#tp!reader

[2tarbell]

more trailer park!rafe drabbles i beg

maybe something with crybaby!reader too, like he comes home from a long ass day and she’s crying over the silliest thing ever.

but of course he makes her feel better.

love ur writing smm !!

he knew he was in for it when he came home and she wasn’t waiting patiently for him. if he didn’t know any better, rafe would assume the quaint trailer was empty — but the call you shared earlier on his lunch break detailed your plans around the house for the day, so there was no fuckin’ reason for it be as quiet as it was.

his confusion turned to concern when he heard little sniffles and sobs coming from the bathroom. rafe dropped his keys in the bowl and hurried off further into the trailer, in search of his girl.

pushing the bathroom door open with a rough hand, his mind went to the worst places when he saw her crumpled up on the floor. instantly he scooped her up onto the counter. his voice was a flurry of sounds she couldn’t decipher through her tears. the warm cadence she’s become so familiar with instantly providing some relief.

“hey, hey, baby — look at me, you hurt?” his hands are moving fast, holding her cheeks and checking for any injuries to that beautiful face.

she could only shake her head, hiccuping and trying to speak between sobs.

“rafe— dad— daddy—“

he hums and looks over her body. blue eyes checking off a list of what’s ‘normal’. when he finds nothing bleeding or falling off — that intense gaze finds hers, urging her to calm down.

his voice cooed, low and rumbly in a way that always soothes her, “shh, dad’s here, what happened? hm? someone — someone do somethin’ t’you or—“

“muh — my nails!” she interrupted, voice a petulant mumble.

rafe froze, mouth agape and eyes blinking in confusion. he looked down and took her smaller hands in his. turning them over and feeling the smooth skin. no cuts, no bruises—

the fact that he didn’t immediately know what she was talking about sends her into another spiral. yanking her hands from his and covering her eyes as sobs shook her shoulders.

“okay, okay, can’t help if you’re cryin’. talk t’me— what about your nails, honey?”

she sniffs and thrusts them in his face, rafe now seeing something out of the ordinary — chipped baby blue polish.

“wanted— wanted to paint them f’you. ‘cuz— ‘cuz s’the same color as your eyes but forgot they weren’t dry yet so i tried to make dinner and— and i ruined them!”

everyday the universe was testing his patience.

a sharp sigh out of his nose and rafe let his head fall forward. relief and disbelief pooled in his chest. she was this worked up over nail polish?

a low grumble of her name ceased her tears until they were just little sniffles of sadness. any other person and rafe would’ve been out the door with a specific finger showing his annoyance. but this was his person, his precious girl, and if she was this worked up over nail polish — he was going to indulge her. he picked up his head, eyes tired from a long days work but soft in a way meant just for her. he spoke in that way that makes her all fuzzy for him.

“jesus christ, that’s— yeah, okay. baby, ‘m— ‘m sorry. y’just wanted t’do somethin’ sweet f’dad, yeah?”

hook, line, and sinker. reader huffed and nodded as she leaned forward into his chest. her little gasps punctuated his cooing. within minutes, she was putty in his arms, nuzzling closer and closer. rafe littered kisses over her hair, gently rocking her until her head lifted off his chest. wet cheeks and a red nose greeted him and he couldn’t stop the adoring coo from falling out as he wiped her face.

“thereee you are— my sweet girl… better now?”

she nodded at his words, almost hypnotized by the gentle tone of his voice. a little hiccup fell out when she caught sight of her messy nails, but rafe quickly shushed her.

“shh, no more cryin’. y’gotta be a big girl, a’ight? c’mon, whaddaya need?”

she wished she had a picture of this big man patiently painting and blowing on her nails — that matched his eyes.

[bambrinaa]

a/n: a big thank you to @starfxkrinc for letting me use tp!jj for kinktober! kicking off with a bang amirite. i hope i did him justice <33 happy halloween month!! 🎃

warnings: trailerpark!jj x fem!reader. bdsm? large age gap (legal doooeee), pnv, punishment, dacryphilla, dubcon??? tp!jj being his mean self as allwayysss. don’t like don’t read! you’ve been warned!

as you usually did, you thought you could get away with being a brat unscathed. being bitchy and rude towards jj all day, then teasing him at work — all in all, you were begging for it to happen. it being jj pounding into your pussy and ruining it.

he ignored your cries — tried to anyway, — his eyes never straying from where you’re connected, watching the way your tight cunt has to stretch to accommodate him. your nails drag down his chest as you bitch and whine at him, making him huff through his nose with frustration.

“shut the fuck up sweetpea, ‘kay? you were askin’ for this.” he growled, making you screw your face up at him.

“n-nuh uh! you’re a fuckin’ liar.” you half complained, half moaned.

he glared at you, his fingers leaving a bruising grip onto your hips as he fucked your cunt like it was the last thing he’d ever do.

one hand left your hip, wrapping firmly around your throat and squeezing hard enough that your moans are now limited to little strained squeaks.

he put almost all his weight into that arm, the other forcing your hips still to the bed so that he could use your cunt until he was done.

your hands pushed and clawed at his wrists, lip wobbling as you tried to gasp for air — tears streaming down your face and mascara staining your cheeks.

“quit fuckin’ scratching me!” he tightened his hand around your neck, making your eyes roll back and a hardly there sob fall from you.

his eyes flickered back down to your pussy swallowing him whole, dripping down onto the old, used sheets. he looked back up to your hands pushing at his chest and clawing at him, letting out an frustrated grunt as he slowed his thrusts.

he released you, and just for a moment, you thought he was going to stop — until you fluttered your eyes open and saw him leaning over to grab something from one of his dingy shelves above his bed. duct tape.

you made a pitiful attempt of pulling away, shaking your head with a whine but he shoved you back down, using one large hand on your chest to keep you down.

taking the edge between his teeth, the hiss of the tape accompanied your whimpers and little “no”’s and “i’m sorry”’s.

he grabbed your wrists, his hand fitting both, and wrapped the tape around them so you couldn’t push him away. you continued to whine and complain, making him rip off another piece with his teeth and putting it over your mouth, slapping it gently to make sure it was stuck nicely. you cried, looking up at him through your wet lashes as he stared down at you.

he doesn’t think he’d ever get tired of making you cry.

he tucked a hair behind your ear, thrusts picking up very slowly, merely a grind.

“you’re makin’ me do this, sweetpea, y’understand that?” he asked, voice surprisingly quiet and soft for what he is. you gave a pathetic nod, sniffling as you whined muffedly. he leaned down, kissing your lips through the tape as he began ruining your perfect pussy once more.

“such a good little girl.”

[violettwrites]

company of misfits — tp!daryl

a/n: thank u nonnie for sending this request in !! i absolutely love writing the tp!trio honestly, their banter is some of the best. even when reader is in a bad mood 🥺

i hope you enjoyed, and i hope i did your request justice ! if you guys did enjoy, please don’t forget to like, reblog, and/or comment, and give me a follow if you want to see more of my work ! i always appreciate the support ! and as always, my ask box is open ! i will link it below

summary: reader has a bad day, and the dixon brothers know just how to make it more bearable.

requested: anon requested; hii dear!! could you write some fluff in the tp!daryl au, where reader has a bad day and is in a very bad mood, and the brothers notice that and try to cheer them up? (they have no idea what to do but they are trying their best)

word count: 1,011

warnings: swearing, alcohol

resources: divider by @/adornedwithlight

➵ masterlist

➵ ask box

you trudged up the dirt path through the trailer park, the weight on your shoulders from the day hanging heavy as you made your way towards your trailer. the sun was high in the afternoon sky— and having just worked a ridiculously long shift at the local diner, you were just done with the day; even though it wasn’t over yet.

as you neared your trailer, you noticed the dixon brothers outside theirs, beers in hand as they chatted lazily. daryl was the first to notice you, his blue eyes immediately trained on your figure. he noticed how your shoulders were slumped, your face showed no emotion, and he could just tell you had a shit day. he had seen that look on you before. merle, oblivious as ever, was busy recounting some story from his time in lockup. but daryl nudged him with his foot, nodding his head towards your figure as you made your way into your trailer— praying your dad wasn’t home, because that would just add to the mountain of shit on your shoulders.

both daryl and merle stood up and made their way towards your trailer, letting themselves in. they knew your dad wasn’t home, because they had seen him leave earlier in his old pickup. where he had gone? they didn’t bother to ask, because why would they speak to a piece of shit like him. your head turned when you heard the door open, spotting the two dixon brothers, and the corner of your lips quirked ever so slightly. you enjoyed their company, but you didn’t really want to be around anyone right now.

“hey, sunshine, what’s eatin’ at ya?” merle was the first to speak— like always —his usual grin plastered across his lips. you didn’t respond, just shrugged your shoulders a little as you plopped onto the couch, head tilting back as you looked at the ceiling. the two brothers followed your lead, sitting down on either side of you, and you internally groaned. they wouldn’t give up until you told them what was wrong.

daryl looked to his brother for guidance, a pointed look on his face as his eyes flickered from merle, to you. “you think i know how to deal with shit like this?” he mouthed back to daryl, and the younger dixon rolled his eyes, directing his attention back to you. he didn’t know how to handle situations like this either. feelings weren’t his strong point.

sighing in annoyance, merle spoke up. “what’s the problem? yer face looks like ya lost a fight with a wasp next.” the analogy made your brows furrow as you looked at merle. he always said some odd shit that you never understood.

“just had a bad day, alright?” you muttered, crossing your arms across your chest as you stared forward, eyes trained on the blank screen of the television in front of you. merle rubbed the back of his neck, looking to daryl for backup this time.

daryl sighed softly, and tried a softer approach. “anything we can do to help?” his voice was quieter, less teasing than his older brother’s.

you shook your head, but the gesture was half-hearted. you didn’t want to burden them with your problems that seemed so large, yet so minuscule at the same time. “not unless you can fix the world in the next five minutes,” you scoffed a little, chewing on your bottom lip.

merle, always the smart ass, grinned widely. ���well, darlin’, i ain’t no miracle worker but i could try.”

before you could retort, he disappeared from the living room of your trailer, straight out the door, leaving you and daryl in confused yet curious silence. he watched you figdet with your hands, sensing you were on edge— but he didn’t know how to fix it.

“you don’t gotta talk about it,” he said finally, his voice low, “but you don’t gotta deal with it alone either.”

you looked over at him, wondering when he had become so wise. but there was something earnest in his expression that made your heart soften— just a little. merle returned before you could say anything back though, a bottle of whiskey and a few cups in his hands. “aight, so maybe i can’t fix the world, but i sure as hell can make it go down a bit smoother.”

you watched as he messily poured the liquid into the cups, handing the first one to you as he gave you a wink. “it’s like medicine, but the fun kind.”

you couldn’t help the small smile on your lips, despite yourself. “you think whiskey is gonna solve my problems?” you asked, looking up at him with an amused look.

merle clinked his cup against yours, an eager grin on his lips. “no, but it’ll make ‘em real fuzzy for a bit, an’ sometines that’s all ya need.”

daryl rolled his eyes, but spoke up anyway. “he’s right, y’know? ‘bout makin’ thinks fuzzy.” and you wondered when both of those boys had become so wise in their odd little ways. maybe it was because they knew how to handle bad days without having to confront their issues. they just forgot, in a sense.

for the first time that day, the weight on your shoulders felt a little lighter. it wasn’t the whiskey or the dumb jokes merle kept making, and it wasn’t daryl’s quiet, steady presence at your side. it was all of it together— their clumsy, awkward attempts at cheering you up that actually worked. you took a long drink, feeling the burn of the alcohol chase away that lingering frustration.

“thanks,” you spoke, glancing at the two ot them. “i needed this.”

merle clapped you on the back, grinning like a fool. “that’s what we’re here for, sweetheart! doin the lord’s work, one drink at a time.”

daryl shook his head, but you saw the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. he didn’t need to say anything more. just being there, sitting with you in the fading light, was enough.

[avroravia]

☆ desert eagle. - I ☆

pairings: trailer park!dallas winston x f!trailer park!reader

summary: dallas can’t seem to keep himself from the pretty girl wandering throughout the park, now can he? but, it seems neither can she.

warnings: f!reader, swearing, familial descriptions, outfit descriptions, may not be time accurate (?)

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡

the blazing summer sun of tulsa beat down onto the park, yet everybody seemed unbothered. children continued running around, water guns in hand as they seamlessly weaved through all the trailers. teens funded the gas stations and mini-marts, with icees and cokes in hand as they flocked to the shade. adults were either at work, or running errands throughout tulsa.

wiping the sweat off of his forehead, dallas shut the hood of the car. he tossed his borrowed-box of tools onto the grass, before making his way to the entrance of the car owner’s trailer. living in the park wasn’t necessarily bad, just mundane. going from odd-job to odd-job, then party to party.

dallas’ boots thudded along the metal ramp towards the entrance. met with the sight of an open door, he rapped his knuckles against the frame before peeking his head inside. dallas didn’t see the woman who had originally ‘hired’ him, but rather a younger girl. you. your head perked up from the small mini fridge’s door, which you seemed to be stocking.

“money’s on the table.” you told him, gaze returning to your chores.

dallas examined the trailer further, narrow brown eyes darting from the dusty chandelier to the bruised wooden floors. despite the years of use, it was still relatively clean. he could see the crumpled 10$ bill on the dinner table, which he stuffed into the pocket of his dark-washed jeans.

as you stood up, dallas’ gaze was averted to you. he had known of you, but he never held more than a two second conversation with you. dallas recognized you as ‘angela’s best friend,’ having seen you many times in the shepard’s trailer when he went to visit tim.

once dallas’ brain had made the connection, he turned to actually look at you. he took in the sight of your brown, beat-up cowboy boots, low-rise denim shorts far too short for any mother’s taste, and a cropped budweiser shirt. with your lower midriff exposed and a hand on your hip, you waited for him to say something, anything.

“you- you’re angel’s friend, huh?” dallas asked, almost instantly regretting it. he thought his words were stupid.

“something like that, yeah.” you responded, a faint southern accent showing through.

stepping closer to him, you had an almost sinister smile on your glossed lips. you placed a manicured hand onto his exposed shoulder and slightly swayed your hip outward, making butterflies bloom from every crevice in his guts. regardless, dallas kept his unamused expression. brows furrowed and his drowsy brown eyes narrow per usual.

“s’dallas, right?” you drawled, thumb toying with the thick strap of his white tank top.

dallas only hummed in response. something about you seemed so enticing to him. it drew him in like a sailor to a siren, and he wasn’t sure how to feel about it. despite the mixed feelings, dallas would be a liar if he said he didn’t like the feeling of your hands on his skin, or the way you looked at him.

