchen mindlessly.

“What number is this?” He asked, teasing her and knowing he was pissing her off.

“Listen dipshit I don’t know what this is but I’m hanging up.” She says, about to end the call.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, you’re playing my game and it doesn’t end until I say so.” Nick snaps. He knew the game was actually about to end, in fact the real game was going to be chasing her around her house before he brutally stabs her to death.

‘Fuck you.” The line cuts off and Nick goes into action, sneaking his way into the house. He stood in the perfect spot that reflected his reflection onto the window above the sink but also in the same spot where he could quickly duck and avoid her catching him if she turned around. He stood there for a moment, head tilted as he watched her every move until she finally made her way to the kitchen sink, lancing up for a moment then looking down then back up again as she gasped and turned around.

“Hello.” She called out and Nicholas shook his head. Has this bitch not seen a single scary movie? You never call out to the killer. He can hear her grab a knife, making her way around the kitchen where he waited, hidden enough for her to have to check twice to see him. Once she was close enough he grabbed her ankle and yanked her to the ground before getting on top of her, their arms wrestling around as she tried to stab him. She did manage to push him off as he allowed her, having her moment to stab him but instead she ran and Nicholas sighed. She really had her chance to slow him down and she didn’t. He got up and ran after her, her screams filling the house but not a single person outside was able to hear her. He had almost got her a couple times but she was a bit faster than he thought. Finally in a rush of adrenaline she managed to slice his thigh, making him hiss before he finally had enough. He got up and managed to get her trapped in a room where he grabbed the back of her head and smack it into a wall before throwing her down, raising his hand an stabbing her over and over again just as he did Matthew, the adrenaline of it all hitting him as he smiled wickedly as he watched her take her last breath, fear in her eyes. He stabbed her a couple more times for his own pleasure before he got up, wiping the knife with his gloved hand and leaving the scene. He would tip off the cops tomorrow, pretending to be a family member saying that they hadn’t heard from her in awhile and how that was not normal. And let them handle the rest from there.

When he got to his car he was still amped up, so he quickly rid himself of his maks and the costume, putting on the clothes he wore out before he paused, noticing the semi deep cut on his thigh.

“Fucking bitch.” He huffed, yanking his jeans on and driving back to your apartment.

When he got back it was him who jumped you this time as soon as he walked through the door, basically ripping your clothes off as he kissed you.

“Good night?” You questioned, giggling a little as he stripped you naked.

“Best fucking night ever.” He says, pulling his clothes off, about to pick you up until you gasped when you saw his thigh.

“Nicholas what happened?” Fuck, he saw it, yet he didn’t think to cover it, his high from the kill to strong.

“Huh, oh that? You know how the guys are, they get wild.” He tries to pick you up again but you wouldn’t let him.

“That looks bad, we need to get you to a hospital.” You say quickly putting your clothes back on in case, helping him pull his jeans back up before he steps back.

“It’s fine.” He breathes out, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Nick, clearly it's not, your thigh is soaked in blood.” You say and he can't help but let out a laugh, a laugh that makes you feel uneasy.

“Oh come on, it’s just a little cut now would you just fucking relax?” He normally wouldn’t be like this with you but his mindstate wasn’t fully back yet and that was his mistake. He should have waited to come back to you.

“Oh excuse me for caring about you.” You snap at him and it makes him snap.

“Care about me? Oh, I don’t think so, doll. No see if you cared about me you would have stopped being friends with Alexis and Matthew the second they kept running their mouths about me, but no, you remained their friends. You let them say all these awful things about me that were never true, barely defended me to them. And don’t get me started on the others, which I’ll handle them eventually.” He says looking at you, a dark and sinister look in his eyes. “See baby this all could have been avoided if you would have just stopped fucking talking to those low life mother fuckers but you didn’t did you? DID YOU?!” He screams in your face.

“Nicholas, you're scaring me.” You whisper as you step back from him a little, making him laugh more as he looks at you, frustrated tears filling his eyes.

“Scared of me? I’m protecting you! I did what I had to, to protect you, to make sure no one took you away from me. And now no one will.” He says pulling the knife out and pointing it at you. “And you doll, you’re going nowhere now, you’re mine forever.”

“Nick, wh-what did you do?” Your eyes well up with tears as you tremble.

“Oh baby, I killed them. But you see they left me no choice, they wanted you to stay away from me, to leave me. And like I just said, that is never happening.” He blinks back his frustrated tears as he steps closer to you, grabbing you harshly and pulling you against him, knife held to your throat. “Say it, say you’re not going anywhere.”

“Nick…” You cry out.

“SAY IT!” He screams.

“I’m not going anywhere.” You cry out.

“That’s right baby, shh it's okay, it's all okay.” His tone changes as he tosses the knife on the couch and hugs you tightly, his fingers brushing through your hair as he shushes you. “It’s just you and me now doll, just you and me forever.” “He whispers.

taglist: @nicholaschavezslut69 @blackynsupremacy

[viennakarma]

smutty Jenson ideas? look at his forearms in that damn video and tell me he isn’t built for a little bit of breathplay

Tags: Jenson Button blurb, smut, p in v, age gap, breathplay

Jenson who when you started dating was always so careful with you, gentle, kind and overall attentive. Always treating you like his delicate little petal, you were his first younger girlfriend, so he was always extra careful.

Even sex he was gentle, intense, but always gentle. And you never minded it because he was so dedicated, always made sure you came before him, always putting your needs before his.

But there was one day he was particularly moody, something at work had gone wrong, he missed a flight and would have to cancel his plans to cover formula one in another country.

When he came to your place, it was obvious he needed to clear his head, which you were eager to help. So eager you let him fold you into a mating press on the sofa, your knees almost touching your shoulders as he started pounding into you no gentleness whatsoever. The angle he had you, had his cock hitting that perfect spot inside you, again and again until you were absolutely dripping slick not only around his length but also down your sofa.

As he searched for leverage and support, his hand found your neck, and he gripped it tight. He snapped out of his angry fucking stupor once he realized what he was doing. But before he could even worry or regret, he felt your cunt clench around him, your moaning growing louder. He experimented another slow but firm grip around your throat, just cutting your airflow a tiny bit, and with a snap of his hips, you were cumming around his cock, moaning and drooling down your chin as your back arched. He was pleasantly surprised by the knowledge that you did in fact, enjoy a little rough sex.

And it didn’t stop there, no, as you were putty in his hands, he had you on your stomach, his hands pulling just your hips up to meet his thrusts into a second orgasm. And he manhandled you into your back again for the third orgasm, your ankles on his shoulders as he fucked you into the sofa, a hand firmly around your throat to prolong the high of your orgasm. And he finished on your stomach, watching his cum paint your skin.

