#trying to figure out the ages of the boys
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WATERBORNE
SUMMARY: a young waterbender who appears in Gotham gets the attention of a few birds a big bat. But one bird seems more interested than the others. Leaving them to be captured.
PAIRS||Yandere! Tim drake & Platonic Yandere!Batfam x Waterbender!Reader
“Nah fuck that!” Y/n yells, they immediately arises both of their arms. Water moves with the flow of his arms in the sewer. A figure with a big blue on his chest steps back. Eyes widen at rings of water surrounding the small bender. “You’re not taking me alive dick head!” Nightwing, aka Dick Grayson, nervously chuckles while putting his hands up.
“Aw cmon, how did you know my name—”
Immediately the vigilante gets hit with a wave of water, knocked onto his back by the pressure. Nightwing soon sits up coughing, shocked by the pressure knocking him back a few feet. He hasn’t even notice the hydro power house had taken off before he shook his head. Y/n, running with only an over coat and work out sneakers. They didn’t wish for these powers, they didn’t wish to be found. They didn’t wish to be anyone’s obsession! Nightwing finally got his bearings minutes later. “Damnit..” Nightwing puts two fingers to his ear, pressing down he talks.
“They’re on the run again. Tim it’s your turn.” Nightwing opened up a hologram map of the tunnels from his forearm.
“Got it.” Says another voice.
And that was Tim drake, aka Red Robin. Tim nods at the sound coming from his coms. He also had his map up as he readied his bow staff. It was electrified on the tip of it, ready to stun the young bender. He stopped pulling the map up when hearing loud footsteps and heavy breathing.
Tim grips his bow staff, leaning Against the side wall, he gets ready to swing only for him to drop his staff. He dropped it with a loud clank! There stood the hydro power house, y/n. Y/n had anger in their eyes as the other was engulfed by a hand shaped of water. Y/n held one hand out. “Won’t you damn people leave me alone?!” Tim tries to get out of the water, only for it to tighten. “I don’t know what you want from me, but I’m in no need for help. I don’t need anyone! I don’t need you, or anything!”
Tim frowns, he knew the water bender needed help. He looked about his age. Seventeen. Y/n look fatigue, not enough on their bones, messy hair, baggy eyes with reddish eyes. Before Tim could speak, he couldn’t even try.
Instantly the water bender swung their hand harshly, making Tim hit the other side of the tunnel harshly. A crack was dented there with Tim’s body. The young boy fell onto his stomach, groaning in pain. He tries to stand before gushes of water hits him, over, and over again.
“Leave. Me. Alone!” Y/n swung their hand, it was a undertossing motion as if throwing back a baseball. Y/n kept walking towards their enemy, each swing gets harsher and harsher. Tim tries to take a deep breath, but he’s practically drowning. He lays unconscious now, y/n breaths heavily. Their arms weak, sore, tired. His breathing starts to slow down, but not in the way he wants.
He leans against a wall, balling up his hands.
“Why..why am I so tired. My eyes, they’re heavy. What the hell??”
Y/N’s vision is slowly turning black, not noticing Tim standing up. Smiling widely as he walks towards the drugged water bender. “I see the narcotic worked.” Y/n tried to move their dominant arm, only to just stay limp. “What…did you do to me..”
Tim frowns, leaning towards the waterbender. “What I had to do. You need my help. You need me.” A sick grin reaches the boy’s face as Tim cups the hydro’s face. Y/n glare harshly at Tim who could only smile.
“You.. you and your damn hero complex! You should drown, drown like anyone that dare try to capture me!” Anger filled y/n’s soul. But Tim ignored it, seeing this aggression as a result of not being able to save them earlier. Tim frowns and lifts y/n over his shoulder.
“It’s okay. I’m here now, The others and Batman will help you! You won’t need to survive anywhere else.” Tim says lastly as the anesthesia kicks in fully now. Knocked out over the teen boy’s shoulder, the boy couldn’t help but smile more. When his bow staff fell, it released the drug only for you to specifically breathe in. And it worked perfectly, just like Tim knew it would.
You were now, captured.
A/N: Ayo new series? Jk.. or maybe not? Anyone wants this to continue or what? Cause I actually enjoyed writing this
#water bending#water bender#Alta!reader#dc x reader#dc x male reader#dc imagine#dc comics x reader#yandere tim drake x reader#yandere tim drake#yandere red robin#tim drake x you#dc tim drake#tim drake x male reader#tim drake x reader#tim drake#yandere batfamily x reader#yandere batfam x reader#yandere batboys x reader#yandere batfamily#batfamily x male reader#yandere batboys#yandere batfam#dick grayson x y/n#dick grayson x male reader#yandere dick grayson#dick grayson x you#dick grayson x reader#dick grayson#dc#male yandere
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You're much younger than Arthur. Maybe he doesn't mind as much as he thinks he does...
Low-High Honor Arthur Morgan x fem. reader who is younger than him.
Some head canons that ended up way too long 😭😔 hope you don't mind too much! I am 23 currently so these are really in the mind of reader being over 18 at least. At 23, Arthur is still way older than me so I guess it's just what does it for me! Includes both high and low honor versions. Thanks for reading!! and please let me know if you like them 😭
Warnings: NSFW 18+ only pls, Daddy Kink, Innocence Kink, Corruption Kink, nasty boy low honor arthur being toxic and manipulative (not too badly tho) its ok sweetie arthur is here to balance it out 😳💖💓🥹😳😭
:High Honor:
He had convinced himself that he was way too old for you and quite honestly shut that shit down the second he found his mind wandering to how pretty you were, your own natural beauty catching his eye. He can think you’re sweet and nice, that you understand him and go out of your way to talk to him. Doesn’t matter, he mentally smacks himself for thinking of you past anything like “mentor” or something. He might steal a glance once in a while but he feels bad about it every time. It’s just that, stolen, because in his mind, you don’t belong to him and you never will. He’s more than 10 years your senior, it makes him feel like a dirty old man. Arthur has a strange conflicted energy around you, like he wants to spend time with you but also doesn’t want to come off as creepy or too attached to something that can never be. If you make efforts to be around him, he does appreciate it and will stick around but he always cuts it sort of short.
Will subtly try to remind himself how young you are, referring to you as girl or kid to others or even to you. He has no idea you think that’s kinda hot. Will jokingly say you’re too young for certain things and thinks it’s cute if you pout and try to fight back against him. Holds alcohol out of your reach and clicks his tongue at you. When you point out the other young women in camp, he’s giving in but only a little, he still watches out for you. He’s protective in the sense that he does see you as someone who needs protecting. He can lie and say it's because of your age but really he just likes you and doesn’t want to admit it.
Anytime you try to get him to understand that you think of him as more than a vague father or brother figure, he’s missing the signs, straight over his head. Light jabs at his age, like calling him Mr. Morgan; make him roll his eyes a little bit but you can catch an endeared smile on his face. Truly a bit hard headed when it comes to noticing that you tease him with more than poking fun in mind. You have to find reasons to touch or kiss him on the cheek. He still might miss physical signs, real dumb dumb behavior. It’s impossible in his head that you would think of him like that.
If you can get him to open up, having emotionally charged conversations with him is a good way to get him to understand that you care about him at least. Arthur just likes to feel like you’re listening and that you like him enough to care about his thoughts and feelings. If you offer comfort to him in hard times, he’s lowkey simping for you…He can be very closed off, not all too willing to share his truths, especially with someone who may not even understand but if he can be himself around you and you don’t judge, he can forget his feelings about your youth for a moment.
It’s hard for him to initiate because he’s convinced that if anything were to happen between the both of you, it would be wrong or perverse in some way. If you tell him you like him, he might try to tell you otherwise, trying to get you to think differently of him. Suggests you find someone closer to your age or someone who hasn’t led a life like he has. It’s all really sad because he’s also insinuating that he’ll ruin your life in some way.
The first time he kisses you will be way too gentle, you’ll hardly call it a kiss. He thinks of himself as too rough for you so he holds back like 99% in an attempt to seem more like a gentleman. It takes you grabbing onto him and deepening your kiss for him to give you more. He’s gentle, hands on your cheeks, holding you like you’ll break if he squeezes too hard.
Expect a whole lot of “this ain’t right,” or “I’m too damn old for this,” at first. But once you get him to give in, there’s no going back. He gives you his all, no matter what. He does get a bit bashful making things official, especially when there's something to be said about it. John calling him something terrible for being with you like cradle robber or something puts a sour look on his face but he tries his best to power through it. “She ain’t a goddamn baby,” “She might as well be, how old are you again? Or did you lose count?” “Shut the hell up, John.” Hugs and kisses from you definitely make it worth it. He gets a bit used to it, letting things like that stop affecting him so much.
He thinks he doesn’t deserve you and some small part of him will always believe that you could still be better off with someone else but he gets greedier and greedier with you, the more you love on him, he doesn't want to even think of you with anyone else. He's still so confused that you think he is attractive at his age. He’ll show you pictures of him when he was young and he sort of expects you to say that he was more appealing back then. But you don’t; you just pet his face, his scratchy beard and his sun kissed skin. Arthur lets you see his soft smile when you say you love him right now, more than anything.
Taking your firsts might put a weird (not bad though) taste in his mouth. First kisses or virginity, he’s nervous he’ll come up short and not be what you're expecting. But his best is more than enough to make you happy. He wants to make your first experiences feel special and memorable, the last thing he wants is to put pressure on you, he just puts way too much pressure on himself. He ends up being just a little too gentle. He needs a lot of praise, a lot of egging on to get more confident. If you beg and plead for more, he can’t say no, he always gives you what you want. Getting him to be more “out there” is a little more difficult. He’s embarrassed to admit he might like when you playfully call him daddy or your old man. The guilt kind of turns him on but he has a hard time coming to terms with that. At his own pace, he’ll indulge more if you’re into it. You’re crossing some weird wires in his head, he swears. If you say it to him in the right context, he’s giving you a shocked look and a halfhearted scolding as he tries not to get turned on in the middle of what he’s doing. “You’re gonna be the death of me, girl,” makes you giggle at him.
:Low Honor:
He might also be somewhat against it but for different reasons. He thinks girls like you have high expectations and it annoys him. But if he thinks you’re pretty that’s what he thinks. He doesn't let anybody get too close so if he’s thinking about you as more, your age is not something that stops him from doing so. It does just take him some time to think about letting you close enough for anything more than his usual rude demeanor and standoffish personality.
The only way he'll know he likes you as a bit more than another thankless and ungrateful face in the crowd of people he begrudgingly provides for is if you thank him for bringing money or things back to camp. He gets a little quiet, trying to suss out ulterior motives but he thinks you’re quite adorable. Looks away and says it’s nothing. He’ll indulge you, doing things that are just for you, just to hear you say thank you again.