“well, dallas,” you mused, “i’ll see you around then...”

he watched as you returned to tidying up the trailer, before taking your words as a cue to leave. stepping out the trailer, dallas shut the door behind him. his thoughts were kept clouded with the memory of you, and he swore he could still feel your soft hands on the skin of his shoulder.

grabbing the tool box, dallas made a mental note to return it to buck. though, the thought was quickly replaced with you. as he walked home, dallas looped your voice in his head, particularly the way you said his name.

man, would dallas get his kicks in with you...

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡

a/n: i hope you guys enjoyed this little drabble! i’m planning on making it a little series, on how tp!reader and tp!dallas first met along with the beginning of their relationship. once im satisfied, it’ll probably just be random moments in their relationship from then on. i’m also happy to take requests on these two and all my other readers >:)) my ask box has been so dry lately lmaoo!

[pintrestgrl]

“𝗞𝗜𝗦𝗦 𝗠𝗘 𝗛𝗔𝗥𝗗 𝗕𝗘𝗙𝗢𝗥𝗘 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗚𝗢 ...”

jae. she/her. 18. established ‘06. may taurus. lana lover. the color brown. rafes prettiest bambi. multi fandom. winter enthusiast. sleepiest girl. based in san antonio. avid listener. infp-t. cold chaser. shopping lover.

requests : open , feel free to send any thoughts or convo starters as well. i love to chat.

links : girls guide , masterlist

©pintrestgrl. 18+ blog, mdni. do not copy, translate, or claim my writing as yours. i do post dark and taboo content at times. please remember you are responsible for your own media consumption.

[bunny-jpeg]

hi bunny! can i please have cream puffs with a side of tonic water served by max verstappen

thank you love you <33

bakery menu!!

want to submit your own order? then hit up the menu! there are tons of options to choose from! thank you so, so much for all i've received! as for the anon, i hope that you love this! i love the combination of prompts. this is technically a team principal!max au, but not the main one i'm currently writing. this is just a fun little side!

cream puffs ("let me finish inside.") + tonic water (age gap) served by max verstappen (formula one)!!

cw: smut/pwp, team principal!max, team principal au, driver!reader, breeding/pregnancy, pool sex, age gap (20s/40s), unprotected sex, incorrect info about sex (!!)

maybe it was wrong for max verstappen to ogle at his new driver. maybe it wasn't the brightest ides to let her prance around the pool like an excited puppy. people would talk. it didn't help that you were wearing the loosest definition of a bikini, he swore that he saw of your nipples peek out of the top.

you were splashing and laughing the pool, kicking around and having the time of your life. all while max was trying to focus on an email he was writing. but that was hard, about as hard as his cock that strained in his swim trunks.

max prided himself on focus, and integrity. he was a strong drive of a good character. but with you all judgement was clouded.

"c'mon, mister verstappen. let's play mermaids." you said with excitement in your tone. max knew that closest pool you had growing up was the public one in your neighourhood. so to have one all to yourself for the afternoon left like a luxury. even with the large contract you had with verstappen racing, the smallest things excited you.

max assumed at this point in his career that he was used to luxury. he had enough money to start a racing team after years of racing. but, to you, this was all new and exciting. it made max want to spoil you.

max looked up from his phone, "i'm a little busy."

you sighed, you were up against the edge of the pool. he could picture your pretty breasts pressed against the tiles. you said, "it's off season, sir. stop being an over-worker an let's have some fun! all you do is work, work, work!"

"and what is your idea of fun?" he asked.

you looked adorable as you responded with, "mermaids!"

max couldn't argue with that. so his phone was soon left on the table before he took off his t-shirt and ended up in the pool with you in just his swim trunks. your swam over and wrapped your arms around him.

"see, isn't this fun?" you asked as you held him. max believed you were a temptress in disguise. a devil dressed like an angel.

he was in the water for you as you held onto him tightly. you were alluring in the most perfect way possible. he leaned in to kiss you with his hands on your hips. team principals didn't kiss their drivers, but with the high walls around the house. it was your little secret.

you giggled against the kiss, "sir!"

"you're teasing me, angel." he replied as he kissed you more. they got a little more heated as his grip on you tightened. you squirmed a little, but he held tightly onto you. he had kissed you before, usually in private. on the track he usually got his fix where he could.

"i just wanted to play in the water, sir." you pouted. you were a horrible actress, this was the least convincing performance you had done so far.

"i think you wanted more." he replied. he was hard in his trunks as he worked to get your bottoms off to give him easy access to your slick core. you whined and he beamed at you. he knew you so well.

he learned very early on how to read your expressions, your poker face was horrible. you wore everything on your face and on your sleeve. he knew you very well, more than he knew your teammate and other driver.

"mister verstappen." you moaned as he held you in the water.

he got his trunks off and rubbed his cock up against your pussy. it excited him. being in the warm water didn't help either. he said, "let me finish inside."

"but!"

he replied, "you can't get pregnant in a pool." and as a response you wrapped your legs around his waist and with a few tries he sank his cock inside of you. his size was impressive and it made you warm all over.

it felt like a slice of heaven. it felt like home, and it made you moan loudly.

you believed him, so you let him take you bare in the pool at his over priced house in monaco. your hands were in his short hair as he fucked up into you. even at close to double your age, he fucked like a young man. you yanked on his near blond hair and he groaned. just as he knew your body, you knew his. you knew that the famed max verstappen liked to have his hair pulled.

you moaned against one another, the kisses were hot and the noises got louder. you whimpered while he moaned against you. he loved the feeling, the intensity of your fucking. the thought of playing in the water was long forgotten as he moved against you. rutted up into you in a way that made you feel good all over. his face was against your breasts and he could feel your hard nipples through our bikini top.

your back arched with a heated want for the man inside of you. you yanked on his hair a little more as he bit your left nipple through the swimsuit which made your toes curled. he managed to mark you a your breasts a little in the areas that weren't covered by the bikini top. his groaned made you feel hotter.

"please, sir."

you felt amazing. you made a primal part of his brain sing with the idea of having you with him for a lifetime. he yearned for you, he wanted you in ways that only a lover could. to keep you as his. he was close to double your age, but he was deeply in love with you. a marvel on the track and in his arms. anyway he's have you. he's take it, even if it was unprotected sex in his pool.

you held onto him as you rolled your hips. you moaned louder and felt the pleasure course through you. down to your very core. your hadn't met a man like max before and you would never after. you panted heavily and max drank in the feeling. to have you like this, this was what heaven was.

"mister-"

"sh, sh, just call me max. just max, my angel." he said through a tense jaw as he picked up the pace. he wasn't going to last much longer. it wasn't long before you felt the grip of pleasure through you. the heightened feeling of his cock up inside of you. you came with a sharp moan that made max tense up. you always sounded so pretty on the edge of climax.

"please mister! miste-max!" you whined through orgasm and max kept his pace inside of you. your tightness around him almost made him choke on air. it all felt amazing.

"i got you, i got you." he promised. he'd always have you. you were his daring racer, the marvel of his team. his winner. with a few more heavy thrusts he finished inside of you. fucking you without protection felt amazing.

he hoped he'd get the chance to finish inside of you again. he shuddered at the notion, your pretty pussy caked in his cum. he stopped his movements and held you in his arms.

you softly kissed him as he held you for a moment. when you pulled away, you cupped his face and asked, "i guess we're not playing in the pool today?"

-

"adrian!" you chirped as you quickly got into the pool with your son, "you have to wait for me, you know mama can't move as fast as you right now." it was a little harder keeping up with a four year old in floaties while you were six months pregnant.

the little boy was a least smart enough to stay in the shallow end of the pool. max was barely outside when you were in the pool with adrian. he settled your things down while you splashed in the pool with the young boy.

max watched, keeping a keen eye on the both of you. he didn't want his little family getting into too much trouble in the pool. you were no longer his star driver, but you did upgrade to 'wife status'. you recently had gotten a job with formula two which made max happy. it was good to see his former superstar and current wife in demand in the racing field. even if you weren't a driver. your skills weren't being put to waste because you got pregnant a lot sooner than expected.

as you and adrian played in the water, you smiled at your husband. he waved to you and your smile grew. you remarked, "c'mon, honey, we're going to play mermaids." <3

[thef1diary]

i feel like team principal!carlos would always be very professional with driver!reader around the paddock. no showing off, only if you have a moment for yourselves in his office or the driver room. discretion is very important for him. he doesn't want people to view you like someone who just sucked his dick to get the job.

but behind closed doors? lord have mercy. the most giving, attentive and caring man. that doesn't mean he doesn't like it rough, he'd do anything for you. you want the princess treatment? done. you want to be treated like a slut? your wish is his command. anything to please you and make you feel good.

i want him so bad😵‍💫

🩵

— I want him so bad too, nonnie! He knows the difficulties of being a driver, esp the media waiting for the smallest mistakes before putting out articles talking down on your character, so he doesn’t burden you with having to worry about your relationship with him in public. In private though…he’s bringing out the needy slut in you. That’s the duality of team principal!carlos 🤭 18+ content below

The moment you step into the paddock, it’s all business. Carlos barely spares you a glance longer than necessary, his demeanor calm and composed. He calls you by your last name in meetings, never straying into anything that could be misconstrued as favouritism. To anyone watching, he’s your team principal—fair, supportive, but strictly professional.

“Good session out there,” he says after a debrief, tone measured. There’s a flicker in his eyes that you catch only if you’re paying close attention, a quiet pride that he can’t fully suppress. It makes your heart race, but you force yourself to nod and keep walking, knowing his discretion is as much for your sake as it is his.

But the truth? The truth lies behind closed doors.

The moment the lock to your hotel room clicks, his professionalism dissolves like smoke. He’s on you instantly, hands cupping your face, your hips, pulling you close as his lips claim yours with a hunger that’s only grown throughout the day. “You’ve been on my mind all morning,” he murmurs against your mouth, his voice low, velvety, and laced with need.

Carlos will do anything for you. Whatever you need, whatever it takes to make you feel good, to make you better—he’s more than willing to give it to you.

Stressed before a race? He’ll pull you into your driver’s room, press you against the wall, and slide his fingers inside your cunt, watching every flicker of tension melt away. His words are soft, coaxing, demanding your pleasure. “Focus on me, nena,” he’ll whisper, his thumb circling your clit just right. “Let me take care of you.”

A win? He’s your biggest fan and your most rewarding prize. Later that night, still soaked with champagne, he’ll lean over you while you’re on your hands and knees. He’ll fuck your pretty little cunt until you’re taking every drop of his cum as your reward. “You’ve earned this,” he’ll say, voice thick with pride and lust. “Take it all, hermosa. All for you.”

A bad result? Carlos isn’t cruel, but he believes in consequences, in helping you learn from your mistakes. He’ll pull you over his lap in his office that same night, his voice low and firm as he tells you exactly what you did wrong, sharp slaps alternating between your ass and your cunt punctuating his words. And then, when the next race weekend rolls around, he’ll bend you over his desk and bully his cock into you. So when you’re sitting in the cockpit, waiting for the lights to go out, your cunt is edged beyond limits and insanely sore, reminding you to never repeat the same mistake again. His punishment works beautifully, leading you to win the race, and he finally rewards you with multiple orgasms.

He’s your boss, yes—but in every way that matters, he’s so much more than that. He doesn’t just fulfill your needs; he anticipates them, giving you what you didn’t even know you craved. Sometimes he’s rough, sometimes gentle, but it’s always for you, for your performance, for your pleasure. He knows what you need better than you do, and he’ll always, always make sure you’re taken care of.

send me an ask with your filthiest thoughts about your fave au and it’ll get answered during one of my dirty drabble days!

[bunniidollii]

trailerpark!rafe 🤝 spanking like need i say more

it was the small things that set you off, always leaving you in a bad mood for the rest of the day whilst rafe had to deal with your attitude. he tries his best to be patient, but when the whining turns full temper tantrum, he’s had enough and is quick to bend you over his knee. at home it’s easy, the car is risky yet still possible, but in public, you’d find yourself escorted (practically manhandled) to the nearest empty room. and that’s how you found yourself, mid summer bbq, hips uncomfortably trapped between the sink and your boyfriend’s form leaning over you. first it was because the dress you had planned on wearing turned out to have a massive stain all down the front. then rafe took too long getting ready, and you ended up late. they then ran out of veggie burgers, so you were stuck eating the squeaky halloumi while your boyfriend devoured his burger. a neighbour had made a comment about the length of your skirt, which left you snappy with anyone else who attempted to make conversation with you. it was after a nasty run in with your aunt who had never approved of your relationship, that led to rafe pulling you into the small downstairs bathroom. he was quick to flip up your skirt to expose your backside that was barely covered by the white lace you were wearing. his calloused hands pulled at the thin material, causing your hips to rise slightly to avoid the friction and a whine to leave your lips. a hand was placed over your mouth, and rafe tugged harder on your panties in response, before finally speaking.

“you havin’ fun embarrassin’ me out there, with all your whining— hey, don’t you go stomping your feet now” his gruff voice was cut off when you tried to do your usual attempt of retaliation by stomping your feet and whinging until rafe gave in. annoying him beyond extent always got you your way, while the little punishments to try and stop you only spurred you on.

“things weren’t going my way—” you were cut off by a sharp slap on your ass as rafe pulled your panties impossibly higher, with the friction against your clit causing you to let out a light moan. “things don’t always go your way, kiddo, you gotta learn to deal with that.” another slap as his free hand snaked around your throat, “cant be going round havin’ a big ol’ tantrum when something don’t end up how you wanted it to, s’not how real life works.”

rafe gave you another few slaps, leaving a blush of red subtle enough to not draw attention when you returned to the bbq. “you gonna stop being such a crybaby now, doll?” you were turned around, still wedged between your boyfriend and the counter, but facing him instead. he could see the tired look in your eyes and knew you were bordering past your social battery. you just latched your arms around his neck, rafe following your cue as he picked up your legs to wrap them around his waist, picking you up and setting you down on the counter. you just pawed at the collar of his shirt, not bothering to look up at him as you sank into his embrace. “gotta handle just an hour longer, and then we can head on home, alright? and we can forget all about today in a bit, i’ll take care of that, don’t you worry.”

“yes daddy” the familiar doe eyed look on your face as you stared up at rafe with nothing but adoration in your eyes.

“‘s rafe, baby” he reminded you before placing a quick peck on the lips as he helped you rearrange yourself to your former socially acceptable state. he guided the two of you out, and you stood happily by his side for the rest of the evening with the hope of rafe fucking you brainless when you got home.

[c0smoshit]

Closer ࣪.⋆ ♡

⋆ ࣪. ℙ𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘 ≫ Twilight/fem!Reader

⋆ ࣪. ℙ𝕝𝕠𝕥 ≫ Twi wants to be closer to you ;)

⋆ ࣪. 𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤 ≫ smut!!, cockwarming, p in v obviously, cowgirl, allusion to hickies, not proofread!