[aplaceforhumancorpses]

⋆˚࿔ Soft little Christmas Lights 𝜗𝜚˚⋆⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

╭✦ ︶꒷꒦・⎯⎯・⎯⎯・ ♡ˎˊ˗ ┇🎀・ ˎGenre: Fluffy Smut ┇🎀・ ˎWarnings: Smut in general, but it's super sweet ┇🎀・ ˎJason Todd x Female reader. ┇🎀・ ˎSummary: Christmas eve always leaves Jason alone in the living room whilst you wrap up presents, and he's only a man. He's getting needy. ┇🎀・ ˎREQUEST!! I can not say this enough!!

You are responsible for your own media consumption. Happy holidays! Enjoy this early gift.

There was something so distinctly you about forcing him out of his own bedroom in your shared apartment. Yes, you had to wrap his gifts. Yes, you could have done it during one of the many nights he was shadowing over Gotham. But instead, you had forced him to sit in the living room, picking at a tray of cookies that vaguely resembled Santa and Christmas wreaths. Although they were a bit gooey in the center, they were warm and soft—his only entertainment out here while he waited for you to call him back to bed so he could reclaim his spot and pass out halfway on top of you. Just like he did every night.

It would take an hour of watching Netflix and then another hour of doing nothing before his brain shut off altogether out here. He would have much preferred trench warfare rather than being stuck out here waiting for you. However, you’d told him to be patient.

In his mind, that might have meant there was a reward for him in the end. He was like a domesticated dog waiting around for scraps—kisses, hugs, or that time of night when you would rub his shoulders and chest with that particular combination of soft but firm pressing from your fingertips. So, when he heard the click from the bedroom door, he perked up and hopped to his feet to get ready to crash into bed head first. When you appeared, he almost tripped in excitement. It wouldn't be the first time he fell to his knees for you.

But, he stopped himself just short of knocking you over as he rushed to you. All 6 feet of him, muscular, heavy and built like some twisted kind of a god. You were wearing lingerie. The fancy kind. "Baby- Whats all this--…"

"Just a little something I bought when you were away on 'busniess.'"

Delicate ribbons placed on the the plush of your hips, sequins shimmering softly. Tiny little slits revealed glimpses of your curves, intricate lacy designs that clung lovingly to your body.

His gaze traveled lower, drawn irresistibly to those thigh garters that hugged your skin… They seemed to tease him. The playful window that exposed your stomach, a small valley that led all the way to your navel. That space would soon be filled his large hands. If only the rest of you was as accommodating to his size. He placed a hand on his hip.

"You didn't have to kick me out to put all this on. I would've liked to watch." His grin turned mischievous. “Do I have to wait to open this one till tommorow too?" Your cheeks flushed a pretty pink. "No, baby, we can-" He cut you off by throwing you over his shoulder. Stomach flat against his broad back, legs wrapped gripped tightly in his arms as he moved his hand up to lovingly pat your butt. Your face burned further.

The two of you made the journey to the bedroom without a word spoken. Once he laid you down in bed, you tugged at his shirt. With an eager smile, he pulled it over his head, tossing it aside before crawling in beside you. As his arms curled around your waist, his lips nuzzled against your jaw, breath ghosting across your skin before he whispered, "I really missed you tonight."

"It was 30 minutes hun." A sigh escaped your throat. His fingers trailed slowly along the line of your waistline before settling under the hem of your panties. He dragged them down to your thighs, pulling them down further so their thin fabric pooled around your ankles. Then the kisses continued, each brush of lips sending tingles through your body like static electricity.

He lifted a leg, pushing you up slightly with his force. Your lower back felt cold and bare. He pressed a kiss between your shoulder and neck, trailing light kisses down towards your chest as his thumb traced patterns into the skin over your breastbone.

"Oh yeah, I really missed you…" His voice was husky. "So fucking much…" His other arm wound around your back, lifting your bottom so his mouth could find your lower one. He moaned against you before pulling away briefly, sucking in a quick breath through his teeth as his fingers fumbled to pull his pants down. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. A shudder ran through his body before he slid his hand inside the elastic band of his underwear. Pulling his cock free. It slapped against the skin below your belly button wetly.

He looked up from his task momentarily to gaze thoughtfully into your eyes, pupils blown wide like the eyes of a chinchilla. You tried to return his expression. A gentle smile curved your lips. His lips twitched up into a grin and he laughed softly to himself, amused at how soft he had gotten these days. How vulnerable and easily charmed he'd become. How far gone he was…

He smiled down at you. "You.. um.. ready?-" He was being all shy now. Maybe it was the spell that you seemed to put on him whenever he was in your presence. Or maybe it was simply how utterly happy you made him that he felt such hesitation. He wasn't used to it—you weren't going to hurt him, abandon him, or replace him.

He was safe. Secure. And loved.

And maybe thats when fucking you oh so raveneously turning to making love to you.

He locked your legs in place atop his shoulders, holding you firmly against his cock while you squirmed underneath trying to get into a comfortable position. One of his hands found yours and he threaded your fingers together as he positioned himself. You could feel the tension in his muscles as they stretched to accommodate your smaller size. Then, he began slowly, easing into you with care. His tip grazing by past your folds and planting itself inside. He stayed like that for a short time, wanting to bask in the warm exuberation of you and your body. He held still until he could feel your fingers press into the back of his hand, impatience. He began moving slowly, not rushing it, not taking it too quickly. Instead, he held onto that perfect moment as best he could while you took the first few thrusts. He hated to overwhelm or startle you. He understood you were smaller than him and he didn't want to cause any unnecessary stress. But, hisbody was so demanding. He pushed himself deeper by an inch. "Mh…" His throat rumbled. "God," he panted out, his fingers curling tighter around yours. "Fuck, that feels so good." He closed his eyes and let out a shaky sigh of relief. "That's good," he groaned, feeling as if he had spent too long without being inside of you like this. You gave a little cry as he hit a particularly tender part of you and he slowed again, allowing you time to adjust before pushing back in hard enough that it brought tears to your eyes. He wanted you to know how much he enjoyed this. How he truly adored you. He'd been alone for so long that finding someone that loved him in return felt like a miracle. He needed to savour everything you gave him. Every second. Because you deserved it.

His lips followed the outline of your shoulder, kissing the tender flesh lightly as he pumped into you harder. He couldn't get close enough, couldn't give you the pleasure he craved because his body wouldn't allow him to phase into your soul and live inside of it for the rest of his existence. He groaned. "God, can't ever last more then 7 minutes with you baby… making me look like a teenager." He laughed at his own humor, before cutting himself off with a low whine. He could hardly keep his head above water and yet the idea of you and him going 5 more rounds after this seemed like the only right course of action.

One last, deep plunge of his shaft, before you were both crying out. His eyes opened to meet yours. Their color dark with lust. His brow furrowed with concern. "Did I hurt you baby? That was a little harsh- m' sorry…" he mumbled anxiously, his hands cupping your hips gently. "You okay?"

Your hand reached up to grasp at his cheek. He leaned into your touch. A shaky laugh left your lips. "You didn't hurt me babe," you reassured him with a smile. Then, his mouth was against yours. ---------------------------------------- Reblog if you enjoyed!