He teases you more, emphasizing how young you are, in a way that rubs him the right way. Calling you little girl, intimidating you with his size, or keeping you away from certain things like cigarettes. “These are for grown ups, sweetheart,” If you’re a brat around him, he likes a bit of brat taming. “Dunno, might need to take you over my knee if you’re gonna act like that,” has you gasping and stuttering out a clumsy response.
It’s easy to sway him into taking things further with you. He isn’t one for hanging around the camp, so close to everyone else anyway, he likes his alone time. Catching him when he’s by himself, smoking a cigarette, is a good time to get on his nerves enough to force his hand a little bit. Stand too close to him and run your fingers over the handle of his gun and ask if you can hold it, he’s so close to snapping. The look in his eye under the shadow of his hat makes you feel 5 degrees warmer. “You better quit playin’ games with me, girl. Not sure you know what you’re askin’ for,” Maybe not the best idea to defiantly ask him to show you.
Then you’re sat on his knee, he’s pressing his mouth into yours, sloppy kisses with no regard for whether you think it’s too much for you or not. He’s shoving his tongue into your mouth, one hand to steady you and the other groping your tits. He’s mostly trying to get you to be as noisy as possible.
He’s really not guilty at all. Maybe a little but he doesn’t let guilt affect his actions. It may be true that maybe you could be with someone better than him but if you’re with him, you know what you’re in for. You’re his girl and there isn’t anyone else for you if he’s your man. Arthur may not admit it but in the back of his head, there is a voice that whispers to him that one day you’ll leave him behind. He overcompensates for it, doing what he can to see you smile, rather reluctantly asking if you’re happy with him once in a while. If you ask why, he’s unclear, “Jus’… makin’ sure,” your enthusiastic yes, followed by a kiss on his cheek actually flatters him a little, rubbing his neck, a quiet ‘good’ is all he has to say.
If he gets shit for being with you, he brushes it off. He might get flack from some well meaning people, Hosea or Abigail might tell him to leave you alone, that he should know better. But he thinks they should know better too, Arthur has very little restraint. So if a young pretty thing wants to be his girl, he’s not saying no. Any notions of how guilty he should be don’t come from him. He may think he’s a sinner and a bad man but those things don’t stop him from wanting you. And Arthur always gets what he wants when he can help it.
Arthur has never given too much thought about what women think of how he looks. He certainly doesn’t think too much of himself and knows he isn’t exactly in his prime, looks wise at the very least. He’s not too confident about his looks or his body really, he’s more confident when it comes to his abilities and skills. So if you tell him you like the way he looks, he isn’t gonna argue, just pleasantly surprised if he happens to believe you. There’s a chance he thinks you're lying. He knows there’s something perhaps a bit off with you, most girls your age don’t give him a second glance but does it stroke his ego when you stare at him, bite your lip when he grabs his belt, pulling all of your attention to the size of his hands and his crotch.
If you’re softer about your affections for him, he’s happy to accept them too, you’re his little angel, but he has every intention to pull you down from heaven to make you his. You can start with soft touches over his face, rubbing up over his shoulders and chest but he’s quick to pull you deeper with him. His teeth nip softly at your lips, his hands roam all over you.
He's eager to take your firsts, in his twisted little head, he knows he can regulate what you think is normal. He doesn’t have to play gentle and sweet, he bites and sucks marks on you, slaps your ass pretty hard. Arthur’s happy to have himself be the man that ruins you for other men, he’s your first and your last.
Sorry but he’s kind of toxic, he likes the way you do things like kiss him, or touch him, take him in your mouth; but sometimes he puts on a little bit of an unimpressed face, not exactly bored or anything, just enough to see you try harder to please him. He always gives in; especially when he can tell you’re trying. His proud little smirk and affection are something you might have to work for. Your inexperience is the perfect opportunity to have you eager to make him happy.
Huge innocence kink, he loves to corrupt you, teach you about what a man does with a woman he likes. Even better if you have no clue, or you think babies come from kissing or something, god is he eager to fuck all of that up. He’s all for you calling him daddy too, the guilt or the imagery or whatever doesn’t do it for other people just makes it so much more appealing to him. Most of the time, he likes to keep your affairs private but once in a while, he’ll show out, just to show who you belong to. If people happen to overhear the racy things you two talk about and they give you a weird look, he just has a knowing smirk for the eavesdropper.
Can you tell that I think age gaps are hot? RDR let me fuck that middle aged man right neow!!! When will they let RDO be about dating Arthur Morgan??? 😔😔😔😔wish he was at least a fuckin stranger mission or something SIGHHHH anyway Thanks for reading and pls let me know if you liked it! Otherwise I'll feel like a freak LMAO
#so sorry this post may be too specific to my tastes but if you get it you get it lol#arthur morgan x reader#low honor arthur morgan x reader#arthur morgan x you#high honor arthur morgan#red writes#red dead redemption 2 community#rdr2 x reader#red dead redemption 2 x reader#high honor arthur morgan x reader#arthur morgan#low honor arthur morgan#arthur morgan x female reader#rdr#red dead redemption 2
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I always believed that the reason why Kenny never tried to tell butters at all about his “curse” was never that he wouldn’t believe it in fact I think he would whole heartedly believe but because Butters would get like VERY paranoid & stressed about it and that Kenny doesn’t want to put any more baggage on him than butters is already dealing with
Well, the reason Kenny never tried to tell Butters about his curse first and foremost is because Matt and Trey haven't figured they should make this into a canon interaction yet, but when we talk about hypotheticals I think there's a lot to unpack.
Kenny and Butters aren't significantly close in their current canon age, so the reason Kenny might not have told him is because he just doesn't see the point, plus he doesn't really care about Butters and his opinion. Post COVID and "Going Native" have proven there's very much an insanely big potential for their dynamic, so it might be an interaction that could happen in the future sparked by a number of things in different ways.
Mostly, I think Kenny would tell Butters in a moment of weakness. This was the case in my fic Chaos Plan (sorry to bring Chaos Plan into this lmao but my writing is how I explore certain headcanons/interpretations of characters so bear with me), because I doubt that Kenny would usually try to convince anyone again, so as to not be disappointed when they don't believe him. The line "I knew there'd be no point in telling you guys" (s14's "Coon vs. Coon & Friends") is pretty much proof to me for this, as is Kenny's apathy towards his curse by the end of the trilogy. But I think it's necessary that Kenny and Butters are close friends for this to happen, because Kenny should want to confide in Butters in the first place.
The point you make about Butters being paranoid & anxious is a pretty interesting one, but I doubt this would be a reason Kenny wouldn't tell him. Butters may have a lot of baggage, but at the end of the day I think Kenny wouldn't see why BUTTERS would be anxious about KENNY'S curse.
Butters mirrors other people's emotions a lot when it comes to getting hyped or scared about something, (like how in "Poor and Stupid" he gets very "psyched" because Cartman is lmao), and Kenny isn't in any danger for Butters to be worried about him. He just has a pretty shitty situation going on that won't go away, and Kenny would treat it as such. All that Kenny needs here would be emotional support & someone who listens to & believes him, and I think Butters would recognize that.
Think of how Butters comforted him in "Major Boobage" when Kenny was addicted to cheesing. Butters definitely has the stuff to be an emotional crutch when he sees someone in distress, like in "A Boy and a Priest" or "Worldwide Privacy Tour" when he reaches out to Kyle after he sees him upset.
He's much less anxious and paranoid than people give him credit for, because most of his panicky moments are usually sparked deliberately by Cartman or his parents with unnecessarily scary threats of consequences that he's sadly learned to believe to be true. But Butters is actually awesome at emotional support, without letting the other person's problems get to him. He's more so than a rational problem-solver, which is where Kyle's strength lies, and is the reason Kyle isn't the person Kenny can confide in for this particular problem.
Butters, however, would be perfect. Kenny's problem doesn't need solutions, he needs someone to listen to him, believe him and maybe give him a hug so he can cry a little (a lot). And we've seen Butters is an incredibly emotionally intelligent guy, especially in the episodes "Raisins" and "Butterballs".
For all these reasons, I highly doubt Butters would get paranoid and stressed over Kenny's curse. Especially because he'd recognize there's no use in stressing about it, and I think he'd know right off the bat what Kenny actually needs.
Now, allow me to introduce a different hypothetical where your theory could definitely hold truth; another fic wip I have (sorry) where Kenny loses his immortality and develops a panic disorder. The premise is that Kenny can't stop seeing possible death causes anywhere he goes, and with his immortality gone, he's in constant fear that he's always on the verge of death.
(screenshot from season 3's "Tweek vs. Craig")
In this particular fic, Kenny and Butters are already together, but Kenny's never told him about his curse, or that he's lost his immortality. So when Kenny starts panicking about all the ways he thinks he could die, Butters mirrors this fear and unknowingly makes everything worse for Kenny, because he's accidentally reinforcing Kenny's irrational fears.
What I'm saying is; Kenny could very well THINK Butters would be stressed and paranoid if he knew about Kenny's curse, based on reactions Kenny's seen Butters have whenever Kenny is scared about a possible death cause. He could accidentally give Butters fears that Butters didn't have before because, again, Butters MIRRORS these kinds of emotions when someone convinces him it's rational/threatens a consequence that is supposed to inspire fear.
In these kinds of scenarios, your theory could very well hold truth. I think it's an interesting darker side to Kenny and Butters' possible dynamic, and I'm happy you pointed it out. I'm also excited to get that fic I mentioned out someday and hopefully spark more conversation about Kenny's possible anxiety issues originating from his curse >:)
#sp bunny#kenny mccormick#south park#sp kenny#lucio yaps#ask#butters stotch#sp butters#butters#character analysis#south park bunny#south park butters#south park kenny
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right kind of dream (joel miller x f!reader) part 2
WC: 9k | Other fics | Rating: 18+ | read on ao3 | PART ONE HERE summary: part two of 'right kind of dream': rebuilding your life, chasing, cans, and hitchin' a ride to the rodeo with team roper joel
a/n: i battled five million error messages to deliver this bad boy so if something is weird or it seems like paragraphs are missing... they might be. i think some formatting got lost. i'll put the whole thing on ao3 asap. i am unsure what i've done to anger the tumblr hq but i apologize
@katiexpunk : here is part two, thank you for being patient, i hope the wait was worth it <3 tags: modern cowboy joel au/ team roper joel and tommy, no sarah, enemies to lovers, dbf lite, choose your own age gap, small town romance, city girl returns to the country, miscommunication, horsegirl!joel, smut, ridin' that cowboy bareback as the good lord intended, no beta-mistakes are my fault for writing at 4am and for spending the afternoon fighting god to get this website to accept me thanks to: @syd-djarin, @auteurdelabre, and @lovely-vamp-princess for support, eyes, and ideas, etc.