⋆ ࣪. 𝔸/ℕ ≫ I'm so down bad for this mfking wolf god-

⋆ ࣪. 𝕎𝕠𝕣𝕕𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥 ≫ 571

⋆ ࣪. part I / part II ࣪.⋆

The night was especially quiet, shiny fireflies fluttering quietly their little wings, contrary to the squacking sound cuckoos made into the night breeze. You knew how much Link loved nights like this, quiet and calm ones.

Well, It would've been a pleasant night if your guts were nestling nicely inside of you instead on being absolutely demolished by your boyfriend.

Your thighs were already numb on top of him, covered in a mixture of his saliva and your own sweat, creating a glistening glow on your skin.

"Stay still"

His husky voice took you out of your trance, you then felt his hands gripping hardly your thighs, as if he didn't want you to move.

What?

This was the first time he behaved like this with you, he didn't even prep you before sliding himself inside. And now he didn't want you to move?

Maybe it was because you told him how cold you were, the night breeze leaking through your window and into your shared bedroom, enough to make you shiver under the mattress.

You stayed silent with your bare arms wrapped around him, your body pressing against his warmer one. You hid your face on his neck, trying to surpress your evident hornyness on top of him.

You knew he was one squeeze away from going mad bellow you, trying to control his hunger for you by gripping your legs. He was hard and he ached for you, his ragged breathing coming out of his hot mouth.

Your whines and quiet pleasured sounds almost made him grab your waist and flip you over so you could scream properly. But he didn't, the rancher wanted to enjoy your warm walls around him, to memorize them when he only had his fist to remember.

"Please"

Link's ears perked up at your needy whisper, breath fanning his neck before you squeezed him hardly, making him groan out.

"Don't do that darlin' "

He warned you, pulling you off his neck and watching as a string of saliva united his jugular and your mouth. He throbbed at the sight, red and plump lips matched with your so lovely eyes, now hooded with desire and want.

His hips twitched, his mind flooded with you, images of you squirming as he rammed himself into you, scratching his back as the animal he was, how good you'd look moaning and gagging his name.

You moaned at the sudden movement, gripping his shoulders tighter as you whined a quiet "Link..."

"I know, I know... Just a bit more"

He tried to reassure you, whispering how good you were for him, letting him feel you up as you sat there obediently.

"I'll fuck you so good after this princess"

The nickname did it for you, it always did. Your thighs clenched around his waist, head falling against his shoulder as you tried to control yourself. It just felt so good.

But you muttering out his name in such a sensual way also did it for him, trailing his hands higher until they met your waist he finally rolled your hips on top of his. You both sighed out in harmony, the pleasure increasing thanks to the fact that you both were being slightly overstimulated by this.

His teeth found the junction of your shoulder and your neck, speeding up his movements needily.

This was going to be a long night.

[luimagines]

Undivorcing by Twilight

Another commission!

Same concept as the other one. A 'fix it fic' for the Divorce Headcanons for Twilight which you can reader right here!

Masterlist

Content under the cut!

“Can we talk?”

Those were the first words you’ve said to him after nearly a year of total silence on your part.

Instantly, his heart in his throat and his stomach has fallen through the floor. Link thinks he might vomit. He’s got half the mind to lurch over and slam the door in your face as he attempts to collect himself. 

The bout of instant dread is worse than if he was punched in the gut. Instead of slamming the door in your face like he wants to, he finds himself frozen. He’s back where it all started, in the kitchen with a piece of paper in your hand as you read out loud all his faults and sins. Every piece of evidence that equivocates him to a bad husband in your mind comes back to the forefront of his as he stares at you.

You’re staring right back at him, fidgeting your hands nervously like you were asking him to a first date instead. You gulp and rub your palms down your shirt, running your hands through your hair soon after.

Frankly, you look horrible.

Matted hair, dark circles under your eyes, holes on your pants and stains on your shirt. You look thinner than before and you’re certainly paler than how he remembers you- what happened to you?

“Link, please?” You gulp again, hugging your arms around your chest. “I- I know you have every right to slam the door in my face, and I have no right to ask this of you. …But I just… I couldn’t not do this.”

“You want closure.” He assumes and takes a deep breath. The knot in his stomach only gets tighter, but he wants to think he does a good job of keeping the way he wants to cry off of his face. He thought he was doing better. He thought he was getting over you.

One look at you and his armor shatters into oblivion. 

“Well… yes and no.” You try to correct him. You shrink down on yourself and struggle to meet his eyes. The shame is clearly written all over your face.

“...What do you mean by that?” Link lean on the door frame. The angle makes his look angrier than he feels, colder than he bleeds- he’s just using it to make sure he doesn’t fall to your feet.

“I was just…” You bite your own tongue. With the way you wince afterwards, Link is tempted to assume that you’ve made yourself bleed. “I wanted to apologize. You deserve an apology. I was a monster. A cold hearted serpent with ice in my veins.”

You take another deep breath and force yourself to look at his face. You open your mouth but no sound comes out. Link can see you struggle to keep eye contact but he’s afraid to show the same amount of vulnerability.  “...I’ve missed you.” You gulp. “I… I was wrong. I shouldn’t have asked for the divorce. …I want to start over.”

Start over? Something cracks. Twilight isn’t sure if it was his heart or his mind but it allows him to stand up straight and meet your eyes with a gaze he’s never directed at you before.

You can see the storm you start and pre-emptively flinch, taking a step back. “Link-”

“You want to do what?” He says quietly.

It sounds like cannon fire in the otherwise quiet corner of the village.

Link runs his hand through his hair, choking on the laugh that tries to leave his lips. He can feel bouts of hysteria begin to build within him. Are you serious? Do you hear yourself right now? Couldn’t you hear yourself the day you read out loud the list of why you wanted to leave him?

But isn’t this what he wanted? Didn’t want you to get back together? Hasn’t he missed you too?

No. Not like this. Somehow this feels like an even worse scenario than he thought it would be. 

Link takes a deep breath, dragging his hand through his hair again and down his face. He inadvertently claws at his skin, leaving angry red lines on his cheek. He gets off of the door frame and moves away from the entrance, beginning to pace in the house, your house.

“Do you-?” He speaks, cutting himself off as he turns back to you. “Do you have any idea how long I spent waiting for you?”

That is not what he meant to say. Link has no idea why those were the words that left his mouth when that wasn’t remotely on his mind. He takes another deep breath, rubbing his cheek in an attempt to get his head back on straight. He can’t afford to let you in so easily. That’s how he got his heart broken by you the first time.

You begin to cry. “I don’t. But I can guess. I’m sorry, Link. I’m sorry. I know you loved me. I know I was the one that ruined us. I ruined everything. I know it’s my fault.”

You take a deep breath, smothering the tears over your cheek in your attempt to wipe them away. You smear dirt on your skin. Link has never seen you this filthy. You continue talking, keeping your head hung low in shame. “I know I don’t deserve you. I don’t deserve a second chance. I know I hurt you. I hurt you badly. But I was wrong. I was so wrong. I’m sorry. Please-”

Link says your name softly, choking on his own spit. “Where did you even go?”

“Far.” You admit without missing a beat. “I couldn’t stand the looks that the village gave me when they learned I was leaving you. I already knew that if they had to pick, that they would choose you over me. I knew that. I still did it. I was still bracing myself for it but I couldn't take it in the end and left Hyrule.”

You hiccup. It sounds pathetic. “I went to Hebra for a while. I didn’t go to Castle Town because everything there reminded me of you as well. Your stupid hero’s legacy is imprinted everywhere you look… It’s not stupid. I’m sorry. I know it was hard for you.” You wipe your face again, getting it dirtier. “I stopped by wastelands for a month when I was feeling my lowest. The whole time I wanted comfort and a hug and someone to talk to and found myself looking for you when you weren’t there.”

Link clenches his jaw at the sight of you. He’s adult enough to recognize that he’s never hated you for what you’ve done to him. He could take the humiliation, the multiple hits to his pride and his heart and the echoing silence that now fills the house you once shared. But he could never hold onto the thought of something happening to you. He always prayed for your safety, your health and your wellbeing.

And he’s never been able to stand your tears.

Sighing, he steps closer and reaches his hand out, intending to wipe the mess you’ve made on your cheeks. You take a step back, hugging yourself close and shrink into a small ball of shame and self loathing.

“Don’t cry.” He says instead, placing his hands on your shoulders to keep you in place this time. He wipes the wet streaks from your face with the backs of his fingers. “You’ve always kept your head held high. Don’t stop now.”

“No.” You shake your head. “Don’t-.. I don’t-”

“Shhh…” He says, tucking your hair behind your ear. “If you’re expecting me to start yelling, stop it. I don’t want to get loud.”

You gulp, sniffling and whimpering pathetically as you struggle to keep yourself from crying some more. “You should. I’d deserve it. You can yell at me if you want.”

“But I won’t.” Link pulls you closer to him and against his better judgment, begins to lead you into the house. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up. You can tell me the whole story when you have decent clothes on and some food in you.”

“Link-”

“This way.” 

He leaves no room for argument, pushing in the direction of the bath with a towel and some spare clothes of his. You don’t ask if there’s anything of your clothes left in the house. Of course, he knows where they are, but he doesn’t want you to know that he didn’t bother to toss them out. He put them in the corner of the closet where no sunlight, moth or dust could touch them.

He’ll wash them later and give them to you.

While you focus on cleaning yourself and getting all the dirt and grime off of your body, Link decides to fight off the building panic by making Yeto’s soup. Cheese, milk, pumpkin- does he have everything?

The smell permeates through the air quickly, filling the home once again with comfort and warmth despite the unforeseen circumstances that had brought you back to him. He’s not sure if he should be grateful to the forces that may be, or if he should tear his heart out for a second time before it can be trampled on for old time’s sake. 

You emerge in an old shirt that Link isn’t sure where it came from and with pants that clearly do not fit you. Then again, why would they? They’re also his.

You look a lot better. You took the liberty of using his comb to tidy up your hair while all your new lines and edges of your face highlight just how not well you’ve been doing. You’re no longer crying at least. The dirt is gone and your skin has gotten a little warmer in tone, no doubt from the warm water.

The soup is almost done at least.

“Link-”

Link says nothing, pointing to the table for you to sit down.

You look over and notice that there’s still two chairs on a very empty table. Head down, you wordlessly go to sit down at your old chair and make yourself comfortable. Or at the very least make yourself as physically comfortable as you can be in a moment like this.

Within minutes, Link walks over with a steaming bowl of soup and places it in front of you. Without another word, he walks to the other side of the table and takes his place on his chair. He leans back against the back of it and crosses his arms. “Eat.”

You gulp, your mouth and throat feeling incredibly dry since you’ve arrived at the old house you’ve once shared. You take the spoon and very slowly begin to feed yourself the soup that Link has offered you under his supervision. It’s weird. You feel conflicted. It’s awkward and tense.

Link takes a deep breath, relaxing enough that you won’t know the difference if you were to look up and see him. He feels better to see you eating. The bruising under your eyes hasn’t gone away but surely it would look better after a good night’s sleep.

The pregnant silence weighs heavily on the both of you. The only thing to keep it from stagnating is the quiet clinks of your spoon against the bowl and your collective soft breaths. 

“...Were you serious?”

Link surprises himself by speaking first. You almost jump from the sudden sound but manage to keep your reactions to yourself.

A sniffle. A nod. “I understand if you don’t want me back. I was so-”

“Stay then.” He says, gulping down the emotion that threatens to override his reasoning. “...If you truly think we can still work-”

“You’re going to forgive me?” You say breathlessly. You don’t believe him. “After everything?”

Link bites the inside of his cheek but nods.

“Why? Why give me another chance to mess this up?”

“...Because I still love you.” He whispers.  “Stay.”

Tears pour over your eyes again.

“...I will.”

[daryltwdixon]

Daryl Dixon x Reader

tp!daryl x young reader, young Daryl Dixon, pre apocalypse, fluff

warnings: none except Daryl is kind of an ass at first

The night air hung thick and humid, clinging to the inside of Daryl’s truck. Crickets chirped faintly in the distance, their rhythm competing with the faint rattle of the truck’s idling engine. He leaned his chin on his hand, fingers scratching idly at his scruff as he stared at the empty stretch of road ahead.

“Goodnight,” the girl said, her voice pitched just a little too sweet, teetering on the edge of something expectant. Hopeful.

Her name was… Tessa? No, Tanya. Maybe. Wait, Tina? Hell, he couldn’t remember anymore. Not that it mattered.

“Night,” he muttered, the word coming out low, almost like an afterthought.

Still waiting. Still expectant.

Daryl’s jaw tightened, but his gaze didn’t waver from the road. He let the silence stretch between them, filling the cab like the humid summer air, heavy and suffocating. Daryl exhaled sharply through his nose, his fingers drumming against the steering wheel. Why wasn’t she leaving?

She adjusted her purse on her lap, the clink of the metal clasp annoyingly loud in the quiet cab. He didn’t look at her, didn’t give her the satisfaction of meeting her eyes. Maybe if he stayed still long enough, she’d take the hint.

“You sure you don’t wanna come in?” she asked, her voice soft, but with an edge of insistence that grated against his nerves.

His eyes flicked to her, just briefly, before settling back on the road. “Nah,” he said, voice flat, as though the single syllable could put an end to the conversation.

She stayed there, unmoving, her nails tapping against her purse now, a nervous little rhythm that set his teeth on edge.

“Alright,” she said finally, though her tone carried more disappointment than acceptance. She shifted, one hand reaching for the door handle, but she didn’t open it. Instead, she paused, turning back to him. “You’re not much of a talker, are you?”

Daryl huffed, the faintest trace of a smirk tugging at his lips. “Ain’t got much to say.”

That clearly wasn’t what she wanted to hear. Her face fell, the sweetness in her expression fading into something colder.

“Well, thanks for the ride, I guess,” she said, her words clipped now. She shoved the door open, stepping out onto the gravel driveway with a sharp click of her heels.

“Yeah,” he grunted, already reaching to shift the truck into gear. He didn't let her get another word in, already backing out of her driveway onto the road, eager to get away.

The road stretched ahead of him, endless and empty, the faint glow of the late night store's neon signs flashing by him through town. He turned the radio on, letting the static fill the cab before switching it off again. He was on edge.

It was late—closer to midnight than not—and he wasn’t sure where he was headed. He just knew he couldn’t go back to the trailer yet, not with Merle’s drunken yelling waiting for him. He needed space, air, something to quiet the restless energy clawing at his chest.

Before he realized it, his truck was pulling onto your street.

---

The sound of tires crunching over gravel pulled your attention from the book in your lap. You glanced up from the porch steps, squinting as headlights washed over you, the faint rumble of an old truck engine breaking the quiet of the night.

You didn’t have to see who it was to know.