[stxrslutrestored]

TAKE THE PAIN AWAY

pairing; john b x angel reader

summary; when you're left bed bound by your ruthless period pains, john b takes it upon himself to give you some relief, and if not that, at least a distraction

content; angel!reader, period sex

authors note; re upload!

you groan loudly, rolling over to bury your face in one of the pillows that makes up part of the nest you have on the couch. the pain is unbearable, it feels as though someone is scraping the insides of your uterus out with a rusted fork. 

john b comes back from the kitchen with a glass of water and some painkillers, “no better?” he asks, crouching down to your level. he places a hand on your back, applying some pressure as he rubs circles in a futile attempt to help. 

“no!” you groan, “nothings helping! not even the pills. I can’t do this!” the tears are starting to spill from where they were built up just behind your eyelids. 

“oh baby,” john b grimaces, he just wishes that he could make this stop for you. if he could take the pain away he would, no matter what the consequences, he hates to see you cry. “what can I do huh? tell me what I can do?” 

you shake your head in frustration, “I don’t know,” you cry. god, you hate this so much. you can’t even get to sleep, the pain is too much, you’re stuck here, bound to feel it no matter what. 

john b decides to give you a cuddle, it most definitely won’t cure your pain, but it is a guaranteed soothing method. 

with your head in his lap, and one hand occupied rubbing your back, he makes a quick google search, and comes across a promising article, “guaranteed ways to soothe period cramps in minutes”. 

“babe?..” 

                                     *

“I’m not so sure about this john b.. what if I make a mess?” you ask anxiously, breath still shaky from the pain that keeps bombarding your poor body. 

“that’s what the towel is for.” he smiles, and then he gives you a reassuring look, “I promise this is gonna help yeah? that’s all you gotta worry about.” 

he helps you lift your hips up so he can put the towel down under you, then he pulls your pyjama shorts down, along with your underwear and inevitably ready to change sanitary pad with it. 

“oh ew john b don’t look!” you cover your face in embarrassment, and all he does is chuckle. he’s so stupid, he respects women and isn’t grossed out by their bodily functions. how dare he. 

he disregards your freak out and moves to stand over you, pulling down his sweatpants, and his own underwear too. “right.. let’s get you sorted out.” 

he climbs onto the couch, holding himself up over you, “ready?” he asks, looking down with a clear feeling of concern.

you nod, “yeah.. just go slow please?” you ask, and of course he nods, always there to adhere to your wishes.

one of his hands comes down to lift your lower back slightly, tilting your hips up so that he can slowly push himself into you, bottoming out so that you can feel him in your stomach. 

“oh!” you whimper. feeling the extra pressure inside of you is overwhelming, especially before he starts to move, it’s a lot. 

“shhh sh sh,” john b’s voice is so soft, “I’ve got you. gonna start moving now, okay?” his words are soothing, comforting. he's got you. 

he was right, you realise, it does help, you become overtaken by the pleasure in minutes, so overtaken that you almost completely forget that you were ever in pain. 

you squirm and moan and cry, “oh— feels so good! oh!” your hips buck up, meeting his own as he thrusts into you. 

the size of him is so perfect, he’s thick, and there’s veins, he’s just so perfect to take inside of you, you love it and you will just never get used to it. 

“oh! john b— gonna— gonna cum!” you cry out, back arching from the pleasure. your hand comes out to wrap around his neck, getting you closer to him for that final climax. 

“it’s okay, you can cum.. just let go..” and you do, you do let go. the pleasure washes over you, he keeps going for a minute to let you ride it out before he finishes himself. 

he groans gutturally, unable to stop himself, “there you go.” he murmurs finally, “there we go.”

you fall back, out of breath, worn out, done in. but, at last, no longer in pain. it worked. 

[dixons-sunshine]

You hummed quietly to yourself in the kitchen of the small two-story house you and Daryl occupied in Alexandria. After a harsh, intense period of fighting with not only the undead but the Saviours as well, it was nice to have some semblance of peace in the aftermath. It had been a grueling process to rebuild the remains of Alexandria from the ground up, but with the help from everyone in the community, as well as from people in other communities as well, Alexandria stood tall and proud once again. With all the houses rebuilt and with additional houses built as well, you and Daryl had opted to claim one of the smaller properties as your own, a sanctuary away from the bustling crowd of Alexandria after an exhausting day.

The paragraph of my first ever work in the The Walking Dead writing community. The story that kick-started this blog into what it is today. in SICKNESS and in health, posted February 25th 2024. Honestly, it feels like a lifetime and no time at all has passed since then. It’s such a surreal feeling.

When I wrote that story, I definitely did not expect anything to come of it. I remember being on season seven at the time of writing that, and feeling my heart break with what happened to Daryl in the sanctuary. I wrote that little comfort fic for myself at first, just to feel better about the hurt that was season 7, but then I thought “hey. I might as well post it. I’m sure someone out there will enjoy it.” And that’s what I did. I posted it and exited Tumblr directly after, and did not touch it again for a whole day. And when I did…

I saw my notifications showing me a bright blue ‘99+’. And I had gained a whole 20 followers, putting my follower count at the time at 29. Seeing that made my heart burst with joy. I could not believe that people were actually enjoying what I wrote. Also, I remember scrolling through my notifications and stopping dead in my tracks when I saw that @angelwings-crossbowstrings, aka one of the people whose stories inspired me to try my hand at writing for Daryl in the first place, had not only liked it, but reblogged it and followed me. My poor mom got bombarded with “holy shit, this amazing writer just followed me!” messages that day. She had no idea what I was yapping about, but she was supportive.

After that, I tried it again. Wrote something, posted it, and it got notes. And then again. I wrote my first installment for my “Shopping Spree, Hangout Dreams AU” as my third ever fic, which is still my most popular series to date. That fic also served as the gateway to people sending me their amazing ideas via requests.

And the hits just kept on coming after that. And I still can’t believe that I get to say that people like my writing. Take that, my third grade English teacher.

This year had its ups, and it definitely had its downs. Due to the fact that I was so excited to get this blog up and running, I pushed myself too hard a lot of times, and I have burnt myself out on more than one occasion. I told myself that if I didn’t pump out fics every day, people would be disappointed in me. I had set high expectations for myself, and I felt so bad when I couldn’t live up to them. However, through lots of reassurance and guidance, I realized that it was unhealthy for me, mentally speaking. I was pushing myself way too hard, and I needed to slow down if I wanted to keep the fun of writing alive for me.

This year, I also had a moment where I was scared. I found something that made me realize that my blog could have potentially been the next target for a known plagiarist, and it made me fearful. I pour my heart and soul into every story that I write, so having the safety that I associate with writing threatened was a terrifying thing. However, thanks to the vigilant creators behind the @fanfic-plagiarism-watchdog blog, my worries were settled. (Although I still keep my eyes peeled for any suspicious activity on that other blog.)