Joel wakes you up while it’s still dark, pulling your shirt over your head and pressing a kiss to your temple. “Sleep,” he mutters in a gravelly whisper.
The ache in your body is a stark reminder of everything Joel did to you. Every movement as you roll over sends a sharp jolt through your muscles, and the hollow soreness deep inside you leaves you raw.
For a moment, you lie still, staring at the ceiling, replaying every moment—the way he touched you, the way he looked at you. You can still feel him, the shape he carved out inside of you.
He said nothing. He didn’t gloat, didn’t tease, didn’t even try to explain. The silence felt heavier than any of his words ever could.
You can hear him outside, feeding the horses. You give in, curling up under the blanket for another hour until you figure you might miss your chance for fresh coffee from the visitor tent.
You pull on clothes, feeling hungover with anxiety twisting in your gut. Your head spins and your chest feels tight, but you march toward the picnic tables and get yourself coffee and breakfast.
You aren’t sure what the fuck you’re supposed to do now. You sit at a table, a cup of coffee cradled in your hands, your head pounding as though you’d downed a bottle of whiskey the night before. The anxiety sits heavy in your chest, each sip of coffee doing little to loosen its grip.
You thought you understood what last night was—anger, frustration, both of you taking it out on each other. But the way Joel touched you, the way he kissed you, the way he stayed silent afterward… none of it fits the narrative you’ve been telling yourself.
You glance across the grounds, your eyes catching on Joel’s familiar silhouette near the fence. He’s leaning against the rail, his dark eyes scanning the crowd, but the moment his gaze lands on you, something shifts.
Your breath catches, the air between you thick and suffocating even from across the distance. Joel tips his head slightly, a subtle acknowledgment, but it only tightens the knot in your chest.
You tear your eyes away, focusing on the coffee in your hands, but the weight of his gaze lingers, pressing into you like a brand.
You keep your distance, avoiding Joel as you move through the motions of the morning ignoring the questions and confusion gnawing at you.
The sun climbs higher, the dry heat pressing down like a heavy blanket, but the rodeo grounds are alive with movement. Dust clings to the back of your throat, blending with the faint, bitter taste of coffee as you linger near the edge of the action, pretending to watch.
You’re halfway to convincing yourself Joel’s not even here when you hear Tommy’s voice. He’s leaning on the fence, one boot propped on the bottom rail, his arm resting loosely on the top. A beautiful woman stands beside him, gorgeous with bold makeup and tight jeans, her dark hair catching the light. She laughs at something Tommy says, swatting at his chest, and he grins down at her like she’s the only person in the world.
You almost keep walking, but Tommy glances up and catches your eye, his grin widening as he waves you over. He calls your name in an easy, smooth tone. “Morning,” you say stiffly, stopping a few paces away.
The woman glances between you and Tommy, murmuring something to him before she wanders off toward the trailers. Tommy doesn’t miss a beat, tipping his hat to you with that same infuriating grin.
“You sleep alright?”
“What?” you gape at him before rushing to fix your face.
“Joel’s snoring didn’t keep you up all night?”
“Oh.” You shake your head. “No, slept fine. Thanks.”
He gives you another smile, and you move to lean on the fence watching the arena with him. He cocks his head, his eyes still on you.
“You worried about runnin’ Blue?” His voice is warm and light. His dark eyes sparkle with his natural charm, but it’s a genuine question.
You peel the edge of the paper coffee cup, looking past Tommy toward the warmup pen. “Yeah, I guess.” You give him a half smile. “We aren’t gunning for the NFR or anything, though.”
“Somethin’ else weighing on you, darlin’?” You shake your head. Not willing to reveal anything else. “Heard you were up late partying with the roughstock boys and their fan club,” you accuse in a joking tone, attempting to redirect the conversation. “You aren’t worried about your own round?”
He laughs deeply at that. “Nah, that’s what a heeler’s for,” he says. “I just gotta be in the box on time. Joel’s the one that keeps us winnin’.”
“He’s not a partier?” You didn’t mean to dig, but the question slipped out anyway.
Tommy turns his head towards you, but you keep staring out at the arena, watching the crew setting up the barrels for the first division.
He studies you for a long moment, his grin softening into something closer to curiosity. “Joel’s not like me. Not really.” Your brow furrows. The words twist in your chest, setting your thoughts spinning. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Tommy chuckles again, but there’s something unreadable in his eyes. “Let’s just say, Joel’s always had his head screwed on tighter than mine. Even when he didn’t.” You stare at him, trying to unravel the meaning behind his words, but Tommy just grins. “Joel’s a loyal kinda guy, y’know? Don’t mean he’s blind, though.” He gives you a wink and you feel heat flooding your face. “Just means he wrestles with it longer than the rest of us would.” You scowl at him for that. “And what the hell is that supposed to mean?” Did Joel tell him? Does he know what happened? He shrugs. “Just means you’re a hell of a distraction,” Tommy says, tipping his hat. You laugh it off, but his words linger, your mind racing with questions you’re not ready to ask. You whip your head away again as if staring at the tractor raking the arena can save you from the conversation. But Tommy notices. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t tease or prod, but you can feel the weight of his gaze as you swallow hard, your thoughts spiraling. Before you can respond, someone calls his name from across the grounds. Tommy tips his hat one last time, his grin widening. “Good luck out there, neighbor,” he says, his voice light but laced with something heavier. “Don’t let that head of yours get in the way.” And then he’s gone, leaving you standing alone, your thoughts spinning, your chest burning. You push off the fence and find yourself a spot on the bleachers. They’re dusty and worn. The boards creak as you settle into a spot near the edge. You watch the first few runs. The riders move with precision, their horses cut through the dirt with sharp, clean turns. The announcer’s voice booms over the speakers, calling names and times, but it fades into the background as you watch.
Everywhere you look, there’s something that reminds you of Joel. The set of someone’s shoulders as they lean against the fence, the low timbre of a voice nearby, a black felt hat in the corner of your eye. You try to banish the worry and the panic creeping in.
You remember the way he watched you train with Blue. The way he offered advice that sounded more like a challenge. The way his voice cut through the air like he knew more than you. The way he looked at you last night. The raw unguarded expression you’ve never seen before.
You hate the way he makes you feel small and uncertain. You hate the way you can’t stop thinking about him.
You can’t stop remembering the way his hands felt on your skin or his tongue. The heat in his voice and the way he saw through every lie you told.
The sound of someone hitting the dirt makes you snap your head up just as the crowd around you gasps.
In the arena, a horse stands, saddle hanging nearly sideways off of it. A rider scrambles to their feet, brushing dirt from their jeans with a wave. They lead their horse out of the arena and you can hear folks around you murmuring that their latigo broke and their saddle slipped as they turned for home. The horse and the rider are both fine, but your nerves flare.
You know the risks of the sport. But it makes you head back to the trailer early to inspect all of your tack closely for anything faulty. From across the grounds, Joel watches you. He stands near the holding pen, arms crossed over his chest. You haven’t seen him yet. Not really. Not in the way he sees you.
He can feel the tension in your shoulders as you walk, the way you crush the paper coffee cup in your hand.
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t call out to you.
He doesn’t trust himself to. He shouldn’t have touched you last night. Shouldn’t have let his jealousy boil over. Shouldn’t have taken it that far. But now, standing here, all he could think about was the way you felt underneath him. The way you said his name like he was the only thing holding you together. And the way he needs to hear it again.
By the time your division gets called to warm up, you’ve eased your worries about your tack but you’re still swimming in Joel thoughts until you swing your leg over the saddle and settle on Blue’s back. Then the rest of the world disappears. Your ride starts off smooth, but Blue’s sensitivity is a curse and a blessing. You figure he must be picking up on some anxiety as he gets a little hot, tossing his head and pulling on the reins when you try to bring him down to a jog.
You work out most of the kinks, circling and working on transitions until he feels supple and responsive to your seat and legs. Your nerves and the energy of the other horses still have his ears swiveling and his head perked up as you wait for the rider ahead of you to be called.
You can see most of their run, it’s smooth and they put up a good time. You squeeze your calves asking Blue to head toward the alleyway, but he’s springloaded. You hold him back as he crow hops sideways for a beat before you’re backing him up. You try making a slow circle before heading in but he’s still jigging with short, bouncy steps like he’s ready to explode.
You’re tense, holding him back and trying to stay calm, making one more circle when he starts hopping again. You can feel eyes on you from the people standing near the gate. Before you can make another circle Joel is striding towards you with swift long steps.
He grabs Blue by the bridle, speaking directly to him in a calming, low voice. You glare at him reactively, but the words die before you can formulate them. Blue’s jittering slows and Joel leads you up the alley toward the arena. His steps are sure and confident as he guides you. You bit your lip, fighting the urge to snap at him and tell him you don’t need his help. The truth is you do.
“Go get ‘em,” he says quietly, turning to you. You gather your reins, giving him a tight nod to signal you’re ready. He lets go and steps back. Your heart pounds as you encourage Blue to push off into a lope.
The moment you cross the starting line, everything else fades. The noise. The nerves. Even Joel. It all melts away. Just you and Blue and the rhythm of his hooves pounding against the soft dirt.
The first barrel comes fast. You guide him into a tight turn, pushing him to pick it up toward the next. His lead change is smooth as you shift your weight, leaning into the next tight turn. You’ve got your body facing the final barrel before Blue pushes off with his powerful hind legs.
You thunder toward the last barrel. His strides are strong and controlled. You’ve just gotta make this last turn without taking it too wide or knocking the barrel over.
Blue doesn’t forget his training, bending around your leg, picking up his shoulder, and you’ve got one stride left in the turn before you’re free to haul ass home. You’ve got this. You’ve got this.
You don’t got this. The footing is deeper than the arena you run at on Thursday nights. Blue’s hooves slide in the loose dirt. His balance faltering. Time slows and you feel his weight tipping. There’s nothing to do but brace for the impact. His body hits the dirt in a controlled, almost graceful fall.
You hit the ground with a dull thud, the breath knocked out of you as you scramble back giving Blue room to pop back up. He shakes off the dirt, your stirrups slapping at his side and the reins nearly coming over his ears. His eyes are wide, but he stands waiting for your direction.
You catch your breath, chest still heaving from the shock. You dust the dirt off your jeans and wave off the grounds person jogging toward you. “I’m fine,” you call. “We’re fine.” Your voice is steady, but your chest feels like it’s caving in.
You pull his reins over his head and walk toward the end of the arena, keeping your head up and patting Blue on the neck. The crowd claps expressing support and relief that you’re both walking.