The truck rolled to a stop, the engine idling as the driver’s side door creaked open. Daryl climbed out, his boots hitting the ground with a dull thud. He didn’t say anything at first, just leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed loosely over his chest as he looked at you.

“What’re you doin’ out here?” he asked finally, his voice low and rough.

You shrugged, closing the book and setting it aside. “Couldn’t sleep. What about you?”

His lips twitched, but it wasn’t quite a smile. “Figured you might wanna get outta here for a bit.”

You raised a brow, tilting your head at him. “What, and ride around in that death trap of yours?”

He snorted, shaking his head as he turned back toward the truck. “C’mon. Ain’t gonna ask twice.”

You didn’t hesitate, grabbing your jacket from the porch and jogging down the steps. The cab smelled faintly of gasoline and old leather as you slid into the passenger seat, the bench warm from where someone might've been sitting earlier.

“Where we goin’?” you asked, buckling your seatbelt as he shifted into gear.

“Dunno. wanna stop at Sevs?” he muttered, his eyes on the road as the truck rattled to life.

--

The neon lights of the 7-Eleven cast a hazy glow over the parking lot, the hum of the buzzing sign filling the quiet as the two of you pushed open the glass door.

You bee-lined for the slurpees, the bright red syrup swirling into a cup as you filled it to the brim. Daryl followed behind, snagging a pack of jerky and a bag of chips before nodding toward the counter.

“Let’s go,” he said, jerking his chin toward the door.

The truck cab was quiet as you climbed back inside, the faint crinkle of the jerky bag filling the space as Daryl tore it open. You leaned back against the seat, sipping your slurpee as the engine purred beneath you.

For a while, neither of you said anything. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, but there was an edge to it—like something unsaid was lingering in the air. You drove for awhile like that, listening to music, aimlessly turning down different roads in the quiet night. The truck rolled to a stop at a red light, its glow casting the cab in deep crimson. The roads were empty, no one else around this late. The hum of the engine filled the silence, and you glanced at him out of the corner of your eye.

“How was your date?” you asked finally, your voice casual as you stared out the windshield. The question had been boggling your mind since you got in the truck with him earlier.

Daryl froze for half a second, his fingers tightening around the jerky bag before he scoffed. “Pfft...Borin’.”

A flicker of something you couldn’t name stirred in your chest, but you kept your expression neutral, snuffing the feeling out and taking another sip of your slurpee.

“Did you talk to her, or did you just grunt the whole time?” you teased, turning to glance at him.

His eyes rolled, the movement slow and deliberate, the red light casting his dark blue irises in shadow. “’Course I talked to ‘er.”

“Hi and bye don’t count,” you said, a small laugh escaping despite yourself.

His lips twitched again, the faintest hint of a smirk curling at the corner of his mouth. “I talked to ‘er, alright?” he repeated, the words low, rough, almost playful.

You leaned back against the seat, the slurpee cup cool against your hands as you studied him. His fingers drummed against the steering wheel, his gaze fixed on the traffic light ahead like it held some kind of answer.

“Guess she wasn’t your type,” you said softly, the words barely above a murmur.

Daryl’s hand stilled, his fingers curling against the wheel as he finally turned to look at you. His expression was unreadable at first, but there was something simmering beneath the surface—something that made your heart stutter.

“Nah,” he said, his voice quieter now, rough around the edges. “She wasn’t.”

The air between you shifted, thickened, and you suddenly became hyper-aware of how close you were in the cramped cab. The light remained red, casting its glow over his face, highlighting the faint scruff along his jaw and the way his lips pressed together like he was holding something back.

Your pulse quickened as his eyes lingered on yours, the weight of his gaze making it hard to breathe. “What?” you asked, your voice softer, unsure.

---

The moment your eyes flicked toward him, framed by the crimson glow of the light, Daryl felt like his chest might cave in. He’d been fighting it for too long—the way you got under his skin, the way every word you said felt like it meant something, even when it shouldn’t.

But now, sitting in the truck, roads empty around him, it was like the world had narrowed to just you. The way you were looking at him, quiet, expectant—he couldn’t take it. It wasn’t loud, it wasn’t desperate, but it hit him all at once. If he didn’t do something now, he might never get the chance.

His throat felt tight, his hands itching where they gripped the wheel. He wasn’t sure what was going through his head—if it was bold or just plain stupid—but it didn’t matter. Not now. Not when you were this close.

His hand moved first, almost of its own accord, coming up to cup your cheek. Rough and calloused, his thumb brushed over your skin, and the softness of it nearly undid him. You didn’t pull away. You didn’t flinch. You just… stayed. Watching him. Waiting for him.

Now or never.

His lips met yours, soft at first, just barely there, like he was trying to figure out if he was even allowed to do this. Every nerve in his body screamed to hold back, to keep it slow, but it was impossible—not when you leaned into him, not when your lips parted against his like you’d been waiting just as long as he had.

This was what he wanted.

The thought hit him hard, rattling around his head like a loose screw. It wasn’t just the kiss—not the heat of your lips against his or the way your hand found his shoulder, fingers curling into his shirt like you couldn’t let go. It was all of it. You. The way you fit here beside him, the way you always knew what to say, even when it pissed him off. The way you made him feel like maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t some broken-down mess of a kid.

His grip tightened as the kiss deepened, his other hand finding your jaw, holding you like he was afraid you might disappear if he let go. He’d waited too long for this, longer than he wanted to admit, and now that it was happening, he didn’t know how to stop.

He pulled back for a breath, his eyes scanning you. He couldn’t look away, not now, not ever. His heart slammed against his ribs, and his voice came out low, rough, as he whispered, “Ain’t no one like ya.”

The words weren’t planned, but they felt right, felt true in a way that made his chest ache. His thumb traced the corner of your lips, lingering, memorizing. He was certain now.

Before he could say anything else, you surged forward, your hands threading into his hair and pulling him closer. The heat of you pressed against him, the way your lips moved against his—like you’d been holding back too, like this was something you needed as much as he did.

He groaned softly, the sound low and guttural, and it only made you pull him closer. His hands moved to your waist, gripping firmly, grounding himself in the feel of you. It was frantic now, messy, but he couldn’t care less. You were here, in his arms, and nothing else mattered.

The kiss deepened again, hungrier now, more desperate. His hand slipped under the edge of your jacket, his fingers pressing into the small of your back like he was trying to pull you even closer. He couldn’t get enough—didn’t know if he ever would.

And then the horn blared.

The sharp, jarring sound ripped him out of the moment, and he jerked back, panting, his mind struggling to catch up. The light had turned green, and the car behind him was blaring their horn like their life depended on it.

“Shit,” he muttered, his voice low and gruff as he turned back to the wheel. He slammed his hand against it, leaning out the window to yell, “I’m goin’, alright?!” His middle finger shot up for good measure, and he hit the gas, the truck lurching forward.

His chest still heaved as he gripped the wheel tightly, the tension in the cab almost unbearable. You laughed softly, the sound breathless and light, and it made his ears burn. He glanced at you, his lips quirking just slightly, though his grip on the wheel remained firm.

The road stretched out ahead, but something between you had changed. He could feel it in the air, in the way his heart refused to settle, in the way he could still taste you on his lips.

[2tarbell]

TRAILERPARK!RAFE letting reader play dress up in his clothes ‘cause he knows his girl loves fashion and modeling. if he could he’d buy her all kinds of expensive things to wear, but seeing her in his shirts was just as mind reeling.

“whaddaya think ‘bout this one?” her voice gentle and airy, posing seductively and playfully under his intense gaze.

it was just such a sweet sight.

the way the fabric of his nicest button up swished at her thighs. the way the sleeves fell well past her hands. jesus christ. rafe sips his beer as he trails his gaze up her exposed legs, smirking at the goofy smile on her face.

he pretended to think over the question. the answer is easy: she is gorgeous, she always is. rafe just enjoyed winding her up.

“hmf, dunno... why don’t you gimme a spin?”

“rafeeee—“ she whined, feeling embarrassment (even though this was her idea) creep up her spine.

the thought of spinning for him, showing herself off for his cerulean eyes to appreciate all of her, made her heart pick up speed in double time.

“c’mon, do a spin f’dad, baby,” that low voice, commanding and comforting, always got to her. with an encouraging nod of his head and that sexy little smile on his pink lips, reader really had no choice.

with a playful pout, she spins around. the shirt lifts slightly and shows off the edge of her panties. the little show makes rafe adjust on the worn couch, man spreading further to accommodate the throbbing length of him, already half hard.

he’s ready to grab her and bend her over the couch. hell, he was ready two outfits ago. but her smile and cute poses rendered him soft. just not between his legs.

her sweet voice mumbles about having ‘jus’ one more, daddy’ and rafe needs a cigarette, now. his knee is bouncing incessantly but he nods and tries to will himself to be a little more patient.

but when she shyly steps out of their bedroom minutes later, sporting a pink lace lingerie set he’s never seen before, he freezes and drops his pack on the floor.

his mouth is suddenly very dry, “god—damn…”

reader is holding her arms behind her back, shuffling slightly as she gauges his reaction. she spent a little extra on the set to spoil him; he deserved it and more.

“d’ya like it, daddy?”

rafe whistles and leans back further, raking a hand through his grown out buzz cut. his eyes can’t seem to focus on one thing. from her batting lashes, cleavage pushed together from the bra, and the way the underwear straps are sitting on her hips, he more than likes it.

“shit, baby, s’uh— the— the prettiest little thing‘ve ever seen,” he mutters dumbly, eyebrows kissing his hairline from his wide eyes.

she giggles and pushes some hair away from her face. he huffs out a chuckle at her adorableness and beckons her closer with a crooked finger. she pads around the coffee table and stands in front of him. having her now in front of him makes rafe feel like he won the lottery. nah, any amount of cash was dull in comparison to her.

“you’re jus’… gorgeous,” a press of his lips to her hipbone. her hands immediately find purchase in his hair, now grown out enough to give her something to hold onto. the realization of the passage of time made her smile.

“yeah?”

“hell yeah.”

his hands pulls on her hips, urging her to come to closer. she climbs into his lap nimbly and straddles him. their bodies immediately settle together comfortably from nights spent in this position and many more. his firm bulge presses eagerly between her legs and he pulls her closer by the small of her back, leaving her to arch into him.

the friction and weight of her makes his brain feel fuzzy with want, want, want.

“seriously, i— i’ve never seen somethin’ as beautiful as you, sugar. takin’ my damn breath away, jesus…”

his gravelly praise and appreciation of the outfit makes her feel flush, a pleasant haze bathing her senses.

her smile is bashful as she leans in for a kiss. rafe hums as her lips meet his and her hands slide up his chest, the warmth of her palms felt through the fabric of his shirt. nipping at her bottom lip until she smiles, and he uses the moment to slide his tongue into meet hers. nothing has really ever felt more right in his life. at least until she mumbles her next words against his lips.

“daddy… wanna take a picture f’ya wallet?”

big thank u @fae-of-prey for helping with this!!!!!!💝💝

[yandereunsolved]

Yandere Feral Twilight—it's just his instincts, okay?

ּ ֶָ֢. It wasn't until after his adventure that he began to lose his sanity. The loss was gradual. No one noticed until it was too late. After all, no being from the light world should ever cross into the Twili realm.

It has this habit of sentience. Twilight could always feel himself being watched. It wasn't just Midna or any of Zant's minions. It was this territorial force that was angered anytime someone from above came into its land.

Even after defeating Ganondorf, the essence of that anger still lingered. It was calmer but seemed more possessive. It began to want to possess a part of Twilight: his mind.

So after the mirror was shattered, that was a part of him he was never going to get back.

That's where you came in. Just an adventurer from another timeline.

ּ ֶָ֢. He meets you, and it's an instant attachment. Something about you appeases the broken, primal part of him. Wolfie needed to come out and play. All he wants to do is stay near you and listen. Even without his tail on him, you can practically hear the elated wagging of it.

That sealed your fate.

ּ ֶָ֢. He travels with you all throughout different versions of Hyrule. He helps you collect various weapons and treasures. He surprises you with gifts. He is just absolutely addicted to your face lighting up. He is able to smell the happy hormones wafting off of you.

That line within his mind between proper and animalistic grows thinner every day that you travel with him.

ּ ֶָ֢. When stumbling upon the other Links, he is immediately agitated. He is not willing to share your attention or love with any other version of himself. He's standoffish with the others when it comes to matters that concern you. He's quick to become riled up and then dismissive. Some of the others, especially Wind and Legend, enjoy teasing him about his 'little' crush on you.

In the earliest stages of meeting other Links, no one realizes how twisted Twilight's obsession is. He doesn't realize it either. It's just this nagging sensation in the back of his head that tells him he needs to keep you around. It's a variation of the same sensation he felt in the Twili realm.

ּ ֶָ֢. As the months go by, Time recognizes that there is something unhealthy about Twilight's relationship with you. Twilight refuses to leave you alone with another Link. The farmer always rooms with you. Twilight is the only one that helps you take care of chores. No one else is allowed to.

You end up with bruises that he suspects are from Twilight. You brush the worries off as Twilight just being playful. You assure Time that it is nothing serious. Time is still incredibly concerned.

"If Twilight does anything you don't consent to, tell me. Understand?"

Time is a safe place for you. Twilight sees that as a threat.

ּ ֶָ֢. In the dead of night, he ushers you away from The Chain. He tells you that there is something he must show you. You trust him, obviously. You follow him, and suddenly you are pinned under him. It's the first time you feel fear being around him. Your fear because of him is arousing. He doesn't do anything violent. He simply wraps his arms around you and nuzzles into your body.

"Twilight. Twilight?"

He didn't respond. He would simply have a pleased growl escape his throat.

ּ ֶָ֢. The night turned into the day, and suddenly you weren't anywhere near the other Links. You were in the forest with Twilight, and now you're back at his farm. He kept you there. He only allowed you into the village. You are not allowed to go farther than that. 

He marks you up and is barely able to form words. He nestles into you any time either of you has nothing to do.

It's strange and a bit unconventional at times. You have thought about running away. You have spent your entire life adventuring, and suddenly you were kidnapped by your closest traveling companion.

You are too afraid to try to escape. You are convinced that Twilight would be able to find you anywhere in the multitude of lines that thread together the intricacies of time.

ּ ֶָ֢. That line no longer exists in his mind. He will always keep you with him. His tongue may not work, but his desires do. He listens to your protests and never crosses that line, even if he has to take care of himself in the privacy of the back of the barn.

You didn't need to know what he did for you. You only know that the rest of The Chain won't be coming to save you.

[violettwrites]

tp!daryl dixon masterlist ( young!daryl — pre apoc )

updated 3rd november. 2024.

here is my masterlist purely for tp!daryl 🫶🏻 because i have a feeling he’s going to completely take over my normal masterlist.

my requests are open ! send anything my way — even if you just wanna have a chat ! please read my rules before requesting !