Now, for the ups. Let’s get the negativity out of here. We’re ending this year with a bang.

I never celebrated this, but I reached 1k followers this year! It happened so quickly, I barely had time to register and think of how to celebrate it. At the time of posting this, I’m a little less than 70 followers away from 2k, and I just wanna say thank you to each and every one of you for deciding to stick around. Your love and support means the world to me.

I had a work of mine surpass 2000 notes! That number is still so surreal to me, oh my god.

Not something writing related, but I moved this year. It was definitely a good decision and I don’t regret it at all. It was hard moving everything from one house to the next, but in the end, it was definitely worth it.

I also met some amazing people because of this blog. I still can’t believe that I get to say that I know them on a somewhat personal level. @lazyneonrabbitt, @angelwings-crossbowstrings, @enlightndone, @shadowcitrine, @dixondystopia, @dix0nvix3n, @deansapplepie, @snailss, @remnantsofsleep and @yevmarie.

And I can not forget about my girl @holdmytesseract. You’re one of my absolute favourite people ever and I love you. Keep being your awesome self, sweetheart.

And @thevegandarkelf. I still can’t believe that I get to talk to her on a daily basis. What started out with a comment about how our angels (our OCs, Vec and Georgie) would have been friends in an alternate universe spiraled into, if I may be so bold, a friendship. Taylor has become a huge part of my day-to-day life, and I honestly can’t believe that I get to just text you randomly throughout the day about anything at all. I love you.

I would also like to give the biggest of thanks to @daryl-dixon-daydreams. Her fic entitled “Plan A” was the first ever work of Daryl I read here on Tumblr, and she was one of my biggest inspirations to start writing after my long hiatus. So thank you for blessing us with your amazing writing, and I can’t wait to read more of what you put out.

Now, to finish this off, I thought I’d give my personal favourite fics I wrote this year:

Daryl Dixon:

Hazelnut—Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Was It was Boogeyman?—Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Shopping Spree, Hangout Dreams—Young!Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Needs To Be Perfect—Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Crushes Are For School Girls—Daryl Dixon x Georgianna Hawkins (OC)

Scud Frohmeyer:

Look At Me—Scud Frohmeyer x Fem!Reader

Perfect End—Scud Frohmeyer x Fem!Reader

Performance—Scud Frohmeyer x Fem!Reader

Murphy MacManus:

Make A Move—Murphy MacManus x Fem!Reader

The Safety—Murphy MacManus x Fem!Reader

Irish Man In A Closet—Murphy MacManus x Fem!Reader

Thank you all so much for sticking with me this year. I love each and every one of you so much, and I can’t wait to embark into the new year with all of you.

Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays, and happy new year in advance!

[ms-writerandreader]

PROLOGUE: GOTHAM'S SATYR

Even then, when Nico Di Angelo was actually young, Gotham City wasn’t the best place around, when it was first built in 1635 it wasn’t so bad but by the 1930’s that altered entirely. It was a city surrounded by crimes like, murder, thievery, assaults of many kinds, among other things, and now even in 2010 Gotham seemed to be no different along with the other cities that followed a similar banner. Cities like Metropolis, Star City, and Central City, for some examples, were brighter than Gotham, and while their crime rates were nothing in comparison. The odd phenomena and odd occurrences were nothing to sneeze at, but suddenly, it was like the Son of Hades wanted to sneeze at that after accidentally finding himself in the city of crimes.

The city smelt of pollution, alcohol, and cigarettes, what’s worse? He couldn’t Shadow Travel away due to loss of strength, and the ghosts of the dead that looked upon him before dipping their heads in bow, some would even start to beg him to let their souls free. (He just wanted to go to McDonalds) But then reality separated him from the mythical as he bumped into a child who looked scared beyond their mind, shaking and crying desperate to get past the demi-god And as Nico looked ahead, he came face to face with a Harpie, a monster under the name of Zeus. But if this kid could see it, then..Nico stopped his thoughts and drew his sword, and with a simple thrust to the roaring harpies core, it evaporated into golden dust. As Nico turned toward the kid who had only made it a few steps past him, they were now on their hands and knees hysterically crying and gasping for air.

Slowly, Nico made his way to the child who seemed to be no older than 7 or 8, Nico knelt down awkwardly and stayed next to the child, telling them that they were okay softly. “Tha-nk you. Thank you..that thing cha-sed me outside my home..I have no clue what’s going on. Help me, help me.” As the child pleaded, they latched onto the son of Hades, their arms wrapped tightly around his torso. Nico tensed greatly, but he understood. “Where do you live?” Nico asked as gently as a child of Hades could sound. “Across town..” Sighing slightly, Nico stood slowly, causing the child to let go.

Though he really didn’t want to, Nico offered his hand to the child, which they gratefully took. Nico trailed in the direction where the child first bumped into him, and as he did, the more the criminals came out, that of course made a family of bats roam the city. But he wasn’t expecting to be met by two of these bats, one a short hooded figure wearing red and wielding a katana and the other about his own height also dressed in red gear but wielding a bo staff.

“Who are and why do you have that child?”

A stern voice came from the shorter figure, and before Nico could really answer, another voice came along.

“Alex! Alex! There you are!” A woman came running over and in the same motion the child let go of Nico’s hand into the arms of who he guessed was their mother. “Mama that boy helped me. He got rid of that thing, Mama. He saved me!” The mother held her child tightly, and Nico and the two other figures watched. The mother looked up at Nico, and by the look in her eyes, Nico knew she knew what he was.

But she smiled kindly at him, “Come, I feel as if I owe you something for saving my child.” And with a glance to his left and right, Nico saw the angry scowl of the shorter boy and the relaxed face of the other taller one. Nico walked toward the mother and child swiftly, and they made their way across town swiftly and safely. (Much to Nico’s surprise) It was a small and comfortable home, “Thank you. Thank you so much.” A cry came from the mother as she turned to look at Nico with tear filled eyes.

“I’ve been so selfish keeping my Alex away from that camp, but after tonight, I know they need to go. Thank you, thank you for saving my Alex.” “Mama?” Alex mumbled softly, “Why has no satyr come for them?” Nico questioned the woman softly as he could, which might not have been that soft. “I was told that satyrs would come for them when they became twelve, but the attacks started becoming too frequent. I can’t keep being selfish and putting my child in danger.” The mother explained, and while Nico understood, the explanation led to another question.

“Who?” The woman caught on quickly to what he was referring to, “Iris.” Nice, was the first thing that came to Nico’s mind, and the other was I should probably get this kid to camp. “I don’t think I’d look that well taking your child outside the city after I was already pinned by those..?” “Vigilantes” The woman said, and quickly nodded in agreement, “The Grey Sisters?” The woman suggested, and Nico had to hold back a smile. Nico nodded and let the mother explain to Alex what was going to happen to him this year or a brief of it.