Hot, angry tears blur your vision by the time you get to the alley. You don’t see Joel, staring at the ground as you walk, but you hear him hustling toward you calling your name. His boots crunch against the dirt as he matches your pace.
“You okay?” he asks, low and concerned.”
“Fine,” you snap, not looking at him as you speed up, pulling Blue along faster.
“It was a good-looking run you had going,” Joel says, his tone soft. “You two looked great, making good time. You can’t help the shitty footing—”
“I don’t need your pity,” you cut him off, sharp but trembling. “Not now.”
You don’t see the way his face tightens. The anger is spilling out, uncontrollable, and you don’t care if it cuts.
“I’d rather the ‘I told you so,’” you spit, hot and bitter. “Just say it. Whatever it is. You think I’m too young to know what I’m doing? Too soft? You think I’m a failure? Couldn’t handle the city, the job, the—”
“Hey, easy.” He tries to interrupt you gently, like a spooked horse. “Nothing like that.”
“You think I’m dumb, too?” You keep jabbing him with questions as you get closer to the trailer, not caring if anyone else hears. “Just another woman that fell into your bed at another rodeo.”
“Enough,” Joel says steady and low, but you don’t hear him.
“Yeah, I’ve heard the rumors,” you snap, your voice cracking. “Didn’t think they were true, to be honest. Didn’t seem like you. Guess I don’t really know you though, do I?”
Joel’s jaw tightens, his dark eyes flashing with hurt, but you’re too far gone to notice.
“You know, maybe I was stupid.” Your voice shakes as tie Blue at the trailer to untack. “But for a while, I thought I was finally starting to feel like myself out here. Like I was where I was supposed to be. And now—” Your words catch in your throat. Tears streaming down your face. You shake your head, stopping yourself from revealing anything else. You turn away from Joel and start running your hands along Blue’s legs to check for any swelling from the fall.
Joel doesn’t move for a long beat. He stands rigid, watching you wrestle with your emotions as you work. Finally, he exhales sharply, running his hand over his face. Finally, Joel exhales sharply, running a hand over his face. His voice is tight when he speaks. “I’ll leave you be.”
He walks away before you can respond, his footsteps heavy against the dirt. Your shoulders sag as the adrenaline starts to wear off, leaving behind the hollow ache of exhaustion. Your hands tremble as you finish untacking and brushing Blue, but you keep moving, your touch soft against his sweat-damp coat. “You did nothing wrong,” you murmur. Fresh tears pool in your eyes. “You’re a good boy, Blue. You did exactly what we practiced.” Blue snorts softly, his ears flicking back toward you, and you lean into him, pressing your forehead against the warm curve of his neck. “I was the one who fucked up,” you admit, your words muffled against his dark coat. The truth spills out in quiet, broken pieces. “I should’ve been watching the other riders closer this morning. Should’ve caught how deep the footing was at the far barrel.” Your voice drops to a whisper. “Instead of thinking about how I could still feel his hands on me. Or wondering if he’s thinking about me.”
The confession hangs in the air, heavy and unspoken. Blue shifts beneath you, his weight leaning into your side like he knows you need the grounding.
You pull back, wiping at your face quickly before running your hands over Blue one more time, checking for any swelling or signs of injury. You move methodically, your touch steady despite the way your chest feels like it’s caving in.
When you’re satisfied he’s unhurt, you lead him into the pen and give him a scratch behind the ears. “You’re a good boy,” you whisper again, softly. “We’ll get it next time.”
The afternoon stretched on at the rodeo, the sun climbing high and unrelenting. You do your best to avoid the temptation to look for Joel, though he somehow has a way of being everywhere and nowhere all at once. Mostly it was false alarms and your eyes playing tricks on you. But once or twice you saw him watching other events. He never seemed to notice you, or if he did he gave no indication.
You hadn’t decided if you were avoiding him out of anger, shame, or if it was because the thought of being near him again after last night still made your chest ache in a way you didn’t want to examine. You’re still burying that last thought somewhere deep when you catch the flash of Joel’s red mare striding through the arena. You can see Joel and Tommy putting their horses through some practice just past the main arena.
Your lips press together into a thin line as you watch them. Joel has a different aura about him when he’s in the saddle. He seems lighter somehow. Relaxed, but with a quiet command. He guides his horse in a way that looks effortless. His body moving in perfect harmony with hers. Tommy’s horse was a little snappier, making quick sharp turns. The pair of riders worked together naturally, movements fluid and precise as they get their practice in.
It was mesmerizing. Infuriatingly so.
You leaned back, trying to tear your gaze away, but your eyes betrayed you, drawn back to continue admiring him. The longer you watch the more it stirs up something unwelcome in your chest. You can’t keep letting him occupy so much space in your mind or your memories.
He’s proven time and again that he doesn’t respect you. He didn’t even argue when you laid it all out in your outburst after your run. He just walked away from you.
But there’s something in the way he carries himself. Something in the way he rides, the way he works with his horse, that hints at something different than what you know. Something that makes you curious.
You blink, realizing Joel’s head was turned toward the bleachers. For a second you think his eyes are on you and you quickly look away. When you glance back he’s already turned his attention back to something else.
Embarrassment wraps around your throat. This is why you had to avoid him. His presence alone seems to demand every ounce of your attention without even trying.
Before you can drown in your own emotional turmoil, an unfamiliar voice calls your name. You see Cody waving a few rows down and give him a polite smile before agreeing to join him and his friends. Spending the rest of the evening with them feels like a safety buffer. You don’t see Joel or Tommy when you get dinner. You watch some of the evening events before splitting from the group to check on Blue.
It’s nearly dark as you walk through the grounds. Your chest feels tighter with every step you take as you approach. You’re hoping you don’t run into Joel—or Tommy and his knowing eyes. You let yourself into the pen, the noise from the announcer and the crowd are muffled by the distance. There was a stillness in the dusk and the horses were calm.
Blue’s head swivels toward you as you approach. You pause to untie the braid in his tail before stepping between him and Joel’s horse. It’s not until that moment that you realize you aren’t alone. You freeze when your eyes land on Joel. He’s standing between his horse and yours, posture relaxed. The external light on the horse trailer casts shadows over his face making it hard to read his eyes.
“Didn’t mean to interrupt,” you say softly. “I didn’t know you were here.”
He responds with a small shrug and shake of his head. “Nothing to interrupt.”
You still feel frozen, like concrete had been poured around your feet. You’ve been carrying the weight of your earlier outburst in your shoulders, and the rest of your muscles are still stiff from hitting the dirt earlier. Maybe that’s why your defenses feel lower, or maybe something else has shifted, but the next words come out before you have a real plan.
“Look, about earlier,” you start with more confidence than you feel. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. It wasn’t fair.”
He doesn’t respond immediately, gaze fixed on Blue who huffs a warm breath out after nudging Joel’s pocket in search of a treat. When he finally speaks, it’s quiet but firm. “You had every right to be upset.”
You frown at that, a line pulling between your brows in confusion, and you shake your head. “No, I didn’t. I was angry, frustrated with myself, and I took it out on you. You didn’t deserve that.”
He works his jaw like he’s mulling something over, before letting out a sigh. You move closer to give Blue a scratch under his jaw. The spot that always makes him wiggle his lip. You see Joel’s expression softening. “I’ve been where you are,” he says finally. “Trying to rebuild somethin’ when it feels like the world’s stacked against you. Trying to remember who you are. What matters most.”
You tilt your head, curiosity pulling at you. His words sound familiar for a moment. That conversation you’d had after stacking hay. “When you bought the property from my dad?”
He nods. “Bought the place after my ex split. Had to sell the business. Start over. Build somethin’ from scratch while trying to figure out what the hell my life was supposed to look like.”
���It’s not as simple as it sounds,” you echo your past statement. He laughs a short, humorless sound.
“Sure ain’t. I know I made mistakes along the way.” You stay quiet, letting the words hang in the air.
“It’s easy to get yourself a reputation in a small town,” he continues, tinged with regret. “I spent a while chasing somethin’ I couldn’t even name. Thought I could skip the pain with sex, drinking, and spending every weekend hauling to any rodeo I could afford the entrance fees for.”
His confession sinks over you, and you feel a pang of understanding.
“Took a while to figure it that it wasn’t working. Wasn’t who I was… or who I wanted to be.”
“I get that,” you say softly. You drop your gaze, not quite sure how to say it. “Not the same circumstances, but,” you take a slow breath, “I had a reputation back at my old job. It wasn’t true but it didn’t matter. Once people decide who you are, it’s like there’s nothing you can do to change it.
You feel his eyes on you. “That why you came out here?” “Sort of.” You run your hand under Blue’s mane, feeling the warmth of his body grounding you. “Hated the job. Spent a lot of time and money in school to get there, and I dreaded going to the office every day.” You swallow thickly, still not sure you can look Joel in the eye.
“Then my engagement fell apart. The more we tried to split up our lives the more I realized none of it was my life. None of it was me. I didn’t know myself anymore. I didn’t know what mattered.”
“Takes guts to start over,” Joel says with a current of finality about it. Like it’s a fact. “Most people wouldn’t have the nerve.”
His words warm something deep inside of you, but they also make your eyes well up. You blink away the tears before you look to Joel’s face. His eyes are steady on yours. You offer a small smile. “Feels less like guts and more like desperation most of the time.”
Joel looks sincere, firm. “Desperation’s just another word for fightin’ for what you need.”
A heavy lump in your throat makes it difficult to respond, but you push yourself to be vulnerable. “I came out here to figure myself out and to do it on my own. I wanted to prove it to myself. But, then today, I got so caught up in my own head that I almost got us both hurt.”
“That wasn’t your fault,” he says quietly.
“I should’ve been paying better attention. Should’ve asked the other riders about the footing. Or—” your voice cracks and you pause to slow down your spiraling thoughts.
Joel moves closer, his presence solid. Anchoring. “You’re hard on yourself,” he says it soft, but firm. “You’ve got grit. You work your ass off. That’s what matters.”
You look up at him. Feeling exposed, like you’re holding the ugliest parts of you in your palms for him to see. “You think so?” “I see you. The way you handle Blue, the balance you strike with your dad, the way you work twice as hard as most folks at a part-time job and still have time to learn the names of every old farmer in 50 miles that comes in once a month.”
You laugh at that, feeling something warm blooming in your chest. His eyes soften, and you’re drawn to the lines on his face.
“I’ve seen the way you push yourself even when you’re tired, the way you’re determined to bring out the best in yourself and others. Even those of us with a history.” He runs his hand along the scar tissue on Blue’s shoulder. The horse that broke a girl’s jaw.
“You’re tougher than most people I know. And contrary to what you think, I respect the hell outta you for it.”
