jakecockley

[jakecockley]

MAY CALAMAWY as LAYLA EL-FAOULY in MOON KNIGHT (2022—)

[jakecockley]

He’s so sexy with long hair, fit so well on him

(even when they're messy🥹)

[jakecockley]

I’m sorry guys, after Sinners, no more movies need to be made. We’ve hit the peak of what cinema has to offer us, there’s nothing more to be done.

[jakecockley]

Okay, I have read No Ordinary Love and the Papa Remmick headcanons and my heart is just. swooning. at the idea of Remmick holding up his black daughter (His! The huband who walked could lay down a ditch! Maybe Remmick did it...) and letting her explore his vampiric features without any shame or fear. 🥹 Could there be a drabble where Remmick plays with his kid and realizes his baby is totally unafraid of his eyes and teeth and hands?

ɴᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴄᴀɴ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ᴜꜱ

ᴡᴄ: 1.7k

ᴀ/ɴ: this is an official add-on to no ordinary love, so make sure to read that first if you haven't already <3! i am not shamed to admit i sobbed while writing this. i haven't revisited this little universe in almost a month and experiencing it all over again turned me into mush. plus, i needed a break from the nonstop smut. THANK YOU ANON!

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: the sweetest softest domestic!papa!remmick fluff you'll ever read, memories of abandonment, lingering grief, light religious mentions, highly unrealistic public displays of affection in 1930s mississippi but i refuse to let my little family be sad

Three years had passed.

Three summers. Three winters. Three birthdays, each marked with a small cake and a quiet kiss on the forehead, candles flickering in the soft breath of dusk.

Three years of Remmick’s comforting omnipresence.

You hadn’t asked for him to stay that long. You hadn’t said the words. But you hadn’t needed to.

He stayed.

He stayed like the porch swing stayed. Like the old kettle on the stove. Like the sun that found its way through the lace curtains every morning, slow and warm and dependable. You woke with the shape of his presence already etched into the day—his boots left by the door, the scent of cedarwood and wildflowers, the rhythm of his humming from the backyard as he chopped firewood or stirred the oats or fed the hens.

The house didn’t feel big anymore.

Not empty.

Not abandoned.

Just lived in. Loved in.

And when you thought of your husband now—when some old church friend asked about him, or you caught sight of a man in town with shoulders like his—you found your mind jumping first to Remmick.

His hands. His voice. His quiet way of watching over the two of you like it was the only job he’d ever wanted

You didn’t forget the man who left you. Not entirely.

But when you reached for memories of a man in your kitchen, stirring soup, tucking a blanket around your shoulders, kissing the top of your head while you dried the baby’s hair with a towel, it wasn’t your husband who came to mind.

It was Remmick.

The ache had softened with time. The jagged part dulled to something manageable. But it was still strange, sometimes, to think how easily your life had reshaped itself around him. Not like clay molded under pressure—but like vines growing toward sunlight. Quiet. Natural. Irrevocable.

He didn’t replace what you lost.

He became what was missing.

And the baby—your baby—loved him with the certainty only children could have. Fierce and boundless and instinctive. She called him “Papa” now, no prompting, no correction. Just Papa. Like that’s who he’d always been.

Remmick hadn’t corrected her either.

Not once.

You’d seen the way his breath caught the first time she said it. The way his whole body stilled. Then softened. His face crumpled for a second like it was too much. Like it hurt to be loved like that.

But he hadn’t told her no.

He’d just scooped her up, kissed her cheek, and said, “Yeah, baby girl. I’m here.”

And he always was.

There wasn’t a scraped knee he hadn’t knelt beside. A nightmare he hadn’t banished with a murmur and a rocking chair. When her first fever hit, you found him sitting beside the bed, hand lightly pressed to her forehead like he could draw the sickness out by sheer force of will. He hadn’t left the room for two days. You had to coax him into sleep with your own hand on his back, your own head rested against his shoulder until he finally gave in.

Sometimes you’d catch them talking.

Deep in their own little world.

Her on his lap, chattering about fairies and frogs and what she wanted to be when she grew up. Him nodding along, eyes wide, responding like it was the most serious conversation of his life.

“D’ya think I could be a bird, Papa?” she’d asked once, and he hadn’t laughed.

He’d just said, “Sure, sugar. If y’ever turn into one, I’ll build you a nest.”

It didn’t matter what she asked. Remmick always found an answer that made her believe it was possible.

And she believed in him.

In the way he always knew when she needed a nap. The way he caught her when she tumbled down the porch steps, faster than you could blink. The way he crouched beside her now, in the long grass at the edge of the garden, his lean arms open wide as she toddled toward him on wobbly legs, shrieking with joy.

You stood on the back porch, hip leaned against the frame, mug warm in your hands.

Watched them.

The sun had dipped beneath the trees, but the sky still held the last sigh of daylight—long streaks of orange and violet curling over the rooftops, fading like bruises. The light wasn’t gone, just gentled, and everything it touched looked softer for it. The grass gleamed gold at the edges. The white sheets strung on the line were touched with lilac. And the porch, where you stood with your mug cooling in your hands, felt like a pocket of stillness the rest of the world had forgotten.