Alex quickly threw open the car door and got out, finally relaxing after feeling the ground below. “Lovely ladies, may the darkness always suit you. Thank you for the ride.” As Nico and Alex made their way to the Big House, Nico gained stares from the other campers, some being awe others being fright. Alex asked questions the whole way there, to which Nico gave answers to the ones he could. “Mr. D, Chiron. There’s someone you need to meet.” “Nico, good to see you, whatcha got?” “Nico my boy, what is it?” Nico nodded in greetings again before getting the attention of the eight year old he saved. “This is a child I saved in Gotham City. Their name is Alex Walker, the child of Iris.” The child stood stiff in the gaze of Mr. D and Chiron, “Hello..” Mr. D said nothing and turned his attention away from the child as Chiron greeted Alex.Mr. D called over the Son of Hades, to which Nico followed. “You know, there’s no Satyrs in Gotham?” Dionysus said factually, while Nico turned to him completely in confusion. “Why?” “The Mist there is thin, due to all the bat shit things that happen there, sending satyrs there means most would know. So I have an offer.” Dionysus said smugly, and Nico gave the God of Wine a questioning look. “Be the satyr for Gotham, save and guide kids to this wretched place.”

“Why? You don’t really care about demi-gods.” Nico fired back in confusion, and Mr. D laughed. Though while he did, it was like he shifted into another person, his hair turned black, and he became slightly paler, and his eyes red before he quickly switched back after his laughing fit. “You know, besides good ol’ Chiron, I think you’re the only one I’ll allow to question me. Yes, I don’t like demi-gods, but this is what Chiron wants I’m just the one telling you.” Nico thought for a moment. What if there were minor or chthonic kids like himself or children of Dionysus? After more contemplation, Alex ran up and hugged Nico, “This place is great! My cabin’s being built!” As Nico looked at Alex, he finally knew his answer, “Yeah? Enjoy Hermes Cabin for a bit.” Alex let go of Nico and ran back out of the Big House. “Yeah, I’ll be the satyr for Gotham.” Nico answered sternly, and Dionysus, once more chuckling, shifted before changing back. It was really starting to concern the Son of Hades, “Good, be careful, brother. Some bat’s are hiding there.”

On Wattpad now ♥︎

[thebigbadbatswife]

Beneath The Mistletoe

Pairing - Bruce Wayne x F!Reader x Selina Kyle

Summary - Selina and Bruce corner you beneath the mistletoe.

Warnings - Public Displays of Affection, Christmas Fluff, Suggestive Themes, Humour, Bisexual!Reader

Word Count - 800

Wayne Manor was cast in a golden glow from the various twinkling lights that currently decorated the place. Along with the lights were the decorations that you would expect to see in a billionaire’s home. Gold, silver, red. Nothing overly gaudy, but still screamed rich. And there was the tree in the entrance hall. Its size completely surreal and was decorated in a very orderly and traditional way. A similar one was set up within the main ballroom as well.

It was all for show. Something for the “official” Bruce Wayne Christmas party that was thrown each and every year without fail.

The real decorations were deeper within the manor. Set up in one of the lounges. A tree decorated by the boys. It was messy and chaotic and perfect. All at once. A fake pine garland along the top of the mantle of a fireplace that had a low flame flickering within it. And none of those gaudy hanging decorations are anywhere to be seen. 

The lounge wasn’t filled with strangers either. Friends and family only. This was the real Christmas party. One that wasn’t going to end up in every magazine and news website across the planet. Where everyone was made jealous of the luxury that came from a billionaire’s bank account.

There was no need to dress fancy either. Though ugly Christmas jumpers were mandatory, per Dick’s request. Which was fine by everyone, but Bruce. Who looked grumpy and kept pulling at the neck, scratching his skin, where it was irritating him. Though, in true Bruce fashion, it was a Batman themed one. He likely wasn’t hating this as much as he was making out he was.

Seeing everyone in one room together made you smile. With all the near disasters that kept almost befalling the planet and the city you called home, it was hard to get everyone in the same room.

You sipped on the eggnog in your snifter glass, humming softly. It was thicky and creamy and delicious. One of these days you were going to have to beg Alfred to tell you the recipe.

“Well, what do we have here?” Selina asked as she approached you. She was wearing a sweater that had the image of a cat tangled in christmas lights. It was very her. 

You raised an eyebrow at her. What was she on about? 

She smiled, amused at your confusion. Her eyes looked above you before returning to your own. You looked above you and chuckled when you saw it. Mistletoe. Dammit. You had been doing a good job all night avoiding it. Now Selina had you cornered. She took a step forward. You attempted to take a step backwards (it was all part of the game), but your back came into contact with a solid chest, which stopped you in your tracks. There was no need for you to turn around to see who it was. You already knew. 

Bruce. 

They were teaming up against you.

“You know, mistletoe can be deadly if you eat,” he said. Both of his hands came to rest on your hips and pulled you against him. 

She hummed and stepped into your space. “Yes, but a kiss can be even deadlier, if you mean it.”

Your cheeks felt impossible hot. They were going to be the death of you. You were sure of it. Bruce’s lips brushed against your ear, sending a shiver up your spine.

“It’s just a couple of kisses. Then we’ll let you go.”

But it never was a “couple of kisses”. Two would turn into four and four would turn into eight. Before you knew it they would have you wrapped up in the silk sheets of the custom bed Bruce had had built for the three of you. Not that you ever complained. You trusted them completely.

“Fine,” you replied, accepting your fate and surrendering yourself to your lovers.

Selina kissed your first. It was far more sensual than a kiss beneath the mistletoe should be. You sighed softly when she pulled away. Your lips weren’t left alone for long. Bruce turned your head to him and kissed you. Even going as far as to push his tongue into your mouth, caressing your tongue with his own. Your moan was barely audible. Only Selina and Bruce were able to hear it. 

“Get a room you three!” Hal called out. There were a few chuckles and laughs that followed. If it was possible for your cheeks to get even hotter, they definitely did.

And Bruce decided to make it so much worse.

“I think Hal’s right for once. Perhaps we should go up to our room.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, they were immediately followed by the sounds of Dick and Jason fake gagging and retching.

[fluentmoviequoter]

Perfect Moments

hot cocoa bar celebration🧤❄️🎄 | requested here

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!reader

Summary: While decorating the tree with Tim, you reminisce on perfect moments until you find yourself in another.

Warnings/Word Count: fluff, softie!Tim!! 0.8k+ words

“Did you purposely pick the hardest tree to decorate?” Tim complains as Christmas music fills the room.

“You picked this tree,” you remind him with a smile and a well-intentioned hip check.

“Because you liked it!”

“You mean because you love me.”

“Some days I really regret it.”

You exhale in faux hurt, then step back from the tree. “Looks good,” you decide with your hands on your hips. “Ready for ornaments?”