His words hit harder than you expect, and you feel like your ribs have been pulled open, exposing your heart and soul in the moonlight. You’ve spent so long chasing your own impossible standards. Fighting for your dad’s stoic approval. The weight of other people’s judgments. Hearing Joel’s praise feels like a warm blanket wrapping around your shoulders.
“Joel,” you start, but your voice falters. The way he’s looking at you feels intense. Almost too much. You can feel your heart beating against your chest.
He shifts, his hand brushing yours lightly, and the air between you feels thick. “Took me a long time to learn how to ask for help or accept it. Still ain’t perfect at it neither,” it comes out like a confession. “But there’s nothing weak about it. And there’s nothin’ more attractive than a woman who’s not afraid to try, fail, and try again.”
The slip in his voice–the raw, unguarded admiration–sends a flush of heat through you. Shit. The praise was already overwhelming, but the way he’s looking at you now—it’s too much. Or not enough.
His centering presence somehow has you rocked off balance. Suddenly you’re closer, the space between you charged. Humming like one of the generators at the other campsites. His hand brushes your cheek, gentle but deliberate. Your breath catches in your throat. Everything that has been simmering between you feels like it’s about to boil over.
The rest of the rodeo disappears. Standing there in the moonlight, the world around you dissolves into quiet, only his gravity pulling you closer. Joel’s hand lingers just long enough on your cheek to make heat crawl up your neck and coil in your belly. Before you can close the distance he pulls back, clearing his throat and stepping away. He moves slowly and deliberately, giving you space to retreat if you want to.
But you don’t.
Instead, you follow him out of the pen, your feet carrying you toward the trailer without thought. The silence between you is loud, not uncomfortable but full of unspoken words and feelings, each step drawing you toward something you haven’t named yet. When he opens the door and gestures for you to step inside, the creak of the hinges feels impossibly loud.
Inside, the trailer is layered in soft shadows from the glow of a warm lamp. Joel closes the door behind you, and the quiet feels delicate. He stands a few paces away, his hat in hand, his eyes scanning your face as though searching for any sign of doubt.
“You okay?” he asks, his voice low and careful.
When you find your voice, it’s softer than you expected. “Yeah.”
The corners of his mouth lift just slightly, and the warmth in his eyes eases some of the nervous energy bouncing around in your chest. He hangs his hat on the hook near the door. The image of him reaching past you to hang it on the same hook last night flares in your mind and buzzes through your skin.
His movements are unhurried. He steps closer to you. He’s so large in the small space. Not intimidating, but stabilizing.
“Earlier,” he begins, “when I said I respect the hell outta you… I meant it.”
He takes your hand in his, his fingers warm and solid. Your senses are heightened from the emotionally raw conversation, from his touch, and the warm, spiced scent of him wrapping around you. “I see how hard you’ve worked, how much you’ve sacrificed to be here. You don’t give yourself enough credit.”
He cups your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin with a tenderness that makes your heartache. “You’re incredible,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with awe. “And you’ve got no idea how much I—” He cuts himself off, searching your face. His breath is warm, so close to your face. His lips look soft, so close to yours.
You close the distance, your lips meeting his in a kiss that’s nothing like the night before. It’s tender. Slow. Sprawling. Unspoken affection passes between you with the slip of your tongues and the soft sounds in your throat.
Joel’s mind blanks for a moment, every thought and worry dissolving into the sensation of your lips on his. Softer than he ever let himself imagine, a sweetness he didn’t think he deserved. The warmth of you seeps into him, steadying him even as it sends electricity down his spine.
His hand settles on your waist, pulling you close as the kiss deepens. There’s no resistance. You’re pliable and willing. He moves with you naturally, like your mouths were always meant to find each other. He holds you like you’re a treasure, a prize, a wonder. Precious.
So soft, he thinks, his thumb grazing the curve of your waist. Every inch of you pressed against him feels like fire and solace all at once. His other hand roams over your back, the delicate shift of muscle beneath his palm grounding him in the reality that you’re here, with him.
Your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, tugging him closer, but there’s no space left between you. His palm glides down your spine, lighting you from within. When you break apart, softly breathing in each other’s air, his forehead rests against yours, eyes dark and soft as they hold your gaze.
“You have no idea how much I crave this. Crave you. In every way.” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. The reverence in his tone makes your cheeks flush, and you can’t help but smile.
“I might have some idea,” you reply, your voice just as quiet, but your smile grows wider.
Then he kisses you again, this time with more urgency, his hands moving to your hips and guiding you toward the bed. His touch is everywhere, his lips tracing a path from your mouth to your jaw, down the curve of your neck, each kiss making you feel lighter and warmer.
He continues to pour his confessions into your skin between each article of clothing he pulls off of you. "I thought I’d never have this. Never have you. But here you are, and you’re perfect." The words spill out of him unbidden, each one carrying a weight he’s carried for far too long. His hands tremble slightly as he leaves a wet trail of kisses down your clavicle, between the swell of your breasts, over the smooth fabric of your bra.
"I used to hate that I wanted you, that I thought about having you like this. But I don’t want to stop, sweetheart.” He unclasps your bra and slips the straps over your shoulders, replacing the cups with his palms, kneading your plush flesh. The warmth of your skin beneath his hands sends sparks through him, and he leans in, brushing his lips over the sensitive peaks.
“Don’t want you to stop,” you murmur back. He hums in response to you, rolling your nipples between his fingers before taking his time mouthing, sucking, licking at each of them until you moan and arch toward him.
“I spent too many nights trying not to think about you,” he confesses, his voice dipping lower. “And cursing myself for it.” He shifts down, between your legs to pull your jeans off. It feels like he’s just handed you a piece of himself you didn’t expect to see. The idea of him, alone and thinking about you, shifts something in your mind. It’s not just desire he carries for you. Is it something deeper?
He runs his hands along your bare legs, warm against your smooth skin. He already looks wrecked and he’s still fully clothed. You reach for him, but he shakes his head, dipping to line another path of kisses down your belly, to the sensitive skin inside the top of your thighs. His lips press against your skin, reverent, as if trying to memorize the feel of you beneath him.
“You’re so damn beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice rough with need. His admiration and desire are intense, making you feel stripped bare in an emotional way. He’s not just saying it; he means it in a way that feels different from casual compliments.
Everything you use to protect yourself falls away as you let his words soak in. You couldn’t hide from him if you wanted to. He’s not just taking—he’s giving, pouring every ounce of admiration and desire he feels for you into each moment. And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself take it in, let yourself believe it.
The heat of his touch and the need in his eyes have your core aching for attention. His breath ghosting over your swollen cunt makes you shudder with need. When his lips press against the thin fabric still covering you, you arch into him. You feel him smile against you, breathing deeply before he slides his hands beneath your thighs, cupping your ass to tilt your hips before he descends again.
He kisses and sucks at your clit through your soaked panties without a care for the lewd sounds filling the small room. He doesn’t stop. It’s warm and wet, and the pressure makes you feel needy. You roll your hips seeking more contact, and he moans against you, the sound vibrating through you causing you to gasp and call out his name.
He looks up at you before pulling your underwear off and pausing to stare at your glistening cunt, before taking all of you in. His eyes dart to your face, all of your exposed skin, and back to your eyes.
“I never thought I’d actually get to touch you. To kiss you. Taste you like this.” His voice is hoarse, barely audible over the sound of your breath.
“Please, Joel.” He’s like a dream between your legs. His mouth, his tongue, his hands, his fingers. He uses everything with expert precision, bringing you closer and closer and erasing every worry, every stress.
You wonder if you should feel more vulnerable being naked beneath him while he’s still fully clothed. But instead, it feels empowering—like this moment belongs to you just as much as it does to him; like every touch and kiss is a promise steeped in devotion.
His hips press into the mattress involuntarily, seeking relief for his throbbing cock as he continues to worship you with his mouth. You thread your fingers through his hair as he dips his tongue inside of you. “Oh, fuck.” Your voice is hoarse and ragged already.
He knows exactly what you need next. Filling you with his fingers while he wraps his lips over your clit. The wet noises of his fingers pumping into you are obscene-–but they're nothing compared to the moan you make when you see the way his hips are desperately rutting into the mattress between your legs.
The sight of him losing control, his own need so evident and unrestrained, sends a fresh wave of heat through you. He’s giving so much of himself to you with every movement. It’s not just his mouth or his hands—it’s the way he wants you, completely and utterly, like he’s been holding it back for ages.
It tips you over the edge, chanting his name like a prayer as your release crashes through you. Your walls contract around his fingers and your muscles tense as he groans into your wet flesh before pulling back.
“That’s it,” he murmurs from between your legs, “you did good for me, baby. You’re so good for me.” You’re boneless as the words melt into you. But you know you wanted to say something before he made your vision blur.
Your breath comes in slow, uneven waves as you blink at the ceiling, reality slowly settling back into your body. He’s watching you, his eyes dark and heavy with affection and need, and you realize the thought that had slipped away moments ago was this: you need to feel him, to see him.
“Joel,” you manage, your voice low and hoarse, your fingers brushing weakly at his forearm. He raises an eyebrow, a ghost of a smirk touching his lips as he leans closer.
“What is it, baby?”
You swallow hard, the words tangled in your throat as you try to gather your strength. “Off,” you rasp, fingers tugging weakly at the fabric of his shirt.
He chuckles softly, the sound vibrating against your skin as he leans down to kiss your temple. “Gimme a minute, sweetheart. Let me make sure you’re all right first.”
Your head shakes slightly, determination building even in your post-release haze. “Joel. Now.”
Something in your voice snaps the tension in him. His jaw tightens, his hands moving to the hem of his shirt in one smooth motion, tugging it over his head. The sight of him leaves you breathless. Broad shoulders tapering to a firm waist, his skin golden and littered with scars and years of hard work. He looks wrecked, his chest rising and falling as though he’s been holding himself back for too long.
“Goddamn,” you whisper, as your mouth hangs open. Your gaze drops lower, taking in the soft lines of his abdomen, and the trail of dark hair leading to the waistband of his jeans. And then, as he unbuttons them and pushes them down, his cock springs free, thick and flushed and so fucking perfect it sends a scalding wave of desire rolling through you.
You’re expression fills Joel with pride. The hunger in your eyes makes his cock twitch, the intensity of your gaze threatening to knock him over right there. You sit up slightly, your hand reaching for him, but he catches your wrist gently, shaking his head. “Not like that,” he murmurs, his voice rough as gravel. He eases you back onto the mattress, his hands warm and firm against your hips. “Not this time, baby.”
You whine softly, your need pulsing through every word. “Please, fuck, I need you.”