( the divider i use is by @adornedwithlight ! )

aesthetics.

➵ moodboards — 01 | 02

➵ headcanons — 01 |

oneshots.

➵ trailer park trash

➵ teasings

➵ your relationship with merle

➵ fourth of july

➵ a heart that knows

➵ company of misfits

➵ but daddy i love him! ( preacher’s daughter x daryl )

➵ a refuge in rough hands

➵ crush

➵ quiet birthdays

➵ the fall

[avroravia]

trailer park!reader ⭒•⭒

[juletheghoul]

AN: The gif of this man as a sheriff, sent my ass into a SPIRAL and this is what happened. I originally wanted to post this for my birthday, but with Canadian Thanksgiving falling on the same weekend there was no way I would have been able to finish lol. I am still trying to post more often, please be patient with me, hopefully this makes up for the lack of posting for the last few weeks. Special thanks to @wheresarizona for betaing and just general wonderfulness, to @just-here-for-the-moment for screaming at me through comments and in whatsapp over this, and to @frannyzooey for screaming at me through discord lol (And for making me some super awesome edits that I will post after!) Hope you enjoy xox. 

(PS, I have an idea for a part 2, let me know if you’d want to read it!)

Pairing; Sheriff Frankie Morales x f!reader (Blue / Bluebell as a nickname)

Warnings;  sweet, lovestruck Frankie needs his own warning I think-piv sex (wrap it up), swearing, dirty talk, Frankie eats pussy like the champion he is, a non-consensual creampie, angst, longing, yearning, some violence (involving guns / war, accurate for the time period-I tried not to let it get too gory or graphic) brothel mentions - let me know if I missed anything.

Word count; 13k 😅

reblogs are appreciated

Masterlist

Dust swirled around him as he made his way into town from the train station, the sun beating down on his every step, and although he hadn’t been home in over a decade, he still knew the way just as well as if he’d never left. Difference was he’d left practically a boy, and now he’d come back a man. 

People he both did and didn’t recognize passed him as he carried his suitcase down the sunny high street, some of them smiled, most of them ignored him. It made no difference to him. He would be their new sheriff just the same. Besides, there was only one person he cared to see again. There would be time enough for that later, though. First, he had to get settled. 

The brothel was busy, a surefire sign of the town’s growth evident in the number of horses tied up in front. 

“Well, hey there, sugar–” He tipped his hat and smiled at the young lady calling out to him, smiling as she leaned against one of the columns flanking the entrance, “-you coming to make a woman out of me?” She batted her big eyes at him. 

“Don’t count on it.” His tone was polite, his smile in place. She tsked, giggling at his manners before being called away by someone inside.

Sweat was starting to collect on his brow with the effort of lugging his suitcase all the way from the train station, and he let out a relieved sigh when he finally stepped through the doors of the sheriff's office. It was somehow even hotter on the inside. 

“Can I help you?” A kid no older than he’d been when he’d left greeted him from one of the two desks in the small room. 

“I’m Francisco Morales, I’m here to see–”

“He’s here to see me, he’s my replacement.” A grizzled but familiar voice sounded from behind him, “You’re early.” The older man walked past him on his way to the second, bigger desk, where he put his cowboy hat down before turning to face him once more. “I was under the impression you’d be here by the end of this month. You in that much of a hurry to retire me, boy?” 

He set the suitcase down before wiping at the back of his neck with his handkerchief. 

“No sir, just wanted to get settled in, have some time to reacquaint myself.” He put the cloth away. “Fix up the house before starting. Thought I’d check in with you first, though.” He’d gotten in plenty of trouble growing up, and most of the time, this man had been the one to pull him by his ear and make him smarten up. It was a novelty to be in this office and not be in trouble. 

“Well, you’ve checked. Go on and get settled. The desk and the badge will still be here in a week.” Sheriff Carson had always been one to speak plainly, and he did so now. 

“Yes, sir.” Francisco picked the suitcase back up and braced himself for the glaring rays that would greet him just outside. 

“Son,” He turned at the sound of the old man’s voice, “I was sorry to hear about your folks. They were good people.” He nodded back at the old man once and made his way back out the door.

—

“Try again.” You crossed your arms, “We both know I’m not paying that much.” You kept both your voice and expression as neutral as you could, keeping your real interest in the supplies he had close to your chest. Interest and necessity always cost more. 

He narrowed his eyes, and you raised your eyebrows in return, holding your ground. 

“Price is an even one hundred dollars; had to ride halfway around the world to get most of it-” You curled your lip in disgust.

“Bullshit, Dale! You rode to the nearest town, and that’s only a day's ride at the most. I’ll pay fifty, and that’s twice what it’s worth.” 

“You tryna rob me, woman?” He crossed his arms, mirroring you, “I’ll go down to eighty, but that’s final.” He rose to his full height, his posture making him look like some giant, petulant child. 

“Seventy-five. And I want some tobacco.” 

“Goddamn, you drive a hard bargain. Fine.” He extended his hand, and you shook it with a satisfied smile. 

“Good man. Pleasure doin’ business with you.”

“Yeah, yeah, robbin’ me more like.” He grumbled good-naturedly and unloaded the supplies while you counted out the money to pay him with. “Goin’ back in a couple weeks, make sure you let me know what you’ll be needin’ before I go.” He tucked the money away and left. The rest of the morning was spent restocking the various bottles and cabinets with your new stock.

It was therapeutic, sitting behind the big mahogany counter to take inventory of your shop. The shop that had taken you years to finally acquire. Every so often, you took stock of all the work you’d put into it and felt a significant amount of pride in what you’d accomplished. All of it done on your own. 

The customers came and went throughout the day, buying tinctures and tonics, and you helped them all to the best of your ability until the end of the day eventually found you, and you locked up the shop. With a final sweep to ensure everything was in its right place before closing up for the night.

The sun was blessedly low as you made your way home, but the streets were busy. Ethel, the youngest and friendliest of the girls who worked in the brothel a few doors down from your shop, was smoking her pipe on the porch, waving and smiling as you passed. 

“Hey Ethel, how you keeping?” You called out to her, “Fall in love again today?” She laughed, a plume of smoke wreathing around the halo of her hair. 

“Of course, saw a tall drink of water today. Think I’m gonna marry him.” She winked, a devilish smile on her pretty face. 

“Uh oh, sounds like he’s in trouble.” You laughed, waving as you passed by the house. 

“He will be if he ever comes in here, bye Honey, see you later.” 

The buildings thinned as you moved further and further away from the main street, giving you a clearer view of the surrounding ranches and houses scattered throughout the plains. Your own house came into view, and you smiled to see it. The view of it had the pride swelling again; it had been run down and ragged when you’d purchased it, but money wasn’t the only thing you’d invested. That house was the result of your blood, sweat, and tears. Hours and hours of elbow grease, blisters, and bruises, cuts, and had you not been very careful, it would have cost you a few broken bones as well. 

There was another house on the way to yours though, one that wiped the smile right off your face as you passed it. It was a house that drew your eye no matter how many times you walked past, no matter how many times you tried to ignore it. It was empty now, but years ago, it had been full of life, full of love and mischief and happiness. It had been full of hope and promises. It was empty now, one of the windows broken, much like the promises had been. 

You couldn’t help but watch it as you passed; something flashed in the window, but you ignored it. There hadn’t been anyone there for years. 

Wish it would just burn down or sell. Wish the ground would open up and swallow it whole. 

Your feet ache when you finally make it to your house, eager to unlace the boots imprisoning them. You did your best to hurry through all your chores and feed yourself, the promise of a hot bath and sweet-smelling soap carrying you through. 

—

The house was so much worse than he’d thought it would be, and he’d thought it’d be bad. A couple of windows had broken, and half a town's worth of dirt and dust had blown in through them. He sighed at the state of it, knowing his mother would never have let it get this bad, and for once, he was grateful she wasn’t around to see it. 

He set his suitcase down and made a mental list of what needed to be done. First thing first, he needed a few things. 

With a wagon full of supplies and considerably less money in his pocket, he began the long process of making it habitable. With a stiff brush and an even stiffer broom, the dirt was returned to its rightful place outside the house. The windows that weren’t broken were opened to let in fresh air, and floors and counters were washed. Food and supplies were put away; the bed was made with new, expensive sheets and linens. 

He worked his fingers to the bone throughout the day and most of the night until he’d done as much as he could. There was nothing to be done about the windows; the glass had been ordered, but it would be a few days, possibly even weeks, until he could fix those. 

By the time he’d boiled water to bathe himself with, he could barely keep his eyes open, and once clean, he dropped into bed and into the sweet abyss of sleep. 

-

It was strange for him to wake up in the same house he’d grown up in, even stranger for him to wake up in the bedroom his parents had owned. He’d been so dead tired that he’d forgotten to close the shutters, and the room was flooded with the golden light of dawn, chasing away any and all hope for a few extra hours of rest. 

Those earlier years were vivid in his mind now that he was here, in this house. He could practically hear the younger, wilder version of himself climbing out his window to go find her. Could still taste the stolen kisses in his mouth, could still hear her delighted laugh when he’d wrap her up in his arms and declare his undying love.  

He rose, trying and failing to leave the memories of her behind, and got ready for the day. The coffee he’d bought from the general store wasn’t half bad, and he drank the whole pot with gusto, making a mental note to make sure he picked up some more before he ran out. 

The current sheriff didn’t want him underfoot while he settled his affairs, and he didn’t plan on making Carson’s life harder, but he did want to reacquaint himself with the town he’d soon be the law in. He figured the best way to do that would be to go into the businesses and talk to the people, and make his presence known. 

You should be looking for her, give her an explanation–demand one in return. 

He shook his head, ignoring the rational part of his brain. After all, he didn’t even know if she was still here. He thought about her as he left his house, imagining he could see the two of them as they’d been before. He, in his transition into manhood, her in the bloom of her youth, the two of them inseparable. The ghosts caught up to him though, and then he saw her–the real her, standing just outside the apothecary, waving someone away. 

She saw him too, and his heart raced. She was even more beautiful to him than he remembered; it was as though for a brief moment, all of the years between them melted away. 

A very brief moment. 

The look of shock and hurt, and what he hoped had been love on her face was replaced with a look that, thankfully, could not hurt him. It was pure and unadulterated anger, no–fury. 

His legs moved, bringing him towards her. This was definitely not how he wanted this meeting to go. He just hoped she’d listen, but judging by the way she stuck up her middle finger at him, it didn’t look good. 

–

The nerve of him. The unmitigated gall! 

“Wait–” His voice sounded as you turned to make your way back inside the shop. 

“No!” You yelled back over your shoulder, not even bothering to face him, even as your heart raced to see him again. 

“Goddamnit, woman, wait! Let me talk to you–” He was closer than you thought, barely managing to avoid you slamming the door in his face. 

“Don’t you ‘woman’ me, Francisco Morales!” you yelled up into his handsome face, hating how gorgeous he looked, how his neck- one of your favourite parts of him- stared you in the face. “Do me a favour and take off for another fifteen years. Leave me be.” 

“Come on, Bluebell, you gotta let me explain.” He managed to slip through the doors before you had a chance to lock them, but it didn’t matter, the pet name he called you stopped you in your tracks and rocketed the fury to new heights. 

“Bluebell?” You couldn’t hide the edge of violence in your voice, “How dare you call me that? I am nothing but a stranger to you at this point. You lost any and all privileges to call me anything at all when you left.” He was taller than when he left, but his eyes still burned into yours the way they’d done when you were young and in love. 

It would make you laugh if you weren’t still so hurt about how everything had gone down. The way he was standing in front of you, hands on his hips, frustrated frown in place. You didn’t give him an inch, but it hurt to admit just how badly you’d missed him. You shooed the swirl of feelings for him away, focusing on the one easiest to deal with: anger.

“Will you listen to me at least?” 

“Why should I?” You turned from him, busying yourself with putting a few of your jars back in their place. 

“Well, because I owe you an explanation–” You let out a bark of cruel laughter.

“That’s an understatement.”

“-I know, I always intended on coming back for you. You have to know that.”

“Do I? Do I just have to know that Francisco?” You all but slammed the jar into its slot on the big cabinet, taking up the whole wall behind the counter. “You know, you have some goddamn nerve–” the little bell above the door jingled when the Sheriff walked in, his bushy, white eyebrows raised into his hairline as the look on your face. It didn’t take an overly in-depth investigation to see that Francisco wasn’t exactly in your good books.

“You never could stay out of trouble, could you, son?” He moved past him to stand at the counter before you, “You want me to come back later, sweetheart?” 

You sighed, doing your best to smile at the older man. 

“Not at all. I have the tonic ready; give me just a moment to wrap it up for you.” You did your best to smile and ignore the big, aggravatingly effective puppy dog eyes shining at you from your peripheral. “Here you are, Sherriff, that’ll be thirty-five cents.” He dug into his pocket, counting out the right amount and handing it over before thanking you and turning to leave.

“You make sure you let me know if you need anything–” He gave Francisco a frown, “-and I mean anything.” 

“Yes sir, thank you.” With another jingle, he was gone, but other customers made their way inside, and Francisco sighed. 

“You can go ahead and leave. I am at my place of business.” 

“I will come and find you later. Then we can actually talk.” He took a few steps back, his hand on the door handle. 

“I won’t hold my breath.”

—

Much to his annoyance, the sheriff was waiting for him outside of the apothecary. 

“Can I help you with something, sir?” He spoke the words through a tired sigh. 

“Boy, I do believe that woman hates you.” 

“No sir, that woman loves me. If she hated me, she would have shot me.” He moved away from the sheriff, ignoring the raucous laughter that followed his every step. He ignored it and set about doing what he needed to do, telling himself that he’d be able to deal with it later when she let him explain himself. It made no matter what he told himself, though, his mind wouldn’t let her go. 

Instead of using the time productively, he found himself counting the hours until she closed up the shop, loitering around the door like some lovestruck teenager. He scoffed to himself, ignoring the cloying heat of the sun. Isn’t that all he was? Just some lovestruck fool? She couldn’t know that, though, not with the way things had gone down. 

Any hope he had of her cooling down throughout the day died at the narrowing of her eyes, her expression now as she locked the apothecary door so different from the one that had kept him going throughout the years he’d spent away. 

“Still here, shocking.” She waltzed past him, “Just leave me be.”

“I can’t do that., I need you to listen to me.” It took him a few long strides to catch up with her, “Can I please just explain?”

“Why? What does it matter at this point? I don’t want to hear you–” He stood in her way, blocking her path on the dusty sidewalk.