Tim nods. As he passes you, he kisses your temple. The song changes to “Snow Angel” before he returns, and you hum while you survey the tree, symbolizing a great year and the little life you’ve built with Tim.

“Here,” Tim says as he sets the container of ornaments on the coffee table. “I think we should start with this one."

You take his offered Hallmark ornament and smile. “I was terrified you wouldn’t like this,” you admit as you place it on the front of the tree. “Our relationship was so new, and I wanted something to remember our first Christmas, but had so many doubts about how well I knew you or how serious you were.”

“Wanna know a secret?” Tim whispers against your ear.

“Always.”

“I left it on my nightstand until March.”

“Such a softie,” you muse under your breath. “I take it back,” you add as Tim’s hands move toward your waist. “You’re a strong police officer and definitely not a big teddy bear.”

Tim rolls his eyes, still smiling, as he retrieves an ornament.

“Speaking of teddy bears,” he says. “I’m pretty sure this ornament was purchased because it reminded you of someone.”

“It’s you in ornament form and I’m sticking to that. The little flannel and the button heart? Absolutely reminds me of you.”

“Just get another ornament,” Tim deflects.

You laugh as you open a box. “Remember this guy?” you inquire as Anson Seabra sings, You’re my snow angel. Don’t let me go, angel.

“Remind me?” Tim asks.

Smiling, you know Tim remembers the Dodgers bulldog ornament. He picked it out during a shopping trip last Christmas because the dog was colored like Kojo and repping his favorite baseball team. When you got home, Tim took it out of the box to hang on the tree, then pulled you close to ask your opinion on where it should go. Kojo took Tim’s affection as an invitation to join you and walked through a tangled string of lights to join your side. Before you could stop Kojo and free him, he circled your legs and pulled you against Tim, knocking the ornament out of his hands. It should have broken, but it didn’t. You took that as a good sign.

“I might have a better one,” Tim says.

You walk to his side and smile at the hand-painted ornament. The pencil line separating the even halves is barely visible past the paint. Your impromptu home date night earlier in the year involved working together to create something beautiful without being able to see what the other person painted. The resulting ornament is one of your favorites.

“This is yours,” you comment as you pass Tim an ornament from his sister. “And this is mine.”

Your ornaments have slowly made their way in together, and it no longer feels like your decorations or Tim’s, but your shared memories and an opportunity to reminisce together for many Christmases to come.

“I’ll grab another,” Tim offers as you search for the perfect branch.

You nod and continue looking, then place the painted ornament next to the Dodgers bat ornament. Tim offers his hand, and you take the ornament from him without looking. Immediately, you know the square velvet item in your hand is not an ornament, but you don’t expect to see a ring box when you turn toward Tim to ask what it is.

Tim smiles up at you from his one-kneed position. With the song, he says, “I won’t ask for anything. No shiny toys or fancy things. ‘Cause I got everything I need with you here next to me. We’ve spent Christmas together, bad days and good days and all the mundane days in between, but they’re all special with you. I don’t want to just reminisce at Christmas, I want to make every single day a memory with you by my side. Will you marry me?”

You nod, the ornaments reflecting the Christmas lights blurring as your eyes grow teary. “Yes, Tim!” you answer.

Tim stands and pulls you into a kiss, then steps back to slide the ring on your finger.

“I actually do have another ornament for you to put up,” Tim says as you admire the perfect ring.

He passes you a silver box, and you extract the personalized ornament. It’s made to look like you, Tim, and Kojo are snowmen, and it says, She Said Yes with the year engraved beneath.

“You really thought of everything,” you muse. “Where should we put it?”

“Front and center,” Tim answers.

“Isn’t that where the mistletoe goes?” you joke, hanging the ornament in plain view.

“Who needs mistletoe?”

You don’t answer before Tim – your fiancé – pulls you into a kiss that warms you from the inside out while twinkling lights and merry music surround yet another perfect moment.

[galaxy-stardust]

Simon Ghost Riley x you

Part 8

"Come to me"

The weight of my choices pressed down harder with each passing day. My husband, with his quiet concern, his gentle love—he wanted me back, needed me back. But I could feel it, deep inside me, that there was a part of me that had been awakened, a part that couldn’t be shut down. Ghost had made me feel alive in ways I hadn’t imagined possible. The darkness, the intensity—it was addictive. And I couldn’t stop thinking about him.

I sat in the quiet of my home one evening, my hands wrapped tightly around a cup of tea that had long gone cold, staring at the untouched messages from Ghost that I had been too scared to read. He hadn’t contacted me since that night we’d been together. Part of me was relieved—afraid of what his words might do to me. But the other part of me, the part that wanted him desperately, was drowning in uncertainty.

What if I couldn’t forget him? What if I spent the rest of my life wondering what might have been with him?

But staying with my husband? That path was clear. It meant returning to the life I knew, the comfort of a shared history, of a bond that wasn’t based on chaos or obsession. The thought of leaving it all behind—of telling my husband that I wasn’t happy anymore—that hurt. More than I cared to admit.

~~~

Ghost

Meanwhile, in the cold, isolated corners of his world, Ghost moved through his life with the usual coldness. He had long since buried the desire for connection. He’d never had the luxury of love—of intimacy. But you had cracked open a part of him that he thought was dead, and now that part was restless, unsettled.

He had warned himself to keep his distance. It was easier that way. He could walk away, go on his next mission, and forget all about you. But the ache in his chest was something he couldn’t ignore. The nights alone were unbearable, and for the first time in years, he found himself questioning his own solitude. Was it possible to want something more than just the thrill of the mission?

The part of him that had wanted to keep things simple—no strings, no attachments—was fighting with something deeper, something that had taken root since that first night. He wasn’t sure what it meant, but he knew this: you had gotten under his skin in a way no one ever had. And even though he knew you deserved more than what he could give, he couldn’t help but want to pull you closer.

~~~

I had never thought I would be torn like this.

If I stayed with my husband, I would be choosing the familiar, the safety of a life that I had built with someone who truly loved me. He would forgive me, I knew that. But could I live with myself, knowing I had lied to him? Knowing that my heart wasn’t really with him anymore?

If I chose Ghost, it would be a life on the edge—dangerous, uncertain, fleeting. He couldn’t give me what I wanted in the long term. His world was one of secrecy and violence, a place where love was a distraction. I would be nothing more than a shadow in his life, a momentary escape from the cold reality of his existence. But even with all of that, he was everything I had ever craved. The intensity, the fire, the way he made me feel alive—he was the part of me that I hadn’t even known I needed.

Could I walk away from him? Could I turn my back on the one person who had shown me what it meant to really feel?

The next day, I couldn’t stand the waiting anymore. I needed answers—answers from Ghost, answers from myself. My mind was spinning, and I needed to hear his voice. I grabbed my phone, my fingers trembling as I typed a message.