His pupils blow wide, his breathing uneven as he settles between your legs. “You need me?” he repeats, his tone darkening, the words laced with a feral edge that makes you dizzy. “You’re gonna get me, baby. All of me. Gonna fill you so deep you’ll never forget it.”
The shift in his tone sends a fresh rush of slick between your thighs. His hand trails up your side, his thumb brushing the underside of your breast as he watches you. “Gonna make you mine. Gonna keep you so full of me you’ll feel it in you every time you move.”
The possessiveness in his voice makes your body burn, your hips rocking up toward him involuntarily. “Joel, please,” you beg, your voice raw and edged with frustration as he drags the blunt head of his cock through your slick folds, teasing you.
“Fuck,” he pauses after barely pushing into you. His eyes slam shut for a moment before he inches deeper into you, slower than you thought possible. “You take me like it’s what you’re meant for.” His eyes stay locked on yours, watching every flicker of pleasure that crosses your face.
You gasp as he reaches the deepest part of you, his hips flush against yours, his cock filling you completely. “Look at you,” he coos. “Such a good girl for me.” The sensation is overwhelming, every nerve ending sparking to life as he stills for a moment, letting you adjust.
“Feel that?” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble. “Feel how deep I am? That’s where I’m gonna stay, sweetheart. Right here, fillin’ you up.”
Your walls flutter around him, your body already begging for more. “Joel,” you whisper, your nails digging into his shoulders. “Move. Please.”
He obliges, his hips pulling back before driving forward again, dragging out the intensity of every sensation. His forehead drops to yours, his breath hot against your lips as he whispers praise between each movement. “You’re so good for me, baby. So damn good.”
Your body writhes beneath him, the pleasure building with each heavy stroke. “More,” you whisper. “Please, Joel. I need more.”
The last of his restraint dissolves as he grips your hips and begins to move harder, faster, his cock hitting so deep you swear you can feel it everywhere. The pace steals the breath from your lungs, threatening to consume you.
“That’s it,” he growls, his voice rough and unrestrained. “Take it. All of me.”
Your cries fill the air, his name falling from your lips over and over. His hands hold you steady, keeping you exactly where he wants you as he claims you.
“Look at you,” he rasps, his gaze locked on the spot where your bodies meet, where his cock disappears every time he sinks into you. “So perfect, takin’ me so well. Made for this. Made for me.”
You watch, as he instructed, until you look back up to his face. He’s so vocal, so confident with every word—but his face is equal parts hungry and wrecked. Fucked out. Drunk on you.
Again it’s the deep satisfaction you get from his unrestrained desire that makes you come with a blinding intensity. You try to tell him how close you are before you’re violently sucked into the sensations. Your walls clench around him, making him shudder and groan. You try to beg him to come too. To fill you up. You’re unsure if the words make it past your thoughts, but he’s pulled into it with you either way.
Moments later, a deep groan vibrates through his chest as he tenses and his hips jerk against you. It feels like bliss, the sensation of his cock pulsing within you, the heat of his release coating your walls as they flutter around him. The room falls into a warm quiet, the only sounds are your ragged breaths and the faint sounds of people laughing and shouting at another campsite, reminding you the rest of the world still exists.
Joel’s weight presses into you, grounding you in the present. He doesn’t pull away, softening inside of you as you breathe through the aftershocks of your orgasms. “Stay with me,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible as he presses a kiss to your temple. “Just stay with me.”
He shifts you both just enough to hold tight against his chest, his lips brushing your temple as his hand smooths down your side. “So good,” he murmurs, “so perfect,” voice rough but soft in a way that makes your chest ache.
The early morning sun stretches over the rodeo grounds, bathing everything in a wash of pink hues. You wake to the soft hum of voices outside the trailer and the thud of a bale of hay being dropped just outside the trailer.
Joel’s weight shifts beside you as he stirs, his arm tightening around your waist for a moment before he lets out a soft, sleepy grunt. The sound pulls a smile to your lips as you turn to face him. His eyes blink open slowly, still heavy with sleep, and he offers you a lazy smile that you mirror involuntarily.
“Mornin’, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice gravelly and low.
“Morning,” you whisper back, your fingers brushing over his stubbled jaw.
There’s a content silence between you before a loud knock rattles the trailer door, making you both jump. Tommy’s voice rings out cheerfully, "Y’all better get movin’ if you don’t wanna miss breakfast."
Joel groans, dropping his head back against the pillow with a dramatic sigh. "That boy’s got the worst damn timing."
You stifle a laugh, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before sliding out of bed to get dressed. Joel watches you for a moment, his gaze warm and unguarded, before he stretches and follows suit.
The three of you sit at a picnic table near the cook tent, balancing plates of eggs, bacon, and biscuits as the camp buzzes with early morning energy. Joel sits across from you, his knee brushing yours under the table. You catch him watching you over the rim of his coffee cup, his lips twitching into a barely concealed smile when your eyes meet.
Tommy, oblivious as ever, chatters on about their schedule and the competition, occasionally tossing in jokes that have you laughing despite yourself. Joel leans back in his seat, his body language is relaxed but his eyes are constantly flicking to you.
When Tommy excuses himself to check on their horses, Joel leans forward, his voice low and teasing. “You’re not real subtle, you know.”
You shoot him a mock glare, your cheeks warming. “Says the man who’s been staring at me all morning.”
“Can’t help it.” Joel shrugs.
Later, you find yourself perched on the edge of a fence near the arena, watching Joel and Tommy warm up their horses. Their movements are fluid and synchronized; you openly admire their skill.
Tommy tips his hat to you with a grin as they pass, and you wave back, your gaze inevitably drifting back to Joel. He glances your way, his dark eyes meeting yours briefly, and the corner of his mouth lifts in a small, private smile that makes your heart skip.
The arena is alive with energy as their division gets underway. You lean against the rail, your fingers gripping the cool metal as you watch Joel and Tommy back their horses into the box.
The chute gate flies open, the steer bolting into the arena with Joel and Tommy in swift pursuit. Joel’s rope swings in a perfect arc, catching the steer cleanly around the horns as Tommy moves in to secure the heels. The crowd cheers as they pull the steer to a stop, their time flashing on the scoreboard.
The announcer calls their time and updates the standings. Joel and Tommy have the best time in their division so far.
You can’t help but cheer, your voice lost in the noise of the crowd as Joel and Tommy ride back toward the holding pen, their smiles wide and triumphant. Joel catches your eye as he passes, tipping his hat to you with a grin that makes your stomach flutter.
When they dismount near the gate, you meet them with a smile. "You two make that look way too easy."
Tommy laughs. "He’s the header," he tilts his head toward Joel. “I can’t do shit if he misses.”
Joel shakes his head, deflecting the comment.
“It’s a team event,” you counter. “Both of you are good at what you do.”
“We should bring her with us more often,” Tommy jokes.
Joel gives you another warm look with unspoken words.
“Your head wouldn’t fit in your damn hat if you had someone talking you up after every run,” Joel mocks. As they both swing their legs over the back of their saddles. You turn to watch as they lead their horses back to the trailer. You want to follow and stay close to Joel for the rest of the day, but you stay put.
Trying not to let Tommy in on whatever’s happening between the two of you until you figure it out for yourself. Instead, you head back to the fence to watch the next pair of team ropers. You’d rather be near him, but staying put feels safer—for now.
The afternoon sun dips lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the rodeo grounds. You sit beside Joel on the bleachers, the two of you a quiet bubble of calm amid the hum of spectators around you. The events continue below—tie-down ropers hopping into the dirt, saddle bronc riders gripping for dear life trying to stick it out for eight seconds, bareback riders up next.
Joel leans back, one arm draped across the bench behind you, his body close enough that the heat of him radiates against your side. He’s quiet, but his presence feels steady and grounding. Every so often, his knee brushes yours, the brief contact enough to send a subtle thrill through you.
“You doin’ all right?” Joel asks, his voice low and soft. His gaze lingers on you, dark eyes warm but searching.
“Yeah,” you say with a small smile. “This is nice. I didn’t think I’d enjoy just sitting and watching this much.”
“It’s better when you’ve got good company,” he says, the corner of his mouth quirking into a half-smile.
Your cheeks warm, but you’re spared from responding by the announcer introducing the next rider. Joel shifts beside you, his attention briefly pulled to the arena. You let yourself steal a glance at him—the sharp line of his jaw and the quiet confidence in his posture. He catches you looking and tips his hat, the subtle smirk that follows sending warmth blooming in your chest.
As the next rider lines up, Joel pulls his hat off, setting it on your lap. You blink, startled, and look at him.
“Put it on,” he says simply, his tone casual, but there’s something in his eyes—a quiet intensity that makes your breath hitch.
You hesitate for only a moment before lifting the Stetson and settling it on your head. It’s big, a little too big, but it smells faintly of leather and him. Joel’s gaze lingers on you, his lips curving into a soft smile that feels like it’s meant just for you.
“Looks good on you,” he murmurs, his voice low enough that only you can hear.
The weight of the gesture settles over you—the tradition, the meaning behind it. The thought that this wasn’t just a playful gesture but a quiet claim sends a flutter through your chest. You’re not sure what to say, so you lean into his side slightly, letting the moment and the warmth of him settle over you like a blanket.
Later, as the afternoon begins to mellow, Joel takes your hand and guides you to the cook tent for dinner. It feels almost natural to walk hand in hand, weaving through the crowd of people. The smell of barbecue wafts through the air, mingling with the sounds of quiet conversations and laughter from the other riders and their families.
Joel insists on getting your plate, waving you off with a playful, “Sit tight. I’ll take care of you.” You settle at a nearby table, watching as he weaves through the crowd with ease, stopping to exchange a word or two with acquaintances before returning with two heaping plates.
The two of you fall into an easy rhythm, sharing quiet conversation. Joel’s small acts of service don’t go unnoticed—handing you a napkin before you realize you need one, making sure your drink stays full, brushing crumbs off your sleeve with a casual intimacy that feels like it’s always been there.
For a moment, it’s easy to forget you’re at a rodeo. The noise and bustle fade into the background, leaving just the two of you in a comfortable bubble of companionship. Joel’s low chuckle as you tell him a story about your first job, the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles, the warmth in his voice when he says your name—it all feels so natural, like this is exactly where you’re supposed to be.
As the sun begins to dip lower, casting a golden glow across the grounds, Joel stands and offers you his hand. “Come on,” he says, his voice soft but firm. “Let’s find a good spot for the bull riders. We can cheer for your new friend.”
You expect to see something flare in his eyes bringing up Cody, reminding you of the way he looked at you the first night you came back to the trailer. But, you take his hand and he’s only projecting pride and confidence. It makes you stand taller, knowing he’s a secure man.