“Listen! Please!” He held onto her arms, keeping her still so he could look into her eyes. “I know you aren’t happy with me–” She scoffed, and he spoke over her, “I know, but you have to know that I missed you all this time. I didn’t want it to happen like this, but I can’t help that now.” She shrugged out of his grip, crossing her arms. 

“You okay, Honey? This man botherin’ you?” An older woman shouted from the porch of the brothel, her hand on the gun at her hip. 

“No, Ma’am, I’m fine. I know him–well, I knew him.” She turned towards the madam and smiled, “I got it under control.” She sighed and walked around him, turning to him after a few steps. “You have until I get home.” 

He rushed behind her and kept the smile to himself.

“I see you’ve done really well for yourself. It makes me really happy to see how you’ve been–” 

“This isn’t an explanation. You’re wasting your time with flattery I won’t respond to.” 

“Right, I’m sorry.” He frowned, trying to keep pace with her. “I sent you letters–”

“You sent me a few letters, all of which I responded to.” She spoke loudly, cutting him off. “A few letters in almost fifteen years–”

“I sent you dozens of letters.” It was his turn to frown and her turn to slow down, “I wrote to you as often as I could, even after I stopped getting your responses.” He knew he wasn’t exactly the kind of man her parents had wanted her to end up with. He remembered the sour looks on their faces when he’d come calling.

“I got a few letters the first year and then nothing else.” Her expression was wary, her eyes narrowed. “Did you really write to me? Or are you saying that so I’ll forgive you?” She crossed her arms, stopping to gauge the truth in his words. 

“I wrote to you for years, figured I would have to come and talk to you in person, but then I thought maybe you’d met someone else, or moved away, or worse. Then I told myself I’d come and find you, but life is the way it is, and things got in the way. When I heard they needed a new sheriff, I sent word to Carson to see if he’d consider hiring me–I was shocked when he responded yes.” She stared at him, eyes bright but mistrustful. “I swear on my mother's grave.” He took her hand, holding it to his heart. “I should have come sooner-” She pulled her hand away gently, fire still burning in her gaze, but now it was coloured with sadness as well as fury. 

“Yes, yes, you should have.” She sighed and continued walking towards their homes, “I am so angry at you, Francisco. I am angry you left and angry you came back.” She looked away from him, her hands flying to her face momentarily before facing forward again. 

“I know.” His house came into view, and he fought the urge to invite her in. “For what it’s worth, I am sorry.” She didn’t respond, only kept her eyes forward. “What time do you leave in the morning?”

“What?” She frowned.

“What time do you usually leave? I’m not sure what time the Apothecary opens–”

“It opens at eight, but I like to get there early. Why?” 

“May I accompany you? I would like to walk with you if I could.” He knew she wouldn’t forgive him so quickly. Her fiery temper was one of the things he’d always loved about her. 

“You want to walk me? I am fully capable-”

“I never said you weren’t. I would still like to walk with you. I’ve missed talking to you, it would be a nice way to…reconnect.” He chanced a smile, hoping it would still have the effect it used to. 

She raised an eyebrow but didn’t smile in return. Her house was closer now, his time with her coming to an end for the day. 

“I suppose I cannot stop you.” It wasn’t a yes, but it definitely wasn’t a no.

“See you tomorrow then, goodnight Bluebell.” He stopped a few yards from her door, waiting until she was safely tucked inside before turning and going home.

-

The moon was high when you finally dug out the letters you’d hidden away deep in the chest at the end of your bed. The paper had yellowed, and you didn’t even bother getting up off the floor. With shaky hands, you untied the little bundle and spread them out in front of you, trying your hardest not to tear up at the little hearts and flowers he’d drawn in the curled-up corners. 

My Dearest Bluebell, 

I cannot even begin to tell you how much I miss you. Things here move so quickly, but I’m doing so much, making more money than I’ve ever seen! More than enough for us to start our lives together–

You pushed the letter away, finally letting go of the sob that had been squatting in your throat since seeing him earlier that morning. The love he’d had was so evident in his scratchy script, and the pain of his apparent silence reared its head in your soul to see it again after all of the years you’d survived without him. The last letter he’d sent held no clue as to why he’d ever stop writing, and now a nagging suspicion filled the corners of your mind. 

Your mother had made it more than clear that Francisco wasn’t her first choice for you. She’d treated him less than kindly whenever he came calling, would turn up her nose at him whenever she’d seen the two of you together, and had smiled a big, cruel smile at the news that he’d be leaving. Would she have gone so far as to hide letters from him? Something in your heart said yes. 

Suddenly, it was too much to see his words surrounding you, and you gathered them up hastily, tossing them back into the chest before surrendering to the exhaustion in your heart and in your bones and getting into bed. You tried to think about something else as you lay there, anything else–but he kept popping up, making you wonder–against your will–whether or not he’d actually be there in the morning.

-

He didn’t let you wonder.

His heavy knock made you practically jump out of your skin as you did your best to tie the laces of your corset. You chewed on your bottom lip, annoyed with how you rushed to throw on your dressing robe, sighing at the speed with which you made it to the door. 

He smiled as you opened the door, testing every measure of self-control you’d built up in his absence with a single dimple. 

“You’re here.” 

“Yes, just like I said–I figured it would be best to be early.” His gaze raked over you in your half-dressed state, “You look lovely.” 

“Sure I do.” You scoffed, “I need more time. I usually leave a little later.” He scratched at the back of his neck, unsure what to say, and you had to work extra hard to keep from laughing at him. “Come in then. You can wait in the kitchen while I finish getting dressed.” You turned and left then, leaving him to close the door. 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

You kept the door slightly ajar in your bedroom, your heart racing to know that after all this time–he was in the same house as you. You shook your head, shooing away the novelty of his presence to call up the anger and the fury that had kept you from falling apart in his absence. 

“The house looks great!” He called from the kitchen, “You shoulda seen the state of mine when I got here.”

You bit your lip, relishing the deep tones of his voice as they filled the house. 

“Still haven’t been able to fix the windows–had half a desert's worth of sand in the house. Took me forever to clean it.” He continued speaking as you finished dressing, completely unaware of the way you contemplated whether or not to use some of your very pricey, very precious perfume. You ignored the disappointed little voice in your head as you dabbed a few drops behind your ears and on the inside of your wrists. 

“-hopefully, they'll come in by the end of the week-” He was still speaking when you made your way back into the kitchen where he sat at your little table, the long lines of him entirely too big and too wonderful for the tiny space. 

“Have you eaten?” You cut off his speech, pulling down the cast iron pan from the rack above the woodfire stove.

“I, uh, I had some coffee.” 

“So, no?” You shoved some kindling into the open door of the oven, striking a match to light it. 

“Well, no–”

“Okay then.” There was enough time, and you got to work. 

“Can I help?”

“No–actually, yes. You can go fetch some water from the well out back.” You shoved the big kettle into his hands and sent him on his way, where he went without comment. 

Soon enough, you had biscuits baking and coffee brewing, and the house smelled better than any perfume you could buy. You once again ignored the little voice, the one that curiously sounded like your mother when you put out both the butter and the jam. 

When they were out of the oven and steaming, you couldn’t help but smile at how well they'd turned out. 

“It smells like heaven in here.” You could practically hear him drooling, and it was with a great sense of both satisfaction and pride that you watched him throw caution to the wind and eat one without waiting for it to cool down. He moaned at the first bite, making your heart soar and silencing the mean little voice. 

“You like them?” You had to hear it, had to hear the words in his voice.

“Like them? Honey, I’d kill for them.” You narrowed your eyes at him but let the endearment go without comment. Already, you were softening up for him. “I could eat this whole goddamn plate.” He pulled another one open, no doubt burning the tips of his fingers but continuing on just the same, slathering it with both butter and jam before taking a huge, steam-filled bite. 

You ate yours slower, unsure what you liked best, the biscuit or watching him eat. 

He poured you a cup of coffee before pouring one for himself, and for a moment, your heart shattered at how right it felt to have him here. For the first time since he’d left, you let yourself feel just how lonely you’d been without him. 

“I know you’re angry with me.” He put the remnants of his biscuit down, “I know you think I abandoned you, picked up and found a new life outside of this place, but you have to know–” He reached over, taking your hand in his, “I never stopped thinking about you.” The tears flowed without your permission, what felt like years worth of them dripping steadily onto the bodice of your dress. “I have loved you since I was a boy, and I should have come back the second I thought something was wrong. I’ll never forgive myself for letting you worry or letting you imagine for a single moment that you weren’t everything to me. I know it’ll take time for you to trust me again, but I’ll work as hard as I can.”

You wanted to rip your hand away, to scream in his face and tell him to give you peace, but you couldn’t. Instead, you let the tears fall, let him stand and tentatively pull you towards him, let him crush you in the first hug you’ve had in years. For a moment, it’s as though you cannot get close enough, your hands like claws digging into the fabric of his overcoat, knuckles cramping from the force of your grip, and he sighs into your hair. The relief of the painfully familiar smell of him is so great that it almost knocks you off your feet. 

When you finally push him away, you know your eyes are puffy. 

“I believe you–” He smiles through his own tears, “-but I am still angry. I cannot just let go of my hurt. Not so quickly.” It takes everything in you, but you untangle yourself from him softly. “I have been living in this for so long, I don’t even know how to stop feeling this way.” The handkerchief that usually lived in your pocket made itself useful now. “I don’t even know where to begin. I loved you so much–” His face contorted in pain, the use of the word in the past tense like a stab to his heart. “-I don’t think I ever stopped. It’s the reason it hurts so much.” He let out a shaky breath, smiling a watery smile. 

“I know, I’ll work for it, I promise.” 

“I know.” 

–

He felt like he was flying. His steps were so light, surely he’d grown wings. He knew it was going to be a long road for them, but for the first time in years, he had hope. 

He couldn’t keep the smile off his face throughout the day, the feel of her in his arms, the smell of her in his nose, all of it made him feel like any errant puff of wind would blow him away. He had a skip in his step as he made his way over to the Sheriff's office, uncaring whether the man wanted him there or not. He had to keep his time away from her occupied with something, and learning what it took to do his job effectively was the next best thing. 

“I haven’t seen that look on your face in years, it meant trouble back then, and I doubt it’s changed.” Sheriff Carson frowned at him, “Your house all fixed up then?” He didn’t stop what he was doing, instead continuing as he spoke. 

“As fixed as it can be, sir, until the replacement window panes come in.” He sat in the chair in front of Carson without invitation. The man only grunted in response. 

“I want to start early, get a feel for what you do so I can do it properly.” At this, the older man looked up. 

“I know I wasn’t the easiest kid–” The older man scoffed at that but let him continue. “-Yes, yes, I know. I was a helion. I’m a man now, and I’ve grown up. I just want to keep this town safe, want to do my job.” The older man's eyes narrowed, and Francisco frowned. “Why did you say yes when I applied?”

“Part curiosity, part hope, I guess.” He set the pen down, leaning back in his chair, his arms coming to rest crossed on his belly. “You’ve always been a smart kid, Frank, and if you really are as grown up as I think you are, I think you got the makings to be a great sheriff. Especially if you’re anything like your daddy.” It was probably the nicest thing Carson had ever said to him. He didn’t know how to respond. 

“I just don’t want you to hurt that girl–” He raised his hands to forestall any response, “I know what you felt for her was real, but she was a shell when you left, and I don’t want to see her like that again. We clear?”

“Yes, sir. I’m here. I’m home for good.”

“Good, now let's get to work.”

-

Francisco was no stranger to hard work, but Carson seemed determined to make him jump through every single hoop in order to prove he could do this job. It didn’t deter him in the slightest, not with the promise of the life he’d always wanted so close on the horizon. Instead, he took notes, followed Carson, did everything he asked, and paid as much attention as he could, but secretly counted the hours until he would see her again. 

He heard the gunshots as he organized the disaster that was Carson’s filing system. 

“Suppose you oughta come with.” Carson slipped his holster on, handing a gun to him before leading the way toward the sound. 

A half-naked man was rolling around on the ground just outside the brothel, clutching at a blood-soaked arm. His eyes were wild with pain and anger, and he only seemed to get more frantic at the sight of the two of them approaching. 

“Sheriff! Arrest that woman!” He pointed with his good hand at the young woman on the porch. “Crazy bitch shot my damn arm-” 

“You put your hands on me, and you lose your hand! Them’s my rules!” She was screaming mad, a painful-looking shiner blooming on her pale face. 

“Enough!” Carson’s voice rang out loud enough to silence everyone within earshot, “Now–Who’s gonna tell me what happened? I can listen, or I can arrest the lot of you and be done with it.” He rested his weight on one leg, hand resting on the gun at his hip. 

The madame stepped out from behind the younger woman, her face austere. 

“I think it’s pretty obvious; he took a liberty, smacked my girl around, and he got bit.” She put her arm around the younger woman's shoulder. “Ethel is one of my best. Now she’s got this to deal with. He’s lucky she didn’t shoot his pecker off.” The man scoffed, pulling his shirt on as best he could before moving towards the women. 

“I don’t think so, pal,” Francisco spoke directly to him, pulling his own gun and holding it at his side in warning.

“I got witnesses, Carson. Lock this fucker up, and let us get back to work.”

“I’ll need to come in and get some statements, Mabel. You know that as well as I do. Frank, take this moron over to get patched up.” 

“So I’m just gonna lose my fuckin’ hand!?” He was incensed. 

“Lucky you didn’t lose your life. Now get out of my sight. I’m gonna give you until sundown to be out of here; if not, you can spend an undetermined amount of time in my jailhouse.” Carson’s voice held no room for anything but complete obedience, and after a tense moment, all of the air went out of him, and he let Francisco lead him toward the town physician. 

-

You tried not to be upset when he wasn’t waiting for you outside the apothecary at the end of the day; after all, he hadn’t said he would be. Instead, you locked up as usual and set about making your way home.

“Bluebell!” His voice rang out from behind you, making your head whip around. Your frown turned from annoyance to worry at the sight of dried blood on the white of his shirt. Your hands clutched at the collar of his shirt before you had a chance to catch yourself. 

“What happened?” Any and all propriety went right out the window with how frantically you pulled at his layers to see where the blood had come from. “Did you get hurt?”

“No, no, I’m fine–it’s not mine.” there was something in his voice that brought you back to your senses, a tenderness that pierced the very heart of you. His hands held onto yours for a moment before you pulled them away slowly. 

“Oh. I’m glad.”

“There was some trouble at the brothel. One of the girls shot some idiot who got handsy. I had to bring him to the physician.” The thought of him anywhere near the brothel made your hackles rise. You stamped the feeling away and continued your walk back home. He fell into step beside you. “What was that?” His smile was big now.

“What was what?”

“That look you just gave me.” He bumped his shoulder into yours, and you frowned. 

“What are you talking about? I didn't give you any look.” 

“You gave me a look, Blue, when I said the word brothel, a jealous look.” His smile was so wide you wanted to smack him. 