Down in the yard, Remmick crouched beneath the old oak, half in shadow, half bathed in amber. His shirt sleeves were rolled to the elbows, collar open, hair mussed from her hands. He looked as he always did at this hour—unshaven, glowing faintly with the last color of the sun, and so completely fixed on her that he seemed unaware of anything else.

Your daughter was a whirl of energy in front of him. Her little arms flung wide, knees smudged with grass and dust, curls bouncing with every step. She’d sweated through the back of her cotton dress, little ringlets damp at the nape of her neck, and still she ran.

“Catch me, Papa!” she yelled again, laughter already bubbling up behind the words.

And he did.

Of course he did.

He always would.

He caught her clean and high, like it was nothing, like she was light as air. He spun her until the hem of her dress flared like a bell and her feet kicked at the purple-streaked sky. Her laughter spilled into the yard, sharp and bright and holy.

You smiled without meaning to.

But it wasn’t the joy that cinched tight around your chest. Not really.

It was what came after.

The way she slowed. Settled. Reached up with both hands and cupped his face like she was holding something breakable.

“Show me,” she whispered.

You couldn’t hear the words, but you knew them by now. She asked nearly every evening. Quiet. Curious. Never afraid.

Remmick hesitated, as he always did.

Then he smiled.

Not the modest, half-there smile he gave normally. Not the polite one he wore in town.

This one was full. Unapologetic.

Canines and all.

He opened his mouth wider, like a magician revealing the final piece of a trick. His teeth shone white in the dying light, longer than human, sharper than any father’s had a right to be. And his eyes—sea blue most of the time—flared with something warmer, something unnameable. A faint red shimmer, soft at the edges, like the glint of sunlight on water.

Your daughter didn’t flinch.

She never had.

She just leaned forward and tapped the tip of one fang, tilting her head like she was inspecting a seashell.

Then she giggled.

And kissed his cheek.

And Remmick—Remmick went still in that way he did when something mattered too much to speak on. Like his whole body braced to keep from shattering under the weight of it.

He closed his eyes.

Exhaled.

Then gathered her close.

Held her like she was the only thing tethering him to the world.

And maybe she was.

Her arms wrapped tight around his neck. Her little fingers curled into the back of his shirt. Her cheek pressed to his temple like she’d done it a hundred times before—which, of course, she had. Her skin, a deep brown kissed golden by the day, stood out against his pale hands. His thumbs rubbed circles on her back, and in the fading light, their contrast was clearer than ever.

Her soft black curls coiled close to her scalp. His hair hanging in faint waves. Her round cheeks and wide nose pressed against his sharp profile. They looked nothing alike. Not even close.

But no one watching them would’ve questioned that she was his.

And Remmick—he never saw the difference.

Because it didn’t exist to him at all.

Not when neighbors stared too long. Not when townsfolk stumbled over their words at the sight of him carrying her through the general store.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t explain.

Didn’t offer any correction when she shouted “Papa!” across the field with both arms raised.

She was simply his.

That was the start and end of it.

The world could gawk all it liked. Could whisper. Could blink hard at the white man with blue eyes and the little black girl who clung to him like gravity. Remmick didn’t care. He never had. Not about that.

He always chose her.

Every single day.

She’d never known anything else. Never had to unlearn fear or flinch from fangs. He’d been her safety from the moment he stepped into that house—quiet hands, steady voice, eyes that glowed but never glared.

She didn’t see a monster when she looked at him.

She saw warmth. And patience. And stories told by candlelight.

She saw Papa.

And that was all.

You leaned your shoulder against the doorframe, cradling your mug like a second heartbeat, and watched as he set her down gently in the grass.

She ran to collect her toys, then circled back to show them to him, one by one. He listened intently, nodding, asking questions, holding each worn figure like it was made of glass. The red shimmer in his eyes hadn’t faded. It never did fully around her.

She was the only one who brought it out so easily, so softly.

The night began to deepen, the orange bleeding to navy, the violets dimming to shadow. Crickets stirred in the brush, and fireflies blinked alive along the fence posts.

Still, you didn’t move.

Just watched them.

Your two miracles.

One born from your body. One who stumbled to your doorstep and never left.

They didn’t match.

Not by the eye.

But they fit.

Perfectly.

And as your daughter threw herself back into Remmick’s arms with another squeal, and he caught her like he’d been born to do it, you let the last of the day fade away.

Right here, where your heart was fullest.

Right here, where the hollowness had been filled not with noise or company, but with love—so quiet and consuming it could only be called home.

[jakecockley]

[jakecockley]

[jakecockley]

if my eyes turn run.....RED......

[jakecockley]

haiii, do you mind writing something for kinky!smoke? im achingggg for it titi

Money

featuring: elijah smoke moore x black!reader warnings: 18+, MINORS DNI, money kink titi's note: thank you so much for requesting anon, mwah Masterlist Here Discord link Here

smoke was so gentle, loving, and caring. but you never expected him to have such a kinky side.

he was such a sweet thing. helping you into bed, whispering sweet nothings like his life depended on it. he’d wash your clothes, serve you breakfast in bed, rub your feet when they hurt, and even wash you in the shower without you asking. always so tender with those big hands, like you were his softest secret.

so you weren’t shocked when smoke didn’t help with your shower tonight. you figured he was tired. you stepped out, skin dripping, forgetting your towel. you padded toward the bedroom, nipples hard from the air and hair clinging to your shoulders. the bed was covered in stacks of money, crisp bills splayed like he’d just counted them out with care. but smoke wasn’t in the room.