*“I can’t stop thinking about you. What happens now?”*

It wasn’t much, but it was all I could bring myself to say. I hit send, then immediately regretted it, my heart pounding in my chest. Was I ready for whatever answer he would give me? Would he even reply?

~~~

Ghost

He was sitting in a dimly lit room, preparing for his next mission, when the message pinged on his phone. He didn’t expect it—he had stopped hoping for it, in fact. His heart skipped when he saw your name, and before he even read the message, he knew it wasn’t just a casual inquiry.

He opened the text, reading the words that sent a shock through him.

*“I can’t stop thinking about you. What happens now?”*

He didn’t hesitate. He knew what he wanted—what he had always wanted, but he wasn’t sure if he had the right to ask it of you.

*“Come to me. We’ll figure it out. Together.”*

~~~

As I read his response, something inside me shifted. The tension in my chest seemed to dissipate, if only for a moment. I knew what I had to do, even though it terrified me. Ghost was a temptation I couldn’t resist, a fire I didn’t know how to put out.

I stood at the window, looking out over the city I had called home for so long. But now, everything felt different. The world felt too small for me. There was nothing left for me here. The life I had built, the safety, the routine—none of it felt like it fit anymore.

I had been living in a cage, and Ghost had shown me what it was like to fly free.

Will I go?

And what about my husband?

[greatgoddyke]

gggfied some old ocs (ramblings about thought process + (hand gestures) about the story under cut)

started with the idea of turning reverie into a ggg oc n worked from there to make a fake level

reverie being the god of safety came immediately initially i had trouble figuring out how to go about with them bc my og idea felt too similar to what we're told is going down in buzzhuzz but focusing back on three specific elements of og reverie helped a LOT n gave a lot of direction those elements being escapism dissociation and fire

the level takes place in the wunderholz hotel which is currently in disrepair and only being operated by one person ie the receptionist cupid d. andrews as the rest of the staff are doing literally anything else as the request of reverie before their domain became basically inaccessible

location was vague originally all i had in mind was wanting there to be physical danger throughout the level similar to the finale of milldread so originally it was gonna take place in a forest (hence the hotel being named wunderholz. literally just wonderwood in german) n the danger element was just gonna be that the forest was on fire but that doesnt really work bc like. fire department?? + extremely visible + would easily spread to the other areas so it needed to be something less obvious n not as clear of a fix-it bc its supposed to be tied to reverie (like miss mitternacht's flood n cobigail's vines) THEN remembered the shining (book not movie) which snapped into place the danger being an overheating boiler n the level taking place in a hotel

other stuff reverie was chief of safety when the hotel was being built (which they got elected for) their domain is in the basement right next to the boiler (formerly n still kind of employee breakroom) n in universe it wasnt originally supposed to be a hotel but construction got switched to one after reverie ascended (pretty cool to have a god in ur basement tbh) also hobbyhoo implies that the letter shenanigans have been going on for at least a few days bc of the last few episodes sucking n im running with that for this with it being like two weeks or so

marcelee d'vonair used to be a sfm oc whos design i never nailed down her thing back then was just she was an uninspired fashion designer n u gave her some photos of fashionable habitants to cheer her up marcelee now is the chief of safety at the hotel n the one in charge of the boiler but is instead outside chatting about fashion with vib during the level and you have to get vib away from her for the end sequence (crucial thing vib is actually working on stuff while marcelee is all talk n dodging questions)

she n cupid are (currently until i play with things further) the only reverie followers in the level (bc other followers typically go into fields more immediately relevant to maintaining safety (osha god) like repairmen or health inspectors) n were the two that were (attempting) to keep the hotel in shape during reverie's absence until a few days ago where the stress of not being able to fix the boiler (+ inability to get help from specifically reverie) got to marcelee n she stopped trying n avoided the issues by dreaming up fashion ideas (n not doing anything bc its safer not trying than it is to fail)

cupid's changed the least of the three hes just been redrawn in the style n had his story adjusted accordingly (rip stupid paper bag he used to have 😔✌️) hes the character godpoke would be interacting the most with n provides the hints for progressing (for reasons that will become clear when we get to reverie) n he also provides the obligatory flirt line with his greeting ("hey sweetheart!")

for the last few days cupid has been solely responsible for keeping the wunderholz together which hasnt been going very well bc hes just one person n while he has the knowledge of all the stuff thats done to keep things running he doesnt have the practical skills or experience to fix things like leaks (which the hotel needs regularly bc its oldddddddddddd) or The Boiler so hes stressed n no one's listening to him bc hes just the receptionist what does he know n he can't leave to get help bc everything Will fully fall apart if he goes (believe it or not this is actually much better than his situation in his og story. mostly due to it being significantly shorter but still) and is deeply grateful for godpoke's help although was startled by them initially bc their room is... "unavailable due to damages"

the entrance to the basement is superficially blocked off with a paper danger sign (similarly to the woodboards in front of mitternacht's entrance) n u just get rid of it with megapon after cupid gives the ok for godpoke bc well they have a mask so they should be fine

hearthy haunt is a lush green forest with a fireplace (? is it still called that if its outside) thats perfect for cozying up n unwinding however that is not the hearthy haunt you get to experience during the level as the place is filled with smoke obscuring everything from sight and rendering the area near uninhabitable

reverie themself is completely out of it not even aware that someone else is in their domain (or whats happening around them) n unfortunately this means that reverie isnt too much of a character for the level (marcelee n cupid are more prominent to fill the story gap) but is used as a puzzle solving mechanic by throwing stuff at them to steer their daydreams to get specific lines to twist n stretch (was also thinking maybe that u have to suck up some smoke with megapon to be able to hear their responses similar to drying sirena off but that sounds Really Annoying mechanically so probably not)

dont really have specifics in mind for whats said in the letter reverie received just like what its about n what its angling for the angle is to get reverie out of the picture obviously so the rift can continue to open but the means is emphasizing the disharmony between gods (that are literally a result of the letters) n doing so heavily on the disconnect between thespius-click clack n bauhauzzo-huzzle mug bc those are the dynamic duos!! we're really screwed if even they arent getting along!! n the letter being more.. sympathetic ig by being about letting people live in blissful ignorance that end times are near cause theres no way we- i mean you would be able to close it without the other gods help it's best to just give up n try to have fun with the time you have which results in reverie trying to see the logistics of only 3-4 gods closing the rift by themselves coming to the conclusion it wouldnt work (didnt talk to the other gods bc well the god of innovation is in a quarrel n as the next best thing they dont think they stand a chance) n asked the staff to do as they please before lying down n giving up bc its safer to leave them now than to watch everything end

end of level stuff end sequence (ie getting the milldread berry or romantic bulb) is triggered by getting a whistle from the boiler (it gets louder n more shakey as the level progresses. also can be used as a flirt line on other characters bc i think that's kinda fucked up) n throwing it at cupid netting the line "THE BOILER'S BEGGING TO BURST!" to then throw at marcelee who cracks admits to avoiding her responsibilities (n cupid) forms an evacuation plan n gives the two final lines to throw (in the order marcelee says them "oh reverie... looks what's been done." (shes not addressing reverie here its more like shes saying oh dear) n "i'll get everyone outta here lickety-split!") which are thrown reverse order at reverie to shock them out of their episode and reveals what remains of hearthy haunt