“I did not. You are free to do as you please. We aren’t married.” You kept your eyes on the horizon and did your best to ignore the bark of laughter he let out beside you. 

“Fine, I’ll drop it. I got no business in a brothel anyway. Even if I’m not married, yet.” 

You sighed, ignoring just how right he was. 

There was a man with a wagon waiting just outside his house as you passed it. 

“Can I help you?” He called out to the man outside his house. You can’t help but notice how he put himself between you and the stranger. 

“I have some window panes to deliver.” He walked around to the back of the wagon, uncovering it to show the cargo 

“Oh! Yes, I’ll take those.” He jogged over to the man, helping to bring the glass inside. You followed him despite yourself, unable to keep the frown off your face at the state of his home. You were still looking around when everything had been brought inside, and the man had been sent away. “It still needs work, but at least the windows will be intact.” You could see how he surveyed his home, his eye just as critical if not more than yours.

You set down your things. 

“Need to boil some water.” You hauled out the biggest pot you could find. 

“What?” He came over and took the pot from you, putting it onto the stove for you. 

“We need to boil water to clean these floors, and we should wash these windows too.” 

“Yes, but I can do it–” 

“Francisco. Go get water so we can boil it and get this place in order.” You raised your eyebrows at him and relished the way he watched you. He’d always liked it when you were assertive. 

“Yes, ma’am.” He smiled before heading out to his own well. 

Once the water was boiled, you got to work with a stiff brush while he set about replacing the broken windows. It wasn’t easy work, getting down on your knees to scrub the years worth of dirt and dust out of every nook and cranny embedded in the floorboards. It was worth it, though, to look up every so often and see the hard lines of him working, both his jacket and waistcoat shed and thrown onto a chair; his shirtsleeves rolled up. 

He’d always been beautiful to you, with his big brown eyes and his golden skin, the maddening dimple, even the curve in his nose. He was even more gorgeous now, with age and experience etched on his face, even hardened, he could still make you swoon. 

You gasped at the sting, snatching your hand back cat-quick. Blood beaded on your finger and dripped down onto the freshly washed floor, an errant piece of broken glass sitting on the floor. It was a few seconds before he was gathering you up from off the floor and guiding you to one of the chairs. 

“I’m okay, just a little cut.” He moved away for a moment, moving towards the back of the house. “Really, Frankie, I’m fine.” He came back with a few pieces of clean linen and a little jar of something clear; you can only imagine what it is.

“I know. I still want to clean and wrap it, though.” He set his things down, moving to the remaining boiled water on the stove to dampen one of the pieces of cloth, using it to clean the wound before opening the little jar. His eyes found yours then– ”You gonna be brave for me?” He held it over the cut, waiting for you to answer. “It’s going to hurt, but I know you’re gonna be good for me.” He winked and then splashed a little bit of the moonshine onto it. He may as well have stuck a hot poker into your hand. “There there, Blue, almost done.” 

By the time the stinging abates, your finger is wrapped up, and any evidence of injury is gone. 

“Thank you.” You held your hand close to your chest, ignoring the way it shook a bit. 

“Of course, I think we’re done for today. I don’t want you to hurt yourself. I would like for you to eat something.” He pulled out what looked like some crusty bread and some dry meat. “It’s not much, but it’s what I have for right now.” He set it down in front of you, giving you everything he had to offer, and for the first time in years, you smiled at him. 

“Are you done with the windows?” 

“Yes, I just need to get rid of these broken pieces.”  He gestured to the pile on the counter. 

“Okay, let's go back to my place. I can make us dinner.” You stood to move, and he followed you, protesting for a moment. 

“But your hand–”

“My hand is fine. Let’s go.” You moved to pick up your things, but he stopped you, gently knocking your hand aside to carry them for you.

-

The stew came together as quickly as it could with the way your hand throbbed. The bread, too, and soon enough, you were both sitting at the table eating the steaming food quietly. He ate with gusto, and you wondered briefly if he’d been eating well in his time away. He looked strong, but then again, he’d always been broad. 

He pushed his bowl away with a dreamy smile, his hands coming to rest on his belly. 

“That was the best thing I’ve eaten since I left. Aside from the biscuits this morning, I mean.”

“I’m glad.” You finished eating as he sat there, enjoying his company far more than you’d ever admit. Once you were done, he grabbed your bowl and put it into the sink, pouring some of the leftover well water to begin cleaning up. “You don’t have to do that–”

“I know. You don’t have to feed me either. I’ll just clean these and then get out of your hair.” You sighed, knowing you wouldn’t convince him otherwise. 

“Thank you.”

“No, thank you, you’ve fed me better today than in the whole time I was gone.” You smiled to yourself, half exhilarated, half annoyed at just how much your anger at him had crumbled. “Okay-” He set the last plate on the drying rack before drying his hands, “-I desperately need a bath. I’ll get out of your way. See you tomorrow morning?” 

“If you want.” You followed behind him, trying your hardest to keep the hope out of your voice. 

“Of course, I want to see you tomorrow.” He moved in quickly, pressing a kiss to your forehead before you had time to protest. “Goodnight Blue.” With a smile and a wink, he’s gone. 

-

Weeks passed, and it could not be said that Francisco Morales wasn’t a persistent man. No matter how hard you tried to hang onto that anger, he excelled in chipping away at it. He was true to his word about working on building back the trust that had been lost, spending any time away from his work with Carson split between you, and working on his house. 

He’d become quite the handyman in his time away, and he showcased that in the work he did in both his house and yours. He’d noticed your laundry line had broken and fixed it aggravatingly quickly. He spotted a few leaky spots in your roof and had them fixed at no cost to you, making you wonder just how much money he’d made while away. Aside from the windows and the cleaning you’d both done at his place, he’d replaced the more rundown furniture, and while it was missing some of the personal touches of his mother–it was definitely comfortable and livable once again. 

The intense loneliness and craving for intimacy had also hit you full force with his return. You found yourself thinking back to how things had been when you’d been young and wildly in love with each other. How his mouth had always found yours, how he seemed to need to be close to you, his arm often around your shoulder, his hand always finding a way to clasp yours. 

It was worse at night when other memories floated out of the isthmus of your mind, filling it with the visions of him above you, his tongue in your mouth, and his cock deep inside. You’d been young but eager to explore one another, and he had been nothing if not resourceful in finding any and all opportunities to get you out of your clothing. Now, the days were filled with new tortures, and you found yourself feeling jealous of the beads of sweat that rolled down his back, envious of the way his shirts seemed to hold him so tightly. 

The way his eyes tracked you didn’t help the situation; they were just as wild, just as beautiful, and just as open and honest as they’d always been. His desire for you shining out at you through their honeyed gaze. 

He’d been busy that morning, well and truly the sheriff now, and with that came more time away, giving you, in turn, more time alone. Or so you’d thought. The knock was loud, solid, and instantly, you knew it was him. You groaned, staring at the perfectly steaming water of the tub surrounding you. 

“Not now, Frankie!” You called out to him from the back of the house–hoping for a moment he’d let you enjoy the sweet steam surrounding you. His knock came again, and you huffed, stepping out of the oasis and wrapping yourself up in your dressing gown. “Frankie, I’m kind of in the middle of something–” You opened the door to him, and instantly, his gaze raked over you, no doubt seeing the way the damp fabric clung to your body, leaving nothing to the imagination. The dumbstruck look on his face filled you with such satisfaction that you let him look his fill before moving your eyes to bring his attention back up. “Can I help you with something?” 

“Uh–” He stumbled for a moment, his eyes moving back down to where the gown split, to where your leg and most of your thigh peeked through. “Um–I uh…”

“...You…?”

“Um…Sorry. I brought you a gift.” He shook his head for a minute before decidedly looking you in the eye. “I remember I took your copy; brought you a new one.” He held the book out to you, and for a moment, you forgot to be alluring. 

“Jane Eyre?” You grabbed the book, opening it up quickly. 

“I remember you reading it to me; thought maybe I could read it to you sometime.” His dimple shined, and you couldn’t help but leap into his arms. 

“Oh, Frankie, I love it! I have been looking for a copy forever!” You pressed your face into his neck and relished how tightly he held onto you in return, relished the feeling of his nose buried in the crook of your neck.

“God, Blue, you smell good enough to eat.” His words, his voice, they ran down your spine like a drop of ice on a hot day, hardening your nipples and making you ache for him. You pulled away, biting your lip as you stared at his mouth.

“You could come in… and read to me?” He smiled and closed the door. “I was just in the bath. I could get in and cover myself with a cloth. You could read to me while I bathe.” He nodded slowly, gulping before following you, making sure to grab a chair on his way. 

“Give me one minute to get in.” You closed the door, heart thumping at how the colour had gone out of his eyes, leaving them blown black. Within a few tense moments, you were back in the tub with the hangover of the lining cloth covering you under the milky, soapy water. “Okay–come in.” 

He looked almost pained as he pulled up the chair beside you, his eyes once again greedy in their quest to map whatever part of you he could see, which admittedly is more than you planned to show him with how transparent the lining is. 

“Shall I start at the beginning?” He flipped open the book, but his eyes were still locked on you. 

“Yes, please.”

“Very well.” He took a deep breath, and began, his deep, soothing voice the perfect accompaniment to the steaming water.

“Folds of scarlet drapery shut in my view to the right hand; to the left were the clear panes of glass, protecting, but not separating me from the drear November day–Oh, sorry, I already read that.” You smiled to yourself, enjoying the way he couldn’t seem to focus, the way he kept losing his place, and admittedly, it took everything in you not to pull him into the tub with you. 

“That’s okay. Can you help me with this?” You offered him the soapy washcloth, “My back? It’s so hard to get it on my own.” You batted your eyes at him, smiling the smile he’d never been able to resist, hoping it still worked its magic on him. 

“Let me rinse my hands first. I don’t want to muddy up this paradise.” He knocked the chair over in his haste to reach the washbasin you had on the counter. By the time he was finished and righting his seat, he had shed his topmost layers and rolled the sleeves of his shirt up to his biceps. 

You leaned forward, giving him access to the skin of your back and sighing at the closeness of him when he pressed the soapy cloth to it. 

“God, I missed you, Blue.” He rubbed at your shoulders slowly, his other hand slipping around to hold the top of your chest, just beneath the dip at the bottom of your throat. “Missed touching you, feeling you, kissing you.”

Your eyes closed, and you thought surely he must feel the way your heart raced just under your skin when his fingers curled softly around your neck. 

“Been dying to kiss you for years.” You felt then how the cloth had been discarded, and his bare hand spanned the smooth skin of your back, massaging at your shoulders and the top of your spine. “You ever miss me like that?” His voice was a soft rasp now, lulling you up and back into his hand, letting the linen go and looking up into his eyes. 

“Yes–I do, Frankie–all the time.” You bit your lip, staring at his mouth as he spoke. 

“Can I kiss you?” He moved forward an inch, leaning in as his hands worked their spell against your skin. 

“Yes-” You barely whispered the word before he pressed his mouth to yours softly. It was tender and oh so familiar, the way his lips moved against yours, his tongue seeking entrance and gaining it just like he’d done so many times before. Your kiss was a dance, the steps of which neither of you had ever forgotten. It ached, the way his mouth claimed yours, and you couldn’t help but lean into him, to reach up and hold onto him as he groaned into the kiss. 

“I have been dreaming about this since I left–” He spoke between kisses, pressing them to your face, before licking into your mouth once more, “Can I touch you?”

You nodded, chasing his mouth again. His hand slipped down, slick with soap, and then he held onto your breast, kneading one and then the other, his thumb strumming against the sensitive buds while your cunt leaked for him. His eyes moved, watching himself touch you, his lip caught between his teeth,and all of a sudden, it was too much, and you move, pulling away and standing, naked as the day you were born. 

“Take me to bed, Frankie.” He stared up at you from his place on the chair, and from the look on his face, you’d think he was looking at an angel. It didn’t last, though; within seconds, he was up and pulling you out of the tub, practically dragging you towards your bedroom. 

Your breath came out in a huff when you landed on your back, smiling breathlessly at the look of pure hunger on his face. He chewed his lip as he pulled off his layers, going through them quick enough that you genuinely worried he’d rip them. The water that had clung to your skin from the bath, now seeped into the sheets underneath you as you watched him undress. 

“I’m so fucking hard for you, Blue.” He kicked his denim off, tossing everything every which way, “So hard it hurts.” His cock bobbed as he finally crawled his way over to you, and it was then that you saw it, a significant scar on his side, like a starburst. Your hand reached out, and you pressed your fingers to it, looking into his eyes for an explanation. 

He pulled your hand up and kissed the tips of your fingers, “It’s nothing. I’m fine.” He continued his pilgrimage across your body, stopping only to kiss your sternum, your hip, and the soft skin of your belly. “I missed seeing you like this so much-“ he opened your legs, groaning at the way your cunt glistened for him. “-I missed how fucking wet you get, how good you taste-“ he barely finished speaking before he dove in, his tongue parting you further, gliding over your clit with desperation. 

“I missed you-oh-“ his hands clutched at your thighs, pulling you closer to his mouth, pulling the strings of your arousal to pool for his tongue. “That feels so fucking good, Frankie—“ Your hands found the short crop of his hair, unsure of whether you wanted to pull him up or grind against him. He huffed a cocky laugh into your skin, doubling his efforts and tightening his grip on your thighs, his fingers indented into the skin. The steady glide of his tongue against your clit, up and down, up and down, has you falling over the edge of the cliff and your thighs clamping around his head.

It didn't stop him; his tongue kept moving, slower as you rode out your high. He bit at the plump of your inner thigh as you relaxed, smiling and shiny with your arousal.

“I missed that too.” He moved, pressing his lips to your belly again, moving up and licking a hot stripe between your breasts before slotting his hips between your legs. His skin was so warm, so welcome, that you couldn’t help but sigh and pull him close, your fingers curling into his hair. 

“I wanted you to come back so badly-“ You covered every inch of his face in kisses, “Wanted you to stay with me, love me like this.” You licked into his mouth, tasting yourself in the kiss.

“I’m here, Honey, I’ll never leave you again-“ You can feel just how hard his cock is as it pressed into your belly, the two of you clinging to one another in the dying light of the day. 

“Promise me, promise me you won’t leave me.” You reached down and wrapped your hand around the sizable heft of him, stroking slowly while positioning him at your entrance.

“Fuck-I promise baby, I promise you-“ His sentence ended in a filthy moan as you pulled him in with your heels, pressing into the meat of his ass, finally having him inside you again after everything. 

You moaned at the way he filled you.

The last fifteen years melted away, the long stretch of loneliness feeling more and more like a dream with every deep stroke of his cock. 