“baby, your money—” you started, brows furrowing.

but your words halted when you saw him.

he walked in slow, barefoot, slacks riding low on his hips. his bare chest gleamed, the scent of cocoa butter hitting before he even got close. his eyes, usually soft when they landed on you, were dark now. hungry.

“get on the bed, baby,” he said, voice low, like gravel soaked in honey.

you blinked. “what? i’m still wet, and i’m pretty sure this money came from not-clean hands—”

“and?” he cut you off. “ion mind fuckin’ my girl on this money, ’specially when you all wet like that.”

“i—smoke, that’s—”

you didn’t even finish.

his hand was already between your thighs, cupping your pussy in one big palm. his middle finger teased your slit, then slid in like it owned you. your knees buckled.

“you tellin’ me i can’t have my pussy tonight?” he murmured, eyes burning into yours. the warmth was gone. this was smoke in another mood, something rougher.

you gasped as his finger curled inside you, your thighs squeezing around his wrist. he guided you to the bed, pushing you down with one firm press. not harsh but with purpose. your curls flew, face planting into soft cotton and the crackle of hundred-dollar bills.

“smoke—”

“i see i need to fuck you on this money. show you how much you worth to me.”

you whimpered, hips twitching. your pussy clenched around nothing. his voice… his tone… it did something to you. lit something up inside you.

then he grabbed your hair, hard. pulled you back until your spine arched like a bow. you cried out as your face met his—close enough to feel his breath, to taste the lust in his expression.

and then he pushed in.

his cock—thick, veiny, dark—slid in deep, all the way to your cervix. one slow, brutal stroke that left your mouth falling wide open in a silent scream.

“thaa’s it,” he growled in your ear, holding you there, balls snug against your soaked folds. “this pussy mine. all mine.”

you couldn’t even argue. couldn’t speak. all you could do was moan, high and needy, as he pulled out slow, then slammed back in. again. and again.

the money crinkled under your knees. your back bowed with every thrust. his grip on your hips was bruising, but you didn’t want it any softer.

he leaned down, chest to your back, lips brushing your ear. “keep that ass up, baby. i want you to remember every dollar i fuck into you.”

and he made sure you would.

[jakecockley]

[jakecockley]

i wonder what Stack is like during sex. Rougher, deeper, meaner. The kind of man who doesn’t ask... just takes. (18+, MINORS DNI) Masterlist Here Discord link Here

he’s got your wrists pinned above your head with one hand, the other gripping your ass. his voice is a growl right up against your ear, hot breath coating your skin.

“you knew what you were doin’, wearin’ that little dress,” he mutters, hips slamming into you so hard the headboard slams the wall. “wanted me riled up, huh? well, now you got it.”

you can barely breathe. each thrust is painful, almost punishing. you arch, moan, claw at the sheets.

“stack—”

“say it right,” he bites down on your shoulder. “say my name like you need it.”

“stack,” you gasp, broken. “fuck, Stack, please.”

He pulls your leg higher around his waist, fucking deeper. your back bows. pleasure coils low in your belly, threatening to snap. his thumb drags over your clit in tight, rough circles, and it’s almost too much.

“i said please,” you whimper.

“and I said I ain’t done.” his eyes are sharp, hungry, eating you alive as he watches your fucked out body beneath him. “you’re gonna take every fuckin’ drop I give you, girl. every inch. every damn time.”

you don’t know where you end and he begins. there’s sweat, teeth, breath, bruises blooming on your hips. he flips you over like it’s nothing, hand on your spine, pressing you down.

“look at you,” he mutters behind you. “back arched like you lovin' this shit.”

and when he finally lets go, when he grabs your hips and slams in so hard your breath gets knocked out, you cum with a cry that echoes in the dim room, raw and wrecked.

he groans, low and deep, spilling into you like he’s been holding it back for years. his weight drops against your back, chest heaving.

a beat passes. Then:

“don’t go thinkin’ this was just tonight,” he says into your neck, lips brushing your skin. “next time, I’m takin’ my time with you. gonna make you beg for it slow.”

[jakecockley]

Warner bros will pay for their crimes

Film media pages are already starting marketing campaigns for Hailee over Wunmi. Hailee is great but this would be slap in the face for the point of Ryan Coogler’s film. Not sure how you can watch Sinners and focus on her character; I get the obsession for Remmick but Mary ?? Jayme Lawson and Wunmi Mosaku had more of a compelling performance. Jayme had to sing, dance, and act. Ugh

[jakecockley]

─ Stop pitting the leading ladies against each other. Let them lead.

[jakecockley]

ೀ⋆｡˚have you ever tried this one? remmick!!

⋆˙⟡paring: remmick x reader!!

⋆˙⟡warnings: smut, religious guilt (is that a warning?), hints of gun violence, oral (f receiving), fingering, semi-public sex (ig?)