He leads you back toward the bleachers. The two of you settle in as the crowd starts to gather, the energy of the evening event buzzing around you. Joel drapes his arm casually along the back of the bench again, his fingers brushing lightly against your shoulder. It’s a small gesture, but it grounds you, making you feel like you’re exactly where you belong.
Tommy and the woman you’ve seen him spending most of the weekend with join you to watch a few rounds. You tense as they come toward the steps, shifting to create space between you and Joel, trying to seem casual. You feel Joel’s eyes on you, but he doesn’t say anything about your move.
Tommy shoots you a wink before they take the seats next to you. It makes you squirm, but you tell yourself he’s always just playful like that. Too charming for his own good.
They stay and chat long enough to finish their drinks before heading back to watch the rest of the event with her group of friends.
Joel stays seated beside you, his arm still draped casually along the back of the bench, his other hand resting on his thigh. There’s a comfortable silence between you, the kind that feels like its own kind of conversation.
Finally, Joel clears his throat, turning slightly to face you. There’s a flicker of hesitation in his eyes, but it’s quickly replaced with something earnest and determined.
“I know this might be the wrong time to bring this up,” he begins, commanding your attention just with the timbre of his voice pulling at your heart, “but I don’t want there to be any misunderstanding about where I’m at.”
You tilt your head, curiosity piqued. “Where you’re at?”
He nods, his gaze holding yours. “Look, I know your dad’s a good man, and I don’t want to cross any lines. But I also don’t want to miss my chance with you.” He pauses, his hand brushing against yours where it rests on your lap. “I don’t want this to be our only day together, and I won’t have you sneakin’ out your bedroom window and hoppin’ the fence to see me. S’just not the kind of man I am.”
Your heart stutters as his words sink in. There’s no wavering in his voice, no attempt to downplay what he’s saying. He’s laying it out plainly, his honesty disarming in a way you didn’t expect.
“So what are you saying?” you ask softly, your voice barely above a whisper.
He takes a deep breath, his hand shifting to fully cover yours. “I’m sayin’ I want something real with you. Not just sneakin’ moments or pretendin’ it don’t matter. I want to see where this goes.”
Your chest swells. You nod slowly, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I’d like that.” Relief washes over his face, and he leans close to you.
You laugh softly, shaking your head. “Well, if you’re such a true-blue cowboy, you’re gonna have to be the one to tell my dad.”
Joel nods. “I’ll handle it.” His voice is quieter, but honest. His gaze seems to look a little far away.
You squeeze his hand. “We’ll handle it.” You give him an encouraging smile. “Don’t have to do everything by ourselves right?”
He gives you a warm look. “Right.” He dips toward you for a chaste kiss. It’s sweet and playful. “Just don’t make me wait too long to take you out proper,” he rumbles as he pulls his head back.
You laugh airily, leaning into his side as he pulls you closer. The warmth of his arm around you, the weight of his hat still on your head, and the quiet promise of what’s to come settle over you, the world around you fading into a comfortable hum of possibilities for you and your cowboy Joel.
thank you for reading! pls let me know what you think <3
dividers by @/saradika-graphics tags for babes in case they want some cowboy joel: @lovely-vamp-princess @gothcsz @auteurdelabre @adoreyouusugar @swankyorange @itwasntimethatdidit40 @ivoryandflame @indiegirlunited @syd-djarin @harriedandharassed
@bbyanarchist @94namkooksworld
#pedrostories#pedrostoriesgift24#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller smut#cowboy!joel miller
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smutty prompt suggestion for a joel x m!reader drabble (if you want to use jddndjnsj):
joel notices the reader is trying to muffle his own moans during sex and does his best to make him go loud and clear
male!reader, wc: (written on the app!) nsfw.
a/n: more male reader to heal the soul! i've been invigorated to write some joel smut, so i figured i'd get a request out the way!
Joel was so deep, you were convinced you could feel him in your stomach.
Your cock throbbed with arousal, your own hands that were gripping the sheets above your head twitched with the need to cover your mouth.
You were getting so loud, it was as if your voice was pushing through every barrier you were putting up, determined to be heard.
You'd often been told by other partners that you were too noisy, that the sounds that you would make were unattractive or even a complete turn off.
You had been pining after Joel for ages, so you'd be damned if you scared him off.
Your teeth dug desperately into your bottom lip, so tightly to the point where you were convinced for a moment that you could taste blood.
Joel wasn't stupid, he could see the strange war that you were having with yourself.
"Wha'? I ain't no good?" He pants. Your eyes that were squeezed closed flutter open, your already furrowed brows diving deeper.
"What?" You asked breathlessly.
"Ya ain't makin' no noise. Don't tell me 'm no good."
Your eyes widened, followed by the frantic need to correct him. "No, no! It's not that I swear! It's just... a me thing."
"A 'you thing'?" He implores teasingly. "Mhm."
"Alright."
The next thing you know, you're being gripped by your hips and flipped around.
You yelp, but you don't have much time to recalibrate because Joel's already re-entering you with a mission.
His large, calloused palms grip you by the meat of your hips, pushing and pulling you onto his throbbing cock repeatedly.
This time, your noises are punched out of you noisily; every moan, whimper, and groan comes tumbling out of you at an alarming speed.
"J - Joel!" You cry out. Your hands scramble for purchase. You grip the pillow in front of you tightly, anchoring yourself to earth.
"There ya go." He praises with a long groan, followed by him pulling out. His dick catches on your rim before shoving himself back in.
"Fuck!"
"Uh huh. Let me here you. That's a good boy."
#✰ ― meau's inbox !#♡ ― nsfmeau !#joel x reader#joel miller x reader#hbo joel x reader#hbo joel miller x reader#joel x male reader#joel miller x male reader#hbo joel x male reader#hbo joel miller x male reader#fanficition#smut#joel fanfiction#joel miller fanfiction#tlou fanfiction#the last of us fanfiction
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phil gets nightmares often, its not a new development or anything since he reappeared
what is new, however, are the dreams with caleb.
Hes a child again, elbows burning red from where he tripped and calebs quick to pick him up, assuring him that its okay, it was an accident, really, he knows he would never mean to actually hurt anyone or himself.
they're brothers, together forever and no one could ever change that.
the dreams hurt more than the nightmares.
#toh belos#philip wittebane#caleb wittebane#emperor belos#trying to figure out the ages of the boys#im thinking 5-6 for phil and 12-13 for caleb#caleb left gravesfields probably around 20?#so phil was pretty young when he went to the boiling isles
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(I point. Gently, in the voice of somebody who’s mind touched by the outer gods, i whisper truth in your ears:
Your honor the horses are now lesbians
(Anyways here’s the designs)
#mlp#based off my mlp redesigns (no i will not be taking criticism)#mlp redesign#fluttershy is now a giant jacked carnivorous shire horse with anxiety#rarity is a trans queen and she’s carrying the plot on her back#applejack’s been bequeethed the oldest child syndrome after the traumatic death of her parents and learned to do taxes at the tender age of#13?? how do horses age#and rainbow dash is both loved and reviled by her pegasi foundry because she has ‘too much gryphon in her’#(but she FAST AS FUC BOI.)#anyways pinky’s my favorite. we don’t know whats up with pinky but she smiles a lot and the world distorts around her at exactly 1014 am.#twilight is celestia’s favored pupil prophet and is trying her best to figure out what the hell is up with pinkie and failing spectacularly#twilight also hatched a dragon from an inert stone and people have opinions about that#mostly ‘what are you feeding her’#(holds rarity and applejack) i think they’re neat together#they bond over growing up too quickly and have a vi-caitlynn thing goin on#(squints) didnt draw the cute mark crusaders but they’d be like. the batmen of the town. and it was fun and games until twilight heard#and gave them ACTUAL weapons#rarity#applejack#rainbow dash#twilight sparkle#fluttershy#pinkie pie#spike the dragon#I FORGOT SPIKE#spike’s a stone dragon that hatched from a stone egg. he is not meant to exist. he’s an elderitch horror and a baby boy and we love#and cherish his adorable little face#art#critdraws#Rest your Weary Hooves in our New Found Home
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Cass secretly brought home a cardboard box during Mr. Freeze attempt to freeze gotham again after patrols.
Problem being is nobody knows that she brought home a creature until things started going missing.
First it was Damian's favorite katana, then dick's nightwing mask, Tim's personal coffee mug that he still accusing of Dick taking it, Duke's special sunglasses, one of the Barb's purples USBs, one of alfred's cookie mixing batter spoons, Jason's old Robin cape during a few months or so..
It came to Bruce attention the moment his batman belt went missing when he went down the batcave...
Someone brought something home that taking their stuff and mostly all point to Damian who swears on the lararus pits themselves that he didn't do it.
Cass is quiet the whole time.. until Tim noticed and pointed out that in the board of missing stuff and clues that She didn't get any of her stuff stolen..
Her face went still before a tiny adorable dust of pink went across her face as she handed signed that she may have.... found a abandoned creature during patrols... a couple of months ago.
Cass leading them to her room to her closet that look iced cold yet able to function still where a makeshift nest of sort of soft blue space related blankets, and all the stuff that were stolen along with other items they didn't even noticed were taken.
And the culprit behind it all was a tiny little looking 8 year old boy with pale skin, glowing defying gravity like black mixed white hair, with pale mixed greenish blue eyes. The kid wearing one dove hoodie Jammies, staring wide eyed at them.
Before the batfam can speak, Cass made a shushing motion with her mouth as she signed that he can't really control his voice that sound much like a banshee.
Part 2
#dpxdc#dc x dp#danny phantom#dp x dc crossover#dp x dc#dc x dp prompt#dcxdp#de aged danny#cassandra cain#cass find a lil banshee ghost boy during patrol and saw adoptable#danny screamed at her to warned her off of the danger situation she was heading to get close to him#cass think danny is some kind of banshee hybrid#Danny's ghost wails count as a banshee cry right?#cass kept him in her room trying to figure out how to introduced danny to the group without danny mid panicking..#danny went through major trauma that messed his core up bad#some banshee warn people of death and can be protectors#danny see cass and thinks she is elle..
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Just some morrigan wip because I like how she’s turning out
#my art#dragon age#dnr#wip#morrigan x Tabris is the shit#I’m trying to figure out some shapes still but yeah boy
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Ink October day 11: Firebreak
A strip of land that has been cleared, plowed, or planted with fire-resistant vegetation to prevent a fire from spreading.