There were no more words, only whimpers from you and deep groans from him. There was the rhythmic rocking of your bed and the slick sounds of him moving between your legs. His hips snapped faster and faster as he chased his release, burying his face into the crook of your neck to feed all the delicious sounds he made directly into your ear.

“I’m so close, touch yourself—“ his voice sounded wrecked, moving his hips like a piston, his cock kissing that one spot only he ever found. You obey and reach down to swirl your fingers around your clit, rocketing yourself closer to another, more intense orgasm. 

He moved his face down, holding onto your breast to suck on your nipple, and then the dam broke, and you clenched around him, moaning his name as you reached your peak. 

“Fuck, that’s it, that’s so good, oh god—I’m gonna come-“ his hips sped up, the wet sounds of his thrusts louder after your second climax. You opened your legs wide, giving him space to move, but he stayed put.

“Frankie-“ You started to speak, trying to guide him to spill on your belly; still, he didn’t move. Instead, he pushed in deep, groaning loudly, and it was with a sinking feeling in your stomach that you felt him twitch inside. 

You were frozen in place, momentarily shocked into silence.

“God—I’ve been dreaming of that for years.” He sounded drunk, pulling out of you with a hiss to take a good look at his handiwork. 

“Francisco, did you just do what I think you did?” Your tone was devoid of any sweetness. “Did you just spill inside me?” 

“Yes—“ he frowned, confusion colouring his face along with the flush of his exertion, “—I thought you’d forgiven me? We’re together again-“

“And me forgiving you means risking a baby?” You pulled away, wiggling out from under him to grab a linen shift from your drawer. 

“Wait, Blue, come back.” He moved to sit at the edge of the bed, “I’m sorry I didn’t think. It just felt right.” 

“Of course it felt right to you. You have no regard for how I might feel.” Your anger burned through you, where once there had been passion, it was now replaced with fear. A deep fear that the next time he decided to up and leave, it might not just be you waiting for him. 

“Don’t be like that, sweetheart, that’s not true-“

“I’d like you to leave.” Hot tears flowed down your face at the thought of being pregnant with his child, and alone, waiting to see how long it took him to return the second time.

“Baby, please—don’t make me leave, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that—“

“Leave! I want to be alone. Please just–just go home.” You wiped at your eyes before crossing your arms, doing your absolute best to avoid his gaze. He sighed loudly, moving slowly to gather his things, stopping only to put on his pants and his shirt before tucking tail and heading home.

-

He’d fucking blown it. 

By some miracle, he’d managed to get into her good books, his persistence and determination to show her just how madly in love with her he was–how in love with her he’d always been–weeks worth of it, and he’d messed up in a few minutes. A few glorious, amazing minutes. 

He couldn’t help but groan in annoyance with himself every time he remembered it, the euphoria of being with her again, being inside her, of having her wet and needy and so eager for him only to get lost in it and risk a baby they hadn’t yet discussed. Hadn’t even really discussed getting married, not since he’d come back. 

He didn’t even know why he’d thought it’d be okay. It had been purely instinctual but also irresponsible and disrespectful. It shamed him that he couldn’t stop thinking about it, couldn’t stop craving it. He ignored it, though, continued on with showing her his reliability and hoped she understood that she was all he wanted. 

-

Sleep eluded you for days, refusing to find you until the blood came. It wasn’t much better when it finally did, though. There was the initial relief, of course, there would be no child born out of wedlock, and you would not be treated like a pariah, but where did that leave you? He apologized for it, constantly. He groveled, he begged for your time and for your love and forgiveness, and it was his. It was there–ready for him, but the fear hid it away. 

No matter how consistent he’d been in his time back, no matter how much he’d assured and explained that he wasn’t going to leave, it still felt like there was a clock ticking somewhere you couldn’t see, counting down the seconds until you’d be alone again. 

You tried to focus on other things, filling your days with organizing your home, with clearing out things that no longer served you, things that you had brought over from when your mother died and had actively ignored or hidden away until genuinely forgotten. There were old, moth-eaten rags that had once been her clothes, a few books, and an old hairbrush. Amongst her things, though, was a bundle of paper, a fat wad of it. 

Confused, you pulled it apart and very quickly realized that they were letters and they were addressed to you. It was jarring to see your name in Frankie’s script and harrowing to realize that you’d had them the whole time without knowing. 

With shaking hands, you opened them one by one, and by the third, the tears obscured your vision. 

My Dearest Bluebell, 

I know you must be angry with me, things aren’t moving as quickly as they should, but this changes nothing–I’m still coming home to you–

He talked about his time in the war, about how differently they did things where he was, and about how much money he was saving, but between all that was the same promise of return. It was everywhere, that–and his pleas for a response from you. 

Please sweetheart, I need to hear from you, please let me know you’re okay, and that you don’t hate me–

You sobbed into them. The words were like wounds, the pain of being alone for so long is even sharper now than it had been before. He had been true to his word, writing letter after letter without a single word from you, and despite the pain of knowing that fact, you read every single one. The dates were consistent, every week, almost like clockwork, except for once–when there were a few months between two letters. 

Bluebell, my love, 

I am okay–but I was hurt. I barely remember what happened, but one minute I’m in the middle of it, fighting, and the next minute I was screaming and then blackness, until I woke up in a hospital. Nurse says I’m lucky to be alive and that I’m going to be okay–

It was too much, all of it, and despite the fact that it was late and he was most certainly asleep, you had to see him. 

The moon followed you on your walk towards his house, lighting the path and keeping you company. There was a soft glow shining out from one of his windows, and it inspired hope, making it easier to knock on the door despite the hour. 

There was movement on the other side of the door, his heavy footsteps padding across the old floorboards.

“Who’s there?” Suspicion threaded thickly through his words, and you couldn’t blame him; this was no hour for anyone to come calling.

“I need to talk to you. Can I come in?” Your voice was shaky, the tears had abated while you made your way over, but the worried look on his face when he opened the door threatened to let them flow once more.

“What’s the matter? What happened?” He was shirtless, holding his pistol at his side while he looked beyond you to inspect the horizon. “Come in, come in—“ He closed the door behind you, setting the pistol down with a frown. “What’s the matter, Blue? Why are you out at this hour?” 

“I—“ you choked on the word, clutching at his letters, “Frankie, I found them, my mother—“ you sobbed out words, choking on them before he sighed. 

“Oh Honey, please don’t cry.” He gathered you up, pulling you into the strong cage of his arms, and it was like the floodgates cracked open wide. One palm held the back of your head, and the other was wrapped around your waist. “You didn’t know, it’s okay.”

“I, I don’t even know what to say. I’m sorry,” your voice cracked with the agony of all of the lost years, “you wrote so many letters, and I never answered any of them, and you got hurt—oh god, you could have died!” It was hard to tell if you were screaming or sobbing anymore.

“Hey! Hey! Shhh, it’s okay, baby,” he rubbed your back, a soothing gesture, “Hey, stop, stop, take a deep breath, I’m fine. I survived. There was nothing you could have done. I know you would have written to me if you’d gotten my letters, if you knew.” He pressed his lips to your temple. “I’m sorry I didn’t come back sooner. I shouldn’t have left without you.” 

“I should have known she’d do something like this. I–” You pulled away to look up into his eyes, “I am so angry at her. She let you carry on, just hid them without a care–even though she knew I was heartbroken.” You brushed his hair back before hugging him again. 

“She never did like me. It was pretty cruel of her to do that to both of us.” He was being much more gracious about it than he should have, a testament to his love for you that he didn’t want to bash your mother despite the damage she’d done. 

“Miserable old bitch.” You had no qualms about calling her what she was. 

“Forget about her. It’s okay now. Thankfully, we’re together again.” He grabbed his pistol and led you further into the house. 

-

Your fingers drew the shapeless pattern onto the warm skin of his chest for what must have been the hundredth time since the both of you tumbled into his bed an hour ago. It was still pitch black outside, the only light being a candle on his bedside. The sun would creep in soon enough, though, and when it did, it would find the two of you clinging to one another. 

“I hate that you went through this alone.” Your fingers migrated down to the starburst on the side of his lower stomach, tracing the edges of it softly. 

“I’m lucky, I made a full recovery.” His voice was soft, “I saw others get much worse.”

“That doesn’t minimize this, Francisco, you could have died out there, and I never would have known.” You squeezed your eyes together for a moment, ignoring the implications, “Can you ever forgive me? For not writing?” 

“Only if you can find it in you to forgive me for being away so long and for what happened.” He pulled your hand up, pressing your knuckles to his lips.

“You’re forgiven for everything.” You frowned, “We hadn’t discussed our future, everything was still so up in the air, and I was terrified to get pregnant. Not because I don’t want to have your children, I was just terrified you'd leave me again and then I'd be here, alone and with a baby.” His face fell, guilt swirling around his features. “That was before. I believe you when you say you won’t and that you’re here for good.” You pressed a kiss to his cheek, then to his lips.

“I understand why that would have scared you. I shouldn’t have done it without permission, though. It was careless of me.” He pulled you closer, relishing in the contact just like he had in the early days. There was a beat, a comfortable silence, and it stretched on for a while, the two of you content to lay there until the stiffness of your dress pulled you away. He helped you take it off until you were in your simple shift, and then you took your place beside him once more.

“Francisco?” You murmured, wondering if he’d fallen asleep.

“Yes?”

“I never said, but I’m sorry about your parents.” He’d been gone for years when they passed. 

“Me too.” He didn’t say more, and you didn’t press. “You should get some rest. Will you stay with me?”

“Yes, I don’t want to go.” He got up for a moment, pulling the rest of his layers off before blowing out the candle.

“Good, I didn’t want you to leave.” He slipped into the bed, pulling his sheet over the both of you before pulling you in close. “Goodnight, Honey.”

“Goodnight, Frankie.” 

-

The sun shone bright enough to shoo the last vestiges of sleep away. It found you warm and comfortable under the comforting weight of his arm over your belly and his leg tangled with yours. He looked younger, asleep and you could almost see him just as he was when he’d left, fresh-faced and eager to see and do as much as he could. That fire for life and all it entailed, burning brightly in every expression. 

Your thumb traced the line of his jaw first, sweeping up his chin to glide across his pursed lower lip. He twitched but didn’t wake, only tightened his grip on you. Your thumb slid up, following the curve of his nose, up to smooth across his brow. 

He stirred again, humming softly before pressing closer still, burying his face into the crook of your neck and tickling you with his moustache. 

“Is it morning already?” His voice was sleepy but laced with pure joy. 

“Yes, it is. How did you sleep?” Your tone matched his, his joy was contagious, hope and happiness swirling in the air much like the dustmotes that danced in each shaft of light. Your hands had migrated down, fingers flitting across his broad back, relishing every inch, every errant freckle. 

“Better than I have in years. How about you?” His lips made their own pilgrimage, from just below your ear, down the column of your neck, and down to your shoulder; each press of his lips widening the smile on yours. 

“I slept really well. I forgot how warm you get when you sleep.” He laughed at this, good-hearted. 

“Good, means you don’t need to wear this–” His hands slid under your shift, grabbing greedily at your thighs, then your backside. 

“Very clever. Don’t you need to get up and go to work, Sheriff? Or am I under arrest?” There was no real bite behind your words. 

“Hmm, I don’t know, are you? Are you here to confess to a crime? Aside from stealing my heart, that is.” You let out a bark of laughter, rising slightly to let him take the shift off of you despite the game. 

“Is that what I’ve done? Stolen your heart?”

“Oh yes, years ago. First day you smiled at me, come to think of it.” He nodded sagely for a moment before pressing his lips to yours softly, making you both melt and drip for him. 

“Well then, I guess I deserve my punishment.” You reached down, shimmying out of your underthings to bare yourself to him. He bit his lip before dipping low to lick at the stiff peak of your breast, soft as his kiss, before taking your nipple into his mouth and hollowing his cheeks. You moaned, watching him enraptured. 

“I’ll be just and fair.” He smiled, after letting go with a pop, moving to the next one to give it the same treatment. Your fingers curled into his short crop while your thighs pressed together to alleviate the aching at your core. He sucked harder, frantically, and then there was the edge of pain when he bit softly, making you gasp for a second before he once again soothed with his tongue. 

“God, woman, you make me crazy.” His eyes were wild for a moment before he claimed your mouth again, his tongue plundering without mercy. 

“I want you, Frankie–give it to me.” You reached down to grasp him in hand, but he moved away, denying you. 

“I want to make you feel good. Let me taste you again.” He moved down, his lips mapping a course down to where you wanted him most. 

“I want you, though, Frankie, want you to make me sore. You can use your mouth later.” You held your arms out to him, and although he stared at your mound with hunger, he obeyed. 

You spread your legs for him, and he slots his hips, pulling your legs high onto his thighs for a moment before sheathing himself in you with one brutal, delicious stroke. 

“God, Frankie, you’re splitting me open.” You moaned the words into his ear, and his head dropped into your neck, groaning at your words. 

You reach down to hold onto his ass, grabbing onto it as he thrusts. 

“You want me like this? Or you want me on my knees like you used to like?” You whispered, and he moaned, his hips stuttering for a moment before pulling out. It was the only answer you needed before you moved to get into position, presenting yourself to him. 

His thighs pressed against the backs of yours, his hand landing heavy on one ass cheek before he entered you from behind. He felt deeper this way, hitting something otherworldly with each press. 

“That’s my girl, you gonna take my big dick Honey?” You moaned into your forearm, arousal burning bright as a coal in the pit of your belly from his words, from the slick sounds of your joining, from the way your nipples grazed against his bedding. 

He bent forward, pulling at your arms to hold them behind your back, and once he did, his efforts doubled. He was a piston, ramming into you hard enough to make your breasts bounce, hard enough to make you scream for him. 

He moved you again, pulling you up to meet the solid wall of his chest, his chin hooking over your shoulder, one hand holding onto your breast, the other sliding down to swirl around your clit, shoving you headlong into a blinding climax. 

“That’s it, baby, God, I can feel you squeezing my cock. Where do you want me to come? Can I come on your ass?” His words sounded frantic, and you nodded, barely whispering the words. 

“Yes, Frankie–” He let you go, and you pressed your face into the mattress once more, spreading your legs a little wider before you felt him pull out, feeling the way his hand grabbed and spread you open while the other one pumped between your legs. You felt the hot spurt of him on the cheeks of your ass and the small of your back just as you heard the filthy groan he let out. 

You both caught your breath for a moment, riding the wave of release before he moved and within a few minutes, he passed a cool, wet cloth across your skin, cleaning his mess off before discarding it and falling into bed beside you. 

There was sweat on his brow, there was sweat on yours, too, but it didn’t matter, the euphoria was rich and sweet as fresh cider. 

“I missed you so much, Frankie.” You turned to face him fully, the two of you naked and comfortable. 

“I missed you too, Honey.” He pulled you close, wrapping you up in his arms, where you belonged. 

–

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