⋆˙⟡wc: 5.5k

you shouldn’t be out here.

not past sundown, not alone, and sure as hell not barefoot in your mama’s sunday dress, the one with little white buttons and the faded yellow trim that hits just above your knees like sin. it’s clinging to your back with sweat, pressed tight where the heat sticks like honey.

the delta air’s thick and slow, humming with cicadas and the echo of sermons long since shouted across baptist pulpits.

it’s 1932 and you’ve been raised right.

you know how to curtsey, how to keep your mouth shut when men are talkin’, and how to say yessir and thank you kindly and lord willing with just the right kind of sweet that keeps you untouched and pitied.

but lately?

lately your thoughts been real unchristian.

and the reason’s sittin’ out behind the old barn with a matchstick in his teeth and sin in his blood, leanin’ against a busted wooden fence like it ain’t gonna collapse beneath him. remmick’s the kind of man you mama warned you about, leather belt, filthy hands, eyes like he’s already seen the devil and liked what he saw.

he’s not from here.

showed up three months ago with dust on his boots sayin’ he was lookin’ for work.

what he found was you.

────୨ৎ────

you see him every day now.

by the creek. behind the general store. under the eaves of the church, eyes on you like he’s trying to carve his name into the softest part of your throat.

“you ever learn how to swim, preacher’s girl?” he asked the first time, voice all slow drawl and teeth. “or just know how to drown?”

you didn’t answer.

you just looked at him with your big, doe eyes and your bare ankles in the river and wondered what his hands would feel like around your throat.

you ain’t told nobody that part.

────୨ৎ────

tonight, you sneak out while the screen door’s still creakin’ shut behind you. your mama’s passed out with a fan on her face and a bible on her chest, and the moon is high enough to make the world silver.

he’s already there, sittin’ in the hayloft like the devil waitin’ in eden, boots kicked off and shirt unbuttoned, lazy and gold in the low light.

“you come runnin’ all the way here for me, sweet girl?” he drawls, biting the matchstick in half and tossing it over his shoulder. “or just wanted to feel somethin’ other than that pretty little guilt eatin’ you alive?

you feel your cheeks flush, but you don’t stop walking.

he watches you come closer, eyes dragging over your hips and thighs like he owns the land your shadow touches. there’s hay in his hair. dust on his lips.

and when you stop in front of him, he doesn’t move.

just sits there, lookin’ up at you with that crooked grin.

“you wearin’ nothin’ under that dress?” he asks, low and dangerous.

your breath catches. “it’s too hot for—“

“i didn’t as why.” his voice dips into a whisper. “i asked if.”

you swallow hard.

“no.”

his smile splits wide. “jesus, girl.”

────୨ৎ────

he stands up slow, hands sliding around your waist like he’s got all the time in the world. you smell sweat and tobacco and hay. his mouth. his mouth’s on your ear before you can breathe.

“y’know how many times i’ve thought about ruinin’ you in this barn?” he whispers, lips brushing your skin. “back against that beam. legs around my waist. screamin’ my name with god watchin’ from the rafters.”

your knees damn near give out.

“you got a filthy mouth,” you murmur, but you’re not pullin’ away.

“i got filth in my blood, darlin’,” he says, nose trailing down your jaw. “don’t mean i wouldn’t get down on my knees for you.”

he pulls back just enough to look at you, really look, and there’s that hunger again. that ache. that burnin’, possessive kind of desire that makes your thighs press together and your stomach twist.

“you want me to be gentle?” he asks.

you shake your head.

he smiles like you gave him a gift.

────୨ৎ────

“take it off,” he says, stepping back and nodding at the dress.

your fingers tremble on the buttons.

you start slow, one by one, skin revealed inch by inch while he watches with his bottom lip caught between his teeth, hands clenching at his sides like he might explode.

when the dress slips off your shoulders and puddles at your feet, he lets out a rough sound, something between and groan and a prayer.

“jesus,” he breathes. “look at ya.”

you’re naked. barefoot in the hay. lit by moonlight and every single bad decision you’ve ever made.

and then he’s on you.

mouth on your throat. hands on your hips. pushing you back against the wooden beam like your his.

you gasp as his fingers slide between your legs, already soaked, and he laughs low and dark.

“didn’t even touch you yet,” he murmurs. “and you’re drippin’ for me.”

“remmick—“ you start, but he cuts you off with his mouth on yours, kissing you so deep it makes your toes curl.

────୨ৎ────

you ain’t never been touched like this.

ain’t never had nobody get on their knees for you like worship, with sunburnt shoulders and dirt on his hands, calluses scratchin’ soft against the inside of your thighs.

remmick’s mouth is on you like he’s starvin’—like the only thing he’s ever craved is what’s between your legs. and lord help you, you’re spread open for him on a pile of hay, shakin’ and pantin’ like some backwards jezebel.

“look atcha,” he mutters, voice muffled in your cunt, eyes flickin’ up to meet yours. “shiverin’ like a sinner in the pew.”

“r-remmick—“

“that’s right, baby,” he drawls, low and sinful. “say my name again. wanna hear it fall off that pretty lil’ mouth like gospel.”

you moan, fingers clawin’ at the hay, head tossin’ back as he sucks your clit slow and mean, like he’s tryna undo you.

every swipe of his tongue is rough and reverent, wet sounds fillin’ the humid air, and you can’t even pretend to hold back. not when he curls two thick fingers inside you and says—

“gimme it. c’mon now, angel. be good f’r me.”

and you do. you give it to him, loud and messy, thighs tremblin’ ‘round his head as you cum hard around his tongue.

he groans when you do, like it hurts him, like he’s the one splittin’ open.