#kh riku#riku kingdom hearts#kingdom hearts riku#riku kh#dream eater riku#kingdom hearts#kh#kingdom hearts dream drop distance#kh ddd#blue boi draws#ink october#ink october 2024#ink October 2024 day 11#I think this one might be my favourite of this years#it’s simple but I really like how it turned out#anyway Riku as a firebreak but instead of fire it’s darkness. guy who is darkness resistant who helps keep back the darkness#Riku using his darkness as a sorta ‘controlled burn’ method of fighting darkness#honestly darkness as a natural force vs darkness as a corrupting force… Riku having natural darkness and using it in a controlled way#to avoid build up that could be used against him by others with ill intentions#honestly Riku and how he deals with his darkness is really interesting. like local 16-17 yo figures out stuff on his own that keyblade#wielders have struggled with for ages. I think his method would be a big help to Terra in particular.#I feel like what Xehanort was teaching him was less controlled burn and more use it with reckless abandon. like he talked a lot of shit#about ‘controlling the darkness’ but we know he was just trying to foster the darknesses control on Terra so he could use it to fuck with#him. Terra would definitely be hesitant to try to learn again after that but hopefully Riku will be able to communicate the base idea of it#inbetween searching for Sora.#honestly Darkness and it’s connection to fire is interesting to me. there’s maleficents green fire. that one move Riku uses a lot.#the appearance of darkness resembling fire is common (it’s either that or goop. shout out to darkness goop) which is odd#because fire is a light bringer. it’s probably meant to pull on the consuming power of fire but still#anyway i love him
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teen version of my Bunny Rowdyruff Boy who I’m not sure I’ve ever posted here
#the powerpuff girls#my art#been thinking about Bunny being into strange happenings and oddities and how that shows up in her counterparts#i’m also still trying to figure out how i want to age up the boys lol#it’s very difficult i don’t really understand men
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Edwin immediately retaliating to the thought that Crystal has been through a lot with “I spent 70 years in hell!” maaaaybe why Charles felt like he couldn’t talk about his abuse and trauma for the fear that it would be compared to Edwin’s. Just a thought. Obviously, Edwin would be only gentle regarding any thing about Charles.
#it’s not a contest mate#mae#dead boy detectives#charles rowland#edwin payne#dead boy detective agency#charles’ dangly earring#on god they need therapy#give Charles a hug!#on a rewatch Charles showing Crystal his parents devastates me#I try to be extra happy for all of us#do ghosts get stuck in their ages like child stars do?#it’s actually a complex pocket universe#me trying to figure out how two very close friends who don’t need to sleep or eat did not spill their traumas to each other over 30 years#repression is a hell of a drug#I am doing my level best#dead old fashioned loverboys#little chocolate milkshake
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Does anyone else plan out a whole story, get the timeline all right, match up the world events, write a bunch if stuff for it, and then one person's opinion on a character's age makes you question everything???
#me currently with peter's age#my dad said with absolute certainty that peter had to be 14 or 15 in the movie (he's seen it) while i put him at 16 and like... he said it#so confidently he's a man peter is a boy i feel like he has a lot more weight in this discussion than i do also by virtue of being older he#is closer to that time period when everyone grew up quicker and younger#but if i back down even a year that would throw off everything i have planned out relating to the war#and peter's military career i would have to figure out all over again#and that would mean he wouldn't end up in palastine to meet tarek and tarek is so important he matters a lot#i can't change everything now! why is this bothering me so much. i should probably go change out of my pyjamas and try to forget about it
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Giving a complicated tragic childhood backstory to your favorite character is all fun and games, until you realize you need to account for how old all the other adult characters would have been at the time and realize that scenes that would work perfectly if one character was twenty three and the other was fourteen stop working when you need other characters who are played by adult actors clearly younger than they are to be in college at the same time so your story beats line up thematically.
#Don't worry. I made an excel document for this over a year ago#Was that unhinged? Yeah. But this is harder than you think it is#In unrelated news it is now reasonable to have a child in your 20s 30s or 40s depending on when the plot needs the child#Also people in their early 20s can be in grad school have already established careers and adopt children now. I've declared it.#Also: Hollywood stop trying to trick me into believing women in their 30s are the same age as men in their 50s. It's never gonna work.#I'm fighting for my life to make these age gaps normal even on a platonic level#Don't worry I aged the girls up and the boys down#But still this is a bit ridiculous#If you use the actors' ages it doesn't work. Garrison's actress is 16 years younger than Curtain. Why?#I mean I like the casting. But SQ is a teenager. We know Curtain has had his evil plans at least since SQ was born and lost his bio dad#and if the Whisperer is Garrison's invention that means she and Curtain were working together when SQ was born#If SQ in the show is 16 (the actor was older I believe) and Garrison is 37 (that's how old the actress is now she was younger at time)#That means Garrison was only 21 and Curtain was well into his 30s. And that's after you age SQ down and Garrison up for the calculations#So Garrison was likely (according to the shows' casting) even younger than that which begs the question what was Curtain doing?#Was he spending his 30s lurking around college campuses and high schools looking for a kid whose inventions he could steal?#What in the Marcus Cutter is that about?#All these jokes about Garrison being SQ's uninvolved divorced stepmom but nah she's really his estranged big sister#also this is very frustrating because the irl age gap between the actress who plays Number Two and Tony Hale only 7 years#but they're the ones for whom a 16 year age gap would have actually made sense because he adopts her in the books!#but now since Garrison is clearly so much younger than Number Two Curtain and Benedict I have to deal with this#(Don't worry I figured it out and made the age gaps normal. You just now have to believe Number Two is only a year older than Garrison)#It was the stress of living with her family that aged her and Garrison just looks naturally super young that's what we're going with.#And don't get me wrong:#I do like the actresses and actors they casted they're great but sometimes I google the ages and I'm like oh you cannot be serious#But we've (more or less) figured it out#Rant over#writing#writing struggles#tmbs
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i wonder if yakumos grandparents gave him so much soup bc it's something that can safely be swallowed whole by a small child who doesn't have the full chewing instinct...... don't have to break out the crowbar to wrench the entire chicken out of your babys mouth when you have liquefied the chicken
Gasp... brilliant... not only is soup an expedited form of warm... it is also (generally) choke free
#the lil bits and chunks floating in the broth are no issue#a blended soup? also no issue#grandma simmering soup for hours longer just to get the solid stuff to become easily hand mashable...#or learning from the one time she left the entire chicken carcass in the soup pot while serving#and unattended yakumo most certainly gorlpfed the entire carcass#luckily we didn't have to whip out the crowbar bc the carcass was boiled n soft...#but u know that fear when ur dog eats cooked poultry bones and you're all “DON'T EAT THAT!! THE BONES WILL SHATTER AND RIP UP YOUR INSIDES”#that's grandma's fears with yakumo even tho we can plainly see the boy does not chew#wonder if yakumo's throat is more snake like or human like at that age??#bc if it's snakey then we don't gotta worry#but if he's inbetween morphs and his jaw is snake but his throat is human#trying to swallow an entire chicken ? uh...........#i hear a lot of pathetic sobbing and choking sounds in the distance#(it's a child trying to figure out what can be swallowed and what is a choking hazard)#nu carnival yakumo#feesh answer
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Day 15 - Childhood Trauma
Character(s): Butter, Lloyd and Cely (LBS)
Words: 759
Summary: Protecting what you have left is something that no child should grow up with
Whump scale: 3 (see the full scale here)
Warnings: Hallucinations of past trauma
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Link woke up in the middle of the night, he was thirsty and the heat of the summer was not helping.
Its been 5 years since they started living on their own, Zelda let them stay in their house and the queen sends them supplies for the week.
Inside these supplies was water, and he wants some right now.
He grabbed a lantern and got out of his room, entering the kitchen and taking a glass of water. The moon was slowly hiding in the horizon, indicating that soon the sun will take her place.
He could try to sleep a little more, it was still very early. He left the glass on the table and walked outside of the kitchen.
A sound came to his hears, steps lightly but secure.
He put the lantern to one side and grabbed a broom behind the door. What if someone entered the house?
What if they came again?
“Someone’s there?” No answer came to his question.
Maybe they were waiting for him to put his guard down, maybe they were waiting for him to go into his room again and then go towards—
A noise broke his train of thought, instantly turning around to see face to face who was the intruder.
A mask, too familiar for him, standing still and acting like they would not do anything bad to him.
He knew the true, he already made that mistake.
Link didn’t hesitate this time, launching himself towards the figure and attacking them with the broom. The intruder just dodged every movement and try to land a hit.
Why are they here? Didn’t they had enough with what they took from him five years ago? They were that dedicated? Dumb bunch of fuckers if someone asks him.
He wasn’t a kid anymore—Well, technically he was still one, but a bigger one! —, he would not let nothing bad happen. No again, ever again.
This fight continued, the intruder not doing anything to attack back. It was waiting for him to put his guard down, he couldn’t let himself, he couldn’t—
The figure jumped and took him down to the floor. The broom fell out of his reach, letting him unarmed.
“Get the fuck off of me!” The intruder didn’t let go, pining him to the floor and making sure that he didn’t move.
They will kill him, then kill Lloyd, and maybe put Cely in a jar and take her away and—
Someone was talking, high pitched voice and a soft sound of bells coming together with it. Soft white light now making easier see what was around him.
The fairy was flying around, alarmed and saying something, it must be important with how panicked she sounded. What happened? Where is the intruder?
Looking back to his lap, instead of the mask there was the face of a kid, a boy with a scar in his left cheek and blonde hair. Some very light sky-blue eyes connected with his, terror and worry being shown on his face.
“Back?” Lloyd signed, he has gotten so much better with signing, but always limited himself with short phrases.
“Uh…” Link looked up, Cely now flying closer to his face to try and catch his attention.
“Looks like it” The fairy landed back on the kid’s head, letting her wings rest. “Lloyd wanted water, so we came to check in the kitchen, when we arrived you were acting weird”
But, there was an intruder, did they not see them?
Lloyd got off of his lap and sat next to him, waiting to make sure that he was alright. This wasn’t fair, he should be taking care of him, not in the other way!
Someone clicked his tongue and Link turned to see his brother “You should sleep, we can go with you tonight” His face was hard to read sometimes, but his eyes never lied.
“No, no— I’m fine I just need—” A body slammed on him, trapping him in a small hug.
Cely got off of Lloyd and landed on Link’s head “Stop saying that, we already have seen you like this too many times to not do something” She was the reasoning of the three, she was almost always right.
Maybe he couldn’t defend himself right now if Cely was telling the truth, maybe he shouldn’t be taking everything. He was the older, he should protect Lloyd, not giving him more problems.
He chose to forget about this for tonight and hugged his brother back, letting himself cry for once.
#whumptober2024#no.15#childhood trauma#link between souls#link between souls au#lbs butter#lbs lloyd#lbs cely#loz oc#link oc#zelda au#i love ma boys#side note here butter(link) is 15 and Lloyd 10#stayed maybe too long trying to figure out their ages for this scene lol#layraket writing
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