reverie's domain is desolate the once tranquil woods is now charred logs and ashes with only the hearth and reverie themself being left standing

surprised by godpoke being there reverie reflexively puts on their psa bravado but still somewhat dazed n the destruction clear around the two its dropped quickly while reverie puts the pieces together of what's happened n bides godpoke farewell while drawing together some cleanup plans

leaving their domain has a quick cutscene of the boiler stabilizer now no longer being superheated by the fire n you go back upstairs n outside for the final cutscene of the area where everyone rejoices upon realizing the boiler's not gonna blow

goodbye dialogue stuff reverie's is about prioritizing getting some stuff that needs to be fixed done before they leave for the rift how they shouldnt have given up without a fight n a joke about how reverie has literally no idea who godpoke is (as in joke to us reverie isnt making a joke. they refer to godpoke as puppydog tho bc they dont know their name) marcelee laments leaving cupid to deal with things by himself n being too ashamed to get help from another town but remarks they did at least help vib brainstorm some outfits cupid is SO relieved that everything worked out n the line about godpoke's room comes back with cupid revealing that its unavailable bc its where cupid was staying as he wasnt able to go home during the whole ordeal jokes about giving godpoke a share of their next paycheck bc they never clocked out n have been working overtime "but seriously sweetheart at least let me comp your room... whenever i get it fixed up that is." (if the sweetheart line was used on cupid the paycheck joke is replaced with him offering a pity date)

n thats all for the story other misc stuff both cupid n marcelee capitalize They/Them when referring to reverie n while theyre both followers of reverie marcelee leans more towards it being bc she's a fan of reverie as a person while cupid is more about what reverie represents vague idea for bizzyboy video for the area is about deferring to authorities n professionals ie what they position themselves as (styled like schools psas about calling 911 in emergencies. bizzyboy home invasion skit) idk how much more i'll do with this outside of doodles but if this was an actual legel there'd probably not like a lot of interactable npcs in the area with some being bizzyboy van driver adjacent as in theyre in the environment to show theres people n in my mind theres one interactable npc thats a family on vacation (even got a specific set of old ocs in mind for them) but functions like a normal npc outside of their dialogue (as in u throw something at the family n they all react to it rather than each character being a separate npc) cupid is nonbinary n gendered language is a mix of neutral n feminine (he/him only for pronouns tho) n capochin is the only character who the sweetheart line doesnt work on as a flirt line bc he recognizes it as cupid's voice n immediately (and vaguely) complains about something that happened before godpoke arrived (i have something specific in mind but its funnier to leave it vague. capochin is the only bizzyboy in the level that doesnt appear inside the hotel for related reasons)

reverie's relationships n views of the other gods was decided entirely based on reverie being the god of safety so theyre extremely fond of bauhauzzo huzzle mug inspekta (ruh roh) n king bc theyre all gods of things important for safety (+ bonus industrial revolution for buzzhuzz duo) n then for the rest reverie doesnt like cobigail bc she likes scary type pranks n reverie doesnt (wimp 😔✌️) neutral towards thespius n click clack n neutral leaning positive towards miss mitternacht bc of her being the oldest god so they should show her some respect

[blacksilkcravat]

"Hello, excuse me?"

Ed turns around at the exit door of the store to see a solidly-built man with wavy blond hair, black jeans that look painted on, Chelsea boots and a button-down shirt in a shade of teal that rivals the clearest Caribbean waters. He's holding the chocolate dessert, a tentative smile on his face. "I think you forgot to get this."

Ed seems to have forgotten how words work. He looks between the man's expressive hazel eyes and the chocolate dessert, mouth slightly open in shock. The man's smile fades. "I'm sorry-- you probably think I'm some weird stalker or something, it's just that I saw you looking at the desserts in the bakery aisle and you looked like you really wanted this one, but then you put it down and you just looked so sad, and I thought, no one should deprive themselves of a little bit of joy, and I wanted to say hello but I didn't know how and---" He trails off and looks away, lowering his hand holding the dessert. "I'm sorry, I'm being too presumptuous, I'll just...go."

He's turning to walk away and Ed's brain finally reboots. "Wait!" he says, maybe a bit too loudly, because about a dozen people in earshot immediately turn to look at him, including Blondie. "I just--" He blows out a breath, looks away as he tries to find the right words. "I'm not used to...to people--strangers--being nice to me for no reason."

Blondie smiles. "What about friends you haven't met yet?"

Ed chuckles ruefully. "Don't have many friends, mate. People think I'm...scary."

"Well I'm not scared of you. I'm scared of making a fool of myself, but not scared of you." He offers the dessert again. "Here, please, take it. My treat."

Ed holds out his hand and accepts the dessert. "Thanks, mate. Really appreciate it." He puts the dessert in his cart and turns to go, figuring the interaction is over, but a hand gently placed on his arm - not restraining, just touching - stops him, and he turns back.

"This is probably very forward of me, but...would you like to, uh, meet up? Sometime? For a coffee, or- or tea, I don't know if you like coffee or not--"

That's twice now that Blondie has struck him speechless. Ed searches his eyes for some trick, some deception-- did his asshole ex put this guy up to this?-- but no, the man is an open book, sincerity written in the laugh lines around his eyes and mouth. Blondie starts to pull his hand away, an apology forming on his lips--

"That'd be great actually," Ed says, and Blondie's smile is dazzling, the sun emerging from a blanket of clouds.

"Great! Uh--yeah you said that already. Super!" Blondie says, and Ed can't help but laugh. Blondie laughs too, and pulls out his phone. "Can I get your number? So we can decide on a date?"

Ed's impressed that this guy, this absolute lunatic, managed to get up the courage to approach a complete stranger with a gift, and he figures he can be brave too. "I have a better idea. Why don't we split this dessert over some coffee? There's a little coffee shop a few doors down from here."

"Brilliant!" Blondie says, bouncing on his toes with excitement. This guy's joy is positively infectious, and Ed feels the clouds around his heart dissipating.

"Just one thing--what's your name?" Blondie says, as they walk out together.

"I'm Ed."

The man offers his hand. "Stede."

Ed going grocery shopping by himself, wandering through the aisles aimlessly, picking up items and then putting them back down, because why would he need a chocolate dessert to eat by himself, and it's fine, it is, he's used to it, but he looks longingly at couples shopping together and wonders why he's only good for one night stands and not going shopping together and bickering over which cereal to choose, and it's fine, it is, and he's probably getting the sniffles, so he rushes his trolley to the checkout (no, he didn't take the chocolate dessert) and completely misses a blonde guy watching him from the dairy aisle, who was just plucking up the courage to say hello...

[cent-scratchnsniff]

here together