“jesus fuckin’ christ,” he mutters, pullin’ back to look at you with that filthy mouth glistenin’. “tastes like honeysuckle in july. damn near killed me.”

you’re still gaspin’, chest heavin’, when he leans in and kisses you with it still on his tongue. and you take it, whimperin’ into his mouth, so far gone you could cry.

“need you,” you whisper. “need it bad.”

he grins, all wolf.

“yeah, you do. been needin’ it, haven’t ya? all summer long. walkin’ around in them short lil’ dresses, smellin’ like peaches and temptation.”

he strips the rest of his clothes now, like he knows you’re watchin’—broad shoulders, scars across his ribs, belt hangin’ loose from one hand.

and then he’s crawlin’ over you, hot and solid, his cock heavy against your thigh.

you glance down and swallow hard. “you ain’t gonna fit.”

he laughs, low and dangerous, brushin’ his nose against yours. “i’m gon’ make it fit, sugar.”

────୨ৎ────

the first push is slow.

he’s thick, stretchin’ you wide, one hand under your knee as he presses in inch by inch.

you’re clutchin’ at his arms, gaspin’ into his neck.

“god—“

“uh-uh,” he growls. “ain’t no god here but me.”

you whimper. he’s so deep you feel him in your stomach, your spine archin’ like you’re tryin’ to run from it—but he grabs your hips and holds you down.

“this what you wanted, huh?” he pants, voice all grit and sweat. “somethin’ filthy? somethin’ real?”

you nod fast, nearly delirious.

“tell me, then,” he snaps, hand around your jaw. “tell me what this pussy’s for.”

“for you,” you sob. “only you.”

he starts movin’—slow, deep, punishing strokes that make the barn creak and your back arch off the hay.

“goddamn right,” he mutters, leanin’ in to kiss your neck. “you’re mine now. you hear me? ain’t no preacher, no daddy, no sunday dress gonna save you now.”

you can’t speak.

just moan.

every time he drives into you it’s like lightening, hot and fast and earth-shatterin’. his name spills from your lips like a prayer.

“r-remmick, oh god, i-i can’t—“

“shhh, baby. you can. you’re doin’ so good f’me.”

he reaches down, rubs your clit with rough fingers, and your whole body jerks.

“you gon’ cum again, angel?” he growls. “gon’ make a mess on my cock like the sweet lil’ slut you are?”

your eyes roll back.

and then it hits—a wave so strong it pulls the breath right from your lungs, your cunt clampin’ around him so tight he curses.

“fuck—fuck, ‘m gon’—“

you feel him throb inside you and then spill, hips jerkin’ his mouth on your neck as he cums deep.

“take it,” he pants. “take all of it. good girl.”

you’re both shakin’, clingin’ to each other like it’s life or death, sweat drippin’ down both your temples, hay stickin’ to your skin.

the only sound now is your ragged breathin’ and the far-off call of bullfrogs by the creek.

────୨ৎ────

a minute passes.

maybe five.

he kisses your cheek, soft now. sweet. almost shy.

“you okay, sugar?”

you nod slow, eyes glassy. “you just made me see stars.”

he chuckles and brushes your damp hair from your face. “you look like an angel wrecked by the devil.”

you smile lazy. “ain’t that what i am now?”

“damn right,” he whispers, kissin’ your collarbone.

────୨ৎ────

he’s still inside you when the moanin’ stops.

still buried deep, cock twitchin’ and softenin’ inside the mess he made—and you’re so wet it’s leakin’ down your thighs, warm and slick and obscene.

you shiver, and he catches it.

“too much?” he murmurs, drawl sticky like molasses as he brushes your hair back from your sweaty neck.

you shake your head, lips kiss-bruised and eyes heavy. “feels like heaven.”

he huffs a laugh, real low. “ain’t nobody ever called my dick holy before.”

you giggle, dizzy and raw.

but before you can even blink, he’s slippin’ out of you—slow and careful—and spreadin’ your thighs open with those same filthy hands.

you whimper, sensitive.

“remmick—“

“shhh, sugar,” he coos. “lemme get you cleaned up.”

you think he means a rag. a towel. somethin’ halfway proper.

but then he leans down.

shoulders pressin’ your knees open again, his breath ghostin’ hot across your messy, throbbin’ cunt. he groans when he sees what’s there.

“lord almighty,” he mutters. “look at that.”

he spreads you wider with his thumbs, thumbs that ain’t got no business bein’ so gentle, and you flinch when he licks a stripe through the mess between your legs.

“still so fuckin’ sweet,” he says, almost reverent. “can taste myself in ya.”

you tremble, hands flyin’ to his hair.

he keeps goin’—lappin’ up his own cum like he likes it, like he’d eat it outta you every night if you let him. his tongue traces every inch: your folds, your clit, even your entrance, lickin’ and suckin’ like a man possessed.

you cry out, thighs twitchin’, tryin’ to squirm.

“too much,” you gasp. “i— remmick, please—“

“c’mon, now,” he whispers, voice hot against your core. “you were beggin’ for it ten minutes ago. can’t quit on me now.”

he slides two fingers back inside you and sucks your clit into his mouth and you break—again—your whole body shudderin’ like it’s comin’ apart at the seams.

“thass it, baby,” he pants. “wanna feel you cum when ‘m cleanin’ up my mess. lemme get every drop.”

you cum hard. on his tongue, on his fingers, shakin’ and whinin’ with your hands fisted in his hair and your ruined sunday dress thrown on the floor.

it’s filthy.

it’s divine.

────୨ৎ────

by the time he pulls back, you’re boneless and breathless, lips parted, sweat coolin’ on your skin.

he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand like he’s just finished supper, grinnin’ up at you like he’s proud of himself.

“reckon you’ll think of me next time you’re sittin’ in church,” he says.

you just moan and cover your face.

“quit that,” he drawls. “lemme see you.”

you peek through your fingers.

and he’s lookin’ at you like you’re his whole damn religion.

────୨ৎ────

you don’t wanna move.

but the roosters crow once, then twice, and that’s enough to panic you into sittin’ bolt upright.

“shit,” you hiss. “i gotta get back. if daddy sees i’m gone—“

“he’ll throw me in the river,” remmick says cheerfully, already standin’ and pullin’ his pants back up. “maybe shoot me first. either way, i’ll die with a smile.”

“don’t joke,” you scold, scramblin’ to fix your dress. it’s wrecked—buttons popped, hem torn, soaked through with sweat and sex.

you look like sin incarnate.

he watches you stumble barefoot outta the hay with a lazy smirk and that devil in his eye.

“c’mere,” he says, holdin’ up his bandana. “you got my cum runnin’ down your leg still.”

you flush.

but you let him crouch in front of you, lift your thigh, and gently wipe it clean like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“you’re such a mess, baby,” he murmurs. “don’t want no one else seein’ you like this.”

“no one else will,” you whisper. “only you.”

his jaw twitches like that does somethin’ to him.

“damn right,” he says. “i’ll be waitin’ out here every night ‘til you’re mine for good.”

you kiss him once more—quick and breathless, before you run through the corn and across the field, barefoot and ruined, heart poundin’ with every step.

sunlight’s just startin’ to creep over the pines when you slip through the back door of the house, hair wild, dress buttoned wrong, lips kiss-swollen and thighs still sticky.

your daddy’s still snorin’ with the bottle in his hand. mama still passed out in the livin’ room.

and all you can taste is remmick.

[jakecockley]

⠀

STRAY (2022) [1/?] dev. BlueTwelve Studio

⠀

[jakecockley]

⠀

⠀STRAY (2022) [2/?]

dev. BlueTwelve Studio

⠀

[jakecockley]

"save a horse, ride a cowboy"

roy goode x you

summary-> maybe in a a parallel universe, remmick is a cowboy named roy goode that betrayed his brotherhood, seeking shelter, he winds up on your doorstep.

it was late in the night, truckee, alice and iyovi had fallen asleep, but not you. you were sat outside the ol’ house, rocking back and forth on the hammock you had hung on the apple tree nearby.

alice had taken you in as a child after your parents left you all by your lonesome at her doorstep. since then, she fed you, gave you a nice warm place to stay like you were her own.

truthfully, alice was more like an older sister to you. she had taught you how to read and write, even gave you lessons on how to ride a horse from a young age.

living just outside of town, you learnt to dwell in the peace. there were no men, no bandits, just you and your family.

that all changed when you heard the galloping of a horse not too far away. you shot up, rushing back into the house to grab a shotgun, determined on defending your home.

when you stepped back out in the dark, a horse stood still outside the shack. as the dust settled, you caught a glimpse of a man, head hung low, body almost at the brink of going limp on the horse.

“you lost, mister?” you asked, cocking your shotgun, aiming it at the man’s chest.

you had no intention of firing the gun, but simply just to scare him.

when you got no response, you took a step closer, grip tightening on the gun.

however, the man didn’t do so much as flinch.

so you did what alice had taught you. you fired once, just enough to graze the man’s neck, not kill him.

he fell, off the horse and onto the dirt.

“what the hell?” you muttered, dropping your gun and jogging towards him.

you noticed that the dirt underneath his body was soaked in blood, but it didn’t make sense, the bullet barely touched him. your eyes trailed down his body, then you saw it. his abdomen, gushing with blood. it seemed like he’d already been shot at lesst once before he ended up at your door step.

after much struggle, you managed to drag the man into your stable where the horses had already grown out of, leaning his body on a stack of hay.

but the gunfire didn’t go unheard, soon, alice and iyovi came running to the stable. upon seeing a stranger bleeding out on their property, they had the valid reaction of freaking out.

“jesus, he’s dying!” alice silenced her own shouting, not wanting to wake truckee up.

“i see that, alice!” you replied, stepping away for iyovi to place her newly brewed medication on the bullet wound on his stomach.

she mixed some of her own herbs and spices together in a bowl, using a small wooden object to mix it all together, before lighting a splint to it and without any hesitation, cauterizing the open flesh.

in response, the man jerked away, letting out a loud, agonising scream as you jumped.

“guess he’s alive.” alice chuckled, grabbing the shotgun and heading back into the house with iyovi.

you spent the night in the stable, carefully and skillfully wrapping a makeshift bandage around his waist and one around the grazing wound on his neck.

you could only hope that you had made the right choice saving the stranger.

when morning came, you had gotten up early. you made breakfast for the family, placing them neatly on the table before taking your portion and wandering off back into the stable to observe your mystery man in the daylight.

he was absolutely stunning.

you could see him clearly now.

the man had features of a greek god, his honey brown hair falling into his face as he slept. he was dressed in a worn out shirt and pants, there were wears and tears all over… he looked like he’d been through hell.

you sat down beside the man, munching on your food as you stared at him like he was some side show attraction.

all of a sudden, his eyes started to blink open, squinting at the rays of sunlight that engulfed the entire place.

“good morning.” you said cheerfully, watching as he gasped and tried to back away but winced at the sudden movement. “i wouldn’t do that if i were you, ya got a pretty nasty wound.”

the man looked down, seeing what once was a hole gushing with blood, now wrapped in a cloth that wasn’t his. and it sure as hell didn’t wrap itself either.

“you’re welcome by the way.” you told him, pointing to the patched up injuries. “must’ve been one hell of’a night.”

he was beyond bewildered, his eyebrows pushed together as he searched your eyes for answers.

he opened his mouth to speak, but when he did, nothing came out of it- his throat hoarse and dry, and besides, with the bullet that scraped the column of his neck, it hurt to talk.

“i’ll get you some water.”

the man watched you get up, walking away.

he took his surroundings in, it was unfamiliar to him. if it weren’t for your warm and eager welcome when he had woken up, he would’ve assumed he had gotten kidnapped.

when you returned, you carried two glasses of water. only this time, you didn’t sit down. you stood nearly over him, looking down as you passed him a glass, in which he graciously nodded as a ‘thanks’.

you took a sip, “i’m guessing you’d have a lot of questions by now…”

he nodded.

“…well, so do i. so, we’re gonna help each other, alright?”

one more nod.

“who are you and where did you come from?”

silence lingered in the air for a moment, he wasn’t sure what to say.

“please don’t make me pull out the shotgun again-”

“roy… my name’s roy goode.” he answered, not wanting to hear the end of that sentence. his voice was soft, barely above a whisper. he brought a hand up to his neck at the discomfort but you reached out, grabbing his hand before he could touch the scarf around his neck.

“don’t touch it, you’ll only make it worse.”

the both of you looked down at your hand on his. feeling embarrassed, you quickly cleared your throat, removing your hand. “so, roy goode, what brings ya out to my house in the middle of the night?”

once again, roy tried to speak but was restrained by the pain.

“shit, it’s alright, take your time but i’m not gonna stop interrogating you until i get all my answers.”

“y/n, what are you doing?”

you immediately straightened up, taking the glass from him as alice walked into the stable.

“i-i just thought he looked parched, i gave him some water, that’sall.”

“get back in the house.” she intructed.

with a ‘yes, ma’am.’ you were gone, leaving alice with the stranger as you headed back to the house.

“how is he?” iyovi asked as you handed her the glasses.

“he’ll be okay.” you replied, walking towards the window, pulling the curtain slightly apart.

you snuck a glance at roy who looked like he was in distress being interrogated by alice instead. then, his eyes wandered over to you in the house. you swore he perked up, so you gave a small wave.

he nodded in your direction, but he didn’t look away. not until you did.

a few minutes later, alice stormed back into the house, slamming the door shut behind her.

“y/n, i don’t trust him and neither should you.”

“what? who said i trusted him?”

she rolled her eyes, “you can’t be too nice to a man you don’t even know.”

“well, i kinda did shoot him, i guess i kinda owe him th-”

“that man is dangerous and not to be trusted. i can feel it.” she gritted through her teeth.

you weren’t going to listen to her, but for the sake of keeping the family in one piece and your head on your shoulders, you complied.

so you didn’t go to the stable for the rest of the day as per alices’ rules. but when supper time came along, the door creaked open, revealing a pitiful looking roy at your doorstep.

alice immediately got up from the dinner table, but you grabbed her arm.

“hey, how’re you feeling?” you asked him, interrupting alice before she could even speak.

“much better… thank you, miss.” he replied, letting himself into your home.

you smiled, “i’m y/n, this is my brother truckee, that’s iyovi, and you know alice.” you introduced everyone.

“do you wanna join us for supper, mr. goode?” truckee asked as he patted an empty seat, inviting the man over, which he gladly accepted.

alice shot the boy a look, “truckee.”

“it’ll be fine.” you covered for the boy, sending him a wink.

“no. we don’t even know a single thing about this man!” she raised her voice, yanking her arm out of your grip, slamming her hand on the table.

“alice, just-”

“keep your mouth shut, y/n. you-” she pointed to roy, her eyes flaring with anger, voice hoarse with rage. “-get out.”

sneaking out of the house at midnight had became easy on the account of doing it almost every night dince you were a teenager.

you glided past the creaky floorboards and carefully slipped out the door, making your way to the stable.

but roy wasn’t there.

instead, you found him with your horses out in the field. he was quiet as he stood in the middle of the animals, as if he were admiring them.

“what’re you doing?”

he turned his gaze away from the horses. seeing you, he smiled, just a little, making his way over to the fence.

“they’re beautiful.” he said, pointing to them.

you hummed in response, “they sure are…you should get back in the stable before alice realises you’re gone.”

“nah, it’s not big deal. plus, i’ve got you outside keepin’ an eye on me.” he shrugged, eyes crinkling as his nose scrunched.

he was good at negotiating, you scoffed.

“so what’s your deal? you got into a crossfire before stumbling your way here?” you teased him, nudging his elbow.

he chuckled, “you could say that.”

not satisfied with his response, you pressed further. “were you running from the bad men or were they from you?”

he went silent, looking down at his feet. “bandits.”

“bandits?”

“they’ve been terorrising every town they pass through… this time they took it further, robbing a train going into town, i had to stop’em.”

“what are you, robin hood?” you joked.

“i guess, but i lost all of it trying to outrun them. got this too.” he lifted his shirt, pointing at the bullet wound you had saved him from bleeding out of.

you sighed. the story seemed believable, but you still had a hint of doubt. his name felt familiar, something you’ve heard the townfolk speak word of, a legend that circled within the community.

“you should go back in, it’s late.” he said to you, crossing his arms on the wooden fence, leaning his weight on it as he looked at you.

you shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, slightly nodded your head. “i guess i should.” taking small steps away from him before you turned around once again, “goodnight, roy.”

his lips quirked up, “goodnight, y/n.”

the next morning, you were at the window again, twirling the frabric of the curtain between your fingers as you watched roy’s sleeping form in the stable.

not in a way that made you look like a creep, but you were intrugued.

he looked calm, at peace even. not just as he slept, but every waking moment of the day, it didn’t add up to who he said he was.

then iyovi had woken up, browsing through the kitchen, pausing when she noticed you watching the man.

“you’re in love, darling girl.” she said flatly.

you dropped the curtain from your fingers, turning your head slightly to acknowledge her presence. “i’m not.” you whispered but she shook her head.

“i can see it in your eyes…there’s nothing wrong with it.”

iyovi could read you like an open book, she didn’t need to hide how well she knew you because she knew deep down you knew it too.

“be careful, y/n. i smell death on that one, the longer he stays, the stench will rub off on us too.”

your brows furrowed as she walked off just like that, “that was weird.” you mumbled to yourself as you pulled the curtain open once again.

only this time, you could see a small trail of dust in the distance.

and it was drawing dangerously close to you.

immediately you ran out the door, rushing to the stable as you barged in, startling roy awake.

“someone’s coming, you gotta go!” you warned, picking up the shotgun alice had left leaning against the stable doors.

you didn’t stay long to evaluate roy’s reaction, heading right back out onto the field, gun drawn as the man approached.

the norsed neighed as the man hopped of. he had a sheriff’s bade on, you recognised him.

“whoa, there’s no need for the gun, young lady.” he chuckled lowly, raising his hands up in the air. “now, there’s a man on the run, a very dangerous one, and i have reason to believe he may have stumbled his way onto your land… are you hidin’ anyone, miss?”

you stayed silent, eyes narrowing at the man.

in the blink of an eye, he drew out his gun from his belt, aiming it right at you like a stand-off.

“if he’s here, you ought to give’em up before things get ugly.”

you were interrupted by a loud bang. you whipped you head around, eyes landing on roy as he strolled his way towards the sheriff.

“let her go, and i’ll turn myself in.”

“what?”

“it’s alright, darlin’. just get back into the house.”

“no! he’s gonna give you up to those bandits!” you argued back, dropping your gun to your side.

roy’s gaze softened, he wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you gently behind him as he faced the sheriff.

“my word, roy, you look like shit.” the sheriff remarked.

“could’ve been worse if it weren’t for her.” roy replied calmly.

“you’ve got a lot of men on your tail, y’know that? they’ve wiped out all too many townfolk lookin’ for ya.”

“guess i should be goin’ then.”

“that’s right son, you’re comin’ with me.”

roy sighed,defeated. he turned to you, “stay here, you’ve helped me way more than you should’ve already.”

“but-”

“it’s been a pleasure, darlin’. i owe my life to ya.”

he leaned down, lips pressing a soft kiss onto your cheek. “thank you.”

“time’s up, boy. time to go!” the sheriff shouted.

he gave you one last cheeky grin before hopping onto the sheriff’s horse behind him, sticking his hands out as he placed a pair of handcuffs around his wrist.

when the two departed, you ran back into the house, scrambling to grab supplies.

“jesus, what was all the noise outside?” alice asked, worried as she followed you around the house, trying to keep up. “and where do you think you’re going?”

“i need to save roy.” you huffed, stuffing a bag full of water, food and weapons.

“roy goode? are you insane?”

“sheriff took’em, he’s gonna shove him right into the bandit’s asses.”

“y/n, don’t. you know not to mess with them.” she tried to reason with you but you wouldn’t listen.

“you can stay here, or you can come with me, it’s your choice.”

she stopped in her tracks.

“when do we leave?”

i think it’s hilarious how more than one of jack o’connell’s characters ended up on someone doorstep

(Godless 2017 on Netflix)

[jakecockley]

jack o'connell as patrick sumner in THE NORTH WATER (2021)